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gb-patch · 3 years

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Ask Answers: May 15th Part 1

It’s been longer than usual since our last answer session, so I’m answering a ton of questions today! It’s so big I split it into two parts. Thank you for the patience on getting a response to these.

Thanks for reaching out to us with your questions and kind words ^^!

Sorry if this has been asked before or isn't something you can say but is there anyway for Cove to confess in step 4? I wanted him to confess in step 3 and followed all the steps to make him do it but ended up texting my family instead of Cove at the end.

Yeah, Cove can confess in Step 4!

Hello! I heard that Cove is on the spectrum, albeit undiagnosed. As someone who is ND, this makes me UNBELIEVABLY happy. I literally was brought to tears! Thank you for that!

Out of curiosity, will Cove be diagnosed in Step 4? I have a strong feeling y’all won’t make it a HUGE deal/make it out to be negative, so I’m not worried about that whatsoever! I’m just curious just he’ll off handedly mention it? Or will it just not be touched upon at all (which is ok!)?

Either way is ok, I’m just curious!

I’m happy it made you happy! Admittedly, Cove simply being someone with autism that grew up not being diagnosed was something I included for myself. I didn’t really think anyone would notice or ask about it, aha. But players did start to have questions about his traits, so I started to talk about it outside of the game. It’s great to see it get such a positive response and now I do feel like having it be a non-topic may have been the wrong choice and bringing it up would’ve been good in terms of having positive representation for that. I don’t know if I’ll find a way to mention it in Step 4 now, with how far along the game is, but I am at least thinking about it when originally it wasn’t something I really even considered.

Hey! Just wanted to say thank you for Our Life. It's been a bright spot and a needed escape in what's otherwise been a crummy year. I know you just did a Q&A post but I figured I'd ask anyway. Was just curious about Step 4. Will it be similar to the other Steps in that it consists of several different moments or will it just be one long sequence?

Step 4 is shorter than the prior Steps because it’s just an epilogue rather than a full arc of a story. It’ll consist of scenes that all happen in a set row one after the other. There won’t be a collection of Moments to choose from. But it’ll still be very sweet and fun.

¡hola!, you see, first I want to say that I love Our Life! (°◡°♡) and I have 2 important questions, would Cove cry watching titanic? and what is the saddest part according to him? (sorry for my english)

Titanic would make him cry. He’d probably think the parts showing people who aren’t able to make it to the life boats/are choosing to stay and go down with the ship were the saddest.

Hello, I wanted to ask how much you earn with creating games? Like is it possible to make a living? Thank you >< <3

How much I earn varies a lot month to month based on Steam sales, Patreon backers, and how many projects are in full production at the time. It’s also hard to say how much I make historically, since that also changes dramatically year by year. But I do earn enough to work on these games full time! I really appreciate all the support that allows me to do that.

Hey!! I was wondering for the 18+ Our Life moment, will there be an emphasis on safety/comfort for all involved? I feel like there would be just going off of what the rest of the game is like, but I wanted to ask

Yes! Cove is a nervous boy himself and also super cautious about doing anything the MC doesn’t like, so clear consent from both is absolutely needed for anything to happen. It’s a conversational sexy times Moment with stops/starts so the two can talk about how they’re feeling, rather than a heat of the moment just going for it kind of thing.

Hey!! I was wondering how long the wedding dlc would be? Will it be broken up into moments, or just one big event?

It’s one long series of scenes all in a row rather than a collection of Moments to pick from. It’s the shortest and the least expensive of all the DLCs. It’s not super crucial to get and those who aren’t into big weddings can totally skip it without worry.

HELLO AMAZING DEVS 👋 i am hopelessly in love with the worst guy ever (jeremy king) and because of this i have a really stupid question: does he really hate people who are nice to him? TvT he’s too cute to be mean to istg it’s a miracle JB held the urge to be consistently nice to him bc just look at his FACE he is so cute! thank you for jeremy’s route it’s so lovely (and awful bc he’s scum 11/10) it gave me so much laughs LMAO i hope you guys have a good day!!

Haha, thank you. He doesn’t hate them but he’s certainly not pleased with them. Jeremy is either uncomfortable with or annoyed by people being sweet on him, depending on how they approach it. He’s far more comfortable with jerkiness. It lets him relax and he can be himself without it being a problem, since he’s also a jerk. He feels a level of guilt being such a little punk to kind people, not enough to be a better person but still.

Has Cove dated or been interested in someone other than MC?

Nope! He stays single over the course of the game if he’s not with the MC.

Is Step 4 more mature? Or it's gonna be set in similar atmosphere as Step 3?

Step 4 is a similar atmosphere as Step 3. Though, it’s actually kind of less mature-topic heavy than Step 3 since it’s just a ‘hey, let’s check in on the gang to see what they’re up to’ style epilogue rather than a story arc with serious issues.

will there be new music for now and forever?? or will the old our life music be reused?

It’s gonna be a brand new soundtrack. We’ll be opening up a job position for that soon.

Hi, is it okay if we use the assets in Our Life (like the sprites) for fanworks or fan content content, like edits?

Sure! Just as long as you don’t use the assets made by those artists to make money.

Quick clarification on Step 3 choices: I hope I didn't come off rude (because I LOVE the game, really!!), I was just curious because the intro threw me off at times. For example, you could choose how you felt about Elizabeth in Step 2 (Dinner), but during the Step 3 intro, it says that you got closer to Liz and I didn't get a choice in it.

For the example, it can’t be helped that you’re closer to Liz in Step 3 than you were in Step 2 because she’s inherently closer to the MC regardless of whether you liked her or not in Step 2. Her feelings are out of your control and the game isn’t so dramatic that you can push her affection away and not let her bond with you, haha. But ‘being closer’ can still be relative. For some people maybe that means you’re best buds now and for others it might just mean you’re not fighting all the time any more. If there’s other parts you want to mention, feel free to let us know.

Did the illustrator for Our Life change?

We have many OL artists! The main artists who set the game’s style haven’t changed, but there’s multiple other artists who help finish assets.

So Miranda's type is confident and outgoing, huh? So...does that mean Terri's her type?? 👀

Haha, sorry for the late reply on this. As you might’ve seen in our post yesterday- yeah that is her type.

Hey! First, I just want to say I've really enjoyed how detailed OL got with gender identity and sexuality and how respectful the topics were handled! It's been so wonderful to play since the experiences could be close to my own (I'd be lying if I said I didn't tear up at parts). Second, I was wondering, would future games explore the topic of polyamory? I'd love to see more visual novels allow room for that and I saw you've explored the topic before.

Keep up the amazing work! ♡

Thank you! We do want to include polyamory in at least some of our future projects. Floret Bond, which might be what you’re referring to when mentioning how we’ve explored the topic before, is on hold unfortunately. So right now I’m not sure when something might release or what will be the first game of ours to come out with poly relationships (we might do something else before FB is done). We’ll have see how things ends up coming together.

Hey um. I feel like im not allowed to ask this on the private discord cuz people will yell at me but why is there so much focus on OL2 and not finishing OL1 stuff? I like the new people but i kind of want to finish cove's story and get derek and baxter stuff first. didn't people pay for it?

I’m sorry, I don’t understand entirely what’s making that situation a concern. There’s a channel in the discord for critique where no one is allowed to comment back. People can voice things they’re worried about without any way for others to push back on it. And the two teams working on the OL games are different. We try to post pretty often about how we’re hiring brand new people to start on Our Life: Now & Forever. The OL1 team is all still working on OL1 like normal. There’s only more updates on the Patreon for OL2 because the expansions to the first game are mostly script-based at this point while OL2 is just starting to get all its art, which means there’s a lot more to show off as previews.

Also, there was a Kickstarter for the first Our Life, if that’s what you mean by people paying for it. But one of the stretch goals was to start Our Life 2 early, before fully completing Our Life 1, so that the new game could be out sooner. It wouldn’t make sense to stop doing OL2 work because that would be going against what backers were promised. Maybe you didn’t get the full story before and hopefully this clears it up!

Hello! I know it's up to every player but.. What is your recommendation for playing order? Did you ever had any timeline events planned?

I didn’t make the events with a planned timeline. The events got made simply as I had ideas for them and then I just kind of organized them from left to right on the screen in an order to space out more dramatic ones between more lighthearted ones. Any order the player wants to go with is totally valid!

Hi! It's Step 4 a paid dlc or update? And how long it's planned to be? Ps. Love the game!

The Step 4 epilogue is free! The Cove Wedding DLC does cost money, though. Those are planned to be shorter than the usual Steps/DLCs.

Will we have options for what sort of job the MC might have by the time step 4 takes place?

Yeah, you can. It’s not super exact or detailed, but there are options about it.

Is there a pandemic in Our Life world, or is it just in a better timeline with no pestilence?

Our Life is pandemic-free! That didn’t exist when we began working on the project and it’s not something we’d like to feature in this story now that it has unfortunately come along, aha.

Hi, you said that you can play tic-tac-toe or hangman with Cove in Boating if you're sick/scared but I keep getting tic-tac-toe. Am I doing something wrong?

After being sick/scared you have to continue to be upset/unwell. If you calm down and decide to just chill you’ll end up playing tic-tac-toe.

Hi, GB Patch! Since Lee was initially commissioned to only appear in two Steps does this mean she won't appear in the Wedding DLC? I really like her character so it'll be a little weird to not have our cousin at our wedding, aha.

She is gonna be in Step 4/the wedding DLC after all! We’re still working with her creator to make sure it fits with what they wanted.

Is Sunset Bird based on a real place? Asking for a friend, not trying to move there or anything. 👀

It’s based on small beach towns in So-Cal, but not one specific town you could go see in real life, I’m afraid. It’d be nice if it was real, though.

—– —– —– —–

We released a new FAQ! It answers common questions and we’ll keep adding more to it. Please check there before sending an ask. FAQ Also, if you prefer to just see the main posts without all the asks/reblogs, feel free to follow our side account instead: GB Patch Updates Blog

#our life #Our Life Beginnings & Always #Our Life: Now & Forever #ask #gb patch #gb patch games #xoxo droplets

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ellewriteswrongs · 3 years

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picking favorites (a @tsbandau drabble)

if y’all aren’t emotionally invested in @underdog-arts ‘s band au, idk what y’all are even doing /j

anyway, here’s a wholesome family drabble insp. by the band au and my (not-so) subtle obsession with remus and janus. also subbing to their patreon is the best $5 i’ve probably ever spent, no joke

“Honey, you can still pick up Ry, right?” Janus called down the hallway, carrying a basket of laundry on each hip before depositing them in the hallway to put away later. Remus was seated in their shared office catching up on emails as Janus began packing up leftover pasta into containers to take to their show scheduled that night.

“I told you I got ‘em,” he agreed, banging the last clumps of his protein shake into his mouth with the heel of his hand. “I’m gonna’ jog to V’s and grab the van.”

Janus nodded to themself out of instinct before faltering, their brow furrowing.

“Wait—Re, that’s like three miles,” they challenged, dumping the dirtied dishes into the sink. “Just take the fucking car.”

Remus’ snort laugh was audible from down the hallway.

“They asked for the van!” Remus cackled. “And I, for one, do not disappoint. Apparently making my kid’s friends think they’re cool is worth a three-mile jog.”

Janus rolled their eyes, albeit fondly. This was, unfortunately, not news.

Riley was having an…interesting phase. It wouldn’t be abnormal for kids their age if it weren’t for the fact that their parents were ridiculously competitive, and all of their parents’ friends were eager to get in on it.

As soon as Remus attended career day in Riley’s first grade classroom, resulting in the entire class of six-year-olds marveling at the fact that their friend’s dad was a “rock star.”

Janus loved that conversation over dinner that night.

They weren’t jealous. No, in fact, it was probably overdue for Riley to have a bit of a “Daddy’s kid” phase, considering how joined at the hip they were with Janus for multiple years now. But they wanted to win.

Riley could make their own decisions about picking a favorite parent. As long as that decision was Janus.

“You’ve gone so-oft,” they sing-songed, smirking as Remus appeared in the kitchen behind them, wrapping one hand around their hip and pressing a kiss to their temple. “Ry’s got you wrapped around their finger.”

Remus have a flash of his crooked grin.

“Yeah, well…at least I know where they get that from.”

Janus rolled their eyes, trying to hide their reddening face.

“Sap,” they grumbled fondly. “Hurry up and get on with your run before you’re late to pickup. And tell V I said hey.”

Remus gave an exasperated chuckle and affirmation, but pocketed his keys and wallet nonetheless.

The jog to Virgil’s apartment wasn’t a particularly strenuous three miles, being downtown and all, and Remus was far from out of shape. Still, three miles was three miles—especially in the late afternoon sun. Needless to say, Virgil wasn’t thrilled to have a giant sweaty man on his doorstep, but he handed over the keys nonetheless.

The van was old, still clinging to its axels from when Remus himself purchased it from an old neighbor and declared it the band’s “tour bus.” It was nice enough at the time, especially for the price he paid, but it certainly wasn’t still around for anything more than sentimental value.

Mainly just Remus refusing to get rid of it.

That, and the fact that, for whatever reason, Riley thought it was the coolest thing ever.

The drive wasn’t long, only the sitting in traffic of other parents in minivans trying to get into the school parking lot. He…wasn’t a fan of that part of being a parent, that’s for sure. He could do without any other parents, thank you very much, but at least it was fun to see how obvious all of them were in their distaste of both him and Janus, compared to how much their kid absolutely adored them.

A fact that was only proven when Remus eventually made it to the parking lot and exited his van, only to be met with ear-splitting squeal of “daddy!” and an armful of six-year-old.

He can’t deny how, even after all these years, the title still makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like…he is a dad. That’s his kid! How fucking rad is that!

He happens to spot a few other parents, along with some of Riley’s friends that he recognizes, and he offers a quick wave with the hand that isn’t mussing up his kid’s hair.

“You brought the van,” Riley points out with a toothy grin that Remus can’t help mirroring. He can’t help the knot in his throat when he spots the gap in their teeth from their first ever lost tooth—which only meant they were getting much too old and Remus would really appreciate it if they would slow the fuck down.

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” Riley nods, bouncing on Remus’ hip just a bit out of excitement. “I gotta’ warn you though, JJ’s getting pretty jealous.”

Riley laughs before sticking out their tongue and making a fart noise in Remus’s face.

Remus is, for the thousandth time, bewildered at how Riley couldn’t possibly be more like Janus if they tried. And mostly smitten. He has the coolest kid on Earth, after all.

“They can suck my butt!” Riley squeals and Jesus Christ, Remus is going to have a heart attack right there in the parking lot. He’s gonna’ have to grill Jan again to make sure those two aren’t secretly biologically related.

“Hey, your words not mine, squirt,” he smirks, opening the van door and strapping them into the car seat. “And your early bedtime if you let JJ hear any of that.”

He finishes with a pinch on their nose before closing the van door and getting back in the driver’s seat.

Riley, as soon as the radio turn on, starts protesting very aggressively to listen to “your songs, daddy! Play your songs!”

Thankfully, he has a CD burned with some of their…cleaner songs for that exact purpose.

Riley, for lack of a better word, was ‘singing’ along at a volume that Remus would’ve otherwise found hilarious and impressive if it wasn’t right in his ear. Still, there was a certain fondness that came with watching his kid’s excitement over his work—something that, as usual, was paired with thrashing within the confines of a car seat and headbanging their little heart out.

Along the drive Remus made every attempt to stop the barrage of the screamo singer in the making, but all were ultimately unsuccessful. At least…until he pointed out one particular building out of a strip mall assortment.

“Hey, you see that store right there? The one with the red sign?” He spoke up, catching Riley’s eager attention in an instant. They placed both hands on the van window to look out.

“What is it?” They asked, squinting to try and read what was on the sign.

“You know the snake on my leg?” Riley nodded, quieting down. “That’s where JJ took me to get it.”

They paused, seemingly putting some pieces together in their head.

“How come you only have one?” They asked, still kicking their legs against their seat. “JJ has lots, how come you don’t have lots too?”

Remus chuckled, continuing along the road as the light turned green.

“‘Cause I don’t need another one. They’re very expensive, you know.”

“Is it ‘cause you’re a wimp?”

Remus choked on his own spit.

“N-no,” he choked out, laughing. “No I’m not, I just think it looks better this way.”

He didn’t bother looking into the backseat to see what Riley thought of that answer, but if the return to karaoke that followed was any indication, they were not impressed. Still, he’d probably take the teasing over the screaming, but kids are kids.

Even as they pulled into their driveway, Remus had to strategically dodge Riley’s flailing limbs in order to un-fasten the seatbelts on their car seat and actually get them in the house. Apparently the music was not as vital to the ‘sing-along’ as he’d hoped it was when he turned the car off.

“Alright, alright, calm those legs down before you knock my teeth out, will ya’?” Remus teased, placing Riley on his shoulders where they instantly took fistfuls of his hair to hold on. Riley toned down the velocity, but otherwise did not stop. “Careful, squirt, if you wanna’ kick so bad, I’m signing you up to play soccer.”

Riley stopped almost instantaneously, gripping Remus’ hair even tighter as they headed back inside the house, Riley’s tiny backpack slung around Remus’ forearm.

“Nooo,” they wailed, half punctuated by laughter that echoed through the house.

“What are we complaining about?” Janus spoke, leaning against the doorway across the room with a fond smile.

“He said if I kick him in the teeth I have to play soccer,” Riley whined, attempting to climb down from Remus’ shoulders on their own. Janus snorted a laugh before swiftly crossing the room to collect their child and place them on their hip.

“Wow, your daddy’s so mean,” Janus agreed, raising a challenging eyebrow as they stood in front of their husband. Remus pouted before bending down to steal a kiss.

“Gross,” Riley giggled, pressing a hand on each of their parents’ faces to separate them.

“Gross?” Janus smirked. “Well in that case, maybe your dad was being a bit unfair.”

Riley turned to Remus to stick out their tongue at him.

“I mean, soccer? That’s just ridiculous,” Janus continued, a mischievous glint in their eyes. “We’ll obviously have to sign you up for football instead. A punt like that has got to be put to good use.”

Riley immediately went back to their dramatized complaining, this time reaching desperately for Remus to get him to take them back from Janus—to which Remus just held up his hands in mock innocence.

“No can do, kid,” he smirked. “The punishment has to fit the crime, after all.”

Riley continued their attempts to wiggle out of Janus’ unyielding grip.

“Never!” They declared, trying a different approach of reaching over Janus’ shoulder to escape from behind. “I won’t! I won’t do it, I promise!”

Remus and Janus both knew they wouldn’t actively try to hurt either of them, but sometimes it was just more fun to assert rules when it came with shrieking laughter and climbing their parents like a jungle gym.

“Well, now you know where we stand,” Remus spoke in false authority, reaching for one of Riley’s tiny shoes and holding it up to address it as if it were in control of their legs. “I better not see you around these parts again, ya’ hear?” He added in an over-the-top western accent, gesturing to his face.

Riley squealed with laughter as he held out his hand for a handshake and they shook it with their accused foot.

“Alright, alright, you two,” Janus intervened with fond exasperation. “Snacks are on the counter, take it or leave it.”

Riley whipped their head around to peer into the kitchen, cheering when they spotted two plates on the kitchen counter, each with a toaster waffle piled high with blueberries.

“Second…breakfast!” They cheered, drumroll-ing on their leg before whooping and slinking out of Janus’ grip and climbing up onto the kitchen barstools. Remus, giving a fond eye-roll at the enthusiasm, turned to drape his arms over Janus’ shoulders from behind, perching his chin on top of their head.

“They get it from you, you know,” he mumbled, smirking at the scoff it earned him.

“Shut up,” Janus grumbled, the smile evident in their voice. “That is all you.”

“Babe, sports are a threat in this house,” he teased. “You’re telling me that came from me?”

“Yeah, I’ll take that one,” they chided, turning around to face their husband. “As long as you’re aware that the energy, the volume—honey, that’s all you.”

Remus quirked his brow with a proud smirk.

“Or maybe it’s the fact that they sleep for fourteen hours and we haven’t even had eight in the last six years,” he challenged knowingly. “You know, I happen to remember that back in the day…that bed was hardly even for sleeping.”

Janus snorted, their face reddening slightly.

“Is it bad to think of those as the ‘good old days’ already?”

Remus swept a piece of their hair out of their face.

“Hell no, dude. We lived like kings back then,” he chuckled. “How ‘bout this—I’ll get Ro to take ‘em to the park or something this weekend and I’ll dick you down just like old times, ‘kay?”

Janus sputtered out a cackle, smacking Remus on the chest before covering his mouth with their hand.

“Fucking christ, they’re like two yards away,” they hissed, still laughing. “I am not going to be the one fielding questions about what getting dicked down means, oh my god.”

“You say that like they listen to anything when there’s food in front of them,” Remus countered, nodding in the direction of their kid as Janus rolled their eyes with a chuckle.

“Now that, is from you,” they grinned, jabbing him in the side with their elbow.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re serving up delicacies like toaster waffles,” Remus said, raising his hands in mock defense.

Janus gave him a look before crossing their arms.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I know you can’t go two hours without food. Go on, there’s one for you, even if it’s probably cold by now,” they teased as Remus excitedly kissed their forehead before practically running to the kitchen. He hopped up to sit on the counter, folding each toaster waffle like a blueberry-filled taco before funneling them into his mouth.

Janus followed close behind—at a normal pace, thank you very much—and took the actual seat next to their kid, sipping at the cup of tea they had left on the counter before the two had returned home as they listened to Riley regaling their day at school.

———

Realistically, Remus probably should’ve seen it coming. He was a couple days past his previous record of days as Riley’s “favorite” and he knew he likely didn’t have much longer before Janus dethroned him again, but he certainly hadn’t expected the scene he walked in on that night.

He had heard hushed laughter coming from one of their house’s bathrooms that evening, assuming at first that Janus was just handling Riley’s bath or something like that, but as he cleaned up the mess from their dinner and finished washing the rest of their dishes, he was surprised to find they were still in there. So obviously he had to investigate.

He knocked on the door, rolling his eyes fondly as shushing and giggles came from within.

“Everything good in there?” He teased, leaning against the door. “I gotta’ say, I’m a little hurt I didn’t get invited to whatever club this is that hangs out in the bathroom.”

More giggles followed by the oh-so familiar sound of Janus’ shushing.

“I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself what all the fuss is about,” he sing-songed, slowly creaking open the door before letting out a snort laugh at the scene before him.

Janus was seated on the edge of the bathtub, wash cloth in hand, as Riley sat on the sink counter, covered on all limbs with temporary tattoos. At least the pieces of tape that Janus had cut into circles and colored black to look like ear gauges were admittedly cute.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he smirked from against the doorframe.

“JJ said you’re a wimp,” Riley proudly announced. “I was right.”

Janus stuck their tongue out and made a spitting noise and…yeah, that was their kid alright. Not that Remus would have it any other way.

#anyway.......i would die for them #my writing #tsbandau #sanders sides #ts remus #ts janus

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papers4me · 3 years

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Fruits Basket Manga Review ch (90)- First pages ONLY.

I skimmed thro ch-89 to know the context of ch-90. it was Cinderella’s play. In this chapter, Kyo says early on, that time has passed since the play & that they are NOW starting their third year in high school. cool.

This part will ONLY focus on the 1st few pages of ch 90 abt (kyo & tohru) & stop before kyo’s memories starts, because the early pages contain:

Tons of new unexplored analysis of (kyo & tohru) characters that unfortunately was intentionally cut & worse! “changed” in the anime.

No space to add kyoko’s story in this post.

Kyoko’s story is full psychologically & socially.. I need to take a deeeeeeep breath before I unpack it. very deeeeep breath!

-Glimpses of Tohru (the silent grieving girl) Subtle Writing of Grief:

Right from the beginning, I hate how much insight into tohru’s grief & weakness as a human being is already there in the first few pages of ch-90 than the entire 3 seasons of the anime! From few pages we have:

Tohru’s seemingly delighted watching a video. Subtly, showcasing tohru’s grieve & paving the path for tohru’s trauma exploration later in the story. Grief is not sth you quickly past, that’s the most tragic misunderstanding of grief. Time will pass, so, you’ll be better & healthier. Really?!. Tohru’s inner desire to see her mom alive manifested in her words: “ like a photo comes to life” T_T.

The story/writing/manga is acknowledging tohru’s heartbreaking & NOT cute habit of talking to her mom’s cold dead photo! In the anime, tohru talks to her a lot in se01 & it’s up to you to see as as “ cute” as all the canon characters do or actually feeling it IS wrong. Kyo’s “ what would she do if there were a video of her mom”! “ drives the point more abt tohru being a sad grieving human~not the “advice-giving, optimistic angel, & rain-stopping sunshine in the anime.

Tohru telling kyo to NOT catch cold connecting it to se01, ep 9 (haru’s ep) when tohru was afraid that yuki might catch cold & kyo noticed that! so now in se03, they’re dropping this plot altogether within the main anime, for what? we dont even know if this part would be included in whatever “ kyoko’s” spinoff content would be. -_-’.

That’s how you write subtle trauma such as (grief) for a main (female) MC. subtlety is the key. Respect the viewers intelligence & do it.

You don’t have to give her the long speeches or the many focused ep that yuki had. he’s the kind who confront himself inwardly constantly.

You don’t have to showcase drama, confrontation & force the emotions out like you did with kyo. he runs from his trauma & punishes himself.

Tohru buries her feelings! she’s different from both kyo & yuki. So, with her subtle & symbolic scenes are enough!!!The viewers will catch it if you show it, but ignoring it, cutting it & hoping the viewers will magically predict what you cut, is weird. But the anime isn’t even into us predicting nor subtly showing her cuz this tohru is NOT the tohru we have in the anime. How?

Simply cuz there is no kyo’s inner thoughts abt small things such as tohru’s photo obsession which subtly shows her grief & trauma. If kyo didn’t monologue abt her, tohru does not exist as she’s meant to be. You loose the subtle insights into tohru if you cut kyo’s inner thoughts. Not everything kyo thinks abt in regards to tohru is romance!!! That’s a very narrow & superficial look into the writing of kyo/’tohru dynamics. Flip the pages, hmm..cut this kyoru scene here & there cuz we dont want the anime to be only their love story.. But the story itself IS NOT only their love story at all. These pages/scenes here are abt tohru as a PERSON. Not tohru the lover...

- Writing Clashes between manga & anime: (Kyo’s Conscious Gradual Psychological Exploration vs Shock Value & Drama)

In ch 90 i really love all the inner self talking that kyo’s doing. It really explains why he ended up rejecting tohru so strongly. Also, going for a trip into kyo’s mind is hella exciting, new, refreshing & full of analysis-worthy exploration! Kyo’s inner psychological argument with himself is a psychologically-informed presentation of a tried guilty mind:

“ Why can’t I stop thinking of (kyoko’s words) lately? Acknowledging that he IS remembering kyoko & never forgot her. This is also supported in the anime itself. When he apologized to a sleeping tohru in se01, ep14 & se02, ep9 , confronting yuki in the stairs & other instances as well.

“ It’s like a lid been opened & all the memories came pouring”. Acknowledging that kyo DID open his lid since se02, ep9 byt chose to run & not confront it due to his guilt of ruining tohru’s happiness by confessing his connection to her mom.

“ pretending I didn’t know, pretending I forgot”. Here is a blatant clash in kyo’s writing (1) between the anime & manga (2) between the anime’s episodes themselves!!. In the manga, again kyo chose to ignore & pretended to forget. Death is NOT sth you forgot. Kyo saw kyoko bleeding & dying. The anime chose to make him totally forget & it could’ve worked if they didn’t included all the canon moments of him actually remembering & pretending to forget. Is that lazy writing? or was the director for se03 different from se 1 &2 &? chose to NOT watch the two previous seasons? Why would you consciously include a contradicting depiction of your character on screen for thousands of confused viewers? Was the scene of kyo’s shocked gave upon seeing kyoko’s photo that artistically appealing that you forgot everything? I really have NO problem of kyo forgetting kyoko if that was written in the anime since se01, but it wasn't. that's why it sucks.

“Is this payback? maybe I want to blame ME?” augh! i love this line so much! Directly hinting to the viewers that this is kyo’s one-sided guilt before his story with kyoko even started! subtly paving the path for the reason of his rejection of tohru” I dont want forgiveness. I want to blame ME.

-I don’t mind that the anime left kyo’s thoughts of kyoko until the climax in eo8, cuz ep 8 was SO well-done! Se03, ep 8 pacing was very suitable to (1) uncovering dark secrets & death, trauma, & guilt. (2) for exploring the effects such secrets on kyo’s character, decisions, mentality. Also, the animation of kyo’s face all ep 8 was one of the most expressive facial expressions the anime has ever delivered! The eyebrows, eyes, mouth, tears, body languages, heartache was all 100% perfect. The fact that the following eps didnt have much time to express everything & chapters were cramped is not ep 8′s fault but the decision to have 13 eps. Kyo’s delayed trauma deserved to have its own ep.

-What I DO mind is the added scene of ep 6 where he freaked out upon seeing kyoko’s picture, the concept of shock is perfect & so suitable for an anime but was NEVER properly written into the anime itself from the beginning. On the contrary, the anime itself contradict such usage of such value. Good job ruining an otherwise perfect-depiction of two traumatized characters (kyo & tohru) with ONE scene.. -_-

Side Notes:

I thought tohru is narrating the 1st page in ch-90, turned it out it is kyo!!!! Kyo narrates sth? Kyo monologues? kyo has a POV? Just the setting of kyo doing that feels different! I duno if it cuz when that happens in the anime it’s always clash & drama! lol, or cuz it’s sth original!

Shigure’s “ it’s broadcasted all over the nation” is epic! XD! you know poor stupid kyo would fall for that! XD. kyo, you really are an idiot! XD... man this scene would’ve been epic comedy~ lol.

Tohru not knowing what a “dvd” is is outdated for the anime, but to still keep the sentiment of “her wishing she’d have a video footage of her mom”, they could’ve replaced her words with “ It’d be fun watching this play years from now & remembering all the details”. I know that to some, it feels weird that tohru doesn't have video footage of her mom in this era. but trust me, this is more common than you might think. My late brother, who’s way younger than me, doesn't have much video footage, he always felt awkward & preferred not to be filmed. We got photos for him tho~

Even if you want kyo’s knowledge of kyoko to be in the climax only. You can always include this scene of tohru & kyo in the first pages in the anime somehow. It doesn't even need to be abt the dvd even tho that’s manageable. Cutting this short scene of them talking abt videos, & catching cold is cutting tohru’s trauma from its core. Then, the old grandpa’s narration from se03, ep6 would at least have some backup in the anime’s canon.

Momiji & shigure are perfect as a comedic duo!

I can’t get over tohru’s art~ <3

Pinning kyo at the beginning is epic~ kyo always gets the BEST romantic lines when he talks to himself. “ burning (tohru’s ) memories into my head or forgetting everything”. The torturing fire inside him is only distinguished by loving her but is also ignited by loving her~ what’s the solution~

#Fruits Basket #manga #fruits basket manga #manga spoilers #reading paper #love the new content!#Hate the missing content #lol

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acertainsomeone · 3 years

Text

Surrendered-EdSer OS

Eda did not know what she was doing, or why she was doing it. This was the first time in 25 years of her life that she had felt defeated and helpless. Caught in a series of unfortunate circumstances, and life’s treacherous ploughs, she was once again left alone. Her parent's untimely death had left scars on her soul, she could not escape the demons of her past. When Serkan entered her life, she believed that life would be easier. She will finally have someone, who will help her to breathe in the confines of a dark, closed room.

Little did she know, life does not work according to our beliefs. Destiny had plans for her, thrilling yet gruesome. She had imagined getting graduated, with a degree in landscape architect with hope and happiness in eyes. She did graduate, but there was nothing instead of anguish, and loneliness in her eyes.

Not even in her wildest dreams she had imagined to lose Serkan, her first true love. She was so used to be pampered by his love and affection that for once not being on the receiving end broke her into pieces.

It had been eight months since that fateful day. They heard that his plane went missing, they were supposed to get married. Once she had waited for her parents to come and take her away, but they never came back. This time she waited for Serkan to come and make her his lawful wife but he never.

If this trauma wasn’t enough already, she was met by another volcano that hit her so hard that she couldn’t believe she had managed to survive that pain.

He forgot her.

He didn’t have any memories of her.

He hated her.

Serkan Bolat was no longer her Robot Bolat.

After his arrival to Art Life, Eda had imagined it would be difficult to revive those memories he had forgotten but she hadn’t imagined that it would be nearly impossible to win back his love. It was as if he had returned with a stone instead of heart.

Her numerous attempts, pleadings, actions, could not move him. She wondered what was missing that he could not see her as his soulmate anymore.

She tried and tried and one fine day, Eda gave up, for his sake. It took a great deal of courage for her to accept the fact that he was not in love with her, and he won’t fall for her again. It was useless to torment him with her forceful behavior.

He wanted the holding. Of course

It was exactly why he had borne her existence around him for six months otherwise, he would have kicked her out of his life the moment he back to Art Life that day.

Yes, she was giving up on love. Not because she was a coward but because she was selfless, and she chose his happiness over hers. His happiness lied with his work and Selin.

Selin was his logical decision. She was the one, who fitted his lifestyle.

After the failure of her attempts, Eda decided to accept the job proposal from a renowned architect company in Paris, Alcmea.

She had been disregarding it for his sake but eventually Eda decided that it was meant for her. She was longer meant for Serkan or Istanbul. She had to leave for his peace and her sanity. There was no point of living in Istanbul after selling her shares to Serkan, there was no point of breathing the same air after losing him to Selin.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

One last time

She breathed nervously, wearing her silver earrings gifted by Aydan Bolat herself as a graduation present. Ferit and Ceren had thrown her a part before her farewell party, there was no excuse to avoid for otherwise they all would have thought that she is leaving with a sad heart.

Not that they were believing her otherwise.

She had to wear the mask of a jubilated Eda, who finally got the chance to work abroad, and make her dreams come true. She had a long way to go and Eda had decided that she won’t allow her failed love story to come in the way of her career. That’s something she was assertive of.

Clad in a long black evening gown, she looked breathtaking like always.

Yet he won’t notice. Neither her dress nor the charm bracelet she was wearing tonight. Not as a hope but as a way to get rid of some memories.

If she had decided to move on, and leave everything behind, she had to let go.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Eda arrived late at the party; it was her way to avoid him. She wanted to meet everyone one last time for few minutes and leave as soon as possible.

He was looking for someone, her heart did not skip a beat because it wasn’t her. His eyes immediately caught Selin’s and she could tell his eyes only searched her.

Ferit announced everyone to get on the floor with their respective partners for a dance. Well, she didn’t have one so he offered her his hand immediately. Probably to save her from the embarrassment.

“You don’t have to, I’m fine.” She muttered shyly.

“Oh, come on! By the way, I wasn’t going to invite Selin, Ceren insisted because then it would’ve been odd.”

“That wouldn’t have changed anything! There’s no way he’s coming back even if Selin isn’t around.”

“He’s brainwashed by her Eda-”

Eda cut him off immediately, “Don’t- Ferit please Don’t. Have you brought the ring? Ceren is anticipating the proposal, if you’re late this time she will probably fly to Paris with me.” She joked, hiding the pain behind her eyes.

“All’s set. It will be soon, and you’ll be the first person to hear about it.” He winked and twirled her.

He caught her.

She was in his arms just like old times.

Breathe Eda. Not Anymore.

She held her head high in defiance, acting unaffected by his touch. She didn’t blame him for anything. It did hurt her though that he didn’t keep his promise of falling in love with her hundred times.

He had said that if he was born a hundred times, he will fall for her. He couldn’t live up to his words in the same life. Yet, she had no complaints, she accepted this as destiny’s decision and decided to remain determine in her stance.

She was acting good enough, not even for a second he could feel her nervousness or accelerated heartbeat.

She remained silent, closely following their twirling feet, and entwined hands. Acting as if perfecting this dance was the only thing she was interested.

He broke the silence by clearing his throat. “When is your flight?”

“Tonight” Her reply was simple, devoid of any emotions.

“have a safe flight Eda Yildiz.”

“Sao” She passed an awfully professional smile, avoiding to look at him in the eye. Though she could feel his gaze on her. His eyes hadn’t left her face for a second.

Why does he want now?

He placed his hands on her waist, his masculine hands perfectly fitted her petite waist like always.

Her arms were entwined around his neck securely. One last time, she wished to touch him. There were boundaries by inhaling his wood scent was more than enough.

Gladly, he pulled her closer by himself. She didn’t have to struggle. There was nothing intimate about that gesture. He was just dancing.

‘You look beautiful.’ He uttered silently. Eda knew him enough to tell that his compliment escaped his lips without taking permission from his mind.

It doesn’t matter.

“You too.”

“Beautiful? Me?” He raised his eyebrow in curiosity.

“Pardon if you don’t appreciate to be referred with a feminine adjective.” He was trying to be funny but Eda was beyond exhausted to indulge in a friendly conversation. She was not going to surrender.

‘I- I didn’t mean that.” He attempted to explain himself. “Where would you be staying in Paris?”

Eda wanted to tell him that she had chosen the apartment that he had bought for them few days before their wedding. She wanted to tell him that their apartment in Paris was waiting for them but she decided against it.

“Deniz arranged a place.” Something inside her pushed her to say that.

“His place?” He asked incredulously, tightening his grip around her waist.

“You need not to know.” She denied him simply. A part of her knew that he wasn’t affected by these childish jealousy stunts but yet her impulsive self couldn’t from being so open about it.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my place to ask you about it.”

He waited for her to say anything but she remained awfully quiet. He was not used to this. He was not used to her ignoring him.

Eda began to feel suffocated, the tips of his fingers were drumming against her bare back, synching with the music of piano. She had to let go or she would faint in his arms or breakdown into tears immediately.

“Excuse me.”

She distanced herself from his embrace, they hadn’t realized in the darkness of the room that they had been barely inches away from each other.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

This place was special, they had their contract right at this spot, fought, expressed love, he broke up wit her here, and the last beautiful memory was, when he gifted her that charm bracelet.

She was wearing it tonight.. Of course, he hadn’t noticed that too.

Eda was staring at the stars, this was her last night in Istanbul. She didn’t plan to come back ever.

“It must be hard for you eda hanim” Her thought process was disrupted by Erdem. Their bond had strengthened over the course of eight months.

“You know very well that I have seen experienced something even harder than this Erdem.” She replied in misery but both knew that Eda was talking about something. Something that was known by him but not anyone else in that office.

“Don’t you think he should know?” Erdem said, scared of her reaction

“There is nothing he should know, as if what he knows already had made any difference”

“I always wonder if I had told fifi about my feelings in a much serious manner, she might had stayed.” Erdem sighed. This side of Erdem was only known to Eda, even she was amazed that this one existed.

“We can't stop the ones who want to leave”

“But he deserves to know- at least- about the baby” Erdem hesitated, he did not want to bring this up but considering this as her last night in Istanbul he wished she’d listen to him.

“Erdem git.” Eda looked at him surprised. Her eyes brimmed with tears and pain. She wasn’t mad at him but surprised that he chose to remind her of that night.

“I’m stupid, an absolute fool but I do know one thing that no father deserves-” He wasn’t stopping, he mustered the courage to finish his sentence.

“I’ve already burdened him with the forgotten memories of our love. I can’t make him think about a baby who died before coming to this world.” Hiding her pain behind her mask, she took a sip from her wine. Showing as if talking about this wasn’t shattering her soul into a million pieces.

“Erdem, You and leyla are the only ones who know about my miscarriage. You have kept your word till now, I expect that both of you will keep your word and continue to hide this truth from everyone.”

“Till my last breath, Eda hanim.” Erdem’s voice broke, he hugged Eda instantly. She led out a chuckle and hugged him back.

Erdem was indeed annoying but he had been there for her at a very crucial stage of her life. His support helped her through the most difficult phase of her life.

She had kept her pregnancy as a secret. She was not in the condition to come to terms with the fact herself.

It was only leyla and erdem, who knew. They were there, that night when it happened.

“I have to go.” She sniffed.

Erdem bid her goodbye and turned his back to find a stumped figure of none other than Serkan Bolat himself.

They froze.

What do you know about pain?

It never ends

What do you about healing?

It takes time

What do you know about realizations?

They arrive when it’s too late

#eda yildiz #edser #serkan bolat #sen çal kapimi #sen cal kapimi #sen çal kapımı #sen cal kapımı #turkishdizi #hande erçel #kerem bürsin #edser fic

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hispeculiartreasure · 3 years

Text

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Seventeen | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: Teen

Word count: 9,636

Chapter 17/24

Warnings: PTSD, brief cursing, light discussion of a WW1 veteran’s amputation, mentions of war-related death.

AN: Apparently, I needed time. Time to heal, time to think, time to gain perspective. This chapter is not at all what I had planned, but it’s exactly what it needs to be. Thank you for your patience. Hope you enjoy. ❤

I do not have a set posting schedule for this story.

Chapter Sixteen

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Bucky could not wrap his head around how bewitching you were in the autumnal twilight. The pink hue of the sun’s last rays set the skin of your arms in an alluring tone, made the color of your eyes even more pronounced. It wasn’t only your visage that was stunning, but your confidence behind the wheel of the cruiser. Freshly manicured fingers commanded the steering wheel with a grace that should not have taken him by surprise.

The 1941 Oldsmobile was a loan from Harvey. When you’d told him you were planning a visit home to Tarrytown he claimed he had a vehicle that needed test driving before it was detailed pending a sale. You and Bucky knew full well the car didn’t need any added travel time - Bucky being the mechanic who had repaired it in the first place. The train tickets had been easy enough to return, so the pair of you had taken the clandestine gift and reveled in the luxury of having a vehicle at your disposal.

With an ease that betrayed your years of experience, you navigated the road out of New York City and pointed the vehicle in the direction of your hometown. From his view sitting in the passenger seat, the thought crossed his mind that the woman seated next to him on the bench was a truly authentic you that his soul craved. No walls up, nothing to hide from the world - you behind the wheel cruising down the streets with a peaceful smile spreading to your cheeks. If Bucky had owned a camera he would’ve gladly spent a whole roll of film trying to capture this moment that was imprinting itself on his mind.

He could tell you knew he was watching you. Yet you didn’t shy away; didn’t admonish him for the way his eyes roved over you, nor the length of time they did. You merely continued to talk about your day like you would any other evening. Where you’d normally catch up over dinner and pie in a diner’s cozy booth, you did so in the comfort of the sedan as pavement moved steadily beneath you.

Bucky had expected you to be pleased earlier that evening when he picked you up from work in his Sunday-best; coveralls traded in for a dapper look after a long day working beneath the hood of this very vehicle. Instead, your eyebrows furrowed together, insisting he didn’t have to dress up to meet your parents. He’d waved off your protests with a cheeky “Can’t have your parents thinking I’m a hobo, right?” He bit off a comment about how despite your overtures, you were impeccably dressed. Hair coiffed in perfection, not a speck of makeup out of place - your immaculate appearance didn’t ring true for a reason he couldn’t identify, so he kept the observation to himself.

You had quickly slid back into your rightful place snug in his heart when you’d overruled him by climbing into the driver’s seat. Since he’d put in so much effort, you insisted he rest on the ride out to Tarrytown. Neither of you were fooled. You truly loved being at the helm of a car. With traffic to thank, the hour-long trip to Tarrytown was otherwise pleasant. When he wasn’t marveling at you, he admired the green fields of the rolling countryside.

A roadside advertisement for “Tarrytown’s Best Antique Shop - 2 miles ahead!” prompts Bucky to say -

“So, this is it, huh?”

You slant your eyes to his for a moment before they’re back on the road, a smirk gracing your lips. “Almost.”

Where a moment ago you had been the picture of serenity, an undertow of unease now laces your tense jaw. Try as you might, those eyes couldn’t hide from him.

Before he can ascertain the cause behind the shift, your hand comes down to his knee with an excited squeeze. “Well - this is Tarrytown!”

With the sparkling Hudson River visible in the west, a quaint village looms up to meet the Oldsmobile. All was exactly as he’d expected based on your stories. The place had the charm of another time with buildings betraying architecture from another century, a different kind of world. Towering dogwoods filled with red leaves greet the pair of you everywhere he turns. The road curves past the stately Tarrytown Village Hall, proudly on display in the center of the community.

He whistles appreciatively, eyes definitely not on the town. “She’s a beaut.”

“You’ve barely seen her,” you tease.

“Don’t have to, I know she’s a keeper.” He winks.

Your eyes roll with all the fondness in the world.

Not too much farther into town you take a turn, and another turn, and then another turn. Bucky’s sense of direction is lost in the maze of picturesque homes nestled in the hilly streets. He’s grateful one of you knows where you’re going; he’s grateful that it’s you.

Sooner than expected you bring the car to a slow stop; shifting the gear and pulling the emergency brake before killing the ignition, plunging the cab into a descending quiet as the engine settles.

You, however, are not settled. His attention is drawn to the way you twist the ring on your right hand as your eyes lose focus somewhere in the direction of what he assumes to be your childhood home.

The concept of you being nervous with a home-field advantage puzzled him. When he had brought you home he was fully confident in his sisters and mother making you feel welcome, truly taking a shine to you. To his joy, he’d been right. His father was another story, but that was an unfortunate surprise.

There wasn’t a bit of self-assurance in your shoulders as you gazed through the front windshield. The ring takes another spin around your finger.

He says your name as a question and you snap back to the present, eyes locking with his. You feign a grin and open the driver’s door before he can figure out how to word his question.

Following your lead, he opens the trunk and retrieves the bags, playfully refusing to let you carry yours. “And let your folks think I’m anything other than a gentleman? Come on, you’ve gotta give me something to show off.”

This only pulls a small smile from you before you’re checking your reflection in the side mirror. You wipe a bit of stray lipstick from the side of your mouth, rub at a dark spot beneath your eye. Slow steps lead you to the porch, where you pause again. The nippy breeze sends a flutter through your hair and Bucky takes the moment to really study your face.

Clearly there’s a mix between anticipation and unease. You’d been ecstatic at the prospect of bringing him home just a week ago when you’d made the final plans, so what had happened in the intervening time? Mentally flipping through his past observations he searches for a sign of what lays on the other side of the front door.

He had only heard you speak fondly of home, but in the seconds he reviews your statements they all land on the side of vague. Your hometown was big on traditions, so he assumed your parents would be of the same mindset. From what he’d gleaned you spoke with your mother on the phone fairly regularly, but any calls he’d been within earshot of had sounded almost. . . polite. He’d noticed letters from your father on your home desk and in your purse, sometimes reading a new one on the subway if you hadn’t had time the night before.

Based on his own time around Harvey, Bucky recalled several stories about you and your father. Your mother remained enigmatic, aside from the picture in your apartment of you nestled between your parents.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You avoid his eyes, blink one too many times. “Of course.”

Before he has the chance to press you’ve twisted the doorknob and stepped across the threshold.

“Mom? Dad? Anybody home?” You call out into the sparse foyer.

Bucky can’t help the involuntary tremor of muscles at the sound of a crash from the kitchen, followed by a clamor of voices. When he pulls air back into his lungs, you're smiling an apology. A reassuring hand touches his cheek before fixing an errant lock of hair that had fallen from the strict hold of Brylcreem. He should’ve remembered that as clearly as he can see you, you can also see him.

You raise your voice a fraction, “Everybody okay? We’re home! You can set the bags down there, Buck.” With a motion to the side Bucky obediently deposits the luggage next to the door. It looks incredibly conspicuous in the tidy home, where everything seemingly had a place and stayed there. Some interesting artwork hung on the walls, a few he recognized from Steve’s art books. He’d have to ask who the art connoisseur of the house was.

A deep, soothing voice sounds from the doorway to the left. “Should have known you’d bring trouble the second you walked into the door!” The sentence hit Bucky’s ears a moment before your father, tall and lanky, rounded the corner, assisted by his two forearm crutches. “Hey, Sassafras!”

A giggle escapes you as you wrap arms around your father’s middle. “Hi, Dad. Missed you too.” He squeezes you with a little extra force, prompting an “oomph” out of you before turning to Bucky.

“Sorry about all the noise, we’re trying to get the pumpkins decorated for the contest tonight. We had a little mishap, but everything’s just fine. I assume you’re the young man we’ve heard about.” He worms his right hand out of the crutch and offers it, which Bucky takes amiably. “Glad you could make the trip out, son.”

You had mentioned your father’s service in the Great War that night in the diner when he’d finally told you of his own service. That conversation felt like a lifetime ago, especially when Bucky was faced with the reality of the injury in front of him. Below the knee of his right leg, his pants hang loose without the limb to support them. Nearly 30 years of practice could make anyone deft with crutches but the way he carried himself drew attention away from the injury and to the warmth in his presence.

“James Barnes. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Do you prefer James?”

“Everyone who knows me calls me Bucky, but-”

Your father’s eyes shine with insight his tone belies. “Bucky it is, then. Come on in you two. Your mother is scrambling to get the last things together before the party, but we have a few minutes ‘til we need to leave.”

He tosses his head in the direction from which he came before offering an elbow to you. You tuck your hands into his elbow and kiss him on the cheek. Bucky trails behind the pair of you, noticing how you easily step in perfect time with each other.

“Your boss still giving you trouble?”

“Dad, it’s really okay,” Bucky hears you murmur.

In return you get a disapproving noise and he shifts to get a better look at you as they pass through the living room. “But if it’s not-“

Without an edge you state, “Not now, okay?”

“You’ll catch me up later?”

“Promise.” Crossing the threshold into the kitchen you quickly change the subject. “So how’s your pumpkin looking? What theme did you pick this year?”

Bucky isn’t sure he hears correctly when your father mentions something about dwarfs, but upon seeing the kitchen table he’s proven wrong.

Seven pumpkins sit in a row, each showing painted characteristics of Walt Disney’s cartoon variations of the fairytale dwarfs with background details carved to shine out from the candle burrowed in the pumpkin. The whole gang was there. Each pumpkin dwarf had its own colored hat; everyone’s beard a different shape and length.

A myriad of paints and brushes litter the table protected by a spare sheet that looks as if it had received much love over the years during arts and crafts time. Eyeing the paint stains on your father’s fingers, Bucky can make a fair wager as to who the artist in the house is.

Only one dwarf could have Grumpy’s sour expression, the one with the roses cheeks was not doubt Bashful; and who else could sport a grin that wide except for Happy?

A memory from 1939 surfaces fondly of Evelyn begging him to take her to the pictures to see it even though he told her he was too old. Her wide eyes eventually won him over and he dragged Steve along for the viewing.

Remnants of pumpkin entrails lay on the floor and the aforementioned mishap comes into focus. Bucky reaches for a rag to clean up the remaining spill but you snatch it first, quick to mop up and join your mother in the kitchen.

The most pristine-looking woman Bucky has ever seen in his life turns from the wastebasket in the corner, broom and dustpan in hand. Not a hair out of place, her pearl necklace looks as if it had just been polished.

“Oh,” the crease above her nose pinches, “I wish you hadn’t brought everyone back here, there’s so much clutter from this. . . project.”

“Dear, it’s just family.” Dad inclines his head toward Bucky. “Bucky, this is my lovely wife. Darling, this is Bucky.”

“Bucky? I’m so sorry, I was under the impression your name was James.”

“Oh, it is, Bucky is a childhood nickname that just stuck. But you can call me whatever is easiest for you.”

“Well, welcome to our home, James.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry the place is such a mess, it’s been a bit of a chaotic day.”

A few awkward beats pass before you approach your mother.

“Hello, dear,” her syrupy sweet voice contrasts the stiff kiss she leaves in the air above your cheek.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Have you been working long hours again?” She fixes a bobby pin that had begun to worm its way out of your hair. “Poor thing, the circles under your eyes are so dark, I knew this job would be hard on you. Have you been drinking enough water?”

You protest weakly, telling her it hasn’t been that bad and you must not have touched your makeup up good enough because you were resting just fine. Shoulders tighten slightly when she does a scan of you from head to toe - stopping to fix the collar of your dress that had crumpled when your father hugged you.

Some of the awkward tension breaks when your father clears his throat, drawing attention away from the mother-daughter reunion. “So what do you two think of the pumpkins?”

Immediately, your face softens. Joining your Dad to look over the assortment of pumpkins, you let out an appreciative whistle. “You’ve outdone yourself this year. Only one pumpkin required for entry and you bring six extra? The other contestants are going to hate you.”

“Probably,” your father replies with a chuckle. “Although the town already resents that I’ve won seven years in a row.”

“That’s quite an impressive reign.” Bucky runs a finger over the most prominent pumpkin, one that wasn't quite right. “But, I-uh, I think Doc is missing his glasses, sir.”

“Oh gosh, you’re right. He is supposed to have glasses. How did I miss that?” Leaning heavily into his crutches he groans. “And how do I get specs for a pumpkin on short notice?”

“You got a coupla paper clips around?”

With a puckered brow, your dad indicates to a drawer in the kitchen, from which you produce a handful of paper clips. After a minute or so of fiddling with the wire - using a glass to get a perfect round shape - he offers a pair of miniature spectacles fit for a gourd.

After examining the makeshift glasses your dad peers at Bucky, letting out a bark of laughter with a clap on his back to match. “Now we’re cooking with gas! Sweetheart, can you hand me some of that glue so I can pop these on?”

You proffer the pot of glue and help your father attach the glasses to Doc’s pumpkin.

The grandfather clock in the family room announcing the hour prompts your mother to sigh heavily. “Oh dear, we are running late. I told you we did not have time for these last minute additions. I warned you about leaving things until the last minute this year.”

“Ah, we all know they aren’t going to start without us, don't sweat it.” Dad waves a hand, not one to be rushed.

“You always think the best is going to happen.”

“And you always think the worst is going to happen.”

An unladylike humph passes from her lips before a bit of panic flashes across her eyes and she’s the picture of grace again. For a second, Bucky saw a shadow of you pass over her features. “Can you grab the boxes from the garage to help your father pack the pumpkins?”

A ‘yes ma’am’ rolls off your tongue before the sentence is finished, feet moving to carry out the request. Bucky lends a hand, following your dad’s instructions not to knock their hats askew.

As soon as your back is turned your mother slips in behind you, shifting a handful of the pumpkins you’d painstakingly placed. Despite her efforts, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m sorry to leave the place a mess, it’s a horrible first impression. I hope you can forgive us, James.” Your mother tugs on the strings of her apron, shaking it out before placing it on a designated peg.

“I don’t mind cleaning up, Mom.”

“Oh,” she shakes her head, patting you on the cheek, “don’t you worry about it. I’ll take care of it later. Do you two want to join us?”

You and Bucky each grab a box, following your parents to their vehicle to pack them in the trunk safely.

“No, we’re just going to take a walk around since we’ll be busy tomorrow night.”

Bucky casts a suspicious eye to you. “We’re busy tomorrow night?” he mutters under his breath.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “It’ll be fun, don’t worry about it.”

Again, your mother repeats her invitation.

Your dad exhales loudly after opening the passenger-side door. “Honey, let them be, no young couple wants to spend non-stop time with the parents. We’ll see them tomorrow.”

Mom huffs. “Well, there are enough leftovers from dinner for both of you. We really need to get going.”

Dad leaves an obnoxious smooch to your cheek. “So happy you’re home, sweetie.” Then he turns his head to face Bucky. “Really really glad you’re here. Looking forward to getting to know you.”

“You two have fun!” Bucky catches a moment between you and your mother. She shimmies her eyebrows up and down a few times as you close the driver’s door. With a wink she pulls the car out of the drive without any response from you.

Slightly miffed, you walk back into the house with Bucky on your heels.

It’s not until you start scrubbing the table Bucky speaks. “I thought your mom said she’d clean up?”

You snort, tossing a rag in the sink. “She said that because our cleaning standards have never seen eye-to-eye. Anyway.” With a deep breath you start digging in the cabinets, pulling down a few snacks. “You wanna grab that bag on the coat rack so we can head out?”

Once the food and a picnic blanket are stashed in the bag, Bucky slings it over his shoulder and accompanies you outside.

The neighborhood is homey, even sweet, Bucky thinks. Everywhere he looks he’s met with greenery and actual white picket fences. He hadn’t been convinced they existed in real life until this stroll through your old stomping grounds.

“Where exactly are we going?”

Nonchalantly slipping your hand in the crook of his elbow you answer. “Tomorrow my mother will insist on taking us on a horribly boring and irrelevant tour of the town, so tonight you’re getting my tour.”

Someone across the street calls your name, interrupting your conversation. An elderly woman beneath an oversized straw hat straightens up from her garden.

Your smile is instant and full of sunshine when you return the older woman’s greeting. “Mrs. Robbins!” Leading Bucky across the empty street you meet her on the other side of her gate.

Her eyes crinkle kindly as she takes your hand in hers. “Oh, Sassafras, it is so good to see you again!”

You laugh and shake your head. “Good to see you too, ma’am.”

She tuts her tongue a few times before patting your hand. “Darling you’re old enough to call me Fiona, please do. And who is this handsome young man?” Dark eyes examine Bucky, keener than her feeble posture would suggest.

“This is my boyfriend, Bucky. Bucky, Mrs.-” you stop herself at her sharp look. “This is Fiona. A dear family friend and Harvey’s sister.”

Brown skin wrinkles around her softening lips. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you too, ma’am. I work for your brother at the garage, he’s been more than kind to me.”

She titters at that, hand swiping through the air. “I should hope so! He better be payin’ it forward after he inherited the place from her grandfather. I’ve gotta warn you, kid. This one,” Fiona nods to you with no small amount of affection, “has always had moxie; done what she wants, what other people want be damned. She’s a brave girl. Sure you can keep up?”

Bucky beams down at you and you return it easily. “Probably be a step behind her most of the way, but I’m up for the chase.”

You bid her goodbye only after securing a promise to see her tomorrow night.

“And what exactly is tomorrow night?” Bucky’s question is drowned out by another neighbor exclaiming at your presence.

You seem to feel rather than see Bucky’s questioning gaze on you. “Babysat,” you nod to a young family pouring out of a vehicle and heading into their home who were waving at you like maniacs.

Next house down you offer another explanation. “Cat-sat.”

Ten more steps and you speak again. “Helped her tend her garden when her husband left for the war,” you wiggle your fingers at a pregnant woman checking her mailbox who was wearing a sparkling smile.

A car slows down to move alongside you; the mustachioed gentleman at the wheel asks, “You kids need a ride?”

Bending at the waist to make eye contact through the open window you say, “No, thank you, Mr. Quaid. We’re enjoying the evening walk.”

“Take care!” The car speeds up and is gone.

A little more solemnly you nod toward a couple sitting on their front porch, hands joined. “Their son was a few years younger than me, I tutored him in math. He ended up doing really well. . .” Your voice fades when you smile in their direction. Hand moving to grip his, you continue quieter, “He was drafted when he was 18. Died in the first battle he saw. They were devastated. I tried to visit and bring them food as often as I could.”

He squeezes your fingers, no words needed - the weight of loss heavy in his own heart. Seeking to lighten the mood, Bucky clears his throat. “You didn’t tell me you were a local celebrity.”

You scoff in a way your mother certainly would’ve labeled as undignified. “Oh, it’s just a few neighbors. Helps that I’ve got a dreamboat on my arm.”

Then it’s his turns to scoff. “Hardly. You’re the good-looking one of the pair, Sixth Floor.”

“Ah, but you’re the new one in town. The place will be buzzing with news of you by the time we’ve walked the neighborhood.”

Bucky isn’t quite sure how to feel about that, but before he can voice any concern you’ve arrived in the town square where volunteers were setting up decorations and festivities for the coming weekend.

He whistles at the splendor of the unfurled banners hanging above the streets, dozens of jack-o-lanterns hanging from light posts, and the fervor of the crowd orchestrating the perfect swoop of a swag of orange and black tinsel. “Man, you weren’t kidding about your town being into Halloween.”

“No, I was not,” you admit with a rueful laugh. “Everyone really got into it in an effort to lower kids’ interest in vandalism. What were your Halloweens like growing up?”

“Umm, usually pretty relaxed. The girls always dressed up; I put minimal effort into putting a costume together.”

“Party pooper.”

“I do remember this one Halloween when we were young. The ice cream store down the block would give you a free scoop if you showed up in a costume. It was more like a mob than a store, kids everywhere. The employees couldn’t keep up with how many cones to give out. Don’t think they ever did that again.”

“That is adorable, but I can’t blame the owner. I would’ve knocked down some doors for ice cream too.”

“I’m assuming your Halloweens were slightly more eventful than mine?”

“Slightly.”

“Yeah, that’s your lying tone.”

“I don’t have a lying tone!”

“That’s the same tone of voice you used when Steve and Peggy were arguing about which one of them was more likely to win a bear fight and you told them you didn’t have an opinion.”

You both chortle at the memory.

“Oh my god, how had I already forgotten about that? How could such a playful question escalate into them aggressively advocating for their individual tactical advantages over a bear?”

“Alcohol is one way. Stubbornness is the other. And they both had loads that night.”

“I thought you said Steve couldn’t get drunk.”

“Fine, pure stubbornness on his part. Either way, you’re lying to me.”

You continue your walk through the downtown neighborhood in the direction of the river.

“Okay, my Halloweens were plenty eventful. Lots of dances and parties and festivals. We don’t know how not to take Halloween seriously. Spooky is literally woven into the fabric of our town.”

“Right, right, I remember you talking about the Headless Horseman poem.”

“Yep. The author lived not too far from our house. Rumor has it Walt Disney is doing a cartoon based off of the story.”

“That what inspired your dad to go with the dwarfs for pumpkins this year?”

The sparkle in your eye proves his theory. “Has anyone told you you’re very astute, Sergeant Barnes? Anyway, we’ve got loads of other stories. The cemetery is haunted; some of the statues have been seen getting up and walking around, visiting graves. The British head of intelligence during the Revolutionary War, John Andre, was captured in Tarrytown after meeting with Benedict Arnold to negotiate his defection - he was killed several days later. People still report seeing Major Andre wander the woods, along with the Headless Horseman, obviously. The Flying Dutchman, the phantom ship, has been spotted offshore in the Hudson too.”

The look on his face must have betrayed his fear that his girlfriend believed in ghosts, because you snicker. “It’s mostly all in good fun, but the legends leave plenty of room for the local kids to terrify everyone.”

“Don’t suppose you were ever involved in any of those pranks?”

“Me? Oh gosh no.” Your intense tone of innocence has his lips curling in disbelief. “Well. . . one night some friends and I scared some tourists who were walking around the cemetery. It’s funny how from a distance, lit jack-o-lanterns can look so realistic when being swung from a stick.”

“You tricked people into thinking heads were floating around in the fields?”

“We were just carrying our jack-o-lanterns around, I don’t know what you’re talking about. . .” Oh, mischief was a good color on you.

You turn down a worn road and Bucky takes a moment to admire your silhouette in the eventide.

Over your shoulder you call, “You coming?”

“Depends, you taking me into the woods to scare me with floating heads?”

Beguiling eyes twinkle. “Not yet. I wanna show you something.”

He takes your outstretched hand and lets you lead the way; your feet carrying you as if you’d walked this trail a hundred times before. Turns out, you had.

Not too many steps later, the smell of the river and a cooler breeze greets the pair as a huge building looms in the distance. Beginning to block the view of the Hudson the closer you get, Bucky can just make out the sign affixed in bold letters across the side.

“This your old factory?”

Your silence prompts Bucky to glance down where he finds you nodding. As if the words had suddenly been snatched from your throat, like your faculties were stripped down to remembering how to breathe. He looks at you closer.

There’s. . . pain. Not the physical type. The type that was beneath the skin, underneath the beat of your heart. A type of pain uncomfortably familiar to him.

The affliction etched into your brow is too close to how he feels when recalling his time overseas. Countless hours you had spent asking about and listening to his stories, holding him close when the memories were so vivid he almost couldn’t distinguish them from reality.

But there were moments he found himself yearning for pieces of that life, he must admit. The camaraderie among his unit, the steady sense of duty, the sharing of stories around the fire when Dugan wouldn’t shut the hell up, sharing a dance with a Red Cross girl on a rare night off in London. Yes, there was inarguable tragedy, trauma, and sacrifice. He was left with scars and loss.

Selfishly, he realizes, he had not spent a moment thinking about what you had lost.

Your tone is unintentionally forlorn as you share the names of your crewmates, what your days were like, a few anecdotes of your time there. A sadness that seemed a cousin to the dissatisfaction you’d had when clocking out of the corporate office every day seeps through the tension in the hand tucked into his.

Buried under the facts, he senses a void that aches more in this moment than he’s ever witnessed. The quiet charm of your hometown dampened by the war factory up the river. Tension in your household when you told your mother of your career plans. Knowledge and skills you excelled in. The team of women in your charge who you loved deeply, felt a responsibility to. Childhood playmates that hadn’t returned from the European theater. A sense of purpose and pride ripped away after the last Axis power surrendered.

You’d never stared mortality in the face like he had, but you’d fought battles, risked a lot. The course of your life changed forever because of the war. The troops were celebrated, at least publicly, upon their return. There was a reverence reserved for the uniformed troops.

But you. . . you were thrust aside to make room for men like him. You, thousands of yous, were told you were no longer needed. You could go home and sit. You were meant for something softer, something more domestic. Your expertise and fortitude were no longer needed, could be put in a memory box and forgotten about.

The awareness that this is the first he’s seen this side of you unnerves him. Had he ignored it? Could you be that adept at hiding these inner struggles? Were you concealing this on purpose? Did guilt haunt you into silencing this wound? Sure, you’d alluded to how you’d been unhappy being pushed out of your job at the factory, that the office job was a consolation prize. Although, could it be called a prize when you’d forced the hand that had given it?

Shame washes over him as you blink tears away. Why hadn’t he asked? How hadn’t he caught this earlier? He wants to ask now, desperately wants to know and hold you, but he can read you well enough to see the sign your eyes hold that screams ‘do not cross into this territory’.

It dawns on him that he doesn’t know what to do. Helpless had never been a good fit for him.

Minutes of silence pass as he continues to watch you stumble through the visceral memories whirling about.

Then the answer hits him like a ball cracking against a bat.

Follow your example.

He can listen. He can respect boundaries. He can gently nudge. He can be present. He can offer perspective. He can provide backup when you face the scary depths of your mind. He can love.

Wordlessly you turn your back on the factory, unknowingly desperate to put space between you and a home that is too dear, too. . . no longer yours.

He can relate.

So he falls in step as you walk away, lost in thought. Trusting that you subconsciously know your next destination, that you’ll feel it when you arrive.

Every step away from that spot, you’re cast in a new light in the pitch black of night. One that paints you in braver, more hallowed strokes than before. A new admiration, a new respect. . . a new love blooms in him for you. And again, he finds himself thankful that he dropped into your life.

Releasing your hand, he pulls you closer to him with an arm around your shoulders and presses a vow to your head with his lips. A promise to watch closer, to always give you the respect you’ve earned, to care about the safety of your heart as you do for his.

In that moment, he decides that you deserve the world. And he’s going to do whatever he can to deliver it right to your feet.

You’ve walked a mile or so when you break out of your reverie and survey your surroundings, angling further toward a clearing free from artificial light or people. Finding a satisfactory spot - by what standards, he’s unsure - you pull the blanket from the bag he’s been carrying and settle it over the lush green grass. While you make yourself comfortable on the checked picnic blanket, he watches you with what he’s sure is an obvious adoration.

Looking up, what you were going to say dies on your tongue. “What?” you ask uncertainly, dragging out the vowel.

“Nothin’,” he shrugs. “Just enjoying the view.”

The cock of your head says you don’t believe him but you don’t press the matter.

“Well, c’mere.” You motion to the blanket next to you.

Feeling playful he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Answer one question.”

You hum inquisitively.

“Did you bring me to the middle of the woods to scare the bejesus outta me in the spirit of Halloween?”

Laughter has never sounded so sweet in his whole life. The mirth in your cheeks tugs a dopey grin upon his face as he plops down next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

“Alright, what’re we doing out here, Sixth Floor?”

“Well, you’re always complaining about how the city has too much light to really see the stars, so. . .” You turn your face to the heavens, Bucky following in kind.

He had been so wrapped up in you he’d failed to notice the mantle of twinkling lights above his head. A steadying breath is necessary as a peace washes over him at the beautiful sight.

“Now that’s a view.”

“Go ahead, talk my ear off about them.”

Growing up in New York City, the area was notorious for blackouts. Gradually growing bored during a summer filled with lightless evenings he found himself crawling onto the roof of his childhood home and examining the sky. He had been slow to fall in love with the sky but it had persisted throughout his childhood.

During a sleepless night on the cold ground in Italy, he realized the constellations he was looking up at were different from the ones back home. Peggy had surreptitiously smuggled him an astronomy book after Steve had rescued the 107th from Azzano and he’d carried it in his pack until he’d returned home. The same book rested permanently on his nightstand, a faithful companion when a different kind of sleepless night plagued him.

He settles in, throwing an arm around your shoulders, rubbing you for extra warmth.

“Ooh ooh, Jupiter is right there.” He points out the planet.

“Where?”

“Right there.” He wags his finger in emphasis.

“I. . . I just see stars.”

“Here, lay down.” Bucky falls to his back, feeling you drop next to him. He circles the planet again with a finger, hoping it’ll help guide your line of sight.

“Oh. . . yeah, absolutely, wow.”

“You still can’t see it can you?”

Your move to roll into his shoulder to muffle your giggles and embarrassment is futile; there’s no way he can pass up the opportunity to tease you about it.

In a torrent of words he finds himself helpless to stop, he tells you all about the skies above. He waxes poetic about the solar eclipse he’d seen over the summer, explains the draconid meteor shower that had graced the atmosphere earlier that month, and indicates several constellations.

He’s still not convinced you can actually make out the constellations; Ursa Major and Cassiopeia being his two favorites that evening. At one point you sit up and he shuffles to rest his head in your lap, legs crossed at his ankles.

Although he usually preferred to observe from the wings, he finds himself drawn to your audience. He could count on one hand the number of people he was at ease enough with to speak unbridled. Granted, you were an easy audience. Even if you were indulging him. there was refuge in your company.

Your digits twine into his hair, looping through the beginnings of a curl at the ends, undoing the efforts of the hair cream. A touch so gentle he could not bring himself to care. His eyes slide shut and he focuses only on the feeling of you playing with his hair, fingernails pleasantly scratching his scalp every so often.

Eventually, he runs out of things to say and you both keep your faces turned up to the blanket of stars. A thousand questions cross his mind yet he struggles to find his footing in this unfamiliar emotional territory.

“So, your mom seems a little. . .”

Your fingers falter for a moment before slowly resuming their perusing of his hair. “Obstinate?”

The bitterness surrounding that one word tells him all he needs to know.

“Invested?” He offers as an alternative.

You only hum.

“She cares enough to go along with your dad’s ideas. Like helping with the pumpkins, even if it seemed to stress her out.”

“Guess that’s love for you.” He detects a hint of strain in your voice, as if the unexpected emotions of your hometown arrival had drained you.

He’s hesitant to push further and his newfound courage fails him.

The stillness that falls is peaceful. A cozy bubble that’s just the two of you and the stars.

You eventually squint to see your watch in the dark and declare its time to head back before your mother calls the cavalry.

“She’d call the cops?”

“If it’s so late she thinks we’ve gone missing. And the Chief is my uncle, so. . .” A docile mirth meets him as you pull him up from the blanket to join you on two feet. “Do you want to explain to my mother's brother what we were doing in the wilderness at night in solitude?”

Bucky opens his mouth but you cover it with your hand.

“No innuendo-laced sass, sir.”

In a moment of impulsivity he kisses your fingers and is enamored by the embarrassment you hide by looking away, clear desire visible in the starlight.

“Let’s go before you give us a reason to really be in trouble, Sergeant.”

Unsurprisingly, he finds himself awake well before the sun. Given the unfamiliar environment and his mind turning the events of last night over and over, he was already pacing the guest bedroom’s floor. After debating internally whether or not it was rude to make coffee in someone else’s kitchen, he settles for scrawling a few passages in the journal you’d gifted to settle his mind.

He opens the door to leave the bathroom in fresh clothes and a shaved face, only to come face-to-face with sleep-rumpled you; in your pajama set with a robe thrown over it. Your bare feet brush against his - per usual, your toes are freezing.

“Good morning,” he hums.

“G’morning,” you return, burying your face in his chest, arms securing around his middle.

Unable to contain his grin, he scratches the back of your neck with one hand, smoothing circles on your back with the other. “You sure are cute in the morning.” He catches something vaguely resembling a ‘stoooooop’. “I’m telling you, you look your best right after you’ve woken up.”

“Shhh, stop talking,” you slur into his shirt, seemingly attempting to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“I mean,” he half-shrugs, “we have spent a night together.”

Your hand presses firmly over his mouth before he could finish his sentence. “James Buchanan, if you utter another word about that you and I will be banned from this house for the rest of our lives.”

He tugs your wrist down to kiss your knuckles. “We literally just fell asleep on the same couch, babydoll.” If asked he would blame the morning hour, not the overwhelming sensation of having you close, responsible for the deep rasp of his voice.

“I promise my mother will not listen to that story long enough before she disowns me.”

Releasing you, he steps out of the bathroom to let you in. Nodding, he turns around to watch as you shuffle to the sink. “Rest of our lives, huh?” He tosses a smug grin which you volley with a scowl.

“Shut up and make me coffee.”

He knows you miss the wistful glance accompanying his laugh as you shut the door in his face. Not that he minds.

When you do emerge for your lovingly-prepared beverage you are dressed to the nines. A new dress, coordinated stockings, and hair in perfect rolls. . . Bucky was more than a little taken aback. Saturdays were when he was treated to your out-of-the-office look; the bare face, your overalls, the unmitigated sass. This was. . . different.

“What?” You eye him from beneath your heavy eye-liner, taking a cautious sip out of your mug.

“N-. . . nothing, doll. You look nice.”

Your rigid smile gives him pause, but it’s one of the only pauses he has for the day.

The rest of the morning and afternoon don’t leave him much time to mull over all he’s learned about you in the last 24 hours; your mother kept the four of you quite busy with her town tour. Bucky can practically feel you cringing from your place next to him on the backseat bench of your parents’ car as your mother drags you all over town.

He doesn’t completely understand the point of most of the stops. She makes sure to drive by the newly built gazebo, the lovely park adjacent to downtown where there was plenty of space for kids to run, and a new boutique that had opened that spring. The tour included lunch with the mayor and his family, tea and coffee with the neighbors, and a quick stroll around the block where your mother pointed out several wonderful houses for sale.

However, he did notice how quiet you were. Your commentary was nil in comparison to the night before. Choosing to listen to your mother rather than add on to her narration struck him as slightly odd. Was it born from weariness or a reluctance to start an argument?

As the day progressed, Bucky clocked a growing agitation in you. Without so much as a minute alone with you since that morning he couldn’t put a finger on the source of your turmoil. He ached to fix it for you. Since he didn’t know what was broken, he settled for grabbing your hand and squeezing it three times.

Squeeze. I. Squeeze. Love. Squeeze. You.

The scowl you were wearing diminishes slightly when you redirect your gaze from outside the window to him. You squeeze back:

I. Love. You. Too.

The time for supper approached quicker than your mother anticipated, landing you, your father, and Bucky in the family room while she prepared the meal alone. After your lackluster attempt at offering help, which was quickly denied, you plop down onto the couch next to Bucky. He draws comfort from the way you nuzzle into his side, the way you rest your head on his shoulder for a few minutes. Your breathing evens out enough for Bucky to table his concern for a later time.

It isn’t until your dad shares a story about the time 10-year-old you had insisted a bead you were using to make necklaces was small enough to fit in your ear. It turns out you were correct, it was small enough to fit in your ear. After spending five hours at the doctor’s office with your father, the bead fell out the second the nurse had called your name to be seen by the doctor. It’s the first time that day Bucky hears you give a genuine laugh.

When the group sits down for dinner he can’t help but compare his family table to yours. Unlike being crowded into each other’s space in Brooklyn, he felt a world away from you at the formal dining table.

In between demure bites, your mother asks: “So James, we’ve been told you served, but haven’t heard many details.”

“For 1943 I served as a Sergeant with the 107th Infantry. I then became a part of a special operations combat unit.”

“Is it true you served with Captain America?”

“Mom.” If your mother could feel the waves of fury rolling off of you, she didn’t show it.

Feigning surprise, her shoulders raise in a shrug. “It’s a harmless question.”

Seeking to quell the simmer of anger bubbling in you, Bucky swoops in. “Yes ma’am, I did. Alongside a group of strong, fearless men.”

“And what was that like?”

“We dealt with a lot of classified information, so unfortunately I’m not at liberty to discuss much of it.”

A parroted line given to him by the SSR the moment he’d landed on American soil; a line that had saved him from this exact conversation a hundred times before.

Undeterred, your mother pats her lips daintily with her napkin. “Well, what is Captain America like? Have you met him, dear?”

After chewing on a forkful of the meal for a touch longer than necessary, you respond. “I’ve only known him as Bucky’s friend Steve. And he’s very kind, intelligent, thoughtful. He’s an artist, Dad. I’m sure you two would find a lot to talk about.”

“Well, James, thank you very much for your service. It’s an honor to have you at our table.”

“It was nothing, ma’am. I only did what other able-bodied men were willing to do, except I had the blessing of coming home.”

As if to stop whatever retort burning hot on your tongue, your father clears his throat. “We all do what needs to be done in times of war. Think all of us here can relate to that.”

“Oh yes,” your mother hums. “During the Great War, my husband, brother, and father were all off fighting. I took care of the household while everyone was gone instead of trying to find work. I felt that creating a stable home would be the most comforting for returning soldiers.”

Bucky does his best not to sputter around the food in his mouth, eyes going as wide as his dinner plate.

Your comeback to the obvious jab was a lifted chin and pursed lips. The line in your shoulders speaking to the countless times this conversation had happened before.

Without a rejoinder from you, the matriarch sighs. “But so many young people had a fervor for a more hands-on approach to war, as they are wont to do.”

“No need to mince words, Mom, we all know you weren’t a big fan of my factory work.”

“Thank goodness,” Bucky says amiably “or I wouldn’t have a job or career path. Your daughter has really steered me down a road where I feel a sense of purpose again, and I won’t ever be able to convey what that really means to me.”

The smile does not extend beyond your mouth - not when you catch how starry-eyed your mother looks. Undercurrents he doesn’t totally understand emanate from both women at the table. What he does catch is your father’s eyes flitting back and forth between the most prominent ladies in his life, measuring the same current Bucky feels.

The man opposite him shakes his head at his wife, who tsks quietly and pushes her food around her plate for another moment.

Head tilting toward you, your mother asks, “Will you help me clear the table and wash the dishes?”

“I don’t mind helping out, ma’am. Dinner was delicious and-” Before Bucky had fully risen out of his chair your mother was shaking her head.

“Oh no no no, you boys just relax while the two of us clean up.”

Probably a little heavier than intended, Bucky drops back into his seat. Discomfort knocks in his knee bouncing under the table as he watches you pile your arms full of dishware before joining your mother in the kitchen.

The fingers of his left hand fidget with the tablecloth. It had been several years since he’d been forced to sit unbusy for this long a stretch of time. Unsettled hands often led to unsettled thoughts. If he wasn’t careful-

A muffled grunt at his right jerks Bucky from his thoughts.

“You okay, sir?”

Jaw clenched, your father nods as he shifts in pain, taking a few deep breaths.

Blue eyes flit down to the older man’s right leg where he’s gripping what Bucky would guess to be the site of the amputation. It passes seconds later, the WWI vet relaxing once again. The moment didn’t appear to worry him; in fact, it seemed to be a regular occurrence.

“Has Sassafras told you about how I lost my leg?” The deep voice prompts Bucky’s eyes back up to your father’s face, one that is watching him thoughtfully. A pang of guilt twitches in his chest at his outright perusal of the man’s injury. But he didn’t seem embarrassed or self-conscious. Just a soldier asking a question of a fellow GI.

“No, sir. She’s only mentioned it in passing. I didn’t want to overstep.”

“Ah,” your father waves a hand dismissively. “I was in the hospital recovering longer than I saw combat. Bullet hit just wrong enough in Saint-Miheil. I don’t remember it happening, but I can recall the ambulance ride to the field hospital. Once the surgeons did their work,” he nods to his leg, “I only had to wait to become stable enough to get shipped back here. The hospitals were crowded wall-to-wall. Staff was in a rush to move those of us who were deemed unfit for service to make room for more casualties.”

“Did you ever get a prosthetic?”

“I did, I did. Sure was an uncomfortable thing, though. We were rushed out of the amputee specialty hospital too. None of us were taught how to use them properly. I tried to make it work. Eventually, it wasn’t worth it. Only caused pain on top of pain. The limb found much better use as a makeshift shovel for a certain daughter of mine.”

Both men chuckle at the image of you shrunken down as a toddler, digging a hole in the backyard to bury your treasure with a wooden prosthetic.

“After a while, I stopped trying to get the pain treated. Spasms like what you just saw will come along every once in a while, but it’s manageable. I’m just thankful I got to come home.” His features mellow as he watches his wife and daughter moving in the kitchen in tandem.

Bucky observes the scene as well with a slightly more scrutinous eye. Your mother maintains a steady stream of chatter without any response from you. Eyes fixed on the plates you were lathering with soap, movements mechanical. Something unidentifiable has shifted.

Having caught a vulnerable glimpse of you the previous evening, a tide of protectiveness nearly moves him to his feet. To do what, he wasn’t sure.

Once again, your father’s voice pulls Bucky back to reality. “While not having part of my leg is a pain, tons of soldiers suffer from deeper wounds. My brother-in-law, for example, is still dealing with his shell shock.”

The hair on Bucky’s arms stands up, his blood chills. Briefly he reflects upon his first date with you - the episode he’d had when the busboy had dropped a tray of glassware. He wonders if you’d shared that with your father. If he knew.

As if he could read Bucky’s demeanor, he continues unprompted. “When he arrived home after the Treaty, he lived with us for a few years. I did everything I could for him. Through all my efforts, the most powerful was simply being present. Reassuring him that I was there, I was listening, that he was safe.

“Really, all I did was talk to him like he was human. Which is surprisingly rare with shell shock. Even my wife struggled not to treat him like he was breakable.” Again, the elder’s gaze shifts to where you’re now drying dishes. A wisp of sentiment curls his lips. “What never failed to make his day was his baby niece fearlessly crawling into his lap. She always brought a smile to his face with her kindness, her innocence. . . her belief that her uncle was just that. Not a fighter. Not damaged goods. Just her uncle.”

Ah. So that’s where you’d gotten the extra dose of tenderness.

“Time passed. He healed. Got back on his feet. Found a job in town that suited him; settled down, had a family. Every once in a while he gets that thousand-yard-stare that tells me he’s still fighting battles.”

The scars on Bucky’s chest and back from his time spent with captors in Azzano itch incessantly; he exercises all his self-control to stay still. A bead of sweat rolls down his back.

“In all the chaos and gore, I think the hardest thing to watch was the way men were treated differently in the hospitals. Those of us with life-altering injuries were treated with compassion. But the men with shell shock; the ones shaking uncontrollably, staring into the distance, screaming in their sleep. . . medical staff were unkind to them. Almost like my physical wound protected me from judgement or impatience.

“People who haven’t seen a second of action seem to think physical trauma is the only excuse for mental trauma. Like that can’t exist by itself. I never saw that at all. I know you and I both have seen our fair share of shit. The biggest difference? I was discharged. The shell-shocked were often sent right back into battle. The experts, doctors, nurses - it was obvious they believed treating the mind was an acknowledgement that there was a problem in the first place. Because they didn’t have a solution, they turned it into the soldier’s own problem. He was weak. Needed to buck up and get the job done.”

Frozen to the spot, Bucky regards your father as he takes a deep breath. Shifting forward ever-so-slightly he locks eyes with Bucky. Through all the combat the younger veteran had seen, he’d never felt more exposed than in this moment.

Fingers rubbing at his chin, the older veteran begins again. “The things all those doctors say, that certain men’s minds are fragile or it’s an excuse to go home. . . there’s no reason for someone to continue the behavior once they make it home. When you’re in a room by yourself and wake up from a nightmare and find trouble breathing - what audience benefits from that act? That’s not something anyone wishes for.”

Somehow sensing the trepidation across the table, he leans back in a relaxed, yet calculated posture. Gives a sheepish chuckle while Bucky tries to catch his breath.

“Not to prattle on like an old geezer, but all that to say; I’ve had first-hand experience with wounds that aren’t visible. Every man is different. Time moves differently for every one. There’s not a set recovery time. As long as a man has a support system and is honest with them, he’s going to be okay.”

A long pause stretches out, Bucky’s mind ticking as his knee bounces slower eventually stilling.

One whispered phrase floats across the table. “You’re going to be okay, son.”

Voice thick, every muscle straining to suppress a display of emotion, Bucky manages a, “Th. . . Thank you, sir.”

“Anytime.”

That one word, filled with a copious amount of conviction, did more to convince Bucky of his value than almost anything else he’d heard in the last year of his life.

Movement from the kitchen catches his eye again and momentarily, you glance over your shoulder and catch him looking. Bucky smiles, remembering a similar moment in his mother’s kitchen the night you’d all had dinner together. Instead of returning his grin you whirl back to the sink, spine tight.

He can’t imagine what has you so tense, what could have changed so drastically from the night before.

His only course of action is to hope you’ll shed light on it when he can steal a moment alone with you.

Chapter Eighteen

Lovely dividers by @firefly-graphics!

Tags: Crossed through and bolded means I was unable to tag. I am aware this list is over 13 months old; please let me know if there have been username changes.

@lucyyannabel @abovethesmokestacks @blue-like-barnes @thorfanficwriter @ursulaismymiddlename @ren-val @sarcasm-ing @hiddles-rose @thisismysecrethappyplace @palaiasaurus64 @fanfic-diaries @majesticavenger @cake-writes @moderapoppins @collinsstanharbour @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @thinkwritexpress-official

@fearless2tobeme @laneygthememequeen @past-perfect-future-tense @drhughgrection @promarvelfangirl @anditwasjustus @p3nny4urth0ught5 @usernamemingmei @the-canary @blueskiesbleakeyes @silverwing2522 @satansmushroom @nerd-without-a-cause @firewolf-marvels @reginaphlanageadams @kiliakit @forsaken-letters @barnestruck

@bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @part-time-patronus @biavastarr @ellaenchanted91 @ihopeyousteponarosepetal @bloatedandlonly @itsbuckysworld @captainsbuck @writemarvelousthings @havanaangel @animeflower26 @igotkatiepowers @clockworkherondale @mcueveryday @buckybarneshairpullingkink @cassianpeia @ladylizzieofdarbyshire

@russian-romanova @yknott81 @starkrobb @xmarveled @holyshitcats @flipflopasshat @creideamhgradochas @youclickedthislink

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes series #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #tw: PTSD #All We've Got is Time #AWGIT #Chapter 17 #beka writes

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aspenflower17 · 4 years

Text

Finding You (Part Five of ??)

Good morning/afternoon/even/night (which ever one applies to you)! I have another update for you guys! If you’re just joining us, the link to Part One will be down below. You can find the links to the next part at the end of each part (if something is wonky with the links, please just let me know!)

Part 1

F!Mc / Satan

Tags :D : @simpingforsatan @naimena @hachimochi @wrathandgreed

Word Count: 2,083 (story under cut)

Triggers or warnings: angst

Satan growled as he redid his bowtie once again, Lucifer’s words still echoing in his head.

“Are you sure you need to go tonight?” Lucifer was standing on the ground floor of his room, while Satan got ready on the landing at the top of the stairs.

“Yes. How many times are you going to ask me that?”

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to go opening night.”

Satan hoped Lucifer could hear his eye roll, “I can’t imagine why, unless the fact the artist is an angel has your panties in a twist,” the indignant noise Lucifer couldn’t contain made Satan snicker quietly.

“That isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is? You have never had issues with me going to an art show before. I heard Lord Diavolo will be there, so I can’t begin to imagine why I shouldn’t go.”

“Why do you want to go?”

Satan walked all the way over to the railing to give his brother an incredulous look, “Did you seriously just ask me that?” Lucifer took a stance that meant he wanted an answer, making Satan sigh, “Well, why wouldn’t I? I’ve heard about her art in the human realm. I haven’t been able to see any of her works unfortunately, but I’ve read the reviews. If nothing else, I want to say I was at the opening night of the first art show for one of the Celestial Realm’s up and coming artists, which you know doesn’t happen very often. The last angel I can think of who received any mark of recognition for their work outside of the Celestial Realm is Simeon.

“I also think it’s important at least one of us brothers attends the show, which I figured you’d agree with. You’re constantly going on and on about how important our image is and how we need to make sure to ‘understand the gravity of our positions down here as demon lords and as the Avatar’s of Sin’. You’ve already stated you won’t be going, and I have been planning on attending since I heard about it. I really don’t see what the problem is.”

Satan saw a flicker of worry cross Lucifer’s face multiple times while he was talking. He must really not want me to go. But why?

“And you’ve made sure none of our brothers can go with you?”

“Yes. In fact, I’ve asked Levi twice and had a soda bottle thrown at my head the second time for “making him lose the level he was on. I asked both Beel and Belphie three times, which they both declined, Beel stating he would rather stay home because they never had enough food at show openings and Belphie saying he didn’t want to get thrown out of one again for curling up in a statue to sleep. Asmo would come, but he got invited to some party the same night.”

“... What about Mammon?”

Satan blinked a couple times before his brain even began to process what Lucifer had asked, “Huh?”

Lucifer seemed to blink himself, though it could’ve been a trick of the light, “You didn’t mention Mammon.”

Satan opened and closed his mouth a couple times before being able to respond, “You want me. To ask Mammon. The Avatar of Greed. Who steals. And is loud. And uncouth. To go to the opening night of an art exhibition. For an up and coming artist. Who has never shown in the Devildom before. And is an angel… Do I have that correct?”

Lucifer’s resolve looked to be in tatters, and Satan thought he’d drop the whole thing before his resolve returned, “Yes.”

Damn pride.

“You must be joking.”

“If you don’t ask him, I will personally assign him to go with you.”

Satan really couldn’t believe his ears, “Assign him to go with me? Do I look like I’m nine? I do not need a chaperone. I-” the look in Lucifer’s eyes made him stop mid-argument. Is he really that worried?

“Fine, I’ll text him if you’re going to be so insistent. I will only ask once however, and if he does come, I am NOT responsible for his behavior.”

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

“I’ve never been ta a art… Whas it called again?”

“And art exhibition.”

“Right, right. Thanks for invitin’ me Satan.”

“Mammon, we need to go over some ground rules here.”

“Course. Whadda ya wanna talk about?”

“First thing, art exhibitions are places of class and refinement. Please, stay quiet and respectful of the atmosphere.”

“Course I’ll do tha’. I’m great at blendin’ into the backgroun’.”

Satan cringed, but continued, “Second, if you steal anything from anyone, I will personally see to it that you are ejected from the show, and thrown into the labyrinth below Diavolo’s castle.”

“OI! Show ya big brother some respect!”

“We are not getting out of this vehicle until you promise me you’re not going to steal or otherwise take things that don’t belong to you.”

“Fine, fine! I promise. Geeze.”

“Third, just please don’t embarrass me. I sent you that page on gallery etiquette for a reason.”

“I read it, don’ worry… Uhhh, Satan. Not to change the subject, but why da ya have a long tie on, an’ not ya bowtie?”

“I… felt like it.”

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

Satan was extremely suspicious. They had been at the show for over twenty minutes, and Mammon had been better behaved than he’d ever seen him before. He’d even made fairly intelligent remarks about the art. He hadn’t left Satan’s side, but had been quiet enough Satan had forgotten he was there multiple times. Lucifer would’ve been more conspicuous. Satan kept expecting to have to reprimand him, but the time never came.

The gallery space was very large, one that was reserved for shows the demon prince hand picked. The space was set up like a labyrinth, and each bend had something new to display. The center of the show held a large, site specific installation. The art itself was very good, better than what Satan had assumed he’d see, but what really struck him was the breadth of the work. He marveled at how one person could produce so much art and in such varying mediums.

“Enjoying the work?” a random demon drawled, sidling up next to him.

“Yes,” he replied, taking a step back.

“You know, there’s a dead end just around the corner. The art in there is extremely… Exciting. I can show you, if you’d like,” the demon closed the space he had created, and reached out, their hand lightly grazing his arm.

“I’m fine where I’m at, thanks.” Satan started to walk away, and an exasperated sigh followed.

“I’m not sure you understand. The art is extremely stimulating. I really think you’ll enjoy it,” a hand was now grasping his arm.

“I said no,” Satan stated, extracting his arm from their grasp.

“Oi! Satan! You gotta come see this photograph,” Mammon interrupted the exchange, his loud behavior back, but eyes keenly trained on the unwelcome newcomer.

A strangled gasp came from the demon, eyes growing large, “Ah, hello Mammon,” another gasp and an audible step back, “Lead the way. Excuse me.”

The second born started rambling, but got quieter the further from the demon they got, until they both fell into silence. “Thank you,” Satan acquiesced finally.

“No need for my brother ta have ta deal with that,” Mammon said softly. Satan didn’t push any further, them both saying what they needed to.

The continued walking for another while, when the soft music that had been playing overhead was replaced with a voice, “I would like to thank you all for coming out to Jane Doe’s exhibition. As all of you know this is her first show in the Devildom, and I am so pleased at the turnout. As much as we’d love to have you all here at the center with us, but we hope that putting the artist talk over the loud speakers will be enough for all of you still in the labyrinth.”

“Jane Doe? Ain’t that wha’ they call dead humans?” Mammon asked, talking over Diavolo.

“Well, often it’s used for unidentified female human bodies to be specific, usually a murder victim. The use is mostly as a placeholder for unidentified, anonymous or hypothetical parties to a court case in some human countries. An obvious pseudonym, and one I find rather amusing and clever. I’m rather put out we’re still in the maze. I was hoping to be at the center by now. I guess this will have to do. It’s really smart to-” Satan stopped, his eyes growing huge and intense.

“Ya okay?” Mammon asked uncomfortably.

“Shhhhhh!…” Satan demanded, his ears now only trained on the voice above him. He could’ve sworn he heard…

“... And of course, I had to see if she would hold a show here in the Devildom. I’m just so excited to finally have her art down here. Anyways, I’ve taken up enough of her time. Everyone, please welcome, Jane Doe.”

“Thank you Lord Diavolo. That was such a kind introduction. I for one am so excited to have been invited to show my work…”

Satan was moving before he knew what he was doing.

“Oi, Satan, wait fer me!”

“Then move faster!” Satan called behind him, starting to run. He had no idea where he was going though. He wasn’t good with directions at the best of times, and this was meant to confuse him. Mammon caught up with him quickly, seeming very conflicted.

“Mammon, you’re better at directions than I am aren't you? Get us to the center of the maze, now!”

“Bro, I don’ think I can-”

“Are you deaf?! Did you not hear her? That’s Mc! I need to get to her, now!” Mammon didn’t seem surprised at the revelation, instead looking a little sad. Satan felt his anger flare as the realization hit him, “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Only cuz Lucifer told me, an’ that was earlier this evenin’. He wanted to make sure someone was aroun’ ta keep ya from goin’ crazy.”

Satan quickened his pace, his anger lending him more speed, “Of course he knew about this and didn’t tell me.”

“He was watchin’ out fer ya.”

“I don’t care what he thought I was doing. Now, are you going to help me or not?”

Mammon looked extremely conflicted, but eventually burst into demon form and flew up to see over the walls. Many demons were aghast at seeing someone flying in the gallery, it being against etiquette, but Satan didn’t care at the moment.

Mammon started flying forward, and Satan followed, only looking down enough to make sure he wasn’t going to crash into an art piece. That did not account for other demons however, and many indignant cries and shouts followed him.

“We’re pretty close ta the center Satan,” Mammon called down.

“I’ve always thought…” Mc continued, but Satan couldn’t focus on the words. He could only marvel at her voice once again in his ears and focus on going as fast as he could. Her laugh rang out, and Satan’s heart jumped. It’d been so long...

“Hmmm… What was that? Oh, okay. I didn’t realize I’d been talking for so long. Apparently my time is up, but I’ll finish this up on Devilgram. You can find me at...”

“Quicker!” Satan shouted to Mammon after hearing Mc.

“We’re not gunna make it,” Mammon yelled back down.

“We need to go faster then!”

“I’m followin’ ya pace! If ya wanna go faster, you gotta go faster.”

Satan finally relented, and switched into his demon form. With his new power, Satan moved faster and Mammon matched his pace.

“It’s the next bend!”

Satan threw everything he had into covering the final distance of the hallway. He rounded the bend to find…

People milling about, discussing the talk, some extremely confused as to why it had been cut short. Satan looked on the stage, carefully crafted into the installation piece. Nothing. They were even removing the podium.

He sank to the floor, breathing heavily. Mammon touched down beside him, not wanting to bring attention to himself.

“Is she in the Devildom for long?”

“I dunno.”

“Where is she staying?”

“I dunno.”

“How close were we?”

“Real close.”

“Did you see a way out? I’m going to start breaking things if we stay here.”

“There’s a underground passage in the room,” Mammon held out his hand to Satan, who took it, not looking at him.

“Let’s go then.”

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

As always, thank for reading! If you would like to be put on the tags list, just ask below! I love me some likes and comments, and I love discussing Obey Me with people, so feel free to comment or even message me if you want! If you enjoyed, I also REALLY appreciate reblogs. I promise, you reblogging makes a huge difference to content creators, and each new reblog helps someone else find this fic, so thank you to everyone who does.

Part Six

#OBEY ME #obeyme #obey me!#obey me! swd #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me angst #obey me fic #satan x mc #om! satan #OM!#satan/mc #Finding You #someone help me with tags please

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bruh-haikyuu · 4 years

Text

A/N: Iwaizumi domestic AU!! I am here to quench your Iwaizumi Hajime father-of-three thirsts.

On another note: Haikyuu manga ends today :(( Guess who’s gonna fucking DIE. Anyways, this manga has left so much of an impact to me, I feel like it’s already imprinted in my heart. Thank you so much to Furudate for making such a wonderful story, and may their stories flourish! I’ll still make content though, I’m really waiting on that new light novel and the second cour of the anime pspsspsps 👁👁

ménage. | iwaizumi hajime episode 1 – haimish.

summary: in which your oldest son is about to begin elementary school, but your husband misplaces the documents while in a frenzy.

word count: 2215

warnings: manga spoilers!!

(adj.) homey; cozy and unpretentious

At seven and four, Kazuki and Isao were at the age where they couldn’t keep their messy doodles confined into the sketchbooks you’d bought for them.

The first victim to their mischief was the wall in the kitchen beside the door leading to your backyard. It was a small parade of animals, with streamers and party hats. Tiger-san with his jagged crown, the dainty family of rabbits, and the hefty Bear-san (“No, Mommy! That’s Cat-san!” your second oldest had huffed indignantly at the clutter of crayon circles) who was at the very front of the entire crew. Your boys were lucky enough that it had been you who’d walked into their little streak of artistry. An understanding glance had been enough, seeing that you probably weren’t so different back then. You’d clean it up with a secret trick your mother had taught you and everything in the Iwaizumi household was back in business. Easy-peasy.

But had it been Hajime who’d encountered their mess... let’s just say you wouldn’t hear the end of the boys’ shrill wails until the next week.

Unfortunately for you and your trusty washcloth, Kazuki and Isao’s artistic escapades didn’t stop at the kitchen wall. Next, it was the floors, the windows of the entrance and even on the door to your bedroom (with a side of elephant stickers that you’d admit were pretty cute). Thus, it didn’t take very long for your husband to finally be faced by their “little” temperament. And not very long for the boys to be faced by their father’s wrath.

But there was simply a stubborn rock settled somewhere in your sons’ heads—they get it from Hajime, you’d kept telling yourself—and for simply the reason of being boys in their early youths, they kept on drawing. Everywhere. Anywhere.

At least the both of you were thankful enough for Hina-chan. Still a tiny ball of warmth curled up cozily against in your arms, Hina was the youngest and the only daughter in your modest family of five. And the least likely source of your daily hurdles.

“By the time Hina learns to hold a pencil, should we just introduce our home as an art gallery or something?” Hajime had asked you rather comically after seeing the colorful family portrait Isao had drawn in one of his reference books.

Though Kazuki, your first child, was completely aware of his responsibilities as an older brother, it was concerning enough that he still hadn’t let go of his childishness. He was seven now, and in a few months, delving into April, he’d be in first grade. Maybe he was simply rowdy in nature... who knows? With a gruff husband like Iwaizumi Hajime, anything was possible.

Elementary school... you pondered, gazing softly at your family in the living room. Hajime cradling Hina in one arm while he and the boys cheered wildly at the service ace that was displayed on TV. How exciting.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

“Remember to ask for ‘Ichimura-sensei’, alright? She was the teacher I talked to when Kazuki and I checked the school. She’ll know the details I asked her about in the last meeting so you just have to give her the application form.”

Hajime suppressed a chuckle at your adamant ramble. “You’ve only been telling me this all week. I won’t forget, you know.”

“Sorry,” you sighed, bouncing your sleeping daughter in your arms. “I just want to make sure nothing goes wrong. This is our firstborn we’re talking about.”

“Trust me, Y/N,” he smiled. “It’ll be fine.”

You could only nod quietly. Was it the maternal instinct within you that was acting up? It all felt too soon, too quick. If you blinked, Kazuki would’ve already gotten married already... You weren’t ready for that.

But the least you could do was get used to the changes that were going to happen around the house. Starting with this.

“You’ve brought the form with you, right? You didn’t forget it?”

You felt bad that your husband was being held up at the entrance to your little home, but it couldn’t hurt to be just slightly careful. Unclasping his bag, he scrabbled through it, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry, I’ve put it in a folder here last night, so there’s no way it would—Eh?”

More rummaging.

“Hajime, is everything alright?”

He was pulling things out of his bags now. 2000-yen bills, crumpled receipts, his packets of protein shakes, Hina’s diapers. But no application form. Nothing.

“I-It’s not there.”

“Huh?!”

“H-Hold on, I’ll check our bedroom,” his voice was in the least reassuring tone he could muster and you felt your heart drop a million feet into the ground.

Why would this happen now of all times? The document was already filled and sealed with your inkan*, payments documented, crucial information written on that single sheet of paper. Crucial information you couldn’t afford to fill in twice... and it was missing?

You really didn’t want to think about how today was the last day to submit applications—

“Kazuki!!” Hajime’s thunderous voice cut through the silence.

A tiny echo of pattering footsteps and Hina shifted against your chest but did not wake. You were thankful enough; anymore ruckus and your sanity would snap.

Yawning, your eldest scratched his dark bedhead and sauntered over to his father who fisted a sheet of paper in his hand. “Daddy, you’re too loud...”

Putting the paper onto full display, your eyes nearly bulged out of your head at what was on it.

Had the form always been so... colorful? You could barely see any writing on it, covered by the persistent doodles your son had scrawled over. Mixes of hiragana he’d been practicing, completed with small side drawings—Anpanman*, some horses and a purple paddy field. All in all: it was a mess. But it was clearly the form you’d filled in. And it was clearly Kazuki’s mess.

Hajime scowled, the space between his eyebrows wrinkling. “Did you do this?”

“...No.”

“Well it couldn’t be Isao or Hina, couldn’t it?” he seethed. “Don’t take me for an idiot. Isao’s been having playdates all week and Hina can’t draw yet. What did I tell you about drawing outside of the papers and books we gave you, huh?!”

“B-But I was just trying to help!” Kazuki exclaimed. “You and Mommy are always so busy taking care of papers. So I thought if I helped you write in it... you’d come and play with me again.”

Suddenly, a lump rose in your throat. You were always so busy taking care of Hina and Isao and their immeasurable demands, and your husband was either at work or out playing volleyball with the neighborhood team. You wondered how lonely it was for him the entire week you were taking care of the registrations.

How lonely it was, despite being surrounded by so much people.

Your husband, however, was completely unfazed. “Go to your room.”

“But Daddy, it’s not—!”

“Kazuki.” Each syllable he drew out sent a shiver down your spine. In a split second, the Iwaizumi household’s living room grew cold. “Go. To. Your. Room! Put your arms above your head and keep it that way until I come back!”

As if on cue, the waterworks emerged.

“I hate you, Daddy! I hate you! You never listen to me!” and that was the last thing you heard from the tear-streaked boy before he stumbled through the hallway, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

“...Mmn,” Hina roused, her tiny button nose flaring, and you instantly knew what was to come. Oh no...

Sighing in defeat, your husband crossed his arms and ambled back towards you and the bawling baby in your embrace. Pressing your lips together, you mumbled to him. “You could’ve been a bit nicer to Kazuki. Now look what happened.”

“He’ll never learn his lesson if I don’t get strict,” he said, the guilt crossing his eyes. Swimming. Settling. “I’m going to go ahead to the school before they close for the day. Ask if they’ve got anymore forms I can fill in there.”

You nodded, hands coming to rub gently against your daughter’s back as your husband kissed your forehead—a daunting ritual you did before whenever he left the house.

Then, he bent down to softly coo at the red-faced infant. “Hina-chan, how about a kiss for Daddy before I go?”

The result: Hina only cried louder. Repelled by the sudden change in volume, Hajime scratched the back of his neck remorsefully.

“I get it, I get it... I’m the bad guy today,” he rustled. “I guess I’ll be off now. I’ll leave the house in your care, Y/N.”

You smiled at him, your hard-working husband with a weak spot for your little family. “Be careful, Hajime-kun.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, you were left to your terror again. A crying seven-year old, a crying baby, and if all the noise were to wake up Isao from his afternoon nap... Geez, what a mess...

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Hajime really felt like he knew this guy somewhere... High school? A volleyball match? That refreshing aura wasn’t really difficult to tell apart, either...

“You’re number 2 from Karasuno High, ain’tcha?”

“Uwaah... Seijoh’s Iwaizumi Hajime...” Sugawara twinkled, the grey cowlick on his head standing up straight. “The atmosphere of an powerful ace really is hard to miss.”

Hajime blushed. When was the last time someone called him a ‘powerful ace’? He had you to call him that whenever you were feeling nostalgic, but otherwise, that label was a shard of the past.

“Sugawara-san, right?” he recalled. “You work here at this school?”

The man chuckled. “Yep! I’m a teacher now. How about you, Iwaizumi-san? What are you up to here?”

“Oh, I’m looking for Ichimura-sensei. I want to talk to her about the registration for my son.”

Sugawara shook his head for a moment before replying.

“Unfortunately, Ichimura-sensei is out with the flu. That’s why I’m covering the weekend shift for her. You can just give the forms to me, and we can look over the terms and conditions.”

What luck, Hajime thought. But at least having this guy around wasn’t going to be as bad of an experience.

“Ah... about that...” he started. “My kid drew all over the application form and I don’t remember making any copies. So, would it be a problem if I did it again right now? Me and my wife are in a bit of a tough spot at the moment.”

By the grace of God, Sugawara said, “I don’t think it’d be a issue. Let’s go to the office and discuss it together. Before that, can I ask for your ID, Iwaizumi-san?”

“Ah, yeah, sure, let me just get my wallet...” filing through his bag, Hajime rifled through the stacks of paper, looking... searching... And when he got to his wallet: “Huh?”

There it was. The application-payment form he’d filled in last week, in its pristine glory. And with absolutely zero drawings on it. There was his family seal and everything. Down to both of your signatures, in the blue ink you’d insisted on using (Hajime never really bothered to make out the different uses of different inks).

“The form...” he muttered. “It must’ve slipped from the folder or something. Then that means the one at home was probably a copy...”

Freezing, Hajime realized. Crap. What have I done?

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

By the time Hajime got home, the house was already quiet again. Isao and Hina were asleep in your bedroom—Hina in her crib and Isao laid spread-eagle on the limited expanse of your queen-size bed. Taking the opportunity of a silent home, you decided to use the time you had to eat some sweets you’d secretly stashed in the fridge away from your children’s eyes.

“What a ravenous wife,” he’d teased, only for you to smear a dollop of whipped cream across his face in retaliation.

It didn’t take him long to realize the muffled sobbing from Kazuki’s room had subsided too. Curiosity getting the best of him, your husband stepped inside the danger zone.

Hajime always thought that Kazuki was a peaceful sleeper. He could sleep anywhere and still look like he was having the time of his life. During times like this, where Hajime was drained empty at the end of the day, he couldn’t help but feel jealous of his son.

Gingerly picking him up from the carpeted floors, Hajime rested Kazuki’s head on the crook of his broad shoulder, his gentle breathing blowing faint breezes next to his nape. Looking down at the smattering of papers on the ground, he reached down to read one that Kazuki had presumably written right before he was knocked out cold.

I’m really sorree Sorry Daddy :( I promise to never draw on your things ever again. Kazuuki

Below the large lopsided text he’d written in crayon was a smudged drawing of (what seemed) to be him. Well, if Hajime was a stickman with prominent eyebrows that stuck out of his face.

“I’m sorry too, kid. Guess I was being unfair, huh?” he murmured. “I’ll make it up to you once you wake up. We’ll all play together. Me, you, Isao, Hina and your mom. We’ll use as much time as we have left.”

And Hajime never backed down on a promise.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Glossary:

inkan - personalized seals used in lieu of signatures in paperwork

anpanman - a Japanese children’s superhero cartoon character, looks like this

#bruh haikyuu writing #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #domestic au #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyu #hq #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #seijoh x reader #aoba johsai x reader #iwaizumi hajime imagine #iwaizumi hajime scenario #sfw #hajime x reader

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a-lil-perspective · 3 years

Text

The Bad Batch and Axe/Knife Throwing

A/N: Uhhh I’ve had this in my drafts for weeks. I don’t actually know what this is. Just funky bro stuff that spiraled into like 2.5k words because I just don’t know when to stop, do I. The working title for this was “Bullshit and Bullseyes”, if that puts anything into perspective (I nearly made that the actual title haha). Anyway. Enjoy?

Technically, no; they didn’t need to spend credits on booking the space. By all accounts, there’s nothing wrong with chucking weapons against the Havoc Marauder’s hull. You wouldn’t believe the damage it’s withstood over the years.

Nevertheless, its walls had been taking quite the beating lately (honestly how many times has it actually been said “no weapons in the house”?) and quite frankly, Hunter was getting sick of grousing about the fact.

But when you’ve been cooped up in the vacuum of space for days as the Bad Batch has, you become acutely aware of the perpetual sensation of losing your mind—and of the stagnant air beginning to fester.

Let’s put it this way: Intelligence work is not kind to four Super Commandos, who’d just as soon wrangle a herd of Gundarks than allow anymore strategic analysis to keep them huddled around a comm system for days on end with no intermission in sight. It can’t be stressed enough the way this work was far, far beneath them. They’d just as soon tell High Command to get on with the invasion already (where their skill sets actually applied) and that if they want Clone Force 99’s help, they had best find a better way to hold their attention, because “tapping into enemy comm channels” ain’t worth a damn.

But, until then: there were other things that would do the trick.

Back within the planet’s gravitational pull once again, the Bad Batch prioritized their short timeframe of respite by not actually participating in the act of respite at all, instead seeking out the nearest weapons range. It felt something like freedom upon discovery.

The axe throwing establishment was practically empty when they arrived, which was the driving force in their eagerness, having booked the last session of the night. More room to work.

And, no one to tell you you can’t bring your own arsenal.

Hunter removed the strap of his weighty knife bag from his shoulder and set it down as the boys settled in their designated lane. While Wrecker and Crosshair dove for the bag like deprived womp rats, Tech had more gracefully found a spot on the nearest bench and planted himself to it, tapping away at the little box atop his vambrace. Predictable.

“Don’t even give me that look, Hunter,” Tech didn’t even look up, already privy to the quizzical gaze while fixated on his slew of technology. “You knew good and well I would be taking notes and collecting data during this session for the purpose of enhancing our overall performance going forward.”

As if he hadn’t been taking an infinite amount of notes the past five days.

“How ‘bout you take some notes on how to have fun,” Crosshair mumbled through the toothpick he anchored to the corner of his lip (Hunter always felt nervous when he worked out or trained with that thing in, just waiting for the day he finally chokes). The sniper didn’t bother looking back at Tech as he rummaged through Hunter’s bag in search of knives he deemed fit. He grinned wickedly at a particular set of five, all of them airy and tapered and perfect for his nimble fingers to sidle around. They were similar in size, if only a few inches wider, to the darts he usually threw in his quarters. He considered them with a sleight of hand, quickly piecing together an accurate projection of air velocity and the weapons’ overall weight.

Crosshair would make his mark. He always did.

It further came as no surprise that the Sergeant excelled in his turns from the get-go. He wasted no time in nailing bullseye after bullseye with a variety of weapons big and small. It was comical, the way Tech would make sounds of marvel and adjust his recording lens accordingly when Hunter would nail a pair of axes with a backwards throw or something of dramatic flair.

And Wrecker, oh, Wrecker.

Let’s say his turn was cut rather short—as were the rest of his brothers—when his very first throw, bearing as much care a demolition expert could muster, drove straight through the target in its entirety and brought the entire structure down wall-to-board. Hunter shuddered, grimacing instinctively at the harsh clang of colliding metals and wood that ended in a timbering heap.

Wrecker merely flashed a sheepish smile.

Hunter bit back his frustrated sigh, but the one expelling behind him was unmistakable. He whirled around to find the sensation to be correct, and that the expression marring the Devaronian’s features was unsightly.

Great. The owner of the establishment.

“I’ll pay for that,” Hunter offered immediately, gesturing awkwardly to the ghastly pile of materials. It was an auto-pilot response, really; Hunter was used to cleaning up after his rowdy bunch by now.

“Got that right,” the Devaronian rumbled, cracking his brooding knuckles as a statement that seemed more mindless than anything; he must’ve realized it foolish to get into it with four Super Clones. He turned around and stalked off, but not before grumbling something about the Clones being “mindless rank weeds” and “no better than droids”.

Wrecker must not have heard thank the Maker, otherwise the entire building could’ve been brought down on their heads in nothing short of an emotional outburst. Crosshair simply threw a crude gesture to the Devaronian’s retreating backside. It was either that or the knife in his hand.

“Cross, put your finger down dammit, we’re trying not to cause trouble here,” Hunter hissed. “You really wanna piss off a Dev?”

“You really wanna piss off a Crosshair?” Wrecker interjected with a wicked chuckle, always at the ready to tango with Crosshair and trouble.

He had a point, though.

Crosshair made a deep scoffing noise in his chest and simply turned his attention back to the dilapidated target. The sniper with no fear. Or so he’d like everyone to believe.

“Sorry, Sarge,” Wrecker rubbed at the back of his thick neck, having gone back to anxiously surveying the damage.

“Let’s just switch lanes,” Hunter countered coolly, helping Tech gather up their weaponry and move over one. It’s not like the owner would let him (or his pocket) forget, so there was no use worrying about it.

With a fresh target and a fresh turn at the ready, Wrecker eagerly began to ask for a re-do with the axes he skewered with moments ago only to be let down—gently, of course. Hunter wasn’t a mean brother, for fierfek’s sake.

He felt a bit guilty over limiting Wrecker’s turns but honestly, what was he thinking, bringing them to a place like this? It’s too... normal for Commandos—whatever ‘normal’ is. They would’ve been better off back on the Marauder.

No they wouldn’t have.

Maybe that’s why Hunter willingly ventured out on a weekend evening in the Coruscanti Districts for that sense of normality for he and his brothers; as if it could actually be found in the bustle of city life and whatever resided within.

It’s not that he wanted them to fit in, per se—Hunter can speak for the four of them in that they’re secure in their abilities and standings. But it’s as if he wanted something... grounding. In the middle of a war. Certainly a foreign term to both soldiers and citizens alike.

Grounding. Something to give the boys a sense of fulfillment and a taste of youth, even if only for the night. No expectations, no methods. Just Serotonin and sibling rivalry. Fulfillment.

Wrecker was certainly feeling fulfilled over the knives he opted to throw instead, much lighter and more controlled than the axe—which was a shame, really; he was very good at them. You haven’t quite lived until you’ve seen Wrecker at full capacity in his brute strength. The axes were just an inkling of his potential. Despite the fact that the majority of knives completely disappeared in his wide expanse of palm, he could still stick them with deadly force. Tech especially made relevance of the fact, insisting he show Wrecker a recap of his feats later.

When he wasn’t recording and plugging in data for the other throwers, Tech went a few rounds with Hunter’s smallest knives: quick and sleek and agile, much like the goggled member himself. The preference of axe or knife was divvied between the group: axe’s were more Hunter and Wrecker’s thing while knives were more Tech and Crosshair’s.

It took a bit of encouragement for Tech to actually complete his turn, as he was more concerned with the preliminaries and technicalities instead of the actual throwing. He’d stand there for what felt like several minutes, considering and trying to incorporate the use of his tech until Crosshair—how dare he—cut through his concentration with a sharp demand to “Just. Throw.”

It was rather unfortunate that there was only one target available to four people wanting to use it simultaneously. It seemed the members of the elite Commando squad still hadn’t mastered the art of patiently waiting their turn.

Hunter couldn’t help but find the hilarity in that Tech managed to land several of the knives as ‘butt sticks’: handle side in. He chuckled to himself. Only Tech.

The engineer claimed the act was wholly intentional. Hunter thought his witty brother was just trying to excuse a simple over-rotation. Tech had the aptitude for speed under his belt, but sometimes he had trouble controlling his speed. But if you thought that hindered Tech’s ingenuity or prowess in the slightest, you were sorely mistaken.

It’s times like these Hunter felt that familiar swell of pride in his chest as he relish his brothers’ unique array of strengths, weaknesses, and opportunes. All of it played a monumental part. The Sergeant in him couldn’t ask for a more proficient squad. The brother in him couldn’t ask for more unique siblings.

In no time, all four men had each accumulated their own sheen of sweat, the byproduct of a solid hour’s workout—no, two hours (Hunter should know by the way he grudgingly dumped another handful of credits into the Devaronian’s on the hour), their allotment extended all because the bros refused to be done, reduced to acting like petulant children because of.

Speaking of petulant.

“Who’s in the lead now, Tech?” Crosshair asked through a lingering pant, breaking from his turn as he took a seat next to the human scoreboard. He accepted the cool rag Tech handed him with a curt nod and slung it over the back of his neck to soak up the sweat, rolling his toned shoulders and shaking away the thought of potentially having to break from the rifle tomorrow because of how much he overdid it with the knives. Sore shoulders made for shit shots.

Tech chewed his lip and shot a single, timid glance up to Cross, who suddenly realized that maybe the gifted rag rapidly warming behind his neck was actually just an act of grooming for the disappointing news to come.

Tech cleared his throat. “In the current overall standing, it appears that Wrecker takes the lead, with Hunter a very close second, me of course making the ranks, and you being last—”

“Aw hell no,” Crosshair yanked the rag off and threw it to his feet as he pulled the toothpick out from between his now grit teeth, jabbing it around the room in emphasis. “I’ve easily got the best aim around here, I ain’t the one who destroyed an entire target and I didn’t miss one damn time—”

“It is not about missing, Cross; there are many factors to consider in the overall performance,” Tech answered matter-of-factly, with maybe the slightest hint of sympathy (more like irritation) laced within.

“And that includes humility,” Hunter chimed in, crossing his arms.

Wrecker and his lack of knowledge on appropriate social cues left him cheering over his victory, and Hunter forced himself to swallow the smile tugging at his lips. Few things in life filled him as much as Wrecker’s youthful exuberance. It was infectious.

He gave a light shove to the solid mass of man. “That means you too, Wreck.”

“Bullshit...” Crosshair sulked, numbingly processing his loss. He found himself leaning into Tech’s supportive pat on the back, suddenly too tired to care about his dwindling dignity or even any of his prior winnings in the past. He’ll forever be consigned to his dangerous competitive streak and that’s that.

“You’re just a sore loser!” Wrecker was grinning wide again, all teeth and triumphant. Crosshair scowled further and yes, he was actually pouting up from his spot on the bench thank you very much. Blackmail him later.

“The only thing that’s gonna be sore is your ass when I shove my foot up it.”

“Hey.” Hunter’s cue to intervene. “Settle it down. We had a good run tonight, blew off some steam, got a nice workout and stretched the legs. Let’s head back home, yeah?”

Hunter received murmurs of agreement save for Crosshair, who responded with silence, which was his answer.

The Bad Batch gathered their things and headed out, with Hunter paying the owner for the property damage on the way (reaching up to smack Wrecker in the back of the head just for good measure), and the alien made no attempts at subtlety in his relief over the way the chaotic bunch were finally departing. Apparently, the Bad Batch showcased some of the more poorer examples of decent clientele.

Funny that one might assume ‘decent’ and ‘Coruscant’ actually go together.

As they emerged back into the flow of the planet-wide city, the near-midnight breeze quickly catching in all of the sweat spots, Wrecker stopped in his tracks, having been eyeing a dejected Crosshair on the way.

“Hunter?”

“Yeah, vod?”

A timid pause. “Can we get ice-cream? I think Cross here could use some. With sprinkles and a starcherry on top, just how he likes it.” Wrecker scooped up the lanky brother in question, who squawked in protest. “And a nice, squishy Wrecker hug.” He pet Crosshair’s head. “That always helps him feel much better about me winning.”

#wrecker is so thoughtful XD #lol idk I’m sorry guys #star wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #do y’all actually want this idk #I will happily take requests on things you DO #requests are always open for blurbies or whatever :)#butt sticks are a real thing btw #that’s how I land mine XD #my writing #it’s a lil thing

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closer-stars · 4 years

Text

Late Night Lines

Member: Hongjoong Genre: Slice of life, slightly romantic Requested? Yes, based on a prompt I had reblogged months back Word count: take a guess my dude Content: Late night talks in the studio. Take it as you will. Just late night things that don’t always make sense. Note: Writing again after that fashion edit. yay. Hope it’s okay though since it’s been a while since I wrote a proper fic. I need to write more stuff outside the entertainment industry for real. Slowly getting through my reqs yay.

Another late night in the studio. At least you weren’t going to spend the next few hours dancing. Tonight, you had to stay in the studio to solidify the song for their upcoming comeback. Hongjoong had invited you to the studio, asking to get him some coffee on the way with the promise of paying you back.

“I can’t believe you’re here at this time.” You say as you enter the studio, hands occupied by his request of coffee and some other added stuff.

Hongjoong, whose eyes were still focused on the screen, hums in return. “I’d say the same to you.” You hear the song gradually come together and it was amazing how fast he works.

You settle the bags on the coffee table, keeping your distance from the screen. “I brought the coffee you asked from that coffee shop-- you’re lucky it’s on the way from my place, jeez. Also, bought some food from that restaurant you always bring us to when it’s your turn to pick.” As you talk, you set up the food on the table, just to let it cool down.

This causes him to spin in his chair, greeted by the sight of the food and his coffee and you settling yourself on the couch. This was definitely not something he expected. “Wait, but you didn’t have to..” He mumbles, scratching the back of his head. It’s not that he didn’t want it, in fact he appreciates it, it just was beyond what he had asked.

“I did though. The branch is closing soon so i figured to get you a quick meal cause when’s the next time you’ll be able to visit them?”

That has him look at you directly. Various emotions were going through him: thankful that you thought of doing so, wistful that his favorite was closing, and was that sentimentality? He’s been visiting that place since he was a trainee. It carries so much memories for him. It sucks also that you had a point. He made a mental note to spare some time tomorrow to visit before they close. The song has ended by the time he was out of his thoughts. He brings it back to the beginning but makes sure it doesn’t play again. Hongjoong has learned early on that when he takes a break, he really takes a break. The meal you brought is definitely a sign for him to take his mind off his work even for a while. So he sits across you, reaching for the utensils. “Are you going to eat with me?” He asks.

“Do you want me to?”

“There’s two pairs of chopsticks here and I’m pretty sure the lady in the restaurant knows you by face so yes.”

You slide down the couch and onto the floor of his studio, accepting the chopsticks. The next few minutes is spent in silence, often commenting on the food. He manages to make ssam, small enough to fit in your jaw. “Ah.” You reach out for it but he pulls back. He laughs at the face you make. “I’m here trying to feed you, so say ah.” He states. It’s only then that you relent and open your mouth to receive the beef wrap. “Simon, Sssamon Dominic~” He jokes as you chew carefully. He’s lucky one hand was occupied with the chopsticks while the other was busy covering your stuffed cheeks out of politeness otherwise you would’ve flipped him off.

It takes a while for the two of you to finish your meal. You look through the bag to make sure nothing was forgotten. “Oh right, bought you some sweets to match with the coffee just in case.” You say as you hand him a few macarons from the shop. “And no, you don’t need to pay me back for this. Let’s just get productive tonight okay?” You ask, sipping your own iced americano.

He takes one piece and his coffee, smiling his gratitude. “Who knew you’d be this protective and caring?” He teases as he takes a sip. He takes his rightful seat in front of the computer and goes back to working. You on the other hand walk around the studio with your earphones in, going through the segments you and Yujin have planned based on his first draft and the concept the creative team has told you.

Time passes by quietly between you two. Music plays on his end with the occasional clicking of his mouse, notes from his midi and some humming from him.

“You know, I remember what you wore on the first day.” Hongjoong pipes up, eyes still trained on the screen that displays the various layers of sound. Ironic really when all you hear now is silence and his voice as you had pulled out your earphones after his words.

“What?”

“Your first day working with BB Trippin and us, I still remember it.” He clarifies. To you, it may have not been much. Hell, you don’t even remember what you wore that day. All you remember is you had to wear something comfortable for a possibly long day in a studio. So he continues, “You were in a white shirt, even had the logo of the brand on the left side of your chest. Your cargo pants were sagging slightly too.” This causes you to look at him weirdly at such an odd comment. He feels the weight of your gaze on him and he shrugs. “You had the smart idea of putting your water bottle in one pocket and your phone and powerbank in the other.”

Your cheeks burn at his comment. “I can’t believe you still remember that. I barely remember what I ate last week, much less wore.” You mumble. “How do even remember this?”

“One, you were new to BBT and it was your first time working with us. Two, who even puts their water bottle in their pocket?” He teases you, as he glances at you from the corner of his eye. You note the apples of his cheeks becoming evident, even if he tried to keep himself from smiling, it was obvious from how his cheeks glow against the monitor.

“In my defense, those pants were top tier, deep pockets where i can practically store my entire training bag into it?" You remember when you had to retire that pair to sleep wear. Mixed feelings of happiness to being able to wear it still and sadness from not being able to use it for dancing and being on the go. “What even brought this up?”

He leans back on his chair at your question. Was he that obvious? It’s not like he can hide himself properly from people he works with closely. “I guess the restaurant closing got me in my thoughts.” He admits, sitting up for a moment to take a bite out of the macaron. Blueberry and chocolate.

“I’m listening if you want me to.” While you’re conflicted about having such personal relationships with idols beyond platonic, some members of BBT have raised the idea to you. Since then, it’s been a recurring thought.

The mouse clicking has stopped this time, and he busies himself with his coffee. “Third, while I don’t believe in love at first sight, you definitely had a strong impression on me.”

Your own features unreadable as the words sink in. Many questions run through your head but two words come out instead. “I did?”

At your question, he hums in affirmation. “Hard not to, you were a wild card that day.” He then proceeds to mimic you to the best of his abilities. “’Hello, it’s nice to meet all of you.’” He says in a softer voice and it makes your bottom lip jut out. “Then the dance class starts and you suddenly become strict and dominating. I don’t think even hyung expected you to be able to project your voice that loud over the music. Since then really, you would pop into my mind often.”

You didn’t want to admit it but you also remember what he wore that day: black long sleeves, dark green sweats and a beanie. His shoes were scrawled upon with things you couldn’t make out without staring. You remember how he looked so exasperated with some of his members that miraculously still had energy to joke around. You wonder also what was the point of him telling you all of these. If you were reading too into it, or if you understood him loud and clear.

“And now here we are, working on the next comeback promotions.” The male finishes as he runs his free hand through his hair. Time really passes by too fast for him. While he loves what he does now, a small part of him wishes to slow down and experience life like the rest of his peers.

A part of him hopes you got what he was trying to say. He wasn’t the best at expressing his emotions unfortunately. He always was better at expressing his feelings through his art. He’s already made a few songs of how his feelings are for you but still too shy to have you listen to them. He shifts the topic.

“Hey, can you check this one out?” Hongjoong asks as he calls for your attention. He pulls up a chair for you to sit next to him. “I know what our creative team already said and while everything’s still in the works... I need your thoughts.” He explains.

You take your seat next to him, covering your eyes first as you get the first listen to the updated version so far. As you stay focused on the music, he takes this time to study your features and he finds himself enchanted by you and your passion. He notices your fingers moving to the parts that already have choreography, stopping midway when the tempo switches. But he snaps out of his own thoughts and instead pays attention to your reaction as the song progresses. By the time the song finishes, he had finished his macaron and you had opened your eyes again.

“Okay I can see where you’re going with this. The lyrics is already approved?” You ask before proceeding with your thoughts to which he says yes. The rest of the night is spent conceptualizing the ideas that swarm your head after listening to it. It’s occasionally hindered with Hongjoong clarifying the ideas and imagery you see for the choreography.

It’s already early morning when the two of you manage to solidify the concept, ideas and messages that the boys would like to send. The two of you too sleepy to continue that you decide to call it a day. “Did you keep note of everything?” Hongjoong asks through a yawn.

“Saved it all on my phone.” You say, you could feel the caffeine wearing out soon. “Can you send me the lyrics soon? Just so I can talk to the rest of BBT of this so that we can make the next segments.” You had picked up all the bags that had your trash, including some of the snacks Hongjoong has munched on.

He mumbles a yes as he waits for the monitor to shut down. “See you whenever.” He says under his breath. His bed back in the dorms sound so much more tempting than the couch here. When he looks at your general direction, he’s noticed that you’ve left already and it’s then that he lets out a sigh. So while he’s in the last in the studio, he looks through his notebook with all the lyrics to send to you. Without giving it a proper look, he takes a photo of his lyrics and sends it to you. He then keeps his notebook in his bag, shutting off the rest of the lights as he heads home.

[ Hongjoong ] : lyrics.jpg

You didn’t expect Hongjoong to send it so soon but you suppose he’d rather get it finished instead of having to stress over it when he wakes up. After sending a thumbs up emoji to notify that you’ve received it, you open the photo. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what your eyes saw. This is definitely not the words you heard earlier, this carried more weight, and seemed to be more romantic? It sounded like it.

[ You ] : can you send it again? i think you sent me a different song..

If your hunch was right, this is probably why he had told you those things earlier. You made another note to talk to him when possible about this. Because while he has made his feelings rather evident to you, you have yet to make yours evident to him. You keep your phone in your pocket as you head home.

Maybe working with them has made you read between the lines more than needed.

#hongjoong scenarios #yay cliff hangers #hongjoong fluff #just late night things that don't always make sense #ateez scenarios #my writings #ateez fluff

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missizzy · 3 years

Text

Fic: All the Extras, Part 8 (Harry Potter)

(Read entire work on AO3)

The next week was punctuated by a lot of boredom and anxiety, reminding all three of them too much of the months they'd spent wandering around in the wilderness and experiencing the same feelings. Despite Harry's first thoughts about not wanting to hide, they tried to avoid any contact with the wizarding world, because it felt like too much to deal with. They took to wandering around the rest of Brisbane. They saw two more movies, a museum full of modern art, a cathedral, another thing Harry was fascinated to see for the first time, and the city's Chinatown.

The biggest improvement from their last experience of this, Harry thought, was that Ron and Hermione's relationship was now completely different from what it had been. If they hadn't stopped arguing completely, there was still none of the hostility between them that had previously filled the air both before Ron's departure and after his return. Instead, the state of things between them made both their moods a lot lighter than they would've been otherwise. If it also meant that, at times, they retreated to their hotel room together, and made clear he didn't want to come with them, Harry could live with that.

Harry didn't have another incident like he'd had, and by the end of the week, he was feeling calmer in general, especially since he was sleeping a little better. Except that sometimes when they were out, he'd suddenly become convinced there were people on the street, or elsewhere in the room, if they were indoors, staring at him or talking about him. He suspected much of it was his imagination, but it kept feeling real.

They'd had a good morning. After sleeping in, and Harry truly had slept, they'd had a hearty breakfast much like the ones they'd enjoyed at the Burrow at a diner they'd found near the hotel two days ago. They then had gone to look at an old house ironically named Newstead House, and then gone for a little walk in the adjoining park. Hermione had heard a story about a legendary wizarding duel that had happened in the park, but she was sure to say it probably wasn't a true one. Lunch had been at a seafood place where the chowder had been delicious.

It was early afternoon when they returned to the hotel. Their plans hadn't been too specific for the afternoon, but they were all three of them a little tired. The general thought in Harry's head involved them just relaxing in Ron and Hermione's hotel room, maybe with Harry and Ron playing chess, and Hermione getting a little reading done. She'd purchased a large book called The Wizarding Antipodes: A History, and was about a quarter of the way through it.

That was what was pretty much in the schedule even when they walked through the hotel entrance. And then, when they were about halfway through the lobby, they found themselves being advanced upon by a cross-looking Molly Weasley, with a concerned-looking Ginny following along in her wake. Harry opened his mouth, then looked at Ron. Ron shook his head, and Harry closed it again.

As she reached them, Hermione started, "Mrs. Weasley, did you have a-"

"What did your parents say to you, Hermione?" she cut her off. "Are they truly going to disown you for saving their lives and stay here on the other side of the world?"

"I don't think it's going that far," Hermione said hastily. "They are going to stay here in Brisbane, yes."

"Are they?" Mrs. Weasley did not sound placated. "Sounds like abandoning you to me. If they'd just moved to France or Ireland, that would be one thing, but when they're in a place so hard for you to get to and fro from, especially by Muggle means, and not talking to you much while you're here..."

"I'm hoping for that to get better next time I come here. It's unfortunate now, of course, but..."

Harry saw Ginny's dismayed reaction even before her mother yelled, "UNFORTUNATE?!" He tried not to jump, even as she continued on, "You can't let your parents do this to you, Hermione. Give me their address."

"No," Hermione shook her head, and Harry thought she drew herself up a little. He admired her bravery. "They've been through a very great shock, they're probably still adjusting to having all their memories back, and honestly, if you go over there and lecture them the way you're talking right now, you'll probably just make them more angry and everything worse!"

Mrs. Weasley looked stunned. So did her two children. Harry felt it himself. He doubted any of her children had talked to her that way until they'd been much older than Hermione, if even then. Nor had the two of them, the children she had taken in as somewhat her own.

But Hermione, unintimidated by any kind of authority when she thought them wrong, said, "I know you mean well, Mrs. Weasley, but I have to handle this myself."

"No, that you certainly don't need to do!" That seemed to get her even angrier. "That's what you've already been doing almost this whole past year, doing things you never should've had to do..."

"It was by prophecy, Mrs. Weasley," Harry interrupted. "I had to be the one to...to..." He didn't want to say the rest.

"I don't care!" she yelled, before he could. "I don't care what excuse you three had for running off on your own. Whatever you had to do, that was wrong of you. You should have told us what you needed to do, and we would have figured out a more sensible way to do it."

"But then you all would've been in more danger," Harry protested.

It was Ginny who responded to that. "Oh, so for our own safety, we didn't even get to know what was going on? Do you know how angry I got at all three of you over that? Who were you, to make that decision for all of us? And I thought you three at least understood how much I hated that everyone felt they got to make that decision for me." She probably either didn't notice or simply didn't care about the look on her mother's face, even as she continued, "You know, I think mum's right. If you'd told us what you three were trying to do? Who knows, we might have even gotten it done faster, and maybe even saved lives in the process. Maybe...maybe even Fred's!"

High as the likelihood was there would've just been more dead Weasleys that way, this was a possibility that couldn't be denied. "I'm sorry," Harry sighed. "I just..."

"Didn't think," said Ginny. "Sometimes I think that's the problem with all three of you. Mighty heroes, always thinking about saving the world, and how can we complain when you've gone and done so? But you've had your minds so focused on the big, important things, all the while presuming you know best about what to do about them, that you've never given a thought to just how many consequences the actions you take have."

"Hey!" Harry protested. "I haven't always thought I know best, I know I've made mistakes sometimes..."

"No," Ginny raised her voice as she cut him off. "This is not the moment when you interrupt the young witch, Harry."

Then, to his surprise, she whirled on Hermione, and said, "I think that's even what we're stuck in this situation in the first place. Did you think of any other alternatives for keeping your parents safe, Hermione? Do you really believe that no wizarding family anywhere would've taken them in? We kept Harry's less than nice relatives safe. And you know, it's not the first time I've wondered about some of the things you've done, sometimes years after the fact, and I'm not going to get into all of that right now, but..."

That was also surprising, Harry thought. Ginny rarely pulled her punches like that. It made him think maybe this was something where she feared their current company would side with Hermione.

Especially when she instead finished by turning back to Harry, and saying, "I've just spent twenty hours on an aeroplane trying to figure out where the two of us go next. And for too much of it, I had to wonder, will you even ask me anyway? I used to wonder why my brother argues so much with Hermione here, you know."

"Ginny..." Ron now started. A look from her, and he didn't go further than that.

"Used to blame it all on him. But you two, you glorious heroes...well, actually, I think you've rubbed off on Ron a bit there, anyway, but still, anyone who gets involved with either of you? Needs to be able to tell you what's what. And I just hope the two of you eventually prove able to listen every once in a while. Because if you don't, Harry, well." And she turned and stalked away.

The feeling was not unlike that of being knocked off his broom. Harry thought all four of them were feeling that way, the way Hermione was looking after her, appearing greatly concerned, Ron was not looking at anyone, and Mrs. Weasley was just staring awkwardly at him. This, Harry suspected, was probably not the best way for a boy and his girlfriend's mother to first deal with the fact that he was dating her.

The quarrelling being taken out of her hands for that last minute or so seemed to have softened her temper slightly, but while she spoke more calmly, she still insisted, "At the very least, Hermione, it won't do to just wander around Brisbane all day until your parents come to your senses, and you certainly can't leave the country without forming some sort of plan."

"We're going to see them again when we come back for the World Cup," Ron offered. "She and me'll even let them look at our teeth, the way Muggle dentists do."

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" She actually looked slightly alarmed. "Letting Muggles have free range on your teeth?" Then she presumably realized how that sounded, and added, "Of course I'm sure they're very good at taking care of teeth in general, but, well...wizarding teeth are probably different."

"They looked at mine," Harry said. "They've been fine. Even got a small cavity filled the Muggle way, and it worked."

He even tried to pull his lips open to show her, but she shook her head with a, "Don't do that in the lobby of a place, Harry; I know you have some manners. We've caused quite a scene down her as it is, haven't we?"

"Do you want to come upstairs?" Harry asked. "Or maybe you could get your own room, if you want, and, er, if you're planning to stay very long." He still wasn't sure Mrs. Weasley wouldn't grab all three of them by their shirt collars and drag them straight back home at any moment.

She still looked like might be considering it. But meanwhile, Ron had been looking in the direction his sister had gone, and now said, "Um, Ginny's leaving. She, uh, was standing there sulking, but now she's going out the door."

"Oh no!" Mrs. Weasley hurried after her.

Harry was torn between following himself, and staying away from the mother-daughter fight he was pretty sure was about to happen. Ron made the decision for all three of them by calling after her, "We'll wait here."

The emotional toll of the last few minutes caught up with all three of them as they collapsed into three armchairs surrounding a table on the far side of the hotel lobby. Hermione especially looked exhausted, even leaning forward to prop herself up on the table by her elbows. Ron reached forward and put a hand on her arm.

Harry was left to ponder Ginny's words to him. They'd already established, of course, that maybe he'd been a little overprotective of her during this last war. But that had been during dire circumstances that ought to now be in their past. Now she had just made clear that if he wanted to stay with her, he might have to change more than that, and he wasn't even sure if he could get himself to do that.

But she'd spoken of wanting a say in their future. That was fair enough; he would have absolutely given her that anyway, whatever she thought. Did she have any specific plans or hopes right now? He hoped she was willing to talk enough to tell him about those sometime soon, if she did.

Though it might be a bit early for her anyway to be making plans if she wanted to start her entire post-O.W.L. education over. He thought she would, but he hadn't gotten the chance to ask anyone below seventh-year over it before he'd left Hogwarts.

He was still dwelling on how he was going to ask the question exactly, and what he would say depending on her answer, when she and her mother finally returned together, and despite the latter's smile, neither of them looking very happy. Harry wished he and Ginny were alone simply so he could ask her what had happened.

Mrs. Weasley spoke instead, "We've taken your advice, Harry, and gotten ourselves a room. On the second floor. I believe it would be best if we all took some time to rest, and then met for dinner, perhaps around five?"

"That does sound like a good idea," said Hermione. "The three of us can spend it together." Ron immediately nodded.

So they ended up doing what they would've done anyway that afternoon, except the entire time, Harry was thinking about Ginny, sitting around with her mother, and who knew what might be on her mind.

That Evening

Hermione wasn't the only one who had studied Brisbane and found places they could go to, at least to eat. That evening Ginny led them to a Japanese place, saying she wanted to try out sushi. They all of them ended up doing so (except Hermione had already tried it once; she said it was good), even though Harry felt he was ordering kind of blind doing so.

Figuring out just what to have distracted them until they'd finished ordering. As soon as the waiter had left, Mrs. Weasley said, "Having thought about it a little more, Hermione, I still think someone besides the three of you should talk to your parents, try to explain to them why doing what you did likely saved their lives. I think there's a good chance that an adult, talking carefully enough to them, could get them to understand."

After a moment of looking thoughtful, Hermione said, "You might be right. But I want to be the one to decide who and when and what they say. I know my parents. They're my parents."

"Well, you might have to let mum do it," said Ginny. "And before we leave. That really was a long flight, Hermione, and I don't think anyone's going to go to the kind of trouble setting up such a long-distance Portkey just for a task like this, or trying to figure out how to communicate Muggle-style from the other side of the world."

“I think Muggles are developing new ways to communicate wizards aren't keeping track of, but that is good point. Still, I just don't know if you'll be here long enough for them to cool down."

"We can take time," said Mrs. Weasley. "Even with the Quidditch World Cup not started yet, there's probably still plenty to see and do, and after coming all this way, I think the two of us would like that."

"Have you been anywhere interesting this week?" Ginny asked. "I mean, anywhere all three of you found interesting?"

Harry thought about it, as Ron and Hermione appeared to do the same. "I think the cathedral was interesting."

"Cathedral?" Mrs. Weasley asked, confused. "I thought they only built those in Europe."

"Oh, no, they're building one in Brisbane right now," said Hermione. "They've been working on it for nearly a hundred years," and she explained how they'd built it in three phases, and were currently in the middle of the third.

"A pity Arthur isn't here," commented Mrs. Weasley when Hermione was done. "He would love to see such a thing. We should get a camera and take some pictures for him. I don't even think it would have to be a magical one, especially since I don't suppose we'll be taking photos of anything that's supposed to move. Although I'm not sure how..."

"Don't worry," said Ginny. "I'm sure between the five of us, we can figure it out."

"Though if we're taking pictures now," said Ron, "I kind of want to go back to the park we went to this morning. I liked that place."

"That, too, then," said Hermione. Harry got the feeling then that they'd be revisiting most of the places they'd been to already. It would, after all, delay Mrs. Weasley's planned visit.

Briefly he entertained the notion that Ginny might try to stay behind with him on one of those excursions. But that, he told himself, should be up to her, and besides, there was a good chance her mother wouldn't allow it.

"We could probably go there first as well," Harry noted. "If we go before the cathedral opens."

They were still making plans when the sushi arrived. Harry wasn't sure, afterwards, whether he liked sushi or not. He liked most of the things it was made of, but the combining of them in that way was definitely new. Ginny seemed to really enjoy it, though, which left him thinking that maybe he could get used to it. Ron's and Mrs. Weasley's reactions were harder to tell.

When they'd exhausted the topic of Brisbane and all they'd seen in it, Hermione rather determinedly went right into the topic of Japan, which she wanted to visit some day, and everything she knew about its magical and Muggle societies both. Probably she was trying to ignore the very thoughtful way Mrs. Weasley was looking at her. Nobody pushed it, though. The only argument that happened over that meal was who got to pay the bill, with Mrs. Weasley ultimately winning.

It wasn't until they were nearly back at the hotel that Mrs. Weasley said, "I think I would also like to call Arthur and talk to him about this. If you could help me with that, Hermione?"

For a moment, Hermione looked like she wanted to protest. Then Ginny said, "If your parents ever decide to come home, it would be good for them to know some of dad's friends, Hermione."

"I suppose," said Hermione, but she didnâ€™t look all that happy. Harry wasn't sure why. Mr. Weasley wasn't like his wife; he wouldn't go barging in on her parents because he thought he was right and they were wrong, not even if he somehow ended up in Australia here with them.

"Anyway," she continued, "calling someone on the other side of the world can get a little complicated sometimes. I'm pretty sure we'll be able to do it at the hotel, but we might not be able to do it from our rooms. We should go up to the desk and ask about it."

"Harry," said Ginny as they entered the lobby. "Could you come with me for just a minute or so?"

Ron cast them a suspicious look as Harry agreed, but didn't say anything. Silently the two of them walked past the table he had sat at with Ron and Hermione earlier that day, to the far end of the room. It did give Harry time to think about his words to her, which started with, "Let me just say one thing really quickly, Gin. Maybe I haven't been the best at this the past year, but from now on..."

"I get to say where we're going, at least once we're both done with school," said Ginny. "You can make suggestions, if you want, but I bet I've thought about it a lot more than you have. In fact, if you still want to be an Auror, I've got some ideas for how we can make everything work, though a lot of that probably won't be in our control anyway."

"That's fine," Harry told her, because it really was. After the past year of constantly having to figure out what to do next, feeling like the fate of the wizarding world might hang on his decisions, and not knowing what he was doing too much of the time, the thought of handing over all that to someone he could trust, at least for a little while, was very much a relief.

"Good." She smiled. "Also, I noticed you didn't talk about being in the wizarding section of this city much, and mum may not have asked why, but I want to know."

This was going to be very hard to tell her. It felt too much like an excuse when he said, "That explanation would take a lot longer than a couple of minutes."

She did not look pleased. "In that case," she said, "You're giving it to me tomorrow. We can meet right here at 6:30."

Harry knew better than to argue. "All right, then. I'll try to explain it as best I can." That was as much as easily came to him then. "Let's go back."

Ron didn't say anything when they returned. Harry was very grateful for that. They were all of them maybe a little too tired to talk anyway. Instead they just stood there until Hermione and Mrs. Weasley returned, looking a bit peaked up, but a bit more pleased. "Arthur and I have a few ideas," she said. "We'll talk further about it in the morning."

After that, they all went up to their own rooms pretty quickly. Harry had no idea if Mrs. Weasley had any knowledge of Ron and Hermione sharing a room without he himself in it, but he sure wasn't going to tell her if she didn't. He tried to sleep immediately, he really did. Once he'd gazed at the map enough, he finally managed it.

6:30 A.M.

The lobby wasn't as deserted as Harry would've liked. Besides them and the woman at the desk, there was only one group of people, but that consisted of eight men in very nice suits who were talking way too loudly for this early in the morning. He sat in the chair furthest away from them to wait for Ginny, and he was pretty sure he wasn't imagining the confused looks a couple of them were throwing him. He was in his clothes for the day, but he was pretty sure the jumper was one of Dudley's he'd ended keeping until he'd actually grown into it, and it did show it, and his hair was probably even messier than usual.

He'd figured that Ginny, at least, wouldn't show up in a state to complain about his. Sure enough, she was a t-shirt he knew she'd had since she was at least fourteen and a long skirt with a visible patch in it, hair brushed but loose. He had never seen her like this much, even when they'd first dated. But he kind of liked it.

She was a little stiff, though, as she sat down in the chair nearest to him, which was still a few feet away, and right now that felt like a lot further. Biting back a reaction to that, he asked, "How are you?"

For a moment she didn't respond, and he even wondered if she'd heard him; those blokes in the suits were still yammering away. Then she said, "I think you're the one who needs to answer that question honestly. Or at least give me that explanation we didn't have time for last night for why you've been keeping to Muggle Brisbane."

"All right. We only went into wizarding Brisbane early in our stay here, because of..." Harry looked anxiously at the men, reminding himself they probably weren't paying attention to them. "Well," he started. "First I ended up having Hermione's parents look at my teeth..." Going through the whole story seemed to confuse her at first, but Harry found it cleared his mind a little, to have to order and string all the events together enough to explain them. And by the time he was done, Ginny was nodding.

"I remember," she said, "when the whole thing with the diary happened...well, at first I pretty much felt okay. Mostly just relieved, because I'd been so scared, you know. Sometimes when I woke up in the morning, I had serious trouble reminding myself the whole thing was over, but it never lasted too long after I got up.

Except then I went home, and I don't know what it even was. Maybe it was that I had less to do, or maybe it was that that was where the whole thing started, or maybe it was even that home didn't seem as secure as Hogwarts-but I wasn't safe from it at Hogwarts either, so I don't know. The feeling of being scared when I woke up came back. I almost didn't get my homework done that summer, because there were weeks when I couldn't bring myself to touch a book. What I got to writing down, I took to rechecking after a few days, just to make sure it hadn't changed.

And then, there was this morning where Fred and George sneaked up on me...I don't even remember exactly what they did anymore. But mum and dad had to pull me off them. I gave Fred a black eye." Her voice cracked a little then, probably out of grief.

"It wasn't okay, of course, what I did, and what you did wasn't okay either. But..." She sighed. "I think it happens sometimes. And it did get better for me, eventually. Well, mostly."

"Wait a minute," said Harry, as one memory came vividly back to him. "That time you really didn't want to go to the library, even though we both had essays due the next morning..."

She nodded. "It was one of those days. They're very rare, now, but they do still happen. But I never attacked anyone again, after that morning with Fred and George. There were a few times where I actually managed to stop myself, but I think that did go away eventually."

Harry did now remember how, from the start, Ginny had always been aggressive during DA practices. He hadn't thought anything of it back then.

"You think I'm always going to be a little like this?" he asked her, suddenly feeling timid. Maybe she wouldn't want him again after all.

"Maybe," she said. "But maybe if we can keep ourselves from hurting anyone else, and we can be happy a lot of the time-because I have been, Harry, I can say that-then it's...well, not *not* all right."

Harry tried to stop himself, but it came out anyway: "So you mean, the two of us, together?"

Ginny nodded, very solemn. "I'd been thinking this already, but after hearing about this, I want the two of us to be there for each other. For this, and for everything else, too. I want to be there when you're feeling bad, and then I want to still be there when you're feeling better. I want to be there when you become an Auror-for real, not just honourary-and I'd like it if you were there when I hopefully make my professional debut as Chaser."

"Oh, I absolutely want to be there for that," said Harry, and he couldn't stop the smile. "And if you have more of those bad days, I want to be there to help with that, and when you can smile again I want to see that, and I hope I can make you more happy than sad."

"Agreed, then," said Ginny, and she reached out and took his hand. Neither moved to kiss the other, but they didn't really have to.

#Harry Potter #harry x ginny #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #molly weasley

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diceyfall · 5 years

Text

[fic; love seizes]

m!de sardet x vasco, their rendezvous scene, 2368 words 🔞💘

Vasco confesses with a poem because no one has taught him the words for the things he feels and so he borrows them from another, like a message in a bottle he hopes will find its way to shore.

He receives a smile in return, followed by a kiss on his neck that makes him shudder with its promise.

There is, however, no great revelation.

Tristan De Sardet may have a way with words, but he doesn’t use them here. Instead, he tells Vasco to meet him outside his bedroom in New Sérène, but he speaks nothing of love.

Maybe it was in his kiss, but maybe it wasn’t—the same way that maybe Vasco’s love was in his poem, but maybe it wasn’t. Neither of them, it seems, are willing to say it out loud.

So Vasco sets the matter aside as hours pass by on the road, and finds to his surprise that nothing between them has changed.

Tristan treats him the same way he always does, with easy conversation and friendly smiles but nothing more than that. By the time New Sérène becomes visible in the distance, Vasco is almost beginning to doubt that his confession and the kiss actually happened.

Everything is normal when they arrive in the city. Normal as Tristan splits from the group to see his cousin, normal as Vasco visits the inn with the others for a bite and a bath, normal as the sun begins to set and Vasco subtly excuses himself to head for Tristan’s residence.

Not so normal when he finds himself the only one there.

Vasco peers up at the stairs leading to Tristan’s bedroom. He’s not used to the house being so quiet, feels almost like an intruder as he hesitates in front of the first step.

But at this point, what does he have to lose?

He heads up the stairs, making the decision to wait for Tristan as he reaches the landing of the second floor, but once he heads into the hallway he realizes Tristan’s door has been left wide open.

Perhaps a servant who forgot to close it behind them, or perhaps not.

Vasco he hears the sound of footsteps and keeps his right hand close to his gun out of habit, but once he stands in front of the doorway and looks into the room, he finds himself at a total loss.

Tristan stands near the windows, where the fading daylight brightens his black curls like a crown around his head, lightening his brown eyes into amber. He’s wearing nothing but trousers, the toned plains of his chest and abdomen completely bare, a soft glow to his skin where the sun touches it.

“Vasco?” Tristan looks flustered, must not have heard Vasco coming up the stairs as he was dressing. “I didn’t expect...”

He trails off, not that Vasco notices considering his attention is caught on the thin trail of soft hair running down from Tristan’s bellybutton, disappearing beneath the low-riding edge of his trousers.

It’s not the first time he’s seen Tristan in some sort of state of undress; injuries happen, and from time to time clothing and armor needs replacing as well. During moments like those either Kurt or Siora or both would be fussing over Tristan while Vasco watched with amusement, but nothing more than that.

But now they’re alone in Tristan’s bedroom, and Vasco’s heart is beating fast, and Tristan’s face is slightly flushed, and Vasco wants nothing more than to cross the distance between them to kiss the redness in Tristan’s cheeks.

By some feat of sheer will or perhaps simple embarrassment, Vasco finally manages to avert his eyes and clears his throat.

“My apologies,” he says, posture stiff and uneasy. He thought that perhaps he’d get the opportunity to finally give voice to what he feels and find out if Tristan might feel the same, but this is different. Feels much different. “I didn’t mean to intrude, I should--”

“Stay,” Tristan says quickly, taking a step toward him but then catching himself, grabbing hold of his wooden bed-frame as if to steady himself. “Please.”

One word would’ve been enough, but the way he says please, with that eager look in his eyes--Vasco could never refuse.

His feet move, every step on the floorboards so loud in the silence and the distance between him and Tristan has never felt so wide before, so slow to cross.

Four steps, he counts.

Four steps, and he’s standing in front of Tristan who looks like he’s been pushed to the very edge of his self-control, eyes flitting to Vasco’s mouth yet keeping perfectly still.

Vasco lets out a quiet breath and lifts his hand to Tristan’s cheek, a feather-light brush of fingers trailing down to the edge of the mark peeking out from under his beard.

“Are you sure?” Vasco asks.

Tristan cups Vasco’s hand with his own, then turns it a little and kisses the inner side of his wrist.

“Stay,” he says again, speaking it softly into the quiet space between them warmed over by the sun, and Vasco has never wanted anything more.

They move forward at the same time, meeting each other halfway in the light where their lips press together in a perfect whole, as if they had been made just to kiss.

Tristan’s arms wrap around Vasco, pulling him flush against his own body and Vasco surrenders to it completely, one hand in Tristan’s hair and the other holding onto his shoulder, feeling like he’s burning up from the inside out.

Vasco has little awareness of how he manages to get his clothes off, but at some point his belt is undone and he feels Tristan yank his coat down. He’s far too preoccupied by the thick bulge pressing against him through Tristan’s trousers, and the way Tristan groans into his mouth when Vasco grinds their hips together.

The friction becomes all the better when they get rid of their trousers and Vasco's shirt and boots, until they’re both down to their undergarments. Tristan’s skin against his own feels so warm, so good that Vasco didn’t realize how much he’d been craving it before, but now that he has he feels like an addict.

“Vasco,” Tristan sighs in between their kisses, hand sliding down over his spine to his lower back and Vasco moans as Tristan deepens the kiss, tongue and the edge of teeth, hot and wet and somehow still so gentle, so loving.

Vasco barely manages to pull away enough to speak. “The bed?” he asks before Tristan kisses him again with a hum, seeming content to just stand here in the sunlight and kiss him forever.

“I know, I just—” Tristan’s fingers tangle in his hair, pulls it free to grab at his locks insistently, keeps kissing him through his words. “Can’t- stop.”

Vasco would’ve laughed had his mouth not been otherwise preoccupied, and with a hand on Tristan’s waist he manages to maneuver them backwards onto the bed. When he tries to sit down Tristan chases his lips like a man possessed, and Vasco ends up on his back, pressed down into the mattress by Tristan’s weight on top of him.

It’s a tempting idea, to simply lie here and kiss each other until their lips are bruised, but Vasco is far too aroused to leave it at that. If he doesn’t find some sort of release he might actually go mad.

Hands on Tristan’s shoulders, he pushes him off a little, breaking the kiss and leaving them both breathless. Tristan gazes down at him with a dazed look in his half-lidded eyes and reddened, wet lips--the most beautiful thing Vasco has ever seen.

But, unfortunate as it is, they can’t simply lie here and stare at each other for the rest of the evening. Though Tristan is making it very difficult with how he caresses Vasco’s brow, following the lines of his tattoos as if they were precious works of art.

“Oil?” Vasco says, voice rough in his throat, and Tristan blinks.

“Right.” Tristan looks reluctantly at the nightstand, then back down at Vasco. “One moment.”

Vasco remains on the bed while Tristan moves away, leaving him feeling suddenly rather cold. He takes the moment to shimmy out of his undergarments, flinging it aside to the floor somewhere.

As he stares up at the ceiling he smiles as he can hear Tristan hurrying, rifling through the drawer before he makes a noise of recognition, having found what he’s looking for.

Vasco props himself up on his elbows to look as Tristan’s weight presses back down onto the bed between his legs, a small bottle of oil in his hand now.

“Do you…” Tristan trails off for a moment as his gaze trails over Vasco’s body, which is somewhat embarrassing—it’s been a while since anyone saw him completely naked, let alone devoured them with their eyes like Tristan is doing right about now.

He seems to catch himself though, refocusing on Vasco’s face. “Are you going to stay on your back?”

If there was ever a way to make him feel extremely self-aware, it would be a question like that.

Vasco averts his eyes, voice quiet when he replies. “Did you… want me another way?”

He feels a hand settle on his upper leg, sliding up his thigh.

“No,” Tristan replies with an adoring smile and Vasco has never seen a man so wholly and incredibly smitten. “This is perfect.”

He leans down to kiss Vasco again, but it’s not as gentle and tender anymore—there’s biting, sucking at his lip, demanding and so intoxicating that this time Vasco almost chases Tristan’s mouth when he pulls away, even though he has to.

It’s been a while for him since he last did this, long enough that even with Tristan’s oil-slicked fingers he feels too tight, unable to ease up until Tristan kisses his shoulder, whispering sweet nothings in between.

“Vasco,” he whispers, just to say his name, and Vasco wants to listen to nothing else but Tristan breathing it against his skin over and over again while he drives his fingers in deeper, stretching him just right.

“Tristan,” Vasco whispers back with a groan in his voice, not certain how much longer he can stand this, so he curves his palms around Tristan’s neck, lifting up his face and looking him in the eyes so he can give shape to his desire with words. “Fuck me.”

It’s giving his permission because he knows Tristan must be holding back--he is always too considerate in everything--and the moment he says it Tristan’s composure breaks.

He surges down to claim Vasco’s mouth with a singular hunger, his body a bonfire in Vasco’s arms, running so hot Vasco feels like he’s burning up just by being pressed against him, even hotter when Tristan pushes into him and fills him so well, like they’ve done this a hundred times before.

And the noises Tristan makes, ripped out of his throat and caught against his mouth by Vasco’s lips when he starts to move. Tristan breaks the kiss and tries to smother the sounds against the crook of Vasco’s neck instead, which Vasco thinks is unfair since he has no such cover; one deep roll of Tristan’s hips and Vasco’s breath hitches audibly, voice cracking into a broken moan.

The bed begins to creak beneath them as Tristan’s slow and easy motions turn into harder thrusts, and even through the haze of heat and building pleasure Vasco thinks, slightly deliriously, that they forgot to close the door. If anyone walked in right now they’d see him get lovingly fucked into Tristan’s mattress, maybe even hear the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin all the way from downstairs.

Fuck, he’s going to come.

“Tristan,” Vasco moans, a breath against Tristan’s curls, lost when Tristan slows down again just to kiss him, sloppy and deep and yet somehow perfect.

“I have you,” Tristan whispers back, hand slipping down between them and wrapping around Vasco, and it’s not enough and it’s too much all at once.

Vasco comes with Tristan rocking into him and stroking him, inside him and around him and it feels like the best way to drown, so completely lost to him.

He finds clarity the moment right after, when Tristan pulls out to stroke himself to completion with Vasco’s legs still hooked around his hips and his expression twisted into something between pain and pleasure.

The whimper that falls from his lips as he comes onto Vasco’s stomach is the sweetest thing Vasco has ever heard and he thinks, love-dazed, that there is nothing he wouldn’t do for Tristan.

Tristan breathes out a laugh as he collapses on top of him. “In that case, how about you hold me for a while?”

Vasco does so without complaint, not having realized he spoke it out loud, but he’s sure Tristan already knew.

They stay on the bed for a while, with Tristan tucked against his side in a sleepy embrace. It’s gotten dark outside by the time either of them feel the need to move again.

“I need to clean up,” Vasco points out dryly when Tristan tries to tug him back down. “You only have yourself to thank for that.”

Tristan lets him go reluctantly, pouting about it all the while as he claims the bed for himself in Vasco’s absence. He seems content to watch Vasco towel off the mess, put his trousers on and light a few candles, at least for a while.

“Vasco.”

Snatching his shirt off the ground which somehow ended up on the other side of the room, Vasco turns to look questioningly at Tristan, who is still naked but has a blanket covering him now, reclining back against the pillows.

“Tell me how the poem ends,” Tristan says.

Oh.

Vasco makes his way back to the bed, setting his shirt aside and sitting down as he watches Tristan gaze tenderly at him.

His heart skips a beat when he realizes.

“You know how it ends,” he accuses, flustered, and Tristan smiles wide, leaning over and kissing him again.

“Tell me anyway.”

#greedfall #vasco x de sardet #de sardet x vasco #captain vasco #greedfall vasco #vasco #de sardet #greedfall fanfiction #dice's fics #this ended up very soft #i meant to make it more raunchy but it just turned into pure feeling lmao #slightly different from canon anyway to suit my de sardet but yeah #if you don't like bottom!vasco then we can't be friends #if u got a fic request hmu and i'll see what i can do!

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