#a lifetime wouldn't be enough to study it

[maggiecheungs]

whoops, I mean, did Genji ever have sex with Asagao* and Tamakazura?

Hi nonny! You're right, it’s sometimes hard to tell exactly which relationships are consummated in the text, because of the general ambiguity with which sex is talked about in the narrative (though we are left in no doubt that sex does happen, and frequently). An expert could probably give you better answers to this question, but here's what I think:

Asagao: no, I’m fairly sure not. It’s made surprisingly clear in the text that she repeatedly rejects Genji's advances, yet she still maintains an important place in his... mental landscape of women, let's call it. I suspect that, much like in the case of Fujitsubo, her unreachability is one of the things that makes her so alluring to him, thus suspect that he never managed to consummate. I also think that she occupies a large enough space in his mind that if he had managed to do the deed, as it were, it wouldn’t have passed by unremarked—particularly because she’s one of the women who makes Murasaki feel most insecure, so apart from anything else, it would have arisen in the text as a source of tension between her and Genji.

Tamakazura: hmmm well. She was living under Genji’s roof for several months, and he certainly did attempt to court her, but she greeted his advances with fear and aversion and was by and large protected from more overt sexual advances by her official status as his (foster) daughter. I’m going to assume that if he had succeeded in consummating, he would have given up the charade and officially taken her as his wife, instead of trying to marry her off to other illustrious suitors (including his own half brother).

I will say that the way that Tamakazura's sexual experiences are approached within the text is very interesting to me, because the one sex act we know for sure to happen, when Higekuro inflitrates her rooms and rapes her, leading to their unhappy marriage, is markedly absent from the text--and not just in the usual polite ambiguity surrounding matters of the bedchamber. There’s almost a black hole there. There’s no lead up, no courtship, and the narrative has been setting Tamakazura up to enter court. Then, at the beginning of the 'Makibashira'/'Beloved Cyprus Pillar' chapter, the state of affairs has drastically changed without warning: Tamakazura has been forcefully wedded to Higekuro under shameful circumstances that are only ever alluded to. The narrative jarr is really quite shocking--I remember I was quite confused when I first read it--and it really serves to emphasise the violence of the violation committed against her. It also interests me because Genji's own trespasses and sexual coercions are never portrayed with this much shock or abruptness, raising interesting questions--is the text excusing or downplaying his actions? Are his actions more 'permissable' than Higekuro's because he generally follows the conventions of Heian courtship (on the surface, at least)? Or is the contrast between the two meant to highlight the hypocrisy of Genji's position, and act as a commentary of the imbalanced power dynamics that underlie Heian gender and sex relations?

These are just my opinions, but like I said, it’s quite possible that there’s some firmer scholarly consensus out there about what passed between Genji and these women (though not necessarily in English)

#sorry for the late reply! i was on a mini hiatus #also disclaimer that it's been a while since my last reread so I might be a little hazy on the details #genji monogatari #the tale of genji #tale of genji #ellis reads #classical japanese literature #ask response #anonymous #i really never will get tired of talking about this book #a lifetime wouldn't be enough to study it #asagao #tamakazura

[palestinenatural]

what's the point of studying veterinary medicine if there aren't any rukhs for me to trap neuter & release.

#supernatural ep where cas finds a little rukh hatchling and insists on taking care of it #and then sam immediately bonds with it too bc he's like hugely invested in those theory about whether the rukh was a real species of bird #and he's like oh my god we have to study it this is a once in a lifetime opportunity #and dean is like ???? that is a wild animal and also grows tall enough to eat humans we are NOT keeping it and then everyone goes #but its wittle faceeee and its tiny claws you wouldn't abandon a baby to the elements. would you dean #anyway does anyone know what the plural of rukh is I've only ever heard it as rukh #arabnatural #*theories

[blakeswritingimagines]

Until I Found You

A/N: No real plot but smitten Aemond wouldn't get out of my head so enjoy!

Word Count: 4.7k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

"My mother had a long talk with me- a…heart-to-heart if you would." Alicent's face fills his mind's eye. He can see her smile, her concern. "She tells me about your…qualities: your sense of responsibility, your kindness. She says you'd be a good match for me. We'd be a good match. We're a good match for the realm. You're a good match for me." His voice lowers a little. His eyes are locked onto yours, studying you. He tries to read you. You stare at him with your deep striking eyes, your face is soft and gentle. You tilt your head as if waiting for his response. You have such a gentle look in your eyes that can melt a man's heart and charm him. "I…I…" He has been rendered speechless 'Is my mother truly convinced that you would be such a good match?' He can't help but think "You seem so…so…" He fumbles. It feels like a lifetime when you pause as if waiting for him to respond, and the world seems to freeze.

And he feels like a young boy again, filled with such butterflies in his stomach out of nowhere in a way he's never felt before. You are far more than a pretty face. He had noticed when you are near that the air itself smells like lilac blossoms. You smiled at him, a smile that speaks of pure innocence, and of your true nature. As if you could read his mind, you spoke the words that would melt his heart. Your voice is soft and full of curiosity. "Yes, my prince?" A soft smile plays on your lips, and you tilt your head in what he thinks is the cutest way, waiting for him to say more. His stuttering and pauses make you want him even more, he seemed to be so charming and sweet. His breath catches in his throat. Your voice has an effect on him that he did not know possible. His hands tremble feeling something he's never felt before coming over him, every inch of your body is calling to him, your smell, your caress, your gentle touches, your innocent voice.

You are a vision from the gods themselves, and he cannot believe you are so close to him, your hand on his neck, your face so close to his, your eyes filling his vision. He can’t take his eyes off you. Every time he thinks it couldn’t get better, you did something that makes him think otherwise. He can imagine how good your lips would feel on his. He feels like there is so much he wants to do, your touch is like a song of beauty that moves through his body, and your voice is a melody for his ears. He feels a sudden rage overcome him. It fills him with a desire for only one thing, to keep you. Keep you as his and no one else’s. You are perfect and he will give up everything he has lived for just to have you. The thought of someone else touching you makes him sick. Someone else kissing you, it is intolerable. He will have you. His mind was no longer his own. The touch and smell of you were enough to send him into a trance, a dark thought had started to form in his head. 'You belong to me,' he thought. And help if anyone should claim otherwise. "I believe my mother is right, my sweet. We will indeed make a good, no a great match and shall wed." He is too caught up in his new thinking of you to notice any concern you may have at his words.

You look at him, with a hint of doubt in your eyes. You were unsure of how to respond to the ideal he's built up. You were unsure If he truly desired you, or just the idea of you. You hesitate as if trying to find words to express your feelings. Your breath catches short as your heart races and feel a nervous tinge of uncertainty of everyone accepting you. He senses the moment the fear enters your eyes. He wants to reassure you. He does truly. You are everything he has ever wanted. In his mind, his heart beats faster so that you might just hear it. You have suddenly become the center of his very existence. "My love, please do not misunderstand. I desire you. I cannot put it into words or actions as I desire to do quite yet. My dear, you are all I want in this world and more…" he senses your hesitation, and his heart is almost ripped from his chest. It is a strange sensation, but he cannot help but notice the beauty in your eyes when they are filled with such confusion and trepidation. It almost makes him want you more. He feels compelled to speak again. "My love, do not worry, your confusion is not lost on me. I know with all my heart that I shall love you always and forever, that you are my very life and I could not bear to live without you."

With a shy demeanor, you step away from him, backing away, seemingly overwhelmed by the passion that is sweeping through him. Although you can see a hint of longing and desire in his eyes, you lightly shake your head in disbelief. "Are you sure, my prince?" The sudden change in attitude is almost puzzling. Your eyes widened, as you felt a rush of unfamiliar emotions you were not really used to. You were hesitant to trust this, but there was something about him that was hard to resist. You tried to pull away, but he didn't let go as he came closer to you. You couldn't stop yourself from trembling and biting your lip as you watched him. Was that how you felt? There was so much emotion between you he thought. He can feel the rage building inside him. It is not easy when you say these things. He is not used to rejection from anything. And he couldn’t let this sit. So this was how you wanted to play? He smiled cruelly, and he would take what he wanted from you…

As months passed and once the word was given, Alicent planned the wedding to be an elaborate affair. With the nobility of the Realm gathered to witness your union, the ceremony was as grand. The ceremony was held in the large Sept of King's Landing, where you were united in the eyes of gods and men. Your family and friends were in attendance, along with many of the most important and notable members of the various houses and factions of the Realm. As you looked around the room, you felt a sense of pride and happiness, and you couldn't wait for your new life together to begin. You were dressed in royal attire, and looking as regal as ever in your white gown. You stood before Aemond with a look of woe on your face, the look in your eyes was distant like you were trying to hide from everyone. But you also seemed nervous, as if you couldn't stand all the prestige watching you so closely.

He was now your husband, as he had desired. You were his, and no one would ever take you from him. Now that you were his, he could do with you whatever he so desired. No one would ever steal you from him, or challenge his power over you. It was a thought that filled his head with a feeling of pure joy. And he could no longer remember how he ever lived without you at his side. You were his one and only his. His new life had just begun, and he could not wait to see what he might do to you. You smiled warmly, looking at Aemond with all your affection and devotion. It was strange, as if something had shifted within you. Something that was almost palpable. You were no longer afraid of his life and desires but rather embraced them with an open heart and a trusting nature. You had truly become one with him now. He could do with you whatever he pleased, and your feelings and needs were secondary to his own. This was truly love.

The feast that took place in the grand hall to celebrate your wedding was filled with merriment and laughter. It seemed a fitting way to ring in a union the likes of which the realm had not seen in many a year. The servants were seen bringing out an endless array of dishes and desserts to satisfy the appetites of the guests. In addition, there were ample amounts of the finest wines and drinks to toast your happy union. There was much to celebrate, and the guests kept at it throughout the night, long into the early morning hours. You both sat together, and you leaned up to him, you were his and he was yours. But he would no longer play a game of subtlety with you. This was his chance to fully exert his power over you. He leaned in close to you, whispering into your ear. It would be your first taste of what was to come. Now that you were his, he would finally begin to make you his own, he would show you who you were to belong to, and what he was to possess, the room is loud with the sounds of the party, but with this single whisper his voice breaks through the noise and makes your body tremble. He leans in close enough to kiss your cheek and whispers in the softest voice. ”My love, I’ve been wanting to say this to you for so long now, and now that I have you in my grasp, I can say it with all the certainty in the world. You… you are mine. Forever and always. All of you.”

That simple yet powerful statement was enough to make your whole world light up. Your heart skipped a beat as you heard those words, taking your breath away and sending delicious chills down your spine. You trembled, leaning closer to him so that your faces were only inches apart, your eyes fluttering with the passion and desire he filled your heart with. Your body responded instinctively to his touch, wanting nothing more than to be in his arms and his alone. You leaned closer to him, breathless and feeling pure excitement. You could feel the heat of his breath and the intensity of his words. They swept through you, causing heat to rise to your very core. Your lips parted as you took in a deep breath, and you felt your body respond in kind. It was as if you had been waiting your whole life for him to claim you as his own. He took your face with both hands, his lips almost touching yours, close enough to feel your breath, your warmth. He kept talking in this soft, quiet voice, wanting you to hear every word. With your body so close and responsive, it was taking all of his wits to resist taking you in front of everyone. The feeling of having you completely submit to him, this feeling of pure power and authority he had over you, was almost too much. And he wanted to see you break completely under it, and no one else would ever touch you, ever again.

The months had passed, and the feeling of excitement and euphoria had not left him. The marriage had been the best thing that had ever been decided for him. But it was not enough. You were more than a wife. You were his possession. He made sure to remind you of this. He would touch you in a manner he felt was necessary to remind you of his control. He would kiss, grope, and hold you wherever and whenever it suited him. It was his right, he was possessive of you. In public he is always close, his hands touch you in places and ways that are meant to remind everyone of where you belong. At times he would pull you close without explanation, just to get the feeling. Behind closed doors, it was even worse. His hands never left you, either around you or on your body. Your very presence was needed for him to feel whole, and he was addicted to the feeling. You were like his drug, and your body was his to use however he pleased. “You will never be with anyone else, only me.”

Your body stirred with such heat and passion that you felt as if you might faint. Your skin crawled with goosebumps as you imagined all the ways he would possess you, all the things you would let him do to you. You wanted to be his in every way possible. You wanted to feel only his touch, nothing else. You were addicted and craved his needs. You could not deny him anything, and you wouldn't even try. “Please… please don't stop…” You whisper in a breathy, excited tone, your body trembling with anticipation of the touch that you desperately crave. There was a pleading tone in your voice as you were begging him to continue. You can feel the heat coursing through your body, your skin was hot and glowing with desire. You need him, more than anything. Aemond smirked at your response, feeling the warmth of your body against his fingers and the softness of your breasts in his hands. He knew how much you loved being touched by him, and he couldn't resist teasing you just a bit before continuing the intimate moment together. "Oh, I won't stop now," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "I plan on showing you exactly what kind of pleasure I can give you." He leaned down to kiss your neck, his fingers still gently massaging your breasts while one hand reached down to unbutton your dress, revealing more of your skin beneath it begging to be marked by him once more. "You're so beautiful when you're this eager for me," he whispered into your ear.

Your heart raced as you felt his lips against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. The sound of his voice sent chills down your spine, making your body tense up in anticipation of what he had planned for you. As he pushed your dress off slowly, revealing more of you to him, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through your veins. "Show me how much you love me… how much you want me…"you whispered, your voice barely audible, "I want to see all of you… I want to be yours completely." As he continued to tease and touch you, your body began to throb with desire, yearning for more of his attention. With a final flourish, Aemond pulled off your dress entirely, leaving you standing naked before him. Your perfect curves were bared to his gaze, and he couldn't help but admire them for a moment before moving closer to press his nose against your neck, inhaling deeply as he took in your scent. His other hand moved to cup one of your hips firmly, pulling you closer to him while he looked over every inch of your body with hungry eyes. "There you are," he whispered, "Just as I like." His voice was low and rough, "So perfectly angelic." He ran his finger along the curve of your waist before trailing it down to tease the swell of your ass, giving it a light slap for emphasis.

You couldn't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and arousal at his intense gaze. You bit your lower lip nervously, feeling exposed and vulnerable but also incredibly turned on by the thought of him owning every part of you. "Yes… I am here for you… I am all yours…" you whispered, "Do whatever you want with me… I trust you completely." Your voice was barely audible, but you meant every word of those three simple sentences. As he slapped your ass, you let out a small moan of pleasure, unable to control yourself any longer. "Please… don't hold back anything from me." At the sight of you standing naked before him, Aemond's eyes widened in pure lust as he took in every inch of your exposed form. Your body seemed to radiate an intoxicating mixture of innocence and sensuality, drawing him in and making him feel almost powerless against his urges. He wanted nothing more than to claim every last inch of you as his own, marking you as his possession and showing everyone who dared to look that you belonged to him. "Please… please fuck me…" you whispered, your voice trembling with need, "I want to feel your cock inside of me… I want to be filled up by you."

Aemond's eyes darkened at your words, and he growled low in his throat as he finally dropped his pants, revealing his hardened erection to you. He reached out and grabbed your hips firmly, pulling you close to him until your back was pressed against the wall behind you. His hands roamed over your ass cheeks before he finally entered you with a grunt, pushing into your tight entrance forcefully. "Fuck me," he grunted, "I'm going to fill you up completely." His large hands gripped your hips tightly as he began to thrust into your depths, driving himself deeper into your wet heat with each stroke. Feeling his thick cock push into you forcefully, you let out a small cry of surprise mixed with pleasure. The sudden invasion caused a mix of pain and ecstasy to surge through your body, causing your muscles to clench around his length involuntarily. As he began to fuck you relentlessly, your mind went blank, consumed solely by the intense pleasure coursing through your body. "Ah yes… fuck me, fill me up… I'm yours… I belong to you…" you moaned, your voice becoming increasingly breathless as he claimed your body completely.

His hands gripped onto your hips tightly as he continued to pound into you, his large member driving deep into your wet folds with each powerful stroke. He could feel your tight walls clenching around him each time he pulled out and pushed back in, coating himself thoroughly in your slick essence as he claimed ownership over every inch of your body. "Yes, that's my girl," he growled, "So tight and perfect for me." His balls slapped against your ass cheeks with each thrust, leaving a trail of precum dripping down your sensitive flesh as he continued to dominate and control every aspect of this intimate moment between them. "I'm going to make you come undone for me," he promised. As he continued to drive into you with brutal force, your body responded instinctively, clenching around his cock and milking it for all its worth. The combination of pain and pleasure was nearly overwhelming, causing your mind to become hazy and your thoughts to blur together as you focused solely on the intense sensations coursing through your body. "Oh god... yes... fill me up... make me yours completely..." you cried out, your voice weakening as the waves of pleasure threatened to consume you entirely. "I belong to you... I am yours..." The thought of being completely devoted and owned by Aemond brought forth an intense rush of arousal within you, causing your juices to flow freely from your pussy as he relentlessly fucked you.

Aemond's harsh grunts echoed in the room as he continued to pound into you, his large cock stretching your tight walls to their limit. He could feel your walls clenching around him tighter with each thrust, coating him completely in your wetness as he drove himself deeper into your body. With each powerful stroke, he felt like he was branding himself into your very soul, leaving no doubt in either of your minds about the extent of his possession over you. "That's right, my little whore," he growled, "You belong to me completely." His hands gripped onto your hips tightly, guiding him expertly as he continued to pump into you relentlessly. As he continued to pound into you mercilessly, your body became increasingly slick with your arousal, causing your walls to quiver and contract around his thick cock. The intensity of the pleasure was almost too much to bear, causing your mind to become clouded and your thoughts to drift aimlessly as you focused solely on submitting yourself fully to Alaric's dominance. "Yes… yes… I'm yours… I belong to you…" you whispered brokenly, "Please… please fill me up completely…" Your voice trailed off into a series of moans and gasps as he continued to fuck you with unbridled passion, driving himself even deeper into your waiting pussy.

Aemond's harsh breathing and heavy panting were the only sounds in the room except for the sound of skin slapping against skin as he continued to impale himself upon your wetness. He could feel his balls slapping against your ass cheeks with each powerful thrust, filling the room with the sound of his primal masculinity as he claimed complete ownership over every inch of your body. "Always so tight... so perfect for me," he growled, "I'm going to make you come undone for me... I'm going to fill you up so completely that there won't be any part of you left untouched by my cock." As he continued to fuck you with unrelenting force, your body began to shudder with anticipation, your mind becoming lost in a haze of pleasure and submission. The thought of being completely possessed by Aemond and belonging to him completely sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, causing your inner walls to clench tightly around his thick member as he showed no signs of slowing down. "Fill me up… fill me up completely…" you pleaded breathlessly, "Make me yours… make me yours forever…" Your voice trailed off into a chorus of moans and gasps as he continued to claim your body as his own, driving himself deeper into your slick depths with each powerful stroke. As he continued to fuck you relentlessly, your orgasm approached rapidly, causing your body to quake and shiver uncontrollably in anticipation of the intense climax building within you.

Aemond's grunts grew louder and more animalistic as he continued to pound into you without mercy, his large member pulsing inside your tight entrance with each powerful stroke. He could feel your walls clenching around him tighter and tighter with each passing second, coating him completely in your wetness as he showed no sign of stopping or slowing down. "Mine... all mine," he growled, "And I'll never let anyone take you away from me." His hands gripped onto your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continued to drive himself deeper into your waiting pussy, pushing himself as far as he could go until finally. He could feel the approaching climax building within both of you and knew that soon he would release his load deep within your waiting pussy, marking you as his possession once again. "Yes... I'll fill you up completely... there will be no doubt in anyone's mind who owns this sweet little cunt," he growled, "And when I'm done, there won't be a single inch of you left unclaimed by me."

Aemond's pace increased leaving a trail of hot cum dripping down your ass as he claimed complete ownership over every inch of your body. The sight of his large member buried deep within your tight pussy was enough to make any man envious, and Aemond knew that he held the ultimate power over you now. "Fuck, I'm close," he groaned, "I'm going to fill you up with my seed." His hands gripped onto your hips tightly, guiding him towards his climax as he prepared to release inside of you, marking you as his forever. As he neared his climax, Aemond's movements grew more frantic, his hips bucking wildly as he pounded into you with reckless abandon. The feeling of being surrounded by warmth and slickness was incredibly stimulating, causing his cock to twitch and throb with desire as he emptied his load deep within your awaiting womb. With a loud grunt, he released a torrent of hot cum into your tight entrance, filling you up completely and marking you as his possession for eternity. "There... there's my girl," he growled, "Now you're truly mine... completely mine." He brought you over to the bed, spent but satisfied, as he reveled in the knowledge that nothing could ever separate them from one another again.

As Aemond filled your tight pussy with his thick seed, you could feel the warmth and fullness enveloping your insides, causing your body to tremble in pleasure and submission. The thought of being completely marked and owned by him caused an intense surge of pleasure to course through your body, causing your orgasm to crescendo as you surrendered completely to his dominance. "Ahh… ahhh… I'm yours… I belong to you… Please don't let go of me… please stay inside of me…" you cried out. "I'll stay inside of you... I'll fill you up completely... I'll never leave you... I'll always be a part of you..." He leaned down and kissed you softly on the lips before speaking again. "You'll never be able to get rid of me now. I'm a part of you now." He rested back into the plush mattress and held you, letting his cock press against your womb as he took a moment to catch his breath after the intense fucking he had just given you. "And you'll never be able to forget who you belong to."

As you open your eyes, you gaze up at him with a look of complete satisfaction, your breath coming in quick, sharp intervals as you tried to catch your breath. Your body is still pulsating with arousal, the lingering effects of his touch still lingering on your skin. You smiled at Aemond weakly. You lay in his arms, completely exhausted but utterly content. His hands roam over your soft skin, caressing you, reminding you of the love and passion that you shared together. You felt secure and content with him, safe and content with the way he made you feel. As he stroked your flesh in just the right way, you closed your eyes, breathing slowly and deeply. he could almost hear your sighs and the sounds of ecstasy as you melted in his arms. The look of ecstasy on your face was what made him so happy. He was proud that he had achieved this, that he was the source of your pleasure and satisfaction. The way his hands caressed your body and the soft sound of your breaths almost put him into a trance as well. Your warm breath on him was a feeling he could never grow enough of. This was what was right for him: a woman all his to do with as he pleased.

He leans close and nuzzles his face into your neck. He whispers into your skin, his breath warm and comforting. "My dear, my love, I cannot believe that you are mine to possess. You are so responsive. You are so accepting. How I have been deprived for so long, I have no idea. I believe I would not have lived a full life had I not met you. Please, my dear, never forget this. Now and always, you belong to me. No one else will ever possess you. You are my princess, my queen. You are mine." Your breaths come in short, sharp gasps as you listen to his words. You feel like you were floating on air, basking in the warmth and safety he radiated just for you. The feeling of him nuzzling his face in your neck sends chills up your spine, making your body arch up against his almost instinctively. You leaned into him, your limbs soft and pliable. “You make me feel like a queen, my prince. You make me feel so adored and loved. I am yours, body and soul, now and always."

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon x reader

[grandlinedreams]

Heya!

I wanted to ask if you could write some TrafLaw x fem!reader but she reminds him of Corazon (the way she acts, dresses and smokes her cigs)? At first he doesn’t know what to think/feel/do due to his past, but eventually he falls for her?🌸✨

That would be amazing since I really like your work and story telling ~🙏🏻💙

Thank you!!🫶🏻

Hey, absolutely!! Thank-you so much for requesting from me, it means a lot!

[heads up!: cigarette use, afab reader]

Law doesn’t believe in reincarnation. It’s too romantic of a notion, too hopeful to think that people can come back just because they’ve loved and been loved enough. And even if such things were possible with concrete proof, he doubts the universe would be so kind as to allow him something like that. 

And yet. 

You aren’t Corazon. He knows that – Corazon died years ago, a lifetime ago. If he thinks about it too long, he can still taste the gunpowder and smoke, feel the chill in his bones. He doesn’t believe in reincarnation, but there must be some kind of cosmic interference at play, comedy for how much of Cora he sees in you. 

And wishes he didn’t. 

At first, the similarities are coincidental. You like to smoke, just like him – a horrible habit when it comes to your health, but all he can do is keep reminding you, watching as you snuff it out with a sheepish grin when his gaze lingers too long. There’s the way you dress, too – again, not something specific to Corazon and Corazon alone, but it’s a little eerie that you have the same taste in fashion. (And then, the fact that Cora had been male, and you are not.)

It’s a lot of little things, too. The way you smile, the easy way that you interact with the crew – before you, Law had allowed himself to sometimes daydream about what it would’ve been like to have Cora here too. Lanky, clumsy, wonderful Cora. 

On days where the coincidental similarities are too much, he considers making you leave. You’re too much ㅡ too much like the man who'd fought to extend his borrowed time, let him steal too much of it at his expense. 

That wouldn't be fair to you, though. You don't know, you couldn't ㅡ because he asks you. If maybe, somehow, you'd once run into him.

"Nah," you answer when he asks, playing with your lighter. "Think I'd remember if I had. But this guy ㅡ Corazon, you said?” He watches the plush of your lips around your cigarette, the practiced flick of your finger against the lighter as you bring it up. He listens to it click, watches as you inhale, then exhale. “I think he’s proud of you, Captain. Proud that you didn’t let his efforts go to waste. That you’ve become someone worthy of following without being cruel.” 

Law wants to hate you, at that moment. Childish fury, irritation because you don’t know Cora, how dare you try to speak for him and try to say how he must feel? But you mean well, there’s no malicious intention with your words. So he bites back the instinctual vitriol, patches up that wound that never seems to heal.

He thinks he’s done well to keep his comparisons to himself outside of that conversation, but maybe he hasn’t – because somewhere down the line, he lets up. Lowers his guard just a little at a time, lets you in step by step. Uncharted waters that he treads oh-so-carefully – unexpected, but not wholly unwanted. 

“I’m not Corazon, Law.” Your tone is soft, an undercurrent of something that makes him look up from where he’d been studying and over at you. You’re tucked at the corner of his bed, jacket draped around your shoulders (black, just like his, but without the thick carpet of feathers). “You know that, right?”

He’s not sure where you’re going with this. “Of course I do,” he responds. “Is something wrong?”

You hesitate, attention drifting over his room. Everything has a place, of course, but there’s just enough disarray to be comforting. The papers stacked on every available surface of his desk, the books stacked precariously at the corner, bookmarked and worn thin by the repeated drag of fingers over text – all of it comes together in a way that’s unmistakably Law. 

You love it, love him – and while Law has yet to let something that vulnerable slip from his lips, the fact that he allows you to coexist here with him, outside the role of Captain and subordinate, is more than enough. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you answer when he prompts with a call of your name, “I just…I wanted to make sure that you knew.” Anxiety makes your fingers twitch with the needed habit of a cigarette to soothe your nerves, but you don’t reach for one. You won’t smoke in here (and idly, you wonder if Law’s noticed the sharp decrease in that habit as a whole), and force yourself to meet his gaze. “I just don’t want this to be because I resemble him.” 

The fear that he’s only allowing you this close because you remind him of his savior has lurked for a while now and while you’re usually good at quieting it yourself, you need him to confirm that his feelings exist outside of the parallels that border on uncanny. 

Law is silent, staring at you until you look away, and his chest aches. He gets it, why you’d worry that he feels the way he does only for the idea of keeping whatever little mementos of Cora he finds as close as he can. That wouldn’t be fair to you, would be unspeakably cruel – and while he’s awkward with intimate emotion, that’s not something he’d ever do. 

“I know that you’re not him,” he begins, tone soft as he moves to sit next to you. “For one, you’re not as clumsy as he was. Nor do you have the knack for being on fire, which I’m grateful for.” He means for it to be in jest, but you still won’t look at him. He hesitates, then reaches for your hand. “I don’t like you because you look and act like Cora, [Name].” 

You move to pull your hand away, but his fingers slot through yours and curl so that you can’t, keeping you anchored to him. “It’s rude to try and leave when someone’s talking. Please listen.”

After a moment, your fingers curl around his. “Okay.” 

“Cora meant everything to me. He tried so hard to find a doctor who would treat me and when he couldn’t, he risked his own life to steal the ope-ope fruit so I could find a cure myself.” It hurts, prodding at that years old injury, the silent fear that he’d never live up to Cora’s expectations, make his sacrifice worth it. Some days, he still feels like the frightened, helpless child he’d once been. “But you…you aren’t him. You’re your own person, and I think it’d be incredibly unfair to pursue a relationship with you because of something as shallow as coincidental similarities.”

Finally, you turn back towards him. “So you like me–”

“Because you’re you,” he states firmly. “I know that I’m not the best at expressing things like this.” Too afraid to voice it out loud, for fear that it’ll jinx you, set you up for being taken from him. “I want you to stay with me, please. I want this to work.”

You could reject him. Untangle your hand from his, pull away entirely, go back to before – or leave entirely. But you don’t. Instead, you tighten your grip on his hand just a little more, let yourself lean over, head on his shoulder. Law stiffens for a moment, then relaxes, tips his head to rest against yours. 

“I love you,” you say, and Law doesn’t say it back – not yet, but he doesn’t have to. For now, this – the warmth of his body next to yours, the slight shift to press his lips to your hair – is more than enough.

#ㅡmine. #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #ㅡanswered. #–ml: law.

[levwrites]

Deadly Haven (part 1)

An injured, hunted hero hides in his former lover's safehouse to catch a breath. Unfortunately, his presence is soon noticed by said ex-lover.

The safehouse has been abandoned for months, maybe even longer - just as Hero hoped.

He remembers Villain bringing him here once, after a rough betrayal that left Hero poisoned with no one to rely on except for his then-friend. Here they first kissed. Here Villain decided Hero would belong to them.

But all of that was a lifetime ago. Before Hero betrayed his lover. Before he left leaving just a note and no goodbyes.

Now that he finds himself in a very similar situation, betrayed and with no allies, it's ironic that it would be Villain helping him - even indirectly so, by unknowingly giving him a place to rest for a moment.

As he's treating his wounds, he hears the softest of steps in the hallway. Just around the corner. The noise is enough to make all his senses stand on high alert.

Impossible. No one would dare.

And yet he knows what he heard.

He moves quickly on silent feet, darting to the wall next to the corner, a knife in his hand. He holds his breath, muscles tense. Ready to strike.

But when someone steps around the corner, the frame of their body is familiar. One Hero has felt against his body countless times.

Hero's blow halts in midair, the air leaving his lungs in a shocked exhale. He takes two rapid steps back, eyes wide.

No. No.

Villain lowers the arm they've raised to parry the blow and watches him with cold eyes. "Hero." Their voice holds no surprise, same as their expression.

They'd known they would find Hero here.

Hero slowly shakes his head, in shock.

No. They shouldn't be here. They should be off the continent. Like thinking it enough times will make Villain disappear.

Their hair is a little longer than he remembers, curling around their ears, caressing the sides of their neck. It looks soft, a stark contrast with their stern expression.

"Hero." Villain calls him again, commanding his attention. "What are you doing here?"

It's been years since he heard that voice. It's never been so cold and stern when talking to him.

Hero straightens up, knife lowering slightly. He really doesn't think he can take Villain in a fight right now. His injuries slow him down too much, his leg almost unusuable, exhaustion pulling him down.

"Villain." Voice carefully neutral. "I... didn't know you were in the city."

This is worse than being captured.

"Clearly. Or you wouldn't have come here." Villain tilts their head, studying him. "Everyone is looking for you, I hear."

But I found you first, goes unspoken.

Hero knows Villain has been looking for him since he left. He always knew what would've happened if he were ever found.

That's Villain's job. They hunt down traitors.

And now they have found their most prized quarry.

Part 2

#lev writes #villain #heroes and villains #hero #hero x villain #fiction #my writing #writers on tumblr #story #betrayal #lovers to enemies #enemies to lovers

[missamyrisa2]

15 questions for 15 friends:

Thanks for thinking of me for these questions, @lady-featherquill ~ this is like mmmmh a certain kind of tingle blushhh tickle for me to be called on~

Were you named after anyone?: Yess I was named after Burl Ives, but you wouldn't know it because I spell and pronounce my name differently~

When was the last time you cried?: I made the mistake of thinking about The Lion King a few hours ago~

Do you have kids?: I make kids all the time. Like crying over the lion king because I randomly was thinking about how real to life the animation was of Simba pulling on Mufasa's ear and holygodddddd he was trying to wake his dad up whyyyyyyy are animators so supremely great at heartsqueezing~~~ I'm just kidding. That was a kid.

What sports do you play/have you played?: all of them I think~ I live by the fake it until you make it mindset and I'm still figuring out the latter part of that. But I did study pickleball thoroughly under its venerable founder, The Earl of Pickle

Do you use sarcasm?: William Shakesman said that's the lowest form of brevity so I try to avoid it whenever possible, also I'm horrendously bad at it to where I sound completely sincere and this has resulted in one too many punches to the face because, surprisingly if you poorly sarcastically announce you'd really love to be just hit in the face there are a LOT of people who are all too eager to jump in~

What is the first thing you notice about people?: That they're always trying to figure out if I hate them because I had a fairly consistent RBF crossed with an inclination to be mysterious. Through online interactions I first take note of their comma frequency because that says so much about a person's Oxford-related preferences.

What's your eye color?: Blue or green or grey depending which type of light you shove in my face, followed by whatever my eyelid is because moonlight makes me squint

Scary movies or happy endings?: I like the ones where nothing is really resolved and the story just sort of stops because everyone gave up and it was probably lunchtime so f*ck it~

Any talents?: I can do a hair flip like nobody's business, which is to say no one should ever be in the business of doing such hair flips because I've knocked over more cups and hit my head on more things than anyone should do in five lifetimes.

Where were you born?: I'm fairly certain I've always been, because whenever I attempt to find the record of my birth Mr. Tumnus plays an enchanting tune and I wake up in a cold room.

What are your hobbies?: arguing on the Internet and street corners why Fullmetal Alchemist 2003 is better than Brotherhood. I took up the hobby after some guy stole my bicycle which was an outrage, but that was his hobby and he imparted the wisdom which set me on my path which is that a hobby is something that makes you completely miserable and spreads that misery onto anyone unfortunate enough to share your space.

Do you have any pets?: No, no one ever wants to pet me and it's probably because of the below answer

How tall are you?: 6'2

Favorite subject in school?: History. Not so much for the subject matter but because memorizing facts comes obscenely easy to me and I loved writing excessively lengthy essays which went nowhere and were loaded with as many funny words as I could muster like trying to relate an unrelated event to the future of filibustering.

Dream job?: Tending a lighthouse so I could make giant shadowpuppets over the water and make alligator mouths eat the ships.

Join in and pass it on if you can. Don't feel obligated!

@witchy-giggles @atomiccollectorwitch @crystalstarlight4657 @opossumgirltongue @adventuresofmelody @greenticklerdreams @juviisworld @dusktexanler @polsj103 @fuzzypilled @androgynousangeldreamland @daisylovestickles @yourgothgfswitch @magicaltickles @giggliestgirl

[lover-222]

What Could've Been (Joao Felix)

...

I saw you had a baby Did you use any of the names we liked? And is your brother doing okay? Is he still getting out of fights?

he watched her life in pictures, joão missed her very much. she didn't know but joão never stopped looking at her instagram pictures. he let tears shed from his brown doe eyes, she looked beautiful. he once dreamed about having babies with her, and she was...but not with him. she looked incredibly beautiful, she was glowing. her baby bump was more noticeable in her pictures, she looked happy you could see it in her smile.

the couple was laying on the grass while looking up at the sky and pointing out the different cloud shapes.

"do you want babies joão ?" she said as she was still looking at the blue sky.

joão turned his head slightly to look at her, "of course i want to have babies especially with you".

y/n smiled at him, "mmm do you have any preference, girl or boy?".

"well i don't really mind but...i really want a girl i hope she'll have your eyes" joão smiled then gently stroked her cheek.

"yeah i see i that, she'd definitely be a daddy's girl" y/n chuckled.

"i have a couple of names ready actually" the boy shyly said.

"really??" she said surprised but still found it cute.

"yeah if it's a girl, i thought of adriana, alexandra, and marina. if it's a boy, santiago, matias, and aron" joão stated while looking at her.

"mmm i love them, wow you came up with really good ones. if i come up with names i'll let you know bebe, but we'll most likely end up choosing one of your names" y/n chuckled.

joão had a good relationship with y/n's brother, marco. funny enough her brother got along with joão very well. they would play fifa together and he would accompany y/n to joão's games, since he was also a football fan. marco noticed how much joão loved y/n, and the longer he was in their house; the more both of the boys got comfortable with each other.

"hello?" joão answered the phone still a bit groggy since it was 3am.

"joão can you please come pick me up i'm at the bar close to your house" marco said drunkenly.

the other boy heard how drunk the boy was, joão quickly got dressed and headed his way to the bar. once he stepped in, the ambience was crazy. people were fighting in the back while music was playing in the background.

joão was scanning the room for marco, but he was nowhere to be seen. that was until he approached the fight that was happening, it was marco. his nose was bleeding and had a cut on his cheek.

joão did what he had to do he separated the fight, trying his best to get the other boy. they finally got out of the place, the boys sighed in relief. 

"c'mon let's get you inside" joão said as he had one arm under marcos waist to hold him up, after all the adrenaline left his body his drunkenness came back.

marco stumble a couple of time in the living room, which caused a picture frame to fall, and him almost falling.

"i don't know what i would do without you brother" marco laughed, joão jokingly shook his head.

"get some sleep,  i'll come by in the afternoon to see you and y/n" joão told him.

"especially me" marco laughed, while joão nodded and smiled.

the siblings: marco & y/n

They say bitter ends turn sweet in time Is that true of yours and mine?

the couple had split up 3 years ago, it might have not seem like a lot of time but to joão it was a lifetime. it was the pressure of him trying to be the best at football and y/n studying to become a doctor. both professions took time out of their life, they tried their best to make it work.

it did work in the beginning, they made time to be with each other and go on dates, but as soon as things started to pile up on them; it was a disaster. joão would come home tired from training and y/n would be tired from university. at times they wouldn't even see each other, since joão would be at football matches and y/n would be at school.

although after time went by, being far away from each other and not being together anymore; it haunted them. they didn't hate each other, they had no resentments for each other; at least y/n didn't. she respect joão and his profession.

'Cause if you're lonely in Chicago You can call me baby Has it been long enough that you can forgive me?

late at night he regretted his choices and what he had done. even though there was no bad blood between them, joão hoped that y/n would forgive him for not trying hard enough and fighting for the relationship. he knew that if y/n needed him at any time of the day, he would drop everything for her. it's been long enough and he still missed her. he craved for the day that his phone would light up and it'd be her on the other line, he missed her voice.

Just because it didn't work Doesn't mean it's meaningless to me It just wasn't meant to be

he doesn't regret anything in their relationship prior to the breakup. joão enjoyed every single day waking up next to her, every kiss, every embrace. after their breakup, he craved her touch, her lips, her. y/n felt the same, she could barely sleep, she missed his warmth next to her. everything reminded her of him, his favorite ice cream that was still in her freezer and the collection of teddy bears that joão had given her for every anniversary.

"i'm sorry joão, i love you but our schedules are too hectic and it's hard" she said with tears in her eyes.

he grasped onto her hands, "i love you too, just know that i will always love you; maybe it wasn't meant to be but know that i really did, and will love you forever".

y/n smiled weakly, "joão te amo, siempre te amaré, you were my first on many things, i know you'll do great things as a person and a football player. i believe in you joão, take care of yourself" she said and kissed him passionately.

they kissed, their last kiss, they both wished it had lasted forever but it didn't. their relationship was not in vain, they thought it was the best for them to end things, and with no contact to make it easier to move on; although it was the complete opposite.

Have you seen how my life's been going? 'Cause I've been wondering what you'd say Would you have told me to keep going Or would you say to walk away?

y/n had seen joão many times on tv, she noticed how he had gotten way better. not that he wasn't good at the time but he had definitely developed his athletic skills even more. every goal she had seen made by joão made her smile.

she couldn't just sit there and not cheer for him. she was proud of him, she knew he'd make it big. her words really lingered on him, she was proud of him and told him he could do it. her positive energy made him keep going.

she also saw the world cup, y/n saw how devastated he was. he looked defeated, his hair was messy, all she wanted to do was hug him tight and tell him that everything was going to be okay, but she couldn't.

You always made me feel much better And I'll always be grateful for that

"you did amazing joão, you did the best you could do" she smiled at him while she lifted his chin.

he didn't play as good as he thought he did but he was being hard on himself. y/n saw the determination and perseverance every time she saw him play. to joão it meant the world to have her support, he loved how she was so supportive and was always proud of him no matter what.

I didn't have to search 'cause I still know your number I bet sometimes you still like to wear my jumper

joão never deleted her phone number, he couldn't bring himself to do it. he missed her essence and her lovely self , he remembered their late facetime calls and how they'd talk for hours. he missed y/n wearing his jerseys, shirts, hoodies, and sometimes sweatpants.

"are you wearing my clothes anjo?" he chuckled as he looked at her up and down.

(angel)

she was wearing his portugal jersey and his sweatpants, the clothes were baggy on her but she felt so comfortable. it was like being embraced by joão, his clothes smelled like him.

she twirled around, "yes i am do you like it?, i'm sorry i just didn't bring any of my clothes and i wanted to take a shower".

"it's okay bebe, you look way better in my clothes they look good on you" he said as he pulled her towards him and kissed her.

joão and y/n believed that in another universe they did end up together. they beated the odds and had a wonderful relationship. the couple had gotten married, had two kids, and lived in a wonderful home with floki. when they laid on their separate beds in total separate locations, they dreamed about what could've been if they had stayed together, probably wonderful things.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── a/n:

JOAO ANGST JOAO ANGST JOAO ANGST this was fun to write lmaoo i also saw louis last week and i still miss him aaaaa post concert depression is real!!!

anyways hope y'all enjoyed i posted this oneshot on here first bc why not d <3

#joao felix imagine #joao felix #joao felix one shot #joao felix blurb #joao felix x reader #joao felix x you #joao felix drabble #joao felix fanfic #football imagine #football oneshot #louis tomlinson #Spotify

[spookyscaryfox]

i thought about canaan house crowd ascending with cytherea as catalist and made myself sad.

need to establish my vocabulary first though:

to pull a cristabel — kill yourself as a sacrifice with no apparent danger outside of your necro stagnating in her studies and aging.

to pull a gideon — kill yourself because there's an immediate danger to life and your necro's survival is more important than yours.

so. judith does not ascend unless really backed into it. marta would 1) cave in and pull a gideon 2) prefer fighter's death. judith anyway bears guilt for millenias.

ianthe is ianthe. though corona would absolutely pull a cristabel and/or gideon if only she knew.

poor isaac is against this shit much like abigail but both jeannemary and magnus can (and in case of jm will) pull a gideon on them. grief.

with palamedes and cam i see many paths. 1) they make paul from the beginning even though they didn't have enough time to discuss and research. paul is wobbly and cyth is livid at them for doing something she couldn't so she decapitates them. 2) pal pulls a reverse gideon and explodes as per canon, then they make paul. 3) camilla pulls a gideon on pal. i am not interested in thinking about paul paths because anything i come up with pales in comparison with tamsyn's imagination. so in case of traditional lyctorhood pal is grieving and has cool knives. and maybe develops some muscle.

dulcie will pull a reverse gideon just so protesilaus doesn't do it on her. she's so sick of this shit already, she's not spending myriad like cyth. pro wouldn't pull a cristabel and would prefer a fighter's death to pulling a gideon anyway.

silas would like his nephew NOT TO DIE. colum would not pull a cristabel, he has seen enough of the river for a lifetime. colum could 1) choose to pull a gideon because as much as he doesn't want to die he absolutely should like a good cav, shouldn't he? 2) choose to not pull a gideon because silas is against it/stopped him midway screeching tome proverbs at him entire time.

gideon is gideon. harrow does lobotomy.

#the locked tomb #tlt #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #silas octakiseron #colum asht #dulcinea septimus #protesilaus ebdoma #palamedes sextus #camilla hect #magnus quinn #abigail pent #jeannemary chatur #isaac tettares #ianthe tridentarius #coronabeth tridentarius #judith deuteros #marta dyas #cristabel oct

[20001541]

I'm interested to know your opinion about this https://www.tumblr.com/sad-outsider/745487303531692032/while-everyone-is-wondering-how-two-babies-could?source=share

it is an interesting question, how did AFO become such a skilled manipulator if he grew up feral on the streets? here's my thoughts:

so I don't think from the beginning AFO was all that interested in other humans. we're told that those who didn't give him anything he viewed with distrust and disdain, and the two times we see him coming across some people as a child it's just him killing them. maybe he watched them warily when they passed by, but ultimately he didn't engage with any of them to talk directly (as far as we know). BUT it's been pointed out by others that they had a radio with them as is shown with the circle below

well it does looks like a radio to me and it would make sense that was one of their connections to the outside world (though they wouldn't understand a lot of what was being talked about) and to me it makes sense if a radio was later how afo found out about what the glowing baby was up to. so he was at the very least a little interested in hearing what the others were doing, perhaps to analyze any potential threats and maybe he was a tiny bit curious deep down about the society that rejects them, but evidently AFO wasn't interested in trying to make direct contact with them or try to involve himself in their society and none of them bothered with him either.

that is until he read that one comic book. see the thing afo admired about the villain was how people feared and revered him and so he decided he wanted that for himself. after a lifetime of being ignored by people who passed by him on the street he wanted to become something they feared so they'll follow him and never have their eyes off him. and in order to become that he needed power. he already has an extremely powerful quirk, but he needs to obtain loyal followers to help him enact his will of becoming the ultimate evil who rules over everything. I'm sure AFO realized that in order to make his dream become a reality he was going to need to use other people and I think that's when he decided to begin studying the way other humans act to get a better sense in how to get them to do what he wants.

and I would say he did this by studying various media he came across at first. whether it's looking through books or magazines (remember twins were barely learning how to read when they were small and by the time afo declares his dream they look more like teenagers so I think afo was able to read better by this time), and later maybe he found tvs where he can watch shows that were airing and see the news. so through that he studied the culture, what is deemed acceptable and unacceptable, how to present himself in a way to get others to respect him. overall he would be far more interested in the world that he had no interest in before as he sees there are things he could take for himself there and get people to give him things. I also think after he's done going through media he would've stalked some people to see how they live and act, there are some things you can't learn through media so afo would want to learn more through observing those he comes across.

I like to headcanon that he would see one person passing him by on the street then stalk them for the whole day until they fell asleep. then the next day he would choose a different person who passes by him and stalks them for the rest of the day and does that until he feels like he's learned enough. then later on he would engage in small talk with people he sees to get a better feel of interacting with others and see what they respond well to and what they don't. the more he learns about the nature of people the more he learns how to use their emotions against them and predict their reactions to certain actions.

side note I would also like to point out that afo presents himself more masculine and wears business professional attire all the time. this is important to note because afo grew up without gender socialization, which tells me he saw how business men are typically seen by society as people to be respected and hardworking. so he chooses presents himself as someone who gives off the vibe that he's someone powerful and should be taken seriously by wearing the suit and tie. trying to manipulate people isn't just something you do with words, but also with the way you present yourself to others. you want to carefully craft an image of yourself that makes others view you as what you want them to view you as so you can gain their trust easier which is what I think afo did there.

I think once he feels confident enough though he would begin practicing his manipulation skills on others.

now look here:

afo intervenes with these group of people fighting in the streets and brings peace. I feel like he would do this often, bring order among the chaos he comes across and presents a choice. "if you feel powerless and scared then join me and I'll give you everything you want and more, or don't and remain as you are. all I really want to do is help you out :)"and many did choose to join! look at all those people around afo, those are probably all the people who chose to follow him.

I think afo would've seen how badly metas were treated by society and saw how desperate people were for order and someone to turn to. people can be manipulated more easily if they're scared and looking for anyone to help them, and afo would've seen this as a great way to begin building his empire by preying on the desperate. he crafted this image of himself that not only embodies power but also generosity. he took quirks away from the unworthy and gave them to those who wanted power. makes people think things like look how good he is to those who please him! he presented himself as a savior to the people, and manipulated them by taking advantage of their own vulnerability.

all he really had to do was lend a sympathetic ear and show them hey I was an outcast like you to appear relatable and demonstrate the power he had to those are were scared and felt like they couldn't protect themselves. they saw him as a personal savior who seemed to genuinely care about their plights. of course afo doesn't care about the plights of his fellow meta humans, he just wants to use them for his own purposes then tosses them out once he's done (as yoichi points out). but he seemed so genuine in his words that many fell for it which allowed him to manipulate them further. and so many became so entranced by him that they began to attack his enemies in his name without him ordering them to do so.

of course I don't think afo was always a successful manipulator in the beginning, maybe there was a social custom he overlooked and it made him look bad in someones eyes. maybe he said the wrong thing and it made someone distrust him more. there would be a lot of trial and error on his part when trying to learn to manipulate, but as he interacts with people more and learns from his past mistakes he would get much better until he becomes the excellent manipulator he is today.

and to me afo would have multiple personas he puts on when interacting with different people. two people could meet him but comes out with very different impressions about who he is as a person. he hides his true nature (which is said to feel unsettling to be around) so they would trust him more. I think he would enjoy this game really, stringing people along and making them feel he cares so they can give him what he wants. as I said before no one gave him anything as a child so he feels he has to take it for himself, and manipulation would be one of those tools he uses to get what he wants so he would take time to develop that skill through the things I've said before.

#I feel like I might off went too off topic at some points but this is just my final thoughts on it but.... #he would practice his social skills by taking random minions out to lunch #the whole time they're like “omg the boss likes me so much he went out of his way to eat with me 😫❤️❤️❤️” #and a41's like “hm am I making the right face right now? am I using the right tone or am I coming across as too cold? its so exhausting- #to keep up appearances" #because things like that are not easy for a41 who I imagine to have low empathy which makes him struggle socially at times #but he sees it as important to keep up his social skills so he can be a good manipulator

[random-xpressions]

To the world she appeared to be ordinary, just another woman making her way through life. But somehow I've caught a few rare glimpses of her - not of her face or of her body - but of her ever evolving soul. Each time I feel I have peeled one of her beautiful layers, she comes forth with another, as though she's a thousand winged angel, each covering the other. Her depths are way too beyond any fathomable reach, it would take a lifetime to study her well and yet one wouldn't reach anywhere. She's simple, I must admit. Yet her intricacies need a special kind of attention and devotion to really understand and reach to her core. Can you visualize an ocean that's both calm & stormy at the same time? No, right. That's who she is - she carries serenity and yet there's such deep violence running in her veins. I wonder though at times how she contains all of that behind her tranquil aura - thunders roaring within that's beautifully enveloped in a piercing silence. Too sensitive and a next level empath that quickly jumps into the shoes of another, then takes their pain as her own and spends the night awake. Oh, she gets feral too at times, and blames the tide and the moon, clenching her bedsheets while her muscles contract in desire, biting her own lower lip. It is a wonder though how such a Goddess could remain so unfound and undiscovered yet. She's a sacred sanctuary around which worshippers must be bowing down in deepest adoration. Flattery, you must be telling. But I have seen what's quite not visible in the dark. And I've heard her heart's secret whispers. Her bones are wailing, day and night, to be held. Yet there are no hands that dare enough...

Random Xpressions

#goddess

[enby-crisis]

Favorite Criminal

Ominis Gaunt x Reader

Summary: With everyone ignoring you and your best friend still sick, you snap at Sebastian, while Ominis thinks of a way to fix this mess they pulled you into.

Word Count: 1632

Warnings: Mentions of depression, anxiety, and Unforgivables.

A/n: Yeah so this one is hella long but also will have other parts :) Feel free to leave requests. I have too much free time this week and will see what I can do.

You try to be supportive. For Anne. Be there for Sebastian when he needed you. You knew this road he was down was a dangerous one and despite both you and Ominis begging him to be careful- to protect him yourselves, he still was set on a path of destruction with his new best friend. You knew it hurt Ominis more then you that Sebastian spent the whole year choosing someone he just met over the lifetime the two boys shared. Sebastian knew something about this character that you and Ominis couldn't puzzle out. 

Often you and Ominis would sit in the Undercroft later at night and whisper about what you could so to clear Sebastian from the crimes he has already committed with this new student. Thinking of new lies to cover up where those two went sometimes. Ominis didn't want to get his best friend in trouble and you couldn't watch Ominis beat himself up over something that was not even his fault. Though you did have far less involvement in the matter then the pale blonde, since he helped them find the relic in the first place, but he was already blaming himself for that so voicing it would only earn you a sarcastic remark and make him fall deeper into the hole he helped these two dig. 

You tried everything. All of the lies and cover ups are catching up to you and Ominis and after they used the Cruciatus curse on you, then the Imperius curse on Ominis, it was only a matter of time before Sebastian's new accomplice used the killing curse on somebody. Your paranoia was unavoidable nowadays. You felt there were people around you who knew what the two of you were up to. 

You think about running from this. Hiding from the suspicious eyes of professors and students alike. Who knows what these criminals are up to now? Where are they? Who else has this power-driven newbie dragged down with them? You can't focus on studying for your OWLS due to the stress Sebastian's new escapades have clawed into your chest.

It has gotten to the point that Ominis has started to hide things from you. You feel betrayed by the way two boys you've know most of your life cast you aside so easily. Now the only one who tells you anything is Anne.

You miss her everyday. Just being able to take a break from the boys and gossip with another girl. The school still has a spot for her in the dorms. Your dorm. A clean made bed with fresh linins that haven't been in use all year. When you miss her the most you sit on her bed, her name carved into the wooden post of the bed. 

Tonight you cant sleep, you can't handle the feelings anymore and go downstairs to sit at the window. Keep your mind off everything by listening to the water bubbling by the underwater bay window. It is very much your spot so being nearly one in the morning you were not expecting a certain brunette to be sitting there with a strange book.

"What? Telling everybody in our year about the Undercroft wasn't enough for you, you had to steal my spot to?" You snap at him, causing Sebastian to startle before meeting you hard gaze.

"No, I though you would be with Ominis at this hour. And I didn't tell everyone about the Undercroft, just one other." He says, giving you attitude right back with ease.

"Save it. I don't care that much, and why do you think I'd be with Ominis? Did he not tell you?" Your line of questioning confuses him. You scoff. "Oh let me guess. Too busy replacing him with someone who actually enjoys your obsessions?"

"Enjoys?" He puts his book down to talk to you, "Maybe if you and Ominis were more willing to help I wouldn't have had to find someone who was." His anger is evident in his loud tone.

"You are unbelievable you know that." You counter him with a whisper, "I miss her everyday. between you and that- that fifth year making problems for the rest of us and Ominis trying to stop you from getting arrested  I have been left with no one. Have you even asked your sister about what she wants? Have you even seen her? I mean of course you have. With your new best friend! In Feldcroft before Holiday Break. Four months ago."  You stop, catching your breath.

"She is MY sister! No one misses Anne more then I do (Y/n)! I just want what's best for her." He argues.

You roll your eyes, "You want what's best for you Sebastian. Stop going around pretending you care about anyone but yourself. You-"

"Will you two shut it!" Ominis causes both you and Sebastian to turn and face him. "If you don't you will surly wake the whole house. Not to mention it is way past curfew and neither should be down here."

Sebastian grabs his book off the window seat and shoves past you to the boys dorm, knocking into your shoulder as he storms off.

You turn to face Ominis, his face blank, still in his school uniform. "How much of that did you hear?" You use a softer tone with the blonde then you did with his friend.

"I was there the whole time. Waiting for you actually. I'm blind not deaf." He gives a soft smile.

"Sorry." You whisper, embarrassed about your outburst.

"Don't be. I whole-heartedly agree with you." 

You smile at him.

 "However I think there is a time and place to do it."

Your face drops again and with your help, you guild Ominis to sit with you in the bay window.

"When was the last time you two spoke?" Ominis asked, cocking his head to the side.

The last time you have even seen Sebastian was the night at the Scriptorium. You tagged along, much to the dismay of the rest of the party. Sebastian and his companion were more annoyed then anything else, but Ominis was enraged the agreed to let you tag along. When they tried to talk him into using an Unforgivable, on you no less, he was fuming, ranting about you safely and how those two dodo-brains put you in danger. Since then both Sebastian and Ominis have been keeping you at arms length. Ominis less so, he will still have dinner with you and sit with you in classes you still have together but any of his free time is devoted on keeping his only other friend out of Azkaban.

No one really worried about you. Maybe they should have. It wasn't fair on you and Ominis for your only group of friends to split in several different directions and expect a blind guy to fumble the ground for the pieces.

"(Y/n)?" He reaches for your hand. As if you left him. As if you evaporated into smoke.

"That night we went into the Scriptorium." You let him slip his hand into yours, and, though its a platonic gesture, you blush. Hard.

'(Y/n) that was months ago."

"I know." You sigh, "Haven't seen much of our troublemaker since then. Seems he's been avoiding me. Or perhaps I am avoiding him."

"Well then. He definitely deserved that tantrum you threw." Ominis snickers.

You smack his shoulder, "It was not a tantrum!" You huff, but his smile makes you give one in return.

"I would call it a tantrum." He rubs circles into your hand, staring into the blankness that is the other side of the common room. Not that he know.

 "Why were you waiting down here for me? We only ever talk in class now. These meeting only happen when Seb did something wrong." You change the subject, trying to not argue with the only person who still makes an effort to talk to you nowadays.

Ominis shakes his head, "I think they're planning something."

He pauses and you wait for him to continue, knowing it'll be something bad. Your chest tightens with rising anxiety.

"I might need your help to stop him- them," He corrects, "When they went to the catacombs, he was looking for this relic. I think they found it. Sebastian is going back in a few days to test it. he thinks it can cure Anne." 

"I think we should stop helping those two. Let them dig their own graves Ominis." You cut him off before he can explain further.

"Listen I have to go. Not for Sebastian but for Anne. I don't think he is being honest with her." "Why does that not surprise me." You once again interject.

"(Y/n) I- would you please stop interrupting me!" Ominis says, annoyed with the input you give.

"Sorry.." You blush.

"They told Anne I lead them to the Scriptorium alongside you. Sebastian is very careful with his words. Anne thought we knew about what the relic does. I told her what I knew and she did the same. Those two have been lying to all of us! Even each other. It has gotten to where Solomon wants to leave. Move further from the school. We have to stop this before it's to late." "Ominis." You whisper, "I think it's already too late."

When his face drops you know that wasn't what he wanted you to say. For a moment you understand the new fifth year and their willingness to partake in anything Sebastian throws at them. They- much like you- act out of love. You love Ominis and only want him to be happy. This new student must have a crush on your friend. They do what they do because they care about Sebastian. Its toxic but just like them you cave.

"But if you think this is for the best I will help you. I can't promise Anne will to please that either of you dragged me into this. However if you need me there, I'll go."

Ominis smiles.

#hogwarts #hogwarts legacy ominis #hogwarts legacy #ominis x you #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x reader #ominis gaunt imagine #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #anne sallow #harry potter

[darkestprompts]

What’s one thing each hero does well without knowing?

Hm, the ask is a little vague, so I will interpret it as either things the heroes have the potential to excel at but never tried, or general skills they have but never noticed are out of the norm.

Man-at-arms: He thought of it as "tactical maneuvering" but in reality Barristan had all the makings of a great diplomat. He was much better at persuasion and charm than screaming orders. His talent was wasted in the military.

Abomination: Has a good ear for music, would learn an instrument easily if he applied himself. He has more sensibility than he gives himself credit for.

Antiquarian: Her fingers are very agile, but she never tried to learn sleight of hand. Thank fuck, because she'd be scary good at it and use her power for evil.

Bounty Hunter: Once Alhazred asked him if he ever studied the occult arts. Tardif told him to kindly sod off with that magic shite. He'd rather not know why he asked.

Grave Robber: Audrey never thought of getting her hands dirty before bankruptcy, but she would do well with gardening. She has the precision, the patience and the brutality to deal with weeds and pests. With her sharp aesthetic sense, she'd make beautiful pleasure gardens. Aren't graveyards just gardens for the dead?

Plague Doctor: Junia once told her she'd be a good preacher. Paracelsus laughed her way to the floor. It's true though. When she deigns to talk about something she cares about, she gets really passionate and eloquent, much like Reynauld. She just needs to learn to match her speeches to her audience. It's hard to be inspired by the biology of leeches.

Flagellant: Damian has very good memory. Perhaps that's part of what makes him so obsessive about sin, he never forgets his mistakes? He doesn't realize it's unusual, it has never come up. Mostly because nobody wants to talk to him.

Jester: Someone needs to find Sarmenti one of those 3D puzzles or building kits or anything of the sort. He's crazy precise with his hands and gets easily absorbed by the task. I imagine he could build one of those absurd domino mini-cities if you locked him in a room with enough material.

Crusader: Reynauld is a good army organizer for many reasons, one of which he never noticed is that he has an outstanding perception of space. He's the kind of guy that can estimate how many bricks should go in a wall at a glance. Could have been a master builder in another lifetime.

Hellion: When she finally learns to read, she will also learn the joys of writing. She will progress quickly by keeping a private journal and discover a knack for it. She and Dismas can workshop poems.

Vestal: It doesn't come up because of her vow of poverty, but Junia has a good head for managing money. She can squeeze a lot out of a tight budget and knows how to set priorities. If she was in charge of the Hamlet's finances maybe it wouldn't be falling apart.

Arbalest: Good with teaching and explaining things in general. She could instruct a few snipers for the Hamlet, if she was willing to let anyone touch her arbalest. If she got roped into teaching basic first aid the Hamlet would save a killing in Survivalist lessons.

Occultist: Even though he's a liberal arts guy, he can still make insane head calculations. He assumes the reason not everyone can make three number multiplications on the fly is just poor education. Everyone else thinks it's a result of witchcraft and the devil.

Highwayman: Dismas writes on scrap paper during his few moments of leisure, but he could develop a good writing hand if he had more time and a better set up. Maybe Audrey could teach him some calligraphy, she had to learn all that flowery crap. He'd find the end result very satisfying.

Shieldbreaker: ...Well, she already found out she's really good at killing people. Now she needs to realize she has a great poker face and capitalize on it. She could give Josephine a run for her money.

Houndmaster: He likes memorizing quotes from plays and novels, but it never occurred to him he could act or recite. Someone should make him read out loud.

Leper: Thinks it's totally normal that birds sit on his hand and baby fawns lay on beside him. "Oh, you just have to stay calm and not spook them". No, Baldwin, you are an animal magnet and people keep score of your ridiculous Disney Princess incidents.

Runaway: Would never think of herself as a sciency person, but one day her knack for systematically identifying plants will make Paracelsus delighted.

#darkest dungeon #asks #anon #dd lists #dd ensemble

[misc-obeyme]

I wanna ask what are ur headcanons abt what languages you think all the characters speak? hehe thank u if u do it 💗

Hmm well I personally don't have a lot of headcanons about specific languages per character.

But generally, I like to think there's some kind of ancient Demonic language, that's kinda like Latin in the human world. It's a dead language, but they still use it for stuff like spell incantations and what have you.

I suspect there's also a Celestial Realm language (Angelic? Celestial?) that all the bros speak. I like the idea that they used to speak it fluently, but after falling they don't use it anymore because ~memories~ so most of them have forgotten a lot of it.

However, there's also the question of what language are they truly speaking in the Devildom? If we assume that it's English for the sake of simplicity, why would the Devildom all speak a human world language like that? I don't think they adopted it just for MC because it's pretty obvious that it's the official language of the whole place. (And this isn't even getting into the concept of whether or not the language is actually Japanese and how that could change the reasoning behind it.)

But without getting into all that, here are my general thoughts.

Lucifer strikes me as the kind of guy who might take the time to learn some human languages, but he's also pretty busy so I don't think he's super fluent in any of them. I think he might be conversational in most.

Mammon is fluent in Latin because witches are always summoning him to the human world by chanting in it. I just really like the idea that he was like what are they even saying and accidentally studying it to the point where he ended up learning it all.

Levi would have to be fluent in Japanese. There's no way someone so anime obsessed wouldn't have taken the time to learn the language. He's been into it long enough and had enough time that I think he's fluent. (Assuming they aren't all speaking Japanese already anyway.)

I've always headcanoned that Satan took the time to learn all the languages from all the worlds. He just strikes me as the kinda guy who would do this and I believe it's canon that Solomon also taught him some ancient languages. I just think Satan would prefer to read books in their original languages. So this man at the very least can read every language (or most of them). I suspect his speaking skills might be lacking in some of them, though. (This is like me and French. I can read it, but ask me to say something and I'm over here talking about a big cat eating cheese in the sky.)

I think Asmo probably learned all the Romance languages because they're called the Romance languages. Like that is the only reason. But I also like the idea that Asmo learned languages of various human lovers he's had over his lifetime. Like I'm imagining him just falling head over heels for someone who only speaks their native tongue, so he learns it just so he can communicate with them. (I really like the idea that he learned ASL this way.)

Beel knows enough of every language to order food in it.

Belphie knows enough of every language to ask for a bed.

Diavolo has a whole company in the human world, so he had to have at least learned whatever language the employees of his company speak. I definitely see him kinda like Lucifer in that he's conversational in most languages.

Barbatos, due to being a being beyond the constraints of space and time, can speak all languages fluently. He taught Diavolo everything he needed to know language-wise.

Simeon has to be fluent in one human world language at the very least because TSL was published in the human world and Levi tells us it was translated into a bunch of languages. So it had to have been written in a human world language in order to be translated into other human world languages. Oh but I like the idea that Simeon wrote TSL in Celestial/Angelic originally and then translated it into a human language himself.

Solomon obviously speaks many human languages. I suspect that due to his age, he speaks most languages pretty fluently. I like to think he traveled around the human world for most of his long life, which means he likely learned most of the languages from immersion. If he was just stopping in various places and living there for several years before moving on, I think he'd pick up the languages pretty quickly.

Anyway, I'm not sure if this is what you were looking for or if you meant like actual specific languages, but I've only really thought about it in a more general sense. I don't think I could list specific languages because it really just depends on the circumstances in which they learned those languages. For instance, I think all the characters could learn specific languages from an MC who has a native language different from their own. It just depends!

#wow sorry I rambled a lot again #my brain just never stops #obey me #obey me nightbringer #anon asks #misc answers

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

Mistletoe.

5x09 - Secret Santa.

The boys peered around the corner simultaneously trying to get close enough to see their targets clearly and stay out of sight themselves.

They had a clear view of the elevator, of the little surprise they had hung right in front of the doors, all they had to do was wait.

Half the bullpen was in on the bet - will they, won't they? - but given the advantage Ryan and Espo had (the knowledge of Castle and Beckett's actual secret relationship) they felt pretty confident that a friendly little 'Christmas kiss' was out of the question. The risk of outing themselves was too high. Beckett wouldn't risk giving Gates a reason to boot Castle from the precinct.

"- and I love the feeling, that sense of hope," they heard Castle say; a sign that their targets were approaching. And, sure enough, the pair stepped into view. "It's crazy, you know. On the shortest, darkest days of the year people of all faiths celebrate the light."

The boys looked at one another, rolled their eyes at their friend. He couldn't just say "I love Christmas". No, he had to make it poetic, make it beautiful. No wonder he had won Beckett over - they could see the smile on her face as she listened to him talk, absolutely enamoured. Honestly, how anybody was still in the dark about this relationship confused the boys to no end!

"Plus, who doesn't love presents?"

"There it is," Ryan whispered and Espo stifled a chuckle.

Castle glanced up, noticed the hanging ball of mistletoe directly above them. Kate's focus shifted almost immediately, searching for whatever had so quickly captured her partner's focus.

Espo looked across the bullpen, locked eyes with Karpowski and LT who stood by the breakroom door trying to look totally uninterested in whatever was about to happen. However, subtlety was not a skill Karpowski had honed and her intent focus had apparently drawn the attention of their captain.

Espo nudged his elbow into Ryan's ribs. "Gates alert," he whispered.

Ryan looked toward the captain's office, saw Gates standing at her door studying Karpowski. He watched as her gaze followed Karpowski's across the bullpen before landing on Castle and Beckett in front of the elevator.

He looked back over to Castle and Beckett, who had apparently entered the world's most intense staring competition. And... was that a smile on Beckett's face?

"Are they-?" Ryan stopped. Surely they weren't.

They all waited with bated breath, watched as their friends stood hesitating, wanting but not quite willing to take the risk. Beckett shifted her weight from one foot to the other, moving barely an inch closer, but it set the wheels in motion. Castle reached out for her - inevitably to pull her closer, to kiss her under the mistletoe - and Espo practically pushed Ryan out from their hiding place.

"Yo, Castle!" Espo called out, a desperate attempt to stop something he had never thought would actually happen.

But it was too late. Castle had so delicately cupped Beckett's face, pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Mr Castle," Gates' voice billowed across the bullpen. "What makes you think that that is appropriate behaviour for a precinct?" she demanded.

"Oh, I- th- just-" Castle stuttered and stumbled over his words, pointing to Beckett, to the mistletoe, to the various other decorations around the bullpen.

"'Tis the season?" Espo tried to defend his friend's behaviour without refocusing Gates' wrath onto himself.

"'Tis the season?," Gates repeated. "So I should just allow such tomfoolery?"

Espo looked around, all eyes on him. "Yes, Sir. I believe a certain amount of tomfoolery, as you call it, is good for morale. Especially at this time of year."

He waited, expected the scolding of a lifetime, but it never came. Gates simply smiled, like she knew something he didn't.

"In that case, I believe there is something you owe Detective Ryan."

Espo looked at Ryan, who seemed to be just as confused as he was. Karpowski walked toward them, her phone in hand, and began to play a recording from earlier in the day.

"Oh please," he heard his own voice echo through the speaker of Karpowski's phone. "You think a little bit of mistletoe is gonna make Beckett wanna kiss Castle?"

He groaned as he realised exactly where this was going.

"Sure, I'll take that bet. I'm in for $20. In fact, I'm so sure of this I'll make it $50. A hundred, even!"

"I didn't agree to a hundred bucks!" Ryan complained.

Karpowski laughed. "Oh, just you wait."

"You know what?" The recording continued. "If you win, we won't even take your money, that is how confident I am."

Ryan glared at Espo. "Dude!"

Esposito hung his head low. "It gets worse."

"If I'm wrong-" Esposito's laughter burst through the phone speaker. "I'll even kiss Ryan under the mistletoe."

"Nope," Ryan declared with a firm shake of his head.

"I was obviously joking!" Espo insisted. "And he only kissed her on the cheek!"

"A bet's a bet," Karpowski countered immediately.

"And it's good for morale, right?" Gates added with a smile.

Esposito looked over to Beckett and Castle who both looked entirely too pleased with themselves.

"You set me up," he concluded.

"Seems to me you set yourself up for this one," Beckett replied. "But maybe we can let you off the hook. Just this once."

"On one condition," Gates said. "No more nonsense bets on my time."

"Yes, Sir," they all agreed.

___

Once almost everyone had cleared out and only the skeleton staff pulling the holiday shift remained, Beckett made her way to Espo's desk and sat on the edge.

"You know that when Karpowski and LT came to me with that, I couldn't say no, right?" she asked as he filled out the last of his paperwork from their case. "They'd already gotten Gates involved."

"I get it," he assured her. "I shouldn't have run my mouth like that, anyway. That was just asking for trouble."

Beckett laughed; he wasn't wrong. After looking over her shoulder to make sure they were still practically alone, she continued.

"I appreciate that you stood up to Gates, tried to pull the focus from us."

Espo looked up from his paperwork and gave her his most sincere smile.

"I've got your back, Beckett. Whether it's on the street fighting criminals or in the precinct taking heat from Gates, I got you. And I know you got me, too."

"I do," she confirmed. "Thank you."

#castle fanfiction #kate beckett #richard castle #javier esposito #kevin ryan #caskett #captain victoria gates #my drabbles #castle christmas fic #kate beckett x richard castle

[bigalockwood]

Get to Know Me Tag :)

thank you @hergrandplan @themarsbar and @stretchoutfics for tagging me <333333

do you make your bed? yep. every morning without fail.

what's your favourite number? i don't think i have one? maybe 4 or 7?

what is your job? student on the hunt for a full-time job lmao.

if you could go back to school, would you? never. not if i was offered a million euros. i don't like studying when i can't do it on my own terms and i hate sitting still. university was okay but nothing i'd want to repeat. two degrees is enough to last me a lifetime.

can you parallel park? i can. but prefer not to lmao

a job you had that would surprise people? maybe my current job? i work with bees. but if you know my degree it's probably not the most surprsing job eithr.

do you think aliens are real? oh definitely. space is a vast place. it's much less likely that there is no other life out there than that there IS other life. i just don't think aliens look like they do in movies. i wouldn't even call them aliens. just different lifeforms.

can you drive a manual car? yep. it's how i learned to drive. have never driven an automatic, tho.

what's your guilty pleasure? i don't believe in guilty pleasures, so none.

tattoos? so far zero, but there are possible plans for the future...

favorite type of music? i lovingly call it blonde music (the artist doesn't have to blonde, tho. it just started as a joke bc so many of my favorite artists ARE blonde). it's a specific kind of vibe. relies heavily on lyricism. seeks to uplift women etc.

favorite color? black, blue and green.

do you like puzzles? yes!!! one of the few things i actually have patince for although they require sitting still.

any phobias? none. have yet to find something i'm afraid of.

favorite childhood sport? horseriding. did it for almost 20 years.

do you talk to yourself? yes. we have really good conversations, many about ficitonal characters or plants.

what movies do you adore? she's the man. it's my comfort movie.

coffee or tea? tea!!

first thing you wanted to be growing up? i think an olympic show jumper. then i had some realizations about animals in professinal sports.

I have no idea who's already been tagged. Ignore this if you have already been tagged! @misfithive @simons-purplehoodie @gulliblelemon @nerdyfangirl76

#talking shit for the hell of it

[shurisneakers]

bridges break (ii)

summary: steve shuts himself away. you pull him along on a trip of a lifetime in an attempt to reconnect. great plan! except there's one big secret he's keeping from you that could change the course of your entire relationship, and there's no greasy stack of diner pancakes in the country big enough to hide behind.

(road trip!au, best friends to lovers)

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, mental health issues and disorientation, ptsd, swearing, my garbage attempt at humour and art history. lemme know if i missed anything and I'll tag it.

A/N: hi <3 thank u all for your bday wishes and yes i feel literally as old as this geriatric mf. love u guys

there's a poem in here that's been credited to a.j. it was written by the wonderful @barnesandco whose poetry you can find over on @pakpoetics so follow her and send some love!!

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

"Passport."

"Yes."

"Tablet."

"Yes."

"Synced calendar on your phone."

"Yes." Steve breaks away from the threshold of his apartment and into the cold air.

Mona face lags on the screen, and Steve waits for her to start moving again. The sun had just barely begun to peek through the clouds, the air chill with the thin layer of condensation, and she was already working on full steam.

He'd assured her, swore to her, that he wouldn't need a physical copy of the checklist delivered to him. Still, her call had come about ten minutes ago to make sure Steve had an updated copy of all the fundraisers and public service announcements he was scheduled to attend when he was back.

But then she asks, "Pager?"

"Pager?" Steve stalls in his steps.

"The Constitution?" she continues. "Declaration of Independence?"

He watches the desolate road in front of his apartment, biting back a wry smile. "Very funny."

"Sorry. Couldn't help myself," she says and then adds something else he doesn't catch.

"What'd you say?" He squints at the bars-- he had full network.

"I said, we've only got clearance for a month and one week," she says, louder. "And that's after a lot of negotiating. So please try to make it back by then."

"Gotcha," he says, studying a cyclist that rode past him leisurely. "How are you gonna keep busy?"

"I've got my ways," Mona replies. "Oh! Last thing before your vacation officially starts--"

A sleek, black SUV pulls up in front of him in true movie fashion. The window rolls down to reveal your face complete with a bright smile and sunglasses, both out of place for this time of the morning. Still, he can't control himself and  his own lopsided smile grows at the sight.

"Too late," Steve says, waving to you before making his way around the back of the car. “Think it just did.“

"Just a document, I swear. Captain Ro-"

"It's just Steve, Mona." He sighs, balancing the phone between his shoulder blades as he leaves his two duffel bags in the trunk. “We've taken care of all of it. Even if I disappear tomorrow, it'll be fine."

The hecticness had slowed to a crawling pace, anyway. He put in a few extra hours, pre-recorded several videos for the public for various hypothetical scenarios, and in general seemed like he had done most of what he could from his position.

He made tired, but overall sincere, promises to return immediately if aliens landed up in the city again, or if Mona sent him an SOS. The latter was more of a priority.

"Okay, first of all, please don't do that,” Mona adds quickly. “If you’re planning on disappearing, then-"

"I was kidding." Sort of. "I'll sign the thing."

"Great!” He watches the white light on her face change to blue she switches apps. "Now, I know I said that was the last thing but-"

"Hanging up on you now." He closes the trunk firmly with a thud.

She lets out an exaggerated exhale before looking at him.

"I was just gonna say send me a postcard. I like the old, weird ones."

"I will keep that in mind," Steve promises. "Bye, Mona."

"Bye, Captain Rogers."

"Steve."

"Captain Steve," she replies swiftly before the screen goes dark, leaving him to stare at himself.

He shakes his head lightly, tucking his phone into his pocket and makes his way to the passenger's side.

"Hi," you say as he peers in through the window. "You ready to get this thing started?"

______

A map spread wide, arm to arm, takes up most of the space in the front.

"Why am I looking at this again?" he asks in delayed clarification, nevertheless not tearing his eyes away from it.

"For directions."

"Yes, but why?" The paper rustles as he folds it up in half neatly along the creases. "Last I checked, we still got GPS."

You have a firm grip on the steering wheel while your posture is relaxed back, one elbow leaning out the window.

There is an anticipatory curl in the corner of your mouth, and he’s lead to believe he is entirely too predictable in the kind of questions he asks.

“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right,” you reason, as he follows a trail down the printed road with his index finger. It’s a long way to go. "Like all the movies."

"Were these movies made after 2005?"

"You know, now that you mention it, they were in black and white," you say thoughtfully before turning to face him. “Are you absolutely sure you’re not hungry?”

“Positive. Had a good breakfast.” He can’t really see you through the obstruction of the map, but mostly he’s glad you can’t see him because he was still getting used to outright lying to you. “I got us some bars, just in case.”

“What bars?"

"Nuts, fruits. The usual. Oats."

"Stevie," you say in bewilderment, and he pulls down the paper to look at you, "I love you, but we’re not eating health bars on a road trip. Sam would have my head if I let you.”

“You might wanna avoid telling him about the protein shakes, then.”

“You did not.” Shock turns to horror at the idea of several containers worth of whey in his secondary duffel bag.

“Didn’t I?”

“No.” It takes no longer than a second to settle on. “You wouldn’t.”

The traffic you’ve spent half an hour in already graciously allows you to move a few inches forward. He wonders how long it would be till the skyscrapers and billboards would be swapped for a stretch of nothingness, a bright blue horizon and cloudless sky.

"Besides, even if you did," you continue, even though he thought the topic had already run its course, "once we start picking up all the unnecessary touristy shit at every stop along the way, I will not hesitate to throw your protein powder out first to save on space."

Steve smile reappears. "How much are you planning on buying?"

"Buddy, I got a whole other bag just for that," you draw out in a sing-song voice. "I'm gonna single-handedly fix this economy."

There’s a sharp reminder that flashes through his mind, leaving in its wake a sudden unsettling feeling that combs its way through him.

He should check if the list had made it with him on the trip. The stupid, godforsaken list.

"I wanted to get some stuff too," he says in an effort to placate it.

"Yeah? What stuff?"

"I’ll show you later," Steve waves off, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. "It's just some stuff from ‘round the country."

"Like memorabilia?"

"Kind of." He powers through the image of the torn notebook paper, a incomplete list in unruly handwriting, pressed between the folds of his pocket out of his brain.

"Sounds cool," you say. "We'll get 'em all."

“Why are you here, Captain?” she asks finally.

“You know why, doctor.” Steve's cheek leans on his fingers, leaving behind indents.

“It’s a part of your deal, I know,” she says, “but why are you here?”

Steve snaps the map up again, keeping him out of your sight before his eyes shut tightly.

“Where’s our first stop?” he musters as normally as he can.

“Given the state of this traffic, it'd be for lunch,” you reply, staring straight out at the line of cars in front of you. “After that it’s Pittsburgh. There’s this art museum I wanted to check out.”

Steve realizes he's been clenching his eyes too hard once the spots start dancing in front of him, forcing him to relax them.

“Art museum?”

“You like art, don’t you?”

“I do.” A heavyweight paper sketchbook and a set of good pencils were staples of his luggage. “But I didn't know you were into it now.”

“I mean, I've definitely developed an eye for the finer things, Steven. Art included.”

"Yeah? You got a favourite artist yet?"

"I don’t know if you’ve heard of this guy. He's kinda niche," you reply. "Bob Ross."

“Oh?”

"Big fan of the way he hits things with a brush. Very good use of space."

It's enough to make him laugh, dismiss the disembodied thoughts floating around in his head for a moment. He lowers the map and folds it up before tucking it back into the glove compartment.

Steve shifts in his seat again to pull out his phone, deciding to make himself useful by at least finding a good place to get lunch.

"According to the ratings, the nearest res-" he cuts himself off when he turns to look at you and finds a big grin on your face as you look out at the road ahead.

"What?" he asks instead, slightly confused.

“Nothing.” The smile on your face doesn’t let up. “Just been a while since I've heard that laugh."

_________

Steve’s been to one gallery since he was out of the ice.

For a man whose hand itches while his mind stalls, it’s criminal that the only time he had the opportunity to was on an undercover op.

It's strange how similar it all felt now, blue baseball cap covering his hair, oversized jacket with his hands shoved deep in the pockets and shoulders hunched to make himself smaller.

But this time, his low profile isn’t to trail a HYDRA operative. It was to avoid a seemingly unlikely confrontation in a silent hall. The crowd is sparse and scattered where available, but he supposes that was normal considering that it was a weekday evening.

You had gone in search of a map again, leaving him to his own devices for a few moments.

The place was gorgeous. A mix of both classical and modernism; high ceilings held up with marble pillars, art painstakingly carved into stone, grand staircases, and murals lining the walls, whereas the galleries were sleek, with plain white walls with strategic lighting, and labyrinth dividers.

Steve breathes in deeply, finding notes of aromatics they’ve used to enhance every human sense. If his being could fracture into shards of glass, he knew that the minute bits would be art, the ones that slip by unnoticed until you realize what filled in the gaps between the more significant pieces.

"Turns out they've got tours," you say, coming to stand beside him. "But they focus on specific artists or like, themed ones like the ‘Effect of Labor on Art’. Told 'em I'd ask you and let them know."

"Maybe we could just walk around for a while?" he proposes instead. A tour this early already seemed too restrictive, like he was following a schedule when he'd just managed to escape from one.

"That's what I was thinkin' too." You tap his shoulder lightly with a thin, folded brochure. "So I got us a map and a few directions from them to get started."

"Where to first?"

You narrow your eyes playfully at him. “How much do you know about contemporary art?”

“Haven't really had time to study it,” Steve replies. "I'd say roughly the same as you."

“So… not much.”

"I thought you had an eye for the finer things in life," he reminds as you begin leading the way.

"Oh yeah, I can definitely tell if it's fine or not." You grin. "Rest is obviously up for interpretation."

"So-- contemporary art first?"

You look down at the map where a little number indicated where you were. "Contemporary art first."

_____

Admittedly, this style of art isn’t really up Steve's alley, but he likes looking at them all the same. The symbolism isn't always decipherable, but he admires the flair and the subjectivity. Every piece of art had a bit of someone’s life in them, and it took a great deal to part with it from the kind embrace of your mind and leave it on a canvas.

His own sketches of Nat’s coffee cup on the window sill of their safehouse in Montana, or the view of Wakanda from the hall outside Bucky’s cryo chamber took a lot longer than some of the other quick doodles he’d leave on paper napkins.

"Art is subjective and all that, but I tell ya this, I got a lot to say about some of them."

Some of the pieces had colours that were striking, bold. Looking at them alone raises his spirits, even to the smallest degree.

Steve smiles slightly. "What does your fine eye make of it?"

“Of this one? It's... interesting,” you say, pausing in front of an acrylic on linen. Splashes of every shade of mustard in shapes, strokes, lines hiding lavender symbols at the back, highlighted by notes of black. "Very strong narrative."

Steve silently waits for an explanation.

“It’s about the artist’s love for her niece. There’s lavender for the nursery she helped paint, yellow for her love and the black’s representative of her troubled relationship with her sister,” you explain, eyes never leaving the painting. “She wishes she could see her niece more, be a part of her life but her sister isn’t having any of it. It’s why there’s such little lavender in the grand scheme of things, always hidden by a lot of black.”

Steve lingers at the picture, following every word you say with the intent of connecting it with what he can see. He knows you're talking about of your ass, but it was mildly impressive.

His eyes flicker towards you.

"Like I said," you finish, "very strong narrative."

“You just came up with that on the spot?" Steve asks instead.

“Who, me? Lying?” You scoff. “Never.”

His jaw clicks as it slides to the side before returning to its position, eyes trained on the floor with a shake of his head. He tries his best to hide his smile before looking back up at you.

The next few ones are observed in silence before you move on. You don’t provide your analysis, even though he waits for it, shifting focus between you and the art.

By the third one he realizes that you probably weren’t going to unless he asks. But he missed your voice. He could do with a little more of it.

“You got anything to say about this?“ he asks, face stoic as he points to one that from afar looks like oil pastels on paper. It’s scribbles upon scribbles of different colours, drawn without any restraint. "Strong narrative?"

He watches the corner of your mouth quirk up.

“Messy, non-linear narrative," you correct, head leaning to the side. "The creator was clearly thrilled about something. A lot of colours, messy. Man was having the time of his life.”

Steve feels a laugh bubble up to his chest. “Right.”

“These little circles here-” You point so confidently to the corner of the canvas, it almost sounds convincing “-they represent the magic mushrooms he was on while painting this.”

That was definitely… an opinion.

"Very insightful," he agrees, following you as you throw him a wink over your shoulder. “What about that?”

“This one’s easy.” You stop in front of a blank canvas. There’s a thin square of red outlining the boundary, but it’s bare except for it.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Wait, read the description first,” you encourage, pointing at the label at the side. “I wanna see if I’m right.”

“Unnamed, by Flo Dyer, is a prototypical minimalist abstraction.” A whole lot of words for a canvas full of nothing. “The visual and tangible characteristics of the piece pushes the interpreter into a journey of self-discovery.”

“Obviously,” you say. “Duh.”

---

The gallery is divided, each hosting works from different eras, Impressionist and Post-Impressionist. This, he has a little more experience. He'd read a few books, talked to kids who had enough money and time to get into art school, to have his mouth slightly agape the minute he steps in.

The detail and care in every restored painting hanging on the wall takes whatever words he could have from his throat, rolls them up and blows them into the wind. He wants to extend a finger forward, brush up against it and feel history under his skin. But he can’t, so he settles on watching from afar.

He wordlessly spends time in front of each painting, breathing in the passion and love of people who lived centuries before him.

The longest time he spends is at the portrait of a sleeping woman, head draped delicately over her forearm. You don't say anything, only sitting patiently beside him as he loses track of the evening.

It reminds him of the light through the window falling on the mattress pushed up against the wall. Slow afternoons and her sleeping figure under it, back turned to Steve. He wonders how the heat didn't seem to phase her.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, eyes not leaving the art.

Steve's attention snaps back to you, blinking away slow afternoons and the blanket left at the foot of the bed.

“Albert J Moore.” He can hear his own voice muted as it replies. “Acacias.”

Steve wants to ask if you can feel the same sense of peace that washes over him the longer he watches it.

He hopes you do. It’s a feeling he wants to float in for as long as he could.

___

Roaming around the museum on his own wouldn't have been nearly as fun. Steve liked seeing which ones you had a visceral reaction to, whether it be awe or criticism. Whatever facts he knew, he’d rattle off and you’d listen attentively as if his word was gospel. Each gallery with its own collection had something for him to linger at a little longer, and sometimes he explained why but others he couldn't.

The next gallery he enters, he enters through a small path until he comes to a stop in front of one piece in specific. Even without glancing at the name, he can tell the artist; it was so distinct.

Steve knew the works of Edward Hopper. Had seen them cited far more often these last few years than any other artist, but this is the first time he’s seen one in its original form.

Sunday, it’s called.

Sunday by Edward Hopper, 1926.

Oil on canvas, it has the almost sepia-like laziness that comes with the end of the week. Warm colours dip in and out of shadows, it paints the curbside of a road lining rows of closed shops.

In 1926, Steve was 8. A spunky, spitfire eight that by May, had already been in and out of the nurse’s office four times.

Eight-year-old Steve still remembered his ma asleep on the mattress that was usually reserved for his frail bones most of the week, until the weekend rolled around and she got two hours to herself on it for a nap. He left the apartment to find something else to do, somewhere else to let off some energy that came with pent up defiance at the world residing in his blood.

On Steve’s curbside, the shops weren’t closed for the weekend. They were ‘Sorry! Closed for Business’ on weekends, weekdays, months, years. Sometimes a new owner flipped over the cardboard sign to welcome people in, and flipped it right back after a month.

Edward Hopper’s curbside has a man in the forefront. There’s a cigarette in his mouth, and his arms are closed in a way that shuts him off from the world. In the deserted, empty street this man--

The man looks at him and Steve feels seen, as though his stare has pierced through the seven walls of defense that lines his chest.

The man looks at him and he knows. The man knows.

Steve feels it in his heart first, before it makes its way up to his throat like a rush of bile. His cheeks pain, ache. It’s a feeling he thought he got over a long time ago as everything unrelentingly went on.

He feels out of time.

“You know this one?” you ask when he doesn't make any movement,

"No." His answer is short, mumbled.

“What are you lookin’ at?”

His soul, it feels like. Bared out there for the world to see how much of a damn liar he is. The man and his cigar don’t look at you. They pierce through him and him alone.

Your gaze follows his. “He seems lonely.”

“Yeah,” Steve’s voice comes out hoarse, “he does.”

“’Least he’s got a smoke.” You’re optimistic, too radiant for a portrait like this. He’s glad that it doesn’t affect you the way it does him; at least he knows that you have nothing on your conscience to have exposed to the world like this.

The man has a cigar and Stevie has a shield.

And they’re both alone.

___

It takes you linking your arm with his for him to finally pull himself away from the painting, but the walk to the next gallery is spent with him wishing it would stop searing itself stronger into his brain each time he closed his eyes.

The final collection is at the far end of the hall, in a separate room altogether. Accessible only if you wanted to, which was good. Saves people from an uninvited gloom.

Pain and Perseverance: A Glimpse Look into the Darkest Years

He knows what it’s about. You do, too, which is why you turn to him hesitantly.

“We don’t have to go in,” you say, standing near enough to him for his enhanced hearing to catch your heartbeat. It tethers him, connects him to a living, breathing being.

“I think we should,” he replies, steadfast to the point it was almost robotic.

There is only one other person in the room with you both, and she isn’t paying much attention to him, so he takes off his cap in reverence.

It’s fitting how silent and closed off this part of the museum is to the rest of the world. A tribute to those who wouldn't be able to set foot into this room.

Your hand slides out from his and he lets you go gently. He knows you’re around, so it’s okay. He knew the second you'd walked in that you'd need space to process each piece on your own.

He quietly makes his way through the fifteen paintings and photographs, mulling over each one for a few seconds at the very least.

There’s one in all black, two birch wood trees on a hill with nothing else in the distance. Another blurry picture of a single armchair left to collect dust from years of unuse in the corner of an old age home.

Steve doesn't dare to swallow the heaviness in his throat. There is anger, regret, helplessness in the walls around him. But all of it stems from the same miserable channel- a single, desperate sadness.

He lands up at the final piece on display, a glass box standing tall. The woman from earlier is still there, unmoving.

Steve doesn’t disturb her, only stays a step away from her and instead stands in front of painting of comfort, of two men so close their necks entwined with each other.

“Sorry.” She clears her throat to get his attention, giving him a misty smile when he turns to look at her.

“Please,” he says, earnest and kind, “take all the time you need.”

“Feels like I’ve been here hours.” She inclines her head towards the casing. “There’s something about it.”

He only waits for her to finish. A few minutes of silence later, she takes a step to the side, allowing him a little space to stand beside her and see for himself what she had stopped at.

It’s a sculpture, a kid made of metal, with spangly arms and a tiny head molded rustically like years of weathering had done a number on him. His arms wrap around his knees, hugging them close to his body as he dipped his forehead in the valley they formed together.

Its emotion lays in its simplicity- anything more than what has been made would have been too much.

There’s a pull that doesn’t allow him to tear his eyes away from it. The only time he does is to read the artwork label, to gain a little more insight.

“Heartbreaking, isn’t it?” the stranger asks from beside him. His silence and the pit in his stomach is enough to answer.

He hopes she’s all right. He hopes she made it out all right.

Berta Pedrero (b. 1976)

Despair, 2020

In memory of her son, Mateo J. Pedrero.

If he dared to, he would shoot a little prayer into the sky for her son, wherever he is, but he stays grounded, eyes on the sculpture because he remembers he has forgone that right a long time ago.

The stranger beside him walks off after a few more minutes of silence. He can feel your hand slip into his, and he holds on, tighter than usual.

Steve continues to stare, long after she’s gone.

___

You read out the description from the pamphlet, the idea behind the execution and the artists who made it possible as Steve walks silently beside you.

“Took three years to curate it,” you inform him. “Fifteen different countries. They’ve included a quote.”

His gaze flicks to you, clearing his throat as he asks, “What is it?”

You wordlessly hand it over to him and he scans the page until it lands on the quote at the bottom.

Steve exhales, jaw tightening as he reads through it again.

The poets write of tragedy, not to honor the sorrow,

but to remind themselves that something survived it.

-A.J.

Though the sentiment is strong and he feels it in his bones, he discards his pamphlet on the way out. He already carries the weight of the world on his back, and he tries not to add the weight of the words to his pocket.

-----

"Okay, Rogers." You clap your hands together, rubbing your palms as you shift in your seat. "Prelude to the big event. Spill.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. "This wasn't the start of the road trip?"

"Nope. That only starts once we get to the first official stop. This is just the introduction. The prequel, if you may."

"Ah," he says from across the booth. "It was... impressive."

"Please note that at the end of this trip, you will be filling out a form on the overall serve so that we can improve our experiences for next time.” You sound exactly like some of the sales people he’s met, chipper yet monotone.

"Can't wait." Steve picks up his glass of water, avoiding your sight. Next time. "As if the very comprehensive survey you sent wasn't enough."

"You chose to be friends with a scientist. I had to check all the variables and preferences before I planned a trip."

"What did my fabric preferences have to do with the road we're taking?"

There's a wicked twinkle in your eye. "Just checkin’ those boxes, Rogers. Like I said, all variables"

The kitchen doors open, and Steve hears the crackle and sizzle from inside for a few seconds before they swing shut again. The brief opening is enough for the smell of meat grilling to overpower the scent of lemon pies in display domes, stale coffee and freshly mopped floors.

"What is it then?" Steve asks as you push a large glass towards him. "The trip you’ve planned?"

You look up at the waiter, giving him a quick smile as he leaves two milkshakes on the table.  

"Route 66."

His eyebrows knit together in recognition. "The Mother Road?"

"You've heard of it." Your smile widens.

"Yeah, they started constructing it when I was a kid. I thought it didn't exist anymore."

“Technically it doesn’t,” you admit. “But I’ve done my research. We’re just following what it used to be. Old highways and signs and all that.”

He hums in agreement. “And if we get lost?”

“I got a couple of flare guns in the trunk,” you dismiss. “I’ll get you to California, Stevie, don’t you worry.”

He doesn’t doubt it.

“So,” you say, wiping your hands on your napkin before unlocking your phone and sliding it towards him, “We stay at the motel down the road tonight, get an early start tomorrow.”

Steve's reply is cut short before it even begins when someone comes to stand beside him.

"Here you go," the server drags the last syllable out, placing two hefty plates in front of you both. "Enjoy."

Steve thanks him courteously before says before eyeing what you'd convinced him to order.

“To the first burgers,” you hold up a fry, “and many more to come.”

Steve pulls the plate towards him where it joins his still untouched vanilla milkshake.

"No healthy stuff, you said?" He peers up at you.

"‘Least not for the first week,” you reply determinedly. "Relax. You can get back to the oat bars next week."

“I haven't only been eating protein shakes and nut bars,” he protests. “Microwave dinners. They aren't the healthiest, they should count.”

"I thought you hated those." Your eyebrows knit together. "Isn’t that why you cooked?"

Steve's voice immediately drops to a mumble. "Haven't had the time."

“She still pickin’ up those extra shifts?”

“Double this weekend.” Steve fidgets with a newspaper.

“How’re you gonna keep yourself fed?”

“I can cook.”

“Cereal ain’t a meal, kid.”

If you notice the shift in his tone, it's quickly distracted by the way he pushes a fry around the plate.

“Jesus, Rogers, it’s not gonna kill you.”

“I’m old.” Nevertheless, he pulls the glass towards him. “We can’t write off anything.”

You snort. “Just drink the milkshake, Stevie. It’s good for ya.”

Burgers, greasy, well-salted fries and exorbitantly large glasses of milkshakes; it’s probably the most American Steve’s felt in a while. The minute he takes a bite from it, his body sinks down with a content sigh that has you grinning.

“Tomorrow, the first stop; Chicago, right?” He takes another bite from his burger, watching you scroll through pictures of the motel for him.

“Yep.”

“We got plans there?” The food shouldn’t taste this good, but it does. Probably one of the better establishments you were going to encounter on this trip but he can’t really be bothered by the implications at that moment.

“I got a few ideas.” You pull your phone back before returning to your meal. “But mostly we’ll be figuring it out as we go. Survey results dictate that we don't follow a tight schedule.”

"Today we're in Morocco. Next week we'll be in Lebanon," she sings slowly. "After that who knows?"

"Depends on where we're needed next." He takes aim and throws his dart.

Beyond all the restrictiveness and tediousness, he was just really fucking tired of them.

“You know," you pipe up, observing his features for a second, "you’ve been doing this thing a lot."

“What?”

“Spacing out.” Ah, fuck. “You did it back there, at the museum too.”

Steve simply shrugs, head turned down to his plate. “It just happens."

“How long?”

As long as you'd known him, he had always been attentive, on his toes, waiting.

“A little while.” He can pinpoint exactly when and what had lead to it. Studying through window blinds, old uniforms, and all of a sudden his path for the future started to get less clear.

“Have you talked to anyone about it?”

“Not specifically."

You pause. "Does anyone know?”

Steve’s next exhale comes at a delayed pace.

"You'd be the first."

Your lips press together in a thin line, deep crevice between your eyebrows.

"I've just been tired lately," he deflects. It wasn’t a whole lie, but it feels wrong. He had time. He had time. He has to remind himself that he had time.

Steve continues quickly, “I'll be fine. Look, I'll be gettin' loads more sleep now anyway.”

He leans forward to steal a fry off your plate and it works to an extent. There's a small smile that pulls at one side of your face.

"Steve."

"Sweetheart." He cracks a smile. “I'll be fine, I promise. What have you been writing lately?”

The swift subject change has you furrowing your brows, and then a sigh when it registers. However, you drag yourself forward to take a sip from your milkshake.

“Nothing,” you admit. “Haven't written in a while.”

It’s the silence that lingers in the air that prompts you to go on.

“I dunno.” You twirl a fry around the plate. “Been hard to find something to write about.”

Steve finishes off the last of his burger, wiping his hands down on a napkin.

“When was the last time?”

Your eyes squint in contemplation. “Six, seven years ago?”

“Can I get y’all anything else?” the server chirps from beside the booth, refiling your glasses of water, while balancing a tray in another.

You look at Steve and he shakes his head. “No, thank you. Just the bill, please.”

“Sure thing,” he says, setting down a plate with a slice of pie. “Enjoy.”

You glance up in confusion. “I think you have the wrong table.”

“It’s on the house.” It’s clear who it’s for, though the answer remains up in the air.

Steve sends the man a side-smile. “Appreciate it.”

The server nods, before leaving the both of you alone.

“Told you your stupid cap isn’t going to do anything.” You laugh when Steve pulls it off his head and sets it down beside him, running a hand through his flattened hair.

“Just got us a free piece of pie, I’d say it has some use.” He passes you a spoon and pushes the plate so it’s in the middle of you both.

“Right, because it’s your fashion sense that won them over, Steven.” You break a piece of the crust. ”Lift your leg up, show ‘em your slacks. Maybe we could get an extra slice for the road.”

He laughs, partly at you and partly at the absurd amount of whipped cream on the pie itself. It was generous, to say the least, and melting all over the still-warm filling. Pretty as a picture.

“Fuck, that’s good.” You sigh, chewing thoughtfully. “I need to earn free food privileges if this is what I’m missing out on.”

“The pie’s the better end of the deal.” He shovels a spoonful into his mouth. “A lot of the time it’s beer bottles with your face on it.”

“Classy,” you reply, having seen exactly what he was referring to. “What's next? Your face on underwear?”

Steve's silence and his failing ability to hide a pained smile has you faltering in your movements.

"Really?"

"I've been shown pictures," he complains. "From what I know, they're not sold as a collection or retail line."

"Which means they're customized," you continue, fingers pinched together explanatory. "Does that make it better or worse?"

Steve's nose scrunches and he hides his distaste with a spoonful of pie in his mouth. "You tell me."

He’s a little grateful that you don’t shy away from pulling his leg. Makes him feel normal, like he was more than a concept; if there was something so hilarious about Steve as an ambassador for patriotic fireworks then it means that he hasn’t lost himself completely.

“What’s an average person gotta do around here to be inspiration for horrifying underwear, huh?” You send the last piece of pie his way. "Get printed on cereal boxes, et cetra et cetra."

“Get kidnapped, maybe.” He accepts it without an argument. “They’ll stick you on a couple of milk cartons.”

You narrow your eyes at him and he sends you a sly smile in return.

"Invent something.”

“Hell, maybe I will.” You wave your spoon around dangerously. “Get my name in a textbook.”

“You could do that,” he agrees. “You'd have the resources from the new job. A whole team under you, funding.”

You narrow your eyes at him. "Very smooth, Rogers."

His smile comes back bashful. “Why don’t you want to take it? I thought it’s everything you’ve worked towards.”

“It is.” You collect foam off the side of your glass with the straw, a distraction from having to look at him. “I’m just not sure I’m ready for it.”

“Is it the job or something else?”

Your lips press together, curling inward, but you don’t respond. It tells him he’s clocked you scarily fast.

“Job’s mine whenever I want it,” you say, eyes still trained on anything you could fiddle with. “I’m just not sure I’ll ever be ready."

Steve only slips his hand into yours the same way you did at the museum and squeezes. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

You give him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and he returns it before you shake your head in an attempt to change the mood.

“I’m not kidding about the slacks, by the way.” It immediately relieves some of the tension that had settled in comfortably.

"Yeah, hold on, I'll lift my leg up," Steve affirms, clearing his throat.

“Damn right. Let’s see if we can score another flavour, I know you get hungry at night.”

Next part

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