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firebrands · 5 years

Text

Adjacent, Against, Upon

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark; Explicit; Politics AU (Steve is a candidate and Tony is his campaign manager); 10k+ words

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The room was silent save for the sound of the news anchor recapping the videoclip they'd just played.

Imperceptibly, Tony's hand clenched into a fist. Natasha sighed and turned back to her laptop, scrolling through tweets mentioning Steve.

"They should be here soon," Bruce said quietly, looking up from his phone. "Next engagement is just the dinner with the veterans tonight."

"Okay," Tony said, his voice calm. His knuckles were white.

"—follow up on the profiles for tomorrow, I want to know who were meeting and what questions they'll be asking," Steve continued to say as he opened the door as Pepper trailed behind him.

"What the fuck was that?" Tony barked, turning to Steve.

Steve looked up from his phone. "What?" Pepper, too, had stopped in her tracks.

"What the fuck—" Tony gestured to the TV, "was that?"

"Tony," Steve said, his tone measured but eyes hard, "let's talk inside my office." Steve had crossed the room and his hand was at the door. "Come on," he beckoned.

Tony stared at him for a few seconds before walking out.

The team, at this point used to these outbursts, dutifully turned back to their respective laptops. Steve shut his eyes and breathed for a few seconds before entering his office and shutting the door.

After a beat, everyone crowded around Clint and Sam. “So what caused it?” Bruce asked. Clint shrugged, eyes never leaving his laptop as he sorted through photos.

“Come on,” Natasha said, reaching out and stilling Clint’s hand from clicking on his mouse.

“Some vet brought it up?” Clint said. “I mean, maybe that was it?”

“I don’t think we should be… you know. Be hypothesizing. Anyway. Steve might hear.” Sam said, eyeing Steve’s closed door. They could all see him through the slits in the blinds; he was pacing while reading one of the papers from on the pile on his desk. Silently, everyone willed him not to pull out his phone and check Twitter.

“The one time I don’t attend an event,” Natasha said, frustrated. Everyone avoided her eyes. “I’m going to talk to Tony,” Natasha said, getting up and heading to the door.

"Hey," Natasha said, as she stepped outside.

"Don't," Tony said, and raised a hand towards her. “Do not.” Tony took a long drag from his cigarette before he tossed his pack to Natasha.

"Media's not even trying to contact me about it," Natasha said after she lit her cigarette. “They’ve just been playing the clip on loop.”

“Figures,” Tony said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Fuck this. Fuck it all to hell, and fuck him,” Tony said as he adjusted his tie. “What a fucking idiotbrained—” Tony stopped when he saw Nat looking up at him, expression calm.

“It’s not that bad,” she said.

“I’ll handle it. Doesn’t mean I don’t get to be pissed off about having to handle it.” Tony fiddled with his tie some more before deciding to take it off. “Also ensure that you never miss an event with media attendees.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Natasha voice had a sharp edge to it.

Tony stuffed his tie into his pocket as he stepped back inside the office and headed towards Steve’s room. Clint was helping Sam choose footage for editing, and Pepper and Bruce were looking through tweets on her laptop.

Tony took a steadying breath before pulling the door open.

Steve looked up from his stack of papers, eyebrow arched. “Hope you’re happy with that display,” he said.

“I could say the same to you.” Tony reached over Steve’s desk for a whiteboard marker and flicked the blinds to Steve’s office shut. “What were you thinking?” Tony didn’t look to see his reaction, instead redrawing a table on Steve’s windows from memory: Key message, supporting pillars. The red ink was bright against the background of the white blinds. “I mean you just. Just, totally, you know, fucked everything and—”

Behind him, Steve sighed. Tony startled as he felt Steve’s hand on his elbow, stopping his scribbling. “I told you from the start that I didn’t want to lie. About anything. And I knew back then that that would cause trouble — and that's what I hired you for, right?" There was a small quirk to Steve lips, and his eyes searched Tony for any form of acceptance.

Tony looked down at Steve's hand, which hadn't left his elbow. Steve, belatedly taking notice, pulled it away quickly.

"Look, Steve. Today was supposed to be easy," Tony said, the metal of the marker clicking against the glass. "We were just supposed to drill down your commitment to addressing the issue of homeless veterans. Everyone supports veterans. This should’ve been a slam dunk for you." Tony pulled down on his cuffs, one of his tells of when he was impatient. "Now... Now no one cares about that. Did you think of that before you answered that question?"

As usual, the media had swarmed around Steve as he left the venue — this time, a high school auditorium they'd rented out to house different stakeholders supporting Steve's advocacy for vets. After delivering his speech and answering some questions, the floor had been opened for the vets to share their own stories, for them to talk about their difficulties settling back into civilian life, and some stories of how the army had just fucked them over.

Bucky had led Steve out of the exit towards the waiting van, a hand held in front of them in vain attempt to keep media away from them.

“Mr. Rogers, can we get a statement? There’s a Twitter account that’s posted numerous photos—“

“No questions please,” Bucky said gruffly, angling his body to better box them out. Steve made eye contact with the reporter, a young man who’d been trailing the campaign and doing everything possible to try and get a scoop over everyone else. Either he’s just an overeager reporter, Tony had told him, or he’s a blogger — either way, steer clear and stick to your talking points.

“Mr. Rogers, is it you in the photo? Can we get a statement on your sexuality?” A phone was shoved in his face, and Steve’s cheeks went red with memory. It was from years ago, fresh out of college at someone’s party—

“Look buddy, I don’t see how that’s any of your business—” Bucky said, turning away from Steve and facing the journalist squarely.

“Isn’t it my business? Is it you, Steve? We deserve to know!” The reporter pressed, his body flush against Bucky’s, a phone trained at Steve’s face, recording his reactions. Steve’s eyebrows were furrowed, a scowl on his face. In a flash, he remembered the stories of the veterans who had been sent home without a dime just because of who they loved.

“Yes it is, Jonah, that’s me.” Steve said. Bucky turned to him, mouth open. Steve had stopped just a few paces from the car and squared his shoulders. The rest of the crowd had stopped with him, vibrating with anticipation for his next words.

“Yes, I’m gay,” he said. There was a beat, and the only sound came from Clint’s camera as he took a photo of the scene, then: The crowd erupted into questions, and Steve frowned for a second before he caught himself, then waved before stepping into the SUV.

“Holy fucking shit,” Steve heard Clint his to Sam as they settled into the back seat. And then, the voice was directed at him: “Holy fucking shit, Steve.”

“Shut up,” Bucky said from the driver’s seat, turning the wheel to pull out of the parking lot. “Everyone shut up.”

Steve was thankful for the silence, his body still wound tight with tension - what had come over him? He sucked in a large breath and looked outside. “What’s up next again, Pepper?”

Pepper turned to him from the passenger’s seat. “Sir, we’re just on the way back to the office. Tony’s likely going to want a debrief about this.”

“Of course,” Steve said. His gaze met Bucky’s in the rearview mirror before Steve closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool window, steeling himself for the conversation to come.

“This isn’t going to do your numbers any favors,” Tony said flatly, scrolling through reports on his phone.

Steve has the courtesy to act chastened as he looked at Tony from where he leaned on his desk. “Wouldn’t this work in our favor though? Make me, you know. Relatable or whatever?”

“Or whatever,” Tony said, doing air quotes and rolling his eyes. “We could’ve had both demographics on your side and now we’ll have one. I don’t see how that works in your favor.”

“Look, Tony, I’m not naive enough to think that my platform will convert the crazy homophobes, but there’s got to be—”

“Steve. It’s my job to figure out the demographics and your messaging and how to spin this right.” Tony doesn’t have to say that Steve’s made his team’s job much harder for it, doesn’t need to say it. “Maybe next time just… run your ideas by the team before you execute. If that’s possible.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair and sighed, staring at the table Tony had drawn on his window in an effort to keep himself from staring at Tony, instead.

“Anyway,” Tony said with a jolt, “I’m going to discuss tomorrow’s itinerary with the team. Along with everything else.”

“I’ll join you,” Steve said, straightening up and walking towards the door. He rested his hand on the small of Tony’s back as he led him out of the room. “I should probably say something, right?”

“Like an apology?” Tony laughed, turning to Steve as he pushed the door open. “God forbid you begin that habit now.” Steve huffed, dropping his hand from Tony’s back as he walked away. His hand tingled at the loss of warmth.

“I just want to reassure them that this isn’t that big of a deal,” Steve said. “I mean, it shouldn’t be, not anymore.”

“What do—Oh, Steve, seriously, it’s fine. No one gives a fuck. We can just go straight to our next steps,” Tony said.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled through his mouth. “Obviously it’s not fine, and everyone gives a fuck!” Steve snapped.

“You’re making as big a deal as the rest of them,” he said, quieter.

Tony furrowed his brow. “Of course I am. Now they’ve identified a—well. I wouldn’t call it a weakness, but it’s certainly something that’ll draw people away from your platform and policies. I meant—I meant the team is fine. None of us are judging you. Frankly I’m a bit insulted that you’d think they would.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth—”

“That’s what you pay me to do!”

Steve raised his hands, placating. “Sorry. Sorry. I just, I knew this was bound to happen eventually, and I was hoping to do it on my own terms. Certainly not in the parking lot of a high school.” Steve turned away and rubbed his temples. “There should be a bootcamp for this,” he added, smiling ruefully.

“Well, there isn’t. And the team’s fine. Maybe a bit shocked at how quickly you got triggered to just throw it out there, but we’re used to rolling with the punches.” Tony clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed, in a gesture meant to be comforting.

“Well. It’s what I pay you for, right?”

Steve’s small campaign team had assembled in their largest meeting room: The Pantry. The still-relatively small room as a snug fit for all of them, as they had crowded around the two square tables and pushed appliances around to make room.

Bruce had dutifully wheeled in a whiteboard for Tony to write on, and everyone had rearranged the seating to face the board. In the corner, Clint was shovelling ramen into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days. There was one chair in the middle of them all that was saved for Steve.

“Hey,” Tony said, twirling a pen in his hands. Steve cleared his throat. “Okay, well—go do,” Tony said, motioning to the space the team had made in front of the whiteboard.

“Hi team,” Steve said, nodding at them. “Today was, in a word, unexpected. But I know we’ll be okay, I know I’ll be okay, because you’ve got my back. We’ve weathered worse before, and I know that a month from now, we’ll all be in City Hall, laughing about the time a reporter pissed me off enough to get me to come out.” A small rumble of laughter rolled throughout the team. Steve smiled. “That’s all, really. Now, on to Tony’s capable hands.”

Tony rolled his eyes and bowed mock-graciously, “Thank you, sir. So main plan is deflect the shit out of this. Reporter comes and asks, ‘Hey Steve, so you’re gay,’ and the answer is ‘So what? It’s 2019, fuck that noise.’ Got it? Good.”

Bruce snorted and noisily opened his notebook. “Copy, boss.”

“Okay so: No media at the dinner tonight,” Tony said uncapping a marker and taking notes on the board. “Tomorrow morning we have?”

Pepper huffed from her perch on the couch Sam was seated on. “Roundtable interview with the Globe.”

Tony’s hand stopped scribbling. “I thought that was on Friday?”

“It’s Thursday today, Tony,” Bruce said.

From the corner, Steve started to laugh. “I want to say I’m sorry, but I’m really not.” Tony scowled at him before turning back to the board. “Okay, whatever, fine, a media roundtable, Bruce—”

“Revise talk points for tomorrow,” Bruce nodded at Tony.

“Prioritize our holding statement, I want it out before the dinner. Nat, anyone hounding you yet?”

“Just a few, most reporters are still covering Pierce’s event. We should expect him to say something about it, too.” Natasha said, eyes on her laptop which was balanced on her lap.

“Yeah, obviously. So, okay. Bruce, get out of here and write. Pep, update him after.” Bruce stood up and stretched before walking out of the pantry.

“Okay, next?” Tony said, turning back to Pepper.

“Then we have lunch with the Governor, and then a forum at the community college. Should be done with the day by five.”

“Fantastic,” Tony said, shaking his head. This was going to be a headache and a half. Steve smiled sheepishly at the rest of them, and said, “At least it’s not boring.”

The office always looked eerie at night, the sheer blackness seeming to leak out of the spaces in the blinds. That could be a metaphor, if he wanted it to be. But he doesn’t.

Steve pulled out his keys to unlock the door, but found it open. He made a small sound of displeasure, turning the knob. Must have been Bruce or Tony, they were the ones who usually stayed up the latest, he thinks to himself. Steve pushed the door open and the light from Tony’s office illuminated the floor. Brow furrowed in confusion, he slowly made his way there.

Tony was standing with his back to him, reading on his tablet.

“What are you doing here?” Steve said, hand holding Tony’s door open.

Tony whirled around in surprise and almost dropped his glass. “Fuck!” He yelped, scrambling, then, “I fucking work here???” Tony answered, shrilly. “When did you become a super spy?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve said, placing his hands on Tony’s shoulders in an attempt to ground the both of them. “I think I left my planner in my office,” he says, by way of explanation.

“Your what.” Tony said.

“My… planner? With my notes? And schedule?” Steve squinted at him, confused.

“A planner,” Tony said. “You—you know you have a phone, right? With like, a calendar synced across the team and with emails and, you know, a virtual notepad for your to-do list, do you even still have a to-do list, isn’t it all just Pepper,” Tony said, laughing a bit. “What the fuck, Steve.”

Steve smiled, rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “It sticks more when I write it down,” he said, by way of explanation.

Tony rolled his eyes fondly. “Sure. Okay. Clearly not sticking enough or you’d have remembered the round table interview you’re having later, before you—”

Steve glared at him and Tony stopped, then rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, walked back inside his office to and picked up where he left off.

“Found it,” Steve said, peeking into Tony’s room and waving his planner up triumphantly. “Congratulations, crisis averted,” Tony said from his desk, nodding at Steve.

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Are you drinking on the job?” Steve walked into Tony’s room and held up Tony’s bottle of whiskey, and scrunched up his nose as he scrutinized it.

“Technically this is overtime work. I’m not on the clock,” Tony smirked and plucked the bottle from Steve’s hands.

Steve tsked. “Well if that’s the case, pour me one.”

Tony looked up from his laptop, measuring. “It’s late.”

“Technically, it’s early.”

“Steve.”

“Tony.”

Their gazes held, seeing who would back down first. Then, with a small sigh, Tony opened his bottom drawer and pulled out another glass, pouring Steve a drink. “I guess we deserve it.”

Steve took the glass from Tony and nodded in thanks. “Cheers,” Steve said. “To your bad temper and my constant headaches,” Tony said, laughing.

They drank in companionable silence on the couch in Tony’s office until Steve started to feel a pleasant buzz at the base of his skull. He was exhausted. So was Tony, but he always was. How couldn’t he be? It’s not like Steve had made it easy for him.

“How did the dinner go?” Tony asked.

“Fine,” Steve said, before resting his head in his hands.

Tony reached over and placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder, rubbing slowly over the soft fabric of Steve’s sweater. Steve rubbed at his temples uselessly.

Above him, Tony said, “I want to lie down.”

“Okay,” Steve said, noncommittal. He didn’t want to move, at least for a few more minutes. But Tony got up from the couch and motioned for Steve to do the same.

Steve was confused for a second, but instead of focusing on it, ambled over to Tony’s desk to pour himself another drink. Tony pushed his coffee table out of the way before reaching under the cushions to pull out the bed.

“Why don’t I have one of these?” Steve asked, frowning at the sofabed now unfurled in front of them.

“Because you shouldn’t sleep in your office,” Tony said, matter-of-fact.

Steve hummed in response and sipped his whiskey.

Tony grinned at him and plunked down on the bed, untucking his shirt for maximum comfort. Then, Tony stretched and let out a groan. “That’s the stuff,” he said, before patting the space beside him. “Come on.”

“Huh?”

“Lie down for a bit.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times, his brain tripping over itself as it dutifully supplied reasons as to why he absolutely could not rest, at all, maybe ever, for the next month and a half. Also: What? Steve thought, helplessly.

Tony grumbled and waved him down. “Come on,”

Steve looked down at Tony and stopped himself from letting too much fondness deep into his smile. Then, he finished his drink, toed off his shoes, and lay down. Steve sighed as he felt his body settle into the thin cushion of the bed.

“See? It’s nice.” Tony said, eyes closed and lips quirked in the warm smile of victory.

Soon, Steve felt himself falling in and out of sleep, and almost imperceptibly felt the cushion dip as Tony shifted, trying to get comfortable.

Steve turned and opened his eyes to be greeted the faint dusting of pink on Tony’s cheeks, the smell of whiskey wafting over the both of them. He squinted, checking to see if Tony was awake. And then, Tony’s arm was over Steve’s chest, his warm body flush against him.

Steve held his breath and felt something soft and quiet bloom inside him. Ah, fuck. He shifted a bit closer and shut his eyes, willing away responsibility and reveling in the feeling of being touched. “Move your head,” Tony mumbled, then tucked his arm under Steve’s neck.

They continued to move around until they lay down comfortably wrapped around each other. Steve was quiet, afraid of breaking the spell. Friends could do this, get drunk and hug it out after a bad day. This is friendly, he reminded himself. Above him, Tony’s eyes were closed peacefully, and he shifted a bit so his nose was buried in Steve’s hair. Steve turned his head, and realized too late that he was too close—his mouth brushed against Tony’s neck, and in an effort to make it, well, not a kiss, Steve let his lips rest there.

They were quiet. Steve willed his body to remain relaxed as he inhaled Tony’s scent: Smoky, whiskey, and a bit of spice.

They were quiet for a long time, the air conditioning’s quiet hum the only sound in the room.

And then: “Hey, we’re not going to—“ Tony said to Steve’s hair.

“No, nope,” Steve said, his lips brushing against Tony’s neck with every word.

“Right. Okay.” Tony said, adjusting his arm to pat Steve’s shoulder.

“Yup. Fantastic.” Steve said, suddenly stilted and hoping he didn’t sound it.

They lay for a few more minutes before Steve pulled away, struggling against the pull of sleep and the comfort of Tony’s chest.

“It’s late,” he said, sitting up.

“Technically, it’s early,” Tony said, smirking up at him from the bed. His shirt was rumpled, and Steve tore his gaze away from he exposed skin of Tony’s neck. His lips had just been there. Half of him wishes he’d done something. The other half had retreated into a small corner of his brain and was digging a grave for this memory.

“This was nice, though,” Steve said, and meant it.

“Yeah. Let’s do it again some time,” Tony said, sitting up as well.

Steve smiled at him before standing up. “Thanks for the drink. I owe you one.” Why do I keep smiling. Idiot.

Tony scratched his neck, nonchalant. “Yeah, you got a running tab.”

Steve huffed out a laugh before turning away to pick up his planner on Tony’s desk. “You should get some sleep. On a real bed,” he said.

“That an invitation?” Tony grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“For cuddles? Sure.”

“Aw come on, you were supposed to blush at that.”

Steve smiled at Tony again as he walked to the door. “Can’t make it weird anymore, Tones!” He said, sing-song, in an effort to sound like nothing mattered.

Steve was a few steps out of Tony’s door and Tony suddenly pushed his door open. “Hey, Steve?”

Steve stopped and turned to face Tony. “Yeah?”

“We’re okay, right?”

Steve arched his eyebrow. “Yes…?”

“Okay, just, you know. Making sure.”

Steve nodded at him, resolute now that there was space between them. “Sometimes people just need some hugs,” he said.

“Yes. Yeah,” Tony said. He nodded to himself. “Okay. Good night.”

Steve waved at him as he walked off. Yes. Yeah. Okay. People just need hugs.

“I thought I told you to get some rest on an actual bed.”

Tony woke up slowly, and Steve could tell the moment he registered Steve standing at the foot of his couch, shaking him awake. Tony made a small sound of reluctance before he brought his wrist to his face to check the time.

Steve sat down on Tony’s coffee table and held up a mug. “Good morning, Tony,” he said.

Tony groaned and sat up. “Why are you here,” he said, voice raspy. Steve nudged Tony’s knee with the mug, and Tony looked down at its contents before taking it. “Thanks,” he added.

“I wanted to go through the talk points Bruce wrote,” Steve said, sipping from his own cup.

“Why?”

“I don’t really agree with—”

Tony held up his finger as he gulped down his coffee. “Okay,” he said, putting down the half empty mug. “Now I’m alive. Again?”

“With how we’re communicating our stance on sustainability,” Steve continued, as if Tony hadn’t interrupted him.

“Okay, what about it?” Tony stood up and walked over to his desk, powering up his laptop.

“I just feel like it’s too conversational? I want to highlight the big facts and processes, things we’ll actually enact,” Steve said, rising from Tony’s coffee table and following Tony.

Tony was scrolling through the Q&A sheet Bruce and Natasha had worked on the night before, with expected questions and bullet-point answers. Steve leaned down and read over Tony’s shoulder.

“While I understand where you’re coming from, we crafted these to make sure you get the soundbites in,” Tony’s voice had taken a mollifying tone that Steve has gotten used to; it’s the tone of deference. Steve hated it and he’d never get used to it.

Tony leaned back on his chair and looked up at Steve, waiting.

“But issues shouldn’t be reduced to soundbites,” Steve said, leaning back on the desk and looking down at Tony. Tony, whose shirt was still untucked and rumpled. Tony, who still managed to look handsome in spite of his chronic lack of sleep.

“Steve,” Tony said, his jaw tightening. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, Tony, but I don’t like it.” Steve said. “We should be better than that.”

“It’s an hour before the interview,” Tony replied, already reaching for his phone. Steve glanced outside of Tony’s office: Pepper and Natasha were talking and pointing at something on Natasha’s laptop; Clint and Bucky were looking through photos; Sam was on his phone, video camera resting on his lap. Bruce was probably in the pantry, then.

“So Bruce has an hour.”

Tony didn’t look at Steve.

Everyone had given up on pretending they couldn’t feel the tension come off in waves from Steve’s office. They’d abandoned furtively sneaking glances and were all openly watching Tony gesticulate wildly at Steve.

Steve kept shaking his head. Tony was pacing and looking up at the ceiling while talking, as if pleading with some higher power. Then, Pepper’s phone buzzed with an alarm. Everyone turned to look at her phone, and then at her.

“Okay kids, it’s showtime,” She said, drawing herself up to her full height before she walked up to Steve’s room.

Steve must’ve seen her arrival in the corner of his eye, because he got up from his chair.

“You and I both know you’ll say whatever the hell you want to anyway!” Tony said, his back to Pepper.

Pepper coughed delicately into her fist. Tony’s body went rigid and he turned to her.

“We need to leave now, sir,” she said, smiling at the two of them as if nothing was wrong. Steve nodded at Pepper and picked up his jacket from his chair, adjusting his cuffs before putting it on.

“Do better,” he said to Tony, before shutting the door behind him.

Steve snuck a glance at his watch and turned back to a student who had used the question and answer portion of the event as a soapbox. “In sum, I think there should be an ordinance that requires community colleges to start vermicomposting. What do you think, Mr. Rogers?” she finished, a bit out of breath from speaking for so long.

Steve smiled at her. “Thank you for your question, and for your great input,” He started. “I do think vermicomposting is fascinating,” he added, “But it’ll be difficult to monitor with such a large scale. I do agree though that we need to look into different forms of waste management, particularly on the level of schools.”

In front of him, he saw Pepper whisper to the moderator. Almost time, then. The moderator stood and delivered a short message thanking Steve for his time, thanking the students for listening and participating, and then calling over the student organizers for a photo.

Steve stood in the middle of them all and flashed a wide smile. Beside him, one of the students turned to him and whispered, “Thanks, sir, for coming out yesterday.” Steve ducked his head to hear him better. “You’re really brave. I hope I can be that brave one day,” the boy continued.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked. Around him, the students had noticed and formed a small circle.

“Jason,” the boy said. Steve shook his hand and smiled. “Well Jason, thank you, too.”

Steve knew they were talking about him. He hated that there was an invisible wall between him and the team, one born out of necessity and propriety, one that said, you’re our candidate first, and unlikely friend second.

Steve leaned against the side of the door and listened. Bucky watched him from the couch, frowning. They’d just arrived from a friendly breakfast with other candidates in the slate, and for an hour, none of them talked shop. It was nice. And now, Steve had come back to an empty office and he knew, he knew that the team had taken the opportunity to discuss where they were at without him.

“You still have a month,” a vaguely familiar voice—Steve frowned. Nick? They’d invited Nick over to talk. Nick, a retired campaign manager who’d run Steve’s numbers before he even announced his decision to run, and who Tony had tapped to run focus group discussions on Steve’s taglines.

“And a half,” Tony supplied. The rest of the room had gone quiet, as if they’d known they were being eavesdropped on.

“We’ll just need our events to be harder working,” Tony said. “And buy more airtime.”

“Will do,” Natasha answered.

“Anyway, these are still unofficial numbers, right?” Bruce said, sounding hopeful.

Nick snorted. “You’re still down by 5 points.”

“He should be back soon,” Pepper chimed in, and then followed sounds of the team packing up, getting ready to file out.

Steve pushed himself off the wall and stalked back to his office. He wondered how Tony would break the news to him.

(He didn’t.)

Steve woke up to one message on Monday morning, but didn't read it until he was done with his run, had showered, and had a cup of coffee. He’d taken Tony’s advice to heart—advice he’d given after Steve announced his decision to run against the incumbent Mayor Alexander Pierce.

“If you want to make it to the end and keep your sanity intact, keep a routine,” Tony had said, all those months ago. “Shouldn’t be hard, with your background.” So Steve kept at his normal routine: Up at six, ready for work by eight, bed by midnight, at the latest. Well. He’d kept to most of his routine, anyway. No one could sensibly expect him to sleep when he needed to.

Steve was fully dressed when he flicked his phone back to life to pull up the message.

Do not turn on the TV. Meeting at Nick & Nat at 9. I’ll bring bagels.

Steve sighed, put down his phone, and turned on the TV.

Tony and Pepper were in the office when Steve and Bucky arrived. Bucky made a beeline for the pantry, drawn in by the offer of bagels, and generally uninterested in the numbers that would be discussed. All the needed to know was Steve’s schedule, and it riled him up to be up close to the politicking.

Tony and Pepper looked up from Tony’s laptop. “Good morning,” Pepper said, evenly. “I’ll go talk to Bucky about today’s itinerary,” she added, excusing herself.

“Have a seat. And a bagel,” Tony said, shutting his laptop and pouring himself what Steve guessed would be his second coffee of the day. Steve nodded, spreading cream cheese on a bagel, mostly to give himself something to do. He wasn’t really hungry.

“I’m assuming you turned on your TV. Or checked Twitter. Both? Maybe both.”

Steve hummed in response before taking a sizeable bite of the bagel, which was overflowing with cheese.

Tony stared at him for a beat, and then looked away.

Natasha and Nick arrived at nine on the dot. Natasha and Tony sat down beside Steve as Nick connected his laptop to the TV, ready with the survey results that they’d all already seen, anyway.

“So Pierce maintains his lead, and you’re down five points,” Nick skipped the pleasantries and dove right in, as he always did.

Tony, Steve, and Natasha were quiet. Tony patted Steve’s thigh, and let his hand rest there. Steve was grateful for the distraction.

Nick sighed, and began breaking down the demographics.

After the meeting with Nick, Tony had stalked out of the room, pack of cigarettes in hand.

“Those’ll kill you, you know.” Steve said, shutting the door to the office behind him.

Tony was scowling at his phone. And then he was scowling at Steve.

Steve shrugged in response.

“You never told me why, you know.” Tony said, apropos of nothing.

“What do you mean?”

“Why you had to say it. Why then,” Tony said, cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve that had begun to roll down.

Steve stared at his mouth, then noticed himself staring. “Say what?” He asked, dumbly.

“Why you had to come out while everyone was streaming that ambush interview,” Tony said plucking the cigarette out of his mouth after taking a drag.

“I did tell you. I said I didn’t want to lie.”

“Well you didn’t have to fucking answer him, either!” Tony was suddenly all cold fury. Steve felt his stomach tighten, ready for a fight.

“There was a boy, last week, you know.” Steve said, his hands had balled into fists in an effort to calm down. “He thanked me. He thanked me for coming out.”

“Well that’s just lovely,” Tony’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Maybe his one vote will beat out Pierce’s hundreds.”

“Maybe it will,” Steve ground out. “How many times do I need to say that I didn’t want to lie?”

“Well if you didn’t want to lie then you could’ve fucking told me!”

“I didn’t know sexuality was integral to a campaign!” Steve yelled, feeling off balance and defensive.

“It is if that’s what costs the campaign!” Tony said sharply, crushing his cigarette viciously against the ashtray. “For chrissake can’t you just stick to your goddamn talk points,” he finished, voice lower, eyes not meeting Steve’s.

Steve’s inhaled sharply. “I’m not some puppet you can dangle around,” he said. “I’m not paying you to write talk points. I’m paying you to win.”

Tony didn’t really talk to him much, after that. Maybe Steve read too much into it. But his schedule had been filled to the brim and it’s not like he had much time to read into anything, anyway.

It was week before the elections. Steve sent Bucky home after dinner, opting to go over paperwork in his office rather than his desk at home. The rest of the office was dark, and the team had left for a few Saturday night drinks, taking advantage of the unspoken truce of Sunday.

Steve startled at the sudden stop of music that was emanating through the shared wall between his office and Tony’s.

“Hi,” Tony said from Steve’s door, he looked tentative has he held up a bottle and two glasses pinched between his fingers.

Steve sighed. “I am Very Tired,” he said, enunciating his last two words.

Tony let himself into Steve’s office and placed the bottle and two glasses on Steve’s desk. “Hello, Very Tired. I have a bottle of gin and some bad ideas.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at Tony, who had settled into the seat across him. Tony waited for Steve’s permission.

“Let’s see what shit sticks, then,” Steve said, and popped open the bottle. “This… certainly smells dangerous,” he said, the smell of gin and spices filling the room.

Tony huffed out a laugh and visibly relaxed, taking the glass Steve offered him. They drank in silence and Steve continued reading reports and signing papers. Tony left and came back with his laptop, and soon the only sounds between them were the soft taps of Tony typing out emails.

Steve stood up and stretched before refilling his glass and then slumping down on his couch. He knew that he wouldn’t be as productive seated there, it was too comfy—it had no business being that comfy in an office.

“This couch has no business being so comfy in my office,” Steve said, as he held up the first draft of his final campaign speech. He stared at the paper and waited for the letters to stop swimming.

Steve looked up, feeling Tony’s gaze on him. Tony was watching Steve from beneath his lashes, and Steve felt his breath catch. Steve turned back down to his speech quickly, clicking and unclicking his pen.

Sometime during Steve’s brave attempts at reading and Not Looking at Tony, Tony got up from his chair and had reclined on Steve’s couch, drinking as he scrolled on his phone. His knees were bent and his head was pillowed by his arm, keeping his head high enough so he didn’t struggle to sip from his glass.

Without thinking, Steve tapped his lap twice: An invitation that Tony took without missing a beat. Steve smiled and let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d held. Once Tony had settled, Steve found his hand drawn to Tony’s soft hair, stroking it absently as he juggled between reading, and drinking, and refilling his glass, with one hand.

Tony had made small noises of pleasure that lit a fire in Steve’s gut. He prayed that it wouldn’t manifest physically.

A drop of gin fell from his glass and landed squarely on Tony’s cheek. Steve reached down to rub it off just as Tony’s hand raised to do the same—Tony’s delayed reflexes meant that his hand landed squarely on top of Steve’s.

“Sorry,” Steve stammered, moving to pull his hand away. Tony’s hand gripped his, then relaxed as he pushed Steve’s hand to cup his cheek. Tony’s eyes were closed, his lashes thick and dark against his skin. Steve tried to focus on breathing.

Tony’s head turned, his lips ghosting over Steve’s wrist. Steve shuddered, then, suddenly, Tony turned his head away and he let go of Steve’s hand.

Alarm bells were going off his Steve’s brain, and he suddenly wished he wasn’t this many glasses of gin in. All he wanted was to have Tony’s lips pressed against his wrist again. All he wanted was to have Tony’s lips pressed against his anywhere, and Oh my god.

Steve brought his hand back up to Tony’s hair in an attempt to bring things back to how casual they were minutes ago. Except, Tony shifted away and sat up. Steve downed his drink and belatedly noticed that Tony was seated right beside him, their legs touching.

They were quiet.

Tony swirled his glass before drinking. Steve reached out and held Tony’s wrist, not knowing anything other than the fact that his body ached for Tony’s warmth, anywhere, everywhere, now.

Tony looked up at him, and they stared at each other for a long moment, and Steve wasn’t imagining it, the space between them was closing—he could see how pink Tony’s lips were, the light dusting of stubble on his cheek. Steve licked his lips and saw Tony’s gaze track the movement.

Steve’s phone rang, and Tony slid away as Steve jumped up to find it.

The alarm signaling midnight continued to ring as Steve turned and watched as Tony left his office, laptop in hand. Steve squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

Steve stepped out of the car and was overwhelmed by a wall of sound: Camera shutters clicking, reporters hounding around him with questions. He flashed a smile and began walking to the polling center as Tony trailed behind him, greeting the media as he went.

Tony placed a hand on the small of Steve’s back, guiding him forward unnecessarily. Still, Steve was thankful for the gesture. He was nervous. They all were.

Steve had sent a message to the team the night before, thanking them for their work. Of course, this was after they’d all received a final report from Nick—Steve’s numbers were better, sure, but not good enough. Steve was sure Tony and the team had spoken about it, without him. All Steve got was the report.

Once inside, Steve turned to the team: it didn’t have to be said that they’d all go together. He nodded at them. “Here we go.”

Tony reached out for a hug. For a moment, everything was silent. Tony turned up to look at Steve and pecked him on the cheek. “For good luck,” he said with a small smile.

“All I have to do is make sure I don’t tick the wrong name on the ballot,” Steve said with a laugh, pulling away to turn to the booth. He let out a small puff of breath and went in.

It felt surreal, seeing his name on the ballot, right beside Pierce’s. After all those months, all the forums, fundraisers, speeches—it had all led up to this. Everything, nothing, and over sooner than he thought it would be; Steve rubbed the space between his eyebrows, overwhelmed.

Tony was next in line, and they stood beside each other as they waited for the rest of the team to vote.

“Did you cry?” Tony whispered in Steve’s ear. Steve let out a small laugh. “Aw, Steve.” Tony said. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, I’m doing an informal study. First timers, they always cry. Even if only a little,” Tony said, smirking up at Steve.

Steve rolled his eyes fondly. “Maybe.”

Tony’s smirk relaxed into a small smile. Steve felt Tony’s hand brush against his, then, as if having finally decided, Tony’s laced their fingers together. Steve kept his gaze forward, and smiled when Tony’s hand squeezed his before letting go.

Outside the polling station, the media had gathered neatly around a podium. Steve stepped up with Tony and Natasha flanking him.

“Good morning, everyone.” Steve started. “Today is an important day for our city, and for our nation. Today, we get to make a decision that will affect the next four years. We hope that everyone takes this opportunity to exercise their civic duty, and choose wisely.” Steve nodded at the reporters. “Getting to today hasn’t been easy, but nothing ever good is. Meeting with people, listening to their stories of triumph and hardships, has given me an endless supply of reminders as to why we continue to fight. Now, I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I’ve learned to trust in the people, and to trust in them to make the right decision.”

Steve flashed a smile for the cameras before stepping off the podium.

“Remind me again why we needed to hire Bruce?” Tony asked, taking Steve by the elbow as he led them to the car. Steve snorted. “I can talk. Bruce can write.”

Tony shook his head in response, opening the door for Steve before climbing in after him.

Any plans tonight?

Well I was going to punch a bag until I passed out from exhaustion unless you have something better in mind

Want to watch the numbers come in

Not really Wait is that really what you were gonna do tonight

I mean it’s my job

That sounds horrible I’ll bring snacks

Tony’s apartment was modern, sleek, and neat.

“How did you find time to clean?” Steve asked as he looked around the room with barely concealed awe.

Tony shrugged in response as he shoved a bag of popcorn into the microwave. “Have a seat. Make yourself at home,” Tony said. Steve turned his head as he read the spines of the books on Tony’s shelves.

“I’m making myself a drink. Do you want one?” A beat. “Of course you want one, what am I saying.” Steve had never seen Tony this underdressed, just wearing an old tank top and sweatpants. Steve watched the muscles in Tony’s arm flex as he mixed their drinks, then let his eyes trail down Tony’s back and—Steve tore his eyes away and went back to looking through Tony’s extensive library.

The polls had closed over two hours ago, and all anyone could do was wait for the results to come in. Everyone had gone home, exhausted from all the on-ground efforts.

Tony had his laptop mirrored on the TV, a slow trickle of numbers coming in. Steve continued to work his way around Tony’s apartment, thankful for the distraction. He felt keyed up and tense, not knowing what to do with the nervous energy thrumming through his veins.

“Does it always feel this way?” Steve asked, as he took a glass from Tony.

“On tenterhooks, every time,” Tony said, sliding open the balcony door and stepping out. Steve followed, and raised Tony’s pack of cigarettes in silent question.

Tony looked confused for a moment, then nodded. Steve placed the cigarette between his lips and leaned over to Tony, who had clicked a lighter to life. Tony motioned to the chair and sat.

Steve sat beside him, their thighs pressed against each other. They were quiet as they sipped their drinks and smoked. Steve had thought about this, more than once: Just being alone with Tony, after that night, after both of those nights when they held each other and let themselves be held. Steve had turned it over and over in his mind, why he felt so comfortable around someone he’d met only barely a year ago, someone who was working with him (never for, Steve hated the idea of having people work for him like he was above them). Steve kept trying to figure out why someone who yelled at him a fair share—and who he’d yelled back at, too, sometimes—was someone he’d warmed towards rather than backed away from. Somehow, somewhere down the line, Steve had found a friend in Tony. But more than that, Steve found himself noticing the way Tony’s hands moved, the way he’d lick his lips after taking a sip of coffee, the way he’d keep touching everyone so casually. It drove Steve up the wall, trying to figure out if it ever meant anything, after those nights, after that time when their faces were so close Steve could feel Tony’s breath—Steve replayed that memory often. Steve thought about how things would’ve been different if he’d just leaned in a bit faster, or reached out to stop Tony from leaving, maybe finally know what it felt like to have Tony’s lips pressed against his. And then, Steve knew. Knew that he’d have to say something, and soon, because it would all be over soon, maybe (hopefully not), but Steve had to say something or else he’d explode.

Tony placed a hand on Steve’s knee and squeezed, jolting Steve out of his thoughts. Steve looked at Tony’s hand, and took a drag off his cigarette, tension beginning to pool in his stomach. Tony smiled at Steve, and Steve felt himself blush.

“Steve,” Tony started, and Steve shrugged off Tony’s hand and stood up, nervous now for different reasons.

“So. Okay, since, you know, we’re done with the campaign,” Steve said, beginning to pace and then stopping himself. “I should be honest.”

“With you,” Steve added, turning to Tony, and then turning away just as quickly. “Because that’s what we always strove for, in this campaign. Honesty. It’s the best policy, if you ask me,” Steve said, taking another drag of his cigarette. He felt a bit wild. He wasn’t sure if his hands were shaking. He was pointedly not looking at Tony.

“Anyway,” Steve said, willing himself to keep going, or else he’d just never speak again, ever. “Here goes, right,” he added. Steve reached over to the table and pulled out another cigarette, lighting it quickly. Tony reached over and lit a new cigarette as well, uncharacteristically quiet, and Steve was both thankful and horrified in equal measure.

“I may have… lied? About the cuddling being normal, I mean it’s not abnormal it’s just, I wanted to do more than cuddle, that one time, actually no, both times, I wanted to kiss you—I want to kiss you, a lot, all over your beautiful damn face, okay, and, there, I. Yeah.” Steve let out a long breath. “See, that’s why we needed to hire Bruce,” he said, and even to his own ears, his laugh sounded panicked.

There was ash on Tony’s pant leg, meaning Tony hadn’t moved his hand, and Tony was staring at him. Steve touched the back of his neck, scratched a bit at the skin there, not really knowing what to do with his hands. Tony stood up from the bench and walked up to Steve, placing his hands on Steve’s arms, grounding him.

“You always have to beat me to it, don’t you,” Tony said quietly, as if more to himself than to Steve. Steve breathed. Tony looked up at him, a small smile on his lips. “Well are you going to kiss me or what, Rogers?”

Steve smiled so hard it was as if his face would break. Then he bent down and pressed his lips gently against Tony’s.

Tony nipped at his bottom lip and Steve felt his brain short circuit at the touch, then kiss got messy, their mouths barely separating and only for them to gasp in breaths before kissing again, greedy with want.

Steve ran his hands down the length of Tony’s back as Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling them together closer. Tony let out a small, needy noise and Steve shuddered, needing more, needing absolutely everything.

Tony began moving them backwards into his apartment, dragging Steve expertly through his living room, their kiss breaking only briefly when Steve bumped into Tony’s coffee table.

Steve let out a low growl of frustration, and then hoisted Tony up against his hips.

“Oh Jesus,” Tony moaned, bending down to kiss Steve hungrily. Steve could feel Tony’s hardness pressing against his stomach, and a short burst of arousal zipped around his body as he walked towards Tony’s room.

They fell on Tony’s bed and laughed at how the sudden shift pushed the air out of them. Then Tony pushed Steve down onto the bed and began kissing down his neck, letting out a soft string of confessions and obscenities. “I can’t fucking believe,” Tony mumbled as he began unbuttoning Steve’s shirt. Steve’s hands were on Tony’s waist, and he ground up against Tony, desperate for friction.

Steve trailed his hand up Tony’s torso, stopping to pinch a nipple. Tony moaned into Steve’s chest, where he’d been trailing kisses as he unbuttoned Steve’s shirt. Steve pushed him away gently and tugged at Tony’s shirt, his cock straining even harder against his jeans now that Tony was shirtless. “Fuck,” Steve said reverently.

Tony smiled down at him and unfastened the last button, hands skating across Steve’s bare stomach. Steve sat up and kissed Tony again, his hands against Tony’s chest then moving out to grip his arms, then down to Tony’s hips, pushing Tony’s ass down. Tony’s hands moved to Steve’s fly, and he pulled away.

“Is this okay?” He asked.

Steve suddenly registered how Tony looked, eyes wide, lips pink from being kissed, perfectly coiffed hair now askew. Steve did that. He wanted to do more. Steve nodded enthusiastically, not trusting his voice from cracking.

Tony pulled Steve’s jeans and boxer briefs off before taking the opportunity to shuck off his sweats. Steve licked his lips as he surveyed Tony’s naked form, and then realized Tony was doing the same. Steve felt himself blush at the attention, before he leaned over and pulled Tony back on top of him, kissing him again, and again, and again, his skin on fire in every point of contact.

Steve flipped Tony onto his back easily. “I’m going to suck you off now,” he said, with probably more resolve than necessary. “I’m in heaven, aren’t I,” Tony groaned. Steve licked a small bead of precum off the top of Tony’s cock, reveling at the taste. Then, he took all of Tony’s cock in his mouth in one swift go, which elicited a strangled moan from Tony as he dragged his mouth back up and let Tony’s cock fall out of his mouth with a soft pop. “Now you are,” Steve said, grinning up at Tony, who had pushed himself up and was watching Steve, a look of wonder spread plainly on his face. Steve bent back down and continued to lick and suck Tony’s cock, his own arousal making him grind against the bed, fireworks going off in his brain when Tony reached down and tangled his fingers in Steve’s hair, pulling and pushing along with Steve’s rhythm. “Please, please, please,” Tony moaned.

After a few moments, Tony pushed at Steve’s shoulder: “Mhn,” Tony said, eloquently. “Stop or I’m gonna—“ Steve wrapped his hand around the base of Tony’s cock and kissed the head sweetly. “Oh god, Steve, Steve,” Tony blathered, his hand moving from Steve’s shoulder and to the base of Steve’s skull. “Steve, please,” Tony moaned.

“Can I fuck you?” Steve asked, his hand rubbing up and down Tony’s thigh.

“What the fuck do you think I’ve been asking for?” Tony hissed, falling back onto the bed in frustration, then Tony turned away to dig through his drawer.

Steve huffed out a small laugh, and kissed Tony’s hand when he was handed a small bottle of lube. Steve coaxed Tony’s knees up and kissed down his thigh as he spread some lube on his fingers.

Steve pressed his finger gently against Tony’s hole, and Tony groaned at the touch. “Come on,” he pleaded.

Steve kissed the inside of Tony’s thigh as he pushed his finger in, curling it slowly. “That okay?” He murmured into Tony’s skin. Tony’s reached out and squeezed Steve’s shoulder, impatient: “More.” Steve pushed another finger in and licked a stripe of spit up Tony’s cock. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck,” Tony moaned, “more, please, faster.”

Steve began to suck Tony’s cock as he slowly slid another finger in, continuing to work Tony open. Tony buried his hands in Steve’s hair again, Steve’s hand on Tony’s hip stopping him from completely fucking Steve’s mouth.

“Fuck me.” Tony’s voice was barely above a whisper. Steve stuttered up, his body tight with arousal. “Please, Steve,” Tony added, his hand cupping Steve’s jaw, fingers soft against the base of Steve’s neck.

Steve crawled up against Tony, pressing kisses along his chest. Steve spent a few moments to kiss and bite Tony’s nipple, only for Tony to let out an impatient huff of breath, drawing a leg up and around Steve to pull him closer.

Steve bent down and kissed Tony, smiling down at him as he pushed his cock in. They moaned at the same time, Steve screwing his eyes shut. Tony felt perfect. This was perfect. Steve continued to ease himself in, and Tony’s hands alternated between clawing at the sheets and raking fingers down his back, chanting Steve’s name all along.

“You feel so fucking good,” Steve ground out, fully inside Tony now, stopping his movements to let Tony adjust. “Fuuuuuuuck,” Tony mewled, his hands pawing uselessly at Steve’s chest, his fingernails leaving red lines in their wake.

Then Steve started fucking him in earnest, hot and wild and pressing open mouthed kisses anywhere he could reach Tony. Tony raised his hand to touch Steve’s cheek, and Steve turned his head and sucked in two of Tony’s fingers in his mouth, desire pooling heavy in his belly. He reached between them and gripped Tony’s cock, and Tony let out a choked sound: “Steve, fuck, I’m—I’m going to.” Tony came on Steve’s hand, coating their stomachs with his cum.

Steve eased back, but Tony gripped his hips quickly. “Keep going,” he said, smiling up at Steve, completely blissed out. Steve continued to move, and then Tony reached up and tweaked Steve’s nipple and Steve saw stars.

He collapsed beside Tony, breathing hard. Tony reached over and rubbed Steve’s chest. Steve picked up Tony’s hand and raised it to his lips. “You’re unbelievable,” Tony said, laughing a little. “I knew you’d be a sap. But not this much of a sap.”

Steve shrugged, continuing to dot Tony’s hand with little kisses, eventually moving up to his wrist, then forearm. “Can’t help it.”

Tony hummed in response, then eventually got up. He came back with a wet towel and rubbed them down, Steve still lying limp on the bed. “That really happened,” he said, brain to mouth filter completely gone. “Yeah,” Tony said, smiling at him, sharing the disbelief. Steve leaned up to kiss him.

Then, outside, both their phones started to ring. They startled out of their kiss and ran outside, both of them picking up their phones.

“Nick?”

“Are you seeing the numbers?” Nick asked levelly. Meanwhile, Steve could hear the high-pitched screeching emanating from Tony’s phone. Steve and Tony turned to the laptop, and Tony watched as he refreshed the screen, and then refreshed it again.

“Oh my god,” they said, finally making sense of the numbers displayed on the screen.

Steve stood in front of the media, silently going through the talk points Bruce had rushed last night. Behind him, he could feel Tony shifting from foot to foot, mirroring the frazzled energy coursing it’s way through Steve’s body.

“Good morning, everyone,” he started. “Today we celebrate successful elections, the indicator of people’s choice in the democratic process. This win is not and will never be solely mine; today, we stand here with the people’s trust and expectations on our shoulders, and we will remain eternally grateful for this opportunity to serve.”

Steve flashed a smile for the cameras, then moved down to begin shaking hands with the reporters, many of whom he’d eventually become friends with.

“Mr. Rogers,” Steve nodded at the reporter who had essentially outed him to the world. “John,” Steve said offering his hand. John, the reporter, took it gratefully. Behind him, Steve noticed Tony making a face.

“It was only polite,” Steve said to Tony, after extricating himself from small talk with the reporter.

“And I’m proud of you, as your campaign manager. As your friend, I’ve harbored some less than charitable thoughts,” Tony answered, picking a bit of lint off Steve’s jacket.

Steve smiled at Tony, taking his hand and threading their fingers together. “That’s okay. I’m charitable enough for the both of us,” Steve said, giving Tony’s hand a squeeze before letting go.

“That’s debatable,” Tony said promptly. Steve snorted in response, and then stopped when Tony’s words had sunk in.

“As my friend?” He asked.

Tony looked up at him from his phone. “What?”

Steve furrowed his brow. “Tony Stark,” he said, unconsciously jutting his chin out, readying for an argument. “I would like to be more than your friend, eventually. Would you like to get dinner with me tonight?”

Tony furrowed his brow and shook his head, confused and a little peeved. “Tonight is your celebratory dinner with the team and funders,” he said.

“Tomorrow, then.” Steve said, not giving an inch.

Tony let out an exasperated sigh, “no, tomorrow you’ve got—” Steve let out a puff of breath and pulled Tony close, pressing his lips against Tony’s and then quickly pulling away.

“Steve,” Tony growled low. Around them, the room was silent.

Steve smiled serenely down at Tony. “I think as my chief of staff you’ll find some way to prioritize my personal time.”

Tony’s jaw clicked shut, then he let out a burst of laughter. “Congratulations to you too, Steve,” Tony said, projecting his voice to ensure that everyone in the room could hear. “I’ve always loved how affectionate you are,” he added, clapping his hand against Steve’s back in a move designed to look Strictly Friendly. He pulled Steve into a half hug and whispered, “I’m going to make you pay for this.” Tony’s breath against Steve’s ear sent a spike of electricity down Steve’s spine.

“Pretty sure I’m just asking you to do exactly what I pay you for,” Steve whispered back, and pulled away, starting small talk with the media as if nothing had happened. He didn’t want to make Tony’s job any harder than he’d already had. At least for now.

Besides, he had a date to plan.

#steve rogers #tony stark #superhusbands #stevetony #stony #stony fanfiction #stevetony fanfiction #i realized i never put this up fully on tumblr ANYWAY here hi hahasdfjsh #things i write

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Eighty-One: Take a Chance ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Haruno Sakura ] [ SasuHina, SakuIno ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

This has got to be the strangest thing she’s ever agreed to do in her life.

Hinata Hyūga is not a woman who takes risks. She went to a safe school, got a safe degree, and is working a safe job. Lives in a safe apartment building in a safe part of town. She’s...well, she’s content.

But she made the mistake of mentioning it feels like something is missing to her best friend last week.

“Boyfriend,” Sakura immediately offered, reclined and not looking up from filing her nails.

Lips quickly pursed in a pout. “Not everything is solved by being in a relationship.”

“What else could be missing, Hina? You’ve got a good job, a good place, good friends -”

There’s an eyeroll at that which the rosette ignores.

“- and the only thing you don’t have based on all those cliches is a boyfriend. Or girlfriend.” A hand pats her own chest. “No judgment here.”

“Says the girl with a girlfriend.”

“Exactly.”

Sitting cross-legged atop her bed, Hinata considered that. She never goes out much...so there hasn’t exactly been a chance to meet anyone. And she’s terrified of dating apps. Meeting strangers based on whims and ‘matches’? Thanks, but no thanks. She’s not looking to get murdered.

“You know, the place Ino works does this cute thing once a month where they match up couples randomly. You should do it!”

“...what?”

“You draw a number from a bowl that’s a certain color for your gender - male, female, nonbinary, yadda yadda - and then you also take tags based on what you prefer. So then you go around looking for your right-colored number, and you sit, and you have an impromptu date in the restaurant!”

Dark brows furrowed disbelievingly. “...that sounds...a-awkward.”

“It can be, but it’s a safe environment, and you can can nope out at any time. That’s where Ino met that artist she dated for a while.”

“Until she met you.”

“Yeah, well...you can’t win ‘em all.” Sakura gave a grin.

“...I dunno, it just sounds...strange. What if someone gets your number but isn’t the right c-color?”

“You go redraw until you get one you want! I dunno how they make it work, but it hardly ever hiccups. Ino’d know more about it than me, but...just thought I’d throw that out there.”

“I’ll...think about it.”

And she did. In fact, Hinata agonized over it. It sounded sort of fun, and pretty safe. But questions, doubts, and fears still nagged at her, even up to the moment she walks to the door. A crowd of people already mill inside, and several debate outside. Giving them all a glance, she takes a deep breath...holds it...and then exhales.

Just try it. Sakura said they make it very easy to leave, so...just do it. Take a chance for once in your life, Hinata!

Pulling on the door, she yanks it open and makes her way in. At the front are the bowls Sakura mentioned.

A perky girl in brown buns gestures. “Hi there! First time?”

“Um...y-yes.”

“Well, just take one of these slips based on your gender,” she offers, pointing. “And then these slips here -” another point “- say what you’re looking for! Anyone already here will have their number on the edge of their table, so feel free to see if your match is there yet. If not, you can have a seat at any open table, and become the one who waits!”

Huh...well, seems simple enough. Taking a pink slip, Hinata then shyly takes a blank one of every color, cheeks pink before scurrying into the actual belly of the place.

Her number is twenty-seven. Huh...her birthday. Maybe that’ll be lucky?

Peeking around, she doesn’t find any other twenty-sevens, and eventually makes her way to a corner table. Carefully she arranges the slips at the edge, pinning them under both the salt and pepper shakers to keep them from being blown or knocked off.

For a while she just...sits. Then she starts checking texts. Eventually, she’s knee-deep reading some fanfiction when someone clears their throat nearby.

She almost drops her mobile in surprise. “...o-oh!”

They look to her with a perked brow. “...been sitting here long?”

“Oh, uh...a-a little while.” A nervous hand tucks hair behind her ear, a habit. “Are you…?”

They flash their slip: blue, with the same number as her own.

“I, uh...are you looking for a - a pink?”

“Yup. Mind if I sit?”

“S...sure!” Hinata bustles to put the slips aside now that she’s been matched, cheeks pink. “I’m Hinata - Hinata Hyūga.”

“Sasuke Uchiha.”

Awkward silence.

Hands clasped between her knees, Hinata rocks for a moment before offering, “Um...should I...tell you some things about me…?”

“Sure. You go, then I’ll go.”

“Okay...I’m twenty-four.”

“Twenty-five.”

“I work in a bakery - I got a culinary degree here in the city!”

“Business and finance - work for my father in his tech company.”

“Um...my...favorite color is purple…?”

That earns a small smile. “Blue.”

“I like sweets.”

“Not a fan.”

“Aw...hm...I like cats.”

“Same. Dogs are too...messy.”

“A friend of mine has one...he’s okay, but...yes, I agree: messy.” She draws in her lips, thinking. “...I...have a younger sister.”

“Older brother.”

“I l-like to dry and press flowers as a hobby.”

“I like hiking, mostly locally.”

“Ooh, that sounds fun!”

“I could take you, if you want.”

That...makes her pause. Go out with someone she barely knows? Possibly into the woods? What if he’s a crazy serial killer that buries all his victims out -?

“Or...maybe not.”

Realizing she’s gone quiet, Hinata jolts. “S-sorry, I...I got lost in thought! Um...maybe! I’m not very, um...athletic. I don’t know if I could keep up.”

“Could start with walks in the park.”

The park...that’s safe. Plenty of people around. “S...sure!”

“Call it a date, then.”

One corner of her mouth twitches in an attempted smile. “...sorry, I’m - I’m not very good at this whole...talking...thing.”

“That’s okay. Neither am I, really.” Sasuke leans back in his chair, one arm draped back over its spine. “I was...encouraged to try this by a friend.”

“Yeah...me too. She thought I, uh...n-needed a change.”

“I don’t get out much. My friend thought it might help my attitude. He’s just a nosy b-” Sasuke cuts off. “...guy.”

Before she can stop it, Hinata giggles. “...sorry, I...I shouldn’t laugh.”

“He lives for making people laugh, even if it means at him. Trust me, he wouldn’t be offended. And I can’t bring myself to care. You’re good.” During a pause, he tilts his head. “...I’ll admit: seems I got lucky. I was afraid I’d get some chick who wouldn’t know how to shut up. Which is what most girls he tries setting me up with are like.”

“Well, I’m...definitely not that,” Hinata agrees with another laugh. “I...wasn’t sure what I was expecting. I guess to never get matched. I haven’t really...done this before. Like, at all. Guess I just figure there’s a reason for that.”

He gives her a disbelieving look. “...you telling me you’ve never dated anyone?”

“N...no?”

Brows then lift in surprise. “...I’d never guess it.”

“Really…?”

“Yeah. You’re cute. At least, from what little I can see just sitting here having small talk.”

Color slowly blooms in her cheeks. “T...thank you. You’re, um…” Her blush gets darker. “You’re...p-pretty handsome yourself.”

“Not to be pretentious, but...I get that a lot. Which...might be why I haven’t dated, either.”

“W-what?!”

Several other couples glance over at her outburst, making her go cherry red

“I...I’m so sorry, that was so rude, I -”

“Nah - you’re fine. I just...I dunno. Anyone who’s tried did it for that reason: they liked my looks, or my reputation. Not because they liked me. So I brushed them all off.”

Hinata can’t help but wilt a bit. “...I see…”

“But, I thought I’d take a chance with this. It’s not like speed dating or blind dates. It seemed like it’d be more...relaxed. And it is. Seems I really did get lucky.”

Tucking a bit into herself, Hinata mumbles, “M...me too.”

Eventually, someone actually starts serving them, and the pair keep up idle conversation. Nothing jaw-dropping or eye-opening, but just...little things that help give a first impression. And all throughout, neither seems to dislike what they find.

By the time they’re done, they’re still talking. Even after their plates are cleared. Eventually it starts to get dark, and Hinata jolts as her phone buzzes.

It’s Sakura.

Well? How’d it go?

It’s only then she realizes how late it’s getting. A palm presses to her cheek in shock. “Oh! I...I should probably get going, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize -!”

“It’s fine - neither did I.” Moving to stand, he glances to her appraisingly. “...so, would you...want to do this again? Without the random factor, I mean?”

“I...y-yeah! I had a really good time. Um…”

“Here, I’ll give you my number…”

They do so, and even convince each other to pose for a picture for their phonebook entry.

“Guess I’ll see you around - gonna be busy, but I’ll text you when an open day pops up.”

“O-okay!”

He even walks her to her car, giving a nonchalant salute as she pulls away. It’s only once she’s back in her apartment that Hinata replies to Sakura.

It went well! Guess who got date #2? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ

Winding down for the evening and eventually heading to bed as she keeps up her texting back and forth, Hinata indulges Sakura’s request and sends the picture.

...okay I’m gay af but I’d let him hit it.

Snorting so loud she blushes, Hinata announces she’s calling it a night, plugging the mobile in to charge and snuggling down under the blankets.

Well...maybe taking chances isn’t so bad...

Oh dang, a post before midnight! That hasn't happened in FOREVER! xD Anyway, this is...super duper random, but I'm honestly exhausted after a long day, and I'm still adjusting my sleep schedule, so...between a time crunch and a sleepy brain, you all get...whatever this is, bahaha! I dunno, it's vaguely based off an idea I once saw about color coded stuff with...I think it was glowstick necklaces? to show what you are and what you're interested in. This is just...tweaked a little to involve a bit more chance than choice, I guess. I dunno, I can't brain tonight haha~ But uh...yeah! That's it for tonight. Hope you enjoyed! And thanks for reading~

#sasuhina #sakuino #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #haruno sakura #best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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winterironspringfling · 6 years

Photo

2018 Spring Fling: Gift List

A huge THANK YOU to everyone who was a part of the @winterironspringfling this year. No matter if you created something, shared our posts to get the word out, or are now leaving comments and kudos on all the wonderful stories and art, this exchange wouldn’t have been possible without all of you.

You rock, you are the best, and we love you.

And now, the thing we know you’ve all been waiting for: the complete gift list.

Enjoy! 💕

(Additional thanks to @auripigmentum for the adorable art in this post.)

One Plus One Plus One Equals Three by Zola9612 for tringic Based on these prompts:

Someone is turned into an animal and they develop an unexpected preference in cuddling partner. This may or may not remain a fact after the transformation is resolved, leading to either angst, excessive cuddling, or possibly both.

Operation Bring-Down-Barton

In which magic is involved and a degree of separation.

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an unexpected arrangement by sevedra for tisfan Stark was clearly compromised, and James was the only person in evidence. Choices here were slim at best, but honestly, there were none. No military training was going to save James from this.

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The Wizard and The Dragon Charmer

DreamcatchersDaughter

for

AlienPsycho

Dragon’s aren’t the only things he charms.

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the measure of man by Potrix for operationhades Tony doesn’t slam the door on his way out of Secretary Ross’ office, but he does grab all of the candy out of the little bowl in the waiting area. It won’t make a difference to Ross, but Tony’s feeling petty, and he has to let some of his anger out somehow.

Months of talks, of arguments and negotiations, and all for nothing. Hours upon hours Tony’d spent trying to find a compromise everyone from Ross to Cap would be willing to agree to, so much work put into preventing Ross’ more extreme suggestions while still finding a solution to placate him and the WSC, only for them to try and force Tony out at the last moment.

And for something as trivial as not having the gene.

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Run with Me by tisfan for AngeNoir There’s a demon that haunts the Loch…

And a lone centaur has captured its interest…

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Lazy Morning by Hayluhalo for house_of_lantis My gift for House_of_Lantis for the WinterIron Spring Fling!

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if only you’d be mine for a moment, I’d be yours for forever by OneSmartChicken for Stark-N-Barnes Just because the world ended doesn’t mean there’s not stuff to do. After a terrible first meeting, Bucky and Tony have to figure out how to get along. There’s betrayals, confusion, and trials, but somewhere along the way, there’s some pretty great stuff.

Featuring a lot of badassery, a little smut, and surprisingly good parents, plus dumb boys in love, cuddles galore, and a friend group that should just give up and acknowledge they’re totally a family. There might be plot too. Maybe.

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let off some steam by fiax for iCheat Sometimes Tony just needs to let off some steam in a way they doesn’t involve his workshop. Sometimes he just needs to take his carefully designed, one of a kind motorbike and a break some road rules in street races where no one knows who he is. This time it looks like he might finally have some competition.

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Operation: Quiet Time by DragonGoesMoo for TheSopherfly Bucky notices how twitchy and tense Tony is; he sets out to teach Tony mindfulness and meditation. Tony learns to relax for the first time in his whole life, and maybe catches feelings during the process.

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Is That A Yes? by GenericUserHere for celtic7irish For this prompt: AU - Bucky works a translator, and knows several languages. He’s is hired as a translator by a firm that SI is taking over. They demand that Tony comes in and does the negotiating himself. Tony goes and bypasses Bucky completely by talking straight to the other party in their own language. Bucky is not amused. Tony finds Bucky after the meeting and tries to flirt with him in that language. Bucky is still fuming and insults Tony in a different language. Tony speaks that, too. (Meet-Cute)

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Alienated Together by NotRecommended for calmena Bucky feels unsafe around Steve, between him being compared to Wanda and the team in general. He flees to his only safe haven: Tony.

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Scowl Like a Pirate Day by james for blue_pointer Bucky knows what’s coming, but still Tony surprises him. Hallowe'en fluff.

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Dynamics by celtic7irish for EchoSiriusRumme Bucky is an Omega working for Dynamics, a sex line agency that helps unmated Alphas during their ruts. Tony is an unmated Alpha recently disinherited by his father. Tony just moved into an apartment, and caught a glimpse of the hot loner down the hall. Bucky just wants to be left alone.

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Constructing (a relationship) An Arm by AngeNoir for james Bucky and Steve had come to the fae to get a limb for Bucky. It’s always tricky to ask a fae for a favor, even if it’s a straight business transaction, and it’s even trickier when the fae has a secret themselves.

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A Lick of Dragon’s Breath by beir for fiax Bucky gets some help from his “assistant.”

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Sweater Weather by ezazahaz for WritingThroughTheMess For WritingThroughTheMess’s prompt: High school AU - Adorable, sweater-wearing nerd Tony has been pining over Bucky Barnes from afar for years. When, on a dare from Rhodey, Tony starts to act on these feelings, Bucky is certain that he’s trying to gain the favour of his best friend Steve, because why on Earth would someone as kind and intelligent and rich as Howard Stark’s son be interested as someone as rough as Bucky?

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Heavy With Hope by TheVagabondBoy for Fancy_Dragonqueen Tony’s freezing to death in a Siberian bunker.

Bucky’s searching for his past in a Siberian bunker.

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Tony Stark doesn’t do walk-ins (except for when he does) by calmena for Shi_Toyu In which Tony is not Iron Man, but still a genius inventor, and somehow ends up acquiring a rogue Winter Soldier.

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The Problems of Pie lantia4ever for DragonGoesMoo After finally leaving the hospital, Bucky and his son Peter move into a tiny apartment outside of New York City to try and continue living their life. Days and nights go by, mundane and boring with nothing for Bucky to do other than mope about, stare into walls and listen to his neighbor’s strangely lively nights.

Leave it to Peter to make new friends, one of which happens to be their mysterious neighbor.

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Just One Dance by IronEyes for singingwithoutwords Tony attends an event that everyone is pretty sure is a trap. The usual candidates for bodyguard/fake date are too well-known now, so Bucky gets volunteered for the job. He can do this. The fact that he very much wants to date Tony for real doesn’t need to complicate this at all. Right.

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Darling, It’s Better Down Where It’s Wetter by Fancy_Dragonqueen for JacarandaBanyan When Tony makes the wrong woman angry he suddenly finds himself in the ocean. With a tail and amnesia. It’s a wonderful life until he finds something very nice, very shiny falling into the ocean. Could this be his soulmate?

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Mystery Loves Company by MarvelousMenagerie for lantia4ever Tony is fine. There have been no attacks on his person or any increase in attacks on the Tower. He’s fine. It’s just a few emails. And if this does blow up in his face, as things tend to do, then it will probably blow up in Malibu, which means everyone he cares about will be back in New York and outside the detonation zone. That’s what matters most.

Tony isolates himself in Malibu with the excuse of needing to get work done, but he’s not as alone as he thought. Eventually Bucky and the Soldier might be able to convince Tony that he doesn’t have to handle everything on his own, but first they have a threat to neutralize.

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The Consultant by Grovehove for oceanhearted Rumours of 007 death had been exaggerated. Barnes was back. His Country needed him and he needed to avenge his soulmate’s death. His Stevie, Steven Grant Rogers, 006 had been iced by the terrorist group Hydra just when they were within reach of the evidence that confirmed Stark Industries were funding and supplying weapons to the terrorists.

M knew they had a mole in SHIELD, he also knew that the return of James Barnes had to be kept off the grid so that he could use his resurrected asset properly.

Barnes would have to be sent to the Consultant.

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I Knew You And Not My Name by camichats for Hayluhalo The Winter Soldier was sent to kidnap Tony Stark in Afghanistan. When Tony escaped the Ten Rings though, things don’t go the way Hydra wanted them to. Bucky finds himself, a mate, and a family.

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i don’t need anything (but you) by WritingThroughTheMess for GenericUserHere Together, Bucky and Tony dismiss the need for bitten tongues and whispered apologies. There is no need for anything but them.

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December 16th by pitifuis for NotRecommended When he was a child, it used to be just another day. It was just another day until Christmas. Just another day of winter. Just another day of trying.

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By Hook or by Crook by ZeeK for OneSmartChicken Bucky is sent to assassinate the King and Queen.

The last thing he expects to happen is for the Prince to get in his way. Of course, that’s exactly what happens.

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Engineering, With Love by house_of_lantis for Politzania Working at Stark Industries comes with a lot of perks. Bucky gets to be part of a quirky group of people; he gets access to world-class assistive technology; and he gets to work on projects that will become something that will make life better for people. While working late one night, Bucky receives a digital blueprint to review, obviously drawn by a madman engineer. It’s for the public good that Bucky makes corrections and redraws the plans, sending it back to the unknown engineer. This continues over a few months until Bucky discovers that he’s been correcting the work of the infamous genius, playboy, philanthropist billionaire himself - Tony Stark. He’s so totally going to get fired…or is he?

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Shifting into Being by siyuttov for Fluffypanda As a child James thought his mother’s stories were only myths. Growing up, they became a source of amusement in hard times. Now they have to power to give him afresh start. If only the corner of the world he chose to make his new home wasn’t also inhabited by Tony Stark.

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The Way the Pagan Gods Are Half-Remembered Here by badgerling for sevedra It was probably Tony’s fault that he kept going to bars to deal with everything after Ultron. It was probably even his fault when he followed a beautiful man into the bathroom. It was definitely his fault when he didn’t run for the door when he realized that that man was Bucky Barnes. It was not his fault for getting attached.

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Under a blanket of blue by Bill_Longbow for Juulna Tony is past the point of caring about having a soulmate or not. He has searched, failed, and bought the t shirt. Now, after New York, he has bigger concerns. But then a mystery assassin comes snooping around, turning his world upside down again.

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Bring me back (Home) by MassiveSpaceWren for a_salty_alto Tony couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being watched. The streets were empty, but the hairs on the back of his neck kept tingling. Every now and then, he could see a shadow pass over the gap of a building, or hear steps from above.

Whoever was up there was clearly after him and, if his experiences with this sort of thing so far were anything to go on, it probably wasn’t for a friendly chat.

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The Tide Comes Rushing In by JacarandaBanyan for endof_theline Tony has run away from home, and is living out of a backpack in California when he accidentally stumbles across a mermaid with his name written on it’s arm.

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Drowning Without You by whenfairieshelp for slippin_into_darkness Mermaid!AU for WinterIron SpringFling 2018. A colorful mermaid!AU because who doesn’t like mermaids.

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The Arrangement by Goda for Potrix For the prompt: Werewolf AU. Steve and Howard are alpha wolves of neighbouring territories, both facing difficulties; human threats, other packs, Pierce/HYDRA, dwindling food supplies, something else. They decide that an allegiance between their two packs is the only chance they have to survive, and, traditionally, an allegiance is made by marrying the oldest children of the respective alphas. Howard offers Tony, his only son, and Steve, having no children of his own/only very young children (with Peggy?), offers his childhood friend, Bucky. Neither Bucky nor Tony are particularly thrilled, at least at first. (Preferably not set in medieval/old times. Modern werewolves ftw!)

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Forgiveness (is earned) by AngeNoir for camichats After Obie, and his kidnapping, Tony shouldn’t be surprised he’s a bad judge of character.

Still, sleeping with someone who turned out to be a reporter, someone who spilled personal information onto the pages of the local newspaper for his fifteen minutes of fame…

Tony hadn’t realized he was that bad at judging people’s character.

Still, how did that saying go? Fool me once, shame on you… Tony’s not going to give him another chance to fool him, no matter how persistent reporter James Barnes may be.

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1100 Degrees of Separation by blue_pointer for DreamcatchersDaughter Tony Stark is just your average wealthy boy genius who opened his own bakery instead of going into the family business in order to spite his father. Bucky is a middle-aged firefighter who desperately wants to start a family. With a man. Tony’s been fantasizing about Mr. March for 3 years. But what will Tony do when he finally meets him?

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Teenage Dream by Shi_Toyu for tarot_card When AIM had hit the Winter Soldier with some sort of de-aging ray (Tony was still taking it apart and examining it in his lab) it had apparently been intended to reduce him to a toddler or somewhere thereabouts. Instead, the super serum running through his veins had somehow counteracted the machine enough to leave Bucky in an uncomfortably barely-legal state. Uncomfortable not because he was at least self-sufficient and retained an array of combat skills, but because it was also the exact same Bucky Tony had spent his formative years jerking off to.

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Hide Your Face, Hold My Heart by Shi_Toyu for MassiveSpaceWren Bucky had learned early on that life had a way of going to shit on very short notice. As a kid, that had meant running around and goofing off with Stevie only for an asthma attack to come out of seemingly nowhere. During the war, it meant creeping through the wilderness or a town or a base only for bullets to start flying. One minute you could be fighting back to back with your best friend, the next you could be falling to the bottom of a snowy chasm. That was just life.

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Can’t Help But Worry About You by a_salty_alto for TheVagabondBoy It wouldn’t be fair to take his frustrations out on the others anyway. It’s not like they knew.

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gene silencing by operationhades for Zola9612 GENE SILENCING: noun - the process(es) whereby certain genes in the genome are prevented from being expressed by chemical modifications and other means.

After a run in with AIM, Tony Stark finds himself once more changed. This time though, Bucky’s there to help him, to help him come to terms with his new body, and, apparently, to help the team as a whole heal from the rifts created from past mistakes. Thank god for FRIDAY, then.

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His Omega by Gothic_Lolita for phantomas Bucky is a werewolf in secret, working with a team of werewolf hunters. He hides from his closest friends and himself. But when an alpha of a pack Bucky’s supposed to be hunted declares Bucky as his, things get just a bit more complicated.

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Who We Weren’t by marsmaywander for Niki So Tony’s lost some memories? Bucky can relate.

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Wait and See (if it’s the best you ever had) by Politzania for Gothic_Lolita To celebrate him finding a full time job after a rough patch, Bucky Barnes’ friends – Steve and Sam – take him to a burlesque show. Antonio, (who may or may not be a drag king), catches Bucky’s eye, and vice versa. Bucky also strikes up a friendship with Ton-E, a possibly-genderfluid barista working at the 24-hr coffee shop in the lobby of Stark Industries, where Bucky now works. Will he be able to choose between one or the other?

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Just because something works, doesn’t mean that it cannot be improved by tringic for ezazahaz Shuri refuses to let Tony mess with her designs for Bucky’s new arm. This is her white boy to fix, and she’ll damn well do it right. Tony Stark can take his overprotective non-arguments somewhere else.

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I’m not a half, but you make me whole by Menatiera for its_inherited Tony has a hard time focusing on anything when Bucky Barnes is around. Suddenly having two Barneses - happy and dandy, charming human and broody, metal-armed supersoldier - didn’t help the matter. Not at all.

And then there’s a mysterious Valentine’s Day card in Tony’s workshop.

Or: Tony’s year from January to May, including a new teammate, some special dates, and lots of love.

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Family Dinner by tarot_card for starsandsupernovae Tony and Bucky are idiots hopelessly in love with each other. They’re also completely unaware that it’s mutual.

Steve and Sarah are sick of it.

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the most undefinable yet paradoxical of things by Fluffypanda for Forlorn Kumquat Bucky Barnes falls right out of 1945 into 2007 - and Tony Stark’s car.

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Silver Scraps by iCheat for Grovehove JB Barnes owns a business. SI want to buy him out and shut them down. His old friend Capt Ed Jarvis asked him to give a summer job to one Tony Carbonell . He can’t shake the feeling that he knows the kid, but its’ drowned out by the unwilling attraction between them.

Bucky had to deal with attacks on his business; daily harassment from SI lawyers: resisting a snarky sexy genius college kid, so he doesn’t get shot by Jarvis. ( No super powers Not Canon compliant)

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Interruptions by Breyito for IronEyes When Tony suddenly finds a coffee and a note waiting for him one morning, he thinks it’s cute. When it starts happening every morning, he gets curious. And JARVIS won’t help him, so…

What is an Omega to do, except hire a former assasin/spy to help him out?

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I Am Aching Now, To Let You In by Stark-N-Barnes for kenshincha When Bucky Barnes is assigned undercover as Tony Stark’s new PA, the last thing he expects to happen is falling for him in the process. He doesn’t expect the heartache that it would bring either.

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A Love That Lasts Forever by endof_theline for Goda When a damaged Phoenix comes to a Werewolf and a Vampire for tattoos to cover up some scars and maybe he finds a family along the way…

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Yield by Reioka for Breyito All Bucky has ever wanted was to win the contest for Tony’s hand in marriage. It’s a bit harder now that he’s down to one arm, but luckily his friends are willing to help make up the difference.

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The Billionaire and the Bodyguard by Forlorn Kumquat for Cee_Jaii Tony doesn’t need a bodyguard, okay? He can take care of himself just fine. Now if he can just convince everyone else - including the handsome new bodyguard.

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Hey, Read My Lips! by plirio for badgerling “But I think–It was so much easier before,” Barnes finishes, obviously upset. “A gesture, an introduction, an invitation, a dance. Now it’s all texting and messaging, and codes I don’t even– I knew how to– It’s so frustrating!”

Tony has– feelings-like things inside him for Bucky. Everyone makes fun of Steve - out of love, really. And Bucky needs advice.

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Room 154 by Briz for Bill_Longbow The the night shift was peaceful and quiet, and Bucky liked it that way.

Too bad the patient on room 154 didn’t get the memo and took it upon himself to spoil his night by pressing the damn nurse call button every fifteen minutes since midnight.

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Game of Love and Chance by EchoSiriusRumme for plirio After sharing his worries about the man he’s supposed to marry, Tony’s guard Clint comes up with an ingenious plan to switch places with him, so that he could observe this James fellow from the background. The Prince’s own servant, Steve, arrives first, claiming the Prince is running late, and the two get to talking in the meantime. When Tony and this tall, dark and handsome man hit it off instantly, Tony may or may not be reconsidering this whole arranged marriage deal.

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Silver and Gold by its_inherited for beir It was a good day.

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Her name was Betsy by Cee_Jaii for Arboreal How two men, who did not know what exactly they were, seduced each other. With a motorcycle.

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Baby Winter Soldiers and Jealous Spiderlings by AlienPsycho for tarot_card The Prompt “de-aged” Bucky - only whatever was used to de-age him, because of his super-soldier serum, brought him back to his 20- something self from the 30s/40s. And young, not brain-washed Bucky sees Tony, and turns into his young, charming, flirty self.

From Peter Parker’s point of view. Brief, and not very detailed. He doesn’t like the idea of sharing his father figure/mentor.

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A Second Chance by kenshincha for marsmaywander While Tony tries to figure out why Bucky hit a roadblock in his treatment with the BARF, they end up stranded with Bucky’s arm damaged.

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Is It Starkbucks or Snarkbucks? by slippin_into_darkness for Reioka Tony puns it up whenever he sees his favorite barista. Bucky is having none of it.

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Mend (Our Brokenness) by Juulna for siyuttov Written for the prompt: Post-WS, Bucky gets his memories back fairly quickly because of the serum, and then commits himself to doing what he can to make up for what Hydra made him do. He starts with small things, draining Hydra bank accounts to pay off the student debt of his victim’s next of kin, scaring off abusive boyfriends of victim’s spouses, etc. Tony is the hardest one on his list, because what can he do to help a billionaire?

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Save Me A Dance by TheSopherfly for whenfairieshelp Pre!serum Steve and Bucky live together. One day, Steve brings a new friend home. Bucky is not prepared for that friend to be the cute guy who rejected him at a dance a few months ago.

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Trying Too Hard by Arboreal for pitifuis The Winter Soldier’s appearances were usually few and far between, which made it all the more confusing when suddenly Tony couldn’t seem to go a single day without setting the Winter Soldier off.

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Trust Falls by Niki for ZeeK Doctor Strange has a plan to tie Bucky Barnes to someone who can be trusted to never misuse the command words, someone who will always do right by him. The spell has side effects. It also chooses a person no one – including Tony himself – expected.

#winteriron spring fling #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #gift list

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lutiaskokopelli · 6 years

Text

Okay so. I've been working on a comic. I've been able to make pages at an abnormally fast pace for about two months and a half. But as it turns out, I'm very unsatisfied with how the latest pages look right now. I've been drawing the sketch/lineart while being either in a hurry or exhausted after a day full of chemistry lessons, so it has become more and more terrible to look at every time a new page comes out. Thankfully my health isn't in danger anymore, but this time something else is at stake: the quality of the series you chose to follow.

To put things in a simple way, there are two motivations in me that have been in conflict more or less since the comic started:

I have basically plotted a story that would come from the mid-afternoon of July 12 to the very end of August 31, 2012, and even though I don't exactly have a plot-a-day schedule, it's more or less my goal to not have ellipses longer than a week or so. Aka, if every chapter of this comic were to be made into a GF episode, let's say that this series would have more “episodes” than the original series had.

On the other hand, I strive to follow as many of Alex Hirsch's principles from when he worked on the GF series as I can -- and one of them was basically "Quality over Quantity." So, yeah, publishing awful WIPs doesn't really sound like quality here.

So. Now that a few people care about what I'm publishing and decided to follow me for it, I guess it's only right to ask you what sort of content YOU want to see. The only thing I ask of you? If you have an opinion, PLEASE share it! Either by commenting on this post, by sending me a PM/DM with lengthy arguments -- anything. Even if you don't have a tumblr account, you can always send me a message via the Ask Box! If you're busy, you can just send me a number out of the possibilities below. I hope I'm not asking you much, but since the future of this comic is at stake, and if you're interested in it -- I'm giving you the choice to decide what YOU want me to do with it.

I've been thinking of a few possibilities:

I keep the story going the exact same way it's going right now, despite the low quality.

I make a script version. Its quality probably won't be much lower than the last pages I published anyway (they'll just be without colors, most probably), but it means that I can always redraw a better version later (when the chapter is finished, or just whenever I have the time).

I only publish finished pages with an improved quality, even if it means that the pages will be published at a much slower pace.

If you have other ideas, don't hesitate to share them too!

Also I've been thinking of one last idea, but since I'm usually not good at working in collaborations, I'm not actually sure how well it could work. If somebody is willing to help (and has the time to, obviously), I could focus on the lineart, and have this artist work on the colors. This would give me more time and confidence to work on the backgrounds as well, I suppose. The only thing I'd ask is that the potential artist keep the current method of coloring, in order to be consistent with the finished pages that already came out. It's a very simple and quick method (flat colors with solid shading), but I'm still warning just in case. But yeah, what are the odds that anybody would actually show up hahaha

Anyway. No matter what happens, I'll definitely keep working on this story; but I really just wish I could find the best way to tell it and make it as entertaining as I can.

#gravity falls #pythagorean thoughts #pt news

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katzirrart · 6 years

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Art Growth Compilation

I really enjoy doing posts about improvement in art.

It makes me feel better about my work, especially with how busy I am these days.

I wanted to compile all the comparisons I’ve made over the years and kinda discuss the posts, for myself or others.

I thought it’d be funny to start with comparing how I first drew on a tablet, using dodge and burn tools, to how I do now which is using layers and actually painting. It’s funny to look back on that, you know?

I linked the post I made, compiling all the month to month memes from 2003-2017 that I try and do yearly. And everything else is under a cut ;w;’‘/

Most artists have done a drawing of themselves and a few Pokemon, or their team. I did that in 2010, and was dissatisfied with my work...

I took a crack again in 2013 after I’d learned to draw more animals and not be so Edgy(tm) I really liked the results. I still didn’t use references though, because I was lazy. I just didn’t want to. I still was on that boat feeling like I was CHEATING. I wasn’t being CREATIVE if I looked at references.

Artists get stuck on using reference and it’s AWFUL. USE THEM. USE TWENTY. LEARN!! It’s so HELPFUL, I wish I had started sooner.

In 2014 though -

I tried again.

I had gotten better at anatomy, but most of all, I started to work off references more. I started to really focus on not stylizing so much, but to work on actually making things look like things. I started to work on caring about COMPARISON sizes. Composition!!

While Pokemon reference sizes are -wiggle hands- and while my team changed up, I was satisfied that I could draw Arbok ACTUALLY like a cobra now, Meowth is easy given it’s just a noseless cat so to speak, Haunter is literally a triangle cloud - I was satisfied having drawn that team.

My secondary team in the new games? I was excited to draw them. It was fresh and new and FUN and it turned out PRECIOUS.

I learned better how to proportion things in an image for layout, and just... making characters feel COHESIVE in the same space.

It was a nice thing to keep visiting. I have a sketch in the works for an update even hopefully.

These pieces are kind of interesting to me too, because they’re towards the end of my era of THIN lineart?

My lineart has gone from this, and THIS, to this.

Literally I use to not believe in line weight, I can still do thin work of course, but I’m not a fan of trying to FORCE it like I use to? Even the second link, I went from the SMALLEST brush in Sai, to using a marker brush that had barely ANY give, to a custom brush on Sai that acts like a Paint Chat brush I use to use with friends online!

That’s what I mean about style too, like you may reserve yourself about things - like not coloring black in and outlining with white, or certain ways you do things. But the growth and changing and figuring FUN ways to color that black etc is where the fun of art comes in, to me??

Learn. EXPERIMENT. PUSH!

A few months ago, I did my first redraw. Of this piece from 2012.

Six years difference.

This was interesting for a number of reasons. There’s aspects I like more in the old one, but not many. I really like the pose a bit better, but I like the casual closeness that I did in the new one because that’s more my Shepard.

But technically speaking, it’s worlds better because I took time. I paid attention to details. I did fun things instead of rushing. I took time with my coloring and didn’t SMEAR it around. I had a friend who use to complain I drew so fast and they felt so SLOW, but I love what that taught me. I started taking more time on my art, and enjoying it more since I caught more mistakes and vastly improved. By leaps and bounds.

It’s amazing what a difference six years makes in not only style, which is often a FOCUS of these things? My style has come awkwardly and naturally to me over the years of critically picking certain things apart? but I really love where it’s gotten.

I have things I want to get back to, but I love... where it is, and CAN be?

But it’s wild to me how much change happens in technical handling? It’s a hand in hand thing, you can’t focus on one or the other only, or the other suffers.

Honestly this has been my favorite improvement to notice though?

Kisame was a character I felt I should be able to draw EASILY? Not so much. Itachi? ALSO EASY. Not so much??

Kisame has weird eyes to grasp how to draw? Thus focusing on them kept making them wonky to me!! On top of that, he’s everything I’ve been use to drawing for AGES because he has a muscular body, with a smaller waist? ... that was something I was use to drawing? I still was awkward getting back into the swing of that... Drawing HIS HAIR though? NOT SO EASY....

But like, Itachi should have been easy, but I have a thing about him appearing too feminine as he gets drawn because his eyelashes, and I’ve really found a nice... medium at this point?

But even still like my face styles and eye styles are finally to a comfortable point for me? I have stopped focusing on some weird things with Itachi’s hair and just... DO IT? But even still like...

The improvement here is literally just if I don’t know how to do something, or I’m not satisfied with how I do it? I just keep at it.

It’s a theme of this post honestly... repetition, persistence.

Keep drawing it. Keep trying to figure out what it is that’s catching you off about how you do it. Don’t like how you do eyes or how they fit on the face? Look at facial structures and references and figure it out. Draw them separate and figure out how to apply them to what you are.

Remember there’s a skull in there. I draw the holes in the skull like the eye sockets, and the nose area to help my proportions for SURE.

I’ve also gotten to a nice marriage in my lineart? The piece before the recent one, those lines feel HARDER or HEAVIER? The newest piece seems...softer? Like I’m lighter handed again?

I really like critiquing my own growth on what is good or working better for me? Older pieces it looks like I’m putting lineweight for SAKE of it versus where it goes now?

INTERESTING.

Like this lineup -

My style shifts so RAPIDLY, it still is noticeably MY style to people, but parts shift so VIOLENTLY because I’m constantly picking at what I don’t LIKE.

It’s funny too in the case of Kisame and Itachi because consistently I’m drawing the SAME character over and over - can make you REALIZE how you’re doing something wrong?

Like, here’s a difference of eight years, and it’s all the brush I use now, and it REALLY shows how my style has changed - in the aspect of one point of reference?

I have a childhood favorite character too, of Daisuke, and I use to be bad at drawing boys, and I use to be SUPER bad at drawing fluffy hair?

It was something I specifically started to learn to do? And I started to draw Daisuke every few months or years for a while. Especially when I started to first REALIZE I didn’t like my style that much?

But the middle one was July 2009, top left is less than 6 months later, and the last one is about a year later. DRASTIC DIFFERENCE. But next -

This one was in 2012, when I started to do more with teeth, or first dipping my toes into anatomy. I started to focus more on HANDS too, I was super bad at them. Overall I started to focus more on making my art have...ages? Like a boy versus a man. Facial features being DIFFERENT.

I can look at this boring little bust and see that he comes off more of a teenage boy to me now. I need to work more on figuring how to draw asian features especially the eyes. Sometimes I hit the mark, other times I don’t.

but between this and 2012? Not too much has changed. I do hair fluffier now, and I angle the eyes better. The teeth not being outlined doesn’t give that weird effect where I might give him TOO MANY TEETH....

People do that and it’s easy but whoof.

So there’s still learning and adapting to do in QUICK drawings, you know? but I can still see there’s good things. That took me like 5 minutes to draw? Not bad honestly.

In it’s own bracket is original characters though too?? But also divergent of STYLE shifts because like...

OKAY. Nightmare Syndicate’s story.. started for me in 7th or 8th grade, that was when I was...14? 15? I’ve been fleshing it out for like 13 years, that’s wild haha!! I love my kids and all.

But okay so SIALI. She’s still fairly similar but I restructured her face for SURE. She’s gotten less edgy, she’s.... a teenage girl.

FELIX?? CHRIST. He’s been such a long journey!! More on that later?

Rot and even Cor?? Rot and Cor are a shorter span of development, but Rot started in Highschool so almost 10 years ago, and Cor has been fairly solid - but even just DRAWING him over three years? Go look at how much he changes.. I’m not married to concepts easily. haha!

People act like making a character you’re STUCK with it. Like Oh boy, I better make this character good, from the get go!!

I only worry about that with small potatoes like my Pillar(Gods) designs I just made for the comic?? Even still, small things will change with them I’m sure.

But not only has Felix and Siali changed, but they’ve GROWN with my style and DEFINED it even. I’ve had to adjust my style to support Felix’s look honestly a LOT. Bend my rules. Break my anatomy stickler attitude - and honestly, that’s the thing.

You have to learn the rules and anatomy BEFORE you can break them. A style built upon broken anatomy will fail you down the road if you just excuse everything with style.

Learn to draw the hands. Learn to draw the feet. Figure out the face. Bones exist. You can break the FUCK out of it once you learn how to do it, you know? Like I’ve seen so many styles I LOVE who are cartoony and BROKEN AS FUCK, but there’s still some STRUCTURE to it. Most of those people can still structure a face just fine, and the reason exaggeration works so well is because there’s like unwritten rules for what works and doesn’t based on that?

Idk.

Felix has a very elongated torso, he’s like 7′ or 8′ tall so I mean?? He’s... broken anatomy, but he’s... lanky - but his muscle is LITHE and stretched. It makes contextual sense. That’s the important part.

But even designs, it’s important to understand designs YOU make, or like... to understand they’ll CHANGE and that’s growth within your art too?

Like okay, example. Felix has a millipede inspired monster form. But with designing that? I still have to know how millipedes and SNAKES work because there's bones and vertebrae in there??

But there’s also the difference of like... CONCEPT, versus execution. You can design a fucking badass character, but understanding your own concept is SOMETHING.

I had no idea how this would play out, until I was mapping out his ‘midsection’ spikes? and man. MY STYLE WAS MADE FOR THIS CHALLENGE NOW. Which is so interesting how smooth my style has always been? Felix has defined ANGLES in it, and it’s hilarious tbh?

But even too, I’ve had to work with Felix’s monster form FACE, to break the rules to make it WORK the way I need it too?

On the anatomy subject too, like when I first got into Marvel comics 6 years ago or so? I had no idea how to do muscle structures?? I was so BAD at it.

I can look at this left image and CRINGE so badly at how NONE of those are muscles?? THOSE ARE THINGS I PERCEIVE AS MUSCLES. Like...

A course I took taught me to draw what I see, not what I know. That’s the whole point of that post that goes around about drawing a shrimp. Look it up. It’s hilarious and cute.

But it’s like, asking an artist to draw a bike, you can tell who uses reference and who WINGS it. It’s funny, but like it’s what you know versus what you see.

I started to study anatomy like crazy and was seeing improvements days at a time. The right image was done like... a month later? already I can see the muscles under the pectorals? those look normal now. the abs aren’t dough lumps under the skin in a perfect 6 pack, they’re the actual plane shapes.

I was trying to find a good reference for myself of learning to make men ‘thicker’ too in terms of the waist etc since the left is really...thin.... but...

A bit better, but even still, comparing these two - they’re 2 months apart? and I can see understanding more about arms and how they connect to the body, where the planes ACTUALLY lay for the chest and obliques and such?

I can see improvements from July 2012 up there, to - WHOOPS. I FORGOT TO CHANGE THE YEAR LMAO... TO FEBRUARY 2013...omg

I mean, I could go on and on about improvements I see, when I go through my art though? Gosh.

Like I’m seeing so SO many bad hands and feet in my old stuff, and just CRINGING because tricks I learned for myself by now?

I give so many pointers and streams and screenshares on discord still to help people with art and it cracks me up?? Like...

I dunno. I’m pretty mediocre tbh, but god damn.

#art improvement #art meme #pep talk

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rylisin-art · 6 years

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March Updates

Some general update journal / long post thing about what’s been going on etc

The General: Wow, I haven't done one of these in a very long time. I've certainly been a ghost lately but that's mostly because I've been trying to get my life in order as much as I can and just getting some stuff done. That means I've been online a lot less, mostly cause I've found certain things to be too exhausting or distracting. I've currently been searching for a part-time job and getting back into the workforce after 2 years of being out of it. It's hard and scary, but I'm positive I'll find something soon. Also starting to make work on learning to drive, the hard part is processing the road code book as I'm much more of a practical learner than theory... so that area is slow going, but I know once I get the learners it'll open up a whole lot more doors in regards to a lot of things. I'm also eyeing up a simple uni course for next year as something to fall back on as a safety net and trying to get more active so I can loose some of the weight I put on as a result of the medication I'm currently on. Slow progress, but at the moment everything is still baby steps. For those who don't know, the past 14 months has been incredibly shitty on my end and I've been struggling with depression / anxiety problems, along with other things I don't desire to talk about publicly. That's why I've been so absent in terms of art and general activity. Thankfully my family and a few close friends have been supportive during that time and it's really helped things. I'm slowly starting to get back into art again, woot woot. I'm also going to be attempting to do some more arty streams on Twitch now I feel I've got a good set up going. However, I've decided a lot of my personal and world / story building art will not be uploaded to my main sites, mostly due to the sticky-fingered nature of some people and the fact i got tired of having to ask people not to use them on RP forums etc. Plus theres a lot to redo in regards to that, so many things to redraw >.> I will upload some stuff like race concepts, environments, monsters etc but solid character stuff will be sneaky secret for now. A lot of what I will be aiming to upload will be general arts, studies and dipping back into some old fanart. Soulsborne / Elder Scrolls Im looking at you. So yes, hopefully I have more content and a variety to upload again soon. Teh Discord: I know I've been a huge hit and miss on there lately and it will continue for sometime. I'm not avoiding people, I'm just taking more me time and trying to get things sorted or i'm just busy and trying to focus on said things. My ability to focus has gone to poop so I get easily distracted and forget about things. Somedays (or weeks) I just don't have a lot to talk about so I'm hoping you guys understand :thumbsup: I've also had difficulty starting conversations, so if you haven't heard from me in a while I still love you, I'm just too much of a nervous / forgetful wreck to say hi. I do also have a discord art server, with its original intent to be for studies and improvement but due to the things I've stated above it's just become a casual sharing / feedback and resource sharing server. It's small and moves slow but I still love it. If you'd like to join you're always welcome to ask, but if you're looking for a great-all rounder server I highly recommend The Ink Tank. I'm super quiet there but it's a great community :> The Commissions: I know I said I was aiming to re-open around March this year, but with how things are at the moment I don't feel comfortable or ready to re-open them just yet. I may do a few unique creature / character designs here and there to sell but commissions themselves will probably re-open towards the end of the year OR early next year. I don't want to make a concrete date because things have been changing so much lately and it's easier to estimate than say "Yeah they'll be open insert-specific-date". So I'm sincerely sorry to all the wonderful people who expressed interest in them and I hope you understand. I also need to figure out some stuff with my paypal too and other things that involve numbers, as there is a lot to learn in regards to things like taxes and freelancing ; - ; As for Art trades, I am considering giving them another shot this year. We'll have to wait and see. But yeah, thats the long and short of it really. Stuffs been happening, I'm still alive but just in mega-ninja mode while figuring stuff out. Love you guys, thanks for the support and everything.

#Long post #text post #non art post #update #If you read all of this congratulations and heres your free cookie

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thegamedevquest · 4 years

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How to make a game on your own when you're just a programmer ?

Hey guys

Last time, i introduced you to the goals of what will keep me busy for the next 3 months. To make it happen, i feel the most important thing is to be aware of your strength and weaknesses, so you don't put yourself in a position where you just can't deliver. Fortunately, i've been working for quite a while now and if i still have plenty to learn, i at least know my skills and inclinations well enough, and i can put them at the foundation of my work, obviously getting out of my comfort zone from time to time because i want to learn some new things as well :)

So when it comes to me, these are my strengths:

- I'm very experienced with programming, and i know C# very well after having used it for more than 10 years; - Although i'm by no means an artist, i know how to use Blender to model and animate stuff. 3D modeling has an almost technical/engineering kind of feel which lets you (or at least me) create great stuff even though you know nothing about art. I can totally recommend Blender Guru tutorials. - I've been a hobbyist user of Unity for years now, so i know the engine pretty well. It has evolved a lot as time goes, and some new things are totally unknown to me (such as DOTS or the HDRP), but i am very confident with using the core features.

Now about my weaknesses or things i have to improve on:

- I have really low skill at 2D art. I have actually learnt to draw during the (2020, covid) lockdown, but i'm nowhere near confident enough to use assets i would create in a game. I have never animated 2D things as well, and i really feel the workflow is too painfully slow for the 1 month constraint. Want to update the character ? Please redraw every frame of your animation... I know there are some skeletal animation tools for 2D as well, but i really don't like the way animations look in the end using these techniques. - I'm reallyyyyyyy bad at texturing models. I just hate the UV unwrapping part, and every texture i ever tried to make ended up horrible. Some tools seem great (such as Substance painter) and i would really like to delve into them in the future, but that doesn't look like something i could do in a reasonable timeframe. - Audio is absolutely remote to me. I just know how to use AudioSources in Unity (and probably not in the best way), and i have basic editing skills in Audacity. When you want to design your own sounds, it requires hardware and imagination and other things that i don't have (See this or this for examples), so although it seems like a lot of fun, i don't think i'll spend much time on audio design in my projects. - Not really a weakness on my end but more a weakness of the objectives i set myself up to: 1 month is very short, so i'll have to both have great commitment and make sacrifices to avoid being too ambitious.

I would like to mention something else, which is neither a strength nor a weakness but it seems relevant. I know game design because i've played and analysed (more or less deeply) my whole life, and i've read a few books about game design and theory of fun. I know how to make a game feel good or fun, but i have never had a greatly original idea, i just inspire from the games i play and love. Even level design is hard for me, because i quickly run out of ideas on how to make the game features or gameplay elements shine, i usually get bored after a few levels because i feel like i'm repeating myself. I really admire people like Lucas Pope, Notch or the FTL/Into the Breach team, because their ideas really push the industry forward.

Taking all this into consideration, the games i'll make in the next few weeks will probably respect the following "rules":

- There won't be any groundbreaking ideas or never-seen before gameplay mechanics, but i can do the execution as best as i can. My games will be short so that i don't run out of ideas regarding level design. - They can be a little complex technically, because i am confident that i can find a solution to (almost) any programming problem - I won't be able to feature complex 3D stuff such as animated living creatures because i can't do that with a good enough fidelity. I can however model and animate machines, and i can also find ways to avoid having to rely on high fidelity. - I can model stuff, but i can't texture. Basically it means i'll have to use styles such as textureless or low-poly. Plus i really like this art style, and with a few post processing i think it looks amazing. - I can't do proper 2D art. - I won't design audio, so i'll have to rely on external SFX and music assets. Fortunately i had purchased some great SFX and music packages in the past during a Humble Bundle offer, and i'll probably be using freesound.org and newsground.com as well. As i doubt i'll find every sound i need that perfectly fit, i'll probably be learning a little bit more of Audacity along the way but that's something i did want to to do anyway. - I can only do a few features per game if i want them to be polished. Remember, the main objective is to use these games to showcase proper skills, and i thing that making prototypes of plenty of "kind of working but not really" features is not a good way to prove that you know how to make games. Less is more and quality over quantity are my mottos :)

Let me give some examples based on the first game i'll be doing (OK, i've written this article a bit late, so it's already done and i'll be able to illustrate). Remember, it's a 2D platformer with emphasis on fluidity of controls and animations.

I've chosen an art style that : - can be done without much skill in 2d art. Colors for instance are hard, so i avoided them, but you can add depth through greyscales and parallax effects. - is really easy to work with, and requires very little work when designing the levels. Basically just drag and dropping and putting on the correct layer. All the level geometry are just stretched black sprites. I've done a few props in a few minutes each to populate the levels. - lighting has no effect on so i can use any asset anywhere in the game without it feeling out of place. - "hides" behind big pixels, most of my the tiny details showing my inability to model very accurate stuff, or making animations that seem really natural (because i feel that good animations are really all about the tiny details).

It's a 2D game using 3D models to make animations more fluid and iteration much faster. The next article will actually focus on that because i really enjoyed this approach.

At first I had in mind a pretty good moveset, with things such as sliding, rolling, grabbing weapons and melee and ranged combat, using ladders and poles and stairs, parkour animations for vaulting over small obstacles automatically to make the general feel more interesting... I cut all that and in the end the character is just running, jumping, climbing.

Until next time, take care!

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elesianne · 6 years

Text

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter fourteen

Chapter summary: Carnistir is stressed, and the meeting for tea goes awry.

Story summary: Sometimes your heart chooses for you before you even know there is a choice to make, and then all that can be done is find out whether love can build bridges across differences and fears. This is my story of how Caranthir comes to be married, with Caranthir’s family members alternately helping and hindering his attempts at courting.

Rating: Teen and up audiences; Chapter length: ~5,600 words

Tag-type thingies for the whole story: years of the trees, romance, falling in love, family, courtship, anger management issues, the Noldor, the Vanyar, some fluff and some angst, happy ending

Chapter notes: Rowan/@acommonanomaly did three wonderful portraits of Tuilindien a while ago, please check them out if you haven’t yet! I gave descriptions of Tuilë's looks to Rowan but they drew her so much better than I was able to even imagine.

I think it's best to remind you guys of some tags that have been there since the beginning but are most relevant for this chapter and the next two: the 'anger management issues' and 'angst' tags. But to reassure anyone who might be worried, I have now added a 'happy ending' tag, because that was always going to happen and still is.

See end note for a mild warning.

(Also posted on AO3 etc.)

Chapter XIV // Lapses of judgement

There is an odd sense of weightlessness that surrounds Carnistir as he makes his way home along the familiar streets. A small part of his mind is by necessity concentrated on keeping Varnë from stomping or champing on anyone, but the rest is still in the glade filled with dappled golden light and the rush of water and the sensation of Tuilindien in his arms, her lips on his, her scent in his nose, their emotions and sensations mixing and being amplified between them.

He had felt so at peace, even while his blood ran hot and he wanted to hold on to her ever tighter.

Some of that peace remains while he tends to Varnë at the stables at home, giving her a thorough brushing for behaving well or at least not embarrassing him thoroughly, going as far as to feed her a few apples as a reward. His bad-tempered horse has mellowed somewhat over the years but Carnistir believes that constant reinforcement of good behaviour should be continued.

(He doesn't like to think of all the times his parents must have used the same method on him.)

When he's going to his room to wash and change, the last of the pleasant golden haze in his mind is dispersed when he sees Curufinwë step out of the room next to his. Carnistir tenses and remembers all the times, when they were both easily irritable adolescents, he demanded his parents that he be given be a bedchamber farther away from Curufinwë's. Fëanáro told him that he should consider his brothers allies rather than squabble with them, which Carnistir later realised was deeply hypocritical of him and anyway, Curvo has always made that difficult.

And still likes to do so, apparently, for he leans against the wall and smirks far too widely at Carnistir. 'I see your afternoon with your Vanya went well', he observes. 'I heard you humming from around the corner.'

'I see you have nothing to do but lurk around the house uselessly', Carnistir snaps back. 'And call Tuilë by her name, if you must speak of her. Even father calls her Ingolmiel now.'

'And grimaces every time he does.' As so often, Carnistir's attempts at sharp words have failed to wipe the smug grin off Curufinwë's face. Curufinwë continues, 'I must say, you are a most peculiar kind of lover, Moryo: you would have no talk of your sweetheart – of Ingolmiel', he corrects hastily when Carnistir looks at him threateningly and steps closer. He keeps going, though. 'I was a child when Makalaurë fell for Tinweriel, but even I grew bored of him talking about her all the time. Then again, you've never been the best with words.'

Carnistir knows he is bright red, knows his hands are clenched into fists at his sides; he doesn't know why exactly Curufinwë is doing this but he must be looking for a reaction, an explosive one.

With effort, he steps back and unclenches his fists. He opens the door to his own room and says to Curvo, 'I told you weeks ago: one day you will understand. Until then, shut your mouth about my personal affairs. You don't sound nearly as smart as you think.' He hates the wavering growl in his voice, but it is better than shouting where his mother and youngest brothers would probably hear it.

Curufinwë's smirk has grown less bright. With cheer that is so clearly false that even Carnistir can see it, he says, 'Don't be unsociable, Moryo.'

Carnistir shuts the door in his face.

Dinner is a half-miserable affair that Carnistir would rather have avoided. His mother asks about his day just as she asked about everyone else's, without pointing out the significance of his and Tuilindien's first private excursion outside of Tirion.

He tells his family very briefly, his temper already flaring in anticipation of teasing from Tyelko or Curvo, that the ride had been pleasant and Tuilindien had found the waterfall glade beautiful.

'That's nice to hear', Maitimo smiles. 'The twins have never been there, we should take them someday soon. They should be good enough riders in no time, based on their enthusiasm at least.'

The twins hasten to assure everyone that yes, of course they will. Relieved at the change of topic, Carnistir does his best to return Maitimo's smile. He feels deeply the value of his oldest brother's support, all the more when Maitimo continues to carry to conversation. Somehow he manages to keep to topics far away from courting, the visiting Vanyar and even Fëanáro's work in the forge. The last topic Carnistir would like avoid because he hasn't yet finished the designs for the improvements of said forge even though he has promised to deliver them to his father very soon.

Carnistir eats quickly and speaks little. He is good at both but unfortunately doesn't manage to escape all attention. When he rises from the table as soon as he deems it passably polite (perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't; he's never quite sure) his father speaks his name.

'Morifinwë. Will you have those plans for me tomorrow?' Fëanáro asks. 'Or have you been too busy with other things?'

Carnistir grips the ornately carved back of the chair he just rose from so hard that it hurts. 'I'll have them ready', he says curtly. Already as he leaves the room he is regretting the impulsive promise – there are many hours of planning work left, not to mention redrawing every page to make sure they look neat and well-presented enough for Fëanáro's exacting standards. He didn't stop to consider any of that though; the only thought in his mind was that his father mustn't have any reason to blame Tuilindien for him neglecting his work.

He curses his impulsiveness all the way to his room, and once he gets there he shuts the door with a bang.

Then he sits down at his desk, digs out the messy designs and wonders how he is supposed to finish them in one night. He feels like the string of a bow pulled too tight, overstretched, close to snapping. The serenity and sweetness of the waterfall glade are all gone now, and they feel hard to recapture.

That is for the best, he decides, for then the thoughts of the lovely golden hours cannot distract him. He sets to work, frowning.

He isn't certain how long has passed when there is a knock on his door, but he does know he hasn't made nearly as much progress as he wants to. He also doesn't know who is it that is knocking, but he is certain that he doesn't want company.

'Go away', he growls under his breath, keeping quiet in deference to the twins' bedtime that has surely already passed.

'I know you're awake.' Curufinwë's voice is equally quiet. 'I can see the light under your door.'

'Go away anyway.'

'Look, Carnistir, don't be an idiot. Let me in.'

Carnistir tosses his quill to the desk and goes to the door but doesn't open it. 'What do you want, Curufinwë?' Again he can feel his temper rising, and trying to control it places an ever-tightening metal band around his head, an almost-tangible thing.

'You said to father that you're going to present the forge plans to him tomorrow, but I know you don't have them ready.'

Carnistir closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the door. He is tired, and he holds on to that instead of the anger he's also feeling. 'I will have them ready tomorrow.'

'You must be planning to work all night, then –'

'Why did you come to my door, Curvo?' Carnistir snaps. 'To gloat at my mismanagement of my schedule? Or to distract me so that I surely won't have my work done by morning?'

'To help.'

Carnistir is so astonished that he finds himself opening the door. 'Really?' he asks Curufinwë. 'After mocking me and my courting for weeks, you suddenly want to help?'

'If you actually listened to what I say and didn't bristle as soon as I open my mouth, you'd know that I have mocked you much less than you think', Curufinwë snaps back. 'Now, are you going to let me in and let me do the tidying up for you?'

'Shh, it's late.' Carnistir ushers his brother into the room and closes the door behind him quietly. 'You mean you'll copy the final versions?'

'Yes.' Curufinwë crosses his arms on his chest, as if to offset his generosity by the brusque gesture. 'It's not like I can do the actual drawing, since you're the one father asked to do the designing and you're better at buildings anyway.' He scowls like he always does when admitting that someone is better at something than he is. 'But unless you've gotten sloppy recently, I know you'll want to redo the drawings and copy the notations in a neater hand. You and I always do that when we have something to present to father.'

'Yes, we do', Carnistir says, regarding Curufinwë less suspiciously as he is reminded that he and Curvo are close in this one way: they are the only ones of Fëanáro's sons, this far at least, who have chosen to make a career of pursuing the same crafts as their father. Maitimo, Makalaurë and Tyelkormo only enter the forge and workshop more rarely, and only out of a sense of filial duty.

'Fine', Carnistir says after a moment. 'I mean, thank you', he adds stiffly.

Curufinwë doesn't acknowledge the expression of gratitude. Instead he moves another chair to the desk and picks up topmost page of a stack of papers. 'This looks like the first page', he observes. 'Is it finished?'

Carnistir shakes his head to recover from the lingering astonishment at Curufinwë's behaviour. 'Yes, it is.'

'Your penmanship is atrocious', says Curufinwë, bending his head to start copying the page.

Thanks to Curufinwë's assistance, Carnistir manages to finish the forge designs and even get a little sleep, but he is hardly rested and relaxed in the morning when he drops the stack of designs at his father's place at the breakfast table.

When Fëanáro sees it he arches one elegant brow. 'I must admit, I didn't expect you to have them today, and it wasn't completely necessary either.' His countenance softens ever so slightly as he asks, 'Did you rest at all?'

'I rested enough', Carnistir says, his eyes down on his plate in the hope of hiding the pallor of his face. He knows he looks unwell, and it wouldn't matter, except – 'I am happy to go over the plans with you today, father, but I must leave for a few hours in the afternoon.'

'Ah.' Fëanáro sets the papers he's been perusing back on the table. 'I see. Another meeting with lady Ingolmiel. You hardly go a day without seeing her.'

Carnistir stabs at his food. 'We don't want to waste any time we could have together before she has to leave.' This is not a topic he likes to dwell on, for even if Tuilindien manages to stay a little longer than she was originally going to, there is still a separation ahead.

'Of course not, my dear', Nerdanel says, aiming a warning look at her husband. 'I'm sure you will have time enough to discuss your work with your father even if you meet Ingolmiel in the afternoon. After all, we have all been talking about these forge improvements for a long time and it will also take time to build them, so it is surely no great matter if you take two days instead of one to make sure that the designs are what both of you want them to be.'

Fëanáro nods, but his mouth is a thin line of almost-disapproval, and Carnistir's temper is again a thread stretched too thin, or a snake coiled up, ready and threatening to strike – all those things that are appropriate metaphors for a dangerous thing one needs to keep a watchful eye on.

His temper is stretched even tighter by the time he leaves his father's study in the early afternoon and hurries back to his room to change for his meeting with Tuilindien. He made good progress on the plans with his father, and Fëanáro thankfully refrained from making any snide comments about Tuilindien, but Carnistir still hasn't forgiven him for his earlier behaviour. Things between them are troubled and tense.

Along the way to his room he notices that his youngest brothers are doing something slightly suspicious in the garden, but he doesn't have time to investigate and decides to just pretend that he didn't see them digging up a flowerbed.

As he rummages through his wardrobe to find something suitable for a walk in a park and subsequent refreshments at a teahouse, he thinks once again of how odd it is to feel excited for something that is in itself so respectable and boring. In addition to excitement, though, he is also frustrated. He would so much prefer to go riding with Tuilindien again, as far away from the city as possible, but they don't have time for that this time.

He is roused from his thoughts by the realisation that he has thrown nearly all of his clothes on the bed and yet finds himself none the wiser as to what he'll wear. He doesn't have very many clothes suitable for these important but not formal meetings with Tuilindien. Unlike Curvo or Makalaurë, he has never paid much attention to having many nice clothes.

He settles for a dark maroon tunic with silver embroidery at the collar and sleeves that is presentable but slightly too tight at the shoulders for a few years now, and charcoal grey breeches. When he steps out of his room, in a hurry by now, he finds the Ambarussar in the corridor. They are leaning against the wall opposite his door but when they see him, they scramble to their feet.

'Where are you going, Moryo?' asks Telvo.

'I told you, he's going to see the girl again', says Pityo and shoves at his twin.

Telvo shoves back. 'You don't know that for sure. Are you going to see her, Carnistir?'

'It's none of your business if I am', says Carnistir, locking his door to make sure that curious little boys don't find their way there.

'See? I told you.' Pityo sticks his tongue out at Telvo.

Carnistir ignores the squabbling boys and walks away, but he can hear the patter of their feet on the marble floor as they follow him.

'Can we come too, Carnistir? We have had the most boring day.'

He just shakes his head without turning. They should know well enough what it means, and that it's not appropriate for them to come along with him.

The twins start listing their grievances. 'Father has been working with you, mother is working on her own, and Tyelko rode off in the morning to stay with Oromë again', Telvo says.

'And we don't know what Curvo is doing but we haven't seen him all day. Russandol is at the palace again, and we don't even have lessons', Pityo adds with a sigh.

The Ambarussar must be bored indeed if they are missing their lessons with their prim tutor. Carnistir pities them a little but not very much. After all, they at least have each other for entertainment and annoyance at all times, which is more than most children do.

'Your girl is much nicer than you are, I'm sure she wouldn't mind us coming.' Telvo, who fancies himself the more silver-tongued of the two, is trying his childish best to persuade his big brother. It would make his Carnistir smile on most days.

They are by the front door by this time, and Carnistir turns to face the boys. 'No, you can't come.'

'But –', tries Pityo, the more tenacious one.

'No, and it's final. Go pester the servants if you need more company than each other. Or don't pester the cook and he might give you biscuits.'

With this sage advice Caranthir steps out the door.

He is deep in thought all the way to the courtyard beneath the Mindon, trying to find some serenity, however little, at the thought of meeting Tuilindien, and in preparation for it. Thus this time it is she who notices him first and comes to him with swift steps rather than the other way round.

'Carnistir.' She greets him with a smile full of light and delight and offers him her hand to kiss. He does, of course, gladly, and then tucks her hand under his arm as they begin walking.

'There is a small park we haven't visited yet', he says. It is even more awkward than he'd thought it would be to have gone back to this sedate strolling along city streets, walking with her on his arm as if she needs the support, and knowing that this is the most physical contact they can hope to have with each other today.

They are far from the only members of nobility taking a walk in the heart of the city. They even pass lady Maquetimië, that irksome gossipmonger who spread the knowledge of their first meeting to everyone who would listen.

The lady greets them, and Tuilindien returns the greeting. Carnistir tightens his hold on her to ground himself in the reality of her being there, trying to keep away from the feelings of irritation and anger that this particular courtier has aroused in him since he was a child, and all the more recently.

Maquetimië tries to start a conversation, but either Tuilindien doesn't have very warm feelings towards her either or she can sense his irritation, for she politely tells Maquetimië that very regretfully, they are in a hurry and cannot stop to chat – but they will surely see again at some court function soon, she adds, because that is how she is.

'Thank you', Carnistir murmurs to her once they've escaped Maquetimië's clutches, dearly hoping that they won't run into her again any time soon.

'I'm not prepared to waste a moment of being with you to idle chatter with anyone else', Tuilindien says with the smallest of blushes, and Carnistir wants to kiss that blush and make it deepen.

Not being able to tenses up the restless thing inside him again.

'I liked the trees in that park', Tuilindien says as they take their seats at a table outside the teahouse, also situated underneath some trees. 'They were older than this city, weren't they? Wild things rather than planted here by your industrious people.'

'I suppose so. I don't know for certain, though. You would have to ask my grandfather.'

'Perhaps I will, if I get the chance.' It is hardly an outrageous thing to say, but she still feels shy, curling her fingers around her teacup and holding it close.

'He will like you, you know', Carnistir says, sounding like's only just realising it, and relieved about it. It feels like the tension that has seemed to surround him today dissipates slightly. 'Grandfather Finwë doesn't have… prejudices. He has many friends among the Vanyar.'

She doesn't quite know what to say in reply to that, so she just smiles. There is a lull in their conversation, less comfortable and sweet than yesterday's touch-filled quiet moments, while they sip tea and nibble at cake. Or she nibbles, at least. Carnistir has already polished off his.

She steals glances at him, thinking that he looks very nice in his rather tight brownish-red shirt that compliments his dark looks.

In the quiet between them, in spite of the chatter of other teahouse customers, Tuilindien becomes aware of a quiet rustling sound that appears to come from some distance away. Looking around briefly, she sees nothing unusual. Carnistir appears distracted by the noise, but Tuilindien decides she has had enough of the somewhat awkward silence. She asks if he has set a time for a riding lesson with the twins already, since he said the day before that he would do soon.

'I'm thinking of doing it some day next week', he replies, shifting his concentration from the surrounding noises to her. His hand creeps closer to hers on the table. 'I haven't spoken to them about it yet, though. I should. They seem so restless still, though things with my father have mostly calmed down. I think they need more to occupy their time, really. When I was leaving home to come see you, they declared themselves bored and asked to come along even though –'

They hear the rustling again, this time louder, perhaps closer. Carnistir appears bothered by it, which Tuilindien finds odd – while his emotions are volatile, she has never seen him startled by a small thing such as this.

She remarks that there are probably some birds looking for crumbs or for berries in the bushes, and at that Carnistir's face turns red and he stands up suddenly.

'Wait here, Tuilë.' And then he is gone, his long strides carrying him away from her before she can do more than open her mouth in astonishment.

She watches as he walks past several tables to the bushes in the direction where the rustling sound came from and reaches into the foliage. There is a sudden cry of pain, and another, and then two red-headed little boys emerge and are grabbed none too gently by their ears by their big brother.

Tuilindien stands up and gathers her skirts and hurries to where Carnistir is now fuming at his brothers. If he is trying to do it quietly, he is failing utterly.

'Carnistir.' She touches his arm and he lets go of his brothers and turns to her. He is clearly attempting to rein in his fury, but she can still feel him shaking with it. So much anger, directed at children.

She speaks carefully. 'I see your little brothers also have a craving for delicacies on this day. Good afternoon, Pityafinwë and Telufinwë.' She greets them, nodding as calmly as she can, as if it is completely normal to discover little boys lurking in the bushes while their brother has tea with a woman he's courting.

The twins bow clumsily back to her, attempting to behave now that they have been reprimanded, though their faces and ears are red and they have tears in their eyes. In spite of their misbehaviour Tuilindien's heart goes out to them: they are so young and look so contrite and scared at being found out and at their brother's anger.

'Carnistir, I think your little brothers should join us.' She looks at him meaningfully. 'Since they are here already.'

He looks at her like she is crazy. 'Come on, Tuilë, they don't deserve it', he grinds out, and goes to grab her by the arm as if to take her aside to speak with her privately. But he seizes her too roughly and she hears herself make a little surprised noise of pain when his strong fingers dig into her arm and twist as he tries to make her turn aside.

At her pained sound Carnistir lets go of her at once. 'I'm sorry', he says quickly, horror bleeding into his voice and into their connection that neither is managing to control. 'Did I hurt you?'

'It is all right', she says reflexively and makes a point of not touching her arm where his fingers gripped her, though it smarts. She tries not to tremble.

'I'm so sorry', he says again, looking dazed.

A part of her wants to comfort him but she cannot quite bring herself to. 'Carnistir, I think we should go back to our table. With your brothers.'

'They were spying on us. They followed me even though I had forbidden them to come. Our parents must be afraid of where they've disappeared to, if they have found out that they're gone.'

In spite of his words his fury is mere embers now, and she knows she can talk him into doing as she wishes.

Working hard to keep her voice steady, she says, 'It was wrong of them, I agree, and you can chastise them more for it later when you go home. But now I think we should go back to our table. No need for a scene here, Carnistir.'

She speaks softly but Carnistir seems to realise that he is being reprimanded as much as the twins. 'I don't care about people staring. Let them stare, I'm already notorious', he says, but the words ring hollow.

His anger that had burnt red-hot seems to have disappeared in a cloud of shame and regret, less alarming than the rage but just as stifling in Tuilindien's mind. She tries to close their connection and concentrate on the children while appearing normal to any curious onlookers. She doesn't like wearing masks but she can do it when required.

'Carnistir', she says again.

He shakes his head, frowning – Tuilindien feels him distancing himself from her, like she tried to do as well – and then says quietly, dejectedly, 'Yes, let's go. Come on, Ambarussar.'

Tuilindien takes each little twin by the hand as they walk back to the table where their abandoned cakes have attracted the attention of a few bees. She gently encourages them to move elsewhere, then sits down and encourages the twins to do the same.

She looks up at Carnistir who is still standing uncomfortably by the table. The twins have seated themselves on either side of her.

Tuilindien asks, 'Carnistir, would you go get some cakes for your brothers? And another pot of tea as well.'

He flinches a little at her formal tone as if it is an insult, but doesn't protest. 'I'll also pay someone to take word to mother that they are safe', he says and goes into the teahouse.

Tuilindien lets out a little sight as she stirs her now-cold tea, tries to gather herself and thinks of how to use this short time she has gained alone with Carnistir's little brothers. In addition to it being the right thing to do, it is easier to think of them than of the budding panic she feels at how things with Carnistir have suddenly taken such a terrible turn.

'Do you two often follow your brothers?' she chooses to ask first. They have done it twice now to her and Carnistir.

Two red heads are shaken. 'They don't like it, and mother and father don't like either', says the twin on her left that she suspects might be the elder, Pityafinwë.

'Then why did you follow Carnistir today even though he told you not to?'

Both of the twins stare down so she cannot see their faces from where she is sitting between them.

'Look at me', she says gently but firmly, the same way she often speaks to the children she gives writing lessons to. At once two small faces look up at her, pale under the freckles but thankfully no longer tearful.

'Do you not like him seeing me?' She glances at either little boy in turn.

The twins look at each other and don't speak a word, but Tuilindien gets the definite impression that there is a conversation taking place.

'He doesn't spend as much time with us since he started seeing you', says the twin on the left after a moment.

'He used to take us with him to many places, but he doesn't do that so much anymore. He never lets us come along when he sees you. And he is busy all the time, and grumpy most of the time.'

'And he keeps his door locked now', adds the other. 'Tyelko and Curvo almost never let us into their rooms. Russandol does but he's away at the palace or somewhere a lot. We liked spending time in Moryo's room, and he helped us with our homework often.'

'He also often shouted at us and sometimes threw us out', adds the first twin as if in the name of honesty, 'but that's all right. He shouts at everybody, it's not dangerous.'

This is said in the name of family loyalty and innocent love both, Tuilindien thinks, or hopes at least.

'We just wondered what he does with you that is so important and so secret that he won't tell us', confesses the twin on the left after a moment. He seems to be the spokesman of the two. 'So we came to see, and also because we were so bored. And you were just talking and drinking tea.'

'Not even anything exciting', says the other twin and wipes his nose on the sleeve of his tunic. Automatically, Tuilindien hands him her napkin, and then Carnistir's napkin to the other boy.

As they blow their noses Tuilindien thinks of Carnistir's brothers and remembers that the only married one is Canafinwë, the second oldest of the seven; the twins must have been very young when he was courting his wife. She wonders if they realise why Carnistir keeps seeing her.

Carefully, she says, 'Sometimes when a young man and woman like each other, they want to spend time together even if they do not do anything exciting. And they like to be alone together.'

The twins are staring at their feet again so she doesn't know how much they understand of what she says. After a moment, the one on the left says, 'We are sorry we ruined your tea meeting.'

'I forgive you', replies Tuilindien. 'I am sure you have learned that it was the wrong thing to do to follow your brother without permission. But you will have to apologise to him too, even if it is scary because he gets so angry.'

'We will', say the twins in unison.

Tuilindien is afraid to ask, but she has to know, for she has been wondering ever since she saw Carnistir drag his brothers out of the bush and grab them so roughly. And then he touched her so roughly too, so differently from all other times... 'Does he – does Carnistir ever hit you when he is angry? Or hurt you in some other way?'

Two pairs of horrified blue-grey eyes stare up at her. 'He would never hit us! He sometimes shouts and curses and breaks things –'

'– by throwing them. And he slams doors, he once broke the door of the garden pavilion', adds the other twin helpfully.

'But he doesn't hit us or hurt us. Well, except when he drags us somewhere, like he dragged us out of that bush. But he didn't do it to hurt us, just to get us out of there.'

Tuilindien is relieved beyond words. She is still very much unnerved by his temper and thinks that he should not treat his little brothers as he does, but her graver concern at least seems unnecessary. She takes a few deep breaths to compose herself.

'Lady Tuilindien.' Small hands reach out to touch hers and two little faces look at her beseechingly. 'Please don't be angry with Moryo because of us. We didn't mean to cause him trouble, or you.'

'We do like you, lady Tuilindien', the other twin says. 'We think that it makes Moryo happy to spend time with you. Even if he is grumpy with us.'

Tuilindien thinks that these two have a very good heart, though if they are naughty sometimes. And it seems that young as they are, they might have some of their mother's famous insight and wisdom.

She squeezes their hands and says, 'There is no need to call me "lady", just call me Tuilindien or Tuilë.' She smiles at them gently, happy that the three of them got this far before Carnistir returns.

'You can call us Ambarussar.' The twins are all light and smiles now. 'Or you can call me Telvo and him', the boy on the left points at his twin, 'Pityo. Our father doesn't like it when we are called by the same name.'

Just as Carnistir returns balancing a treat-filled tray on each arm, Tuilindien tells the twins that she will call them by different names when it is necessary to refer to only one of them, but otherwise she is happy to use the name they have chosen to share. She believes in the right to choose one's own name.

Carnistir distributes cakes and pours tea while Tuilindien keeps chatting with the Ambarussar until the last traces of paleness and upset have faded from their faces.

He notices that she is now in turn pale, and the light conversation she makes with the twins doesn't hide her uneasiness though she tries her best to pretend that all is well.

It is very clear that she has forgiven the twins' intrusion and won their eternal devotion, and he can only hope that she will forgive him too although his transgression is greater.

Though the tense thing inside himself disappeared after it made him snap, he feels far from light; he is more ashamed than he has ever been in his life.

And he can feel, in the connection between them that is never completely shut off these days even when they do their best to close it off, that though she keeps up a conversation with the twins Tuilindien is unhappy and scared. That makes him utterly miserable as well, and afraid of what consequences his actions will have.

He doesn't know what he could say here that would make things better, so he drinks his tea and stays silent.

A/N: Warning: there is some mild violence in this chapter courtesy of those anger management issues of Carnistir's. It's not very intentional but it does happen.

Several people have noted in comments to various chapters that Carnistir has kept his temper impressively in check. Well, now the pressure got to be too much for him. Tuilindien has a strong reaction to it, because this pre-darkening Valinor is a very peaceful place with no violence to speak of, and thus even small acts of physical aggression have significance.

In the next chapter, the 'Angst' tag is justified.

Please let me know what you thought!

#it has been ages but here is a chapter! a long one #it's really late now so last edits may have resulted in some silliness #pls let me know if you notice any #silmarillion fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #your spirit calling out to mine #caranthir #caranthir's wife #tuilindien #romance #my fics #elesianne's fics

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