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saffusthings · 3 months ago

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second chances

mob! lando norris x reader

part eighteen: the things we don’t say

word count: 1.9k

warnings: none, i don't think?

seventeen | eighteen | nineteen

It was just… small things.

A canceled coffee run here. A postponed dinner there. Nights where their conversations had to be cut short because Alex was still at the lab, because Y/N had case studies to read, because they were both tired, both distracted, both trying—but perhaps trying less than before.

alex :) : I’m so sorry. I thought I’d be done by now, but my professor just added another round of revisions. Can I make it up to you?

Y/N: yeah, don’t worry about it! i totally get it good luck, and hope your prof gets hit by a minor inconvenience :)

alex :) : Like a paper cut from an overdue notice?

Y/N: exactly!

It was lighthearted. Easy. But she noticed that, this time, he didn’t say when they’d reschedule.

She stared at the message for a second longer than she should have before flipping her phone face-down and pushing it to the corner of her desk. It was fine. They were just busy. They were still… them.

Weren’t they?

The next time she saw him in person, it was a chance run-in between classes. She was coming out of the library; he was hurrying toward the engineering building, earbuds in, laptop tucked under his arm.

They both slowed at the same time.

“Hey,” he said, breathless. “I was just—”

“Yeah!” she said. “No, I know. It’s totally fine.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking guilty. “I still owe you dinner.”

“You do,” she said, smiling, wanting to mean it. “We could try for this weekend?”

He hesitated just a second too long. “I—can we play it by ear?”

She nodded. But she already knew.

Alex texted later that night.

alex :) : It was nice to see you today. Hope your application stuff went well. I miss you.

Y/N: i miss you too. sorry if i’ve been a little out of it lately. i think everything’s just… speeding up.

alex :) : Yeah. I get that.

alex :) : But we’re okay, right?

She stared at the message a long time before replying.

Y/N: yeah. we’re okay.

In her calendar, she used to write his name in it in tiny ink hearts—“dinner + alex, @ 7pm,” underlined twice. “

alex—art museum!! coffee w/ alex :)

But now, every time she penciled him in, it came with a question mark.

alex?—lunch?? alex (if not lab?)

And more often than not, she crossed it out.

alex :): I swear I was halfway out the door, but my code broke again. Do you hate me yet?

Y/N: i hate your code. not you lol

alex :) : Okay good. Still gonna fix it for the sake of our nonexistent children’s college fund. Then they can be rich trust-fund kids.

She smiled when she read it, before she looked up and realized she hadn’t seen him in eleven days.

On the other side of the city, Lando’s day had started with a broken jaw and ended with a wire transfer to Dubai.

There’d been shouting in the stairwell of a casino he technically didn’t own, but everyone knew who it belonged to. One of his new dealers got the unfounded idea that he was clever and shorted the house.

Rookie mistake.

Lando didn’t raise his voice, didn’t throw a punch. He just nodded. Someone else –tall, built, and Dutch– easily took care of the rest.

By noon, he’d signed off on a shipment of pills wrapped in vinyl and a list of clients who owed interest. Daniel was still recovering from his hand fracture from last time, which meant Lando had to deal with three different departments himself and threaten a laundering partner who got greedy and forgot who had made him rich in the first place.

Like a revolving door, it was a constant wheel of motion, always one thing after the next.

It was a lot.

It was always a lot.

But everything stopped when his phone buzzed and her name popped up.

y/n ☕: can i call you? just for like a minute

He didn’t even hesitate.

“Hey,” she said when he answered. Her voice sounded a bit off, perhaps a little frayed around the edges. “Sorry. I know you’re probably busy.”

“Not too busy for you,” he said, without thinking. And then, quieter, “Erm, you alright?”

She paused, and he could hear it—the hesitation, the exhaustion she didn’t want to admit.

“I just…” she exhaled, her voice barely audible above the cacophony of city traffic in the background. “I haven’t talked to anyone all day. Except my professor. And, uh, he only talked to yell at me. I’m not even sure why, actually,” she laughed, but it sounded wetter than it should have been.

Lando leaned back in the leather office chair of his office, staring out over the skyline. “Did you yell back though?”

“I thought about it, just in my head,” she murmured. “But then I remembered I still need him to write me a letter of rec, so...”

He smiled. “Ah, that’s smart.”

There was a long pause.

“I don’t think I’ve seen Alex in almost two whole weeks.”

That name always landed like a pebble in his chest. Small. But irritating.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, honestly.

“It’s not his fault,” she added quickly, as if she had to protect some unknown thing. “He’s got his thesis. And conferences. And I’ve got the extra course load this term and then with the readings and so it all just—” she cut herself off. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re just... really busy. People can be busy, right?”

Lando didn’t answer right away, but set the phone down on his desk to pull on his coat.

“I’m ten minutes away,” he said. “Do you want to get food?”

There was another pause.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

She didn’t know that Lando had an envelope full of classified receipts on his desk. Or that he’d just missed a call from someone whose name only ever showed up with a skull emoji in his contacts. Or that he'd been scheduled to be halfway across the city in fifteen minutes to collect on a deal that will most likely turn bloody.

None of that ever had to cross her mind. All that mattered was that she called, and he came.

Lando pulled up outside her building, headlights washing over the entrance as he leaned over to pop the passenger-side door open. She slipping inside easily, muscle memory taking her through the motions so as not too require much effort from her brain.

"Hey," she murmured, a small smile just barely tugging at her lips.

Lando looked over at her, taking her in—loose sweater, hair pulled back in a lazy attempt at a ponytail, and a puffiness around her eyes that indicated either sadness or exhaustion.

Lando’s money was on both.

"Hey yourself," he greeted back, giving her a onceover to make sure she had her seatbelt on. Then, with an easy grin, he added "I thought about being a gentleman and asking if you wanted a fancy dinner, but I figured that would be too much effort for both of us. Plus, you like sushi, and we both know that’s not happening anytime soon."

She hummed, glancing absentmindedly at the road ahead as he pulled away from the curb. "Good call."

It wasn’t long before he pulled into the parking lot of a small gelato shop, one of those spots that had been around for decades, where the sign flickered a little and the menu still had prices from three years ago. The place was mostly empty at this hour, save for an older couple sitting outside, quietly sharing a cone.

"Gelato?" she asked with a raised brow, finally breaking the silence..

"Absolutely," Lando replied, looking visibly resolute in what he clearly believed in. ‘It’s the perfect food.“

She followed him inside, the faintest hint of amusement flickering over her face. He counted that as a win.

Inside, the cold air smelled like vanilla and fresh waffle cones. Lando let her lead the way to the glass display case, where she eyed the rows of flavors like she was studying for an exam.

"You’re… taking this very seriously," he noted, sparing a glance at the menu before looking right back at her.

"This is a big decision, Liam."

His stomach flipped—just slightly, just enough to be annoying. Something about the way she looked under the faint glow of the lit signage reminded Lando of some impressionist painting he helped nick from a private gallery on one occasion. He remembered the painting being of a woman with an umbrella standing under the radiant. It was all painted in soft brushstrokes of blues and whites and yellows — the woman with her dress billowing in the warm breeze, basking in the radiant sun. He’s pulled out of his thoughts by her eager smile, finally ready to order. For a moment, he too feels the warmth of the radiant sun.

She had finally settled on hazelnut, and Lando—who hadn’t really cared what he was getting—ordered the same without thinking. He wasn’t even sure if he liked hazelnut. Didn’t matter.

They took their cups outside, sitting on the curb, close but not touching.

She took a slow bite, staring out into the quiet street.

"I don’t really feel like talking," she admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper. Soft brown eyes peer up at him, still mid-bite with her spoon in her mouth.

Lando didn’t even hesitate. "That’s alright."

She blinked at him, like she expected something else. Expected him to fill the silence, to pry, to tell her you can talk to me. But he… didn’t.

Huh.

So they sat. Eating their gelato. The city buzzing softly in the distance.

There have been times when Lando feels the darkness of this city surround him, dark and viscous, absorbing the laughter and swallowing the beauty around it. Sometimes it feels like it’s always been that way.

But from where they’re sitting, the city looks different. In this moment, the faraway traffic is white noise, the street lights glimmering like beads on a necklace. The buildings along the harbor appeared to change colors under the dimming light of the setting sun.

This city was beautiful.

Eventually, she nudged his knee with hers.

"You don’t even like hazelnut, do you?"

Lando thought for a moment, bringing himself back into focus before he grinned. "Nope."

She huffed a small laugh. "Idiot."

He just grinned. Because somehow, she was okay with being around him—even when she didn’t feel like being around anyone at all.

Later, when he dropped her off, she lingered with her hand on the door. She wanted to say thank you, but it feels too small. She wanted to say I needed this, but that felt like too much.

So instead, she smiled and said, “Text me when you get home?”

He quirks a brow. “What, you worried about me now? That’s cute.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just shut up and text me.”

Her phone pings with a notification moments after she dozes off on her couch, warmed by the food in her stomach and comfortable under the throw blanket she’d barely managed to haphazardly drape over herself.

liam! : Made it home in one piece. Sweet dreams.

When she blindly reached for her phone the next morning, still trying to blink the sleep from her eyes, she found a text from Alex sent sometime last night.

alex :) : Can we try for dinner sometime? I miss you. For real this time.

She stared at it for a long moment, thumb hovering.

She had missed him. Of course she had.

But when she thinks about how things have been lately…

She’s not sure who she’s missed more: him—or the version of them that existed when they had time.

a/n: i love them ur honor :))

also i love when you guys discuss ur thoughts in asks/comments!! like yes!! lets obsess together!!!

#formula 1 fic #formula 1 #saffu's works #second chances #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfiction #lando x reader #lando #lando norris imagine #lando x you #lando imagine #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 x reader #mob boss! lando x reader #mob boss!lando norris x reader #mob boss au

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rpgsandbox · 2 months ago

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I drafted a legal argument against Wizards of the Coast - and you can too!

WotC is trying to pull off a licensing clawback just two years after the OGL Debacle, and I figured out how to punch back.

If you've played Dungeons & Dragons for any length of time, you've probably heard of the legendary "Deck of Many Things" – one of the game's most iconic magical items. It’s a lot of fun, and it has always been something associated with brand-name Dungeons and Dragons.

This article is about the legal usage of “Deck of Many Things,” and about how Wizards of the Coast seems to be trying to take it back in 2025 after giving it to the community in 2023. And it’s about how you can hit them where it hurts.

The History of the Deck

The "Deck of Many Things" has been a staple of D&D since the earliest days of the game. It's been included in every edition and is as much a part of D&D lore as dragons themselves. For years, this term was effectively the property of TSR and then Wizards of the Coast/Hasbro.

But something important happened in January 2023. After the massive backlash to their proposed OGL changes, Wizards of the Coast – through Executive Producer Kyle Brink – announced that they would be releasing the Systems Reference Document version 5.1 under a Creative Commons license:

Kyle’s announcement goes on to say: “This Creative Commons license makes the content freely available for any use. We don't control that license and cannot alter or revoke it. It's open and irrevocable in a way that doesn't require you to take our word for it. And its openness means there's no need for a VTT policy. Placing the SRD under a Creative Commons license is a one-way door. There's no going back.”

This was huge news! For those who don't know, releasing something under Creative Commons essentially means giving it to the public with very minimal restrictions. In this case, they used the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, which allows anyone to share, copy, redistribute, adapt, and build upon the material for any purpose, even commercially – as long as appropriate credit is given.

The SRD 5.1 document, which spans hundreds of pages, explicitly includes "Deck of Many Things" on page 216, along with a full description of what it is and how it works. By releasing this under CC 4.0, Wizards effectively released this term into the public domain, allowing anyone to use it in their own works.

The gaming community praised this move as a step toward rebuilding trust after the OGL debacle. It seemed like Wizards had learned their lesson and was committed to supporting the community that had grown around their game.

The Betrayal

Fast forward to April 2025. WotC announced that they were revising their SRD 5.1 with a new and improved SRD versioned 5.2. For 5.2 they listed a bunch of milquetoast fantasy terms that I’m sure they’re very proud of, and kind of squeeze in a couple of footnotes. Those footnotes say that they’re going to be clawing back the term “Deck of Many Things,” as well as “Orb of Dragonkind.”

Well lo and behold, on the USPTO’s trademark search database, Deck of Many Things is in fact a pending word mark, with the latest application updated in April of 2025.

The serial number is 97260475, and you can look it up yourself on the USPTO website. This is what it looks like:

So here’s the problem. This application effectively attempts to claim exclusive rights to a term that Wizards had already released under Creative Commons just two years earlier.

Why They Can’t Do This

So why can't Wizards of the Coast trademark "Deck of Many Things" now? Let me break it down:

The Creative Commons 4.0 license they chose is explicitly IRREVOCABLE. Here's what the license actually says in Section 2(a)(1):

"The Licensor hereby grants You a worldwide, royalty-free, non-sublicensable, non-exclusive, irrevocable license to exercise the Licensed Rights in the Licensed Material."

That means once Kyle Brink proudly published the SRD 5.1 under this license on that fateful day in January of 2023, they could never take any of it back. The license explicitly prohibits imposing "additional or different terms or conditions" on the licensed material.

Attempting to register a trademark on material you've already licensed to the public represents an attempt to impose additional restrictions on that material, a violation of a term of the Creative Commons 4.0 license. Specifically it is a violation of Section 2(a)(5):

“No downstream restrictions. You may not offer or impose any additional or different terms or conditions on, or apply any Effective Technological Measures to, the Licensed Material if doing so restricts exercise of the Licensed Rights by any recipient of the Licensed Material.”

My Attempt to Challenge the Trademark

When I discovered this trademark application, thanks to Dark Kelsey, I decided to take action. The USPTO has a process called a "Letter of Protest" that allows anyone to submit evidence showing why a trademark shouldn't be granted.

I drafted a carefully formatted Letter of Protest following all the USPTO guidelines. My evidence was straightforward:

The official announcement of SRD 5.1 being published under Creative Commons

A copy of page 216 through 218 from SRD 5.1 showing "Deck of Many Things"

The full text of the Creative Commons 4.0 license highlighting its irrevocability, etc.

I TRIED to submit this through the USPTO's electronic filing system, confident that the evidence was clear and compelling.

The Setback

Unfortunately, when I tried to submit the Letter of Protest, I received this error message:

"This form cannot be submitted because it has been more than 30 days from the date the application published in the Official Gazette."

I had missed the narrow window to submit a Letter of Protest. The USPTO only allows these submissions either before publication or within 30 days after publication in their Official Gazette. By the time I discovered the application, this deadline had already passed.

This was frustrating, but it doesn't mean the fight is over.

The Path Forward

If the USPTO does grant this trademark – which they shouldn't if they're properly interpreting the prior Creative Commons licensing– there's still another option: filing a Petition for Cancellation with the Trademark Trial and Appeal Board (TTAB).

A cancellation petition allows anyone who believes they would be damaged by a trademark registration to challenge it even after it's been granted. The filing fee is $600, and the process typically takes about three years.

For this specific case, the grounds would be:

The mark doesn't function as a trademark because it was published under an irrevocable Creative Commons license

The applicant's actions in seeking the trademark contradict their prior grant of rights

The process is more involved than a Letter of Protest, but it's completely doable even without an attorney. The TTAB provides clear guidelines, and everything can be filed electronically through their online system.

Conclusion

What Hasbro and Wizards of the Coast are trying to do here is repugnant but not surprising. They're attempting to double back on a license they've already granted – something they've developed a pattern of doing every couple of years now.

First it was the OGL controversy, where they tried to revoke a 23-year-old license. The community pushed back and won. Now they're pursuing trademark terms they explicitly released under Creative Commons, trying to AMEND a creative commons license that they just published (5.2 amending 5.1), perhaps hoping no one would notice or care.

This is more than just a legal technicality – it's about trust. When a company publicly garners praise for licensing away intellectual property, only to sneakily try to reclaim it later, they're betraying the very community that supports them.

The irony here is that Wizards didn't even need to do this. They could have trademarked specific implementations or product lines featuring the Deck of Many Things without trying to claim ownership of the term itself after releasing it to the public.

So why am I telling you all this? Because you don't need to be a lawyer to challenge corporate overreach. The systems exist for regular people to participate in these processes. Whether it's a Letter of Protest or a Cancellation Petition, the tools are there for you to use.

If you care about not getting bamboozled by incompetent, dishonest corporations, consider getting involved. Watch for these kinds of trademark applications, be ready to file your own challenges, and spread the word when companies try to walk back their commitments.

Simon Says: An Addendum

After publishing this article, I received some valuable feedback here from Simon, an academic lawyer in the UK who teaches trademark law. Simon pointed out an even more straightforward legal issue with Hasbro's trademark application that deserves attention, one that transcends the Creative Commons argument.

The fundamental problem? "Deck of Many Things" likely isn't even eligible for trademark protection in the first place.

Under trademark law (both in the US under the Lanham Act and similarly in the UK), a valid trademark must be distinctive – it must have the capacity to identify goods as coming from a specific source and not another. But here's the kicker: "Deck of Many Things" products have been created by numerous publishers over the years, not just Wizards of the Coast.

This widespread use means the term has essentially become descriptive or potentially generic within the gaming industry. It no longer primarily signals "this is a WotC product" but rather "this is a type of magical card deck with random effects" – a concept that's been implemented by countless game creators.

Think about it – when you hear "Deck of Many Things," do you automatically associate it exclusively with Wizards of the Coast? Or do you think of the general concept that's been part of gaming culture for decades?

This distinctiveness requirement exists for a good reason. Trademark law isn't supposed to give companies monopolies over common terminology in an industry. It's meant to prevent consumer confusion about who made a product, not to let corporations fence off widely-used concepts.

So beyond the Creative Commons issue, there's this even more basic problem: Hasbro is trying to trademark something that likely fails the fundamental "distinctive" requirement of trademark law.

This remains an example of a corporation trying to claim exclusive ownership over community cultural elements that have been widely used and understood for decades. Whether through Creative Commons “revisions” or by ignoring basic trademark principles, the effect is the same – an attempt to monopolize what should remain in the public sphere.

#RPG #Dungeons and Dragons #gaming news #Wizards of the Coast #SRD5.2 #Deck of Many Things #trademark #creative commons #legal bullshit

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backtothefanfiction · 2 months ago

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THREE: BLACKOUT

Summary: you feel guilty after a mission glitch

Warnings: slight tension and guilt, mission action, a little bad language

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: once again I am writing and uploading this from my phone so can’t really get the tag list organised to be sure to reblog and share around so everyone can find, please and thank you. Anyway, enjoy!

THREE

It was late. You were feeling tired. Joaquin and Sam had been out on this mission all day and the time difference was kicking your ass. You were on your third cup of coffee, your body slightly jittery as you tapped and typed and observed and did everything you could to keep up.

“Shit, they’re headed outside,” Sam called out stressed through the com link.

“I’m already headed to the roof, I’m on it,” Joaquin called and your heart rate picked up even more as you saw him burst out into the early morning air in Minsk.

“They’re getting into the black jeep,” Sam called through the coms.

“F.E.A.R.N lock on and track that vehicle,” Joaquin called out to you and you began to carry out the task.

You focused on your monitor as you guided the bird down and hovered carefully out of sight over the top of it as they began to move through the streets of the city.

“F.E.A.R.N, can you do a scan on the inside of the truck so we can get a better idea of what’s going on?” Joaquin’s voice asked again. Your fingers typed furiously to enable the thermal scanner and do a loop of the car then patch the visual of the feed straight through to Sam and Joaquin’s helmet.

“Looks like they took the weapon with them,” Sam said as the men in the back of the car shifted to exchange vials from a large reinforced briefcase into smaller cases.

“I think they’re gonna split up,” Joaquin said.

“There’s only two of us and four of them. We have to intercept them now before they go their separate ways,” Sam retorted.

“How far behind are you?” Joaquin asked him as he continued to fly overhead, following the car at a greater distance.

“I’m on your 6,” Sam replied. “On three, get FEARN to wipe out the battery on the car. I’ll take the left side, you take the right.”

“Okay,” Joaquin confirmed and you frantically began to get up the application for when that next command finally came through.

There was a beat and you took a deep breath to steady yourself before Sam counted you all in.

“3…2…1!”

“F.E.A.R.N cut the battery,” Joaquin commanded and you hit the button on your keyboard that allowed the drone to give off an electrical pulse to take out the car.

You could hear the sounds of the men’s confused shouts as the car cut out and rolled to a stop.

“What the?”

There was a sudden boom and crumpling of metal as both Sam and Joaquin punched out the back passenger doors on either side of the car and began to haul out the first guys they could lay their hands on. As they began to tussle, you coordinated your flight pattern with Red Wing in order to have their backs.

As the men realised who they were up against they began to panic. Realising there would be no way to get the chemical weapon back to their master if they were caught by the new falcon and Captain America, the other two men who’d been in the front of the car began to flee.

Sam quickly moved to knock out the struggling man in his arms so he could go after one of them, but Joaquin was still struggling with his own guy to go after the other.

“F.E.A.R.N follow the driver,” Joaquin called out and you jumped to your feet with the adrenaline now boarding through your body as you raced to tail the man dressed in all black who had initially driving the jeep.

When he realised you were hot on his tail, he decided he needed a new mode of transport if he was to try and put enough distance between himself and whoever came to track him down. He knew the drone following wouldn’t shoot him and risk detonating the chemical weapon, but it didn’t mean you weren’t gonna keep tabs on him for as long as you could.

“Where’s the driver?” Joaquin called out and you quickly patched through the man’s current location back through to his visor.

“He just stole a bike,” you informed him as the motorcycle the man now sat on roared to life.

“I’m on my way, keep following him from a distance,” he instructed and you moved the drone higher to follow at a distance.

“Have you got eyes on the driver?” Sam called out to Joaquin through the com link.

“Yeah, I’m just-“

Suddenly there was nothing. Your feed cut out, your computer completely shutting down. All of the lights in your appartment went out and you were plunged into sudden darkness. There was an eerie silence as the air conditioning clicked off and the fan inside began to slow.

“SHIT!” You shouted out loud. “Joaquin!?” You shouted desperately into your headset, but there was no response, the call had cut out with your computer. “No! No! No! No! No!!” You cried. This was not happening. “FUCK!” You shouted as you realised the power had gone out in the whole building. There was nothing you could do until the backup generator came on, but even then it would take time for your computer to reboot.

You reached desperately for your phone. There was no signal. As you raced to look out the window you realised it wasn’t just your apartment block, the whole neighbourhood was down. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You chanted again.

You tapped your phone against your mouth as you began to pace back and forth, trying desperately to come up with any solution at all, but ultimately realising you’d have to wait for the backup generator to kick in.

You looked at your phone again. 1 minute. 2. Your heart felt like it was swelling up in your chest, suffocating you. This was taking way too long.

3 minutes…. 4 minutes… FUCK!

Just before it hit 5 there was a faint click and a whiring sound as the generator kicked in and everything began to come to life again, your microwave beeping in the background and your computer making a whirring sound as it switched itself back on and began slowly loading your desktop.

You quickly hurried to sit back at your desk, your fingers thundering urgently against the keys to log you back in the second it came up. You frantically typed away as you relogged into the FEARN operating systems. You hoped to God the drone still worked. The second you disconnected it it would have immediately fallen from the sky.

“Come on. Come on,” you muttered to yourself as you waited for the video feed to load.

“Oh shit,” you heard his voice come through startled as the drone kicked back to life and detached itself from Joaquin’s back.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” You began to ramble into his ear as you pivoted the drones camera around to work out what you’d missed and make sure the mission was still going smoothly.

He was stood on top of a roof now, his hands reaching out for the drone as if trying to catch it. “Wow, what is up with this thing?” He muttered to himself. “FEARN? FEARN.” he said, both with concern and a command as if he was suddenly confused by the drone.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you said, “I lost power and the whole system shut down. We were in the middle of a mission. Is everything okay?” You asked frantically.

“Yes, yes. Just stop moving a second,” he instructed almost frustrated and you quickly took your hands off the controls allowing the drone to just hover in space in front of him.

You watched through your screen as his hands moved out of shot as he took the piece of machinery in both hands, pulling it closer to inspect.

“Is there something wrong with the body of the drone?” You asked him, taking in the way his brow furrowed as he inspected it.

“No, I’m just trying to work out why the power would have just cut out like that.” You frowned at his response. Did he think the issue had been with the drone itself? “I’ll get tech to get a look under the hood and check it out when I get back to base,” he continued nonchalantly.

“Did the body sustain damage when it hit the ground?” You asked.

“It didn’t hit the ground,” he said, his dark brown eyes still fixated on checking over the drone. “I caught you when you started to fall out of the sky.”

“But what about the mission? The driver?” You asked.

“He got away,” he huffed, finally letting go of the drone so it was hovering in the air at his eyeline again. “We’ll get them next time,” he tried to rally. “I mean 3 out of the four ain’t bad,” he said. But you could see the look of pain and frustration on his face at having failed.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, realising it was probably your fault. If the power hadn’t gone out. If he hadn’t raced to save the drone, he probably would have got the guy.

“It’s okay, these things happen,” he said, but you couldn’t deny the guilt in your stomach. You knew there’d be a hearing after this. An inquest into what happened. And although the power going out technically couldn’t be helped, you also knew that if you got to keep this job, you most likely wouldn’t be able to work remotely anymore for risk this may happen again. You’d both gotten lucky this time round, but who knew how different the circumstances could be if it happened again.

“FEARN, power off.” You heard him command, his voice slightly broken and dejected. And although you didn’t want to, although you wanted to talk to him and explain what had happened properly, your job was to ultimately follow his orders… so you did.

#joaquín torres #joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #F.E.A.R.N #mcu #falcon #Joaquin Torres imagine #series #part three #Sam Wilson #captain america

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cheralith · 6 months ago

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vogue (chapter two) — boss/fashion designer!geto suguru x reader ; REASONS

series synopsis ; even without much knowledge in the world of fashion, you decide that it's in your best interest to work for the country's fashion magazine powerhouse to propel your career as a journalist. however, you begin to second-guess your decision when you're faced with the grueling labor of its one and only editor-in-chief who expects nothing less of perfection. can your efficiency meet his standards or will you be out the door before you can even blink? masterlist

contains ; editor-in-chief!geto, fashion designer!geto, assistant!reader, assistant turned muse!reader, platonic roommate!ino, modern au, angst, slowburn, co-workers-to-lovers, some crack if you squint

chapter synopsis ; it's chaos at kaizen magazine and the entirety of its staff, including its editor-in-chief is stressed. you meet a particular individual at the coffeehouse who seems all too the familiar for some reason whose strange words encourage you to dabble in the world of modelling in a desperate moment.

chapter tags/warnings; she/her pronouns, afab!reader, blood mention (reader gets mild cut on finger), reader models but no mention of body descriptions, some parts not edited

chapter word count: 8.9k

now playing ; reasons - minnie riperton

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Somehow, you think that your boss has it out for you more than usual this week. Granted, he’s been giving you a stink eye at all times since you first started, but you’re getting the gut feeling it’s more prominent this time around. Be it the upcoming charity gala tomorrow or the stress of pushing out this month’s issue due to some last minute… adjustments—you wouldn’t be surprised if Geto is using you as his punching bag for his own relief.

He has never yelled at you, per se, but his soft-spoken insults and scoldings hurt you far more than anything. Whether it be you stumbling ever so slightly over your own two feet in front of him or something as miniscule as simply accidentally taking out a pen that’s lacking ink when jotting notes, Geto always seems to have some sort of reprimand at the ready.

“Why is this packet stapled so awkwardly? You could be covering vital information.”

“Coffee spoons exist for a reason. There’s no reason why I should be using a dessert spoon for my latte.”

“I do wish you spoke with less ‘um’s and ‘uh’s every now and then. It’s quite bothersome.”

You just wish that the job application had listed “Must take on editor-in-chief’s emotional baggage 24/7.” if you knew that this job would just be mentally draining as it is physically. And to think it’s only been only around four and a half months since you’ve started! Obviously, being editor-in-chief of one of the largest and powerful magazines in the nation is going to be mentally depleting, but is there such a need to take it out on the poor associates?

Your mind reflects back to witnessing an intern accidentally running into Geto amidst last night’s crisis when the office was busy about attempting to piece together the issue into one piece before the publisher’s deadline today, the intern’s impact causing a confetti of cut-out paper to fly about everywhere and making Geto’s afternoon matcha pick-me-up splatter green all over his cream white top. He had gently told the shaking intern, amidst his many apologies, that it was no worries before quietly telling you to head down to HR to terminate him by the end of this week.

Chills run down your spine when you remember how quickly Geto’s smile faded and gentle eyes disappeared as they morphed into amethyst daggers the moment his back was turned to the intern. Though… you do give credit to the intern for making his shirt still somehow look fabulous with the earthy green splatter—a feat only a former fashion model was able to do.

You don’t remember when the last time you came home before 11:00pm was or when was the last time you ate three complete meals in a day and not just crumbs of convenience store snacks. It’s been such a hectic week wrapping up the month’s issue that you’re suddenly back to your college days slurping ramen and drinking any drink that contains any amount of caffeine to give back your energy.

You hear the beep of the microwave sing through the kitchen right next to yours and Manami’s desks, signaling your instant ramen was done, but before you can even get up, you hear the muffled sound of a something being broken inside Geto’s office, causing you and Manami to jump. Gazes suddenly flicking toward each other, with neither of you daring to make another move, a moment of complete silence drifts by before you dare to breathe out ever so quietly and almost instantaneously, Manami shouts, “Not it!”

“Not—oh, fine…” A groan drags out of you and your eyes roll as you brush off the prideful look Manami has on her face.

With great hesitation, you avert your direction to the frosted glass window of Geto’s office that sits a little too politely between you and Manami’s desks. Somehow, with each step you take, the impending doom that sits at the bottom of your churning stomach grows bigger and bigger and you can just barely brace yourself for the scolding that you’re about to receive—even if the cause of Geto’s frustration may have not even been at your own fault.

Your shaking knuckles go to rap at his door. A grumbled “come in” barely seeps its way through the door. You allow yourself with great reluctance to open the door to reveal a heavily breathing Geto Suguru, veins visible on his neck and forehead from the pent-up irritation that has been boiling for the past few days with the double whammy of the charity gala and the month’s issue attempting to be push out on time, which may not even be the case given that many columns had to be changed due to a specific supermodel’s recent scandal.

Upon entering your boss’s office, it was near impossible to miss the shattered glass of cucumber water that was clearly thrown at the wall behind himself, a splotch of the carpet now darkened slightly from the original color. Geto caved inwards towards his desk, his blazer from his three-piece set now draped messily over his chair and his usually neatly-made hair a little more frazzled out of its hair band than usual. On his desk were an array of magazine splits with a pile of cut-outs dedicated to said model. It startles you how many pages she had appeared in given how hefty the pile was.

“Why couldn’t she behave after the issue was printed…” Geto seethes under his breath as a poor page of the magazine draft crumples under his grip.

You can see in his trash can the tabloid that featured the supermodel, who allegedly slandered her fellow upcoming star of a colleague backstage of a recent fashion show with the cameras still rolling in order to document the behind the scenes of all the glitz and glamour. While it was normal for models to shade one another to fight for the spotlight, her remarks in particular were rather nasty and brutish, so much so that it caused outrage amongst the public and with the latter supermodel’s fans who ended up revealing her rather… dishonorable social media presence.

Needless to say, having her as the starlight of this month’s issue before it entered the public eye would prove disastrous for Kaizen. She decorated a large portion of the magazine from front cover to back, but the magazine couldn’t afford to have such a trashy person as their graphic ambassador—especially since there has been little to no dirt on the magazine up until now. Geto works hard to make sure any possible slander against the magazine was dealt with as soon as possible before the public could hear about it. You didn’t know how—preferably, you don’t want to know—but he does it somehow.

But the news and the outrage regarding the supermodel had been leaked only a mere eight days before the issue was to be printed, giving the entire department only eight days to fix up the issue before the deadline. To make matters worse—the issue had to be sent to the publisher before the charity gala, which were both on the same day, Friday, meaning that everything had to be finalized before 3pm that day to give ample time for the start of the gala’s last-minute organization at 5:00pm before it started at 7:30pm and for the publishing company to print the thousands of copies to be released to the city come Saturday morning.

It’s Thursday, the day before D-Day, and the office just reached noon. You have yet to eat properly, given that all you ate this morning amidst the morning rush (Geto demanded asked you to arrive at the office an hour earlier to compose the most time to work on the issue) were two pieces of toasted bread and a badly-made cup of instant coffee.

You stare at the broken crystal on the dampened floor before going back to get the dustpan from the kitchen. Without a word, you clean up the remnants of Geto’s frustration quietly so as to not poke the beast even further with one wrong move, but of course, you somehow end up slicing your finger on a stray piece of glass.

A loud yelp from your lips slips through the tight atmosphere of Geto’s office and blood draws fast, so fast that a few drops of crimson fall and miserably stain the pristine white carpet.

You swiftly poke your finger in your mouth and suck on it before more can ooze out, but unfortunately, your little titter was enough to break Geto out of his trance and snap his head back towards you. He spots the splotches of red on his carpet first, but then averts his gaze to you with your fingertip between your lips.

“What happened?” he urges as he approaches you. “Did you cut yourself?”

You nod shyly, a little startled at how quickly his concern for you came to him given that your presence usually arises some sort of mild vex from him. “I apologize for staining the carpet. I’ll get a cleaner right away for it.”

“No need,” Geto mutters before beginning the dust the glass remnants himself. “I’ll call them myself. Just fix yourself up. First-aid kit is in the kitchen. Go get a bandaid—quickly.”

For a split second, you swear you could’ve seen a grain of sympathy in his normally-cold gaze, but the illusion quickly dissipates the moment you see his eyes harden again before he snaps at you for staring.

“Go now. Before your finger gets infected. You can’t use your hand properly with an infected finger.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod lightly and dash out of his office, fighting horribly the urge to mutter curses at him under your breath.

The cut proves rather long and deep, you notice, as Manami gently rolls a strip of tape down a page of gauze on it as she chides you akin to a mother to take care of yourself properly and that this isn’t the week to be injuring yourself like a child. It takes up at least two-thirds of your right index finger and you’re just hoping you’ll be able to use your right hand as efficiently as possible given you still have an extensive list of emails to still send out.

Two hours somehow pass by quicker than expected but you know that your actual day isn’t even halfway done, knowing well that you won’t be clocking out until later in the evening after everyone is gone from the office. For the most part, it looks as though some spare stock images of well-known models were able to suffice the pieces that the scandalous one left them in the columns, but there was one that needed a more specific set of poses given that it was a perfume ad and unlike the other columns, the bottle had to be held in a certain manner that would prove hard for the photo editors to attempt.

Given that the work day was ending, there weren’t many models on-call that could do a last-minute shoot on time and the magazine was running out of time. Geto… was running out of time.

And if Geto, who was known for being rather cool-headed and rational most days, was stressed, that only meant the rest of the office had to follow—whether they liked it or not. Ultimately, his stress became infectious and it was hard to keep a mellow mind in the days filled with chaos. You were already stressed on a day-to-day basis being his junior assistant, but you were basically required to amp it up to the max with the last-minute editing of the magazine and the charity gala.

You’re in line to get Geto’s afternoon pick-me-up, with the minor adjustment of two extra espresso shots for the kick of caffeine to get him through the rest of the working hours. You can hear your name being called up, but with how drained you’ve been from the past few days, the granola bar and Redbull you had for lunch today proves not to be the most efficient source of energy and you end up tumbling over your own two wobbling legs when you rise from the waiting bench.

You crash into the chest of someone taller than you who was passing by and just barely manage to avoid the escaping coffee from the cup of the person you bumped into. Unfortunately, it doesn’t prove well for the latter, as the remainder of the coffee settles itself on the front of their shirt Panic sets in swiftly and you start bumbling apologies left and right before you can even look up to see who exactly you’re apologizing to.

When you do, you’re met with a pair of eyes hidden behind darkened sunglasses ogling at you. It struck you as rather odd—considering it was the middle of winter and that the sun was hiding behind the grayed clouds today. Maybe it was just some sort of fashion statement?

But it’s not the glasses that captivate you. It’s the snowy locks of white hair that belong to a rather tall and leggy figure that belong to it. And despite the pure ivory, he still looks incredibly young. A man of at least six feet and three inches stands before you—a height that easily can rival your boss’s. He’s adorned in a simplistic outfit; black dress shoes with matching slacks held by a glimmering silver buckle, topped with a cool white collared shirt that’s now evidently ruined by the horribly large light brown stain you caused from his coffee.

And judging by the stitching and material of the shirt, you know damn well that the shirt isn’t cheap.

“I-I-I…” you blubber out, teary eyes widened in horror at how fast the stain spreads and how much attention you’re getting from the cafe’s customers. “I’m so sorry…”

The silence that penetrates through from onlookers is terrible and you think you’re getting a fever from how hot your face is burning up.

Thankfully, the man breaks through it with a soft, (dare you say—handsome?) laugh. “I was looking for an excuse to get rid of this shirt anyways,” he says. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

What he says baffles you and your apologies suddenly transform into sounds of confusion to his amusement. “Huh?”

“It’s been two years since it was in season, it’s finally time to throw the old girl out,” the man shrugs nonchalantly.

Suddenly, in front of all the leering eyes of the customers in the coffeehouse, he begins to unbutton his stained shirt and you can only watch in horror with the rest of everyone else. While he still did have one last modest garment beneath the shirt, it was still a sleeveless white undershirt that showed off his visibly sculpted and lean biceps that made a couple of the women in the coffeeshop form heart eyes and bite their lips.

The man flickered his eyes, now shown to be a brilliant shade of crystal blue, to you from atop his glasses and a glint of playfulness shone through, along with a whimsical grin. “Maybe I should’ve been a little more decent. Hope you don’t mind.”

You think that the heat that flushes your cheeks is no longer from embarrassment but… bashfulness?

You attempt to gather what to say in this rather awkward moment, but the bell of the entrance door rings and in comes a young man with spiked noir locks adorned in a midnight blue suit with a visible frown on his face. His eyes skitter through the coffeehouse before landing on not exactly you… but the man before you.

“What the hell Gojo?” the young man scolds as he stomps his way over. “You said you weren’t gonna take long, so why are you stripping in a cafe?”

Gojo… why does that name sound so familiar for some reason? Now that you think about it, the entirety of the man himself seems so vaguely familiar, but you swore you’ve never seen such a unique human being before in real life.

The man turns his head over as he crumples the stain garment in his hands. He perks up in delight at the sight of him, contrary to his furrowed-brow companion. “Megumi! Sorry bud, got wrapped up in a little accident here. Take this and chuck it in the trash, will ya?”

Before “Megumi” can protest, “Gojo” tosses the shirt to him and exclaims for the onlooking baristas to make him another drink if they can. A teenage girl nods excitedly and dashes back to gather the order for the handsome, sleeveless stranger.

Megumi hisses an annoyed insult under his breath before glaring one last time at the taller man and searching for a nearby trash can. The man turns to you again with the same smile that has a lick of mischief to it. “Sorry ‘bout my intern. He’s usually a little sour, so don’t mind him. You okay though?”

“Uh…” your eyes glance around and notice that the commotion in the coffeehouse has started up again. “Yes, thank you. I apologize again for not watching my step.”

He chuckles. “I think you’ve apologized enough. Again, don’t worry about it—it was an old shirt anyways. Has anyone told you you’re quite cute?”

You choke on your saliva. What an odd thing to say in such a moment.

“Wh-what?” you stifle out.

“You’re rather pretty,” the man continues, the same grin still plastered on his face; as if he means every word he says. “Have you modelled before?”

Your jaw is somehow melded into an image that replicates a gaping fish. Somehow, you can’t find the correct words to say at this moment. And it’s not quite like you’ve never been flirted with before, but for some reason, the way that this “Gojo” says it, it doesn’t quite have that tone of flattery, but more like… offering something?

“Thank you?” you say with half-confidence. “And no… sorry.”

“Ah, what a shame,” he sighs wholeheartedly. “Have you considered it though?”

You shake your head, and you’re appalled that the gesture only makes his eyes light up again and his smile grow wider.

“You should try it someday! You know what—hold on. Where’s my wallet?”

The man shoves his hands in his pants pockets to attempt to look for it, but the intern from earlier suddenly appears and shows off his phone to his senior. It visibly reads 2:34 pm.

“The meeting started,” the intern seethes. “We’re late… again.”

“Oh shoot,” the tall man snaps his fingers with pursed lips. “Alright, we can get going soon. But can you do me a favor and get my wal—”

The intern glowers at him. “No. Let’s go.”

You’re surprised at how much guts the intern has, who seems to be rather younger than you by a few years and certainly significantly younger than the man before you, considering he’s the one to command his superior so strictly. Usually, it’s the other way around, is it not? Unless you’re doing something wrong?

“Aw, but—”

“Gojo. If we’re late again, the board of trustees might kick you off, remember?” Megumi says as he pinches the back of his superior’s undershirt and begins to drag him away from you.

The mysterious man pouts childishly and whines. “Ohhh c’mon! They’re not serious! You know those old geezers are practically terrified of me!”

You’ve never seen such a grown man act rather foolishly before, but you suppose there’s a first time for everything. As you watch him be dragged away by the intern, he salutes a goodbye to you with an all-knowing wink to finish things off before he’s shoved into a black Cadillac in nothing but his undershirt for a top amidst the chilly winter air.

As you attempt to process what on earth just happened, the young teenage barista calls at you suddenly.

“Hey! Did that Michizane Sugawara guy leave? The one with the white hair?” she asks you, pointing to her own brown hair. She holds what looks to be milk with a hint of coffee in it, judging by how there’s just barely a tint of brown in the plastic cup.

“Oh… him.”

Wasn’t his name Gojo? There’s no way you could’ve misheard “Michizane Sugawara” as “Gojo” you think, with the six other syllables just simply flying in from the window out of nowhere. Unless the fatigue has finally caught up to you and you’re hearing things wonky.

“Yeah. It seemed like he was in a rush of sorts.”

The barista leans over the counter to see and eventually shrugs. She pushes two cups towards you—your original coffee for Geto you nearly forgot about and the newly-made coffee for the mystery man. “You can just have it then. Not too sure you’ll like it though, it’s pretty sugary, but I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Your eyebrows perk up. With how much suffering you’ve been enduring lately from your work, you might as well indulge yourself in a sweet treat as you think you’ve earned it. Plus, with how much there is more to complete for today, you’re most definitely going to need the caffeine and the communal coffee pot isn’t exactly acquired for your tastebuds.

When you finally settle yourself down back in the comfort of your desk after the coffeehouse fiasco, you take a soft sip of the free coffee…

… only to pull a face at how ridiculously sweet it is. The barista was right. You think that there’s probably only a drop of coffee in the entire cup melded with milk and a variety of syrups and sugar. And to think this was for a grown man?

Sighing miserably, you pour the free drink down the kitchen drain, ignoring the glob of sugar that slugs out of it before you return back to misery.

“And there’s absolutely no models left that are in proximity to us? In any of our partnering agencies?” Geto asks as he rubs his temple.

The head of the PR team shakes his head, ashamed. “All of our current models are either abroad or they’re simply unavailable as of this moment.”

He mutters to himself before gritting his teeth. “And did you try bribing them with additional pay?”

“We tried, sir,” the head says. “And with other compensation like a guaranteed column for next month’s column or brand partnerships, but they wouldn’t budge.”

Geto sighs loudly and slides a hand down his face in exasperation, fatigue visible. It’s currently 5:51pm and the magazine has yet to find a model to try and replace the perfume advertisement. The partnering modelling firms had absolutely no models to offer at the last minute and it was too late to try and get in contact with freelance models considering communication with them proved much more difficult than those in agencies.

“What about recycling an older ad with a similar posed model and just photoshopping the fragrances out?” Geto suggests.

It gets shot down immediately to his dismay. “Unfortunately, that’d be violating some copyright issues.”

You watch with fidgety hands as you stand next to Manami as your boss and the PR team examines the idea board carefully, trying ways to fill in the missing column. Of course, you could chime in with your own ideas, but with how stressed Geto is currently, you didn’t want to risk adding fuel to an already violent fire.

Geto’s eyes scan the board left to right, taking in every single piece pinned onto it for some sort of genius idea, but nothing comes to him on the third try. A rigid silence fills the meeting room that keeps everyone on edge, anticipating his next move. When Geto finishes his fourth scan, in comes another blank page, until the corner of his eye catches you standing idly in the corner.

His gaze moves to fixate on your squirming self as you attempt to look anywhere but his stare. It proves unsuccessful, however, considering that Geto calls your name and motions you to come forward.

Geto presents you like a doll of sorts to the PR team. “(Y/N) here seems to have similar proportions to her,” Geto says, keeping two firm, large hands on your shoulders. You shiver at the strange contact “What if we…?”

One of the team members catches his drift uneasily.

“I don’t know Geto,” he starts as he stares at you incredulously, as if you’ve grown three heads all of a sudden. “Does your junior assistant even have any modelling experience?”

“Well no,” Geto confirms. “However, we’ve attempted to use all that we have available. I think this is our last resort.”

Somehow, you’re a little offended that your being is just simply a “last resort” to him, even if it is true.

The PR team’s director's shifty eyes land on each of his team members with visible hesitation. With a cracked voice, he softly announces, “Well, technically speaking, there is… one more option.”

Geto cocks his brow, his hands still firmly locked onto your shoulders with a whisper of a tighter grasp, as if you’re some sort of scurrying mouse ready to escape his hold at any given moment. “Well?”

The director’s mouth opens and closes for a given moment, attempting to choose the right words to say.

“Technically, we don’t have to use just our partnering agencies,” he begins quietly. There’s now a visible sweat misted on his receding hairline.

The way Geto’s eyes narrow so suddenly makes everyone hold their breath for what comes next. Because, from the looks of it, everyone seems to know what the director is going to suggest and Geto’s reaction.

“We’ve got contracts with every single management in the city. What? Are you saying we reach out to other cities’ talent managements? That’s rather tedious.”

“No, sir, that’s… not what I meant,” the director swallows thickly. “There’s technically one agency that we don’t have a con—”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Geto’s stern words ring loud and clear. While his voice volume is still the same as always—soft with an obvious austere to it—his words are tight and evident. The emphasis of the curse word gives more than just a sharp edge to it, leaving no room for negotiation.

Yet, one of the female team members pries anyway. She was hired around the same time you were, but because she didn’t interact with Geto as much as you did, so she didn’t know about how no meant an absolute no when it came from Geto Suguru just yet. Poor thing.

“But this agency has an abundance of models to choose from at their hand!” she exclaims with wide, desperate eyes. “I do think it’s a better decision to contact Infi—”

“I said no.” Geto turns to her and gives her a hard scowl before she can even finish her words. “Do not even say the name around my presence. I have forbidden any contact with that agency for a good reason. They only bring trouble and mayhem and disorder. Remember the Mei Mei scandal? The Kinji Hakari incident?”

Everyone except for you tightens their shoulders and lips at the mention of the particular models. This isn’t the first time you’ve been kept in the dark, since you’re still just as a new hire as the female team member, but something is telling you that this news is much more hush-hush than the other gossip you’ve heard. Geto sighs again, their tensing bodies giving him a clear answer.

“We have done well without them for how long this magazine has existed for the past few years under my leadership,” Geto says. “I see no need to get in contact with them when we have a perfectly good substitute right here.”

His hands pat your shoulders again to properly show you off once more. The PR team goes to scan you up and down with their beady eyes, mutters of half-confident approvals and some other comments that you’re a little offset by rumouring around the meeting room.

The director eventually sighs and gives in, considering that there weren’t many hours left in the day and that he and his team just wanted to go home. “Okay, we’ll use your junior assistant for the replacement shoot. We’ll tell Miguel, the photographer, and the fashion stylists to get ready for her.”

Geto turns to Manami. “Go with them. Just ensure that the creative team will not cause a fuss with the choosing of the model. We don’t have time to dabble in feuds now.”

Manami nods and begins to lead the PR team to the studio, leaving you and Geto in the awkward quietness of the meeting room. Eventually, he releases you from his grasp and lets you breathe normally once they all leave.

Geto leans on the table and returns to rubbing his forehead, muttering to himself at what he just did. You plant your stiff self back to your original position firmly.

“Sir,” you cough out with a voice crack with the lack of use from your voice. A heat rushes to your face and you clear your throat to properly speak. “Sir… I… don’t think I’m the right choice for this job.”

Geto lifts his head up from his hand and stares at you dully. “Excuse me?”

A shiver goes down your spine. Of course you forgot your consciousness and dared to question the Geto Suguru, editor-in-chief of the powerhouse fashion magazine in the country. But… even so. There were some limitations that you dared to even ponder about and though you were a lowly assistant, you still deserved to try and voice your own opinion on this matter.

Especially since you’re going to be affected in more ways than one.

“I…” you start slowly. Your gaze meets the carpet of the room to try and ease yourself out of the intimidating stare of your boss. “I truly don’t think I’m the right fit for this particular feat. Like what they mentioned, I don’t have any modelling experience and I’m sure it’d cause the shoot to be more prolonged than it should be.”

“You don’t need modelling experience for this,” Geto begins. “I’m not asking you to be a model. I’m asking you to be a replacement.”

The familiar odd hurt singes at you again when Geto labels you as nothing more than a prop. Something about him shoving you in a magazine filled with well-experienced and trained models feels like cramming a piece of plain cardboard in a nearly-done puzzle, its individual pieces adorned carefully with each other to create something beautiful and ornate, only to be interrupted by a spare piece of something that just barely imitates it. You may have all the right curves and edges crafted by Geto’s hands, but you know that you don’t belong properly amidst the magazine at the end of the day.

The perfume ad takes up three pages of the entire magazine—two pages for the actual photoshoot and one for the description of it along with its reviews—not much in comparison to the articles written in it. But it’s still enough to composite a significant chunk for the magazine. And enough to make you feel overexposed to a public that in your rational mind, is not going to give you a second glance much more so than the actual product when reading the magazine.

But right now, that unwanted attention is all you can think about.

“But still—” you start with a tight throat. “Manami might be a better suit than I am. Or quite literally anyone in the office.”

“Manami has been feeling under the weather as of recently,” Geto interrupts and shakes his head. “If we had more time, believe me, I’d be searching for a better fit for the ad as well, but right now, given the current predicament and since most of the employees have gone home, we don’t have many options left.”

Geto turns to you and though his face remains stony, his iris eyes gleam with a hint of desperation.

“You’re my best choice right now, (Y/N).”

Time goes still for a moment and you can hear a voice echo in the back of your mind as Geto gazes at you.

“Have you modelled before?”

When you blink, a crystalline blue pair of eyes flashes through your vision all of a sudden. You step back a little, slightly startled at the hazy vision you have of the “Gojo” man from earlier and his proclamation to you.

The tone of the man’s voice echoes through your mind. In a typical male fashion, that sort of sentence would most likely be played off as a flirtatious intent. But the way that he said it made it seem like some sort of actual encouragement, like an urge of sorts for you. It felt genuine. Sincere, even, as if he wanted you to do it for no one but yourself.

And though as of now, you’d technically be doing it for Geto… you can’t help but feel an urge just to try it to see how you yourself would like it. To see whether or not you’d actually fit into the mold of a “model”—even an amateur one.

You suppose… that there’s a first time for everything.

Shuffling your feet, you swallow the last bit of qualms down and let most of your nerves go, choosing to settle in what could be as of this moment. Even if you’re not ready for it, you think you should at least try.

And in the end, if not for Geto, perhaps for yourself.

You lift your head up and lock eyes with Geto’s with a more determined look on your face. The hesitation is still faintly there, but the ghost of it is overpowered by your resolve.

“Okay.”

“Alright, now peek your eyes over the newspaper a little bit, sweetheart! Make it playful!” the photographer chimes as he readjusts his position with his camera.

The photoshoot set is a makeshift cafe, to properly highlight the coffee and sugar notes of the new fragrance you hold in your hand. The backdrop is a fake interior window of the cafe looking out into a winter wonderland. Makeup and clothing took awhile to prosper considering you had to take off your previous makeup and let the MUAs do their magic on you and that you had to test multiple layered clothing sets before the photographer approved of the final one appropriate for the shoot. It didn’t help that you put up a fight to keep your glasses on and that the MUAs had to attempt a look that would highlight your features with your glasses.

You can’t tell whether it’s the nerves of you modelling for the first time or the heat of the lights that’s making you flushed. Something about the flashes of lights felt almost exhilarating to you. It’s foreign, but somehow, they embrace your being like a long lost friend of sorts. You have yet to get used to the blinding white lights from the flashes, but you only have to endure it for a good hour or so. The repetitive mantra of “You’re just trying this out.” echoes in your mind over and over again, even though you already know you seem to not be cut out for this sort of position.

It’s much too hot in the studio, you feel your body being rather awkward, and you don’t appreciate the onlookers that watch your every move as you reposition yourself to the photographer’s demands. You’ve already knocked over a couple of fake cappuccino mugs since your limbs still aren’t working correctly and you can’t seem to make the right facial expression to your degree.

It’s clear your nervousness is evident, considering you can see Geto discussing quietly with the creative director as they examine you closely from the corners of your eyes.

“She’s rather… stiff,” the creative director mutters. “You sure there wasn’t anyone on call?”

Geto hums monotonously as he watches as you attempt to find the right position to try and capture your side profile while showing off the perfume itself. “If there were, they would’ve been here by now.”

“Yes I understand, but,” the director fights the urge to wince as your bracelet gets caught in the chair handle. “I don’t know if this shoot will be proper enough to display in the zine this issue. Can’t we just talk with them and discuss moving the ad to next month’s?”

“No, they’re releasing it the same day the issue comes out. They want people to know about it as soon as possible,” Geto murmurs. “To ask that from us is to ask them to push back their release date. We don’t have that sort of power.”

The creative director sighs and silences himself, wallowing himself in a state of doubt as he and Geto continue to watch the scene before them. Perhaps it’s the state of weariness that Geto has accumulated from the past few days, but he genuinely doesn’t think you’re doing too bad of a job for your first (and probably last time, given the anxiety still within you) time modelling. He thinks the angles of your face hit the light just right when it counts properly, and that the clothes that drape you fit you more than accordingly; it’s surprising given that there was no time to tailor them to properly suit you but somehow, you made it work.

There are certain moments that your nerves fade from view when the director asks you to make a certain facial expression. The little surprised face you make when you hold the perfume up to your face was most likely the money shot, but there were much more shots that could be used for the ad that he didn’t anticipate.

There was one where your eyes stared directly into the camera from a three-fourths angle, a certain warmth to them compelling him to look further into you. Another one was a mild bokeh effect of you sipping coffee from a mug from a lower point of view, where the perfume was fully into view. But Geto was still somehow locked onto your figure from the background despite how crystal clear the bottle was. Either way, there was still a plethora of good shots to use despite you not being a professional model.

“But I do have to admit,” the creative director starts slowly, capturing Geto’s attention and breaking him from his gaze as he fixates on you repositioning yourself on the cafe bench, legs crossed to show off the mocha boots that adorned your calves. “She’s not really all that bad. I can see some potential in her.”

Geto’s body remains still, but his eyes shift to stare at the director from the corner of his eye, watching carefully as he examines you from the set. He narrows his purple eyes as he picks up on a mild lip bite from the creative director as you shed the trenchcoat to reveal a black fitted mini dress with a turtleneck, a vintage cowboy belt cinching your waist. While you’re still modestly covered, it’s the way you show off your long legs emphasized by the short skirt of the dress and the fitted heeled boots.

“I wonder if she’s single…” the director murmurs so softly that Geto just barely picks up on it.

“I completely forgot,” Geto interrupts rather loudly, making the director’s fixed stare falter as the shoot continues. “I believe I left a file in regards to the perfume’s licensing in the meeting room. Would you mind getting it for me? I’ll keep an eye on the shoot.”

The creative director’s brows raise. “O-oh! Yes, of course. I’ll be right back then.”

Geto watches as the director shuffles out of the room and out of view from you. Truth be told, the file was finalized a while ago. But something about how the director was looking at you made Geto wary of his intentions with you, if he had any at all.

Something about it made him a little aware that your temporary spotlight shone a bit brighter than he originally thought it’d be.

The shoot finishes up within the next hour, giving the team a good handful of images to choose from for the column before the issue is printed. Manami is with you in the dressing room as the MUAs carefully take off your makeup and reveal your raw face to everyone, peeling away the heavy amounts of concealer that hide the darkness embedding the rim of your undereyes.

“Christ, how many hours did you sleep last night?” she questions when you give a large yawn.

“I should be asking you that question,” you quietly remark back, studying her equally tired features. “If anything, you need the rest more than I do.”

Manami had been feeling quite ill as of recently, possibly due to the colder weather. She claimed that it was just the new diet she had been trying out to properly fit into the dress that she was planning to wear for the charity gala, but it was clear that no diet was capable of causing stuffy noses, consistent sneezing, and a mild fever. You had encouraged her to try and take some medicine and go home yesterday, but she specifically said that, “Geto will have a guillotine ready come tomorrow morning if I dare to even think about taking a day off right now.”

“I’m fine,” she sniffs with half-assurance as she snatches a tissue from nearby. “Besides, people say you burn more calories when you’re sick so hopefully I can lose another half inch off my waist by tomorrow.”

“Oh, so you admit you’re sick,” you point out with a mild smirk.

“I-I’m not sick—!” she falters before her nose begins to twitch. “Ahchoo!”

You hum, ignoring her protests. It’s currently nearing seven in the evening, and you’re sure that work is just beginning to wrap up as of this moment. Thankfully, everyone agreed to do the work for the perfume ad tomorrow before the finalized issue is shipped to print, but you still had to edit some articles, as well as help Geto still gather materials for his newest fashion line that he only tended to work on in the evenings of the weekdays.

He leaves earlier than you and Manami do, since he often piles the nonsensical work to you and her. You wouldn’t be surprised if he left the office without another word considering he was attempting to push out his new line by the end of next month.

In the past few months, you can’t say your work as a journalist has improved since your time at Kaizen, but you can at least say that your friendship with Manami has blossomed and sailed a little more smoothly than your first few weeks of working with each other. She was still a little snippy towards those below her like the college interns and the other entry-level employees, but you were specifically her junior, so you suppose it gave you special access to a much more kind, yet still sassy, side of her.

You spot the paleness of Manami’s usually glossed lips and how fatigued she looked. It didn’t help that the dressing room was quite warm so she looked rather blushed in the face. She leans back on the couch and puts a hand over her eyes to block out the glaring white light of the vanity.

“God, shut that thing off,” she quips as she lazily wags a finger to the vanity lights. “Feels like I’m staring right into the Sun itself.”

The lights are turned off and the room dims. You chew on your lip before deciding to sacrifice your time a little longer in order to help her out since you knew how badly she wanted to attend tomorrow’s charity gala and show off her new Emilio Pucci dress.

“You should go home,” you say quietly. “Get some rest before tomorrow. I can take care of the Book and the rest of his bullshit.”

She chuckles at your mild cursing regarding you-know-who. “Yes, because that went great last time…”

“I swear I won’t mess up again! That day was just out for me, I swear,” you pout, “But really, you should go home and get some sleep. I know you’re gonna come in tomorrow regardless of what I say, so at the very least take some medicine and sleep.”

Manami pokes an eye out of her hand to study your pleading ones. She gives in rather easily, sighing heavily. “Fine. But if you mess up anything, it’s all on you,” she states pointedly and unlocking her phone to notify Geto you’ll be taking care of her duties tonight.

She shortly leaves the office when you clean yourself back up to your day’s attire. The company car comes promptly on time and you begin to wave goodbye to her, but she opens the window halfway and motions you with a shaky finger to come forward.

“No funny business,” she mutters sternly through her mask. “I mean it. He’ll have your head first, then mine if you pull anything.”

“I swear, nothing will happen,” you promise to her. “Now go home. Or else that that cold will be taking more than just a half inch off your waist.”

She rolls her eyes but you can see the faintest grateful grin from the inside of her mask as she rolls the window back up. You watch until the black car disappears from view and into the city traffic before you go back into the office to wait for the Book to be finalized with its editors.

It reaches your hands eventually just a quarter to 10:00pm, a little earlier than expected. Another company car comes by and picks you up to get his dry-cleaning as well, and you arrive at Geto’s apartment just shy of 10:30pm.

The heavy doors seem much more intimidating the second time around. Perhaps it’s because they knew what happened last time and are just waiting to see what incident occurs today this time around. But you shake your head out of your apprehensiveness and decide the only thing that will be happening behind those doors is just you placing the Book down on his coffee table and leaving to go home and sleep before D-Day.

The entrance was the same as always—decorated with a great assortment of artistry of different mediums. In the corner was the marble dragon and beside it was the archived Basquiat piece that must’ve cost an arm and leg to purchase for the typical person. Up ahead was the entrance to the living room and in the center of it stood the coffee table.

The coffee table.

All you have to do is just simply put the Book on the coffee table.

Then leave.

Then just leave. Do not do anything more than that.

“No funny business.” Manami’s warning chimes in your mind again with each step you take to the living room.

“No funny business,” you repeat to yourself under your breath, clutching the Book tightly to your chest as if it was the most fragile thing on earth.

You eventually reach the beginning of the living room and spot the very ottoman that had caused you to have a much more humiliating night than anticipated during that one day you were given the simple task of dropping off the Book from Geto himself. You hadn’t been asked to do so since then, shamefully. It’s tucked away safely on the side of the sofa, meaning you had to intentionally yourself into it to try and re-enact your foolishness again.

The coffee table stands before your knees and you stare at yourself in the reflection of its glass.

“No funny business.”

You gingerly put the Book down on the center of the coffee table, your fingertips brushing against the many pages of its draft and a relief begins to fill your nerves the moment you’re about to break contact with it…

… until a familiar voice calls to you just as your fingers let go.

“(Y/N)?” Geto calls from above. “Is that you?”

You freeze on the spot. You swore to yourself and Manami that there would be no funny business today, and you were doing such a good job! Did you accidentally leave mud tracks behind? There wasn’t any rain today. Did you leave something else at the office that you needed to bring? No, Manami said he only needed the book… so did you do anything at all that would cause your boss to randomly call out to you during such a menial task?

With a rigid neck, you turn to him slowly with a pained smile and the Book officially set on the coffee table. “Yes, hello. Sorry to interrupt… I was just dropping off the Book.”

Geto peers down at you from the second floor’s staircase. He’s shed his waist coat and has left himself in his grey button up that’s relieved of three buttons at the top, just shyly showing the beginning of his chest and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A rare sight—considering that Geto was often covered from head to toe in fabrics then even seeing him in a short sleeved shirt was a rarity.

“I see,” he says, scanning you from above with his cat-like eyes.

You don’t know what to do. You just needed to drop the Book off and you were so unbelievably close to completing it without trouble. “Did you… did you happen to need something else by any chance?” you ask nervously.

“Ah, well,” Geto starts to your dismay. He pauses palpably before motioning you to come up. “I actually may need your aid on a piece I’m working on. Come upstairs.”

And miraculously, your throat closes up as you struggle not to burst into tears.

All you wanted to do is just drop the Book off!

Despite all the curses that marathon through your head that you aim at your boss, you gather up the courage to shove down any questions of doubt and take your tired legs up the winding staircase. Something is telling you that this is a trick—that when you reach the top, Geto is actually just standing there with your termination letter, telling you that you forgot a vital rule to never go anywhere more than the living room in his house. But because you can rarely ever refute your boss in an effort to spare your sanity, you do as he says willingly like an obedient dog.

By the time you reach the top, there is no pink slip for him to display to you, but instead is an open door that faces the staircase directly. Inside, Geto stands in front of something, and you can see a tape measure around his neck more clearly, as well as a pin cushion on his wrist that usually holds an expensive watch. The room itself is rather large, with a variety of supplies garnered across a pegged wall with rolls of fabric decorating two of the walls. It’s Geto’s atelier room for his fashion line, you detail, the one that he stormed out of with Shigemo that time you had to drop off the Book.

Without turning around, Geto calls to you, “Well don’t just stand there.”

Another thick swallow just barely passes through your dry throat. You prompt out an apology and slowly shuffle into his studio, where you see where the magic happens much more clearly and what exactly he was crafting on so late at night.

Geto moves aside for you to take a proper look at the mannequin adorned in a beautiful A-line black dress with a square neckline and ghostly, sheer sleeves. Around the waist was a loose string of pearls with a matching pearl necklace. It was a simple-looking dress from afar, but up close, you can tell that only a creative genius like Geto himself was capable of making something so minimalistic look so regal.

“Oh my…” you murmur softly as Geto pins a piece into place in its sleeve. “It’s beautiful.”

Geto hums flatly.

“I’m glad you like it,” he begins as he lifts his head to properly face you. One of his arms goes to lean against it (are those tattoos?) and you can feel his eyes scan you up and down like what he usually does in the morning as he examines your outfit. But something about this particular feat feels a little more intimate than usual, and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “You don’t happen to have an outfit for tomorrow’s gala, do you?”

“Well, um,” you mumble, fidgeting with your fingers. Initially, you were just going to use a plain white, sleeveless dress you had used for a work party you spoiled yourself with before you left your former workplace since it was a rather expensive and nice dress, but as you second-guess, you’re sure Geto wouldn’t approve of a dress that you had bought on clearance at the nearby outlet mall. So you meekly reply with, “... no, not really.”

You’re expecting some sort of scolding from him, possible Geto telling you that you need to be more prepared for such an event and that the last few days’ events were no excuse for sloppy planning, but instead, you’re even more startled when he says something completely unexpected that makes your eyes widen beyond your glasses’s frames.

“Good,” he says and gestures to his creation. “Because I want you to wear this for tomorrow night.”

↩ previous chapter next chapter ↪

a/n ; i have rewatched the devil wears prada for the 123894th time before the year ends and have decided to bring this series back to life because i think it's much to good to give up on 🙂↕️ i don't know if i'll start a taglist just yet, but maybe, we shall see.

i'll also will be using she/her pronouns with an afab-hinted!body from this point on. i'm also still in debate of writing smut since 1) i'm not very good at writing it, 2) i don't usually like to write it lol, and 3) but i still do consider it as some sort of breaking point eventually between geto and reader. so if there will be in the future, it will be tagged and most likely will be extremely mild.

thank you for reading as always! i hope you enjoyed this chapter and this series so far. likes, comments, and reblogs are always noticed and heavily appreciated! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ !!! until next time!

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in1-nutshell · 9 months ago

Note

Hello, how are you? Can I request a Nightlight application in Transformers One? Nightlight works for Sentinel Prime. In this universe, she sympathizes with the lower classes and is dedicated to trying to convince Sentinel Prime to improve things. Nightlight becomes friends with D-16 Orion Pax Eliata One and Bumblebee?

I definitely want to do a longer version of this later in the future. Or possible a part 2, which ever comes first.

Hope you enjoy!

TF1 Version of Nightlight

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronian reader

TF1

Nightlight considered herself one of the luckier bots in Iacon.

She had a stable job and got to work under most of Sentinel Prime’s direct orders.

Not many bots could say they often talked to the Prime on a daily basis.

He was the bot everyone wanted or wanted to be.

She could only hope the mech that seemed larger than life could get behind her ‘passion project’.

Nightlight straightening her backstruts, puts on her best smile and salutes to the incoming Prime. Nightlight: “Good morning, Sentinel Prime, sir.” Sentinel smiles at the detective. Sentinel: “Nightlight, my friend. How’s my best detective doing today?” Nightlight passing him some data slugs. Nightlight: “The missing archive collection has been found and safely put back in its rightful place, sir. Also the missing bot cases have been solved and filed.” Sentinel: “And the—” Nightlight: “The cargo hold carts are still under repairs and under investigation as we speak.” Sentinel: “Good, good, take the rest of the day off then, you earned it.” Nightlight: “Actually sir, I was wondering if we could talk about the conditions of the miners—” Sentinel puts a servo out motioning her to be quiet. Sentinel: “Nightlight, Nightlight, Nightlight. How many times do we have to go through with this little ‘passion project’ of yours? The miners will get more accommodation when they reach more of the energon goals set. It’s only fair, no?” Nightlight: “But sir, wouldn’t they work better, faster even, if they had better conditions or equipment—” Arachnid suddenly appears on their right. Arachnid: “Sir, it is time to go.” Sentinel gives the detective a ‘sorry’ smile. Sentinel: “Its time for me to leave. Keep up the good work Nightlight!” Nightlight was about to protest when she was cut off by Arachnid staring at her as the pair left the room.

Her project started the day she met a peculiar pair of miners.

She was responding to an alert of an unauthorized miner entering the Archives.

Nightlight watched from afar Darkwing and another guard chasing this one cogless miner bot.

And quite frankly, he was giving the guards a run for their shanix.

She noticed another miner causing a distraction with his cart while the other escaped the guards.

The pair then met up in one of the train stations, probably to go back to work.

It was quite entertaining honestly.

Later, she went back to the Archive’s to see what exactly the miner was looking through.

It surprised her the number of data slugs he had gone through in relation to the Matrix.

One of Cybertron’s biggest mysteries.

She needed more answers.

Eventually, Nightlight got clearance to ‘supervise’ some miners for a shift.

That’s where she met Elita-One

Elita saluting at the taller bot. Elita: “Nightlight ma’am!” Nightlight: “Oh, just Nightlight will do… umm…” Elita still saluting: “Elita-One ma’am—I mean—” Nighlight: “Its all right. Do you mind giving me the tour then?” Elita: “Of course! Follow me!”

While doing the tour, Nightlight was making a mental list of things to improve.

She hadn’t been down in the mines before and already couldn’ imagine working down here for long hours and with rusting equipment.

Out of the corner of her optic, she spotted Darkwing punching two familiar looking miners.

When the tour was down and Elita had to go back to her team, Nightlight slipped into the miner’s medbay.

After scaring some bots, she finally found the two miners.

D-16 and Orion both looked at her in shock and amaze. Orion: “You’re Nightlight!” D-16: “The Nightlight! You solved several cases and foiled several assassinations attempts of several bots, including Sentinel Prime’s!” Nightlight feels a bit flustered by the sudden fan behavior. Nightlight: “Yeah, that’s me. And you two are the sneaky miner’s who snuck into the Archieve’s and got away with it.” Both mech’s suddenly looked frightened. Nightlight: “Relax, I’m not taking you in or punishing you two. It was actually the most entertaining things that happened on my shift in a while.” Orion and D-16’s optics widen. Orion: “You saw all that? But from where? The crowds weren’t that busy and there was no hiding places nearby?” D-16: “Do you have any cloaking technology?” Nightlight: “What? No, and to answer your question, I was simply observing from afar.” Nightlight shows the pair some grappling hooks in her arm plating. Nightlight: “These come in handy when you don’t have a flying alt mode or jetpack nearby.” D-16: “Primus…” Orion: “Wait, wait, if you’re not punishing us, then what are you here for?” Nightlight slips into a grim expression. Nightlight: “I originally came in to ask you about your snooping around for data slugs on the Matrix… instead I just found out today your working conditions and I don’t like it one bit.

Nightlight explained that she would straight to Sentinel himself and talk to him about getting them better working conditions.

Truthfully D-16 and Orion thought this was a lie… but his was Nightlight they were talking about.

Maybe a little bit of faith would help.

Surely enough the miners started to notice some of the older equipment getting replaced with new ones.

They even had an extra hour of sleep and a bit more rations.

This did not satisfy Nightlight though.

She wanted more.

The detective started taking on bigger assignments in order to get on Sentinel’s personal circle.

She might have better luck in getting the miner’s more things that way.

Soon Nightlight started making her way into the mines without authorization.

Something was up, she could feel it.

Not only did she find out that the improvements had halted, but Sentinel was making more and more trips to the surface.

It was enough bells to set her off.

Especially hearing about 10 more sublevels under waste management.

So, Nightlight did the thing she did best, investigate.

Nightlight enters one of the waste trains cargo carts. Suddenly gets her blaster out hearing yelling behind her. The door opens revealing Orion, D-16, Elita and B-127. The detective looks at them in surprise. Nightlight: “What in Primus’s name is going on! Orion! D! Elita! B!” Elita:”Ma’am! I caught these bots trespassing!” D-16: “Wait, how do you know B?” B-127 waves at the detective. B-127: “Hi!” Nightlight: “He gave me some information on the sublevels under waste management. Now someone explain what—” Elita sprints past her. Elita: “Sorry ma’am! I need to turn this train around!” Orion and the others run after her. Nightlight blinks a bit before joining the chase. Nightlight: “This is what you get for making friends who are younger than you Nightlight… always running off… I swear… I need to listen to Ratchet next time I go out without my long-distance com link…” Nightlight starts climbing the trains railing to reach the others. Nightlight: “The one day I don’t bring my extra long grappling hook… I won’t be surprised if I see Alpha Trion at this point…”

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #transformers one x reader #transformers one x platonic reader #nightlight #tfone nightlight #tf1

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barnesdolls · 3 months ago

Text

Bucky Barnes and the Rapid Onset of Premature Aging

Bucky Barnes was nineteen years old, but he was convinced he would have a full head of white hair before he hit twenty-five.

And it was entirely Steve Rogers’ fault.

Steve, who weighed about as much as a wet paper bag.

Steve, who had the lung capacity of a Victorian orphan.

Steve, who was actively trying to die every single day of his life.

Bucky had one job. One.

Keep Steve alive.

And it was a full-time goddamn job.

—

INCIDENT #1: THE ALLEYWAY MASSACRE (OF Bucky’s Sanity)

Bucky was minding his business, walking down the street, when he heard it.

That dreaded voice.

“I can do this all day!”

Bucky froze. Closed his eyes. Took a deep, deep breath.

Then turned the corner to see exactly what he feared:

Steve. In an alley. Fighting a guy twice his size.

Bucky dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, Steve.”

Steve turned, panting. “Hey, Buck.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Again?”

The guy Steve was fighting—who looked mildly annoyed rather than actually threatened—grunted. “Is this your friend?”

“No,” Bucky said flatly.

“Yes,” Steve said at the same time.

Bucky groaned. “Alright, buddy, I got this one. Scram.”

The guy shrugged and left, clearly realizing he had better things to do than fight the human equivalent of a dandelion in a windstorm.

Steve huffed. “I had that under control.”

“Yeah?” Bucky shot back. “You were on the ground, pal.”

Steve scowled. “I almost won.”

Bucky pointed at Steve’s face. “You have no cartilage left in that nose, Steve.”

Steve wiped some blood off his lip. “It builds character.”

“You don’t need more character, you need a doctor.”

Steve just grinned. “But I got spirit.”

Bucky threw his hands up. “I need a drink.”

—

INCIDENT #2: THE MILITARY APPLICATION THAT GAVE BUCKY AN ANEURYSM

Bucky was relaxing. For once.

And then Steve walked in, looking suspiciously smug.

Bucky squinted. “Why do you look like that?”

Steve held up a piece of paper. “I enlisted.”

Bucky dropped his fork. “You what.”

Steve grinned. “I enlisted.”

Bucky stared at him. “You did not.”

“I did.”

Bucky snatched the paper from him. Scanned it. Rubbed his temples.

“Steve,” he started, struggling to stay calm, “you have asthma.”

“Yeah.”

“And rickets.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And a laundry list of other things that make you physically incapable of joining the army.”

Steve shrugged. “They haven’t said no yet.”

Bucky groaned. “Steve. Buddy. Pal. They are going to say no.”

“You never know.”

“I do know.”

Steve just smiled. “I got spirit, Buck.”

Bucky screamed internally.

—

INCIDENT #3: THE FINAL STRAW

Bucky had accepted many things in life.

That Steve was determined to fight guys who looked like professional boxers.

That Steve would absolutely keep trying to enlist even though he was, medically speaking, held together by sheer stubbornness and spite.

That Bucky was never going to get a single moment of peace.

But what he didn’t expect—what he refused to accept—was walking into Steve’s apartment at six in the goddamn morning and seeing his best friend standing on top of a rickety-ass chair, trying to hang a punching bag from the ceiling.

Bucky froze.

Steve turned. “Oh, hey Buck—”

And the chair wobbled.

Bucky lunged. “NO—”

But it was too late.

The chair gave out.

Steve plummeted like a sack of potatoes.

Bucky barely caught him before he hit the floor.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then Bucky slowly set Steve down, stood up, and took a deep, calming breath.

Steve, flat on his back, blinked up at him. “That could’ve gone better.”

Bucky clenched his fists. “I swear to God, Steve—”

“You know, if I was in the army, I’d probably have training for stuff like—”

Bucky screamed into his hands.

Steve patted his knee. “There, there, grandpa.”

And Bucky, fully grayed by age nineteen, muttered:

“I need so many drinks.”

—

INCIDENT #4: THE DOUBLE DATE FROM HELL

Bucky had made a critical mistake.

That mistake was thinking that maybe—just maybe—Steve could handle a normal night out without starting some kind of incident.

He was so wrong.

Because now, here they were, sitting at a booth in a diner, on what was supposed to be a double date.

Bucky had set it all up: two nice girls, a cozy booth, food on the way—a perfect setup.

And then Steve, bless his little disaster heart, decided to start an argument.

With a waiter.

About government corruption.

“I’m just saying,” Steve was in the middle of passionately debating, “if people don’t push back, nothing changes.”

The poor waiter, who just wanted to refill their drinks, blinked. “Uh—”

Steve turned to Bucky’s date. “You get it, right?”

Bucky physically cringed.

His date, looking deeply uncomfortable, cleared her throat. “I, uh, don’t really keep up with—”

Steve pointed at her. “And that’s the problem!”

Bucky threw his head back in agony.

The other girl—Steve’s date, who looked like she was seconds away from crawling out the window—let out an awkward laugh. “Um. So. Who’s up for dessert?”

Bucky, desperate to salvage this date, quickly raised his hand. “Me! I love dessert! Let’s talk about dessert!”

Steve, meanwhile, leaned forward. “You ever think about how—”

“NO.” Bucky slammed a hand over Steve’s mouth. “WE DON’T THINK ABOUT ANYTHING.”

The waiter, fully done, just set down their food and walked away.

Steve peeled Bucky’s hand off his face. “You’re being dramatic.”

Bucky turned to his date, hoping to fix whatever just happened, only to find that both girls were already standing up.

“We’re gonna go,” one of them said.

Bucky’s heart shattered. “No, wait, I—”

“Nice meeting you,” the other added.

Then, like ghosts, they vanished out the door.

Bucky slowly turned back to Steve.

Who was casually eating a fry.

“You ruined everything,” Bucky muttered.

Steve shrugged. “Eh. They weren’t the one, anyway.”

Bucky stared at him. “You have to stop talking.”

Steve popped another fry into his mouth. “I got spirit, Buck.”

Bucky groaned into his hands.

—

INCIDENT #5: THE FINAL TRANSFORMATION

Bucky was tired.

That was nothing new.

Steve had been running him into the ground for years.

So when Steve finally vanished—off to some government experiment or something—Bucky had never felt such peace.

For one day.

And then Steve came back.

And Bucky… lost his entire goddamn mind.

Because the Steve that left? Five-foot-nothing, could be knocked over by a strong breeze, constantly wheezing like an asthmatic chihuahua.

The Steve that returned?

A walking Greek statue.

Bucky had been chilling, just hanging out at the base, when suddenly—

“Hey, Buck.”

And there he was.

Steve.

But not Steve.

Because this man was tall.

This man had biceps.

This man had shoulders that could break a doorframe.

Bucky blinked. “The hell is this?”

Steve shifted, a little awkward. “Uh… they, uh, did the procedure. Worked pretty well.”

Bucky squinted. “You’re taller than me.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

Bucky walked up to him. Poked him. “Where’s the wheezing?”

Steve sighed. “Gone.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Where’s the asthma?”

“Also gone.”

Bucky grabbed his arm and shook it aggressively. “What the hell are you made of now?”

Steve sighed again. “Mostly muscle.”

Bucky stepped back, took a deep breath, and ran a hand down his face.

Then he looked back up at Steve and muttered:

“I swear to God, if you’re taller than me in every single one of our photos now, I will commit a crime.”

Steve grinned. “You sound jealous.”

Bucky pointed at him. “Listen here, you absolute brick house—”

And then a bunch of military officers walked in, and Bucky had to pretend he wasn’t in the middle of having a crisis.

But deep down, deep, deep down, he knew:

Steve was never going to let this go.

Because one thing Steve always had, was spirit.

#avengers fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #captain america #james bucky buchanan barnes #steve rogers #the avengers #40’s #sergeant barnes #scrawny #stucky #bucky x steve #bucky barns fanfiction #steve x bucky #stevebucky

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shizuturnspages · 3 months ago

Note

If your requests are opened can u pleeaasee write a fanfic on diluc/childe/anyone else when a slightly buff y/n walks past them/ into angels share 👅

Strong Impressions

Synopsis: The doors of Angel’s Share creaked open with the low groan of well-worn hinges, letting in the cool evening breeze—and you. You stepped inside, brushing dust off your coat with one hand, and not-so-accidentally rolling your shoulders just enough to stretch the fabric across your toned arms. The tavern had its regular crowd, all clustered around tables with drinks in hand, laughter buzzing under the sound of soft piano. The air changed. You didn’t notice it, not at first. But someone did. Three someones, in fact. Pairings: [Separate] Diluc, Childe, Kaeya x Reader

Diluc: The Man Behind the Bar

He was polishing a glass behind the bar, focused as ever, brows furrowed in quiet concentration. A man of discipline. A man of poise. A man who’d never let something—or someone—disrupt his calm.

Until you walked past.

Your arm brushed lightly against the bar, flexing slightly with the motion, and for the briefest moment, Diluc’s hand faltered. The cloth slipped. The glass nearly dropped.

He caught it, of course. He always did.

But his gaze slowly lifted.

You didn’t see him at first, too busy scanning the drink list or maybe looking for a table.

But Diluc saw you. He saw all of you.

The quiet strength in your stride. The way your shirt hugged just enough to leave something to the imagination. The casual confidence of someone who could break a man in half, but wouldn’t—unless given a reason.

He cleared his throat. Loudly.

You looked up. Met his eyes.

And he… looked away. Quickly. Like the bastard had been caught staring. Because he had.

He poured something into a glass, something he’d made up on the spot. Something sharp and slow-burning. Something to settle the heat that had inexplicably crept up his neck.

When you approached the counter, lips quirking in a polite smile, he slid the drink to you without a word.

"A new blend. On the house."

His voice was rougher than usual.

You raised a brow. “You’re not usually the free drink type.”

He looked at you. Properly this time.

“I’m not usually distracted,” he said. “But then again, I don’t usually see new regulars who look like they could lift me.”

Childe: Oh No, They’re Hot

He saw you before you even opened the tavern door. He’d been leaning back in his chair, one boot kicked up on the edge of the table, drink in hand, eyes lazily roaming the entrance.

And then—there you were.

You walked in like you owned the place. Or maybe like you were scoping it out to take it over. Either way, Childe was watching.

His chair came down with a thud.

“Whoa.”

The syllable fell out of his mouth without permission.

You weren’t a hulking mountain of muscle—but you didn’t need to be. Everything about you screamed practical strength. The kind earned from travel. From training. From fighting.

He liked that.

No, he loved that.

When you passed by his table, he stuck out a leg. A casual obstacle.

You stepped over it effortlessly. But not without a glance.

Childe grinned. “I’m impressed.”

You blinked. “You tripped me.”

“I tried to.” He leaned back again, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Didn’t work. So now I’m intrigued. What’s your secret, sunshine? Punching hilichurls before breakfast?”

You snorted. “What’s it to you?”

“Oh, nothing.” He tilted his head. “Just wondering if you’re taking applications for a sparring partner. Or a dinner date. Whichever comes first.”

Kaeya: Oh, This Is Going to Be Fun

He was already three drinks in when you arrived. Which meant his tongue was extra slippery.

You entered, strong posture and quiet presence radiating confidence. Kaeya’s eye gleamed.

You weren’t loud. You weren’t flashy. But the moment you walked in, his attention shifted.

“Who’s that?” he asked no one in particular.

No one answered, because they all knew better.

You approached the bar, speaking briefly with Diluc, muscles flexing slightly with a stretch. And Kaeya—Kaeya watched.

“Oh,” he murmured to himself, tapping his glass with a smirk. “I like this one.”

He waited until you were seated alone, then casually sauntered over, swirling the dregs of his wine.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, already pulling the chair out.

You looked him over. “Can I say no?”

“You could,” he said, resting his chin on one hand, eye gleaming. “But I’d only take it as a challenge.”

You laughed—just once. But it was enough.

He leaned forward.

“So tell me,” he purred. “Do you work out for fun, or are you hiding a secret career as Mondstadt’s personal knight in shining armour?”

You gave him a look. “Only if you’re the dragon.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Kaeya said, voice dropping an octave. “I’d love for you to slay me.”

Later that night…

You left the tavern, the moonlight casting your shadow long behind you.

You didn’t know it, but they all watched you leave.

Diluc, through the windows, lips pressed into a thin line.

Childe, from the alley, hands in his coat pockets, a smirk on his face.

Kaeya, leaning in the doorway, eyes glowing with mischief.

You had walked into their world like a comet—bright, fleeting, unforgettable.

And now that you were gone, there was only one thought on all their minds:

They had to see you again.

Preferably soon.

Or forever.

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raayllum · 9 months ago

Text

Cube Hostage Exchange Theory, for Real This Time

Intro

A few days after Through the Moon came out in September 2020, I made a throwaway theory post about a potential Rayllum reconciliation scenario in which Rayla would be taken captive / threatened by the antagonists, and Callum would hand over the Key of Aaravos in order to save her life.

In the almost four years since then, the theory has blossomed into much more than it started as, largely due to people's amazing art and fic inspired by it, and by the enthusiasm it's been received with, and for those things I will always be eternally, deeply grateful for.

The theory has likewise gone through many metas (some of which will be referenced and linked to here when applicable), 20+ pages alone on my blog, with surprising leaps in popularity and plausibility, and multiple variations, both within the theorizing space and within canon itself (5x08, you will always be famous).

There's also been many moments of doubt.

As much as everything seemed to make sense even as Rayllum's post-TTM reunion went on, there was still so much left that was perpetually speculative. We didn't even know if Aaravos would want his cube back, which was one of the theories' many lynchpins, and TDP loves to be subversive (within reason) and throw curveballs I never saw coming, like Terry's wonderful existence or Sol Regem's swerve to attacking Katolis. I've speculated alternative uses for the Key to high heaven (as Aaravos' missing heart piece, a key to the Star Nexus or realm, the key to his prison, and sometimes all three simultaneously as a power up he needs to free himself and wreck celestial havoc). The closest I got to was it being a literal key and related to something Aaravos would want/need back, and indeed a power up, and that he did need a quasar diamond to get out of his prison and that one was in the staff and not also in the Key. Not bad, but definitely missing some marks.

That is to say that there could still be curve balls or swerves, and a theory isn't set in stone as happening until it happens. After all, I've been fully prepared to pack the theory up and for it to not happen three times now (going into S4, particularly S5, and S6). When the S4 finale did indeed have a hostage exchange involving Rayla and Claudia and a boyfriend, I chuckled and figured we might not repeat a plot beat like that again; when 5x08 did it twice, I was overjoyed at getting the exact irony of "Callum literally frees Rayla while chaining himself further to Aaravos' will" that I'd always wanted. 5x08 was, and is, enough for me; if S7 never takes it further, I'll still be pleased as punch.

However, after four years of hemming and hawing and going into seasons preparing for curveballs... I'm pleased to say I finally don't have any doubt.

And here's why.

Sections:

Background

The Cube and the Game Motif

Neon Lights, Narrative Set Up and Pay Off (6x03, S6)

The Knowledge Motif Thread Detour

Tests of Love (Leola, Chaos, and Love)

Alternatives (no possession, third path, Rayla handing over the cube, etc)

Conclusion

Background

First, a little background. Any relevant information in the metas listed below will be summarized / explained / alluded to accordingly for your benefit, but it is a good luck at 1) how the theory has evolved over time and 2) will be drawing in relevant aspects from said metas when discussing season 6.

Previous proper CHET metas include (in chronological order):

The Original Theory Post / Meta (Oct 2020, post-TTM)

Rayllum and Rayla's Weird Consistency with the Key (March 2022, pre-S4)

Rayla's Duality as Callum's Salvation and Destruction (Aug 2022, pre-S4)

CHET: End of Days (Nov 2022, pre-S4)

Opposing Cube Symbolism in 2x08 (Dec 2022, post-S4)

Here's How It Can Still Win (Dec 2022, post-S4)

Aaravos and Rayla as Callum's Two Paths (May 2023, pre-S5)

Shorter post-S6 meta

Things that are useful to our meta here ultimately, however, with a couple of S6 updates in later sections are

THE GAME MOTIF

This refers to a repeated visual and verbal literal and metaphorical motif running throughout the series. Although not exclusive to him, 90% of the time the Game Motif is in relation to Aaravos. It is most prominent when discussing the Key of Aaravos in arc 1 ("This is the game room. Cube should be in there" / "It's a glow toy" literally / "Are you practicing magic or are you losing to Bait at a game of rolly-cubes?") with one 'throwaway' line from Viren to Aaravos in 2x08: "What game are you playing at?"

This then took on a much more prominent focus in arc 2 thanks to the pawn intros and lines from various characters, such as Zubeia's assessment that "We had to beat Aaravos at his own game," Viren's reservations that "I believe Aaravos may be toying with us," Ezran's "His pawns are working to free him even as we speak."

Much of this has been rather set in stone for a while now (one of the TDP's shorts did, though, excitingly link Aaravos' test of love to the game motif, with the line "They aren’t games. They’re tests") but S6 did add some very exciting overlap with Aaravos' game and dark magic, which is fitting given that the two are deeply intertwined: "Because you're too good for dark magic, now? You had a lifetime to play with your toys, and now you decide to hide them away and destroy them?" (Viren to Kpp'Ar about the staff, 6x06.)

We also see occasional overlap with this motif and the stage motif ("You've played your part well" in 6x08 to Sol Regem / "Aaravos chose as his instruments..." + "You will perform acts of love so unforgivable..." in 4x04) as you can play a game, and play your role in a theatrical performance. Or in Callum's case, as a puppet who is "destined to play right into" Aaravos' hands.

PRIMAL STONE FORESHADOWING

As Callum discusses in 2x02 directly, he broke Claudia's stolen primal stone on purpose (not by accident) because he had "a good reason". The comparison later on in the same season, then, that the whole world is like a giant primal stone, and Callum's tendency towards breaking things (specifically magical objects) we well as the emphasis on "breaking the cycle" therefore felt like setup. It also felt particularly apt given Aaravos' wish expressed in Patience that:

I have not seen the stars in centuries. But when I see them again—when the stars are forced to look upon me, their dark brother—they will know how I have waited. And when everything they have built lies shattered, I will savor their fall from the sky.

S6 also affirmed this by associating the primal magic that Leola 'gave' to humans the "first step in a long spiral towards Callum," and what that might mean for Callum, someone who is uniquely a primal mage and has used dark magic. The fact that Aaravos and his key (remember that game motif) are associated with the book of / primal magic as well as dark magic reinforces this duality further.

Who better to shatter the Cosmic Order and known world for the worst better than the boy who is already shattering it for the best?

LIGHT AND DARKNESS

The cube and Aaravos are associated with both light and dark, not only in design, but in magic systems. Aaravos and dark magic are routinely related to darkness ("because I have followed a dark path" / "the darkness and corruption will overwhelm you" / "and my favourite, the human mage, already tainted by darkness" / "in darkness, gaze upon a fallen star"). This is fairly straightforward, as Rayla represents literal light (which we'll get to in S6 in a moment) that heals Callum's broken spirit and rescinds Aaravos' control over him. Note, for example, the way she's shrouded in light in clear opposition to Aaravos' mirror right next to her, with Callum facing ahead towards both of them.

However, it's not that simple, because light can also be seen as a bad thing, such as the possession eyes, Karim's desire to "return the light/sun" to his people, the cube-moon opal's light on the Bridge of Darkness in 4x07 leading to danger, dark magic turning your hair white, and most notably, the way the pawn becomes a literal glow toy in the 4x04 / 5x08 pawn intro.

The light of the cube — perhaps the light in general — is not going to be exclusive in playing into Aaravos' hands. In the mirror-Rayla screenshot, for example, the path towards Rayla is embodied by the shadow she casts on the floor (similar to how regularly Claudia is portrayed in Viren's shadow in S6).

And, speaking of light...

RAYLA AS CALLUM'S PATH, SINGULAR

As speculated pre-S4, Rayla represents light, truth, and love in Callum's life. This was then canonized in 6x06. Post-S4, it seemed overtly evident that Rayla was being set up further to represent a path in opposition to Aaravos. She would save Callum from being Aaravos' prey, she was the Light and reminder of agency to Aaravos' Darkness and stripping of agency. "What if I'm on a path of darkness?" "Then take another path, dummy." This was, of course, all in line with the previous light-darkness and game motif described above. Rayla couldn't, and won't, kill Callum permanently after all if at all, so she has to save him instead.

However, it was also pretty clear following S4 and especially S5 that the razor's edge between salvation and destruction, as embodied by Rayla being the reason he was in Aaravos' clutches in the first place (getting him the cube, being his motivation behind doing dark magic), would eventually merge. Her love would ultimately save him, but it would destroy him first.

This has, of course, been their pattern throughout the series: Rayla comes into his life, causing him to turn/destroy his relationship with Claudia and put him in danger, but she's also what pushes him to do magic for the first time; he follows her off the Pinnacle at great risk to himself, but his love for her helps centre him enough that he can save them both; she is the reason he does dark magic (twice), but is also what fixes his broken spirit during the star-light trial ritual.

Because she's not just the other path in opposition to Aaravos. She is his path, singular.

If you're interested in more of this, I'd recommend my one about the layers of Rayla being Callum's One Truth in greater detail, as well as general speculation of their arc in S7, some of which will be referenced/summarized here as well.

With all that out of the way, let's get into it

The Cube and the Game Motif

Anyone who knows me knows that the Game Motif is my favourite motif in TDP (which is saying something) and that said motif has been a long standing cornerstone of CHET. This is mostly because, as noted, in arc 1 the Game Motif existed almost exclusively with the cube down to its introduction.

CALLUM: This is the game room. Cube should be in there. (1x04)

CALLUM: Last night you thought the cube was just a worthless toy. But now we know— RAYLA: It's a glow toy. (1x05)

The Game Motif was also associated with Aaravos sparsely in arc 1 ("What game are you playing?" Viren demands in 2x08, and never receives the answer / "Well played. She will be a valuable asset") and magic itself ("Is this a guessing game? Just do it!") although to a lesser degree. There were also nods to the imbalance of power in Xadia, with Harrow noting, "Entire armies have crumbled and fallen like toys before [Avizandum]. How can we hope to kill such a godly creature?"

Then, as noted in arc 2, the game motif went from being associated just with the cube to being associated with Aaravos outright, both verbally through dialogue and literally in the pawn intros. This is what I call a motif expansion, where something moves from subtext to text. It is somewhat similar to a merger, where two previously separate associations are brought into being one in the same. This is initially how the cube operates, since the game motif is ongoing whereas Callum's statement of "You wait here, however long it takes, I'll go find a key" in 1x04 is only made foreshadowing in 2x06 when he learns it's called the Key of Aaravos.

2x07 takes this further, though, with this dialogue exchange:

CALLUM: [Holding the cube] What do you think this thing is, anyway? He said it was a key, but a key to what? RAYLA: Are you practicing magic, or are you losing to Bait at a game of rolly-cubes?

For example, here we see the Key analogue/association and the game motif be linked together. TDP does this a few more times with Aaravos' key becoming associated with light (4x04/5x08), destiny dark magic (2x08, 4x04), secrets/mysteries (2x07, 2x06) and more. A lot of this is, of course, because Aaravos is likewise associated with all these things, and the Key is tethered to him and his plot line / motifs and associations.

The game motif does exist outside of the cube's associations — Ezran's pattern of hide and seek represents his childhood innocence, his tendency to run and hide when things get hard, and him shedding both these patterns as they attempt to find

The most interesting thing that S6 did on this note, then, was make the game motif associated not just with magic, but very specifically with dark magic:

VIREN: Because you're too good for dark magic now? You had a lifetime to play with your toys, and now you decide to hide them all away or destroy them? (6x06)

Why am I screaming about this, you may ask? Well, the Staff of Ziard is about as synonymous with dark magic as a thing can get in TDP. It too belonged originally to Aaravos, and became a cornerstone in his grand plan, at least of getting out of the prison.

HARROW: It belonged to an elven wizard in Xadia, the Archmage Aaravos, a master of all six primal sources. (2x06) IBIS: If you seek to return that staff to its true owner, you pose a greater danger to the world than I can allow. (4x03)

So the Staff is a toy, and dark magic, and belonged to Aaravos, and used in his plans, brought directly to him by Viren (indirectly) and Claudia (directly). And the Key is also referred to as a toy, is also in the possession of another pawn, and has also been hidden and/or 'should' be destroyed. A knowledge of primal magic, at least in terms of how it manifests in creatures/locations, is also required in order to be a successful dark mage.

So not only is Aaravos and the key tied directly to the game motif, but through Viren's exchange with Kpp'Ar, so is dark magic. In many ways, this takes what was subtext — dark magic is what allows Aaravos to puppet and manipulate people such as his pawns, and keep the Cycle (his game) going, even if he's not what directly started it (that was the Cosmic Order/Council) — and makes it text. Aaravos' toys are toys ultimately because of their tethers to magic, typically dark magic as well, and his objects of choice, such as the Staff or the Key or how he puppets his pawns, are not exceptions. (There's potential for primal magic as well, of course, but it's currently not as direct).

We also know, thanks to Arc 2, that the Key and Staff are more similar to one another than we might've thought in terms of their purposes in Aaravos' plan. I'd speculated in the past that the Staff and/or the Key held quasar diamonds that Aaravos needed for some power-up purpose; the Staff had the diamond needed for his body contingency plan, and the Key is needed for his primal book to operate and presumably be found, so that he can be at full power.

Furthermore, we have a pattern of dialogue about the Key / game motif eventually becoming literal. The cube is called a glow toy, and then in the pawn intro is revealed to be a literal glow toy; Callum says "what if it's magic?" in 1x04 and we discover that it opens up a book of all primal magic; it's foreshadowed loosely as a key, and it is a key; Rayla asks if Callum is losing a game, and he's embroiled in Aaravos' game as a pawn. Callum will win eventually, of course, as will everyone else... but he has to lose, really lose, first.

After all, every other line regarding the cube has come to fruition other than three:

"This is the game room. The cube should be in there" and "I'll go find a key" from 1x04 have both come back around. "It's a glow toy" from 1x05 ended up being true as well, with the cube flashing a bright light in Callum's pawn intro (and even the cube being included in the pawn intro). The Key's secrets are things Callum is currently investigating (6x02) and will likely fully discover in S7, possibly leading him to Aaravos' book or something else near Elarion and the thematic culmination of the Mystery of Aaravos. Callum's notice that the key seems to be glowing differently in 1x09 is revealed to be true because of the Moon Nexus. Rayla's line in 2x07 about losing the game to Bait is true in 5x08 as he practices magic (both dark and primal) in order to save her from being literal bait, even if that means taking a step closer to Aaravos and 'losing' the game. I expect Callum's assessment of "No good can come from it" (4x07) will ultimately be untrue if it helps him study primal magic ("What if it's magic? [...] I just have a feeling this cube thing can help me"), and Rayla's decision of "Let's go get your cube" is likely going to be true by the end of S7, with Callum reclaiming ownership completely this time.

So let's talk about the three lines that haven't come to fruition yet, because they paint a pretty apt picture:

So in the biggest notion of currently untapped set up, Rayla after being the first to declaring the damn cube a toy says "I hope it was worth it to you putting everyone's lives in danger." The thing is that this it's not like this line doesn't work in context, it very well does; someone could've gotten hurt and Rayla was nearly killed. This is also a sort spot for her because she'd just done the same thing in 1x01, putting her troupe in danger, so of course she's extra (somewhat fairly, somewhat unfairly) miffed at new mage boy repeating her mistakes as well.

Games (and chess) are all about patience, exchange, and sacrifice. We know now that the cube is something powerful, why it is, what it unlocks, and why Aaravos has the incentive to want it back (which as stated was an assumption before).

But the fact remains that the game motif has been tied to the cube to the start and continues to be. Callum's test of either playing into Aaravos' hands and coming back from it (the option that I lean towards) or outright rejecting it again cannot be fulfilled until the cube pawn intro has come full circle.

So let's talk about

Neon Lights, Narrative Set Up and Pay Off (6x03, S6)

As you can garner from this meta and any of my previous ones that have touched on this theory, there were a lot of assumptions that had to go into it. I had to assume, prior to season six, that Aaravos would even want the cue back. I had to assume, prior to season four, that the Rayla-Aaravos Callum-Viren foils thing was happening on purpose and that Rayla would be put in opposition to Aaravos as the light to his darkness. I had to assume, prior to season five, that S4's emphasis on people doing terrible/misguided things for love through characters like Rayla, Terry, Viren, and Claudia would eventually become a mainstay in Callum's arc 2 character arc.

I had to assume, prior to season six, that the story would eventually be inclined to put Callum in a scenario where he'd have to choose between Rayla and the greater good so directly. After all, while I was confident post-season 2 onwards that, if put in a situation with Rayla and/or Ezran's life on the line, Callum would always do dark magic, that was ultimately a characterization basis. Yeah, I could think that he would go there, but the story was under no condition to go there from a Plot standpoint, ie. assembling the story and plot line so that Callum would be faced with that kind of choice again. They could choose to not explore that aspect of a potential character arc, leaving it technically unknown. My characterization predictions in these scenarios, then, have been routinely consistent, but whether the plot itself would cooperate was entirely up in the air, with some plot evidence existing due to TDP's love of exchanges, trolley problems, and hard choices.

Then 6x03 happened:

To say that I cried/cheered would be an understatement.

This, of course, doesn't necessarily mean that Callum will do what I think he'll do, or that it'll play out in the manner I'm imagining. It does seem blatantly obvious, however, that S7 with the season's synopsis emphasis on sacrifice that both Callum and Rayla will face the choice of whether to sacrifice the other, one after each other: Callum first — as he must do dark magic again in order to be possessed — and then Rayla, tested and finally choosing not to sacrifice something to her, saving him back as a result.

But furthermore, I lost my fucking mind explicitly because it's not just a question of "will you sacrifice me or yourself" (which we know isn't a real question for either of them) but "will you sacrifice me or the world (greater good)" which is exactly what I've wanted for both of them all along. For Callum to put Rayla first the way that he always has, and for Rayla to (subsequently) put Callum first as a sign of growth/character development. (This also ties into Rayla's whole thing in s6 of taking the lessons Callum's taught her about how to love and implementing them with him in turn or with others, but that's a meta for another day.)

Now, there are alternatives that there could be / ways to get around the 'greater good' slice of the pie, which I'll talk about later under the Alternatives subheading.

For now, I just want to assert the narrative set up and potential we have so far in a plainer way:

The Knowledge Detour

We know that Aaravos wants the cube (6x09) and we know he knows that Callum has it (4x04, 5x08).

The game motif and key motif have been directly related to dark magic (2x07, 2x08, 4x04 "play right into my hands," 5x08, 6x06, etc).

The Key itself is also related to secrets (2x06), the secrets of primal magic (2x01), and thereby knowledge / answers to the 'Mystery' of Aaravos.

This is also related to the idea of knowing too much or having too much knowledge being dangerous (which you can read more about here, although it's pre-S6 so it doesn't touch on everything presently that it could have).

After speaking with Rayla, Callum tries and fails to give up the cube to assert his own destiny / that 'destiny is a book you write yourself' (4x07)

Callum, like Rayla, will be forced to make a choice between the greater good and his loved one. He will choose her even if that means sacrificing himself on top of the world, and she will save him (symbolically refusing to sacrifice herself).

[Gestures to the rest of the cube / key foreshadowing]

I also want to talk a little bit more about mystery. I touched on it here in a previous meta (Rayllum's potential S7 arc through the lens of S6), but there's an emphasis in S6 on mysteries versus love, with love winning.

I would tell you that the vast mystery I travelled the world to find was contained in you all along. (6x03)

Those few short years with Leola were the most meaningful. Pondering the deepest mysteries of the universe could not hold a candle. (6x09)

Both of these sentiments are similar and apply to Rayla and Aaravos directly: she wanted the security of knowing Viren was dead only to return home to the one thing she wanted ("the best thing I ever had: you"). Likewise, Aaravos had the best and most meaningful years of his eternally long existence when he was with his daughter, where his study and pursuit of magic / universal mysteries ultimately paled in comparison. While it is ordinary parent behaviour as well, Aaravos being away from Leola because of his key and book upon the moment she's taken has layers, as well as how he torments Sol Regem specifically with a mystery concerning love:

We see 4x01 establish two mysteries for Callum that run throughout the rest of the arc thus far. The first is the mirror ("What secrets are you hiding?") which is a stand-in for Aaravos, and then Rayla, even once she returns ("I don't know how to feel about Rayla, either").

These threads run in parallel throughout S5 and S6 (Rayla specific one only here). In season 5, Rayla kicks off both Callum's desire to discover how to kill Aaravos (5x01-5x05) and his new understanding of himself in the Ocean arcanum through their relationship (5x01, 5x04, 5x08). In many ways, S5 is him realizing that he will always be there for her, no matter what the cost — even if that means taking a step closer and making himself more vulnerable to Aaravos.

In season 6, Callum is grappling over the Starscraper / Nova Blade as well as worries of how Rayla will respond to his dark magic use. He worries that Aaravos will use him: "I don't know how, but I'm afraid he... he's gonna use me." The mystery he does solve within the season, then, is suitably what is his one truth — what does he know, without a shadow of a doubt, beyond and above anything else? If S5 is Callum realizing he will always be there for her regardless of anything that's happened or could happen, then S6 is him realizing that Rayla will always be with him (regardless of whether she's physically there or not) and will come back to him.

The reason I'm tangentially emphasizing this is because Callum is a knowledge seeker, inherently — he wants to learn magic and he wants to use magic, and that has always been one of his greatest strengths and weaknesses (ie. going out into the Storm, being unable to throw the Key away). The Mystery of Aaravos through figuring out the Key's secrets will be just about undeniably important, and while Callum might not get obsessive about solving it, the Key still represents that curiosity and desire to Know—the mystery he's chasing and has continued to chase about the world. Knowledge or love (giving up magic to save Zym and Rayla by proxy), and on occasion ("How did you—?" "Cause I love you, Rayla" / "To love is simply to know this") both at the same time, just as Rayla's arc has routinely centred on the push and pull and occasional reconciliation of love and duty.

Rayla's advice in 4x07 made him nearly throw the Cube away, or give up that Knowledge seeking quest. This doesn't mean that Callum should give it up entirely (I've said this in many places, but I think by the end of S7 Callum will likely have the Key and Book as his own rather than Aaravos', paralleling his reclamation of himself and his identity) but the current framing of 4x07 begs the question of "What would you give it up for?" What would you sacrifice this knowledge or curiosity for? Because we know, typically, curiosity and the pursuit of knowledge isn't enough for Callum; he won't "risk his life for magic" (2x04) and views that as being an idiot, but he'll launch himself off the Pinnacle. He'll do things for love that he won't do for magic; he'll be motivated to find knowledge and walk down those paths because of love. Just curiosity, typically, hasn't been enough.

Speaking of which, let's talk about

Tests of Love (Leola, Chaos, and Love)

The game motif and its connection to other aspects of the series—the stage motif (Aaravos and Callum's bowing / "destined to play right into my hands"), dark magic ("You had a lifetime to play with your toys and now you hide them all away or destroy them" / "I'm afraid Aaravos is toying with us")—and indeed the concept of tests ("We all want peace and we all want love, but violence tests us" / "They aren't games, they're tests") had always felt conducive to Aaravos' character, thanks to his statement in 2x09:

You tried to win over the other humans with loyalty and friendship, but they ignored you. Those who fail tests of love are simple animals. They deserve to be motivated by fear.

Even before S6 aired, this statement already made sense—while Viren was motivated by his quest for power and importance, and that was what Aaravos seemingly preyed on, when at the core of it was Viren's desire to be loved and to matter:

I am having some trouble getting people to listen to me. To hear the importance of what I am saying. [Who are these people?] They are kings and queens, the other leaders of the Pentarchy. (2x09)

[To Harrow] What? No, that's not what I'm saying. Please, listen— (1x03)

It is everything to me, to know that I mean something to you. To know that I matter. It's all I ever wanted. (5x02)

Aaravos was able to give them something they wanted very badly. (4x04) / Search your heart. There is something you want very badly. (2x09)

Aaravos' entire manipulation of Claudia has also been based around love—encouraging Viren to lie to her so she wouldn't break away from him and subsequently preying on her desire to keep her family together, dangling Viren's life like a carrot in front of her for two years, pushing her relentlessly on a 30 day limit, and then telling the tale of his daughter to help her perform a spell (the same spell that Callum is doing miles away) literally out of love by letting her connect it to her father.

We see where this mindset came from, of course, in S6, with Aaravos bargaining for Leola's life on the basis of love/compassion, and then to die in her place, both of which being refused. The Cosmic Council failed his test of love, and now he's out for revenge no matter the cost, as Terry says:

Maybe this started out as a story of love, but along the way, it got twisted. He isn't doing anything out of love. He's doing it for revenge.

We also know that the parallels Rayla already has to Leola are just going to be continued into S6 further.

We also know thanks to S6 that the Cosmic Council considered humans having primal magic to be "the first step in the long, slow spiral to chaos." Callum then having multiple arcanums and presumably one day going to continue to spread primal magic to more humans is definitely something they're going to be apprehensive about. Callum reclaiming the Key and Aaravos' book alongside his own identity/agency would make a lot of sense, but that reclamation is only really possible if those things were stripped away to begin with... and it's likely only one thing could strip away those things from him: the lengths he's willing to go through for love, and how love can also bring him back (much the same way Claudia's love for her family doomed her, and will ultimately likely save her).

Callum, you're the 'Destiny is a book you write yourself' guy. No one can control you or make your choices for you. (4x07)

See? So long as we protect each other, so long as we love each other, you can never control us. (5x08)

To love is simply to know this: the tides are true as the ocean is deep. (5x01, 5x08)

Love can save and destroy us, much like how Rayla is the reason Callum took (and may take again) a path of darkness and also lead him back to light (hopefully with help from Ezran). No matter how corrupted or broken, no matter what you've done before, you can be saved and can fix things and at the very least make amends.

Furthermore, if killing Leola for her mercy was what broke Xadia, saving Rayla (and her mercy) will be thematically what helps fix/save it—and also means she can save Callum afterwards, too, since he's the Hope of Xadia and changing the magical scales.

With this basis in mind, let's look at:

Alternatives

For the sake of posterity, the exact events I'm laying out in the above theory is something that looks a little like this:

Rayla is injured and/or dead / on the verge of death somehow

Aaravos (or Claudia) promises Callum can save her if he hands over the Cube

Callum does so and in turn receives the dark magic knowledge he needs to save her

He does the dark magic, and Rayla is saved

Callum is corrupted / possessed and leaves with Aaravos

This lets Ezran and Rayla come together to get him back and resolve any loose ends from their Big Different Feelings about Runaan from earlier in the season

Although Callum did play into Aaravos' hands, he will break free and live beyond Aaravos' perceived use for him, and help defeat him

Now let's talk about alternatives:

Callum doesn't get possessed

This is the only one I'm gonna rule out directly, as I don't think it's likely given the amount of set up and that S7 is Book 7: Dark. You wouldn't have Callum bring up the promise either in 4x07 or again in 6x03 if you didn't want Rayla to be faced with that choice, so he has to get possessed. That at least means a major risk of playing into Aaravos' hands, even if those plans aren't taken to fruition.

Callum gets possessed but not through dark magic use

I've seen positing that Callum could get tainted by dark magic again if he was exposed to the Lux Aurea corruption from a creature or something. I'll also toss one in, which is that perhaps you could be hit with a spell of dark magic of some kind, and have it seep into you—if not from Claudia then maybe Aaravos. Both of these options would fit to me if Callum was pushing someone (Ezran, Rayla) out of the way as that still provides an active choice. It just being happenstance because the characters were randomly attacked in a dangerous area doesn't sit right with me and the show's emphasis on choices and agency even when it would be possible and easier for characters to be more blameless, so I think there will be something along a choice rather than it just being entirely random / Callum's agency being entirely removed. Otherwise, we'd be back entirely to where we were in S4/S5 where he was tainted and open to possession no matter what through no real fault of his own (prior to 5x08); S6 giving him a clean slate also gives him agency about whether he's corrupted or not, and I think it'd be less effective if that agency wasn't utilized.

Aaravos doesn't get the cube

While nothing but canon itself (as it could pleasantly surprise me, and I'd reassess) could change my mind regarding "if Ez or Rayla were on the line, Callum would give Aaravos the key/whatever he wanted to save them" from a characterization basis, that doesn't necessarily mean the plot is going there. For example, I could see Callum just taking the dark magic deal, and then the race is on for Rayla to try and stop a corrupted Callum from delivering the cube to Aaravos. It'd have high stakes, he'd still have some faith that he could make his choice without dooming everyone because she's there to be his safety net, and it'd bring the "I hope it was worth it to you putting everyone's lives in danger" about the cube back but on Rayla's end, as she was the speaker and Callum is worth it.

Rayla gives Aaravos the Cube

I'll admit a set up scenario for this leaves me scratching my head a bit—would Callum be possessed, but Rayla had the cube for safekeeping, and she hands it over so Aaravos would release him? which isn't too dissimilar from some of the central scenario of what I've proposed—as well as it taking away from 1) Callum's agency in breaking free from possession, ironically, and 2) the Cube being his item, not hers. That said, I do expect Rayla to choose Callum over just about everything this season (including possibly the surefire safety of the world) and for the season to do the legwork to get her there from a character development standpoint, so it's not out of the question. It just currently seems unlikely.

Callum doesn't pick between Rayla or the greater good, and has a third path instead

This one is interesting to me, mostly because I'm not sure how it'd fit into the season pacing wise. As stated, I think Callum has to get possessed in the season, as that plotline has too much buildup to get dropped. I suppose that could mean something like 1) he's corrupted through other means (see bullet point number two), 2) Rayla + Ezran saves him from possession, and 3) afterwards, he's presented with a choice between her and the greater good? That could take us to the finale where he's able to find a way through Aaravos' machinations to avoid making that choice, but it does mean until that moment Callum has had little to no agency (and therefore little to no character development) in our final season of the arc. That could reflect the possession plotline's lack of agency, even if it doesn't feel quite congruent with S6 handing Callum back his full agency, but... shrug emoji?

To me, the clearest third path between not sacrificing Rayla or the greater good would be "Callum sacrifices himself in order to take down Aaravos" which could mean unlocking a super dangerous arcanum he might not come back from (Stars would probably fit best there, but Sun or Moon too?) OR doing dark magic to defeat Aaravos; the latter in particular would be a strong Viren parallel to 6x08. We would get the self sacrifice and corruption slant, but it would be without the actual possession part, even if his corrupted form would be undeniably dangerous. It would mean that Rayla is saving him without risking much else, though, which lessens the impact of her arc. This first arcanum avenue would work for a finale, with the dark magic avenue being reserved for mid season (7x04 to 7x07) as a possibility.

If there any alternative theories or ideas you've seen or have that I haven't addressed here, feel free to send them in or leave them in reblogs/replies (I definitely could've missed one, or misrepresented one)—so long as you're earnestly presenting one, and not just wanting to see it debunked because you think it's stupid and/or that people who like it are silly or foolish.

Conclusion

So, in conclusion, CHET as fully and currently posited:

Explains hy the cube is in Callum's pawn intro

Furthers set up with the cube and game motif (+ others) throughout the show

Explains he'll be corrupted and how the possession plotline will come into play

Deepens the series' theme of exchange (i.e. bringing Zym home in return for peace) and transaction (dark magic)

Culminates the setup from 4x07, 5x08, 6x03, and 6x06 in particular

Reaffirms Callum's struggle with losing his sense of self amid dark magic use and Aaravos' hold on him with literally losing himself

Allows Callum to reclaim the cube alongside his own identity once he has broken free

Develops his relationship with Rayla, as well as Rayla and Ezran's dynamic

Culminates Callum's arc in exploring Arc 2 (and the series') main theme of "love can destroy you, yes, but it can also save you" / arc 2's focus on reconciling dualities, as discussed

And I think that's about it!

If you made it through all of this—or indeed have enjoyed this pet theory for any of the 4+ years it's existed—thank you for reading and engaging with it! It was crazy to me after S5 and especially S6 that it was still on the table rather than being decidedly demolished, and I'm excited to see parts / pieces likely come to fruition in S7!

#rayllum #cube hostage exchange theory #tdp meta #tdp #the dragon prince #analysis series #analysis #aka yes i am clearing out / cleaning up my drafts rn

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