#and his zoom doesn’t lag
Text
float like a feather, sting like sharp talons
Philza drops by Étoiles' brand new dojo for a friendly sparring session, and ends up getting quite a lot more. Namely existential dread, the thrill of a good hunt, and the comfort of shared trust.
@apthotiosis
this is a commissioned fic! read on ao3
He whistles, eyes lingering along the thick, wooden support beams and rice paper walls surrounding him. It’s a surprising sight, tucked away in a corner of what he can only describe as a mess of a base, mostly empty, the walls still a rough (and frankly ugly) mix of dirt and cobblestone that hasn’t been cleared out even after six months. “So. That is your dojo.”
Étoiles nods at his side, a big stupid grin on his face. “Do you like it, Phil?” he asks, eager as a pup as little Pomme zooms around the cave in an improv game of tag with Tallulah — ever mindful of how her lag (sorry, asthma) sometimes stalls her in her tracks. He glances at them fondly, silly, eggs, babies. “I do,” he hums, because it is pretty. Especially if you ignore the rest of the cave outside because God, it’s fugly as shit and Étoiles knows it. The plant hybrid smiles, all teeth and gums, and squints with star-filled eyes that always seem to glow despite not working like they used to. Phil still doesn’t get why what was originally a completely harmless veggie plant has evolved to bear such predatory teeth, but he can’t say it doesn’t suit his friend. “He likes it! Let’s gooo, big win for me, big win. I can die happy now.”
“Oh my god, stop. Kristin’s married, you know.”
Étoiles gives him a mock-shove that is more of a real one, because Étoiles never holds back, especially not with Phil. “Oh! Oh, so I can’t be nice to Lady Death? I can’t just visit her because she’s cool and she likes me also? I am married to the grind, Phil, you know me!”
Phil shakes his head, exasperated and fond. “You’re a nerd is what you are. Did you know she calls you her tech support?” Étoiles makes a confused noise. Tallulah peeps in the background, mimicked by Pomme, a chorus of play and yesyes, because all the eggs have picked up on that one by now. (Mimicry is a powerful thing, and the eggs are highly social creatures who thrive on it.)
Phil elaborates, circling the build to assess its structure better. “Because of the sweeping edge bug thing, and Richas’ cancelled death last week. You find the kinks and loopholes in death mechanics better than anyone she knows.”
Étoile beams at that. “That’s so cool. I’m Death tech support!”
“You certainly are. Do you think it’s because you picked Death? In the entity rooms?”
The green-skinned man shrugs, then gasps and takes off running after Pomme to stop her from setting up waterframes everywhere to display obscure anime edits for Tallulah because her internet, her lag Pomme, you’re going to make her void! Phil glances at them (safe, no danger, good) then back at the dojo, running his palm down a beam to feel its grain. It’s smooth, recently stripped of its bark. “Huh,” he says.
He doesn’t understand why his friend chose to build this underground when dojos are usually suited for wind-swept plains or mysterious forests. Then again, Étoiles has never been much for coherent aesthetics. That, and he probably thought it would be more mysterious to hide it under the ground, knowing him. “It’s. Well, very dojo-like,” he walks through dark support beams and onto clean, recently-oiled planks, coming to poke at one of the wooden sticks idly rotating above an altar to send it spinning in the opposite direction. Étoiles trots back to him with an egg under each arm (Play, dad, Pomme warbles. Play, silly, Tallulah beeps from within her cracked shell.) and lets out a guttural noise, visibly bothered by the sticks being out of sync, and it makes Phil snort. Silly. Silly. “Did you build it all by yourself?”
“Yeeaaaah.”
“You’re lying.”
A dramatic gasp. The warrior puts both eggs down to throw his hands in the air. “I’m not lying! Pomme, ma légende, dis-lui.”
Bomp. [me and richas did it. papa helped, very much :DDD]
Étoiles comes to brush his fingers against the red sign, letting the device tucked into his ear translate the written words into spoken ones. He whines, puts a hand over his heart as his ears droop. “Ahhh, trahison. Disgrâce. Tu m’détestes en fait Pomme, c’est ça ? You want me to dig down to bedrock and die forever? Or it’s because I can’t see, so you think I’m shit?”
Bomp. [papa…] Bomp. [t’a pas besoin d’être aveugle pour avoir des goûts douteux en déco :X]
“Okay, okay. I go die in fire then, goodnight.” Then Étoiles pours lava into the cobble floor and stands in it with a huge smile. His body catches on fire immediately, skin quickly shrivelling up and blackening under the heat. Pomme peeps at him loudly and hits him with her scythe, then douses him in water and healing potions — which immediately prompts Étoiles into sparring mode, laughing and hyping his egg up with a string of ‘oh she knows, she knows the play’ and ‘strafing, comboing, keep at it’ as his body heals up. Philza watches the display for a few seconds before getting bored, choosing to walk past the layer of light wood circling the dojo to take a look inside.
It’s even prettier than the outside, with all the paper lanterns and little fountains and bamboo shoots. His geta clack against the wood, then go silent on the woven straw flooring at the center. “Why’re all the posters in Japanese?” he remarks when his friend comes back from his little mock-tantrum with his daughter in tow, squinting at a crude montage explaining the belts system. Philza can gather that it’s based on how much HP the dojo master has left after a duel, because Étoiles has been yapping about making a dojo with that exact system for months now. (Is that a jar of mayo at the top? The hell?) Guess the eggs returning has been the push in motivation he needed to actually commit to that build, despite his insistence that he is very much a builder now, thank you very much, look at all the wool I have.
Étoiles perks up, grins in a way that lets Phil know he’s about to do a bit. “Oh, you don’t know? You don’t know that I’m literally Japanese, Philza?” he chirps, picking up one of the sticks on display before running circles around the other man, poking at his legs playfully. His boots are off, Phil notices. “Speaking of! Shoes off Phil, come on, come on!”
“You literally told me you grew in a field, mate,” Phil laughs, airy and wheezy and light as he evades the attacks. “The little legume who could! In rural France! Where does Japan come into play here?”
“Aaaah, Philza, Philza,” the warrior shakes his head, hitting the other on the shoulder to push him back out and onto the cold cobble floor. “Shoes off I said, it’s a rule. I don’t want shit on my tatami, I already had to clean it up sooo many times with the whole server fucking around in it yesterday. And Japan lives in my warrior’s soul. It’s all that matters.”
“F’course it does,” Phil complies regardless, shimming out of his geta before walking to the little shoe rack in the corner to tuck them inside. “There. Happy?”
“Very. Also, trivia time, culture time: did you know that cucumbers aren’t legumes? They are fruits, Phil! And vegetables don’t actually exist, they’re all either fruits or roots or leaves or flowers...”
Phil stares at him. “...You don’t get to stand there and tell me my avocados are fruits, Étoiles. What the fuck.”
“Umm, they are berries, actually—”
“Oh fuck off and come kill me already.”
“With pleasure, my bro.”
Armors come off next, quickly magicked back into inventories. Phil walks up to the altars to pick up his own stick (unenchanted, as plain as it gets) and spots Étoiles off to the side, rolling up his sleeve to check on his insulin levels before rolling it back down. “We eat one gapple each, yes? My sugar is low,” he explains as they both get into position on both ends of the tatami.
“Sounds good. You got yours?”
Étoiles laughs, summoning a golden fruit from his inventory and spinning it over his finger like the insufferable showoff he is. “Always. Autofeed off Phil, no cheating.”
“Alright, you little shit,” Phil summons his own gapple and bites into it with purpose, feeling the warm tingle of magic-saturation in his stomach as the rest of the apple vanishes into thin air with a few golden sparkles. He turns to the eggs, settled on top of diamond blocks they’ve just placed. “Tallulah, do a countdown for us please?”
Signs are placed, one by one, as Pomme hypes them up with Megalovania, perfectly timed with the Pigstep now blasting out of a music box. Bomp, three. Bomp, two. Bomp, one…
Bomp. [GO PAPA PHIL :D]
Étoiles shoots off towards him as soon as the letters show up on the wood, jumping up and swinging his stick down for a crit. Phil dashes to the side, the blow just grazing his shoulder. “Nice cock, Phil!” Étoiles gasps, all sharp teeth and waggling eyebrows, and it takes the avian back enough for the other to get a few hits in. “Motherfucker!” Phil laughs, breaking the combo and pushing the cucumber back with a few crits of his own, adrenaline starting to flood his brain and paint the world in sharp edges and colors. “You little shit! Stop doing that!”
“Do what, Philza? I’m just bantering, just chilling.”
Étoiles’ combat style hasn’t changed despite the blindness, Phil finds — he’s insanely precise and quick on his feet, which is a problem. He decides he won’t be able to outrun or out-speed him, so he elects to block most of his strikes with his own stick instead, relying more on instinct than observation. “He’s blocking, he’s blocking,” the warrior’s voice chants through the flurry of swings and the clack of wood against wood. “Strafing, strafing, he’s the best, he’s the GOAT. Hit me, Phil! Don’t just defend, hit me!”
And dammit, Phil tries pretty hard — but Étoiles is insane and he’s just a little too fast even without speedbridging, just a little too smart with his feints. Phil goes down after two minutes, the last hit clocking him across the temple and sending him to the (thankfully a little soft) floor, ears ringing and white stars dancing across his darkening vision. He wonders if it’s a little like how Étoiles sees the world now. Probably not. “Four hearts, Phil,” Étoiles announces, laying his hands on Phil’s side — the pain fades, the world comes back into focus, and his brain rattles with the doom-doom of revival. He hears fireworks going off, probably Pomme’s. “That’s good, very good. That’s a brown belt! I think you can kill me soon, easy. Again?” the cucumber chirps, offering his hand, and Phil thinks that if Étoiles had his tail it would probably be wagging right now.
He groans in agreement, grasps his friend’s hand and is pulled back on his feet. “Yes. Again.”
Round two goes similarly. “Again.” So does round three. “One more.” After his fourth consequential victory, Étoiles looks pensive, and Phil is getting a tad frustrated — he’s muted his comm for this, as he often does, but he can usher a guess at what Global chat looks like, spammed with his half-death messages and maybe a brief bout of concern from whoever else is online at the moment. “Fuck, man,” he rubs at his neck where a particularly vicious strike has left the skin an angry red, molted with purple. He’ll feel that in the morning, if he doesn’t get a respawn. “I don’t think I can do it. No black belt for me.”
“No, no, you can,” Étoiles insists, circling him — dull, greyed out eyes scanning for something. “I think…”
“Looking for something, king? How’s nebula-me looking?”
“Like the GOAT, you know that. But since you ask, you’re more blue today. With some red.”
“Cool. Wish I could see like you do, for a day.”
“You don’t. It’s pretty, but annoying. It’s harder to make out details inside the, ah…” he mumbles something in barely-legible French. “Je sais pas comment on dit. Les contours. The lines at the limits of a drawing.”
“Outlines?”
“Yes. I see the outlines well, but everything inside is messy. To me everything is just, shapes. And the bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it. Eggs are easy, because they are small and simple. People are harder.” He waves towards Phil. “Like, I can’t know if you’re smiling or frowning, I have to listen to how your voice sounds.”
“Huh. That’s interesting.”
Étoiles hums, stops at his side. Cocks his head like an attentive dog. “Ah. You should take your backpack off, Phil. It’s slowing you down.”
Oh. Philza shifts, hesitant. “I wear it all the time, it doesn’t nerf me that much.”
“No, I think it can make a difference. Let’s try it?”
Mh. He hadn’t planned on doing this today. Showing his kids had felt right, natural. Showing Fit had required a few deep breaths, but not much else. Étoiles… is a trickier case.
He does want to show him — the french warrior is one of his most trusted friends, and someone he knows he can rely on in a pinch. The guy is loyal to a fault, always looking at Phil like all it would take for him to lay down his life before him was a single word. It’s a bit scary, in a way, and always makes his hindbrain buzz pleasantly. But Phil held things like mutual trust in high regard, and Étoiles had broken that on the first day of Purgatory.
They had talked since then, and it’s clear to Phil now that it had been an honest mistake, a temporary lapse in judgement. Plus, it’s not as if Phil hadn’t lost his own mind within the first twenty-four hours in that red hellscape. Still, even though he has forgiven Étoiles, the cracks don’t feel completely healed just yet. “I don’t know, mate,” he pulls at one of the straps of his backpack self-consciously, feeling its weight pressing his wings tightly against his back. “I can’t get you under four hearts, I doubt taking it off will give me that much more.”
“Phil. Phiiiiil. Trust me?”
Tall order, Phil almost jokes, but refrains. “I do trust you.”
“Then trust what I’m saying. I know my shit, you’re being slowed down, you can’t spin as fast or jump as high with this thing, it’s basic physics. I want you to have all the chance on your side.”
Philza purses his lips, glances to where Tallulah sits off to the side. She jumps to her little feet and places down a sign, while Pomme rummages through her backpack next to her. He can’t help but coo when the bright ‘<3’ shows up in stark white against the magenta wood. “Right. Okay.”
Étoiles can’t see, not normally. So maybe he won’t be able to make them out, bound tightly against his back as they are. And if he does, then that is fine. No need to make a fuss of it. So Philza walks up to Tallulah and drops the black pack next to her, giving her a little headpat in passing. “Watch over that for me, okay?” he smiles at her, and she peeps at him with purpose, jumping on top of it and doing the egg equivalent of puffing up her chest. Pomme is in her own red backpack now, little legs kicking the air as she reaches as deep as she can. silly, egg, baby, egg, he croons. “I’ll be right back. Got a green ass to kick.”
“He is back,” Étoiles whoops when he steps onto the tatami. “Oh, he is ready, so ready. Are you full hearts?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. We go on three, one, two, th—”
Phil takes off at the first syllable, and oh, yeah, the lack of weight on his back means he can lean forward more without gravity winning, and that means he reaches Étoiles right as he reaches the end of his three. He thrusts his stick forward, the blunt tip digging itself right into the other’s abdomen with enough force to make him stumble back, winded and sputtering. “Argh—”
Phil doesn’t let him recover, getting a few good hits in before his opponent parries and attempts an upward swing that he barely evades by sending his body backwards, dangerously far. The weapon grazes his chin, and his wings try to open to regain balance but they’re still bound against him. “Shit—” he steps back quickly, arms pinwheeling, and it looks a little silly but it works, and he does not crash onto his back like an idiot.
Étoiles stares at him from the other side, breathing hard, eyes wide, a palm against his diaphragm. Then he smiles. “Oh. Ohohooo. Okay, now we’re talking. Let’s go.”
Moving more freely doesn’t make the fight easier, not by a long shot, because Étoiles adapts quickly — but it does make it more fun, and that’s already an improvement in Phil’s eyes. He gets less crits in, because jumping up leaves him too exposed to revenge strikes, but he gets more light hits in between sidesteps and mad dashes. “He is so fast!” Étoiles cheers, ducking to dodge a vicious strike to the head. “Oh, he is so good, go Phil go!”
Run, dodge, strike, strafe, dash. Every muscle in Phil’s body strains to keep up as he pushes it past its limits, arm aching from the repeated shocks against the stick, but he barely feels it thanks to the adrenaline flooding his system. A hit to the back of his knee makes him stumble, but he recovers into a roll and trips Étoiles with his stick in retaliation. The cucumber groans, scrambles to get up, and Phil sees an opening right there on his foes’ unprotected throat. He zeroes in on it, takes the first step, raises his weapon and—
There’s a jagged shape in his peripheral vision.
He falters. Tries not to look at it, tries to keep his eyes on target, target that’s about to get back up, quick, quick, do it.
There’s a purple shape in his peripheral vision.
He fails. Sharp angles and eerie glow, that shade he’s come to dread. The amethyst crystals hum out their ethereal song, taunting him. He doesn’t see Étoiles anymore, and his world is drowning in high-pitched static.
Purple. Purple everywhere. The room is too dark, too dark, darker yet darker.
Time slows down. No. The edges of his vision are fraying, dark tendrils creeping in. He feels himself falter, adrenaline making way for cortisol and making his hindbrain, no, fly, fly, run, nonono. He’s losing his footing, his grip around the stick growing slack, palms getting clammy. No, no, not now, please. His breathing picks up, faster than it’s been at any point of this duel. The amethysts glow an eerie violet, jagged shapes growing out of the thick, wooden beams around him, and he swears the room has gotten even darker. “Tallu—” He doesn’t make it to the end of the name, because then something smacks him in the back with unrestrained force.
Right on his left ulnare, the wingbone left exposed with no fat or muscle to cushion the blow.
Pain explodes throughout his left wing, the shock propagating all the way into his back and making him yell out, a gasp-screech that is very not human. Tallulah peeps loudly somewhere at the edge of his awareness, papa, no, bad! as he falls to his hands and knees, panic spiking, bad, bad, hurts, getoutgetout—
“Oh merde! Phil, ça va ?” He hears glass breaking, smells melon and gunpowder and something both earthy and spicy — Nether wart. Étoiles is healing him, putting a stop to their duel, and the realisation drags him out of that weird fugue state. “You never made that sound before, I think it’s bad. Are you okay?”
“Amethyst,” the older man growls between clenched teeth, letting the potion effects refill his health bar — fuck. Pain signals were always limited during PvP, but this had somehow broken through the server’s capping function. Étoiles makes a noise of incomprehension, his hands just hovering over Phil’s shoulder, not quite touching. “What?” he says, and Phil hears the patter of little feet rapidly coming closer. Pomme and Lullah.
“Please, just... Can you see the amethyst?”
He doesn’t know why he’s asking, of course his friend can’t see it, because that shit isn’t real. Or at least not to anyone but him. Through the haze he can feel Tallulah’s warm shell bump against his arm, hear her little worried chitters. He doesn’t trust himself to tell her he’s fine.
But then, Étoiles raises an eyebrow and turns his head towards the wall, blinks. A frustrated noise. “Euuuh Pomme, je t’adore hein, mais ça va pas trop avec le reste en fait. Tu peux les retirer steuplait ?” Pomme crouches, one-two, then summons a pickaxe and walks towards the crystals, and proceeds to casually break all of them.
Oh. Her backpack, all her rummaging. She’d been trying to decorate the dojo while they were busy sparring.
Philza lets out an uneven breath, runs a hand through his hair — his forehead is damp with cold sweat, and it sucks. Okay. Okay. Real, then. Just a really, really bad coincidence. Bad timing. Bad everything. He lets out a breath, the tight coil in his chest slowly loosening. “I’m sorry Pomme,” he gives the little egg a smile that he hopes to the Gods isn’t shaky. “Got distracted by the shiny, you know how it goes. Crow brain go brrrrr.”
Pomme falls dramatically on the floor at that, places a red sign that reads [sorry ;_;] “You’re good, you’re good, don’t worry.” Tallulah places a flower next to Pomme, bomp, [RIP manzanita]. Phil chuckles at their antics, heartbeat slowing down to a more normal pace. Jesus Christ. “You like shiny things, Phil?” Étoiles asks. “Did not know that.” He looks around, scans the dojo for any stray shine. “Mmmh. All good, I think. Sorry about Pomme, she likes amethyst stuff.” Then, quieter, “I think it reminds her of Baghera. She has an amethyst farm in her castle.”
Oh. Phil glances at Pomme, who thankfully seems fully absorbed in a sign-based conversation with Tallulah. “That makes sense. She must miss her a lot.”
(Dad, are you proud of me? I just killed a silverfish.)
“Can I see your wings, Phil?”
And, there it is. The other shoe. Phil lets out a heavy sigh, wincing when the movement makes his joint twinge in lingering pain — he’s pretty sure nothing’s actually broken or sprained, at least not any worse than before, but it still hurts. “So you saw them.”
“No no, I can’t. But I know they are there, somewhere. I’m sorry I hit them, I can’t tell where they are if you don’t have them out. Told you it was annoying.”
Ah. That makes more sense. He doubts Étoiles would voluntarily target them. Still… “How do you know about them? And, why?
“Philza, you need to understand something. And the thing is, I’m really dumb. I want to see them because maybe I can help, if I hurt them. I fix.”
“No you’re not, stop that. And you didn’t do any permanent damage, you’re fine.”
“No, wait. I’m stupid with lore, but I have eyes and ears. Jaiden showed she had wings, pretty sure Baghera has some but she hides them, I assumed you were the same.” Ah. Fair enough. Phil hasn’t been as subtle lately, and the crow jokes could only go for so long before people started to pick up on how literal they were. “Also, Kristin told me.”
Wait, what. “Wait, what?”
“Ye ye. First day of Purgatory, I died a lot. She said she wanted to exchange fofoca, so I told her about things, and she told me about you because she likes me. Did you know, I asked her if I could get wings too? It made her laugh. I guess tech support is not a high enough position to get flying benefits, sad times for me.”
Mother fucker. It’s hard to be upset when everything that spews out of Étoiles’ chattermouth is so consistently funny. “Well. I would’ve told you sooner than later, anyway. S’fine.”
“So you let me help.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll let you take a look, if that’ll make you feel better about it.”
“Let’s goooo, we got trust. Sit down please?”
Phil snorts and complies. He spots Tallulah running back towards him to climb onto his lap with a quiet warbe. good? Phil warbles back, good, yesyes, and rests his chin on top of his egg’s soft locks of hair. He hears Pomme hitting her dad behind him. “Ouais Pomme ?” Bomp, a short silence. “Badboy est là ? Ah ouaaais. Il veut encore t’exploiter pour ses boutons de l’enfer là ? POV, tu aides le fou du QSMP avec son escape game pour pas qu’il te tue.” More hits, Pomme’s little click-chirps. Étoiles laughs. “Okay, okay, t’inquiètes. Va l’aider, moi et Phil on va parler de trucs chiants de toute façon. Je te vois plus tard ?” The sound of a warpstone going off. “Saluuut.”
“Is Pomme leaving?”
“Yeah, she wants to build stuff with Badboy.”
“Oh god. Please tell me it’s not another find-the-button map.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna spend ten hours finding those fucking things again soon, let’s gooooo. So your wings, who else knows? I bet Fit knows. And your eggs.” Tallulah nods in Phil’s hold.
Étoiles’ lack of big reaction feels nice, but he supposes he should have expected it — the guy never makes a big deal out of anything. Except when it’s about banned materials. Or the Nether. And finding buttons, new trigger unlocked. “Add in pretty much everyone in the original Bolas, king,” he huffs as Étoiles settles behind him. His unseen presence makes a brief shiver of danger, danger go up Phil’s spine. It’s fine. It’s fine, he soothes himself, idly rubbing at the scar at the center of his chest through his robe. “I lost my shit with them around. Stopped caring as much. They saw them on day one.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? Half the people on this shit island are like, creatures. Not humans. Nobody cares. I’m literally a fruit, Phil.”
Phil chokes on his own spit. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea how funny what you just said was.” Tallulah chirps and wiggles in his hold, places a sign. [*side-eyes u*] it says, and that’s somehow even funnier than if she had actual eyes to side-eye people with instead of the blank expanse of her brown-spotted shell.
Étoiles blinks. He cocks his head to the side, in that specific way he does whenever he’s listening to what he calls the ‘voices of the stars’. (Something akin to his crows, from what the older man has been able to gather.) “Oooh. Oh, is it a gay joke Phil? That doesn’t work man, we are on Gay Island, everyone is gay here, or they don’t date at all. And you are incorrect, because I am in the second group, héhé.”
“Didn’t Antoine call you his boyfriend once?”
“He calls me a lot of things.” Étoiles shrugs. ”He’s also an asshole and my DJ partner and my friend and I love him very much, but no, it’s not like that. And I am married to dark metal and dungeons anyway. Now I’m going to unbind your wings and move them around, okay?”
“Mh. Go for it, king.”
To his credit, Étoiles is methodic in his approach — unknotting the binds and carefully tracing the upper edges of his left wing while the other spreads out with difficulty, a few black feathers coming loose. Étoiles lets out a surprised oh, gently grabs the other to help it unfurl, and Phil feels him poking at the bottom of his regrowing primaries — right where the white ones, usually hidden beneath the outer layer unless he spreads them wide, grow in diamond-like spots. “I know this pattern, right there. You have Elytrian code too, Phil? I thought it was just crow.”
“Ah, so Kristin didn’t tell you everything then.”
“No. And she didn’t like, out you, you know. She only told me because she knew I knew, she only confirmed it. People with wings have like, a way they move? I can’t explain it, I just see it.”
“Body language expert Étoiles, ey? Have you known a lot of avians before?”
Étoiles stays quiet for a second. When he speaks again, he sounds perplexed. “Huh. I don’t know. I guess I knew Baghera? Memory stuff, it’s annoying.”
Phil frowns. Right. “You told me a little about your childhood, though. The village, the farmers?”
“Yeah, that’s a thing that came back quickly after the crash. But everything after that, I don’t remember.”
“Man, fuck this island. I’m sorry.”
Étoiles hums. His fingers start combing through his bottom feathers, lingering among the white ones. “I think. I think I went to the End before, Phil.” His voice has gone softer, airy, like he’s not quite anchored in the present. “I think… maybe, I’ve seen Elytrians before.”
“You have?”
“Mmh. I think I killed one. Yeah. And I took its elytra. It was a good fight.”
The revelation doesn’t shock him — Elytrian hunting is a common activity for those who reach the End, and elytras are a highly sought-after item in most worlds. (Philza would know.) “Were you a hunter? Before the island.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t like hunters.” And Phil can’t see Étoile’s face from his position on the floor, but his words are dripping with contempt. “Hunting for yourself is one thing. Making money off it, it feels wrong. And they don’t even fight, they make traps. I don’t like that. If you’re too shit at fighting to win fairly against something, you don’t deserve the loot. Bâtards de merde.”
And Phil laughs, because this he understands. “Ever the honorable warrior, aren’t you Étoiles.”
“Dude, I have so much honor. I told you, I’m literally Japanese.”
“Right.”
“And like I said, I am your arms. I am your sword, Philza Minecraft.”
Phil’s wings fluff up slightly, a croon of ownership-claim threatening to spill out of his chest. Mine. “Étoiles…”
“I am, it’s not a bad thing! Purgatory sucked. I didn’t like it. But it was better at the end, when you were telling me what to do. Who to kill for you.”
Phil croons, leaning back into Étoiles’ careful hands. “I see. You never called me dad though.”
“Fuck that!” Étoiles laughs, bark-like and airy. “That cult leader shit was weird. You’re Philza.” And there’s a quality to the way he says it, something that feels both casual and reverent. “First of his name, GOAT of PvP, Avoider of Lore, greatest man alive—”
“Woah there—”
“—husband and Angel of Lady Death, and father of dragon eggs. You’re not my dad. Why everyone has daddy issues on this shit island?”
Phil snorts. “I don’t know, mate. But I won’t judge. I think it’s fine if seeing me as a father figure brought them comfort. It was literally hell out there.”
Étoiles hums. “Maybe. Also, you didn’t answer my question.” Phil lets out a confused huh. “Earlier, when I asked why you were hiding that you had wings.”
…Shit. Curse Étoiles’ one-track mind, his deflection tactic had been foiled. “It’s not— shit like prejudice I was afraid of, Étoiles,” he admits, quiet and somber. The other man stops his ministrations, fingers dug deep in his primary coverts. “I know this island is a goddamn circus show. Mousey screams she’s a demon to whoever will listen and nobody gives two shits, I don’t know why Bad even bothers pretending he’s not. That’s not the problem. It’s just…” He sighs. ”The Federation has eyes everywhere, man. I feel like if I show them off too much, they’ll fuck them up again. Maybe even worse than last time.”
Étoiles is silent. His motions resume, slower, more careful and deliberate. “The first time, you say,” he eventually hums. There’s something dangerous in his voice. “So it’s because of them, that they are like this? Your wings.”
“Pretty much. Woke up on the train, boom, clipped. No more flying for me. I don’t know why they didn’t do the same to Jaiden, she said she didn’t want to fly, or didn’t know how? I can’t remember too well, but maybe that’s why. Less of a threat. Honestly, I’m just glad they didn’t do it to her. She’s family now.” Even though her loyalties are a point of concern, he couldn’t help it. She is Bolas, she is flock. And he had held her as she screamed out the temporary loss of her shiny blue wings, that first night in Purgatory. “No avian deserves that shit.”
“You don’t either, Phil.”
“I know that.”
“I’m just saying it because you have the voice! The one you use when you think bad things.”
A wry smile. “How dare you call yourself dumb, man. How fucking dare you.”
“It’s what I do! I kill things, I see people’s true souls, and I shit on myself.”
They stay quiet after that. Étoiles stretches out his wings, flexing the joints one at a time, muttering quick apologies when Phil hisses a little too loud. “Sorry, sorry.”
“You’re good. Keep going.” So he does, until Phil no longer feels the pins and needles of blood flooding back into his wings, until the joints no longer feel like rusted cogs. He even gets a little preening in, dislodging matted down and crooked secondaries, and it feels nice. Tallulah is dozing off in his hold, warm and safe. His egg, his baby, his hatchling. “Thanks mate,” Phil hums, a little out of it by the end, hindbrain thrumming pleasantly. Flock, good, yesyes. “You’ve done that before, I can tell.”
“If I have, I don’t remember. Okay, now stand— sorry Tallulah, were you sleeping? Sorry, your dad has to stand so we can see. Yes, nice. Now try them.”
Phil chitters quietly, furling and unfurling his wings experimentally — the constant pain is still there, but minimal, very bearable, and they do feel less stuffy. Lighter. “It actually does, yeah.” Tallulah does a little dance at his side, twirling and playing a few cheery notes on her flute. “Good job, seriously.”
“No probleeeem, Phil, my bro. Last round?”
This guy, I swear. “I’m a little tired,” Phil groans, cracking his neck as he stands, stretches his wings out as far as he can — it still aches, but feels miles better. “But okay. I’m going to put Tallulah to bed real quick, she’s eepy.” Tallulah nods in confirmation, takes out her warpstone right as her papa does. “Then let’s fight, one more time. After that I’m going home and conking the fuck out.”
Étoiles makes a sound that probably means something like ‘holy shit say less king’. “Okay!”
Five minutes later, and he’s warping back to Étoiles’ cave like a man on a mission. And in a way, he is. “Welcome back, worthy challenger,” the cucumber greets him, crossed-legged in the middle of the dojo, and Phil snorts because the music box is blasting Smash Bros music now. “You’re such a fucking nerd, oh my God.”
“It gives me strength, Phil. It’s my final form.” Étoiles gets up, stick already in hand, bouncing on his heels with anticipation. “Autofeed still off?”
“Yup. How’s your sugar?” Étoiles checks his monitor quickly, gives a thumbs up. “Good. No holding back?”
“I never hold back, Phil. Let’s go.”
There is no countdown this time — both opponents slip into quiet assessment, circling each other slowly, slowly. Étoiles does a strange head-tilt, ears flicking to track Phil’s footsteps, the sounds of feathers ruffling. Phil’s eyes do not stray from him, hardened and focused, picking up on the change in the air. Étoiles wants him to go all out. So he will. And he has a plan.
(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)
Time to put that to the test, then.
Étoiles charges first this time, quick-footed, swerving at random moments to keep himself a hard-to-track target. Phil almost bursts into incredulous laughter because holy shit, he’s Naruto-running, what the fuck— but manages to keep his focus, waiting until the very last moment to thrust his wings downward with enough force to send him soaring abovehis opponent. Then, right as his feet touch the tatami and right as Étoiles screeches to a stop to spin back towards him
he spreads his wings
wide, wider
casting huge shadows on the four walls of the dojo
and lets his powers roll off of him like a dark mist, sparking with magic and wither-decay.
(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)
It’s a gamble, a costly one that saps his Feds-capped magic like crazy — but it pays off, because Étoiles staggers back, confusion etched across his features. His head subtly snaps in all directions, like he doesn’t know where to look, his ears swivelling to try and pinpoint him. Bingo. Phil has made his nebula-self big, toobig for Étoiles, rendering the warrior effectively blind. Well, double-blind.
Phil doesn’t wait for the other to find a counter to this, curls his wings forward then snaps them back — they launch him forward at breakneck speed and create a gust of wind that makes the paper lanterns swing on their hooks, and then Phil is slamming into Étoiles like a literal hurricane.
The plant hybrid gasps, fingers slackening from the sheer strength of the impact — his weapon slips out of his grasp to clatter against the ground and roll out of bounds. His body describes a perfect curve and hits the wooden floor with a loud thud. He barely has the time to blink the dizziness away before something presses against the side of his neck, and he freezes completely. “Gotcha,” Phil preens, looming above him. The end of his stick is right against Étoiles’ pulse point, the threat crystal clear, and he’s a writhing mass of burning stars and cosmic fury.
The energy rolling off of him washes over Étoiles in waves, makes his skin tingle, and he recognizes it as withering. Withering coming from Philza himself, whose outlines are impossible to pinpoint, lost in the cloud of magic and giant Angel wings.
...Okay, this is sick as hell, Étoiles thinks, and he can feel somethingwithin him grow, a presence rejoicing in the back of his mind. Ink bleeds into his eyes, then under it, twin lines of darkness going down his cheeks and neck. (Flashes of a white spiral on a dark expanse, of whispers and stolen Time.) He feels cold, but he feels good about it, and he’s not scared at all — this is fine, more than fine. Withering is harmless for Death-touched things. Things like him and Phil. He laughs, loud and ecstatic, this is fun, so fun! “Aaah. Clever bird, clever Phil, I like. Okay.”
Then something wraps around Phil’s ankle and pulls it forward, breaking his balance and making him hit the ground ass-first with a startled caw. He grits his teeth, shoots a glare towards his leg to see—
—blinks at the sight of a green vine wrapped around his ankle. His eyes trace along its length. He’s seen this before, but only once, months ago. Right after harvesting a freshly-regrown Étoiles out of the ground, a week after his Code-related demise. “Oh,” Philza says, and Étoiles smirks in return.
His tail is long, as long as he is tall, and covered in large, healthy green leaves. It swishes against the tatami in a serpentine motion, the leaves rustling quietly, and Phil notices a half-star-shaped kink at the end of it. It’s... well, it’s pretty adorable actually, but something tells him Étoiles wouldn’t like that descriptor. “You kept it,” he says instead, fight-darkened eyes sparkling with something like kinship-euphoria. “You grew it out.”
“I did, I listened to you. I keep it wrapped around my waist, it works.”
“Told you it could come in handy.”
“You did. You’re always right about things, Philza.” Étoiles steps into a fighting stance, hands curled into fists, tail lashing left and right like a whip. Phil understands, lets out a quiet chuckle as he sends his own weapon flying out of the arena. So they’re doing it this way, huh. More than fine with him. “Nothing’s off the table then,” he hums, hands curling like claws at his sides, sharpening talons glinting ominously in the light of paper lanterns. His friend hums approvingly, and it’s all Phil needs to pounce.
They no longer try to evade, instead crashing into each other to cause as much damage as quickly as possible. Étoiles throws a jab, Phil retaliates with a smack of his wing to destabilise the other before slashing at his chest, tearing at his shirt and drawing the first blood. Because yes, Étoiles bleeds, deep cuts marring his dark green skin, chlorophyll sticking to Phil’s hands. Étoiles hisses, gets behind him and wraps his tail around Phil’s throat to choke him. Phil gasps, coughs, briefly flails before smacking the other with his wings until the tail goes slack. Phil rips it off him and whirls around to pull at it sharply — Étoiles falls, but not before grabbing onto Phil’s robes to pull him down with him.
Things get messy after that — a flurry of feathers and leaves and punches and kicks, one that clocks Phil in the jaw and makes him taste blood, one at the side of his head that makes him see stars. He hisses, screeches, swipes, again and again, and Étoiles blocks some of them with his arms, arms that gain more and more tiger-stripe cuts, but many go through and eat at his health, heart after heart. The warrior retaliates with a headbutt that makes the Angel’s world darken for a second, burning blood getting into his eyes and half-blinding him. Maybe it’s more fair this way, not that it slows him down at all.
They punch, claw, snap their teeth at each other like rabid dogs — chipping at each other’s health with no care, no limits. Dark red and greenish white smear against the straw tatami, but that’s fine, that’s okay, they are playing, they are having fun, and Philza feels alive, alive, alive!
(The whole time, Étoiles never touches his wings. Which goes against the whole ‘nothing off the table’ thing, yet Philza is grateful for it. He’s also grateful none of the eggs are here to see this.)
Philza has no idea how long this lasts, lost in the thrill of a fight the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in decades. But eventually the doom of someone getting downed makes every muscle in his body lock up, and he’s still standing. Or, kneeling over Étoiles with his talons right above his jugular, the other hand pinning the warrior’s hands above his head to keep him from hitting back. Semantics.
Étoiles has gone limp, heaving, his body a canvas of bruises and bloody cuts. “I win,” Phil realizes, wings quivering, all fluffed up in a show of victory. “I… won.”
“Well played, well played,” his warrior wheezes out in response, and Phil’s never seen anyone so happy about getting their shit kicked. Except maybe one person. But he won, Phil won, Étoiles is down and he himself still has… yes, two hearts to spare. He has won. They can stop. Right here. Right now.
But then. Étoiles, stupid and crazy and wonderful Étoiles, tilts his head back to offer him his throat, his binary-scarred face twisted in a feral grin. Philza gasps and leans back a little, eyes wide “Take your win, my bro,” he chirps, happy as can be, tail thumping against the tatami like an overpet cat. Tap, tap, tap, the countdown to his demise if Phil doesn’t up him soon. “Do it. You won’t. No balls, no bolas.”
And those words are the last push Phil needs for his Elytrian code to take over. He bares his teeth, eyes darkening to a pitch black that eats up his entire sclera, until the white of Étoiles’ teeth gets reflected back at him — not that he can see it.
Phil’s wings spread out behind him, huge and dark and awe-inspiring even in their frayed state, and the withering aura that exudes from them paints Étoiles’ eternal night in bursts of star-speckled purples and reds and blues.
It’s beautiful. And it’s terrifying. Étoiles is about to get killed by an Angel of Death, and he’s never been so goddamn scared and excited in his life.
Phil feels insane. He’s going feral, going sicko mode, or whatever other colloquialism that means his mind is drowning in the thrill of hunt, hunt, prey, yesyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Étoiles scared before, but there’s no mistaking those too-wide eyes, that subtle tremor in his friend’s wrists as Phil’s hand tightens around them. He can smell it too, like cut grass left to decay in the hot sun, and it’s making the End’s superpredator in him go zoomies inside his skull.
He growls, low and bone-deep and dangerous, his talons pushing harder against the paling, sweat-damp skin of Étoiles’ neck. prey? flock. prey. prey? kill, eat, yesyes. Étoiles isn’t human, but he has something close to a heart, and he bleeds like one — greenish white chlorophyll that smells strong and tastes awful, bitter.
(Phil knows that, because Purgatory happened. More specifically, Bolas happened, gas masks and ritual sacrifices and fresh blood always lingering at the corner of their mouths. He misses his flock — misses all the ones that are still gone, carving cookie-cutter negative shapes in his heart — everything else about that hellscape, not so much anymore. Maybe he’s healing, just a little.)
His talons are just a hair away from perforating Étoiles’ jugular, so close to making not-quite-blood pour out like a fountain. But then he freezes, going silent, because the part of him that is still sane recognizes that this is a terrible idea.
It’s a terrible idea because Étoiles is bad at knowing when to stop, bad at spotting the line between what challenges him and what hurts him. And Philza understands that this, this is a bad. The cucumber hybrid is a creature of instants — fugue moments, rash decisions, the kind you would look back on later and go oh, yeah, that was dumb and maybe not worth it. Hence Philza has to be the responsible one, has to ignore his base instincts screeching at him to hunt, kill, kill, lest this ends badly. Like Étoiles getting mauled to death by what is supposed to be his most trusted friend. Again. (They don’t talk about that time. Just like they don’t talk about Étoiles’ betrayal, neither want to reminisce over Phil’s teeth tearing his throat out in the middle of a Hunger disaster. Not-so-fun fact: Étoiles doesn’t taste like cucumber at all.)
“Enabler,” the avian warbles, talons slowly lifting off the hollow of Étoiles’ throat. “M’not killing you.” And Étoiles, like the little shit that he is, has the gallto pout at him. “Why not?”
“Because then I’ll have to regrow your ass in my potato field for a week, you twat.” Also I think it’s not good for you, and my sanity is at an all-time low so I don’t need cold-blooded murder to push me over the edge, he adds in petto.
Étoiles blinks. Huffs out a laugh, something a little unhinged, but also a little relieved. “Ah, yeah! I forgot, because I respawned normally in Purgatory. Okay, you win.” The warrior’s smile softens to something more like him, and just like that, the tension vanishes, the buzz of fear and aggression replaced by something light and playful. Étoiles baps his hands against his chest, grabbing at his robe to tug him down into a hug.
And Philza’s hindbrain floods the rest of him with happy, happy, yesyes, because Étoiles isn’t really a touchy-feely person and neither is Phil, but this feels right. “GGs,” the crow says back, warbling and chirping like crazy, the black in his eyes receding. yesyes, mine, mine, yesyes, yesyes! And to his surprise, Étoiles responds, not with a crude imitation of his own bird sounds, but with something… different. And Phil’s not sure any word in his vocab could ever describe it accurately — but something deep within him knows that if starlight was a sound, this would certainly be it. “Oh, oh, he is so good. The GOAT, the actual GOAT, best man on the planet Philza Minecraft,” Étoiles mock-sobs against him. “He wakes up in the morning casually being the best, and he takes care of two eggs and says fuck to the president’s office from the wall, and he finally beats me. My legend, Felipe, Felipe!”
Phil shakes from the force of his hilarity — a regular occurrence whenever he hangs around his favourite pickle man for long enough. silly, he warbles between fits of belly-aching, hiccup-inducing laughter, and he leans down to nuzzle against his friend’s mess of dark green hair (leaves?). silly. silly. flock. “I do see Forever wave at me from his office sometimes,” he hums, once he’s calmed down enough to speak again. “He makes kissy faces at me through the glass, so I flip him off.”
Étoiles hums in acceptance, finally pushes Phil back to shimmy out from under him with a small héhé to lay on his back, starfish-style. Phil rolls onto his own back, and they both stare at the interlacing wooden beams of the dojo roof for a little while, basking in the fuzz of a fading adrenaline rush.
(Phil hasn’t seen his favourite Brazilian as much lately. Silly, sun, friend-protector. He probably has his hands full, what with returning to his political duties after so long. Still, Philza worries — he thinks of black tar clinging to sun-kissed skin and tired sienna eyes, above a smile that just doesn’t shine as bright as it used to.) “I kinda like it, though. It’s like our good morning. Never tell him I said that.”
“I wooooon’t, I promise.”
“Thank you. For the fights.” Philza closes his eyes. He is here, he is real, everything about this moment is so real. It’s comforting, a balm on his fraying psyche. “It was fun.”
“It was so fun. Please fight with me again like this sometime, no sticks, yes? You have to come back so I give you your black belt anyway.”
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
“I can hear you smiling, Phil. You want to, I knowww.”
“M’not smiling at all, dumbass.”
Étoiles does that high-pitched hum of his that means he’s not buying it, reaches towards his friend — his leader, his wielder, his death-touched Angel. Cool fingers, untouched by code, playfully trace over each of Philza’s features, feeling out the dimples and the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes — pun very much intended. “You’re so bad at lying, Philza,” he sing-songs, playful and content. “I know you too well. Maybe I can’t see you, but I can see you.”
And goddammit, Philza actually does feel seen in this moment, anxieties melting away for now. How does he do it. How does this reckless, thrill-seeking cucumber man with a limited (albeit pretty good, and improving) grasp on English so consistently drop the most gut-punching lines in this entire server. Étoiles is something else. “...Yeah. I see you too, mate,” Phil breathes out, and the rough texture of the tatami is starting to dig criss-cross patterns into his back, but he wants to stay like this. Just a little longer.
(Philza is damaged goods. But so is Étoiles, and so is everyone he knows. But maybe they can both pretend, for a little while.)
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waterparks // alternative press spring 2023
(full article text under the cut:)
TO THE MOON
With their new album INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY, WATERPARKS are diving deeper than ever before. The result is an exorcism of deep trauma and the sweet afterglow of catharsis.
STORY: Alessandro DeCaro • PHOTOS: Jawn Rocha • Styling: Josh Madden
Between international flights, jet lag and no days off in between, it is a miracle that Awsten Knight isn’t face down in a pile of pillows. For the past two weeks, Knight and his band Waterparks have been head down in a run of massive shows throughout the U.K. supporting British rockers You Me At Six as well as a series of intimate appearances at record stores with some of the band’s most die-hard fans. It was a landmark run for a group who have hit the road relentlessly the past year-and-a-half, with sold-out North American and European headlining tours, a top slot at the 2022 Sad Summer Festival and even a “bucket list” opening slot for My Chemical Romance. Their latest milestone? They played to 10,000 people — their largest show in the U.K. region — at London’s historic Alexandra Palace. Exhaustion should be Knight's baseline, but instead, he's as chipper as ever when he hops on Zoom back home in Los Angeles. There's only one problem. The bandleader has been on vocal rest for days leading up to this very interview.
“Dude, my voice feels so shot,” Knight confesses from his living room couch. “We did 12 performances back to back, then combined with really short cut-up sleep on the flight, 1 just feel, ugh.” Sleep deprivation aside, Knight is almost at a loss for words (not from the vocal rest) but because the experimental pop trio he formed 12 years ago have unlocked another level of fandom where new listeners are still flocking by the droves. “It turns out there are a lot of people [in this world].” Knight quips, referring to his newfound fans. But in reality, global domination doesn’t really seem too far off.
Knight barely has time to slow down. The band are set to release their fifth studio album, INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY (out April 14 via Fueled By Ramen). But the self-professed workaholic has never known any other way. “It's a really hard mentality to shake,” Knight reveals. “When we were a local band, we didn't have any family connections in the music industry, and no one cared, so you had to take on every role. Even though we are not local anymore and get to play arenas with our favorite bands, if I'm not actively doing stuff to push the music, then I don’t know if anyone else will."
In some ways, Knight fears downtime or stillness because that's when he feels like his brain will start to turn on him. He admittedly functions better when he's working on something creative, whether that’s writing a new song or simply designing streetwear for his clothing brand hii-def. “It's not necessarily the most healthy thing in the long run, but people have worse coping mechanisms,” he laughs nervously.
But Waterparks remain his main focus. The trio, which initially formed in 2011, began to truly put the pieces together the following year when Knight enlisted his now-best friends, guitarist Geoff Wigington and drummer Otto Wood, to round out the lineup. “Otto loved classic rock and bands like La Dispute and Touché Amoré, whereas Geoff was all about EDM," Knight recalls. “We all had different tastes, but at the core of it, it's guitar and drums.” Their individual musical backgrounds helped craft the genre-less sound they have now cultivated.
"THE BIGGEST REASON I didn’t want that pop-punk label is that I know exactly what we are capable of."
- AWSTEN KNIGHT
It wasn't until 2016 when Waterparks finally released their debut album, Double Dare — an intentional choice. “I always felt like if no one was looking at us, why put out a large body of work? I wanted to do cool shit as opposed to oversaturating and waiting until enough people [actually] wanted to hear it.” There is a common adage that you have your entire life to write your first record and six months to write your second, to which Knight agrees, and from there, the band began making records like clockwork.
With those albums came carefully curated eras — a moment in time with a clear aesthetic, theme and overall mission statement. While always writing music from a subversive and experimental perspective, it was when the band released both FANDOM (2019) and Greatest Hits (2021) that they began to stray from the confinement of genre and inaccurate labels. Knight himself spoke out vehemently about being boxed in by the term “pop punk. “I learned [during that time that] you can’t control everybody, and you can only frame the narrative so much,” Knight explains. “Obviously, we grew up loving and still loving blink-182, Green Day, Sum 41 and Good Charlotte, so it’s in our DNA to a degree, but I just don't want that label because it’s so synonymous with the past and what cynical dickheads or mega naysayers say is just for preteens and kids. However, the biggest reason I didn’t want that label is that I know [exactly] what we are capable of and what our output is.”
Take, for example, the breakbeat madness of the FANDOM single “Turbulent” or the distorted experimentation of “Numb” from Greatest Hits. Nothing is off the table for Waterparks. The group join a cohort of other trailblazing acts like Bring Me the Horizon and Paramore, who both successfully pivoted away from the late Warped Tour circuit in favor of mainstream appeal without losing any substance. “There's a song for everybody, and I once tweeted that anyone who doesn't like Waterparks just doesn't like Waterparks yet,” Knight says confidently.
If you have yet to be on board with the band's music, you've at the very least been entertained by — or seen — Knight's fiery social media presence.
It's undeniable that Waterparks’ meteoric rise has stemmed from the bandleader’s unofficial side hustle as a social media celebrity. And at times, his online presence can feel truly monolithic in scale, something Knight has attempted to analyze over the years in many songs, including the aptly titled “You'd Be Paranoid Too (If Everyone Was Out To Get You)" When asked if his status as an extremely online figure has influenced the band’s latest album, INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY, Knight isn't entirely sure but reveals that he has had to set boundaries nonetheless, as someone who's regularly met with constant praise and vicious internet trolls. “I try not to let it influence things too much [lately], and with therapy, I've learned that you can only control yourself. However, that doesn’t mean I'm not still vulnerable in the music that I write.”
He tackles the subject on INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY with closer "A NIGHT OUT ON EARTH" and parts of the song “RITUAL,” where he recalls when he felt things were “caving in" around him due to the pressures of constant attention. “There are people who listen to Waterparks who aren't on Twitter. and then there are those who view the band in this bubble where it's just them and the people who reply to the tweets,” Knight resigns.
But beyond the topic of social media, Knight gets admittedly “introspective” on the record. When asked to discuss the overall lyrical themes and concepts behind INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY, he takes a deep breath and delivers a warning: Things might get a little turbulent.
“There is a love story throughout the record that is expressive to and for other people, but the album itself has to do with overcoming, unlearning and growing past religious guilt,” Knight explains. “It's something that I've struggled with for a long time.” On “FUNERAL GREY," he delivers the punchy line “baptized in my spit,” which is a playful twist on a weighted subject. The theme of religious guilt doesn’t just apply to the overall lyrics of the record but also extends to the album's striking cover art, which at first glance appears to be an image of a blue frog over a red backdrop; in actuality, it possesses a much more poignant meaning.
“Frogs have always been one of my favorite animals,” Knight reflects. “However, when I learned that frogs were seen as dirty and unclean in a biblical context, it was interesting to me that something that I saw as so good, natural and beautiful could also be seen as a bad thing through a biblical lens.” In other words, the concept of shame plagued the charismatic bandleader for as long as he can remember, and INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY was the moment for Knight to finally face his trauma head-on and “come to terms with himself” once and for all. That explains why a majority of the new songs possess “hypersexualized” energy — a conscious rebellion against a conservative past. “Growing up in church, you're taught that everything is so wrong and bad. I always felt like shit, so [this album] is the breakaway from that specifically.”
By overcoming his religious guilt, Knight was able to tap into an evolved sense of self-worth that he’s since applied to his very own love life, which he details on the album's stripped-down ballad “CLOSER.” “My concept of love has changed throughout the years, and that song is about [looking at the past] and realizing that when I was younger, it was maybe more of an obsession. Now I'm taking it apart and learning more about love and the way I present the current version of myself to other people.” Inversely, there is the alt-radio-ready anthem “BRAINWASHED,” where Knight admits that he still wrestles with the idea of true love, constantly making sure that he’s not just wrapped up in the “honeymoon phase.” Knight jokes that this track and “FUCK ABOUT IT” which features a guest vocal spot from blackbear, are “polar opposites,” as the latter couldn't be further from the “hyperfixation” he details in “BRAINWASHED.," once again proving that he feels the most comfortable when inserting juxtaposition wherever he can.
"I've learned that you can ONLY CONTROL YOURSELF. However, that doesn’t mean I'm not still vulnerable in the music that I write."
- AWSTEN KNIGHT
Beyond the emotional clarity that Knight gained during the creation of INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY, it's the album's sonic risks and exploration that he is the most fired up about. Though Knight wanted the band to return to their more guitar-driven and organic roots for certain parts of the LP, much of the record ventures into eclectic territory, with hyperpop, trap, synthwave and even subtle elements of hard rock and nu metal. “RITUAL, ‘A NIGHT OUT ON EARTH, ‘REAL SUPER DARK’ and ‘ST*RFUCKER' are the craziest instrumentals we have done ever,” Knight exclaims. “I love the idea of taking something like a guitar or my voice and making it sound entirely like something else” “A NIGHT OUT ON EARTH,” however, is what Knight describes as “the biggest production flex,” and it most definitely shows. “There's fucking elephant sounds in there and weird Batman villain-sounding horns — it's evil and heavy, and not to mention, the outro is just game over,” he says.
Beyond production, Knight pushes his voice and stretches the idea of what constitutes a strong hook on INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY. With “END OF THE WATER (FEEL),” Knight is at his most “bombastic,” in a “cartoon-like” state, weaving falsetto melodies that are meant to shock. “I always make a mental note when I hear a song that makes me go…" He pauses, imitating an explosion. “For me, that's when I hear some high-ass vocals that I'm not expecting.” Even on the first day of demoing “END OF THE WATER (FEEL)” in his home studio, Knight was already so confident in the song that he called longtime producer and collaborator Zakk Cervini and “essentially” forced him to come over to his house right then to help finish it. “I also want the record to show that I had a mustache [during this time], too,” Knight laughs.
With collaboration on the brain, Knight is the first to admit that for many years, he was precious about his art and was hesitant to work with others. However, during the COVID-19 pandemic and quarantine, Knight changed his mind, which was evident on Waterparks’ previous album, Greatest Hits. This time around, Knight, who's an outspoken fan of the U.K. boy band One Direction, finally got a chance to live out one of his dreams by working with esteemed songwriter Julian Bunetta, who co-wrote beloved One Direction classics like “Olivia,” “Infinity” and “Best Song Ever,” among others. “I flew to [Julian's] place in Nashville, and we ended up making five songs together, two of them being ‘FUNERAL GREY" and ‘BRAINWASHED,” Knight recalls. And while he still plans to keep the majority of his music close to his chest long term, he won't rule anything out. Knight would undoubtedly jump at the chance to work with everyone from Post Malone and Damon Albarn to Donald Glover and Toby Keith.
"I'd rather make the coolest f*cking thing, RATHER THAN HOLD BACK and make something that wasn't that good."
-AWSTEN KNIGHT
Now, with the band's new LP incoming, there raises the question: Does Knight feel a sense of relief after both exorcising his deepest traumas and inviting listeners on his journey to self- discovery? "I still feel pressure with it," Knight concedes. “It would be a lot easier if only strangers heard this, but everyone in my whole fucking life is going to hear this album, so that's what makes it strange." But he's never let any awkwardness or controversy hinder the artistic output. "I wasn't not in trouble when I put out a song like [2018's] 'TANTRUM' where I listed a bunch of dudes I wanted to kill, calling out by name," Knight acknowledges. Though his lyrical choices have sometimes resulted in strong reactions, even within his close circle of friends, Knight can't help but accept that he is meant to be unapologetic. "At the end of the day, I'd rather make the coolest fucking thing, rather than hold back and make something that wasn't that good."
Pressures of lyrical vulnerability and transparency aside, INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY is Knight's attempt to "normalize” the catharsis he finds within songwriting, which ties into the album title itself. "Intellectual property is the mental space you give to something in your head. The 'property' may be the thing that you are struggling with. By materializing it and giving it its own world, it's actually a great way to express it and then, eventually, expel it,” he explains. "I want this album to go to the fucking moon." ALT
#whoever designed the page layout for this. i don't like you#waterparks#awsten knight#otto wood#geoff wigington#i.zip
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I always have questions about TD☺️
What are Daniel’s top 5 ftips for dealing with a overtired slightly grumpy little Max suffering from jet lag?
Oh I love this question! Eee thank you!
1. Clear his schedule. This is very important because while sometimes he can do a few zoom meetings while Max is playing with his cars in the other room, when Max is overtired he will not be on his own.
2. Make sure Max is comfy. He dresses Max in the softest and comfiest clothes, and if Max doesn’t want to wear bottoms because they’re uncomfy, then Daniel won’t force him to. Grumpy Max looks adorable sat on the sofa in just his underwear pouting up at Daniel.
3. Lots of cuddles. Perhaps the most important is physical contact, Max might be a grumpy boy but he is always desperate for affection and physical touch. Sometimes he’ll lay on Daniel’s chest grumpily telling Daniel how to hold him better, “no wrap arms tighter, no tighter, daddy hold me better” and Daniel obviously gives in and does exactly as he’s told.
4. Encouraging Max to take care of the cats. This helps a lot, because Max adores the cats and giving him that responsibility when he’s little (feeding them, and filling their water bowls, brushing them etc) really helps when he’s having an off day.
5. Plushies. Lots of plushies. Daniel makes all of them kiss Max one by one until his boy is less grumpy. Then they can all take a nap together ♥️
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3, 8, and 18 for the meta writer asks! And I hope the rest of your day goes better than the too-early morning. 💕
[Fun meta asks for writers]
Ugh, sadly it did not. Zooms that could have been emails, and all of that. ❤️
3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)
Ooooh this is an interesting question because I write so much short slice of life stuff that I do often just throw that stuff out there as little, like, mini ficlets! I have been sitting on a great joke my spouse made while watching the film where I was like "god I need to write that into a fic" but I just recently figured out what I was doing with that one, so now it's in the WIPs.
8. Is what you like to write the same as what you like to read?
Yes, but there's also stuff I like to read that I don't like to write (looking at you, anything that requires serious world-building.)
18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.
At some point after it's finished publishing we should talk about the outline @ships-to-sail wrote for the Actor AU, because it was really good and when I decided the structure of the fic needed to match Much Ado About Nothing I ended up gutting a ton of it. Luckily she loves me (allegedly)
But for now let's talk about something totally unrelated: the Schitt's Creek 50 First Dates AU and the plotline I lowkey accidentally abandoned (that shit had no outline and no plan other than, like, the film and the show) and always meant to come back to in one of the alternate POV one-shots but never quite got around to. Totally set it up and then ditched it, whoops. But basically, Ronnie was part of the volunteer rescue team that found David and Alexis after the car accident, so she was WILDLY protective of David and deeply fucking suspicious of Patrick.
I went and looked because I was sure I'd scribbled a bit of this down and I'd actually written like 500 words of Alexis' POV! So have those below the cut:
Alexis’ head hurts.
That, in and of itself, isn’t weird. Between hangovers and jet lag and being knocked on the back of the head while being kidnapped — a totally amateur move, and a sign that her kidnappers really weren’t investing properly in their henchmen — she’s more than used to waking up with a throbbing pain in her temple. What is weird is that those days are behind her. No more taking the jet to Europe because she’s bored, no more trips to the embassy to pick up a new passport and a disguise so she can get across the border. So she doesn’t know—
“Alexis?”
The voice is vaguely familiar, but she doesn’t want to open her eyes yet, sure that when she does the full ache is going to turn into something much more immediately uncomfortable.
There’s a sharp rapping sound, far too close to her ear, and she winces.
“Shit, I think she’s waking up. Alexis? Come on, open those eyes for me. You can do it.”
In the distant background, she can hear sirens, and her eyes fly open in shock.
“There you are, princess.” Despite the usual sarcastic drawl, when Alexis turns to face the window, Ronnie’s expression is full of concern. “Ambulance is nearly here. Think if we get this door open, you’re up for getting out, or do you want to wait for them?”
“David.” It’s all coming back now — the trip to Elmdale, fighting over the music, the cow. “Where’s David?” She turns to the passenger seat, ignoring the way it makes her ears ring, ignoring the pain radiating up her left arm. Her brother is slumped motionless in his seat, the window on his side of the car shattered and half the door crumpled in. There’s a huge gash across his forehead and wildly, irrationally, Alexis’ first thought is: He’s going to be so mad he can’t do his skincare routine.
“Alexis, listen to me.” She doesn’t realise until Ronnie’s voice cuts through the fog that she’s sobbing his name, and she sucks in a shuddering breath. “We don’t wanna move him until the ambulance gets here, in case he’s injured his neck or his spine. What about you? What hurts?”
“Um.” She closes her eyes, trying to concentrate on anything other than the panic clawing its way up her throat. David is so still. “Just my wrist, I think. And a headache.”
“I think you might have whacked it on the steering wheel.” Ronnie’s eyes flick up to her forehead for a moment. “You’ve got a bit of a shiner, but I think we’re okay to get you out.”
It takes Ronnie and a man she doesn’t recognise — Elm County volunteer firefighters, they tell her cheerfully — to get the driver side door of the Lincoln open. By the time Alexis is standing on the side of the road, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her now throbbing wrist tucked carefully against her body, she can see the ambulance tearing down the road towards them.
She won’t let any of them look at her until David is safely out of the car. Ronnie stands next to her the first hole time, her hand on Alexis’ shoulder far more gentle than Alexis could have guessed it would be, while they cut open the car door and strap up his neck before manoeuvring him onto a stretcher.
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I posted 4,278 times in 2022
That's 2,528 more posts than 2021!
210 posts created (5%)
4,068 posts reblogged (95%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
severedned
theroseandthebeast
ladyshinga
audikatia
ambersagen
I tagged 2,007 of my posts in 2022
#steter - 483 posts
#teen wolf - 434 posts
#steter fic - 240 posts
#steter fic rec - 232 posts
#peter hale - 120 posts
#stiles stilinski - 102 posts
#stetopher - 99 posts
#teen wolf podfic - 73 posts
#my podfic - 70 posts
#fic rec - 70 posts
Longest Tag: 139 characters
#he says ‘you don’t need to hide your dislike of him from me. it doesn’t make you a bitch or crazy or a shrew. it’s actually 100% justified’
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Tag Game
Tagged by the JR Bourne stan @exlibrisfangirl 😘
Time- 8:04 pm
Relationship Status- single
Favorite Color- To wear? Black or grey. In general? Maybe a deep green.
Favorite Food- pizza, garlic bread, pasta, steak seared in butter 🤤
Song Stuck in My Head- “Free” by Florence + the Machine
Last Thing I Googled- “my little pony cowboy hat” because I was trying to find the name of the one who wears a cowboy hat 😂 (it’s Applejack, in case you were wondering)
Dream Trip- Scotland! 🏴 I want to spend like 2 weeks there so it will take a lot of planning and arranging. Plus, for it to not be a pandemic anymore lol
Something I Want Right Now- for a new Steter or Stargent or Stetopher long fic that’s full of all the tropes I love and is well written to drop 😂 also for work to stop being so hectic 😅
Tagging: @midmorning-bomb @meggie-stardust @punchedbymarkesmith @lucky-bishop @bewarethesmirk @petersnarker @batwynn @aurevell and anyone else who is feeling it!
38 notes - Posted April 22, 2022
#4
Peter can feel how much everything has been weighing on him lately. He can see it's been affecting Stiles just as much - the slumped shoulders, the bags under his eyes, and the lag in his reaction time all tell the same story. He decides to suggest an impromptu trip away from Beacon Hills. Maybe, once Stiles realizes how great it can be away from this hellhole of a town, Peter can convince him to leave for good.
For day 2 of @steterweek!
103 notes - Posted July 25, 2022
#3
Peter has seen the drifter around town. He's heard about him bouncing around from farm to farm, lending a hand where he can for some under-the-table cash and a dry barn to sleep in for the night. Argent's been taking time out of his busy schedule of harassing Peter about selling his farm to ask probing questions about the drifter. From what Peter can piece together, Argent had a run-in with the kid and didn't seem to like the mouth on him. Peter decides to see if he can find the kid and convince him to come work for him on his farm. He can appreciate a well-timed wise-ass remark, especially when it's directed at Argent. And, well... the enemy of his enemy is his friend, right?
For day 4 of @steterweek!
145 notes - Posted July 27, 2022
#2
via aidencullen1 on IG
308 notes - Posted July 21, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
I love fics where the authors are teenagers dabbling in writing or someone who speaks English as a second language or someone who is processing something through these characters they relate to.
I love fics where the author obviously cares SO much about canon or where the author has never even seen the original work but decided to dive in anyway.
I love when fic authors try to nail the character’s exact personality and habits and speaking patterns from the original work. And I love when fic authors say, “okay, but how would this character be different if this life changing event never happened?” or “how would they be different if they grew up in this very different universe with a different societal set-up?” And I love it when fic authors pick a character trait from canon and decide to zoom in and choose to view it through a microscope for a whole fic.
I just love all the different versions of fanfic that exist for us and all of the room that they allow fic writers to play with and all the different versions they share with fic readers and allow us to explore. 🥹🥹🥹
3,532 notes - Posted April 23, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#tumblr2022#year in review#my 2022 tumblr year in review#your tumblr year in review#lol not my YIR yelling at me for not using tags all the time 😂
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Save Me
It’s impossibly dark, but it always starts out that way. Lights streak across the darkness, mesmerizing, each one its own universe. She learns quickly, and starts to illuminate as she moves through the darkness. She doesn’t know her path yet, so she follows the closest lights. Suddenly, and without warning, one flickers out. She briefly looks back and sees a small girl, curled up back in the darkness. She notices how none of the other lights go back for her. She slows and her light dims. To her relief, the girl gets back up, takes off, brighter than before, faster, but in a different direction–her own path.
She looks back ahead, the lights she was with are retreating. Did she hesitate too long? They start veering off of this path as well. She can’t tell which to follow. She looks back, remembering the other girl. Maybe she’ll also find it in herself to take off the way she did. She stumbles, and her light is immediately extinguished. In the darkness, she searches with eyes full of panic. She sees a boy, curled up, looking lost. He’s on a path, so she heads over to him. She pulls him to his feet, and together they take off, but he’s extremely hesitant. He looks at her, confused, but allows her to drag him forward.
She’s excited as their lights reignite. She thinks this must be the way. He begins to shine brighter, even though he’s lagging behind and it’s her own force pulling him ahead. She quickly finds herself exhausted. She’s focused on the path ahead, no longer looking back to encourage him. She trips, her light goes out, and he doesn’t look back as he takes off. Why would he? He was the one who tripped her. She feels guilt and shame, seeing the speed he can truly travel at–how eager he is now, and maybe he was lagging because she was interfering.
She sees another, and the optimism wells inside her once again. Maybe this time. Maybe if she helps again, she’ll figure it out. The same thing happens. She loses focus. Eventually, all she does is drag every single being she stumbles across on their path until they take off, leaving her. They always leave her. She enjoys seeing them all the same. It makes her happy, even if it does fill her with pain, to know she helped them get back at it as she becomes increasingly lost.
She learns to let them go before they decide to make her. Sometimes, in the space between reviving those lost lights, she continues the search for her own path. Each time, the desperation increases. She panics. She starts to need to help the others, because if she isn’t doing that, she’s spiraling in the darkness with nowhere to go, no reason to be. The more she helps, the more exhausted she becomes, and the bitterness increases. She stops looking for her path. She stops helping.
She curls up on the ground, in the darkness, barely noticing the lights, like stars, zooming across her vision. She remembers all the ones curled up, like she is now, that she helped. She can tell no one is coming to help her. A chill creeps up through her chest, across her collarbones. Her eyes lose the light. Her will to move is gone.
Suddenly, she’s blinded. An arm wrapped around her waist holds her close. The speed is unlike anything she’d witnessed before. Just as the darkness was about to claim her, he was there. His will felt just like hers did before. Carrying her didn’t seem to exhaust him in the slightest. Inspired, she began to move with him. The path felt…right. Her light returned. She had no urge to drag her feet or break away, she just wanted to keep up. She was saved.
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And there were other problems. Plaintiffs Cayla and Kai were second graders in Oakland when COVID-19 hit. “Between March 17, 2020, and the end of the 2019-2020 school year, their teacher held class only twice,” the complaint alleges. They and other plaintiffs reported a lack of computer equipment, broken equipment, and teachers not trained to cope with the technology or the challenges of remote learning. Plaintiff Ellori was in first grade during the 2020-2021 school year and, with 33 kids and just one teacher on Zoom, felt “isolation, abandonment and anxiety.”
Not enough has been done since the pandemic ended to assess students’ needs and help them recover lost learning, according to the lawsuit. Jordan, another plaintiff, was in elementary school in the spring of 2020 when the school closed, according to the plaintiffs.
School-age children were among those with the lowest risk of serious illness from Covid-19, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. But they suffered greatly from the restrictions to stem the spread of the virus because so many schools were closed for so long.
The average American public school student in grades 3 through 8 lost half a grade level in math achievement during the pandemic, according to Kane and his fellow researchers at Harvard, Stanford, and Dartmouth Universities. Their Education Recovery Scorecard also found a third-of-a-year drop in reading. Some students are rebounding surprisingly well, they say. But not all.
In Alabama, for example, kids in some more affluent areas have already made up for all their lost learning in math, Kane says.
The fear, say these researchers, is that some students might never catch up. Kelly says her kids are still behind in math.
Kelly says she’s trying to fill the gap and is pretty good at “1980s math” but doesn’t know how to teach the subject as it’s taught today. Black, Latino, and low-income students have traditionally lagged behind White students in academic achievement.
Kelly hopes this suit and settlement will spur the country into addressing, once and for all, the historic inequities.
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Hi, hope you know this. But I’m editing in GIMP some paint textures in CAW that were uploaded by other sim players. Just making some grass textures less saturated and darker for that faded look. when I saved and put it in my folder and used it in CAW To test the color out it is really HD and sharp like when I zoom out it gets all pixely and gives that illusion like it’s moving around. it looks really nice when zooming in like really sharp not blurry detail. But I’m wondering if there’s a requirement for saving paint textures maybe the game won’t be able to handle such high resolution textures and cause lag? Or it won’t cause anything? Cause when I exported the grass as a dds I just pressed export and allowed all the settings to remain the same. So wondering if I needed to change something so it wouldn’t be so high resolution? Sorry if this doesn’t make sense. Hope you can help!
Hi!
Mine did this too, its no problem unless you dont like the look! But you can also save as png and not DDS and try that!
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Hombres Lobo - Chapter 3
Casa Werewolf Series #3
Chapters 1 | 2
Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x Werewolf Single Mom f!Reader
Summary: Plagued by his apparent hallucination, Javi decides to check his home's security cameras to find out the truth
Warnings: language, health anxiety, parental fear/anxiety/panic, discussion of deceased spouse/parent, horny thoughts
Words: 3.5k
Around the same time you’re awake panicking about video cameras catching Astrid’s transformation, Javi’s slipping on his silk dragon-patterned robe and slippers. He also can’t sleep.
As he shuffles down to his home office, he replays the memory that’s been plaguing him. He was standing at the intercom when Astrid yelled. He looked at her. She was just a little girl struggling to keep up with her siblings. But suddenly she was a dog.
For most of the evening, Javi had brushed the incident off as encroaching heat stroke, like you’d said. But then he’d realized that he’d barely been outside before it happened. And he’d had none of the other symptoms.
The problem was, kids don’t turn into dogs, so it has to have been a hallucination, right? But if it wasn’t heat stroke that caused it, then what if it was another medical condition? What if it was a tumor?!
He worked himself into a tizzy googling “symptoms of a brain tumor” and “hallucinations and fainting”. It was when he’d decided he’d rather live in a world where children turn into dogs than a world where he has a tumor that it occurred to him: the security cameras by that part of the house would have recorded what happened. Then, he’ll know for sure what to panic about.
Once he’s logged onto the camera application on his laptop, he drags the window to his massive external monitor. He finds the approximate time he was watching the kids play soccer. It’s a wide angle lens that captures much of the grassy lawn. He zooms in on Astrid.
She’s lagging further behind Bo and Tallulah, little face growing pinched with distress. “Hey, wait for me!” There’s a brief pause in her movements, the odd blur to her features that he remembers, and—BAM—a white and grey puppy with patches of brown.
SHE’S A FUCKING PUPPY.
Javi pauses the video, staring at the canid face. Now that he’s seeing it closer, she looks a lot like a wolf. Probably why he thought she was a uniquely colored German Shepherd. Zooming in even closer on her raised front foot, he notices that it doesn’t look quite like a dog’s paw. The toes are more like clawed fingers.
Suddenly, he’s feeling woozy again. No, he’s not going to pass out again!
He gives himself a sharp smack on his cheek. It stings enough to bring his blood pressure back up and the vertigo begins to subside.
After taking a couple of steadying breaths, he pushes play. Astrid is galloping gleefully through the grass. “Astrid, no!” you shriek off-camera.
From this point on, the scene is new to Javi. Bo and Tallulah have stopped running, staring in horror at Puppy Astrid, who freezes in place. You rush into view, grabbing her off the ground and then hiding her with her discarded clothes.
Javi pauses the video again, the shock easing enough that he’s beginning to register other things. Foremost is the fear on your face. Whatever makes it possible for Astrid to change into a dog, no one is ever supposed to find out about it outside of your family. And you’re terrified he saw what had happened.
Without hesitation, he selects the recorded footage from about a minute before Astrid changed forms to about a minute after Tallulah rushes her inside. Then, he deletes it. Not only does he delete it, but he makes sure that every single copy in the cloud or on backup hard drives is deleted. There is no fucking way anyone else will see what he saw.
Something else tickles his memory. Bo had said he “dug under the fence.” At the time, that’d seemed like hyperbole, but if he, too, can turn into a dog, then it’s more than possible.
Quickly, Javi begins a feverish search through the footage around the time Bo had been brought to the house. He’s trying to find a spot where there’s a hole by one of the fences. When he does, he rewinds until he recognizes Bo running away from it and into the main part of the property.
More rewinding until he reaches the place just before dirt started to fly on the inside of the fence. He hits play. A small hole is quickly being dug from underneath and, soon, out pops a puppy that looks similar to Astrid. He’s dragging a backpack in his mouth.
A few meters away from the hole, he drops the backpack and, in a split second, has turned into a human. Hastily, Bo opens the backpack and pulls out his clothes to dress himself. Then, he throws the backpack over one shoulder and bolts out of sight of that camera.
Javi makes quick work of deleting the footage from that camera and another from the same time but on the other side of the fence. He wipes it all from every single place possible and prays that those are the only two instances of the kids turning into dogs that were caught on film.
Thank god he decided to come and check before Placido or someone else from the security detail had reason to look at that footage.
There’s no way he’s going to go back to sleep, so he heads to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. After filling the stainless steel espresso maker with water and ground espresso, he sets it on the stovetop to boil.
His brain is trying to comprehend exactly what he just witnessed—and participated in keeping a secret. The only story he knows of people turning into dogs are werewolves. And, even if werewolves exist, don’t they need a full moon to transform? Not only is it not the full moon yet, but the moon hadn’t risen yet.
Chuckling wryly, Javi throws himself into a kitchen chair. Why is he trying to put supernatural folklore rules onto a couple of kids who can literally become dogs? Do any rules of the universe apply anymore?
Your exhausted, panicked face rises up in his mind again. This is something you live with every single day. Every minute, probably.
Wait, are you also a werewolf? Is it genetic? Or were Bo and Astrid attacked by one? He has so many questions, but something tells him he shouldn’t contact you again. He’s sure that you feel very exposed after what happened, and him reaching out, even in friendship, would only result in you feeling backed into a corner.
Realizing the coffee has stopped boiling, he gets to his feet and goes to grab an espresso cup from the cupboard.
Disappointment washes over him. All he wants is to see you again.
Your quiet fierceness and deep tenderness have awakened something in him. Sure, you lied about why he fainted, but he can’t blame you for that. And you stayed with him to make sure he was okay instead of leaving, even when it might have been a wiser choice.
“What are you doing up, Javi?” Nina’s question startles him and he whirls around. She’s smiling with mild concern.
He glances at the clock on the wall and sees it’s a little after 6:00. “Do you get here this early every day?” What did he pay her? Whatever it was, was not enough to be at work at this godawful hour of the morning.
She chuckles, grabbing her apron off the hook on the wall. “Only the ones I work. Why are you awake?”
Javi shrugs, finally grabbing the cup and going to pour himself coffee. “Just restless. You want any?”
“Please. This restlessness wouldn’t have anything to do with that pretty mother who you had for supper last night, would it?” The wrinkles around Nina’s eyes deepen with a knowing smile.
Pouring the two cups of coffee, he sighs. “Her life is a bit too complicated to add me into it.”
She hums sympathetically, taking the cup he offers her. “That’s a shame. It was nice to hear the sounds of children and laughter in this house.”
“Are you trying to make me feel worse?” he grumps.
With a smirk, Nina takes a sip. “No. Just trying to make you decide if it’s worth figuring out a way you might fit into her complicated life.”
Nina’s challenge sticks with Javi through his breakfast and morning target practice in his private gun range.
Assuming you are interested in men—specifically him—what could he offer you to make you feel like he’ll add to your life instead of make it harder? Love, partnership, a father to your children, financial security, and a safe home. A very safe home with a lot of private land that werewolves could run around on. Most of it doesn’t even have security cameras.
The problem still is, though, convincing you to consider adding someone else into your circle. He has to start slow. Certainly not with “I know at least two of your kids are werewolves. How about a date?”
Maybe with a text later asking how the meeting with Bo’s principal went. Yes, concerned, friendly, something he’s genuinely wondering about. Then, after a few days of texting, he could ask you out for coffee. Short, simple, no pressure.
He’s crafting the exact text in his brain as he puts away his pistol when his head housekeeper, Reina, enters, looking nervous like she always does when she comes into the range.
After he removes his ear muffs, she says, “The woman who visited with her children yesterday is here. She says she lost an earring.”
Heart jumping excitedly, Javi grins. A missing earring might be even better than a text. “Set her up with some food in the entertainment room. I’ll be right there.”
Reina nods and leaves.
Javi zips to the nearest powder room to clean his hands and make sure his hair has just the right amount of playful bounce to it. Then, he goes to the entertainment room.
“Morning!” he beams, seeing you staring around at the ceiling of the room while Reina sets a tray of juice, coffee, toast, butter, and jam on the sideboard.
You turn quickly and he’s immediately concerned by your exhausted, slightly wild eyes. Something’s wrong. “Thank you, Reina,” he says dismissively before you can speak. He wants privacy.
“Call if you need anything else.” Her gaze is also on you with a slight frown. Then, she exits the room and softly closes the large doors.
“I, uh, lost my earring yesterday. I can’t find it in here. Could we look outside?” Your fingers clasp and unclasp your purse handle anxiously.
“Of course. Have you eaten breakfast yet?” It was barely 8:00 A.M. Honestly, now that he thought about it, it was very strange that you’d come this early to find an earring, no matter how sentimental or valuable. You could have texted or called him.
“I don’t need anything, thank you.” Suddenly, the anxiety on your face deepens. You walk to the other side of the room where the bathroom is, head tilted up towards the ceiling.
Javi can tell this isn’t about an earring, but it’s obvious you’re looking for something. He decides to go along for the moment, hoping that he can gain your trust enough to learn what the actual problem is.
“After you check the bathroom, we can go outside. And look around the other areas of the house you were in, too,” he says lightly.
You abruptly face him again, swallowing hard. “Thank you,” you repeat.
As he leads you out, he notes that you continue to look all around you. When you two arrive on the patio and your gaze goes to the walls and roof, your expression contorts like you’ve been punched in the stomach.
The camera. You’d thought about the security cameras and had come to see if any had caught what happened.
Wrapping your arms tightly around yourself, your breathing grows ragged. You quickly turn away from him, lacking the ability to control your expression.
He steps around you so he’s facing you again and, not knowing what else to do, whispers, “I deleted all the footage of Astrid and Bo so no one else can ever find out.”
When your gaze snaps to his, he sees that your eyes have turned a brilliant shade of amber. That answers his question about you being a werewolf. Maybe he should feel afraid, but the tears in your eyes only cause tenderness to fill him.
You choke out, “You did? Really?”
He gently touches your arm. “I can show you if it’ll make you feel better.”
You nod vigorously.
“Your eyes are yellow. There are only cameras outside the house, but staff will see be around. Keep your head lowered until we get to my office,” he murmurs, his hand remaining on your arm to guide you back inside.
Thankfully, you don’t run into anyone on the way. Once in the office, he shuts and locks the door. Then, he gestures at his desk chair for you to sit. You shake your head, hunched in on yourself, eyes still a deep yellow.
Javi sits in the chair instead, quickly logging in and returning to the security camera app. Starting with Astrid’s incident, he pulls up the date, time and location for the back lawn. That time is filled with a black screen that says 'MISSING'.
“Gone on here and on all my drives.” He pulls up each drive he has and the cloud back-up system to show the same black screen at that time and local.
You’re just staring at the monitor without speaking, so he decides to keep going.
“Bo dug under the fence. I found where and deleted it the same.” Once again, he shows you the blank spot in the app and in the back-ups. “I know there’s no way to prove I don’t have copies elsewhere, but I give you my word there aren’t.”
When he turns back to you, he finds you’re staring at him now with a rawness that makes his chest ache. “You’re really not going to tell anyone?”
“Absolutely not!” he says vehemently. “You and your family are safe with me. I will never let anyone or anything harm any of you if I can help it, especially because of that secret.”
The tears finally slip down your cheeks as you begin trembling. You open your mouth, trying to speak, but nothing comes out.
Javi responds instinctively, jumping up from the chair to shepherd you to the sofa. He grabs a throw blanket to wrap around you. “I cannot imagine how frightening it must have been thinking about the cameras.”
You close your eyes, still not saying anything, but one of your hands finds his and you squeeze his fingers. That touch is like an electrical current through his body, making his heart race and his blood sing.
It’s a rare moment where he’s unable to find words, so the two of you sit in silence. You’re still shaking, so he uses his free hand to tuck the blanket more tightly around you.
Finally, you look at him. Your irises are back to their beautiful, normal color. “Once again, ‘thank you’ isn’t enough.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” he says earnestly. “Any person that would abuse your secret is the lowest scum of the earth, in my opinion.”
You chuckle ruefully, removing your fingers from his to wipe your face. “I’ve spent my life trying to make sure I never have to find out. I guess I’m fortunate that, the one time I failed, it was someone like you.”
No wonder you look so fucking tired, trying to keep three young children and yourself safe. “That sounds… exhausting.”
Shrugging, you hug the edges of the blanket to your chest. Your trembling has eased. “It’s been that way my whole life. I don’t know anything else.” Then, the wry smile comes back. “My lie about heat stroke didn’t work, huh?”
“It worked until about midnight when I went to bed and realized I didn’t have any of the other symptoms. Then, I was sure I had a brain tumor.”
You groan, but your lips have widened into a genuine smile. “Sorry about that.”
He waves it off. “If I hadn’t needed to find out for myself if it was real or a hallucination, I’d never have looked at the footage.”
“You’ve probably got a lot of questions.”
Javi’s desperate for answers, but he’s not about to push you. “I don’t have to have an explanation.”
You actually grin at him. “Saying that almost killed you, I can tell.”
Damn him and his open face! It’s why he’s always lost at poker, as his brother constantly reminds him.
“The least I can do is share a bit about what you’re hiding,” you continue. “My children and I are werewolves. Hombre lobos as you call them in Spanish.”
So, he’d been right. Honestly, he’s not sure how to feel about it. Right now, he’s so honored you’re sharing with him that anything else is being pushed to the side.
“After my husband passed a few years ago, we moved here to get a fresh start.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” he says softly. He’s not put off by your widowhood, but he will need to get a better feel for if you’re in a place to want a new relationship before going forward.
“It’s been a hard time, but I finally feel like me and the kids are stable again. We love the sun and the sea. And the cost of living is a good match for my income.“
That makes him wonder how your financial situation is. You’re a single parent with three little kids who are werewolves. Do they need to eat more? Do they grow faster? Bo and Tallulah certainly are big for their age. And what are your needs? Are they being met?
“It’s not perfect, there’s not a lot of space or privacy for us to run around. And hunting on the full moon has been reduced to buying a bunch of meat and eating it in our apartment. Not exactly a great way to teach my kids to hunt, but better than risking being seen.”
“So, wait. You do turn during the full moon? But it’s not one right now, so how did Bo and Astrid turn into wolves?”
“Lycanthropy is genetic. We each have a Wolf inside us. We are ruled by the moon, but not exactly in the way the stories say.”
Javi’s eyes are glued to your face, completely wrapped up in this new layer of the world he’s learning about.
“I’m in constant communication with my Wolf except during the new moon. During those few days, I’m almost completely human because she’s sleeping. Then, as the moon swells towards full, I have access to her and her power, which includes increased speed, strength, healing abilities, enhanced senses, and, of course, letting her take over our body. The shift.”
“And Astrid and Bo can do this?”
“And Tallulah. By the moon is a waxing gibbous, the Wolf has much more control. We’re very in touch with our primality during those days.”
An intense desire for you to get primal with Javi takes over his brain. He remembers how your fingers felt in his hair when checking for head injuries. And how strong you were when you pulled him to his feet. What else can you do?
No, now is not the time to think about that!
“Then, on the three nights of the full moon, the Wolf is in full control. When the moon rises, our human side goes into rest mode and the animal is out until it sets. We can’t stop it any more than we can bring forth the Wolf during the new moon.”
“Are you separate beings or the same?”
You smile. “We’re the same soul. Think of it as if your most pure instincts had their own voice and face. You’re still you, but you’re more aware of them and how they influence you.”
The grandfather clock in a nearby hallway begins to chine. You pause, listening to it. When it hits its ninth and final chime, your eyes widen in alarm.
“Shit!” You jump up. “I completely forgot about my meeting with Bo’s principal. I’m already late, I have to go. Thank you again. And… I’m sorry for getting you involved in this.”
Also standing, Javi says earnestly, “I’m not.”
There’s a beat as you seem to weigh his words. Then, something about you opens up, as if he’s been allowed to pass through a fence you keep around yourself. “Would you like to join us for supper tonight? A way of showing my gratitude? I know the kids would love to see you again, too.”
His heart somersaults excitedly. You want to make him food? And the kids would like to see him again? “I would love that!”
You pick up your purse, smiling. “I’ll text you our address and a time as soon as I get out of the meeting.”
After you’ve left, Javi collapses onto the bench in the entryway, head whirling and spirits soaring. You’re a werewolf, and, more importantly, you’ve invited him to supper!
- - -
Thank you SO much for reading this story; I’d love to hear your thoughts! 🥰
Spanish Translations/Notes:
hombre lobo - werewolf/wolf-man
Javi Gutierrez Masterlist
Werewolf Masterlist
#javi gutierrez#javi gutierrez x reader#javi g#javi g x reader#tuwomt fan fic#the unbearable weight of massive talent fan fic#the unbearable weight of massive talent#werewolf au#werewolf fan fic#werewolf reader#were!reader#casa werewolf series
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zoom shenanigans - l.dh
✩ haechan x fem!reader | boyfriend!haechan | smut | 1.6k+ words ✩
SUMMARY ⇾ you don’t quite know how hyuck convinced you to sit on him while in a class zoom call
WARNINGS ⇾ exhibitionism, unprotected sex, dom!sub themes, asphyxiation, edging/overstimulation, spitting, slight humiliation, degradation (use of words such as whore, slut etc.), dumbification, slight dacryphylia, salirophilia, dirty talk - basically pure and absolute filth!
AUTHOR’S NOTES ⇾ i couldn’t stop thinking about this throughout the entirety of my online classes today, so i just had to write about it to get it off my chest. i am an absolute slut when it comes to dom!hyuck, so this is just self-indulgence really. enjoy! not proofread so please message if there’s any errors, or anything missing from the warning list! - lex
You don’t quite know how Hyuck convinced you to sit on him while in a class zoom call.
He’d driven you insane. You’d been sat on his cock since the start of your lesson, for which your teacher, thank God, had decided that cameras did not need to be on. The class only lasted an hour, with you sitting on his lap in his gaming chair because ‘your desk chair just isn’t comfy enough, Y/N’, according to him anyway. You thought your desk chair was perfectly comfy, but he insisted. 60 minutes doesn’t seem all that long in the grand scheme of things, but with a boyfriend as evil as Donghyuck, of course he knew just how to make that hour feel like an eternity, teasing you relentlessly throughout. His lips brushing against your ear as you tried your hardest to complete the set work, whispering unspeakable promises into your ear and sending dark shivers down your spine. Though you couldn’t see his face, you knew the exact expression that was plastered on his face as his wandering hands roamed your body, squeezing and pinching all the spots that he knew would have you squirming in his hold. By far, the most infuriating thing he would do, though, was to snake his hand around your body whenever you had to turn your microphone on, fingers rubbing your clit in circles that had you biting back loud and sensual moans, managing to suppress the noises down to sighs which, as a University student, were not all that uncommon to hear.
It’s when the time hits 11:50am, exactly 10 minutes before the end of the lesson (you know because you began checking it, what seemed like, every few seconds, sensing his growing impatience), that his self-control evaporates. With a raspy grunt, his hand wraps around your neck and he thrusts up into you, hard, fast and rough. You gasp, face contorting in pleasure at the sudden movements which have you crying out and grasping at the desk in front of you in order to stay upright. You whine as his grip on your neck tightens, pulling you back towards his chest in one, swift movement. A yelp escapes your lips, now blindly grabbing at the armrests on either side of the chair in order to stop your legs from giving out. Not that you’d go anywhere, Hyuck’s rigid grip on you made sure of that. His hot breath against the back of your neck caused goosebumps to form on your exposed skin, a shudder going through your body at the overwhelming amount of pleasure. His hand on your neck pushes your jaw backwards, the back of your head resting on his shoulder as he looks down at your flushed face, tears of pleasure collecting at the corners of your wide and innocent eyes, perfect pink lips parted so beautifully, not to mention the dream-worthy sounds escaping them. How could he have ended up with such a perfect little girl? His hand moves for only a split second from your neck, squeezing your cheeks together in order to open your mouth. He spits harshly into your now open mouth, pressing your cheeks shut again afterwards. You let out a sudden and uncontrollable moan at the sound of him doing such a filthy thing, feeling his spit hit your tongue forcefully. You know what he wants. You close your mouth and swallow, his hand creeping back down towards your neck as you show him your empty mouth.
“That’s my good girl.” He rasps, giving a tight squeeze to your neck once more.
With your eyes squeezed so tightly shut, you almost forget that you’re supposed to be listening to your Biomedical Sciences lecturer drone on about Haematology and Transfusion. Almost.
“Right, now that’s done, everyone turn your cameras on for this last task. We’re going to be going through the homework assignment that I set for you all last week, don’t think you can get away without speaking either! I’m gonna be asking you all questions about the task.” His words barely register in your mind, your head fuzzy and body shaking at the feeling of your boyfriend rearranging your insides so delectably. After a few moments, his words seem to sink in and your eyes shoot open, urgently whispering Hyuck’s name. There was no way you could turn on your camera, you’d have to lie. I dropped my laptop; my WiFi is lagging; my room is a mess. A thousand ways to excuse yourself ran through your mind, albeit at a much slower pace than usual. You could only focus so much through the feeling of Haechan fucking into you so hard and fast. Your desperate whines of his name are interrupted as he hums into your ear, not slowing his hips or showing any sign of stopping. If anything, it becomes even harder to think at his words.
“We both know that’s not what you call me when I’m fucking you, baby.” He growls into your ear, pounding into you with even more force, rendering you barely capable of thinking, let alone talking. Your walls clench tightly around his hard cock, a string of curses escaping your boyfriend’s pink lips as he grunts loudly at the feeling.
“M-my professor s-said-” You start, barely able to string a sentence together.
“I heard what your professor said, baby. Turn on your camera. Show your entire class how much of a filthy little slut you are for me. Show them how this perfect A* student cums all over my dick, huh? You’d like that wouldn’t you? Everyone seeing the perfect little teachers pet coming all over her boyfriends cock during her class? Everyone seeing how fucking dumb you get for my dick?” You bite your lip, holding back a scream. You can’t, however, stop a broken whimper from escaping you.
“Fuck! Yes, yes, yes, yes! Please, oh my God!” The hand that isn’t clutching your neck so tightly moves downwards, fingers brushing your clit so delicately.
“Please... Please what, slut?” He spits, tears now leaking down your face, chest shaking as you hold in overwhelmed sobs.
“Please Daddy!” You cry out, mascara beginning to smudge as you clench your eyes shut so tightly. You no longer care about your waiting professor, you no longer care about the entire class, it’s only Haechan. He is all you can feel and think.
“Y/N, we’re waiting on you to turn your camera on...” Your professor presses, but you don’t even hear him. It’s only when your boyfriend stops all of his movement, hand slipping away from your throat, reaching down and reclining his gaming chair into a laying position, that you realise what he wants.
“No, no, no. Please, Hyuckie!” You whine, head spinning at the loss of movement. He’s laying practically flat now, out of view of the camera. You try to move, rolling your hips atop his dick but his fingers dig into your hips hard, almost painfully, as he holds you in place, smirking up at your shaking figure with mirth.
“Go on, baby. Turn on your camera.” He warns, fingers digging even harder into your hips. You send him an exasperated look, to which he gives you the look. You know what that means. ‘Do as I fucking say, or you’ll regret it’.
Your shaky hands reach over to the laptop, clicking the camera button as you let out an uneven breath. After a few seconds, your face appears on the screen. Your eyes widen. What your boyfriend had failed to inform you, was that your face was flushed and sweaty, mascara smudging your cheeks in obvious tear streaks, a drop of his spit glittering as it sat upon your chin. You wiped your face on your sleeve as soon as you catch sight of yourself, moving forward to pretend to be sorting a non-existing wire behind your screen as you try to make yourself look more presentable. As you do so, you hear his voice whisper.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you called me just then and don’t think you’re getting away with it. ‘Hyuckie’ doesn’t fuck you the way Daddy does.” His low tone causes you to clench around him, taking a deep breath at his teasing words. He scoffs at your silence, squeezing your ass, hard, so that you let out a small whimper. He hums in satisfaction as you plaster an obviously fake smile onto your face before leaning back, clicking on the unmute button for only a moment before abruptly turning it off again, barely having finished your sentence, as Haechan’s rock hard dick twitches inside your sensitive pussy.
“Sorry, Professor. I had tech issues.”
✩ ✩ ✩
Those last 8 minutes of class felt like an eternity, and your boyfriend made sure of that. You thought you’d done a pretty good job at hiding it, though. Not one person gave you a funny or disgusted look as you answered the Professor’s questions and kept a small, albeit forced, smile on your face. You couldn’t help but feel a twisted form of pride at your ability to pretend as though nothing was happening as you sat atop of Hyuck’s dick, enduring his endless verbal and physical teasing throughout.
It wasn’t until after the two of you were finished, long after the class had done so, that your boyfriend checked his phone
“Y/N...” You heard him call from the bathroom. You couldn’t find the energy to move, simply humming in acknowledgement at his hesitant-sounding call. He enters the bedroom in all his naked glory, carrying a small, wet cloth in order to clean you up in one hand, his phone in the other. Your eyes trace his naked body, focusing on the smooth, tanned skin. He really was a sight for sore eyes, somebody that you could never get tired of looking at. You’re disrupted from staring at his body when he holds his phone out in front of your face. You reluctantly tear your eyes from his torso, focusing in on the brightly lit screen, squinting slightly to read the text upon it.
“
MESSAGES
Jaemin
fucking your gf during her zoom class, nice one bro. though, you might wanna make sure that you actually hang up next time. the whole class was still there, apart from the prof. not that they’re complaining, i saw their faces. they’re gonna be getting off to that for the entirety of lockdown, i swear!
“
Needless to say, nobody in class called you the Teacher’s Pet anymore.
✩ ✩ ✩
#haechan#donghyuck#nct smut#nct#kpop smut#haechan smut#nct 127#smut#leehaechan#leedonghyuck#donghyuck smut#kpop imagine#nct imagine#nct 127 imagine#nct dream#nct dream smut#nct dream imagine#nct 127 smut
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Go-Karting w/ the boys
Baji
-Baji is constantly trying to sabotage you, like his main objective is legit to make you lose.
-He’s swerving his wheel so his kart can run straight into yours, he’s riding your bumper so he’ll crash into you the moment you slow down, and if he’s in front of you he’ll block you every time you attempt to pass him.
-His hair is flying everywhere in the wind, and even though it’s covering his face, you still get a glimpse of him smirking at you with his tongue stuck out.
-And despite Baji literally praying on your downfall, you still have so much fun together, especially when you start to get him back. Baji would be so caught off guard that you managed to match his energy, but his shock would quickly turn into determination as he chases after you.
-The two of you are laughing your hearts out for the rest of the race, your bodies be thrown everywhere in your karts as you both slam wildly into each other.
Draken
-Draken is surprisingly very skilled when It comes to go-karting.
-He’s most likely the one in first place way ahead of everyone else. He zoomed off as soon as the whistle went off and left everyone including you in a cloud of dust.
-Draken has a ginormous smile plastered across his face as he turns his wheel excitedly, his braid flowing in all types of directions.
-He finally honks his horn and turns his head to the side just to see you still lagging behind him.
- “What’s the matter, y/n? Can’t catch up to me, huh?” He taunts with a deep laugh following after and you roll your eyes, pressing your foot against the pedal harder than before.
-Yeah, Draken does a lot of teasing as well so be prepared for that.
-It’s honestly no surprise that he ends up winning the race. And when you do finally reach him, he insists on racing again and this time he’ll “go easy on you”.
-You definitely make him eat his words.
Mikey
-Is the person in last place.
-It would be just his luck to get an old, rusty kart. Mikey would literally have his foot pressed against the pedal, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, and such a serious expression across his face... only to be going 5 mph.
-Screams for you guys to wait for him but you’re already too far ahead to hear him calling your name.
-When you do finally notice that Mikey is no where to be found, you turn around in your seat to see him struggling to make a turn, swearing angrily at the kart to move faster than it is.
-His kart also makes this really loud noise as he goes and you have to stifle your laughter at how dramatic the whole thing was. Mikey is so annoyed and half way through the race would throw his head back with a loud sigh leaving his lips.
-By the time Mikey does finally catch up, everyone is already done racing and is trying not to laugh at the way his kart is jerking when pulling up to the finish line.
-Glares at you for thinking this was funny and demands to have a rematch.
Chifuyu
-Instead of getting individual ones, you and Chifuyu got a two seater so you both could ride in the same kart. Everyone rolled their eyes once they saw you squeezed beside each other in the seat, but they also could admit that you two did look sort of cute together.
-Chifuyu is the one driving of course. He’s super focused too and you guys are doing pretty good, it’s just the only problem you have is the fact that Chifuyu is a terrible driver.
-You realized early on that Chifuyu also got a bad kart like Mikey, only it was mainly the steering wheel causing trouble for the both of you.
-Chifuyu keeps running into obstacles and the barriers because he can’t control the kart, and if he does happen to brake, he brakes so hard that your body jolts forward without warning.
-You legit get whiplash sitting next to him.
-But that doesn’t matter because you can’t stop yourself from cackling at how much your body is being thrown around, as well as how much fun you’re having.
-Chifuyu looks at you from the corner of his eye and is so happy to see you smiling while trying to brace yourself from the impact of his next turn. And he’ll end up slowly pressing his foot against the gas, screaming at the top of his lungs with you latched on his shoulder as your kart zooms down the course.
#Tokyo Revengers#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers headcanons#tokyorev#tokyorev x reader#mikey tokyo revengers#mikey x reader#manjiro#manjiro sano#manjiro x reader#manjiro sano x reader#Draken#draken x reader#ryuguji ken x reader#ken ryuuguji x reader#ken ryuguji x reader#draken tokyo revengers#Baji#baji x reader#keisuke baji x reader#baji keisuke x reader#baji tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers baji#chifuyu#tokyo revengers chifuyu#chifuyu x reader#chifuyu headcanons#chifuyu matsuno#chifuyu matsuno x reader
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c’est magnifique — oliver wood
pairing: oliver wood x female!reader
prompt: when reader doesn’t get into the slytherin quidditch team because of one marcus flint, her boyfriend decides to take matters into his own hands.
a/n: online classes r finally OVER!! i'll be able to work on you guys’ reqs now hehe
Marcus Flint—Slytherin's Quidditch team captain—is, for lack of a better word, an absolute prick, and [Y/N] is having absolutely none of it.
"That's rubbish!" she says incredulously, her hands throwing themselves in the air out of pure frustration. "You know as well as I do that I played better than Malfoy, and now you're telling me that he got on the team and I barely did? As a reserve?"
Flint rolls his eyes. "But you didn't give the team brand new brooms—Malfoy did." His sneer contorts into a sympathetic simper as he claps her on the shoulder; [Y/N] recoils, glaring daggers at him. "Try out again next time when you actually have something to offer. Until then.. you'd be better off watching in the stands."
"Something to offer?" she repeats, mouth actually falling open in blatant disbelief. "I've got more to 'offer' than Malfoy ever will! Actual Quidditch skills, for one, and Malfoy can barely even stay on his bloody broomstick!"
"Which, mind you, is an expensive broomstick—the same one the rest of the team has, all because of good old Lucius." Flint nods ostentatiously, like he thinks leeching off of the Malfoys' money is something to be proud of. [Y/N]'s brows are knitted together in pure incredulity as she stares up at him, shaking her head in disbelief. "So cry me a river and be on your merry way. I've got class to go to."
[Y/N] seethes through her teeth and wonders what the consequences of punching someone in a middle of a busy hallway would be. Detention, that was for sure, but what kind?
Staring up at Flint, [Y/N] realizes that she hardly cares what kind of detention she'll be receiving as long as she can put him in his place.
"I could hit you right now."
"Oh, yeah?"
She takes a step closer to him, egged on by the white-hot anger clouding her better judgment. "You don't think I can?"
"Please. You can barely even reach me without tip-toeing." Flint lets out a deprecating laugh and reaches out to shove her by the shoulder—
Whack!
There's a sickening crunch as the sound of a fist colliding with someone's jaw cuts through the air. Flint falls to the ground, groaning in pain.
But [Y/N] hasn't even as much as raised her arm. Her eyes are wide as she watches Oliver Wood—the perpetrator—pull Flint to his feet, wrenching him up by the collar and almost tearing it off his robes. She gapes as he pushes Flint up to the wall and, with the angriest glare [Y/N] has ever seen him wear, Oliver hisses through his teeth, "Stay away from her, you foul git."
Flint's eyes are wide with fear, but then his eyes dart around the hallway to see the countless students who have stopped in their tracks to witness the scene unfold. Hogwarts students, it seems, won't pass up a chance for some good gossip—which is exactly what this is: Oliver Wood defending his girlfriend against the pompous Marcus Flint.
Flint hangs onto what little pride he has left and fixes his face into a sneer, smacking Wood's hand away. "Whatever," he grumbles, shoving past him to stalk off down the hallway.
[Y/N] is still very much riled up, but her concern wins over her anger and she rushes to Oliver, quickly grabbing the hand he'd used to punch Flint and skimming her thumb over his knuckles. "Oliver," she sighs, frowning, her tone almost reprimanding. A bruise is already forming on his hand; he winces when she accidentally presses down on it. "You didn't have to do that," she mutters, glancing up at him, and despite her words, she can't help the rush of gratitude surging through her.
Oliver is glaring after Flint's retreating figure, jaw set and his gaze angry. But at [Y/N]'s words, his eyes soften and he looks down at her, pulling his hand away. "Bloody arsehole deserved it," he glowers, and then his voice goes gentle as he grips her shoulders and asks, "Are you alright? He didn't hit you, did he?"
[Y/N] shakes her head. Most of her initial anger is already fading away—an effect that Oliver always has on her—and, her tone slightly playful, she says pointedly, "I was about to hit him, though, until you stepped in."
Oliver sighs, an exasperated smile resting on his lips as he pulls her into him and presses a kiss to her forehead.
—
"You want us to what?"
Oliver stares at the Weasley twins resolutely over the Gryffindor table. "Put sleeping draught in his drink or something, I don't know. You lot know a great deal more about the—er—methods.. than I do. Just make sure Malfoy won't be able to play in the match next week."
Fred and George share a meaningful look. A moment later, the pair of them are breaking out into identical mischievous grins. "We thought you'd never ask!" beams Fred, eyes gleaming in a way that suggests he's been waiting for this moment his entire life.
"Those Slytherbins have been playing far too dirty for too long—it's time we retaliate," says George through a bite of toast, nodding earnestly. Leaning forward, he asks, “Mind telling us why, though?”
“Yeah, we’d like to know why exactly we’re doing your dirty work.”
“And why you’ve turned to evil ways instead of fair play.”
Oliver shrugs casually, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. It’s at that moment that he catches eye of a certain someone entering the Great Hall. It’s [Y/N], and her gaze meets his immediately; her lips break out into a grin and she strides towards where he’s sitting on the Gryffindor table with the twins.
”Good morning, girlfriend,” Oliver grins, standing up to greet her with a chaste kiss.
“Morning, love."
“Ah, young love,” gushes Fred, propping his chin on his palm.
“C’est magnifique,” says George. “Hey, [Y/N], did you get into the Slytherin team?”
”Yeah, what position did you try out for again?”
[Y/N] unwinds her arms from Oliver’s middle to turn to the twins. “Seeker,” she answers, swiftly grabbing a piece of buttered toast from the table. “And I got in the team—“
”You did?“ George cuts her off, puzzled. “But I thought Malfoy—“
“As a reserve,” continues [Y/N], visibly deflating, the expression on her face souring as she takes a bite of toast. "But it's alright. I got in the team nonetheless. Let's just hope Malfoy gravely injures himself and won't be able to play—kidding, of course," she adds smoothly, but the angry way she's chewing her toast suggests that maybe she isn't entirely joking.
Fred and George, meanwhile, have caught on. They glance at Oliver, who quirks his eyebrows up at them as though to say so you get it now?
And yes, they bloody well do.
—
On the day of the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Draco Malfoy is sent to the hospital wing. No one knows for sure why, but word has leaked of boils having mysteriously erupted somewhere in his nether regions that have rendered him unable to walk, much less fly around on a broomstick.
Surprised and elated beyond belief, [Y/N] dashes into the Great Hall that morning and practically throws herself at Oliver, squealing in joy as she slings her arms around his neck and starts breathlessly gushing on and on about "Quidditch—I'm going to play today—I'm going to be on the pitch!"
Oliver, grinning wildly, grasps onto her waist and twirls her around with little to no effort. [Y/N] can't stop the breathless laughs that tumble out from her mouth; the thought of actually being able to play in a real Quidditch game with hundreds of people watching has her almost dizzy with excitement. "I'm going to play," she says, out of breath as Oliver sets her down, hands still on her waist. Her eyes are wide and there is a smile on her face that doesn't seem like it will go away anytime soon.
"Against me," Oliver reminds her teasingly, and everything about him from the look in his eyes to the tiny smile on his lips is bursting with fondness. "I do hope you won't try to knock me off of my broom. I've fallen for you already—no need to have me do it again."
Grinning, [Y/N] rolls her eyes and pulls a face at him. "Oh, ha-ha." She feigns a feisty look, nose scrunching in a poor attempt at intimidation; "I am going to kick your arse, Oliver Wood. Mark my words."
Oliver laughs. "Alright, sweetheart. Consider them marked."
—
"BOTH SEEKERS HAVE SPOTTED THE SNITCH! And they're zooming off—Potter and [Y/L/N] are neck and neck—everyone is on their feet—Potter seems to be lagging behind—[Y/L/N] is four feet ahead—SHE'S GOT THE SNITCH! SLYTHERIN'S ONLY DECENT PLAYER HAS DONE IT!"
"Jordan!"
"Sorry, professor. [Y/L/N]—I mean, Slytherin wins!"
Oliver Wood practically hurtles towards the ground, tripping over his feet as he kicks his broom away in a mad dash to the other side of the pitch, where the Slytherins are. But contrary to many people's expectations, the look on the Gryffindor team captain's face isn't disappointed or angry at their loss—no, surprisingly, Oliver seems happier than anyone else on the field.
He spots her from a few feet away standing amidst a throng of Slytherins, all of whom look pleasantly thrilled save for a certain Marcus Flint. She meets his gaze and the grin on her face, if possible, widens; dropping her broom on the grass, she runs toward Oliver, and much like she'd done earlier that morning, throws her arms around his neck, squealing.
"I did it!" [Y/N] says breathlessly, eyes wide. "I caught the snitch!"
Oliver has never felt more proud in his life. His chest swelling with so much joy and fondness it feels as though his heart is about to burst, he grins right back at her and places his hand on the back of her head, pressing their foreheads together, noses brushing as they smile excitedly at each other and everything else in the Quidditch pitch seems to fade into a blur. "You did it," says Oliver, and then he's leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers, smiling into her mouth.
When they pull away, everyone is hooting and cheering. A certain pair of redheaded twins are standing off a few feet away, sighing.
"Ah, young love," says Fred.
"C'est magnifique," says George.
#harry potter#harry potter oneshot#harry potter oneshots#harry potter imagine#harry potter imagines#harry potter x reader#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter fanfic#oliver wood#oliver wood oneshot#oliver wood oneshots#oliver wood imagine#oliver wood imagines#oliver wood x reader#oliver wood fanfiction#oliver wood fanfic
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I saw Myself in You
Loki x reader
Plot: You had been working with the Avengers for a couple of years. When Thor brought Loki back to Earth to work with them, many of the Avengers were very skeptical. But you. When you start to get closer, feelings start to grow.
Word Count: 2992
Warnings: Fluff, angst, flashbacks, longer than the normal Fic I write,
*************************************
(Y/N) had just gotten back to the compound after a month away in Wakanda, as an ambassador of the Avengers and helping T’Challa with some other diplomatic issues, and Suri helped her with her prosthetic arm. She was just looking forward to some R&R around the compound before the next mission. But luck wasn’t on her side.
It was late and just wanted to go to her room and sleep off the nasty jet lag, but as soon as she had walked into the lounge room of the compound, she was greeted by Tony, Steve, Nat, Bruce, Wanda, Clint, Bucky, Sam, Vision and Peter standing around Thor and Loki, who was in shackles.
“Um, what is going on here?” she questions while getting closer to the circle of heroes. Steve turns to greet her before saying,
“Thor had just informed us that Odin had sentenced Loki down to Earth to work with us, as part of his punishment for destroying New York.”
(Y/N) looked at the raven-haired god and noticed that he wouldn’t meet her gaze and kept his towards the ground.
“Ok, now where will he be staying?” she questions. Before Steve could get a word in, Tony jumped in.
“He will be staying in the same cell he was in when he first came to New York.” (Y/N) looked at Tony, completely shocked at his words.
“What?”
“There is no changing my mind (Y/N). He destroyed almost all of New York City and had done many wrong things up in Asgard too,” Tony says.
“So, just because he had something wrong in his past, that gives you the reason to put them in a cell?” she questions.
“(Y/N/N), you are going to have to calm down,” Steve tries.
“No, cause this isn’t fair to him. Do you remember when Fury came to you Tony to show you my file, and how did I arrive at the compound?” she says while looking at them.
“That isn’t the same,” Natasha tries to defuse the situation.
“Oh but it is. Just because I don’t have god-like powers, doesn’t mean that I can’t cause that same amount of damage,” she says before walking off.
(Y/N) walks right to her room and just collapses onto her bed. Flashbacks to that day were coming back vividly…
~Flashback~
(Y/N) was sitting in a chair in just a pair of pants and a sports bra. (Y/N) couldn’t remember what day it was, let alone what year it was. Hydra soldiers stood guard around her and doctors were strapping her to a chair and attaching electrodes to her body. Someone walks up to her and sits down in front of her.
“Mission report.”
(Y/N) stayed quiet. This earns her a backhand. When she brings her head back around and looks into the man's eyes.
“Mission report,” he repeats.
“Mission successful,” was all she said. The man nods before standing up.
“Wip her.”
They pushed her back into the chair and then placed a mouthguard in her mouth, which was almost worn through.
~End of Flashback~
(Y/N) felt herself being shaken awake. She jets up and is greeted by a worried Steve and Bucky. Bucky sits down beside her and places his arm around her shoulder.
“Are you alright? We were on our way to check up on you and heard some commotion coming from inside” Steve says.
“ Yeah, just some flashbacks, that's all.”
The two super soldiers look at each other then back at her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky asks.
(Y/N) quickly shakes her head no. They knew that they couldn’t push her too much or she wouldn’t tell them anything for months on end.
“Ok, we also wanted to let you know that Tony made an in-between decision for where Loki will be living,” Bucky informs her.
“And that is?”
“For sleeping, he will be in the cell, while during the day, one of us will have to be with him,” Steve says.
“At least that is better than staying in the cell,” she says. Steve gives her a nod before kissing her forehead.
“It's late and you are jet-lagged. It is time for you to get some sleep,” Steve says.
“Do you need one of us to stay here tonight?” Bucky questions.
(Y/N) shakes her head before answering, “No, I should be ok. I will come to get you if anything does happen.”
They both nod before kissing her cheek and forehead and making their way to their respected rooms.
The next morning (Y/N) woke up, still groggy from the little sleep that she ended up getting. She walks into the kitchen area and sees Tony, Bucky and Wanda sitting there.
“Good morning,” (Y/N) says while stretching.
She walked over to the coffee machine and started to make her coffee.
“(Y/N) are you ready for your first day?” Tony asks.
She turns and gives him a confused look.
“First day of what?”
“The first day of being Loki’s personal security guard of course,” Tony replies.
(Y/N) almost drops her coffee before looking over to Tony.
“What? I was under the impression that we were going to take turns.”
“Nope, you will be his personal security until further notice,” Tony replies while sipping his coffee.
“If this is for standing up for him, you are an asshole,” she states.
Before anyone could get another word in, Thor walked in with Loki following behind. Thor gave a cheery good morning, but (Y/N) put her focus on Loki. He still looked very closed off from the rest of the world. It was clear that he wanted to be anywhere but on Earth.
“Ok, so I am flying out with Pepper for a business meeting, Thor has to return to Asgard, and the rest have to go on a mission. See yeah larger,” Tony says before running out of the room.
(Y/N) sighs before turning to the gods.
“Thor, when do you have to leave?” she questions.
“Right now I am afraid. Please take care of my brother and yourself lady (Y/N),” Thor says before stepping outside and the rainbow light comes and takes Thor away.
(Y/N) sighs before looking at the god.
“Are you going to be ok?” Bucky asks.
(Y/N) gives a small nod before Bucky leaves to get ready for the mission.
“Ok Loki, what do you want to do today?” (Y/N) questions the god.
Loki just looks at her before looking back out the window. She sighs continuing to make her breakfast.
“Do you want anything to eat?” she asks the god.
She looks back up and sees that Loki is looking at her. He walks away from the window and over to her. He looks her straight into her eyes and just stares at her, like trying to see through a lie.
“What do you want?” This question breaks the staring contest.
“What do you mean?”
“You defended me when I first arrived here? Why?”
(Y/N) was silent for a moment or two before looking at the god again.
“Because it isn’t fair to judge someone for their past when you don’t know what they will do in the future,” was all she said before leaving the god sitting there.
(Y/N) marched to the training room, just to get her morning started. Her ‘normal’ has now changed and she was going to make the best out of it. As she enters she goes to one of the sandbags with her metal arm and it got thrown back to the wall. Sand leaking out from several different places.
“Very impressive,” the British voice breaks her panting.
She turns to see Loki standing there. She sighs before resetting her arm.
He watches her with his deceiving eyes.
“What?” she asks while going over to the other punching bags.
“Well if I remember correctly, the man of iron said you would be my bodyguard during my stay here,” he says very snarkily.
She sighs before walking back over to him.
“Ok reindeer games, what do you want to do? As your bodyguard, I will have to follow you around,” she says, with a stern look.
“Do not call me that,” he says calmly.��
“Alright then, how about we go to the bookstore that is not too far from here. I can drive,” (Y/N) suggests.
“How do you know that I like books?” he questions.
“Thor had mentioned it several times when talking about you,” she says while walking past him. “Now come on, oh and, you might want to change out of your Asgardian clothes, you don’t want people to stare at you do you?” she questions sarcastically.
Loki looks to see that he was still in his green, black, and gold clothes when he arrived with Thor. He used what little magic that he could use to quickly change into an all-black suit.
“Does this look better?” he questions.
(Y/N) felt her face heat up while admiring the more modern clothes that he had chosen. She tries to hide her reaction by hiding behind her hair that had fallen from behind her ear.
“Um, yeah you look good, now let’s go,” she says before walking out, with Loki following not too far behind.
They walk to the car and they go to a 1967 black Ford Mustang. She gets into the driver seat, while Loki sits in the passenger seat. As (Y/N) starts up the car and zooms out of the garage, towards the bookstore. She feels his eyes on her prosthetic arm, while she is stopped at a red light she looks at him.
“I had an accident. Hydra found me and took me into their soldier program and then I had spent the last 50 or so years on missions before SHIELD got a hold of me.”
“So you and the other one…”
“Came from the same program.”
The car came to a stop when they had pulled up to the store. Loki looks out his window to see the mid-size storefront with some books on display. (Y/N) walks out and opens his door for him.
“Sire,” she jokingly says.
He glares at her before walking towards the shop's door. (Y/N) quickly catches up to the tall Asgardian and follows him in. Loki stopped and took in his new surroundings. (Y/N) could tell that he was a little nervous being in here.
“Hey, it’s ok, do you want me to stay nearby or will you be ok?”
He looks down at her before looking back through the store.
“I will be ok.”
“Ok, I trust you,” she says while walking towards the section where her favourite authors' books are kept.
She walks around, getting some books that she had been wanting to read. As she turns the corner of one of the rows, she sees Loki with a few and looking at another. She walks up to him and tries to read over his shoulder, well his elbow.
“Found anything that you like?” She questions, making Loki jump a little.
She looked up at him with an innocent smile but knew full well she would have scared him.
“Well actually, I had found some of, what most midgardians call them, the classics. Which looks very interesting and different from the library back in Asgard,” he informs her.
“Well that good, now let's go and pay for these and head back to the compound.”
They then made their way to the front and paid for the books, got back to the car, and started making their way back to the car. As they were coming up to the compound Loki looked back over to her.
“So what happened to keep you looking young if you had been around for 50 years?” he questions.
(Y/N) went deep in her thoughts, before she had to pump the brakes and almost run the gate. She parks the car and then quickly turns to look at the guard.
“That story will make you wished that you had never asked,” she says sternly.
“Darling, I had lived through millennia in both Asgard and some down on Midgard. So whatever you are about to tell me, it couldn’t be as bad as what I experienced,” he states.
(Y/N) looks away from Loki and out the windshield. Her thoughts were running wild with what to say. She jolts out of her thoughts when his hand is placed on her shoulder. She turns and looks into his icy blue. His eyes looked into her broken soul. She sighs before leaning back into the seat and then looks over to him.
“ I was hit by a bomb. I was just walking down the street when a bomb decided to go off. It was an instant feeling of it not being there. Hydra quickly saw that I wasn’t dead and from then on I was theirs.”
Loki just sat there and looked at her. She sighs before pressing the button that opens the gate to go in. As they started to move, Loki had gotten his thoughts together.
“I am sorry for my quietness, but I am so shocked that you had been through so much trauma and you don’t have any scars from it, besides your arm of course,” he says as the car comes to a stop in the parking spot.”
She looks at Loki and just holds anger in her (Y/E/C) eyes.
“Who says I don’t have trauma? You will be surprised how many times I have woken up the compound with my screams cause the nightmares that plague me. If you hear them in your stay here, then they will plague you for the rest of your godly life,” she says while getting out of the car and making her way into the building.
Loki quickly followed her actions but was a few steps behind.
“(Y/N), please let me fix this. You are the only one that has tried to be nice to me, besides Thor. I always try to push them away, but for you, I don’t want you to leave but it is just my natural reaction,” he says, making her stop in her tracks.
She slowly turns to face him before taking a deep breath. Loki moves closer to her and slowly places his soft, yet firm, hand on her shoulder.
“How about we just start over?” (Y/N) suggests.
Loki watches her, before moving his hand from her shoulder to in front of her.
“I am Loki, Son of Odin and the God of Mischief,” he says while kissing her hand.
A blush creeps across her face before replying.
“I am (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I will be your bodyguard for your stay at the Avengers. Now let’s go get these books inside.”
********************************
Loki and (Y/N) were sitting together out on the balcony, looking over the grounds and reading the books that they had gotten. They may have had to go back for more as he had read through all of the ones that he had picked out the first time. She was wearing a (Y/F/C) tank top, which shows off her silver and (Y/F/C) arm.
“(Y/N)?” Loki asks. She hums and looks towards the raven-haired god.
“If you don’t mind me asking when we first met, what did you mean by how they were treating me was different than what you dealt with?” he asks.
(Y/N) sighs and turns away from him to collect her thoughts.
“When I looked at you when you first came back to Earth with Thor, all I saw was myself when I was first introduced to Tony. S.H.I.E.L.D had just ‘rescued’ me from Hydra and had me shackled and gagged with the strongest metal known to them. They took my arm off and transported it with me. But they never put me in another cell, they gave me a bedroom and let me take my time. I didn’t want you to have to deal with that when I did some very disturbing things and was treated as a human being.”
He lets a small smile grace his lips, before looking down to his lap.
“But I did do some unspeakable things that I am not very proud of,” he says, his gaze never moving.
(Y/N) moves so that she is sitting in front of the god. She places her hand on his cheek before moving his head so his eyes met hers.
“What I did in Hydra wasn’t a flower picking contest, what makes you think otherwise?”
He gives her a real smile, not a smirk but a smile, as he brings his hands to her cheek.
“For someone who claims to be as broken as I am, you are the sweetest thing I have ever met, and not bad for a Midgardian,” he says with now a snarky smile.
She laughs at his comment before meeting his icy blue eyes. They get closer together before he brings her into a kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck and deepens the kiss. (Y/N) feels his hands placed on her waist and started to move her hips into his. A muffled moan leaves her lips and falls into his.
They break apart and Loki’s eyes are blown for lust. He brushes her hair out of her face and behind her ear. He brushes her hair out of her face and behind her ear.
“You are so beautiful,” he says before bringing her back into a kiss.
“Loki it is time to go back into th-” the voice cuts when it is clear that they had seen them together.
They quickly broke apart and saw Thor standing there. But he didn’t look shocked at all but has a happy gleam in his eyes for his brother.
“(Y/N), I will let you do that, ” Thor says before leaving.
The two look at each other before giggling. She then lays against his chest, enjoying the sun.
“WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE! REINDEER GAME AND-”
“TONY I SWEAR TO GOD,” (Y/N) quickly got up and started to chase Tony, leaving a laughing Loki behind.
**********************
Sorry for the long wait, just finishing my final year at college has kept me busy but I am back and hoping to get more fun stuff out :)
#loki fandom#loki x reader#loki x you#thor#marvel#thor x reader#ironman#tony stark#asgard#loki laufeyson#mcu loki#avengers#tom hiddelson#loki image#loki x y/n#loki fanfiction#loki x female reader
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Safe Place to Land (Modern!Bucky x Reader)
Author: Katie @sunlightdances
Pairing: Modern!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Rating: PG-13 for swearing. No trigger warnings except some alcohol use and drunkenness, and if awkwardness makes you feel weird, which-- SAME. Slow burn. Two idiots.
Words: 8K+ aka HOW DID THIS GET SO LONG
Summary: Modern!AU. You and Bucky are both standing up for Steve and Peggy’s wedding. Checking in at the hotel for the weekend, you’re horrified to realize there’s been a problem. A big problem.
Prompt Filled: “Only one bed”
Author’s Note: This is for @fanfictionaries’ Classic Trope Challenge! Congrats on 300 followers, and thanks for hosting! This was so fun to write. Special thanks to @writeyourmindaway for the divider at the beginning and the flower divider throughout the post!
Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky Barnes or Marvel. I also don’t own the song “Dance with Me” by Kelsea Ballerini, which is where the title comes from. The plot is mine! Please don’t repost my work on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my permission. If you like what you read, please reblog to help share my work!
You’re late.
It’s truly a scene from a movie - you dashing through the airport, your rolling suitcase clicking behind you as it hits every line in the tile. People are staring, and you’re embarrassed, but you don’t have time to be.
Peggy will kill you if you miss this flight.
You’ll kill you if you miss this flight. Not for the first time, you curse Steve Rogers and his romantic streak for having a destination wedding. Especially because it’s going to be small. An exclusive wedding that could have just as easily been done in New York… you stop yourself.
You’re happy to be going to London. You’ve never been before, and you’re even happier to be going to celebrate the wedding of two of your closest friends.
It’s been over a decade since the first time you met Steve Rogers, alone and out of place in New York City, and at first you didn’t bother him - he was clearly going through something, and through your nosy neighbor, you knew he was recently back from a tour in Afghanistan. You were unable to stay away for long though, especially when you could hear the nightmares through the apartment walls, and could hear the grief he was struggling to control.
A casserole outside his door and a late night coffee break later, the two of you were fast friends. He trusted you with his story, and the look on his face when you introduced him to your coworker Peggy sealed your friendship for good.
Finally arriving at the gate, you nearly knock over a very tired, very irritated looking Bucky Barnes, and roll your eyes to the heavens, because of course you’re on the same flight. Why wouldn’t you be? You suspect foul play by your conniving best friend, but you don’t have time to complain about it.
Bucky’s already glaring at you. “You’re late--”
“I know. How did you even know I was going to be on this flight?”
“Steve mentioned it. Said to make sure you didn’t get left behind.”
You roll your eyes, collapsing into a chair near the gate as the boarding process begins, out of breath from your sprint through the airport. “He worries too much.”
“You are late, though.”
You glare right back at him, but can’t help but give him what you hope is a subtle once over - right from the top of his baseball-cap covered head to his Nike-covered feet. It’s really not fair that he still manages to look like a runway model at four in the morning.
Finally you’re called for boarding, and you push past Bucky to get on the plane, where you have plans to promptly fall asleep and hopefully be out for the next several hours.
“Me again,” you hear his deep voice before you open your eyes, and you’re treated to the truly amazing sight of Bucky Barnes’ abs when his shirt rides up as he puts his bag in the overhead bin.
“Terrific,” you mutter, and he snorts.
“Go to sleep.” The heat practically radiates off him as he sits down next to you, him in the aisle seat and you in the dreaded middle seat.
You really are tired - there was a reason you were running late. You have a habit of working too late and not getting enough sleep, another reason you were looking forward to this wedding. Ten full days in England. No work, just rest. And a wedding. But besides that--! No obligations. You can practically feel the stress melting off you.
Almost as soon as the plane takes off and you start to doze, the man on the other side of you starts talking. At first you think he’s talking to Bucky across you, but it becomes clear he wants to get to know you better when he starts asking about your job, and finally, if you’re single.
You crack open an eye in disbelief, and open your mouth to respond before Bucky leans over and says quietly, but firmly, “No, she’s not. Sorry, dude.”
Bucky’s forearm is pressing into yours, and you scowl at him before the other guy replies.
“Oh, sorry. Should have guessed.”
“Don’t worry, it surprises a lot of people,” you tell him. Including me. You look back at Bucky with a what the hell look on your face, and he shrugs.
Shifting, he lifts the armrest between you and leans in, whispering. “Unless you wanted him to hit on you for the rest of this flight?”
You groan internally, because there’s nothing you hate more than when Bucky has a point.
It’s not like you hate Bucky. He just-- he knows how to push your buttons. Being Steve’s best friend in the entire world, it was a packaged deal. Bucky came home a year after Steve. He was injured, and angry, and wanted nothing to do with the same type of optimism you tried to supply Steve with.
You were okay with that. Not everyone is wired the same, and you had no business butting into Bucky’s life just because you were able to help Steve adjust to life after the Army.
He warmed up eventually, after he and Steve both started going to VA meetings and were slowly working through things, though you knew there was a chance that the Bucky Barnes you were going to get to know would be nothing like the Bucky that Steve told you stories about.
Still, it has always seemed like there’s something else there. Something under the surface that makes Bucky wary of you.
You’re civil and have come to accept the facts: you and Bucky will never be friends.
That’s why you’re so suspicious of his behavior on this flight. You figured he’d be rather amused by you getting hit on at 20,000 feet.
Right before you fall asleep, you put that thought safely into the box labeled Reasons You Will Never Understand Bucky and leave it at that.
You wake up to turbulence, and Bucky’s elbow jamming into your ribs.
“Sorry,” he mutters, and when he steadies you, you realize you were leaning into him while asleep, and feel your face turn hot.
You don’t say anything - too worried you’re going to put your foot in your mouth. “What time is it?” You ask instead, and he blinks at you.
“No idea. I was asleep.”
“Oh.”
The silence that settles between you is a little awkward, but you try your best to get over it. It’s dark on the plane. Your left leg is asleep and your neck is so tense you wonder how you managed to sleep at all. Probably because you had the world’s most attractive body pillow, you think.
You pull your tablet out of the seat-back in front of you and turn the brightness way down. Opening a book you’ve been reading, you check the time. Seeing you still have a few hours before you land, you try to get comfortable before you start reading.
You can feel Bucky’s eyes on you off and on for the next few minutes and you try to ignore the feeling it gives you - the hair on the back of your neck standing on end, and when you catch him before he can look away, you feel the jolt through your entire body.
That’s new.
Finally, the announcement comes that you’re landing in fifteen minutes, and everyone around you starts to gather their things and get restless. You feel the excitement building in you like a live thing, and roll your eyes when you see Bucky smirking at you.
“Leave me alone; I’ve never been to England before.”
His smile falters, just the tiniest bit. “It’s nice. You’ll like it.”
It’s a weird comment, but you don’t say anything else. You have a vague memory of Steve telling you Bucky was airlifted to Germany and then to London before coming home after his accident, and you don’t want to say the wrong thing. Contrary to what he thinks, you actually don’t want to argue with him all the time, but especially not on this trip.
Heathrow is a madhouse. It’s even busier than when you left New York, and you’re a little overwhelmed, plus jet lagged. A great combo.
You and Bucky get your bags from baggage claim and then he turns to you, looking a little worse for wear. “I’m assuming we’re at the same hotel.”
“Hopefully not the same hotel Steve and Peg are in.”
Bucky looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but still remains stoic.
“Oh come on,” you say as the two of you head to try to find a cab. “You know if we’re in the same hotel they’ll be calling all hours of the day to get us to do last minute stuff for them. I agreed to be a bridesmaid, not the wedding planner.”
Like the sun finally breaking through, Bucky actually smiles at that, and not for the first time in your sort-of-friendship, you’re struck by it, by how it changes his entire face and makes him look like a completely different person.
“Steve’s been driving me a little crazy, I have to admit.”
After verifying you are both staying in the same hotel where the majority of the wedding guests are, you fall silent as you take in the scenery zooming past in the cab.
Soon you’re approaching the most beautiful hotel you’ve ever seen, and you stare, open-mouthed, because this cannot be the place you booked. You were given the name of a hotel that Peggy said was nice and reasonably priced that most of the other guests were using, and you expected it to be-- well, not like the place she and Steve were staying.
Still: this is-- too much. Opulent doesn’t even cover it.
“Wow,” Bucky says next to you, uncharacteristically awed by the sight.
In the lobby, you’re even more convinced this is all a scam. Which is why when the concierge tells you there’s a problem, you’re almost not surprised.
“I’m so sorry - we have names for both of you on the reservation list, but it seems like they’ve put you both in the same room.”
A pin could be heard dropping for how quiet you and Bucky get.
He’s the first to speak. “I’m sorry?”
“There must have been a mistake… we’re full the next two weeks with several wedding parties and whoever booked it must have made a mistake.” She’s perfectly apologetic, in that British way, but you’re having trouble getting past the idea that you’re going to have to live with Bucky Barnes for 10 days.
“Can I just get another room?” You blurt.
“I’m sorry - we’re booked. There aren’t any other rooms.”
Bucky turns to you. “Look, it’s fine. Where else are you going to go?”
You feel something like panic welling up inside you. You and Bucky, sharing a room for ten days. How are you going to survive what’s sure to be the most awkward thing you’ve ever had to do in your life?
Better yet: how are you going to live with the teasing from Steven Grant Rogers when he finds out you have to be roommates with his best friend?
You sigh.
“The same room it is.”
This can’t be real, you think. It’s too cliche.
“Um,” you say out loud, elegantly, “There’s only one bed.”
“Appears that way.”
“Well? What are we going to do?”
Bucky looks at you, blank. “We’re grown. I feel like this isn’t that big of a deal.”
You feel semi-hysterical laughter bubbling inside you, because this is very much a big deal. Especially when you’re just sort of admitting to yourself that your tiny crush on Bucky hasn’t waned over the years. You’ve always found him attractive and had no problem acknowledging that, but this? This is just too rom-com, even for you.
“It’s ten days. You don’t have a problem sharing a room with me for ten days?”
He shrugs. “What else am I going to do? Can’t bunk up with Steve. We’ll be busy with wedding stuff for the next two days anyway, and then afterwards… I don’t know. I figured you’d be sightseeing?”
You stare at him. “Okay, but… what are you going to be doing?”
He looks down. “Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. You assume I’m here as long as you are,” he points out.
He’s right - you have no idea how long Bucky booked this trip for. Without wanting to pry, you’re again reminded that he has a small history here, and probably one that he doesn’t want to re-live.
You’re interrupted by Bucky’s phone ringing, and you busy yourself unpacking while he answers it.
“Hey, Steve.” He says, his voice entirely different when he talks to his best friend. “Yeah, just got to the hotel.” A few beats. “I was probably just going to crash for the night…”
You get a text from Peggy almost at the same time, asking if you want to meet her and Steve for dinner, and meet Bucky’s eyes. You must look as tired as he feels, because he makes another excuse.
“If Katie’s not going to be there, I don’t want to be third wheel with you two lovebirds.” Another beat. “Yeah, let’s do breakfast. I’ll call you in the morning.”
You tap out a response to Peggy about jet lag and already being in bed (and it’s not like you don’t want to see your best friend, you’re just-- there’s too many things happening right now for you to even think about going out for a late dinner), and toss your phone towards the bed.
Yet another reminder of the fact that you’re going to be sharing with Bucky Barnes as soon as you’re both exhausted enough to sleep.
When he hangs up, you look at him curiously. “You didn’t mention anything about our living arrangements.”
He sighs. “Look, Steve’s stressed out enough. He doesn’t need to worry about this mixup too. Besides, it’s fine. It’s just sleeping.”
You hate yourself for the heat you feel at the thought of sharing a bed with him, even though it’s a fleeting feeling that you force away. “Yeah. Just sleeping.”
Bucky says he wants a shower and you offer to order room service. It’s almost 10pm, but you both know you won’t be able to sleep on an empty stomach.
When Bucky comes out of the bathroom, you feel like a teenager. Even he looks a little flushed, but you think it’s from embarrassment. “I-- forgot a change of clothes. Sorry.” He looks so chagrined, you can’t help but snicker.
“Buck, you’re offending my delicate sensibilities.”
His eyes go a little wide and you realize you’ve never called him by that familial version of his nickname before, but it just -- you’ve known the guy almost as long as you’ve known Steve. It just slipped out.
He recovers quickly, winking at you. “Honey, we all know there’s nothing delicate about you.”
You both freeze, both taken aback by the sultry lilt to his voice as he teases you, and again, you’re saved by an interruption - this time a knock on the door saying room service has arrived.
Bucky heads back to the bathroom to change, and you gulp in a few deep breaths before answering the door to get the food.
A whole night of this. You have no idea how you’re going to survive.
Your alarm goes off way too early. In reality, it’s eight in the morning, but you still feel like you’ve been hit over the head with something heavy after a day of traveling.
Moreover, you feel like something heavy is actually on you, and you peek open a bleary eye to see Bucky over your shoulder, his arm slung across your waist like it was always meant to be there.
“Shit,” you whisper, hoping you don’t wake him, but also wanting to get out of this situation as soon as possible. You scramble for your phone, the groan leaving him as he wakes up a noise you try to convince yourself you don’t want to hear again.
“What time is it,” he asks, his voice rough with sleep. You shiver.
“Eight,” you reply, finally reaching your phone and sliding a thumb across the screen to turn the alarm off.
He realizes his position and rolls away from you casually, so you mentally decide to pretend you weren’t cuddled up to him for most of the night.
You already have a text from Peggy asking if you want to join her, Steve, and Bucky for breakfast, so you have no choice but to get up and shower, trying to forget the warm feeling of being held by Bucky Barnes.
In an hour, you’re both waiting on a busy street for the almost-newlyweds, and you see them before they see you, Steve’s broad form and Peggy’s impeccable posture unmistakable. You smile unconsciously - they look so happy. You feel a pang though, because you don’t think you’ve ever been with someone who made you feel so carefree.
“Short stuff!” Steve calls, and you roll your eyes, muttering under your breath about how you’re not that short while Bucky snickers next to you, but before you can berate Steve, he’s gathering you into a hug, nearly lifting you off the ground.
Over Steve’s shoulders you see Bucky give Peggy a kiss on the cheek and a shy smile as they hug, exchanging quiet words.
You and Peggy might have known each other first, but she and Bucky bonded right away, making you wonder (not for the first time) why it seemed to be only you that Bucky had trouble getting to know. You brush off the thought - this week was about your friends and their wedding, and you were going to stop worrying about anything that wasn’t making sure this wedding was perfect.
“Missed you,” Steve whispered, “Did you get in okay? Bucky said you were late.”
You roll your eyes again. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
He smiles. “Go say hi to Peg. She’s excited you’re here.” He gives your shoulders a squeeze before passing you off to Peggy, who hugs you so tight you can barely breathe.
“You look so--” you sigh, unable to find the words, “Happy. You look so happy, it’s like you’re already married.”
She grins. “I’ve been dreaming about this day for years. I’m excited.”
The four of you sit down to eat and you have the best breakfast you’ve ever eaten. Around a mouthful, you tell the table, “I never want to eat anything but these potatoes for the rest of my life.”
The rest of the meal is spent talking about the wedding and any last minute items that need to be done before the rehearsal dinner later that night. It sounds like everything is going as planned, which doesn’t surprise you when it comes to Peggy Carter.
“And so far everyone has arrived, we think. Have you run into anyone at the hotel?” Steve asks, and you and Bucky both freeze, before he speaks.
“Not… no. Haven’t seen anyone else yet.”
Steve looks between the two of you, eyes narrowed. “What? What happened?” He puts down his fork. “You can’t be fighting already, it’s only been--”
“They gave us one room.” You blurt. “There was a mixup and we have to share a room.”
Bucky steps on your foot hard, because you’ve forgotten his warning about not telling Steve and keeping the groom from stressing out the day before his wedding.
“It’s fine,” Bucky says, waving a hand. “It’s just sleeping.”
You want to scream. Was it just sleeping when we cuddled all night? There wasn’t even alcohol involved!
“Right.” You say brightly, “It’s fine. No big deal.”
Steve is frowning. “I can call--”
“No!” You and Bucky both exclaim.
“Please don’t worry about this. It’s a non-issue,” You say, looking to Peggy for reassurance.
“They’re adults, Steve.”
“Adults who always seem to want to rip each other’s heads off,” he mutters, reaching for his coffee. Over the rim, he meets your eyes, and you shake your head minutely. Don’t you dare.
Breakfast is a little subdued after that, but soon it’s time for Steve and Peggy to go to the venue to make any last minute changes, leaving you and Bucky to your own devices for a few hours before you have to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.
Before parting ways, your phone buzzes.
Steve Rogers: You sure you’re going to survive this?
You: I will murder you.
Across the sidewalk, Steve snorts.
Steve Rogers: I’m just saying. Your crush is kind of obvious, you know?
You: Lucky for you, Bucky literally pays no attention to me. It’ll be fine.
Steve Rogers: That’s what you think.
You meet Steve’s eyes, trying to figure out what he means, but he just shrugs and puts his phone back in his pocket.
The four of you say your goodbyes, and then you and Bucky are left standing on the street awkwardly.
“I was going to go to a museum--”
“I might check to see if Sam is here yet--”
You both speak at the same time.
Bucky clears his throat. “Right. Well, I’ll go check on Sam and you go to your museum or whatever. You have a room key?”
You nod. “Yep. All set.”
“I guess… have fun. Don’t get lost.”
You scowl. “Great, thank you for your concern.”
You’re halfway down the street when you hear him call, “Don’t be late!”
You flip him off over your shoulder and pretend you don’t hear him laughing as you keep heading down the street in the complete opposite direction.
You get back to the hotel in the early afternoon so you can shower and start getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. Outside your shared room, you hear voices, so you pause. You can tell one is Bucky, and soon you recognize the other voice is Sam.
“Really, dude. You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” Bucky’s voice is gruff. “Do I want to be in London? Not particularly. Can I separate my issues from celebrating this wedding? Yes.”
A sigh, but you can’t tell who it comes from.
“It’s okay to have mixed feelings about London.” Sam says. “The last time--”
“I know what happened the last time I was here.” Bucky interrupts, voice firm and icy. “Sorry. I just-- I don’t want to talk about it.”
A pause. “Okay, then let’s talk about your other issue.” Sam says, and even through the door, you can tell he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on! You’re sharing a room with--”
Not wanting to overhear something else you shouldn’t, you hurriedly put your key in the slot and push the door open.
The two men are silent, staring at you, and you can feel the guilty look all over your face, so you try your best to school your expression into nonchalance.
“Long time no see,” Sam says, standing up to give you a hug.
“Hi, Sam.”
You make some small talk and try not to notice how quiet Bucky is being. He can’t really hate this situation that much… right? Or is it just this place in general? You’re too afraid to ask.
After another hour or so, Sam leaves the two of you to get ready himself, and you race to the bathroom to shower and start doing your makeup.
You’re very conscious of the fact that Bucky is getting changed in the room just beside you, so you take your time getting ready, making sure you’ve done every last thing you can think of before you emerge.
You’re not prepared for the sight of him, more dressed up than you’ve ever seen him. A dark blue button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbow, showcasing part of a tattoo that snakes down from his left bicep. His newly-shorn hair is artfully styled, the watch on his right wrist glinting in the late day sun streaming into the room.
God, how are you going to get through tomorrow? Seeing him as one of the groomsmen? You’re going to die.
“You look nice,” you manage, not wanting to stare at him any longer.
He looks like he doesn’t know what to say. You’re not sure if it’s the compliment he’s having trouble with, or what. “Thanks,” he says eventually. “You do too.”
The rehearsal dinner is like a fairytale, just like you knew it would be. The food is great, the company is even better, and even Bucky looks like he’s having a good time. There’s lots of toasting the bride and groom to be, and that involves a lot of drinks. A lot.
By the time you’re walking back to the hotel with Bucky, you’re a little unsteady on your feet, but he’s not doing much better, your hips bumping every few feet as you walk.
“You’re a lightweight,” he laughs, and you attempt to glare at him, but you think it comes off more like you’re leering at him. He reaches for your elbow gently and tugs you into the elevator with him, and it’s a challenge to stop thinking all the inappropriate thoughts that start clouding your mind.
Safely in your room, you sit on the edge of the bed and watch as Bucky starts to get ready for bed. You need to get your makeup off and into your pajamas, but you can’t bring yourself to move.
“You’re staring.”
You grin, “Just enjoying the show.” Instantly horrified, you clap a hand over your mouth. “I didn’t say that. You didn’t hear it.”
Bucky’s a little pink around the ears, but he looks smug. “So you think I’m hot?”
You groan. “Shut up. You know you’re hot.”
He looks surprised for a half second, and you fall backwards onto the bed.
“Stop it, stop asking me stuff. I can’t be trusted.” Apparently you can’t take your own advice, because you start thinking out loud, “It’s too bad you hate me. We’d be like, the hottest couple of all time.”
It’s silent, and when you finally look up, he’s staring at you, a frown on his face. “Is that what you think?”
“I know we’d be the hottest couple of all time--”
“No,” he interrupts, exasperated. “You think I hate you?”
“I think--” you suddenly clamp your mouth shut. “I think I need to go to the bathroom.” Bolting past him, you make it there in time, and barely register him coming in a few seconds later, holding your hair back.
God. How embarrassing. Love this journey for you, your brain helpfully supplies.
The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Bucky helping you out of your dress, and a cool hand on your forehead. Then it all goes black.
Your alarm goes off early again the next day. Wedding day. You’re due at the venue with the rest of the bridal party at nine to start hair and makeup.
Your mouth feels like it’s made of cotton, and you curse everyone involved in the dinner for doing so many toasts.
“God,” you groan, and when you open your eyes, you see Bucky on the chair in the living area, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. “What--”
“Here,” he says, tossing you your phone, alarm still going off.
There’s a text from Steve asking if you’re alive, and another from Peggy’s bridesmaid group chat with a million love-themed emojis.
“Thanks,” you grumble, bits and pieces of the night before coming back to you. Startled, you look up, “Bucky, I am so sorry--”
“Don’t worry about it,” he waves a dismissive hand at you.
“I didn’t mean to drink so much. I’m such an annoying drunk. I--”
“Really,” he interrupts your apology, “It’s okay. You weren’t that bad.”
He’s quiet, which isn’t that different, but he looks… more intense than usual. Contemplative. It makes you nervous. Especially because the night before is still coming to you in pieces.
“Have you been up long?” You ask.
His eyes shutter. “A bit. Had trouble sleeping.”
An awkward silence settles. “What time do you have to--”
“You probably need to get going--”
You both speak at the same time, and strangely, your throat feels tight as he won’t meet your eyes. How badly had you screwed things up the night before?
“Right. I do have to get going. Just going to--” you gesture to the bathroom, and he nods. You make your escape into the shower and spend a little longer than necessary in there, trying like hell to figure out what you could have said to him.
It’s hours later before you see Bucky again. You and the rest of the bridal party are helping Peggy with finishing touches, and the photographer is taking action shots, the entire room a mix of blush pink and gauzy white.
Peggy is a vision - her hair curled and pinned in an old-fashioned style befitting a princess, and her lips painted her signature cherry red.
“Steve’s going to die,” you say, grinning at her, and she winks.
“Almost ready, girls?” She asks everyone else, and there’s a cheer before everyone begins to head out into the hall, gathering with the groomsmen to begin the walk down the aisle.
You’re blindsided by the sight of Bucky in his tux. You take a moment to be thankful you’re walking with Sam, not with Bucky, because surely he’d be able to hear the way your heart is pounding just looking at him.
He looks similarly awed, and your ego takes a moment to soak it up before you can feel embarrassed at the attention.
“You’re… you look great.” He says quietly.
“Thank you. You too.”
The smile he gives you is so soft, you can barely stand it.
“Okay Barnes, hands off my date.” Sam interrupts, linking your arm through his.
Bucky rolls his eyes. Before he can say anything else, the procession is starting, and you’re swept up in the romance of this moment finally happening.
Steve cries.
You do a little, too.
You catch Bucky looking at you with those intense eyes during the ceremony twice, and you’re suddenly more nervous than you’ve ever been, because you still have eight days left of your trip. Possibly eight more days rooming with Bucky if he doesn’t leave before you.
If the tension doesn’t kill you, sleeping in the same bed with him again will, for sure.
The reception space is even more beautiful than the ceremony, and even as you sit there, chin in your palm watching Steve and Peggy dance, you think you’ve never felt more romantic in your entire life.
You dance with Sam, and then Steve finds you, his eyes already a little glazed over.
“Come on, you can’t sit there all night.”
You huff as he finds your hand and tugs you out of your seat. “I haven’t been sitting here all night.”
“You’re not going to deny your best friend a dance. That’s that.”
You smile, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
It’s quiet for a few moments as the two of you sway slowly, and when you look up at Steve, he’s only got eyes for Peggy, who’s dancing with Sam on the other side of the room.
“I’m happy for you, Rogers.”
He grins down at you, “When are you going to start trying to make yourself happy?”
You groan. “Steve, don’t.”
“I’m serious! Look… I know Bucky is… he seems serious sometimes, and it can be hard for him to open up, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one notices.”
The thought of it sends butterflies straight to the pit of your stomach, but there’s just no way that could be true. No matter how much of a romantic Steve Rogers is and how much he would love for his best friends to get together, it’s just not going to happen.
“Incoming,” Steve whispers, and you turn over your shoulder to see Bucky there, looking a little sheepish.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
Steve steps away from you, and your eyes widen at him, panicking. “No problem,” he says to Bucky, “I’ve got a bride to get back to.”
Bucky takes a step closer. “Dance?”
As if on cue, the DJ plays something soft and slow, and you’re left powerless to resist Bucky and the way he’s looking at you - a little guarded, but still open and vulnerable. You feel like you have no choice but to take his hand, a shock working its way up your arm at the contact.
May my hands be the hands you hold onto
When you let go of everything else
May my arms be the arms that you fall into
When the night gets too heavy to hold by yourself
You feel so self conscious as you dance with Bucky, his touch gentler than you ever allowed yourself to imagine it might be. He holds you close, your clasped hands resting over his heart, and you force yourself to enjoy this quiet moment with him.
If you're looking for a safe place to land
I will guide you home
And if the levy of your life breaks all your plans
You'll never be alone
You think about the first time you met him - he was so different then. The same stoic Bucky Barnes you know now, but less quick to crack a joke or a smile. He stuck close to Steve and Sam, but it was clear to you that there was so much more to him than his outward appearance.
There’s the loyalty he shows to his friends. He’s smart - probably the smartest person you know, and so driven. He’s fiercely protective and is observant to a fault, the result of Army training he’ll probably never get rid of.
And -- you hate to admit it, but there was a time when you thought Steve was right. You’d catch Bucky staring out of the corner of your eye and think maybe, maybe there’s something there. And then like a switch flipped, he was quicker to argue with you, every little thing turning into a reason for the two of you to fight.
Now though, the gentle way he’s holding you and the scent of his cologne flooding your senses… you can almost trick yourself into thinking your feelings are reciprocated. That Bucky was just as nervous around you as you are around him.
The song comes to an end, and so does the moment.
If you dance with me
Feel my heartbeat through your body to your feet
If you dance with me
Hold me in the dark now, until both your eyes can see
And if it's you and me against the world
If I'm your man, you're my girl
We'll win you'll see, if you dance with me
Steve and Peggy are leaving in the morning for Paris for a few days, and then to Spain. You feel a pang of jealousy watching them leave the reception, hands and eyes locked together as if nothing could tear them apart.
For a moment, you so desperately want that kind of affection with someone else. You take a deep breath and force yourself to get it together.
“Share a cab back?” A deep voice behind you asks, and you’re surprised to see Bucky. He made himself scarce after your dance and you didn’t see him again for the rest of the night.
You nod, not trusting your own voice.
The cab ride to your hotel is nearly silent. Every small noise is amplified, like you shifting in your seat, and Bucky loosening his bow tie.
“Have you decided how long you’re going to stay?” You ask, finally, the one question that’s been plaguing you.
He looks at you, eyes impossibly blue in the streetlight glow. “A few days, I think. I have some… I have some stuff I want to see before I go home.” He shakes himself out of whatever memory he’s in. “You? The full ten days?”
You shrug. “If I can keep this room, yeah. I can’t remember the last time I took a vacation.”
Bucky nods, turning to look back out the window again. At the hotel, he helps you out of the car and pays for the cab despite your protests, and when you get inside the elevator, you’re struck again by how handsome he looks, flushed from alcohol and a little more tousled than usual; his bow tie hanging loose around his neck and his top two buttons undone.
He catches you looking once again, but you can’t look away. You know you’re not imagining this time how his eyes darken a shade, and you watch with rapt fascination as he licks his lips, leaning down ever so slightly -- the elevator dings and the doors open.
The spell is broken.
“Bucky?”
He shakes himself out of his thoughts almost physically, and then he’s walking away from you, heading towards the room without a backward glance.
The next morning, you and Bucky are tangled together so much that there’s no way you can get up without him waking up first. Your first thought is embarrassment, but then you just… give in. You let yourself enjoy it, only feeling guilty for a few minutes.
You’re so warm and you feel so protected… you once again curse Steve Rogers for making you think about your persistent crush on Bucky, because now you can’t get it out of your head.
“Morning.” Bucky’s voice is rough, and you jump, because he’s still got his arms around you. And he’s awake.
“Morning,” you say cautiously.
“Sorry,” he slowly pulls away from you, the tips of his fingers lingering on your arms. “I’ve been told I’m like an octopus in my sleep.”
Something about Bucky seems different first thing in the morning. His walls aren’t up.
“It’s okay. I’m not complaining about free cuddles.”
He smiles, you can feel it where his stubble scratches your temple. There’s something like giddy excitement brewing in you.
“Can I-- I have a favor to ask.” He says. “I have to go somewhere today… I-- if you don’t have plans, would you come with me?”
You crane your neck to meet his eyes. He looks nervous.
“Okay,” you say simply, because you think if he keeps looking at you like that, you’d follow him anywhere.
He tells you to dress casually, so you opt for a simple jeans and t-shirt outfit with a cardigan thrown overtop. You pack whatever you think you’ll need for a day in your backpack and follow Bucky out when he’s ready. He seems to know where he’s going, and you walk with him in comfortable silence.
He starts fidgeting the closer you get to a massive hospital, and when you get close enough to read the sign, you realize this must have been where he was taken for part of his recovery.
“Bucky--” You breathe, because this is too much. He’s trusting you with too much, and you’re not sure you deserve it.
“I--” He swallows hard, “The doctor who saved my arm still works here. I try to write as often as I can, but I thought a face-to-face visit was probably overdue.” He looks down at you, “I just-- I haven’t been here in years. I don’t think I can do it alone.” His words are measured and careful, and you realize how hard it must be for him to be here in the first place, let alone trusting you with something like this.
You feel tears pricking your eyes and you fight to keep them back. “Okay, Bucky. Yeah. Let’s do this.”
He smiles shakily at you, and on a whim, you reach for his hand. When he freezes, you realize you’ve gripped his left hand, the one with the scars encompassing his wrist and three of his fingers, the hand connected to the same arm that was nearly blown off in Afghanistan, the one that nearly cost him his life.
He doesn’t let go. If anything, he squeezes your hand tighter, and you feel another tendril of affection curl around your heart.
Inside, he introduces himself to the woman at the reception desk, and after a few questions, you’re directed towards an elevator and given directions to the floor the doctor’s office is on. You think Bucky has memories of this place for the way he leads you there with almost no words.
A quick knock on the door, and then he’s shaking hands and exchanging broad grins with a young woman.
“Sergeant Barnes!” She exclaims after letting go of his hand. “It’s about time you showed your face around here.”
Bucky is blushing and you’re so enamored with him you can barely stand it. While he’s talking, you dig your phone out of your pocket and text Peggy.
I know you’re on your honeymoon, but SOS! I need help.
Bucky turns to you, and you realize he’s trying to introduce you.
“This is Shuri. She’s the one who operated on me and helped me with PT after my injury.”
“It’s really great to meet you,” you tell her, trying to ignore her curious look.
“You as well.”
She and Bucky start talking again, and even though you can tell Bucky’s still a little nervous to be here, you’re enthralled by the sibling-like relationship he has with his former doctor.
“I want to make a donation,” Bucky says quietly. “I didn’t know who to go to about it. I want to give it specifically to this ward, to the work you’re doing.”
You feel like you’re intruding, but he keeps looking to you like he needs reassurance, so you smile at him.
“I’ve-- I’ve been putting money away over the last few years and I’m at a place now where I want to help.”
You send another text to Peggy.
Seriously, SOS!!!!! If you don’t call me soon, I’m going to do something I regret.
A minute later, your phone rings, and you excuse yourself to the hallway.
“Thank God.”
“Darling. I love you, but what could possibly be so important that you had to call on the first day of--”
“I think I’m in love with Bucky and I have no idea what to do about it.”
A choked noise comes from behind you and you whirl around, mortified to see Bucky there, eyes wide, pale.
“Oh, shit. Peggy-- I have to go.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Bye, love you.” You hang up quickly, and take a step towards Bucky before you even register you’re doing it. “Bucky--”
“Are you-- I heard you were talking to Peg, I thought something was wrong.”
“I’m-- oh God, Bucky, I-- I have to go.”
“Wait--”
Your tears are overflowing now. You’re so embarrassed, you have no idea how you’re going to look him in the eye, let alone sleep in the same bed as him.
Vision blurry, you decide to take the stairs two at a time instead of waiting for the elevator, and you’re gone before he can catch up to you.
Bucky’s ears are ringing as he stares after you. He feels like he has shell shock again - unable to comprehend anything that just happened.
“Need a chair, soldier?” Shuri asks him, clearly having overheard the entire thing, and he nods dumbly, basically collapsing into a chair near her desk.
I think I’m in love with Bucky.
Your words echo over and over in his mind, and he honestly can’t believe what he just heard.
Your friendship has always been complicated, but the way Bucky feels about you is simple. He’s crazy about you. Crazy for you, and terrified that he’s not good enough for you, so he’s pushed you away time and time again, despite all evidence pointing to the fact that you might like him too.
Sharing a room -- a bed -- with you has been every one of his daydreams come to life. (A lot less kissing, sure, but whatever)
Now this-- this revelation, it’s too much.
“All the most important events of your life seem to take place at this hospital, Bucky.” Shuri says, gentle teasing in her tone.
“Jesus Christ.” Bucky groans, “What the hell do I do?”
“You’re going to go after her.” Shuri says simply, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. She rolls her eyes. “It’s obvious you’re in love with her too.” Bucky thinks he must look horrified, because she continues, “You’ve never brought anyone here before. I couldn’t convince you to come back even for a tour of the new labs. And the one time you do come of your own free will, you bring her. What does that tell you?”
A half hour later, Bucky has called you three times and has checked at the hotel twice, and now he’s at a park near the hotel, on a bench, having no idea what to do.
Of course that’s when Steve calls.
“I hear you’re having a crisis.”
Bucky groans. “‘M not having a crisis. A moment, maybe.”
“She told you she loved you?”
“She told Peggy she loved me, and I was eavesdropping, and she ran away crying.”
Steve is silent.
“Right? It’s bad. It’s so bad. Maybe if I’d just been… I don’t know. More talkative during this trip? Or maybe I should have just gotten my own room and saved us both the trouble.”
“Look, no offense, but you’re both so dense.”
Bucky scoffs. “Thanks.”
“I love her like a sister and love you like a brother, but everyone knows you two have a thing for each other. Why else did everyone steer clear of the two of you at the wedding? It’s obvious, dude.”
Bucky has never felt so stupid in his entire life. All these years, he tried to distance himself from you, sure that he was only going to get hurt if he put himself out there. He liked you too much to risk ruining a friendship, even if it was barely a friendship to begin with. Quick to argue and stubborn, you were also generous and kind, beautiful, and passionate about your work and your friends and your family.
You’re everything he’s ever wanted, and you terrify him.
And you love him.
Apparently.
He’s on his feet again.
“I have to go,” He tells Steve. “I’ll text you later.”
“Good luck.”
You’re back at your shared hotel room, trying to pack up and leave before Bucky finds you. It’s childish, sure, but you can’t take this anymore.
You’re going to get a new room at a different hotel, and try to salvage the rest of your vacation.
The door opens before you can finish zipping your bag, and you turn to see Bucky storming in, his face unreadable and a piece of paper in his hand.
“What the hell is this?”
You turn away. “It’s a note.”
You assume he’s noticed your bags. “Were you really going to take off and just leave a note that says you’re sorry?”
His hand on your elbow forces you to turn around, and you feel like you’re going to cry again.
His face softens. “Talk to me. Please.”
You bury your face in your hands. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. You were-- you were trying to do something for you, and my loud mouth just had to ruin it. I never meant for you to find out--”
“You were never going to tell me you’re in love with me?”
You blanche. “God, I mean-- I don’t know! It’s not… this isn’t easy…”
“You still think I hate you.”
You freeze, thinking back to your drunk conversation from a few nights ago. “I don’t think you hate me.”
“Good. Because I don’t. Far from it, actually.”
You try to squash the little seed of hope blooming in your chest.
“You know, when we first met, I was jealous of you. You were closer to Steve in a year than anyone else, and I didn’t know where I fit anymore. I didn’t understand what made you so special.”
Frowning, you try to turn away, but he won’t let you.
“But then I got to know you. I got to know how you care about people, and how you looked after Steve when he first got back. I learned how you do everything you can to make other people happy, but don’t try to do the same thing for yourself. I learned that you’re a lightweight and you’re a flirt when you’re drunk, and I learned that I--” He stops, catches his breath. “I learned that it only took me a few months to fall in love with you so deeply that I can’t see my way out.”
Your insides feel like mush. The touch of his hand slides up to your shoulder, and you feel more alive the closer he gets to you.
“I pushed you away, because you’re way too good for me, sweetheart. You always have been. You don’t need someone like me weighing you down. And when this room mix-up happened, it was both the best and worst thing to happen to me.”
“Don’t you dare,” you whisper, and his brows furrow, confused, as you continue. “Don’t you dare say you’re not good enough. You’re-- I’ve never met a better person than you, James Barnes. I think I’ve loved you since the day we met.”
You’re both silent, staring into each other’s eyes, the room crackling with the energy of confessions and tension.
You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re kissing, Bucky’s hand moving to the back of your head as his free arm slides around your waist to haul you against him. Fire licks through your veins as he deepens the kiss, barely letting you break for air before dragging you in again, consuming you entirely.
It could be minutes or hours that you’re kissing him in the middle of your hotel room surrounded by your luggage, but when you break apart, your legs are weak and he chuckles as he keeps you upright, a smug smile growing on his face.
“Shut up.” You say weakly.
“Don’t leave.”
You sigh, forehead leaning against his collarbones.
“I haven’t had a vacation in a long time either, now that I think about it.” He offers, head tilting to one side as he looks you over. “You think you could stand to room with me for another week?”
You can’t stop touching him; hands gliding over his shoulders as he noses at the spot behind your ears where you’re the most sensitive. “I might be able to be talked into it.”
He smiles, and it’s blinding. “I love you,” he whispers, right before he kisses you again.
Later that night when you call Peggy on speakerphone and tell her the entire story, Steve takes the phone and says “told you so,” before hanging up.
Bucky’s arms around your waist, you’re already thinking of writing the concierge who made the room mix-up a thank you card.
End
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OTOUCH Native 1080P Projector Review – PROS & CONS – Electric Focus Projector
Electric Focus - Projector Native 1080P 18000LM, OTOUCH 5G WiFi Bluetooth 5.2 Projector 4K Support 4P Keystone/Phone Mirror/Dual HiFi Speakers/BT Remote/50% Zoom for Phone PC TV Stick Switch 2023 New
Electric Focus - The OTOUCH upgraded Native 1080P projector eliminates the traditional physical manual focus mode, focusing can be done directly with the remote control, making it more convenient and accurate. Also, with fewer physical focus buttons, it reduces dust from entering the lens.
18000LM/800ANSI-50% Brightness Improve - This video projector has 18000 lumens high brightness and Native 1920*1080P resolution, supports to play 4K source video(but playback in 1080P resolution) which can provide you with high brightness and high definition. In addition, its HI-FI stereo dual speakers, giant projection size will provide you with cinema-level enjoyment. （Note: Using the projector in a dark environment will get a better viewing experience）
IOS/Android Phone Screen Sync & 5G/2.4G Dual-Band WIFI--No lag, Smoother - This wireless projector supports 5G/2.4G dual-band WiFi, which can reduce video loading delay, make it faster and smoother to stream video. It supports ios Screen Mirroring and Android Wireless Display, no wire connection is required , make it easy to create a home theatre. (Note: Phone wired projection is not supported)(You need a TV Stick if you want to enjoy movies from Netflix, Disney, Amazon Prime, Hulu and Youtube)
Bluetooth Remote Control/Two Way Bluetooth - Our upgraded Bluetooth remote control eliminates blind spots in traditional IR RC, allowing for smooth control of the projector at any angle. Our projector doubles as a Bluetooth speaker, thanks to its two built-in HiFi speakers. For even better audio quality when streaming video, you can connect it to an external Bluetooth speaker. Note: It does not support Dolby, so make sure to set the audio output to stereo on your streaming device to get sound.
±50° 4 Points Keystone Correction, Support Side Cast/50% ZOOM Function - With latest four points keystone technology, four corners of projector image can be adjusted individually in ±50° direction, allowing for side casting. The 50%-100% ZOOM function allows you to adjust the size of the projected image without physically moving the projector. Additionally, with HDMI port, AV port, two USB ports, it can be connected to PS5, Switch, Blu-ray DVD, Computer, Laptop, USB Stick; TV box, Amazon Stick
Notes--Please Read Carefully Before Purchasing and Using
Due to the HDCP protocol, the projector cannot directly play movies from Netflix, Amazon Prime and Hulu App. You can use a TV stick to connect to the projector to watch movies from Netflix, Amazon Prime and Hulu.
Because of the high-brightness bulbs, we have bigger fans for heat dissipation, so there will be some noise, but our speakers are also powerful enough that watching videos will not be affected at all.
Due to copyright issues of Dolby Audio, this projector does not support Dolby. If it has no sound, go to setting of your streaming device and select Surround Audio option as ‘PCM’ instead of ‘Best Possible’ to get sound.
Since there are many problems with the wired connection of the mobile phone, the wired connection of the mobile phone is not supported. It is more convenient to use a mobile phone wireless connection.
There has an air inlet on the bottom of the projector. Please avoid other objects blocking the air inlet during using the projector or it will burn screen black.
The remote control needs 2 AAA batteries to start, our remote control does not contain batteries. If it still doesn't work after installing the batteries, you can pm us for a free replacement.
Using the projector in a dark environment will get a better viewing experience.
For office use, we recommend purchasing a more professional projector.
It is not Android projector.
There is no interface jack on the back, so it can be placed directly with the lens facing up to project up to ceiling.
Brand OTOUCH
Manufacturer Shenzhen Shengtaian Digital Technology Co., Ltd
Model S5
Model year 2023
Part Number S5-K6
Hardware interface Bluetooth, USB, HDMI
Special features ✔️18000LM/800ANSI High Brightness, 4K Supports, ✔️50%-100% Zoom, ✔️After-sales email: [email protected], ✔️Phone Mirror, ✔️Portable Tripod Included, ✔️5G/24G WiFi and Bluetooth,, ✔️More Sensitive Bluetooth Remote,, ✔️4 Points Keystone & 5W*2 Hi-Fi Sound,, ✔️Carrying Bag for Outdoor Use
Mounting Hardware cooling fan and heatsink included
Remote Control Description Remote Control Included
Display Technology LCD
Display type LCD
Image Aspect Ratio 4:3 Native, 16:9 Selectable
Image Contrast Ratio 15000:1
Display Resolution 1920 x 1080
Resolution 4K Pixels
Wattage 90 watts
Power source type AC
Batteries Required No
Refresh rate 60 Hz
Total USB Ports 2
Connector Type Bluetooth, Wi-Fi
Form Factor Desktop
Mounting type CEILING/FLOOR/TABLE/TRIPOD MOUNT
Includes rechargable battery No
Includes Remote Yes
Manufacturer Shenzhen Shengtaian Digital Technology Co., Ltd
Item model number S5
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