#Also!! all my designs may change as I grow familiar with how to draw them better!! Tails' hair has changed a lot since i first drew him!

[tales-of-green-hill]

Jet and Wave!!

Jet is as pretty charismatic guy and a lot of people around the school like him. People think he's so cool!! But he's also an idiot. He and Sonic have an odd dynamic where they're not exactly rivals but not really friends either. Jet thinks Sonic is cool and thinks they're friends. Jet gets under Sonic's skin a LOT, and Sonic is like "Ugh, he's so cool >:/"

Wave is ambiverted, and she'd usually rather have the company of her own thoughts and work over most people, but she can be social. She's the head of the robotics club, so Tails and her interact. Tails is the only middle schooler in the club, so Wave is more interested in how capable Tails is for his age (and she's surprised knowing he's actually younger than she thought! 11 instead of 13)

(There's a strong chance I might actually retcon all of this for story reasons, but if I do, they'll be pretty important to the end of the story, but only for an arc)

[minijenn]

Jen Tortures Herself With Every Dreamworks Animated Movie Ever: How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World

Alright it's time to out myself in front of the entire HTTYD tumblr fandom. I like this movie. A lot. Ok? Like I think its really fucking great and I will not deny that. Is it as good as the first two entries in this franchise? No, but it's still damn solid in its own right. So let's get into it.

We pick up a year after the last movie, with the arrival of another new threat to Berk, the "Night Fury killer" Grimmel the Grisley. To protect his people and their dragons, Hiccup moves the entire tribe to a new island while in search for the Hidden World, an unreachable utopia for all dragonkind. Meanwhile, Toothless is allured by the arrival of a new, mysterious female dragon, the Light Fury, which complicates matters even further as Hiccup begins to worry that he and Toothless are growing apart.

So yeah still a pretty good plot, though not as solidly cohesive as the first two. Still, I enjoy the ride here a lot; we still get a lot of great scenes of the riders fighting their foes, lots of great flying scenes (especially that one between Toothless and the Light Fury, man that scene is just gorgeous), lots of action and strangely enough, a bit more of a focus on humor here than usual? I mean it's ok, but a little strange given this is the final entry in the franchise and the stakes are supposed to be higher than ever.

Speaking of stakes, let's talk about that. Grimmel is by in large the only real new character here (aside from the Light Fury I guess, and she's fine, I don't understand the hate towards her design, I think she's cute). And he is... probably the lamest fuckin villain in this franchise, there I said it. He's just... some dude. He's nowhere near as unhinged and intimidating as Drago, nowhere near as smart or interesting or even just fun to watch as any of the villains in the HTTYD shows, he's just... idk man, a really boring villain. Certainly not what I think the "ultimate" challenge for a protagonist as well developed and interesting as Hiccup should be imo.

I know there are plenty of complains thrown around about this movie, the other riders are poorly-characterized, Grimmel is a lame villain (as I just said, I agree with that one), and of course, it's biggest controversy, it's ending. But here's my take on the ending. I think it's actually pretty bold of them to have the dragons leave? Like yes, there is a heavy sense of finality to it, but that's sort of the point. There's a massive change to the status quo, it feels like a genuine ending with little in the way of Dreamworks doing what they always fucking do in trying to bait any unecessary sequels. And then of course, there's the epilogue, which may be one of my favorite scenes in the entire franchise. I literally cannot watch it without crying, I'm such a fucking wreck for this boy and his dragon oh my god.

As usual, visually and audibly, this movie is absolutely wonderful. The animation here is especially impressive, the lighting took my breath away in some spots with just how realistic some of it looked, while still maintaining the series' usual style. The Hidden World especially, we don't see it for very long, but it is so damn pretty to look at. The music is, of course, also absolutely lovely, once again drawing on familiar themes from throughout the series to send it off one last time.

There's lots of other little things I love about this movie too, like the flashbacks to Stoick and Hiccup when Hiccup was little (I cry), any cute Hicstrid moments, especially the wedding (I cry), Toothless being an absolute mess while trying to impress the Light Fury (I die laughing), just... god, it's more How to Train Your Dragon, man, I fucking love this franchise, how the hell can I possibly hate this movie when there's still so much of what I love about the first two in here?

I do understand, this movie is flawed in some pretty big ways. And yet... it's still so beautiful all the same. I adore it, even if others don't, and I think that's ok? We can all enjoy different things and I just so happen to enjoy this. No, it's certainly not the best this series can do, and maybe the HTTYD franchise does deserve a better conclusion. But for what we got, well... I think it's pretty damn great all the same.

Overall Rating: 9/10

Verdict: How to get your dragon some rizz bc gottdamn he needs some

Previous Review (Captain Underpants: The Epic First Movie)

Next Movie (Abominable)

[titleknown]

HELLOWEEN #14: XMECHANE

-MANGINIX is a Lesser Carnifex of hell, with 14 sites of operation and 28 varieities of sausage to his name. He may teach the art of the finding and preparation of meats rare and unnatural, and may provide spices that alter the body and mind or to transform enemies into discrete forms of sustenance. He appears as a great carrion heap in the shape of a man with a handsome human face, holding a great butcher's cleaver-

...And here we reach a point where the Last Testament is far out of date, which is a feeling I am more than depressingly familiar with in my own recordings. For, Hell too changes as our own societies do; though perhaps more slowly due to the semi-immortality of its inhabitants, and the former Manginix is no exception.

Manginix is at this current moment one of the most terrifying things in Hell: A true believer. He speaks of his old life with a bitter contempt, even as both records and Giobella's testament show that he enjoyed his work and was quite good at it, and was even one of those rare showers of true compassion on occasion.

But compassion is not a world I would describe with his current state, not after walking through his factory, a place of war machines and cybernetic limbs birthed from twitching steel wombs, of pipes like sclerotic veins and furnaces like bleeding lungs, a place of where demon and soul and machine blur into a form of life hostile to all but itself.

He speaks of his old life as a former, dull dream, that he was one of the few demons who saw the speed and efficiency of the machines which now have taken up half his body, evangelizing the powers of speed and and creation. He was very proud, almost like a disciple of The Anti-Sun describing being "born again," as he delved into his discovery of the strange enigmatic machines manifesting in the higher circles, and how only he was the only one able to hear what they told him, what he'd known all along about his body. 

He was suspiciously cagey about what happened to his crew however, and he also says that he views Hell as undermechanized due to their lack of understanding of the glory of mechanization, which having walked through the dark satanic mills that reach even to the Giants' Well and beneath the waters of Bloody Mary, horrors untold yet still less hideous than his own, I find that difficult to take as true.

More likely, I suspect and Giobella does as well, that the machines from which his design draws are not from Hell. For, there are powers in the multiverse far more terrible than hell. 

There is a Machine at the corners of the cosmos, a Machine ever-churning that heaven fears. The oil of worlds devoured runs through its veins, the thoughts of trillions stolen run through its mindless mind. It exists to consume and grow and consume and grow again. And in the heartbeat of that factory I heard the sound of it's soul.

When I obliquely mentioned this, offhand from carelessness, he... froze for a second. Then he emitted a high-pitched screeching sound and attempted to turn my pages into cinders with the cannon upon his arm for several seconds. Then he resumed speaking as if there were no conflict at all, ignoring the smoking holes in his grand edifice.

I've seen that behavior before. I know who he really believes in.

-Xavier X. Xolomon , Monsterologist and Understudy to The Librarian Of Babel

So, when starting this project I knew I wanted to do a demon that was half-and-half flesh-and-technology, evoking Doom. The inspiration there's probably more obvious in the head, which I made because I wanted to blend both halves, and that was an obvious way to do it. And yes, I was thinking of that one Doom 3 demon in the back of my mind, that too.

The idea for them being secretly an agent of The Machine, a nasty faction from my work y'all might be familiar with, followed logically from trying to think about this guy's hook. Because like, there's a reason Heaven considers The Machine far more of a threat than Hell, and it does speak to Hell's poorly organized state that it was able to slip in so easily.

Also, I am still proud (perhaps more than I should be) of making the Goetia-type entry out-of-date in universe, I came up with that on the spot.

As per usual the whole descriptions, designs, ectcetera from this project are free to use as you see fit under a CC-BY 4.0 license so long as I; Thomas F. Johnson, am credited as their creator!

[tehuti88-art]

11/18/22: r/SketchDaily theme, "Antarctica/Free Draw Friday." I did Free Draw Friday.

This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is Unteroffizier (Sergeant) Alger Holt, sans cap (top drawing) and with cap (bottom drawing). Unlike many of my other characters he's actually pretty decent, mainly because he's involved in the resistance. There'll be more about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding his design, he's a standard schnauzer. I was originally going to make him an old German shepherd but changed my mind; still feel rather iffy, but oh well.

TUMBLR EDIT: Holt, I believe, has been around longer than PFC Helmstadt--I believe he, like Senta Werner, slightly predates the circa-2000 reboot, and may have been a supporting character in an adult scene or two, though I'm not going to check--so he's neither one of the old characters nor one of the new. Still, I don't have much personal info about him yet, likely because he's not a main character. Perhaps I'll learn more in the future.

I do know he's a veteran of the Great War and seems to be older than Inspector Dobermann, whose household he serves; I think also he's one of the first Wehrmacht troops who arrive to guard his estate. So he's most familiar with everything that's going on. He's also very observant, while remaining unobtrusive, which means he's often more in the know than others expect--he has the dirt on everybody. They're just lucky that, for the most part, he's not interested in acting on it. He's the one who's basically in charge of household affairs until Helmstadt arrives and takes this duty upon himself; rather than protest, Holt steps back and lets him. All the better to keep even more of an eye on things.

Being a keen observer, Holt picks up on little details that everyone else easily misses. He fought alongside Jewish soldiers in the Great War, so when the national atmosphere begins to change, and the state turns against the Jews and others with the excuse that they betrayed Germany and led to their defeat, he knows this is a pile of BS. He's not sure what to do about it but he knows things are taking a very nasty turn before most of the others know. When Gunter Hesse, an old family friend who'd been staying with the Dobermanns but joined the Waffen-SS to go fight prior to Holt being stationed there, returns to recuperate from his injuries, Holt recognizes that he's bought into the lies hook, line, and sinker--unlike Dobermann himself, who dislikes the Nazis. All three of them served in the Great War, so it's kind of jarring how different their opinions on the matter are.

Along with catching notice of all the little nasty things piling up as the Nazi influence grows, Holt sees all the little signs of resistance as well. It doesn't escape his attention when the home staff members give dirty looks or mutter under their breath about the Nazi officials who keep stopping by Dobermann's house to seek his approval. Dobermann's own disdain is pretty obvious--especially when he brings home Tobias Schäfer, a Jewish prisoner from the labor camp, to serve as the in-home physician. This isn't just audacious, it's illegal--and Hesse makes it clear where he stands, demanding Dobermann take him right back. Dobermann refuses. Even his wife Inga, whom Hesse admires and respects, refuses to get involved, and Schäfer stays. Holt finds the situation curious and interesting. The most interesting thing is how close Schäfer grows to the help staff, especially the kitchen workers, who welcomed him warmly when Hesse refused to eat at the dinner table with him. Holt often spots them talking quietly with each other (Schäfer is deaf, but he can read lips), and often out of the way of Hesse or the Wehrmacht guards. He suspects he knows what's going on before he gets any concrete proof. There's a good reason the Nazis want Dobermann's permission to use his property: The house is full of hidden passages that can be used to secretly observe and search for members of the resistance movement known as the Diamond Network, which is also known to use such passages. So far, Dobermann has put off granting such permission, but Holt believes the passages are being used anyway.

Late one night while patrolling the house he comes across members of the help staff exiting a room where they'd been having a small party amongst themselves; he stops and confronts them. They reluctantly hand over a paper upon which Holt finds a layout of the house and the passages within. He stares at it for a moment before requesting a pen; then he draws in a few more passages he knows of, that the help staff missed. When he hands the map back, he advises them to be more cautious: If someone like him can find out what they're up to this easily, then someone like Hesse, who works in intelligence, can definitely find them out.

It's not too long after that that he hears faint noises in the walls; he conceals himself to the side of where he knows a passageway enters into his room, and watches a section of the shelf slowly move aside. He puts his pistol to the head of the unknown man who peers in, and calmly demands to know who he is and what he's doing there. It soon becomes clear this is Josef Diamant, the founder and leader of the Diamond Network; the Dobermann help staff, via Dr. Schäfer, gave him the house layout, and he's exploring the passages to see how trustworthy it is. And speaking of trustworthy, Schäfer related to him what had happened with Holt stumbling upon the plot--they've been waiting to see if anything would come of this, but it's obvious Holt took no further action as Schäfer warned he might. Diamant suspects Holt may be an ally. Holt hesitates--nobody has ever come right out and asked him before, so for a moment he's not sure how to react. He doesn't waffle for long, though, and tells Diamant that when he served in the Great War, men like Diamant saved his life more than once; he figures he should return the favor. And like that, he becomes an informal member of the Diamond Network, helping to funnel escapees through the house and to safety.

Although close to the Dobermanns, Holt never outs himself to them--Inga Dobermann finds out secondhand that he's involved in the resistance effort when she herself joins in, and Dobermann doesn't find out until this plan falls apart and Inga has to go into hiding. Holt and Diamant are the first on the scene when Inga shoots and kills a trespassing Nazi who threatened to report her, but Dobermann arrives before they can decide what to do. Although stunned and confused, Dobermann promptly orders Diamant to take Inga to safety, while he and Holt work out a cover story to explain the situation to anyone else who arrives. He leaves Holt in charge, and Holt, levelheaded as ever, manages to convince Helmstadt and the others who show up that Inga was killed defending herself, and Dobermann has taken her body to relatives (who don't exist); it's a weird, flimsy story that Hesse doubts when he arrives upon being called, but Holt is convincing, and nobody dares question Dobermann too closely as the "grieving widower." Hesse, normally a threat to Diamond Network activities, actually proves to be an asset in covering up Inga's faked death: His boss places him in charge of the investigation, meaning he chooses who participates and how exhaustive it is. At Dobermann's request, he keeps it low key and doesn't look too deeply past the dead Nazi involved. Inga's secret--that she's actually Jewish--remains safe, ironically, because the SS ensures that it does so.

Even though he's been pulled into it unwillingly, Dobermann continues Inga's work in her absence, and Holt continues assisting, including making sure Hesse remains in the dark. He quickly discovers Sgt. Stephen Gerhardt, a new arrival at the estate, is in fact an American spy, based on a very slight trace of an American accent, and although he doesn't give away the Inga plot, he does help Gerhardt navigate his way through the complicated political situation on the estate. And he's on hand to help defend it and the staff when the s**t finally hits the fan upon Inga's return, resulting in a Nazi attack on the property; while the Dobermanns, Dr. Schäfer, and Gerhardt flee with Diamant, Holt stays behind with Senta Werner, another of Dobermann's Wehrmacht guards, and Wilhelm Volker, a young Nazi officer who decided to side with the Dobermanns at the last minute, to protect the remaining help staff and the house. He's spared by the arriving Allied troops when he offers to translate for them, and never faces any consequences as he never committed any war crimes. His participation in the plot of Ultima Thule is minimal as he remains at the Dobermann estate (now a base of operations for the remains of the Diamond Network as they deal with assisting displaced victims of the Nazis).

Regarding his life after the war, currently, I know nothing; I'm pretty sure it's peaceful and uneventful, as that was the way he preferred to live his life, even though circumstances got in the way for a while. Knowing him, he probably continues to help out what remains of the Network. I don't think he ever gets into a relationship, though that could always change. He surely maintains some sort of casual contact with old friends such as the Dobermanns, Schäfer, and Diamant. I imagine he's just fine with the way his life turns out.

[Alger Holt 2022 [‎Friday, ‎November ‎18, ‎2022, ‏‎4:00:13 AM]]

[Alger Holt 2022 2 [‎Friday, ‎November ‎18, ‎2022, ‏‎4:00:44 AM]]

[trinitylhearts]

Thoughts With Trinity L. Hearts 2022 Jun 25

Today is Friday June 24th of 2022, I just watched four hours of YouTube and then scrolled a hour on Twitter while having breakfast, lunch, and a cup of green tea at home (And now a cup of honey vanilla chamomile tea). Experiencing a bit of “head pressure” probably from watching too much and focusing too much trying to connect the pieces which is what this is - my attempt to make meaning and sense of the yar-content of videos and tweets.

The two tweets I ended on were one by Lyndsey Ogle @lyndseyogle with the context of teaching humanities: “Most importantly, however, they figure out over the course of the semester, that unlike their math & science classes, they won’t leave my class with answers, we aren’t trying to prove something right or wrong. But instead want to understand the world better so we can be better.” https://twitter.com/lyndseyogle/status/1217927553962242049

And the second by Mike Rugnetta with the context of the SCOTUS’s decision overturning Roe v. Wade: “It all sucks and I know you’re mad and I know a lot of you think I’m not helping but I truly (in a very deep way) think we need to start shifting our trust in the capacity for change away from our government, and towards each other. I know that’s very hard.” https://twitter.com/mikerugnetta/status/1540389877799419904

And… I’m not familiar with Roe v. Wade or the history of abortion rights in general. This blog post is more about myself, which maybe cringe or self indulgent, and about figuring out what I should be doing in the context that I’m interested in learning how to write, draw, illustrate, and board game design / TTRPG writing and how to apply those abilities towards helping each other.

Which maybe is selfish in a way - though I choose to believe that art can help us get on the same page, point our flashlights on problems, and harmonize to solve them.

For context I’m a white 25 year old transwomen who lives with their father without a “job” - I sometimes work as clean up or as an extra pair of hands for him on their construction jobs (cleaning up roof shingles or interior remodeling - that sort of thing). November 2019 I was also diagnosed with bipolar schizoaffective, and decided last May to stop taking my medicine for the schizophrenia symptoms (and I already had stopped taking my medicine for the bipolar symptoms sometime last year) - and I’m feeling pretty alright for the most part, sometimes my bipolar and or schizophrenia gets the best of me but since I was diagnosed I have developed techniques for coping, adapting, and developing self efficacy.

I struggle trusting myself - knowing how to react or respond to my own thoughts and feelings, how to react or respond to others, how to react or respond to personal problems I encounter. And with my feeds seeing societal problems that people are outraged with and their distrust in institutions, and rightfully so, I also grow distrustful of institutions and of people generally.

Vsauce by Michael Stevens made a video a while back on Juvenoia with talking about Strauss-Howe generational theory - where currently we’re in a period of crisis where new institutions are built from the ground up, and in a cycle eventually they’ll decay and will have to be built again from the ground up within the next crisis phase. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LD0x7ho_IYc

And maybe it’s not all bad, my brother just shared with me a Twitter thread of video game corp. brands responding to SCOTUS’s decision; https://twitter.com/Nikeyg1/status/1540425566263906305?t=dpH9DpKCMknrUJP-cpPiXQ&s=19 

even though, I don’t think we can fully put our faith in big scaled companies to solve our problems when they’re guided by metrics like profits. I’ll mention Extra Credit’s video “Losing Player Trust - The Data Dilemma”, which with their ideas on comparison can also be applied to governments as well I think - - but anyways corp. or not we can use all the help & support we can get https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fuEy0Y4xoT4

and also we should be mindful of a The Mitchells Vs The Machines scenario where we put all our trust into corporations to solve our problems or a Cyberpunk scenario where they gain too much power. Anyways like Mike said, I think we should be putting trust in each other to keep institutions not only accountable but reliably aligned to the needs, wants, desires & dreams of the people. As they say, “Of the people, by the people, for the people”, which I just googled was said by Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg.

With stories and worldbuilding, I wonder how we can use them to design better systems than the founding fathers had with the U.S. or than other countries in history and in the present day? I also am reminded of a few videos, here’s a list:

How Do You Design a Just Society? | Thought Experiment: The Original Position https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P3gWGtf_w_s

Comment Responses: How Do You Design a Just Society? | Thought Experiment: The Original Position https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=crnj9R4HGCI

Politics in the Animal Kingdom (Playlist) https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkLBH5Kzphe0Qu8mCW1Leef2xSxPK1FIe

The Rules for Rulers https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rStL7niR7gs

America From Scratch (Playlist) https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpn_kDt8Duwgs0HUEW0F8kbV8O12Icsln

Extra Politics (Playlist) https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLhyKYa0YJ_5BMjoxHASNb0uGK_XQrUx9D

Incentive Systems & Politics I - Making Congress Responsible for Their Decisions https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xa-vQ0L77LY

Incentive Systems & Politics II - Limiting Corporate Influence on Policy https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mu5QZmPG8zk

Incentive Systems & Politics III - Breaking the Gridlock in US Government https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0X2es__Wtuk

Why Socrates Hated Democracy https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLJBzhcSWTk

Brexit: What Is Democracy? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vr-ZeToI4R8

Is Democracy a Human Right? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHid2PbcYhc

The Hidden Rules of Modern Society https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_SYW1ElDb8

Has The World Already Ended? Or Just History? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nr0MmKlwd44

Comment Response: Has The World Already Ended? Or Just History? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JSN_8SeNLMA

The Philosophy of Elden Ring https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACTvcdXr95I

The Bronze Age Collapse - Systems Collapse - #4 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3HaqpSPVhW8

Earth Abides - Dystopias and Apocalypses https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2hieycSRUeM

I should read more books. I’m currently reading Nimona. Btw my head pressure is gone.

Anyways, I want to make webcomics, write short stories and posts, and create art that explores life, solving problems, and uses imaginalism, - (as the creator of Stillfleet, Wythe Marschall, coined: imagination as philosophy,) - and to support others..

[vibraniumwing]

what once was mine.

a neville longbottom x reader wherein the reader catches a disease that everyone fears to get, and when the former realizes what was happening, it was all too late.

WARNING: angst, hanahaki!au, mentions of death, major character death

A/N: okay so this is my own entry for my writing challenge !! the chaotic eggs were talking about hanahaki fics and i just couldn’t shake this idea off. i hate writing angst for this little bean but i JUST can’t let this go. 

prompt: healing incantation from tangled.

word count: 3.2k

---

Neville walked through the path of what was once his safe haven, the chilling air biting into his skin as he reached the only tree that was in the middle of the vast land that was littered with flowers.

For the beautiful place that once brought him joy, also gave him despair.

---

You and Nevile got along quite well due to the fact that the two of you grew up next to each other and that you’ve always had this special bond over plants— whether it be magical or just the normal kind— meaning that you mostly bonded over tending to the plants at the greenhouse and helping Professor Sprout during your free time. 

He would usually teach you the magical properties of the plants you’ve studied for in Herbology while you teach him certain meanings and symbolisms for flowers that you’ve studied in your free time. 

---

Neville was making his way to the greenhouse when he heard a gentle voice through the window, peeking through, he saw you gently spray the pots of dittany with water as you quietly sang, 

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine”

He mesmerized by the way you carried out the song, capturing him in a trance as you continued to sing and tend to the plant, unaware of his presence,

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fate's design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine”

Your voice growing more silent as you ended the song, only noticing his presence as you turn around and see him looking at you with a rather dazed expression, amazed at what you’ve performed in front of him.

“Nev! how long have you been there?” You question, nearly dropping the watering can, cheeks flushed at the realization that he heard you singing. 

He smiled at you shyly, “Just enough to hear you sing, why have you never told me that you sing so well?” he questioned, jogging to the door and entered the greenhouse, the smile still evident on his lips. 

You shied away from his gaze, “It just never came up as topic, besides my singing abilities aren’t that good.” you now answer, walking back to the table to return the canister and face him, crossing your arms as you lean on the table. “Now I’m guessing you want an answer to why I was singing to them?” Questioning him, motioning to the plants that was in front of you. 

He sheepishly nodded, genuinely curious at your habit. 

Taking a deep breath in, you started to explain, “When I was young, my mom would always sing me this song when she’s healing the small wounds I would get to distract me from the pain, telling me that this song helps to revive what once was in agony.” You answered, walking back over to gently hold the leaves of the magical plant in front of you.

“Then when I started to grow my own garden, I would sing the song to the flowers in my garden when they would show signs of wilting, as if to help them grow back. It’s silly, I know, but I just believe that it helps them in a way.” You finished explaining, looking back at him with an embarrassed expression, still in disbelief that he had finally caught you.

He looked at you incredulously, shocked that you think he would shame you for such a habit. “I don’t think that’s embarrassing, I honestly think it’s adorable.” tone filled with sincerity as he rubbed the nape of his neck, “I would love to learn that song too.”

That was your turn to look at him with disbelief, did he really want to learn the song because of you? 

A huge grin soon came over your lips as you pulled out a tattered leather journal from your bag, handing it over to him. “I might consider teaching you the song if you learn these flowers with me.” You persuaded him, his hands now opening the notebook to see the hand-drawn flowers you’ve designed on the pages, it’s names and meanings beside it.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” 

---

“Hey (Y/N), what do these flowers symbolize?” He asked you one day, pointing to the page that had carnations decorating the page, the name and its meaning missing. 

You leaned over and smiled sadly at the drawing, “Those are red carnations, Nev.” You started off, leaning on your chair as you continued, “You can see that the red varies from a light red hue to a much deeper and rich one, right? Well, the light red carnations symbolizes admiration while the deeper ones mean deep love and affection.”

He eagerly listened to your explanation, nodding once as he motioned for you to finish what you were saying, you bring your hand towards the white and striped variations of the same flower, “The white ones represent pure love and good luck while the striped ones are for the regret of a love one cannot share. “ You finished, giving him an accomplished look as he was amazed. 

“Who knew a single flower and its colors have tons of meanings.” He commented, fingers gently grazing over the surface of the page as he looked at it with awe. 

“Everything has meaning if you look at enough, Nev.”

---

As days passed by, you’ve bonded over the simple journal filled with flowers, spending hours upon hours showing him what they could mean to a person and how you can care for it. 

as the days passed, you also felt your heart slowly sink in deeper into the emotions you swore to never tell. 

---

You were passing by greenhouse when you heard a familiar tune carry out from the windows, stopping by the very last one, you peek to see Neville carefully tending to his Mimbulus Mimbetonia that he bought in that same year, gently watering the plant as he sang.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine”

Admittedly, his voice wasn’t that good but the tenderness in every word he spoke had you swooning; your heart swelled with adoration as he continued to sing, unaware of how you were silently watching him.

You’ve made yourself content with that, just admiring him from the distance; loving him silently from the side.

---

The two of you were in the Great Hall, immersed yet in another session of flowers and symbols, you were explaining to him the meaning of Camellias when you’ve noticed he seemed to be out of focus, staring off into the distance.

You followed his gaze to the group of students who proudly wore their house color of blue, landing on a certain blonde girl who was eating her food quietly, caught in-between two chattering girls.

Upon realization, your throat started to itch, making you wince at the feeling. “Hey Neville, are you still with me?” You asked, clearing your airway as to ease out on the uneasy feeling stirring inside of you.

He instantly snapped out of it and looked back at you with a grin, “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. You were saying?” motioning you to continue, eyes now glued to the flower you had recently drawn. 

“There are called camellias. Generally, they would symbolize love, affection and admiration to a person. However, like what I’ve explained before, the colors vary what their purpose.” You explained, hand reaching over to scratch your throat as the its irritation intensified, “For example, red would mean love and affection.” 

Neville silently nodded, not noticing how you were struggling with your words, “and these are?” he asked, pointing to the pink ones that were alone by the corner of the page.

“Those are pink camellias, those signify a longing for someone,” You finished.

“Your knowledge on these never ceases to amaze me.”

---

Weeks passed and the irritation just worsened, confusing you to no end about what you may have eaten to cause such a state. 

Until you were walking alongside with Neville until you coughed, feeling a rather foreign object in your mouth. You covered your mouth and looked at your friend with wide eyes before running to the lavatory, stumbling to the sink as you release whatever was in your mouth.

It was petals, and not just any petals, it was striped carnation petals.

You stared at the bunch in your hands, rather terrified of the beautiful red to white design it had. 

---

Seemingly enough, every time you would cough up these little monsters, it would be whenever Neville would be looking or talking to Luna. 

Your eyes looked at the amount of petals you had coughed up in just a week, filling the little jar you had hidden halfway through already. Everyday would be a new struggle for you as your breathing would get restricted more and more each time. 

You sat by the window of your dorm and watched how the glass reflected in the moonlight, gently shaking the jar as you watch the petals flutter inside the case, remembering how you 

You had some alone time after telling Neville that you would stay back at Hogwarts rather than go down at Hogsmeade, telling him that you were feeling a little under the weather for such activities. 

He offered to stay back but you said no, telling him to go have fun and enjoy the rest of the day, to which he reluctantly agreed to and left with Seamus and Dean.

You wandered into the library in hopes at you would find something that would answer what you had been currently suffering with. Eyes quickly skimming through the various books until you came across one that explained muggle ailments and illnesses. 

Scanning through the pages, your eyes had caught a picture of lungs that were slowly being filled with petals, “Hanahaki Disease...” you read out loud, your head pulsating at the realization of what you had caught, its severity causing you to tear up. 

‘This disease is stemmed from a love you cannot receive back, the petals usually appear from a certain flower and reminds them of the person they hold dearest.’ You silently read, blinking through the tears as your fingers played with the carnations that laid rest inside your pocket. 

“It’s severity may vary from petals to coughing up the full form of the flowers, the only known cure for this is aside from the reciprocation of love is the removal of the petals, however the devastating side-effect includes the loss of emotions for the said person. This is severely fatal for those who decide to leave it be, death be their mark for those who pretend not to see.” you whispered, fear creeping into your mind at the realization if you get this removed, your love for Neville will also leave

That’s when you’ve decided to leave what you have as it, choosing to endure what may come rather than to lose Neville.

Your hand clutched the container as sobs soon followed, tears freely flowing down your cheeks, “I’d rather fight and endure the pain may give me than to lose the love I have for you, Nev.”

and for the first time in what seems like forever, there were no petals that night.

---

You’ve decided to keep a notebook to keep track on the days you’ve survived with this living hell, writing down what happened within your day and if you have coughed up any petals; small bits and pieces of how you adore your best friend. 

You were by the Greenhouse, hugging your cardigan closer to your body as you admired the beautiful flowers of a rather wilted aconite, drawing the plant as you quietly sang to yourself, 

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine”

Bringing comfort to your rather irritated chest as someone joined along, your head whipped to where the sound came from, seeing Neville walk towards you with a rather warm smile, the same smile that you found comfort in, the same one that caused you to be in the predicament that you are right now.

“What are you drawing there?” He had asked, attempting to peek at the notebook which you closed rather quickly. 

You shook your head and hugged the notebook close to your chest, “You can’t look into this yet, Nev. Not yet.” You had said before coughing once more, a single petal escaping your lips. 

He looked at you with concern etched on his face, rubbing your back soothingly. “You’ve been coughing a lot lately, (Y/N), are you alright?” He asked, voice laced with worry as you nodded, giving him a smile as you held onto his hand.

“I’m all good, Neville, don’t worry. It’s just a cold that’s been sticking around for longer.”

---

You crossed out another date on the calendar you’ve made on your journal, signifying you have yet lived another day with this treacherous disease. It’s been three years since the first day you’ve coughed up petals and you still can’t believe you’ve lasted this long.

The longest record for this was for just 5 months, yet here you are now, marching on your way down to the Great Hall with your heart pounding at the realization that you were about to walk into another battle aside from your own.

As chaos soon ensued, you and Neville were on lookout by the other end of the wooden bridge, on the lookout for the pack of death eaters that were bound to invade the castle that way. You were both staring out into the rather pitch black valley, you were chewing the inside of your cheek as your hands grip on the railing, “Nev, before we both get into this, I just want you to know-”

You were about to confess what you felt for him when a loud rumble of feet interrupted, making you both alert and grip onto your wands as you looked into the distance. You grabbed his hand the moment you saw the death eaters viciously towards the entrance when three of them just obliterated into nothing making the rest halt in their tracks,

Neville gave you a knowing look, a rather victorious smile on his lips, “Yeah?! You and whose army?!”, taunting the large crowd who stopped in their tracks. Yet when a single flare landed on Scabior’s want, you immediately tugged on his sleeve, “Nev, we have to run.” as the death eaters rushed inside the gatehouse. 

You instantly took the lead, the both of you fleeing the bridge while avoiding the spells the snatcher was casting on the both of you while Neville casted a few spells to blow up the bridge. 

You were the first one to the end, watching how the bridge fell as your friend disappeared from your sight, “Neville!” You shrieked, Seamus holding you back as you coughed, your throat not handling the rather strenuous thing.

You struggled in Seamus’ grip, sobbing at the thought that your friend might have plummeted to his death when his want re-emerged from where the bridge cut off, his head soon popping out as he supported himself on the ledge, “That went well.” He groaned. 

You wiped your tears and ran towards him, helping him up as you cupped his face, eyes searching any bruises he might have. “Nev, don’t ever scare me like that again.” You sobbed, not minding the fact that every time you had to take a sharp inhale, it felt like glass was being pushed into your lungs because of the flowers growing within your chest. 

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, breath heaving in lots of air as he felt the adrenaline course through his veins, “I’m okay, (Y/N/N). I promise.” he assured, smiling at you rather happily. 

“Hey I hate to break your moment but we have to get back inside the castle now” Ginny spoke up, motioning the two of you to go and stand up. You both looked at each other and stood up, running along with her into the school as you maneuvered through the sea of students trying to flee the scene.

“What were you trying to say earlier, (Y/N)?” Neville had finally asked, glancing at you as he bumped into another student again, you shook your head, choosing not to speak up about your emotions in a time like this, “I’ll tell you once this thing is over, just promise me you’ll stay alive” You said back, giving him a smile which he mirrored, understanding what you meant.

“Ginny! Neville! (Y/N)!  Are you alright?” Harry’s voice soon rang in your ears, watching how Harry took the lass by his side and looked at the both of you with expectancy. You gave him a mere nod while the other spoke up, “Never better! I feel like I could spit fire! You haven’t seen Luna, have you?”

Harry looked at him confused, “Luna?” “I’m mad for her! ‘Think it’s about time I told her since we’d probably both be dead by dawn!” Neville exclaimed, giving you a small pat on the back as he ran up the stairs.

You suddenly felt your airway constrict more as you violently coughed, hunching over as a bunch of petals escaped your mouth, a bit of your own blood trailing down your mouth as you looked at Ginny who was talking with Harry. Despite the painful ringing in your ear and your ragged breath, you shouted at the both of them, “I’ll go this way! Be safe, the both of you!” before running off into the distance, fighting your way through the crowd.

You didn’t know where your feet would take you as you ran until you reached a deserted hallway, making you finally collapse on the floor as you spat out buds of the beautiful carnation and even the flower in its full form. 

With a shaky hand, you grasp onto in, heaving in your last breath before blacking out. 

---

When you woke up next, you heard a voice quietly sing albeit the hoarseness present in it, you found the sense of familiarity in every word, 

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine”

The song was cut off by a sob, causing you to stir as your vision was invaded by the bright light, looking down at what seems to be a distraught Neville. “H-Hey.” You managed to croak, wincing at the pain it caused you. 

He looked up at you with bloodshot eyes, “Why didn’t you tell me, (Y/N)? Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, crying harder as you brought your hand up to wipe his tears, silencing his sobs as you sang for one last time, 

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fate's design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine”

Tears of your own spilled as you realized that you have finally reached your end, that with every inhale that you took the exhales got shorter. You weakly cupped his cheek, smiling softly. “I didn’t want you to worry so much, seeing you happy was enough for me.” You explained, eyes exploring the ruins of the Great Hall for one last time.

“Because I’d rather die knowing that I loved someone as great as you, Neville. I’m sorry.” your answer cut off by coughing up the final camellia that escaped your system, giving it to him as you softly sang before drifting off, the cries of what once was your first love floating away.

“What once… was mine.”

---

TAGS: @theweasleyslut​ @violetravens​ @eunoia-kth​ @starlightweasley​ @minty-malfoy​ @glimmering-darling-dolly​ @slytherinsunrise​ @loony-loopy-lupinn​ @dogweedanddeathcaps​ @pastanest​

[fandom-imagines-stories]

The Beauty Underneath

Phillip Carlyle x Reader

Words: 2980

Summary: A new and mysterious performer joins Barnum’s crew. Phillip falls for her, but she keeps herself distant, afraid to open herself up after a life of cruelty and rejection. As protesters become more violent and the bond between them grows, the reader must learn to accept herself, mask and all.  

Notes: Bad summary, but oh well. This definitely is a reference to Love Never Dies, with the title and the mask and I had a blast writing it. Be on the lookout for more Zac Efron and more Phillip. (And as always, reviews mean the world!)

-

The sparks circled you as the batons spun through the air above you. You cartwheeled across the ground and caught the flaming batons with flare, one in each hand. It was a simple performance, but the crowd was getting smaller every week and people hardly gave you a cent.  You bowed and a few passer byes dropped coins into your jar. As you went to collect your earnings, one man lingered. 

Barnum had watched the performer with absolute awe. The dance was mesmerizing, but it was the crude fabric mask that truly peaked his interest. It completely covered the left side of her face. The mystery alone would be enough to draw crowds. 

A paper fell in front of your face. Barnum’s Circus. You looked up at the man who placed it there. Of course you recognized him. Every street performer was dying to be part of his show. P.T. Barnum. 

“You’re pretty good at that.” He nodded towards your batons as you extinguished the flames in a bucket of water. “Really good.”

“You’re too kind.” You replied, trying not to sound so nervous. 

“What is the mask for, may I ask?”

“If I told you, my act would be ruined.” You shrugged. “My secret helps me tame the flames.” It also kept you safe. Safe from the cruelty of your present as well as the haunted memory of your past. Barnum just chuckled. 

“Right you are.” He flashed you a smile. “How would you feel about performing in my show? I’d need to introduce you to everyone of course, but I think you’d make a spectacular edition.”

“Mr. Barnum, I-” You were at a complete loss for words. “I’d be honored.” P.T. looked down at your jar and meek earnings. 

“You’ll have to discuss pay with Carlyle. He takes care of all that.” 

“When would you like me to start?” You couldn’t remember the last time you had a steady income. You could afford a real mask. P.T. laughed. 

“I was hoping you’d accompany me now.” He held out his arm and you took it, feeling dazed. That little voice in your head spoke, telling you to keep your guard up. Circus or not, you had to prepare yourself for the stares and the jeers. It was an instinct you were forced to develop after years of persecution. You had to expect the worst out of people. It was how you survived. 

-

Phillip had spent most of the afternoon looking over finances until he decided he needed a drink. Ticket sales were steady enough, but it was difficult to keep up with P.T.’s ambition. He had just poured himself a glass when Barnum burst into the room and snatched the drink up for himself. Phillip just gave him a perturbed glare. 

“You seem suspiciously excited about something.”

“I need new posters made.” Barnum beamed. “Masked Mistress of Fire.” He held up his hands, envisioning the red lettering engulfed in drawn flames. Phillip paused. 

“You hired another performer?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you ever going to consult me before you do these things?”

“Will you just meet her before you start lecturing me?” He ushered Phillip downstairs to the backstage area where the woman was waiting. She was fixing her skirts so they would only see the masked side of her face. “Miss Y/L/N, allow me to introduce Phillip Carlyle, my apprentice.” 

“Junior Partner.” Phillip corrected. His look of irritation quickly faded into one of awe. Your eyes met and it felt like something inside both of you ignited. Barnum’s eyes darted between the two of you and he said something about checking on the elephants before vanishing. 

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Carlyle.” Your voice sounded much more frightened than you had intended. He bowed to kiss your hand.

“Please, call me Phillip.” He smiled and you could feel yourself melt into his blue eyes. Until he sees what you really look like. And just like that; guard up, spark stomped out. 

“I should find out where he wants my things.” You concluded bluntly, hurrying away before you could change your mind. 

Phillip’s gaze lingered after you and he was only able to conjure one clear thought. He wanted to know the woman behind the mask. 

“What do you think?” Barnum’s voice interrupted his trance and Phillip scowled at P.T.’s suggestive smirk. Philip just shook his head with annoyance and walked away, hearing P.T. laugh behind him. “Once again, Carlyle, I was right!”

-

You performed your usual routine for Barnum so he could give you notes and so they could design your costume. Luckily, another performer named Anne would be in charge of that. You also noticed that Mr. Carlyle was there- but of course he would be. He was Barnum’s right hand man. Still, you could feel his eyes on you as you worked with the fire. Those eyes. You didn’t know anything could be so blue. The distraction was enough to make you falter and you had to quickly catch one of the batons before the flames hit the dirt. 

“Brava!” Barnum exclaimed, everyone giving you a round of applause. P.T. pat Phillip on the back. “What did I tell you? Magnificent.”

“It was spectacular.” Phillip agreed, his smile making your heart flutter. You were sure he wouldn’t smile like that if he could really see you. Somehow, the thought pained you more than you cared to admit. The feeling increased as he approached you. 

“I’m pleased you enjoyed my act, Mr. Carlyle.” You said, cold and professional. His smile never faltered. 

“I realized that you know my name, but I do not know yours.” His voice was kinder than any man had ever been towards you. His curiosity was genuine, not based on lust or mockery. 

“Y/N.” You squeaked. “My name is Y/N.” there you go again, melting into those eyes. 

“I wanted to ask,” Phillip gulped. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman made him this nervous. “I was hoping you’d join me for dinner? To welcome you to the circus, of course.”

“I’m sure Mr. Barnum will want me to settle in.” You both looked over at him and he shrugged. 

“Not really. Go enjoy yourself.” He said with a wink. Without an excuse, you had to accept the invitation.

“If you’ll excuse me to change into something more suitable.” You curtsied, trying to hide your nerves. No one had ever asked you to dinner before. 

You cleaned off your nicer dress and borrowed a shawl from Anne. You looked somewhat presentable. Looking in the mirror, your face reflected back at you with an expression of disdain. 

“Here.” Anne handed you a thin paper mache mask. “P.T. will get one for your act, but this will work better than your fabric.” Her smile was so sincere and encouraging, you felt tears welling in your eyes. 

“Thank you.” 

Phillip was waiting patiently outside having put on his evening jacket. He didn’t appreciate the smirk P.T. was giving him so he distracted himself with his scarf. He just wanted to make sure you felt welcome. He knew how intimidating and hectic it all was at first. He just also happened to be quite taken with you. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything finer.’ You sighed as you walked down the steps. Phillip offered you his arm. 

“You look lovely.” 

“I, um-” You paused. You convinced yourself he was just being polite. “Thank you.” He opened the door of the carriage for you and helped you up before climbing in himself. The restaurant was nice, but Phillip wasn’t one for highbrow establishments anymore. It was comfortable, yet respectable. It felt like somewhere you would have gone as a child. 

After a glass of wine, you felt yourself loosen up a bit. And considering it was the first good meal you had had in several years, it was difficult to maintain your usually hard exterior. Phillip noticed that you seemed more relaxed and couldn’t help but fall in love with the sound of your laugh. 

“So how does a wealthy playwright come to leave his inheritance and join the circus?” You inquired. Phillip chuckled and took another sip of wine. 

“P.T. approached me about a year ago with the off of a new, exciting life. I, of course, thought he was crazy.” there was that incredible laugh again. “But the more he convinced me, the more I realized that I wasn’t happy where I was. I was trapped. Now I’ve lived more in the past year than I would have in a hundred.”

“How inspiring.” You mused.

“What about you? What brings you to us?” Phillip watched your smile fall. Your gaze clouded, like you were remembering a bad dream. “I’m so sorry, I’ve overstepped.”

“No, it’s fair of you to be curious.” You took a particularly large gulp of wine for courage. “My parents died when I was young. It’s just that-”

“Mr. Carlyle, running around with the riff-raff again, are we?” A man approached the table with a mocking smile. He took a closer look at you and his smile changed to one you were quite familiar with. “My apologies, miss. I mistook you for another circus freak.”

“Miss Y/L/N, this is Stefan Carter.” Phillip smiled with gritted teeth. “We knew each other as children.”

“Come now, Phillip we were as thick as thieves until you joined the freak show.” Stefan’s laugh wasn’t anything like Phillip’s. It was cruel and held little real humor. He turned back to you. “I’m dying to know what you’ve got underneath…” Phillip’s fist clenched around his napkin. “I mean your mask, of course.” 

You stood, looking him in the eye with all of the venom you could muster. 

“One of the freaks.” You couldn’t bear to look at Phillip’s reaction so you kept your eyes fixed on Mr. Carter. “Thank you for dinner, Mr Carlyle. Please excuse me.” You brushed passed a smirking Mr. Carter and didn’t stop until you vanished into the night, Phillip unable to catch you in time.

-

Your first performance was hit. The Masked Mistress of Fire. A routine that might have caught the attention of a person passing in the street earned you a standing ovation. The applause thundered in your ears and P.T. beamed at you from the side. Beside him, Philip clapped, but his smile was a sad one, longing to undue that terrible end to a wonderful night. You had fiercely put your guard back up. Still, you wished that you could run to him, to kiss him, and for once in your life feel loved. But you knew better. Phillip could never love you. 

Show after show passed and you were sure to keep your distance. Every time he seemed to approach you, you’d scurry away to talk to Anne or Lettie. 

“Why do you always hide from him?” Anne asked once. 

“I’m not what he thinks he wants.” You kept your eyes anywhere but Phillip’s defeated face. 

“And how could you know that if you won’t even let him try?” She was whisked away into the air before you could respond. 

“Y/N,” P.T. bounded towards you with an enthusiastic grin. Phillip trailed beside him. “How’s the new mask fitting?” 

“It’s beautiful, Mr. Barnum.” It was the nicest thing you owned. The ceramic mold fit your face perfectly and the red and yellow flames framed the left side, hiding the skin underneath. 

“Your act is marvelous!” P.T. beamed. “The protestors have even added your masked face to their list of things to complain about, which makes you a real Barnum performer in my book.”

It was true. The awful group of ruffians and drunkards that hung around had screamed at you to show your face on many occasions, but they didn’t frighten you. You had dealt with their kind before. It was the hurt look in Phillip’s eye whenever he looked at you that you couldn’t handle. 

“I can’t thank you enough for bringing me here, Mr. Barnum.”

“The pleasure has been all ours, isn’t the right Phillip?” He roughly pat his partner on the back. 

“Your addition to the circus has been wonderful.” Phillip mimicked your professional stance. His indifferent tone hurt more than it should have. Perhaps he had finally given up. It was for the best. 

You usually went for the late night stroll after a performance, even with the protesters lingering outside. They seemed particularly unpleasant tonight. As you moved towards the exit, a hand gently grabbed yours. 

“I think you should stay in for the night.” Phillip’s previous coolness had gone, replaced by worry. 

“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Carlyle, but I assure you I have learned to handle myself.”

“Y/N please.” He pleaded. “Stay here with me tonight.” The way he looked at you- those kind eyes filled with a kind of caring you haven’t felt in years- made you want to stay. But behind him, you could see your reflection. The mirror may show that beautiful mask, but you knew what was underneath. 

“I’m afraid that we fair better when we are apart, Mr. Carlyle.” You couldn’t hide the sadness in your voice, turning your head when it cracked. “Goodnight.”

“Y/N, wait!” His voice was drowned out by the roaring shouts outside the door. The light of the torches blinded you at first as your eyes tried to adjust. 

“Show your face you freak!” One man shouted. 

“I wouldn’t mind if she showed more than that.” Another sneered. A sweaty hand ran down your arms and you jerked away. You looked for a break in the crowd. 

“Where are you going? The freak show’s right here.” This time, the hand roughly grabbed your shoulder. 

“Leave her alone!” Phillip boomed, making the crowd step back slightly. 

“What’s your problem, boy?” The man who grabbed you stepped forward. 

“Let the lady pass.” He commanded. His arms tensed under his shirt and for the first time, he looked frightening. Another man stepped out from the crowd, this one far more drunk than the others. 

“Mr. Carter?” You gasped. He stalked towards you, nearly tripping over his own feet. He was hardly recognizable, but you’d know that smirk anywhere. 

“Hello again, mystery woman.” He slurred. “Why must you insist on keeping the company of such rabble? Why not spend a night with a real gentleman?” His breath reeked of whiskey and his hair was a mess. You leaned towards him. 

“Sir, if you are what they call a gentleman, I will gladly take my chances with the rabble.” You spat. 

“How dare you-” He lifted his hand, but a fist collided with his jaw before he could strike you. 

“Phillip, don't!” You cried. You reached for him, but somebody shoved you backwards. You were pushed and pulled through the crowd further and further away from Phillip. One person pushed you hard enough that you fell. The hard cobblestone sent pain shooting up your arm when you tried to catch your fall. The sound of the mask shattering was the last thing you remembered. 

You were awakened by a gentle hand on your cheek. Your left cheek. You scrambled backwards, nearly falling out of your bed. You desperately tried to cover your face with your hand, your injured wrist screaming in protest. It was no use. He had already seen you. 

“It’s alright.” Phillip hushed, his hand still holding the bloody piece of cloth. “When you fell, you seemed to have sprained your wrist. The mask broke and a few of the shards cut your cheek and jaw. Luckily, the pieces missed your eye.” The way he looked at you now was the same way he had looked when you first met. He wasn’t repulsed or frightened. His eyes held only… was it love?

“How can you look at me?” You sobbed, your hand pressing against your wounds. Phillip took your hand in his and slowly lowered it, bringing it to his lips. 

A large burn-scar stretched up from your jaw and covered almost the entire left half of your face. While the skin was now jagged and discolored, to him, it didn’t obscure your beauty. Seeing you, the real you, was the most stunning thing he’d ever laid eyes upon. Phillip placed a light kiss on your palm. 

“This face,” He dabbed the cloth to one of the cuts and this time, you didn’t feel any pain, “is the same face that possesses a smile that has rendered me speechless for weeks. It is the same face that holds the eyes that I have lost myself in more often than I care to admit. And it is the face of the woman that I have fallen irrevocably in love with.”

You weren’t quite sure what made you cry- having pushed him away all this time or knowing that he meant his words more than anything he’d ever said before. But sure enough, tears began to fall before you could stop them. In all your years of solitude and living as an outcast, hearing his love out poured to you cracked the mask around your heart wide open. 

Your bodies drew closer and closer until the soft touch of his lips grazed yours. The spark you had been trying to ignore ignited a fire. You loved him. More than anything you ever had before. You loved him. 

You spent the rest of the night in his embrace. You told him the story of the fire that killed your family and gave you your scars. He held you tighter when you cried and kissed your lips to remind you that you were safe and loved. It was more than you could have ever hoped for. And for the first time, you felt beautiful.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto;

[the-hunchback-of-notre-dame]

Screenwriter Tab Murphy Talks “Hunchback,” “Atlantis” and “Brother Bear” During Walt Disney Family Museum Happily Ever After Hours

by Tony Betti | Source (x)

Over the weekend I had the fortunate opportunity to attend the Walt Disney Family Museum’s Happily Ever After Hours Virtual Program featuring screenwriter Tab Murphy.

Tab Murphy has a wide embodiment of work for the screen, but this program primarily focused on his work for what is now known as Walt Disney Animation Studios. He contributed to The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Tarzan, Atlantis: The Lost Empire, and Brother Bear.

Right off the bat, Tab said that his first foray into animation was a bit jarring. He wrote the script, and then partnered with Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz who, as he put it, had the script posted on walls all around a room and would then go up to certain sections and draw big Xs through the words and say “this is where we think a song should be.” As they worked together though, Tab said he realized how right they were to do that, and the end result is simply amazing.

Anybody familiar with the original story of The Hunchback of Notre Dame may recall that there are a ton of characters present in the original novel aside from the namesake Hunchback, Quasimodo. He said that was where one of the hardest parts of writing the movie adaptation lied, especially for a Disney animated film, noting that there was a certain “checklist” of sorts for a Disney film that the characters had to hit. So they developed the film around the characters that would best fill the roles of the principal lead (Quasimodo), the Hero (Phoebus), and the Princess (Esmeralda), along with the obvious villain, Claude Frollo. He said that the story was exceptionally dark for a Disney film, but he found the heart in it when you would take away everyone else leaving Quasimodo to do his own thing with the birds or the gargoyles, and the world got bright and colorful. This sentiment is actually echoed in the production design of the film, whenever Frollo is present, the colors are grays and dark shadows, and muted and boring hues, but whenever Quasi is involved in his own thing there are far more colors and brightness.

He also elaborated on his love for writing the character of Esmeralda, saying he felt that she was Disney’s original activist, and she was most definitely not a damsel in distress, standing up for the issues, with Tab citing the line (though he flubbed it a little) “You mistreat this poor boy the same way you mistreat my people. You speak of justice, yet you are cruel to those most in need of your help!”

When asked about the development of Quasimodo, Tab pointed out that more classic adaptations of the story, such as an earlier incarnation from Universal in their horror movie craze, took the character and turned him into a literal monster, some sort of terrifying creature. “This is a human being,” Tab said, adding that his version would not scare you but draw out empathy. But he still had to be realistic. He couldn’t be the hero either, that wouldn’t be true to the source material, but he echoed thoughts and ideas shared by animator James Baxter in a recent program from the museum, that he needed to be gentle and warm to reinforce that this was a human and not a monster.

Interestingly, Tab said that he had not watched the film in its entirety since the world premiere back in 1996 up until about two weeks before the program, forgetting how beautiful the final product turned out. He said he cried his eyes out and believes that story holds up because of that emotion, something that everyone can relate to at some point in their lives, that they’re different and feeling alienated and an outsider who overcomes that. “Everyone who worked on that movie, everyone was on their A-game.”

After Hunchback, Tab was assigned to tackle Tarzan, though he openly admitted he wasn’t as involved in that one as much as people think he was. Shortly after he began, Gary Trousdale and Kirk Wise (directors of Hunchback) asked him to join their team for a radical new movie that would buck the trends of Disney Animation, Atlantis: The Lost Empire. According to Tab, the pair pitched him the idea while comparing it to Disneyland, saying “You know how you go in to [the park] and go right into Fantasyland, through the castle, see the princesses and fairy tales. Well, we’re going to take a hard left straight to Adventureland.”

Tab was excited, this was going to be something so out of the ordinary and he would be a part of it. He noted that he was especially excited because of the subpods that would shoot out of the Ulysses. At another point in the session, Tab mentioned that he was never worried about budget when writing for Disney animation, noting that the animators were so good they would figure out how to get what he wrote onto the screen successfully, with the Subpods off the main submarine as they battled the Leviathan an excellent example of that. He also elaborated on what he referred to as “movie moments,” those special quotes that you know, when writing them, people will always remember and associate with the movie, with Atlantis having one of his favorites, when Helga is firing the flare gun at Roarke’s balloon and uses his own words, “Nothing personal.”

As many know, the film was not an immediate box office success. It didn’t do poorly, it just didn’t reach the numbers that Disney likes to see. Because of that, Tab thought he had written Disney’s first flop. The film came out in 2001, and he said it wasn’t until last year when he was stuck at home that someone had exposed him to the following that Atlantis: The Lost Empire has acquired over the years. He even started getting letters and messages from fans, some saying that the film had inspired them to be linguists or archeologists as those who were younger when they saw it are now adults exploring their career path.

Tab has an almost Jeff Bridges-like quality to him, almost channeling the Dude from The Big Lebowski, and elaborated on the sentiment of career paths, commenting that when he was in school, he was studying forestry and biology. In one of his best pieces of wisdom from the session, he said that “Part of knowing what you want is knowing what’s not meant for you.” It was his love of movies that continued to grow prompting him to get into the industry as a screenwriter. However, that background in forestry and wildlife would come in handy on his next assignment, Brother Bear.

Tab said goodbye to the kids, and jetted off to Florida for a short-term residence at the Yacht Club resort where he would go to the Animation studio that was part of the Disney-MGM Studios (now Disney’s Hollywood Studios) where Brother Bear was in production. Most of the original story, he said, was created from campfire stories that he and director Aaron Blaise would share. Together they wrote the original story which was mostly similar and had Kenai being transformed and subsequently mentored by an older bear named Grizz, voiced by Michael Clarke Duncan. He packed up and left and only after that did they change one prominent piece of the writing. Grizz would now be dropped for a younger bear, Koda, and that one “movie moment” as Tab says, where Kenai has to say the “he did something bad.”

Tab said the story of what happened on Brother Bear is truly the story of animation. It’s living and breathing. Things get dropped, added, changed, tweaked. He felt like a starting pitcher in a baseball game, there to set you up for success and then be moved or changed out to make sure the game is won, but also only one part of the greater team as a whole. When asked about how he would draw out emotion in his writing he said he would only put the words down, and it was the rest of that same team that would succeed in making you feel something, adding that he might have words that touch you emotionally in scene, but the rest of the team knew how to enhance those words and make it something truly special.

[o0o0thorn0o0o]

Actual best boi Gakushuu as the King (Queen) of Hearts. The King in title, the Queen in role. He’s no figurehead, after all (I actually completely forgot the King of Hearts existed, which attests to how useless he is). Being the Queen of Hearts, he is, of course, the main antagonist. For like around the first 3/4s, anyway. I don’t think he’ll actually show up in person until the last half, though.

If you may recall, I said I was going to upload a set of designs next time. But, well, after finally getting him finished, I decided to just upload him by himself. It’s been over month since the last addition. Oof. I have a lot to talk about for this design, so gonna add a “keep reading”

Oh my gosh, was this soooo frustrating. I’m pretty horrible at designing kingly/princely outfits. They end up looking tacky and off. That, and with Gakushuu being my favorite, I probably was being extra perfectionistic. I’ve had to redesign this multiple times. All the other designs only had my input, but I had to get advice from two of my friends for this one. I have a non-cape version which I was also planning on uploading, but even after all the redesigns, I realize it’s still too tacky. Back to the drawing board for that. Like, honestly, his cape makes the outfit. 

What’s funny, though, is my impromptu hiatus started after all the hard stuff. I just had to shade and highlight it, but I put it off for the longest time—until today, actually. I’ve noticed that’s just a pattern with me, though, haha. After finishing something that stresses me out a lot, I basically stop being productive altogether. Really need to work on that. Anyway, about the actual design. You may notice that he has KQJA on his cape. All the playing cards will, of course, have their own symbols—I’ve just decided to give Gakushuu all the non-numbered ones. There’ll be a hierarchy, dealing with both suits and numbers, so him being the only one to have the top/important “numbers”, I think, makes sense. I’ve already explained the King and Queen aspects, but just to add onto the Queen part—he’s the sole ruler, no partner or anything, so he just decided to take the title for himself. The Jack is for jack of all trades (but master of all, in his case). Ace should be self-explanatory. Is any of this actually strong enough to justify giving him all the letters? Probably not, but it’s my AU, so I can’t be stopped. I mentioned a hierarchy of suits, and Hearts are at the top, for obvious reasons. For plot reasons, Spades are at the bottom. Clubs and Diamonds are in the middle, in that order. The middle might change, as their order isn’t really important. As of right now, though, it’s Hearts > Clubs > Diamonds > Spades. Finally, to end this off, I mentioned in another design that there are no adults in Wonderland. I’ll explain that now. Being that this AU isn’t solely based off of Wonderland, I decided to add in bits of Neverland in the world-building. Except, instead of never growing up, there’s just no grown-ups. No Captain Hook or anything like that. Everyone’s 14-15. I might add in younger characters (Sakura), but that’s not decided yet. I don’t know if the kids stay kids forever, if they have parents, or however it works, but that’s not really relevant. I might come up with some answers later, but, again, it’s not important.

P.S. If the shoes somehow look familiar, that’s because they were heavily inspired from the “Heart Adventure” shoes from Love Nikki. I couldn’t stop thinking about them—they were perfect for this design.

[leather-and-laces]

Stevie A. Nicks Biography × History Predating Stardust Crusaders

NOTE - This bio is a HUGE Work in Progress. Certain things may change, and other bits may seem rushed.

)▬▬ BASIC INFO ▬▬(

• Name: Stevie Annah Nicks

• Nicknames and Aliases: Anna, Savannah

• Species: Human

• Powers: Stand- Isis [Egyptian Goddess Stand]

• Alignment: True Neutral

• Date of Birth: December 13th

• Gender: Female

• Hometown: Tokyo, Japan

• Relatives: Unnamed Father [DECEASED; Died from Brain Cancer], Unnamed Mother [DECEASED; Murdered]

• Occupation: Shipping Company Owner [Former], Gambler [Currently]

• Equipment: Sewing Scissors and Thread

• Status: Alive

▪︎ Part 3 - Age : 33

▪︎ Part 4 - Age : 45

▪︎ Part 5 - Age : 47

▪︎ Part 6 - 56

• Stand Name - Isis

• Stand Power - Red String Manipulation: User can create, shape and manipulate the red string of fate, an invisible conceptual string that bonds souls together. They can create an limitless amount of red strings and extend them at any distance and the strings never tear apart, as it is practically indestructible. They can make the red strings become visible and touchable for others, and also choose to apply changes to anyone’s soul, and as well control the relationship of those bonded by the strings, or even completely remove their bond.

▪︎ Stand Stats

Power - D [Not “Attack” wise; This is catered to the effectiveness of Isis]

Speed - B

Range - A

Durability - D

Precision - A

Potential - B

▬▬ PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION ▬▬

• Height: 5’9’’

• Weight: 162 LBs

• Body Shape: Hourglass

• Natural Hair Color: Platinum Blonde

• Dyed Hair Color: N/A

• Eye Color: Blue

• Ethnicity: Japanese American

• Skin Tone: Porcelain

*TOLD IN FIRST PERSON POV ONLY FIR THIS PART.*

▬▬ Back Story ▬▬

My father was a respectable man. A archeologist. And I, a archeologists’ eldest daughter and heir of his company, his golden girl. He not only owned a shipping company, he was a close relative of a museum curator, and also cared for the museum in Alaska– where we were often stayed at in the summer. As his heir, I was expected to learn much and so, I had my own private tutor once I was able to be home schooled.

When summer came to pass, we went back Tokyo. In Tokyo, I saw paintings in an art exhibit. I fell in love with their design, and took up the hobby of painting. I practiced and practiced, giving father and mother small gifts every once in awhile. He made it clear that I should not interact with the outside world all too often, as he believed it’d distract me from my studies after mother had passed away from a hate related crime; I was mixed between Japanese and American, bad blood from the second world war still remained. I, unknowst to him, was using this as a means of coping with grief, with trauma that had sparked my abilities; I always wished to alter the past, to manipulate Fate itself [though I hadn’t known it was fate at that time] to save my mothers life. I was about 6 at the time I first noticed my abilities. All the same, my father would oftentimes sneak out my supplies, leaving my projects vastly unfinished.

He did however, notice I had begun training my eye for the paint right after passing through the store on multiple occasions, and dreading with his daughter would whip up next. I could see things you wouldn’t believe; Red strings connected to every little thing with little dates etched into them, peoples lives… For as long as I could remember, I could see everything of this nature just dangling freely for me and only me to observe. I treasured these moments the most, this innocence in my abilities. Most of my paintings reflected things I saw in people’s lives.

I can remember everything so vividly down to an exact date and exact time in which my marriage that lasted a month or so, was quick to fall apart. I had just gotten into the gambling scene heavily at 24 years old and, undoubtedly so, I had made friends as well as enemies. It was no secret I was a rich mans daughter and heir that simply had too much time and cash on their hands to blow it all so I became a center of attention. My true gambling addiction began to grow from the time I was 16, as my tutor had accumulated a massive debt, and was the man responsible for sparking my true talent. Gambling. What few had tried approaching me in hopes of romantic interest, did so in groups, only interested in my cash or my body; Everyone except for him, or so I thought.

He was charming, handsome even, and he was like a god in my eyes for he made me feel special and loved… So when he proposed, I thought nothing of it and accepted him into my heart immediately. He was eager and I was nervous.

The chapel was empty on my side, save for my old tutor and an old colleague of my fathers, so his friends had spread out evenly.

My body, it was on the floor and it was oh so limp. I could feel it, suffocation as blood clogged every airway possible. So limp, yet I mustered the strength to say one name in hope someone-anyone-would overhear, no matter how faint or weak I sounded.

“Ricardo…?”

“No one is going to find your body, my sweet.”

With that, that Italian bastard left me to die, gagging on my blood. And the fool had the audacity to step over me as I was in the process of dying in my own pool of blood on the floor in the bedroom, blood slipping between my fingers from the wounds peppering my stomach and face from the bat he used to beat me with. Before leaving through the door, he stoked a flame to a scented candle given to us on our wedding… and smiled down at me “Thanks for the inhe…..”

I can remember blacking out and, somehow, by some miracle, I was alive; My ribs were cracked, left hand fractured and I had various damage to my face from the bat which he had chosen to bludgeon me with but… I was alive. It stirred something in me, like I had cheated the inevitable when in actuality a friend of his hand stopped by to drop off a box of camping supplies…

He planned to break my bones and stuff me in a trunk to better hide me in the nearby woods easier.

)▬▬ Stardust Crusaders Biography ▬▬(

A single mother turned thrill seeker, the longtime gamblers travels had landed her in Egypt; She felt seemingly drawn in, called to even, in a casino up in Cario. As a matter of fact, her exploits in gambling her brought her to make an acquaintance of the Elder D'Arby brother. The pair were rivals in the beginning; Stevie aiming to collect his thread of life, and he aiming to collect her soul, the pair would often play various card games together. It was always rather intense, but there was no success in their battles for either party, oftentimes ending in a draw.

These games together brought the pair closer, additionally, causing the duo to pair up to play games against people of interest. This also sparked the interest of Lord DIO, particularly her abilities, involving the alteration of fate on a human soul with the exception of the past; Her abilities complimented the Elder D'Arbys abilities rather well. He offered her money for her efforts, but she merely stated that she was interested in the thrills that accompanied her gambling habits, in exchange that she gets her children tended to with no involvement in this lifestyle she leads. She would oftentimes accompany the Elder D'Arby for his gambling exploits, even if she herself do not play games with him at all times, she ended up using her abilities to compliment his abilities with the soul.

She ended up, eventually, having her fair run in with the Crusaders shortly after the defeat of the Elder D'Arby. With her employ to DIO and the defeat of her friend, she challenged them to her own game of fate, before she was defeated. In a last ditch effort, she attempted to utilize her threads to grab herself a hostage for she knew her failure would ultimately lead to her potential demise. However, Star Platinum was fast, making short work of the woman and shattering all ten of her fingers, rendering her stand completely useless as she has no mobility in her hands. Her fate is ambiguous after this last encounter, but she is to be credited for helping place Anubis on that familiar path in which Chaka acquired the famous sword. Her role is minor in the Glory Gods, and ultimately, apart from complimenting the Elder D'Arbys abilities or her alteration of fate bound to a soul, she has little impact on the grand scheme of things.

She lives her life in shame as much as isolation, having been unable to raise her months old daughter properly, she had to send her child away to a relative in America until her hands recovered from their previous injuries caused by Jotaros encounter.

[foxy-exy]

23 + andriel 👀

Bloom (forget me not)

Prompt 23 from here: “No, we’re going to talk about this now.” (and tattoo artist/piercer Andrew AU also came from Syd!!) TW: lots of talk about scars i’ve been mia working on my very-close-to-my-heart and very-long-compared-to-what-i’ve-been-writing-lately aftg big bang fic (WATCH OUT FOR THAT PLZ) but syd hit me w/ tattoo artist/piercer andrew right when my need for just one (1) tattoo and many (MANY) more piercings was highest so here we are (also my aftg server was talking about flower tattoos on jean and i was like oh worm flower tattoos on aftg characters you say??? so they are also partially responsible) also i may have never actually gotten a tattoo before but this is definitely Not How It Works, unrealistic, unprofessional, and general bad clienting but shhh you can also find this fic on my ao3 here!

Andrew’s pencil scratching is the only sound in the parlor — he thinks maybe his phone died an hour ago and with it, his music playlist. He should probably get up and plug it back in.

The cat eyes glare at him from his sketchpad page, though, and he can’t leave the face half finished now. He swings his chair back around to look at the picture on the shop’s computer screen that he’s sketching. God, this cat is ugly. He wouldn’t want this cat as a sleeve, but what the paying client wants, the paying client gets.

He blocks out the nose and jaw, shakes out his aching hand, and glares back at the drawing as he leans back in the chair and shoves the pencil eraser into his mouth to chew on.

“Hey.”

Andrew sends his sketchpad flying and nearly tips his chair over to turn back around. Nobody ever shows up for random walk-ins this early, it’s why he’s usually the only one on the schedule. (They retain more clients when Andrew is not the one who talks to them. Because Andrew is, as Nicky puts it, an asshole.)

Neil Josten stands before him, dressed as plainly as ever in his standard gray sweatshirt and baggy jeans, looking bemused and out of place in the strange context of Andrew’s workplace. He is not a piercings-and-tattoos kind of person. He is a somewhat-friends-with-Kevin-purely-because-they-like-to-yell-about-sports-together-on-Andrew’s-couch kind of person.

“Thanks for not even setting off the door bells,” Andrew says coolly, around a mouthful of pencil eraser, and takes it from his mouth immediately after, because Neil is smiling a little, eyes on it.

“Sorry, I’m pretty quiet.”

“No, you aren’t,” Andrew says, and Neil’s lips twitch again.

He and Neil are distant acquaintances at best. Kevin shares Andrew and Nicky’s apartment for rent purposes as Aaron moved out months ago to live with his girlfriend, but Kevin and Andrew don’t share friend groups. Even so, it is impossible to ignore Neil Josten when he’s worked up and shouting about Kevin’s favorite teams being terrible.

“What are you here for?” Andrew clicks off the cat photo and pulls up their schedule — empty for several hours, until Kevin comes in for an appointment with somebody who wants some script work. He doesn’t know why Neil is here when Kevin isn’t working, they’re the ones who know each other.

“How much for a…a medusa?”

“Fifty.” Andrew eyes him. The uncertainty in his voice is clear, which is…interesting. “I didn’t think you were into piercings, or Kevin would have bullied you into at least three by now.”

Neil doesn’t answer, because his gaze is glued to Andrew’s arms — his shirt sleeves have ridden up to show the patchwork pieces winding their way up his wrists and forearms.

“And…” This comes out more rushed now, clearly the actual reason for the visit, “What about tattoos?”

Andrew pulls back down his sleeves. “Are you asking for pricing? I can’t give you an estimate without any kind of idea of what you’re looking for. Do you even know the style you want? Where you want it?”

Neil drags his eyes back up to meet Andrew’s. “You covered up Kevin’s old tattoos, didn’t you?”

Andrew folds his arms. Enunciates clearly because he’s never been one to beat around the bush. “Are you looking for a tattoo consultation or not?”

“Yes,” says Neil, and his mouth flattens, brows pinching.

“Glad to see you’re so very excited about it,” Andrew deadpans, opens up an appointment entry on the schedule and types in Neil Josten, tattoo consultation: Andrew Minyard. He snatches up his sketchpad and pencil from the ground and curls a finger at Neil to follow.

***

“You don’t have tattoos to cover up,” Andrew says, when Neil tentatively perches on the edge of the lounge seat in the private office. “What do you want?”

Neil tugs at the fraying cuff of his shirt and looks pained. “I just…I don’t know.”

“That really sucks, because you’re paying me to help you figure out specifics on what you want right now.”

“Can you cover up scars,” Neil mumbles, and Andrew freezes. And Neil must pick up on this, because immediately he says, “Never mind. This was a bad idea.”

Andrew catches Neil’s shirt hem before he can completely turn towards the door. “No, we’re going to talk about this now.”

“I changed my mind, it’s okay, don’t tell Kevin, I just thought maybe —”

“I won’t tell Kevin,” Andrew says.

Neil tugs at his hair.

“I can cover up scars,” Andrew says.

Neil looks back at him, and he is very pale.

And then, because Andrew is stupid, “I’ve covered up my own scars.”

Neil’s face does something very complicated, his hands shake a little, and slowly, carefully, Neil sits back down.

***

Neil doesn’t know what he wants, exactly, he says. He says he likes what he’s seen of Andrew’s work, which isn’t all that helpful.

“Abstract,” Andrew says, and Neil shrugs.

“Animals.” Shrug.

“Skulls,” Andrew says, with a hint of impatience.

“Anything,” Neil says.

“You’re my least favorite client.”

“Even that one with the lion back tattoo?” Neil asks, and he is smiling again. Teasing. Andrew knows that Neil was in the house when he was telling Kevin about that client and his ridiculous whining, but he hadn’t realized Neil had been listening.

“Yes, maybe you’ll overtake even him,” Andrew retorts, reaches for the binder sitting in the corner marked Andrew Minyard — full of his past work — and tosses it at Neil. “I can’t work with ‘anything.’ That’s how people get tattoos they regret.”

“I liked Kevin’s black rose,” Neil says, and flips through the book, lingering on a page with more floral designs. “But you do color, too?”

“That is a style I do, yes.” Andrew watches Neil’s fingers trace delicate petals and fights back a curious rush. “Scar tissue can be unpredictable when it comes to holding ink, and it can hurt. But I’ve had experience with it. Do you want something like that?”

“I like these,” Neil says quietly, and Andrew shoves his pencil eraser back into his mouth and turns resolutely back to his sketchpad so he doesn’t have to look at Neil looking at his work.

“Colored flowers,” he says, drumming fingernails against his paper. “Fine. What flowers do you like? Where would this be?”

“Forget-me-not? On my arm?” Again, Neil sounds uncertain, and Andrew turns a glare on him.

“If you want this, you want this. If you’re not sure, I’m not inking an inch of you.”

He decides he hates looking at Neil’s soft smile when he is on its receiving end. This is the first time it’s happened, and he thinks if it happens again, he should check into a hospital for heart palpitations.

“I want it. Here.” Neil rolls up a sleeve, and Andrew clamps his jaw shut as Neil taps a finger to his forearm, covered in circular red puckers of skin and the occasional, familiar raised line of white. Andrew forces himself to lean closer to examine the canvas with clinical detachment, and press his fingers to the skin, measuring.

“This big?”

“Yeah,” Neil says, and that’s that.

***

“Why the hell was Neil on your schedule?” Kevin asks very loudly from the front desk as Andrew lounges across the waiting room couch and doodles blue petals.

“Huh, Kevin, I don’t see how that’s really any of your business,” Andrew says, and scribbles out another draft.

“No, seriously. He’s never wanted anything before. Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Contrary to what your ego says, not everything is about you,” Andrew drawls.

“Neil,” Kevin barks, and Andrew looks up to find Kevin with his phone to his ear. “Why did you come to see Andrew?”

Neil must apparently say something similar to Andrew’s sentiments because Kevin rolls his eyes. “You should have told me that you wanted something. No, I — he didn’t say anything to me. Neil —!” The last part is said to an apparently dead line, because Kevin pulls the phone away with a huff. “I don’t understand why he came to you without saying anything, I’m his tattoo artist friend.”

“Too bad,” Andrew says, and pulls out his own phone when it buzzes.

Thanks, is the simple text from Neil Josten. For not telling him.

Andrew doesn’t reply, but he tucks his phone between his elbows and pretends to ignore the warmth blooming in his chest as he flips the page and starts to shade another forget-me-not.

***

Do you like this? Andrew asks, and attaches a picture of his latest draft.

Almost immediately, the text is marked as Seen, but Neil doesn’t respond for a solid few minutes.

Finally, Andrew locks his phone again, irritated, and shoves away his sketchpad, feeling too jittery to sleep like he should be doing at — he checks the clock — 2 AM.

His phone chimes, and Andrew looks down at It’s perfect and thinks that having such a giant crush on his apartment mate’s probably uninterested friend is maybe really, really bad.

***

“Hey, Andrew.”

Andrew looks up from the fridge. He has been studiously ignoring Neil’s presence on the couch while Kevin chatters to him about the latest hockey wins. But Kevin has disappeared, and Neil remains, and Neil is…looking at him.

“I like it a lot. Like, fuck, really a lot.”

Andrew glares and slams the fridge closed. Neil’s smile only grows wider as Andrew stalks over to the table to deposit whatever leftovers he grabbed (that he most definitely did not look at) onto it.

“So, when are you free to ink me?”

Andrew’s going to die, and Neil Josten saying when are you free to ink me is going to be the cause of death.

“Tomorrow. 10 AM,” he grits out.

“Okay,” Neil says.

***

“Andrew.”

“Shut up.”

“Andrew,” Neil says again, shakily.

“Don’t.”

“Thank you.” Neil stares at the forget-me-not cluster blooming across pinkened skin underneath the plastic wrap, lips parted. Andrew wants to kiss them.

“Oh,” says Neil when he looks up, and Andrew is still too close, and Andrew would usually probably pull back but instead, he dips closer. And Neil would usually probably avoid physical contact like he does with everyone but instead, Neil kisses him back.

“Oh,” Andrew agrees, and starts to turn away, but Neil shifts with him, eyes too intense, and a finger hovers at Andrew’s collar to tug very lightly.

“When would be too soon to ask when you’re free again?”

“Has the tattoo bug bitten you already?” Andrew scoffs, and Neil looks down at his forget-me-not and nods. “You’ll have to schedule an appointment like everybody else. You’re lucky my schedule hasn’t been as booked lately.”

“Okay,” says Neil, and then, “and what about asking when you’re free outside of work?”

Andrew stares at him. “For?”

“What about a repeat of this kind of thing?” Neil gestures between them. “Or…lunch, on me?”

“Lunch, on me,” says Andrew automatically. “You just gave me a lot of money.”

“Okay,” says Neil again, and laughs. “Kevin’s going to be so pissed that he missed all this happening.”

“I don’t see why I have to tell him who I’m kissing,” Andrew says.

“You’ve only done it once.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow and fixes that grievous mistake.

Neil’s answering grin is not soft, just impish, but it does things to Andrew’s heart all the same.

[captainsassmanes]

Just a Goodbye

My version for @pastelwitchling 

“You’ve been an asshole lately. What’s going on?”

Michael froze with a fry to his lips, eyebrows knit together. “Nothing’s going on, asshole.” He tossed the fry at Max and they laughed. It had been a long road back, rebuilding their relationship but today, sitting together at the Crashdown, he felt content.

“Seriously though,” Max took a sip of his shake, eyes shifting over to watch Liz greet a new set of customers. “You’ve been more surly than usual. Snippy.”

Shrugging, Michael kept his eyes on his food. “I dunno. I guess I’ve been feeling, kind of, wound up?”

“Everything okay with Maria?”

Michael nodded, taking a bite of his burger and resisting the urge to spit it out. Everything tasted like nothing lately. “Yeah we’re fine.”

With a smirk, Max muttered, “romantic.”

The truth was something wasn’t sitting right anymore. The time he spent with Maria had always been quiet, no expectations, no fear, no nerves. He could just exist and laugh and breath. But lately it didn’t feel like enough.

“I’ve been wanting simple for a long time, you know? Someone not so tangled up in our extraterrestrial bullshit that they couldn’t just be with me. And Maria is perfect. I can just be myself. No pressure.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

Rolling his eyes, he stole Max’s shake and took a big gulp, ignoring the stink eye he got in return.

“Alex.”

“Alex?”

“Alex.”

“Why Alex? I thought you guys were friends?”

Michael scoffed, drawing designs in the green froth with the straw. “Can you just be friends with someone you love?”

“I’d never be able to be Liz’s friend after all this.” Michael looked up to witness Max’s dreamy gaze drift back to Liz who stuck her tongue out and winked back. “But I also can’t imagine not having her in my life so, I guess I don’t know…hey!”

Max wiped the milkshake Michael had flicked in his direction off his face.

“Thank you, Maxwell. Very helpful.”

“Well I don’t know! If you love Alex why the hell are you with Maria?”

“I just told you why!”

“You just told me why you decided to be with Maria in the first place. You didn’t explain why you’re still with her.”

“Oh, shut up, Deputy.”

They both chuckled and went back to their food, Michael mindlessly shoving one fry after another into his mouth while his mind raced. He thought he loved Maria; when they were alone, laughing and holding onto one another, he felt peaceful and was sure it was love. But in the rare moments he dared to compare it with his feelings for Alex…

“Write it down.”

Michael raised his eyebrows and looked around, confused. “Huh?”

“It’s how I coped when I loved Liz but couldn’t tell her. I wrote her love notes. Helped me deal for a while.”

Snorting, Michael said, “we’re not all Tolstoy, buddy.”

Tossing a fry at Michael’s forehead, Max muttered, “fuck off, I’m serious. Write him a note, explaining everything or apologizing or ending it or whatever you need.” He shrugged and took a bite of his burger. “I kept mine ‘cause, well, you know. But you could rip yours up or burn it, whatever dramatic choice you wanted to make.”

“You boys need anything else?”

“Yeah,” Michael smiled at Liz and rested his chin in his hand. “I’ve gotta know how you do it.”

She smiled and tilted her head, ripping their bill from her pad. “How I do what?”

“Deal with this cheesy motherfucker.”

**********

That night, he’d left the Pony a bit early, giving Maria a quick kiss and apologizing for not staying, offering some excuse about files to review or formulas to work on. He couldn’t even remember.

He sat in the airstream, crickets chirping loudly outside, with a tiny lamp illuminating the space. Bringing his knees to his chest, he rested his head against the cool aluminum and stared at the blank piece of paper, twirling his pen between his fingers.

Glancing towards the door, he remembered the first time he’d seen Alex in almost a decade, how beautiful he looked but the way he stood, obviously prepared for a battle. Michael grimaced when he remembered his words, a real Manes man.

How many times over the months, years, had he said the wrong thing? Made Alex feel small when he may have had the power to help him feel tall again. Crawling out of his too small bed, Michael opened up a box and pulled out his favorite photo. Alex looked so relaxed, even though he still carried too much weight for a seventeen-year-old kid. The years had only added to that pressure, made his shoulders slump a little more each day with the burden of this world and, at least, one other.

He kicked off his boots and shimmied out of his pants, crawling under the covers and grabbing the paper and pen once more, his favorite photo resting on the covers beside him.

********

It was a few days later that Max had shown up at the ass crack of dawn to pull Michael out of bed so they could surprise Isobel. He’d been doing that now and then, seemingly determined to make sure the three of them remained close, all feeling needed and loved.

Michael wasn’t complaining.

They’d picked up coffee and bagels from Bean Me Up and had a relaxing morning catching up and gossiping, enjoying the perfect weather.

“Did you end up taking my advice?” Max looked at Michael over his coffee once the inevitable subject of his romantic life was brought up.

Nodding, Michael sighed. “Yep. It wasn’t too bad if I do say so myself.”

“Fill me in please.” Isobel leaned back in her chair, long legs crossed and swinging playfully.

Michael pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head with a smile. “I guess I’m having a hard time letting Alex go? I’m happy with Maria but it feels like something changed.” He watched Isobel’s eyes soften and had to look away. “Our resident writer suggested I put pen to paper to move on.”

“Or not,” Max pushed Michael’s knee with his foot. “Could just help you process it all. Don’t have to make any final decisions.”

“Nah, I’m alright. I feel better about it already, I think.”

“He thinks,” Isobel smirked towards Max who nodded in agreement, eyebrows furrowed in false seriousness. “He thinks.”

“Ah, fuck you both.”

He laughed with his siblings as his heart sank.

********

Max dropped him off at the airstream a few hours later with the promise of a free beer at the Pony that night. He was surprised to find Maria sitting around the fire pit, eyes on a fire that sat extinguished.

“Hey. I didn’t know you were coming over.”

She nodded slowly; eyes fixed on his. “I lost my phone and thought it might be here.”

“Ah,” Michael said as he took the seat next to her. “You could have let yourself in, taken a look. You didn’t need to wait for me.”

“Oh, I didn’t.”

Something began to shift uncomfortably inside of Michael, realizing too slowly that something wasn’t quite right with Maria. “You okay?”

She smiled as tears welled in her eyes. “No, I’m not.”

Michael reached out for her, but she stood quickly and moved out of reach. He watched as she faced away from him, listened as she steadied her breath.

“A veteran move as you limp into frame, longing to be your crutch, I want to consume your pain.”

“Maria, wait- “

“So I loosen my belt, a familiar feeling, ten years later and my heart’s still reeling.”

“Maria, just stop and listen- “ but she continued, undeterred.

“Then you show up on my porch, floating down the stream, while I swim uphill, running out of steam.”

As Maria’s voice cracked, Michael held his head in his hands. He never meant for anyone to see what he wrote, let alone Maria. But there was something undeniable about hearing his words out loud. Something he couldn’t walk away from anymore.

“Lies upon lies, thighs upon thighs, of a woman’s touch but damn that guy.” He grimaced as Maria’s voice broke. She turned to face him, crumpled paper shaking in her delicate hands.

“The one who lifted my heaviest sighs with ease. Too much pride to beg; I’ll let my looks say please. So ignore my words, this is where I stand. You’re a pretty little liar, and I’m your man.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Michael’s heart ached at the look on Maria’s face and he wanted nothing more than to comfort her, to make that expression vanish.

“It’s just a poem, Maria.”

“For Alex.”

“It’s nothing. It’s a last goodbye.”

As a tear danced down her cheek, she shook her head. “You think that poem was a goodbye?”

Michael stood, legs feeling like jelly and out of his control. “I know it was. I wrote the damn thing.”

“When did you write it?”

He buried his hands in his pockets and stared at the sand covering his boots.

“Michael.”

“A couple days ago.”

Scoffing, she took the few steps to stand in front of him, taking hold of his face and forcing him to look at her. The paper in her hand left a small papercut on his cheek.

Her gaze was intense, making him feel naked, too exposed. He tried to pull away, but she just held on tighter. Michael felt his eyes fill, hands coming to her wrists in a silent plea.

“Fuck you, Michael.”

He nodded, finally able to avert his eyes. She dropped her hands and gently pressed the poem against his chest. He quickly covered her hand with his and their eyes met again, both crying and flayed open.

“I knew, Michael. I just kept hoping you’d grow to love me as much as you love him.”

Swallowing, Michael whispered, “I tried. I promise I tried.”

She nodded and leaned into his warmth, arms wrapping around one another and swaying slightly, a last dance in the quiet of the desert. Eventually, Maria pulled back and wiped her eyes, looking around at everything but Michael.

Clearing her throat, she took a step back and pulled her keys from her pocket. “Stay away from the Pony for a while, okay? I need time.”

He nodded and said, “yeah. Of course.”

She nodded in return and walked toward her truck, stopping with the door open and one foot inside.

“That,” she pointed at the paper in his hand, blowing gently with the breeze, “is not a goodbye. It’s a confession.”

Michael watched as she drove away, the dust clouding his view as she left.

He looked down at the paper, reading his poem through blurry eyes. Roughly wiping at his face, Michael carefully folded the paper and tucked it in his back pocket.

In something of a daze, Michael walked into the airstream, sitting on the edge of his bed with his phone in one hand, the photo in the other. He took a deep breath as he hit send, leg bouncing with nerves and a naïve sense of excitement as the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Alex. It’s Michael.”

“Hi. You okay?”

Michael smiled. “Yeah. I was just hoping you could come over. I wanna talk to you.”

His heart raced as Alex said nothing, the seconds ticking away with his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Uh, yeah, of course. What do you need?”

“You.”

[passionate-reply]

Great Albums is back! This week, we’ll take a look at one of the greatest electronic albums of all time, Kraftwerk’s The Man-Machine, and try to avoid getting sued by Ralf Huetter! Full transcript for the video can be found below the break. Enjoy!

Growing up, my main genre of choice was 80s synth-pop, and while the deep influence of Kraftwerk is as significant there as it is everywhere else in electronic music, I was one of those people who initially saw them as somewhat "intimidating." Today, moreso than ever, Kraftwerk are held up as one of those more high-brow or cerebral groups with a philosophy that transcends mere pop or dance music, which makes them seem respectable, a kind of “model minority” in the world of music outside rock. While I don’t buy into the judgmental quality of that sort of praise, which damns so many of Kraftwerk’s greatest fans and imitators, I did get the sense, as a child, that these hoity-toity Germans, working with primitive equipment way back in the 1970s, might not be what I was looking for in a new favourite band. That was before I heard The Man-Machine.

While it’s certainly true that Kraftwerk were a highly experimental band in their own time, they’re one of those acts whose ideas have deeply permeated contemporary music, to the point where their actual work is extremely approachable and listenable to today’s ears. Of all the fairly early electronic acts, who started making this kind of music before it began to become mainstream in the late 70s, Kraftwerk are almost certainly the ones people nowadays listen to for pleasure the most, and that’s no accident. While their earlier albums like Trans-Europe Express took more overt inspiration from classical music, The Man-Machine was their first great foray into the arena of pop, which I think is key to why it resonates with people. For evidence of that, look no further than the biggest mainstream hit of Kraftwerk’s career, “The Model.”

I think it’s easy to see why “The Model'' became a hit single. Sure, it may not have the most traditional pop song structure, let alone instrumentation, but unlike a lot of what Kraftwerk had done before, it’s got a lot of lyrics and a real sense of narrative. Plus, that narrative we get is about a person and not a machine--a good-looking person, in whom the narrator is sexually interested. It’s the perfect pop material. Of course, I would be remiss to mention that “The Model” didn’t achieve all of its success until the single was re-released in many markets in 1981, and in those few years, the idea of “synth-pop” advanced significantly in the charts and popular consciousness. By the time “The Model” was a hit, Kraftwerk admirers were already taking over: look no further than Gary Numan’s "Cars” or OMD’s "Enola Gay,” two synth-pop classics that, it must be said, are still about vehicles!

That aside, though, not everything on The Man-Machine sounds like “The Model”--in fact, it’s surrounded by tracks that have much more in common with Kraftwerk’s earlier LPs. Literally surrounded, in the track listing. I think that adds to this album’s appeal as an ideal entry point into their catalogue: it has some things that sound familiar, while also preparing you for what else you’ll encounter if you choose to probe deeper into the band. The Man-Machine has the least homogeneous profile of any Kraftwerk album. While most of their other classic albums are highly cohesive “song cycles” that almost blend into one long song when you listen to them in full, The Man-Machine doesn’t really have those repeated melodies and motifs that tie its tracks together. While many people, especially fans of psychedelic and progressive rock, really like those cohesive albums, I think this change is a welcome one. It gives the individual tracks a bit more room to breathe and express distinctive identities, and makes the album feel a bit more pop, even if the material itself isn’t always all that poppy. *The Man-Machine* actually only has six individual tracks; they range in length from the three-minute pop stylings of “The Model” to the urban sprawl of “Neon Lights,” which luxuriates in an almost nine-minute runtime.

Given that the average track length is around six minutes, I’m almost tempted to think of The Man-Machine as six tiny Kraftwerk albums, or at least, musical ideas that could have been expanded into full LPs in another universe. “Neon Lights” and “Spacelab” feel dreamy and easy-going, with floating melodies that draw from the “cosmic music” scene, one of the many emergent styles that began as something uniquely German and spread throughout the world--in this case, becoming an important forerunner to ambient electronic music through acts like Tangerine Dream. Meanwhile, the hard, tick-tocking rhythms of “Metropolis” and the title track point to the newfound focus on rhythm and the so-called motorik beat that made the music of Neu! so compelling.

The Man-Machine can serve not only as an introduction to Kraftwerk, but also as a sort of crash course in this entire period of electronic music, showcasing some of the most distinctive and influential features of the German scene, as well as the shape of synth-pop to come. It’s a complex and busy historical moment with huge ramifications for almost all of subsequent electronic music, and The Man-Machine really creates a microcosm of that whole environment. There’s also the fact that each side of the record has one track from each of my three broad groups, like an expertly-designed sushi platter or charcuterie board for us to sample from, and they both follow the same formula: a pop appetizer, a cosmic *entree,* and motorik for dessert.

*The Man-Machine* also has what is almost certainly the most iconic cover of any of Kraftwerk’s LPs. This is how lots of us still picture them in our minds, and it’s inspired tons of parodies and riffs over the years. I think all of that acclaim is deserved! Emil Schult’s graphic design for the album was heavily inspired by avant-garde Soviet artists of the 10s and 20s, chiefly El Lissitzky. These visual artists used their art to express their hope for a new world, defined by the promise of technology, and their literally revolutionary philosophy--so what could be a better match for Kraftwerk’s electronic revolution in music? Lissitzky used bright, primary colours, straight lines, and geometric shapes to convey the “built environment” of modern cities and man-made architecture, and you’ve got all the same sentiment on display here. The use of strong diagonals really draws the eye and lends this image a lot of continued visual interest. It’s also worth noting the extent to which Kraftwerk’s aesthetics inspired later electronic acts almost as powerfully as their sound. When you picture an electronic band, and get a mental image of stiff and stone-faced musicians behind synthesisers wearing shirts and ties, you can certainly thank Kraftwerk for that, as well.

I also love the title of The Man-Machine! The relationship between people and technology is one of, if not the, most central themes in Kraftwerk’s entire discography, which is full of references to anthropomorphic machines as well as mechanically-mediated humans. The particular choice of the phrase “man-machine,” as opposed to words like “android,” has a fun vintage flair to it, which matches the use of early 20th Century visual art quite nicely.

As might be expected from the album’s stylistic diversity, *The Man-Machine* would prove to be something of a transition point in Kraftwerk’s career. Their 1981 follow-up, Computer World, would return to the song cycle format, but with increasing emphasis on ideas from the pop sphere, championed by percussionist Karl Bartos. By the time of the last classic-lineup Kraftwerk LP, 1986’s Electric Cafe, they had not only amped up the pop, but also incorporated influence from the electronic dance music of the time. Ultimately, Bartos would leave the group, chiefly due to discontent with his treatment by founding members Ralf Huetter and Florian Schneider-Esleben, and their persistent lack of musical productivity.

On a somewhat lighter note, my personal favourite track on this album is its opener, “The Robots.” Per my typology from earlier, I classified this as a pop-oriented song, and it certainly is an approachable one that’s proven to be quite popular. But it’s got just enough more experimental touches to keep things quite interesting. From an ominous, dissonant intro, a slightly more pop form, hinting at a verse/chorus structure, soon emerges and contrasts. I love the groove of the rhythm and percussion here, as well as the very heavy vocoder, rich in texture and certainly a Kraftwerk staple.

While the lyrics can be read as sort of light and silly, I like to think that the robots in question might also be dangerous. The track “Metropolis” seems to reference the seminal 1927 silent film of the same name, which is famous for its portrayal of an evil, mechanical doppelganger. Likewise, the choice to translate the lyrics of the song’s interlude into Russian is likely inspired by another great work of art from this era: the stage play R.U.R.--Rossum’s Universal Robots. Written by Karel Čapek in 1922, it’s the progenitor of the “robot revolution” trope in science fiction, the source of the word “robot” for autonomous machines in almost every human language, and one of the first entries in the illustrious career of an author who helped make Czech a true literary language. While the titular robots take time to assure us that they’re programmed to do what we humans want, should we really trust them...?

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Arranged Chapter II

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating: None for this chapter (series: E)

Word Count: 4,261

Summary: Prince and Princess of your respective planets you both agree to wed, not for love, but for advantage. Now married, it’s your wedding night. You and Poe come to an agreement, while you grow suspicious about how much the prince actually knows. 

A/N: okay this chapter contains one of my favorite scenes i’ve ever written. I hope you guys enjoy!!

[ PREVIOUS ] | [ MASTERLIST ]

“Please,” you break the quiet of the room, turning to face him, “I don’t wish to be touched tonight.” Poe blinks at the sound of your voice. 

The walk to the bridal suite was painfully silent. 

But not for Poe. His heartbeat thumped in his ears in synchrony with the ringing that pervaded his mind. The door clicking behind you and the lights switching on revealed a flower laden bed - the only sound now the clink of your bracelets as you crossed the room towards the refresher. 

Even now, as you speak, ringing your fingers before him, as you blink up at him, “I won’t. I promise,” he bites his lip, before swallowing the lump in his throat, and wracking his brain for something, anything, to say, “I’m Poe.” 

Maybe not that. 

You wrinkle your brow, but say your name for him in a half-murmur, arms crossed against your chest, “I don’t know how we are supposed to-” 

“Do this?” Poe leaned against the wall by the door, “I was hoping you would have more answers that I did.” 

You give a small scoff, “How so?” 

“Your culture does this—” 

You cross your arms, “Well this is my first time getting married,” 

“What a coincidence, mine too,” he smiles mournfully, his eyes flickering to the ever so nearly imperceptible pull of a smile, “look-” 

“No, you look,” you hold up your hands, his eyes catching sight of the intricate designs on them, he hadn’t realized that when he had held your hand, he was far too distracted by how your fingers intertwined with his and the reality of the weight of your hand in his, “I’m not interested in doing this.” you gesture between him and you. 

He tilts his head, “But you realize this,” he does the same gesture, “is already happening.” 

“You need an army, we need your technology,” you chuckle darkly at his raised brows, “Am I wrong? This is a business transaction, and it doesn’t need to be more than that.” 

Poe keeps his expression neutral, was he okay with that? Was he okay spending his life with a perfect stranger who remained that? Nothing more than a person on his arm, a name written next to his? “We still need to know each other, at least for the press and for the people — we're supposed to be in love. Hard to explain being in love without knowing a single thing about each other." 

Your eyes shy away, teeth chewing your lip, “Yes, that’s true," before you add, "it’s also true the press is naive and they can be fooled by something as simple as pet names and public displays of affection." 

"What if they ask-" 

"You know my name, you know my lineage, what else is there more to know?" 

He grits his teeth at your hands off approach to the rest of your lives, "What is your dream?" 

You turn towards the refresher door, the door whirring open, "my only dream is to serve my people — our people —" you glance at him over your shoulder, eyes unmistakably sad, "the sooner you learn that the better, darling." 

He approaches the door, leaning against its side, "Sweetheart, the quicker you learn it takes more than that to get me to give up — the better."  

——— 

You shake your head from behind the door, squeezing your eyes shut. The more difficult the chase, the more enticing it was to him — it was bait in a well laid trap and he had walked into it, into the maw of the monster, without hesitation. 

Easy. Too easy. This needed to take time — draw the line in too quickly and it could slip away just as fast. You push the bracelets from your wrists, letting them clink against the counter, as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You needed to be trusted by everyone — not just a lovestruck prince. No, but his friends, his family, and the Queen herself.  This needed to be done carefully with delicate precision until you gained their confidence and carved yourself a place in their family. 

You untie the veil from your head, letting the flowers fall to the ground, petals scattering. Then, and only then, will you be able to destroy it. 

—— 

Morning comes slowly — light taking it's dear sweet time to stretch over the horizon. Or maybe that is just how it felt. Morning always came early on Shar, lingering for far too long, until the sun finally sunk in complete exhaustion. You're awake far before dawn breaks — lying on the bed, free from flowers after you had cleaned the bedspread off last night — though you could still feel a few stragglers between the soft sheets and blankets. 

The prince had taken the couch with great insistence. It was all the same to you. You could fall asleep in the middle of a desert, skin against the scorching dust, or in the middle of your own wedding for that matter — so a couch was a non-issue. But, laying back on the plush pillows, you had to admit you preferred this result. 

You turned to look over at said prince, whose quiet snores filled the endless silence of the room. The next eight days could not proceed like this — not when you had him to yourself. Another Sharian tradition — the bride and groom spend eight days together in bliss. 

Some bliss — to spend a vacation with a perfect stranger. 

“Early riser?” a deep voice thick with sleep breaks the silence of the morning. Your gaze snapping back to the couch where you see hooded eyes through a few stray black curls, he stretches, muscles taut against his shirt, before sinking back against the couch. 

You slip yourself from underneath the covers, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, tracing over the soft material of your meridian sleep clothes, “You won’t find a Sharian that isn’t,” fingers running through the tangles in your hair, before commenting drily, “I see you’re not.” 

“I always sleep when I get the chance, and I usually don’t,” he yawns, drawing out the last syllables of his sentence, “Far too many meetings, far too many briefings.” 

“Yes, poor us, stuck behind a desk while others die for a cause,” you feel irritation prick at your nerves. 

He seems to perk up at your engagement, “I rather die for a cause then sit on the sidelines.” 

You look unimpressed, smooth brow wrinkled with tight lines, “But would you have anything to contribute? Especially if you sleep so late. You know what they say, an early bird catches the space slug.” 

“Would you really want to catch one of those?” Humor dances in his eyes, “Well, maybe I’ll have to give it a try,” he hums, before his gaze grows sharp, “if not for me, just so I can figure out what you’re hiding,” your heart stutters in your chest, but you quickly even your breath, brow furrowed in obvious confusion and lips pursed. 

You resisted the urge to look at your bag, the bag where you knew your weapon was buried deep under a false bottom, “I’m not hiding anything from you, darling,” your voice light and lilting, but it fails to persuade him. He sits, sunlight beginning to stream in, caressing the curve of his jaw and the sharp edges of his face. You cannot deny that he is unfairly beautiful, even your traitorous heart squeezes as he smiles. 

“Aren’t you though, sweetheart?” And your heart sinks at the implication. 

“Your first check in is not until the end of the week,” You are only able to get away from the prying eyes of the palace after retiring to the refresher, smuggling in the com-link in your change of clothes. The Empress is not pleased, clear even over the crackling static of this ancient com-link, “what-” 

“The Prince may know of our plans,” you hissed, uncaring that you had just cut off the Queen of Shar mid-sentence. What did it matter? You may very well be dead either way. 

~~~

Poe had been unable to get you to crack. He punched the wall.

“Kriff!” but at least he was handling it well. 

  He knew more of strangers’ lives than his own wife’s. And he knew that you knew just as little about his life. He spent the night before, your arm wrapped around his as he paraded you around to a room of virtual strangers. Maker, he had kissed you before he had even introduced himself. Tradition and its audience demanded a kiss, and he was all too reluctant to oblige. As his gaze found yours again, your eyes only seemed to dare him to do so — flickering to his lips and back, until finally he did. 

Lips pressed against yours as the audience watched, a voyeuristic act he would rather not repeat, but had to, several times throughout the night. Your lips were soft and kissable, and your soft gasp made him smile in spite of himself, swallowing it without another thought. 

But that was the problem wasn't it? He had no other thoughts — not about you. Pain radiates from his fingers, but he pays it no mind, gritting his teeth instead. 

How did he let himself conned into this? A marriage of convenience. His eyes drifted to the refresher door, where you had just rushed off to take a bath. Would this be every day? Forced to touch each other in public, but so utterly alone when together behind closed doors? 

He sighed, sitting on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. He wished he was flying right now, navigating through clouds and formations, instead of marriage. He had known this was coming — especially when his Queen transferred him from the guard to royal diplomacy missions. He knew he was being shaped - shoved into a mold and forced to conform. And now, he was married, he glances at the band around his finger, before tugging the necklace from around his neck. Fingering his mother’s ring, he took comfort in the familiar shape and grooves of the metal that had rested against his chest for so long. 

He tugged at the metal. He told you he didn’t give up right? 

You emerged from the refresher, no expression on your face — it was weird. He couldn’t read you, other people’s emotions slipped from their faces and bodies with ease, most did without a second thought. But you were different.  Everyone else left footprints in the sand, but you didn’t leave even a single step to be found, erasing them as you walked. Why was it that he wanted to figure you out? Maybe it was because it was a challenge. Maybe it was because he found you interesting. Maybe it was because he was tired of being alone. 

Or maybe it was none of those. But he still wanted to. 

“I have an idea,” he says, and your eyes narrow — you certainly weren’t shy with your skepticism, “a deal.” 

~~~

“Is this even allowed?” The prince snorts in response. Why had you agreed to this again? A day for a day — his choice of activity and then yours — and of course his was first. Oh yes, because it would allow you to do the one thing you were supposed to do — get closer to the prince. And yet, why was that the last thing you wanted to do?

“Well, he hasn’t killed you yet has he?” The Empress’s voice crackles over the com, “that either means the fool has no idea or that he’s foolish enough to think he can outwit you himself.” your silence is far too telling, “there’s a reason I chose you for this, amira,” You nearly scoffed. ‘Princess’ she called you, when you were as far from a princess as you could be. “it was the way you slit throats without another thought. The way you followed orders without hesitation. Don’t grow a heart now. It only breeds weakness, amira — it doesn’t suit you.” 

Yes, you did kill others without a thought, but that’s because it required no thought. No input. It was simple. Easy. Cleancut. There was no need for mind games. You didn’t have to think about the consequences of your actions because you didn’t stay long enough to see them, you didn’t even stay long enough to see the blood sink into the ground. But — your eyes shift to him as his hand tugs you, all too firm and all too real — this was different. 

“I’m the prince — isn’t everything I do allowed?” you feel a migraine bit at the corners of your mind, as he pulls you against the wall as a guard rounds the corner, firm hands holding you there, until his footsteps echo no longer against the stone floor. 

“Then why are we sneaking around like escaped heathens?” 

“Because, technically we are supposed to be spending our time together inside our shared bedroom,” His tongue darts out to lick his lips, as you brush away his hands, reluctantly continuing to follow him, “besides,” he gives you an easy grin that dulls the edge of your annoyance ever so slightly, “isn’t it more fun this way?” 

This man would be the end of you, “Where are we even going?” 

“We’re going to see my best buddy,” and you furrow your brow, as he leads you toward a second story window, disabling the lock on it, the panel lifting out of sight.

“We aren’t supposed to be seeing any person besides—” You whisper, affronted, but only to hide the jittery fear of being outside the palace, away from everyone, where he could easily explain away your death as a lovers escapade gone awry, finding your body at the bottom of some ravine. 

“He’s not any person,” He sticks his head out, looking around, one knee perched unsteadily on the edge of the windowsill, “just follow my lead.” Mouth agape, you watch him climb out. 

"What are you doing?" You hiss, head snapping around to see if anyone else could see the crown prince climbing out of the window like a damn kowakian monkey-lizard. 

"Leaving?" He grunts, as you lean out carefully to see him clinging onto a lattice trellis, knuckles white against the wood, “how else were we going to leave, sweetheart?” The nickname is followed by a  loud creak of the wood. 

You cross your arms, watching him maneuver his way down, using each diamond like a rung of a ladder, until he reaches the bottom, dusting himself off, “Very impressive,” you say drily, lifting your dress to demonstrate your predicament,  “And how do you suppose I’m going to get down?” you crossed your arms, as he held out his arms, and you scoff, “no.” 

“I won’t drop you—” 

“No, more likely you’ll break your arms and then you’ll drop me,” 

“So you agree I’m taking the much bigger risk here, Princess,” you roll your eyes at the title, glaring at his still awaiting arms, “what other choice did you have?” 

You had a lot of choices. You could go back to your room. You could wait for the Prince to sulk and eventually return. You could sit in your room and slowly seduce him until he’s in the palm of your hand. It would be a lot easier — but would it work? He wishes to know you — to see you for who you are — but he would only see a smokescreen of a false princess, your hands clasped behind you so he wouldn’t see the scarlet that marred them. 

But maybe, you looked down at the relatively plain dress you chose to wear today — you could allow him a peek at the monster behind the mask. 

You hoist the dress above your knees, bunching it in front of you before pulling it between your legs. You separated the fabric in half, pulling it around your waist, before tying it off in a bow. 

You followed his path out the window, “Whoa, sweetheart—” 

You bit back a chuckle at his concern, you had climbed far higher things than this, and in far worse outfits. But he didn’t know that. And you didn’t plan on telling him. You made a show of it — fingers slipping, rattling the lattice against the wall, a squeal or two. You had to stop yourself from shaking your head at his tenseness, the feeling rolling off in waves from his locked gaze, even now, when you were almost to the ground. A few more steps and you were done — you glanced at him, finding him readying himself to catch you. You had stop yourself from rolling your eyes, a fall from here wouldn’t even kill you — 

The panel you grasped onto snapped, and you lost your balance, stumbling off the lattice, “Maker-”

You squeezed your eyes shut, but there was no impact. Instead, softness enveloped you. And your eyes snapped open, breath caught in your throat as you found his face an inch from yours. His arms curled around you, fingers brushing your bare legs and bunched dress and your heart stuttered. Warmth bloomed on your face, and another feeling gripped your chest, as he set you down. 

You refused to let your legs even wobble, but no words would leave your mouth, and instead, you found yourself staring at him. You wouldn’t shy away from his gaze like some embarrassed child — you clasped your hands tightly in front of you. 

But he said nothing, as he brushed past you, “We have to keep moving,” and you blinked at his haste.

“Thank—” 

He shook his head, glancing back at you. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, “I told you I’d catch you, sweetheart.” 

 And your mouth only hung open, wordless. You had never fallen before.  You glanced back at the trellis, the splintered plank had fallen to the ground beside it. But you suppose, looking at his retreating back, there was a first time for everything. 

~~~

“This is my buddy,” you raised a single eyebrow, arms crossed against your chest. 

“You failed to mention your best friend is a droid,” he kneels next to an orange and white droid, who rolls up next to him, “this is why you said he wasn’t just any person? Because he isn’t a person?” 

He shrugs, “He’s better than most people,” he speaks to his droid, “I know, I haven’t been able to get out to see you, buddy. I left as soon as I could.” 

You glance around as they chat. Yes, left the comforts of the palace to roam a relatively empty x-wing hanger. The air was cold — as it was in the early morning — but light streamed throughout the large space, exposing the dust that clung everywhere — even the air itself. The hanger had fallen into disuse, the panels of the ceiling loose and decrepit, the metal walls red with rust. A single x-wing occupied the far corner of the hanger, you wrinkle your brow, “Your droid lives in this x-wing?” 

“Sort of,” he rises to his feet, “he’s my last bit of home.” 

You tilt your head, gesturing around, “This planet is your home.” 

It was his turn to tilt his head, “Don’t you know home is a person not a place?” he glances at the x-wing, “or a feeling,” You open your mouth to ask another question, but he holds a hand up, teeth brushing his bottom lip, “Do you trust me?” You raise a single brow, and he shakes his head, “Better question, do you trust me to catch you if you fall? Because I think I’ve proven myself.” 

You look from him to the x-wing and back. You needed to get close to him somehow, and maybe this was just the way to do it. You needed to know what he knew. So you sighed, “Who’s flying? You or the droid?” 

BB-8 chirps, and he scoffs, before shifting his eyes to yours with a glint in his eyes, “Which answer would make you more comfortable?” 

~~~

Maker. Poe had missed flying. A clear understatement — it doesn’t account for the flurry of excitement that thrums through his body nor the thrill he feels as his fingers fiddle with the controls. And it doesn’t capture how it feels to sit in his mother's seat — peace. For once in his life. 

You shift in your seat, eyes flickering around the controls, fingers drumming against the armrests, and it’s the first time he feels that he can actually see you,  “You comfortable?” 

You blink, your fingers stop tapping, “As comfortable as I can be,” 

“Usually, x-wings don’t come with two seats,” he remarks, readying the ship to fly, “I modified this ship a few weeks back,” he grins at you, “otherwise you would have been sitting on my lap.” 

You do your best to bear no reaction to his words, but he sees the slight twitch in your jaw,  raising your brows, “But there are two seats now,” 

He turns back to the controls, “Yeah, there are,” he reaches over above your head, and his eyes can’t help but see your chest flutter with your breath, “Buddy, you all set?” he hears the affirmative beep, “Get ready sweetheart,” he flicks the final switches, as the x-wing began to lift off the ground, “we’re taking off.” 

The x-wing shot off the ground, zooming higher and higher, as he was careful to avoid any structures or pillars with a wide berth (he didn’t need another lecture about exaggerated near death experiences). He watched you from the corner of his eye, your knuckles white against the seat, teeth baring down on your bottom lip. 

“Do you not fly often?” He pulled the x-wing into a steady pace, gliding across the atmosphere of the planet, “I thought you would because of all the diplomatic missions—” 

You shook your head, “Most of those took place on Shar — the Empress is not one for travel, and she’s not one for giving others a potential advantage, no offense,” you add. 

He says nothing, filing away to never get on the Empress’s bad side, before tilting his head, “So, the amount of times you’ve flown?” 

“This is my first,” you whisper reverently, eyes turn to the glass, now filled with stars, “it’s beautiful.” 

He watches your fingers press to the glass, lips parted and eyes wide, and the hint of a smile pulls on the corners of your mouth, "Yeah, it is." 

You lean back in the chair, gaze shifting back to him, "How long have you been flying?" 

"Since I can remember," you raise a single brow. 

"I'm supposed to believe you were flying since birth?" He laughs, shaking his head. 

"I didn't know you had that much faith in my abilities," he flips another switch, allowing the ship to drift, leaning back, "my mother taught me." 

"The Queen flies?" Unlike yours, his expression gives away too much, and he shakes his head again. 

"My birth mother," he says, he could still remember the warmth of his mother's arms around him, her much too big for him helmet slinking down his head, and her soft voice lulling him to sleep, "she passed away when I was young." 

He was expecting questions — how, why, what happened — the same questions everyone asked. The same things everyone had whispered around him his entire life, but you didn't. Instead, a frown twisted your lips, fingers tucking your hair behind your ear. 

 "I'm sorry," your words small and quiet, "I know what it's like to lose someone important." 

“I’m sorry too,” He bites back the questions that burned on his tongue — you would tell him when you were ready, “I think that’s the first real thing you’ve told me about yourself.” 

Your brow furrows, “What do you mean?” 

“You’ve been a mystery to me the moment you’ve stepped through the door,” he sighs, head falling back against the seat, “And even now, I don’t know what’s running through that pretty head of yours, sweetheart.” 

Your teeth run over your bottom lip, “I’ve been told that’s part of my charm,” 

“What are you so afraid of anyway? Afraid someone will figure out all your secrets?” his fingers flex over the controls, before shooting you a wicked grin, and he hopes he didn’t imagine your shiver, “because I told you I already would.” 

For a moment, something dances across your expression, a certain tenseness leaves your body, but as quickly as he nearly finds your footprints, they are erased by crashing waves, or rather, your appropriately wide eyes, “Is that what the point of this little trip was? To find out all my secrets?” you echo his words, eyes falling to the stars again, “You’ll find it that it’s more difficult than a simple flight.” 

“But it’s a start right?” his thumb runs over the length of your knuckles resting on the arm rest, and he feels your fingers twitch under his touch. Your hands slide into your lap. And he wonders, why were you just so afraid? "How about we stop talking and we start flying?"

And surprisingly you smile, your lips curled wide and his heart squeezes, until it feels like it could burst, "And where are we going to go?" 

He returns it, a distinct feeling blooming in his chest, "Anywhere you want, sweetheart." 

~~~~

Tag List (If you don’t want to be on the tag list, just shoot me a message please!): @awkwardbullfrog​, @softly-sad​, @mrsrafaelbarba​, @arabellathorne​, @bucky-of-the-opera​, @laneygthememequeen​, @spider-starry​, @menscareme​, @multifandomlife22​, @marvelous-capsicle​, @bucky-lents​, @thechildorian​

[raniiaaa]

walk me home

A gut feeling. That was what people who trusted themselves called the inner mechanism that helps them decide what’s right. You never had an inner compass telling you what to do. Actually, no, that's inaccurate. You had a compass, but its needle flitted wildly around, drawn to multiple unknown magnetic fields, leaving you to decipher which direction it stayed on for a millisecond longer. Nonetheless, you had this flawed sense of direction, but then he walked through that door for the first time. The effect was instantaneous. He was like neodymium, resolving your case of reversed polarity. 

The swanky party had progressed under the light of a surprisingly prominent New York full moon. Tinkling clinks of champagne glasses and gentle chatter played as a secondary soundtrack to a jazz quartet. As caterer staff, you needed to blend in with whatever wall you were positioned at. The table you were unofficially assigned to was taken care of right now, which meant you may be able to sneak out for a minute to just rest. The thought of it made your head loll slightly. This had been a long night and an unusual event. The attendees were the bigwigs of New York, which is saying a lot. There was a pre-event meeting where your boss outlined all the necessary procedures, your rush plan, and the times each of you would be cut. They didn’t need staff sitting around, which meant you could get out of these shoes soon and settle into your couch with some takeout and a movie on. You were just preparing for your last stretch when he arrived. 

...

You had been wondering who the empty seat at the table was for, which was now no longer a mystery. His entrance had been through a side entrance, not the elaborate front door like all the other party guests. Everything about how he carried himself led you to believe he was trying to draw the least amount of attention to himself. It wouldn’t be possible though, no one that beautiful could ever hide effectively. The spare glance he gave you when settling down in his chair held you in place, almost like it was his own arms pinning you to the wall you were backed up against. You quickly turned your head to face another direction, heat blooming at the apples of your cheeks. Just an hour and then you’d be gone. With the arrival of this stranger, you weren’t as excited to leave. 

...

Though consciously avoiding him for the rest of your time, your attention (and interest) didn’t turn away from him. You knew who he was, how could you not. The solemn eyes were more of a giveaway than the metal arm should have been, but there was so much about James Buchannan Barnes for you to notice. He was quiet, sipping on a glass of water and observing all the others. You had been wrong, this man could hide in a desert. 

You remained hyper-aware of him. 

It was your job to be attentive, you told yourself, that the business guests bring helps pay your salary. Yet there was no reason for you to observe the subtle way he leaned back in his chair, like putting space between him and others. Or the length of his lush eyelashes, how they frame that icy gaze. Said gaze flitted over you now, as you filled the glasses at his abandoned table. The glass in front of him was next, empty enough to require your attention. “Would you like some water sir?” your tone is cordial and removed, like a digital assistant’s pre recorded dialogue. He shakes his head, swirling the water in his glass carefully. You move to leave, but his voice stops you. “Why did you fill those other glasses?” his tone lacks any animosity, but you feel embarrassed nonetheless. You gape a little, prompting him to look away from the whirlpool in his glass and to you. His direct attention does not help with your answer at all. “It’s policy,” you say, an appeasing smile on your face. You want to tell him that you thought it was stupid too, even talked to your manager about it being a waste. Then one party guest complained about an empty water glass after coming back from the dance floor and you were back to seeing ridiculous amounts of water wasted. You couldn’t say any of this, though. Could you? Maybe, but you wanted this night to be a textbook one. You extracted yourself from the table, but there was a pull to stay. You defied it and left. 

 ...

He was here again, for another soiree with the rich and famous. You couldn’t tamp down the little flutter of excitement in your chest at the sight of him, chastising yourself for it immediately after. Adjusting your uniform ever so slightly, you set off to work another event, trying to ignore how your attention kept drawing itself to the northwest area of the lanai. 

...

The glass must have an optical illusion type design to it because there was much more bourbon in it than you thought. Or maybe you felt that way since it was running down your chest at the moment. The drunk party guest was nice at least, offering up an enthusiastic apology, swatting you with a tissue. Trying to extract their fondling hands graciously, you excused yourself and left.

 You rush to get a spare shirt from your locker and then go to the staff bathroom. The door was locked. Fuck, you need to get out of this shirt fast. Trying the guest bathrooms, you were actually thankful for the locked doors. Guessing from the noises coming through from the other side, the risqué situation wasn’t one you’d want to interrupt. That left one choice. 

...

Your hands fumbled, trying to extract yourself from your sodden prison. Stripping in a dark alleyway wasn’t something you expected to do tonight. Just when the fabric slipped from your shoulders, you heard a cough. Fuck.

You spun around to see. 

It was him. 

Double fuck. 

Your hands went to cover yourself. “I’m sorry.” you both say at the same time. He averts his eyes while you hurriedly pat yourself dry and put your shirt back on. “I wouldn’t have been here if I’d known it was the changing room.” he has a nervous smile on his face. The belated realization that he made a joke jolts you out of your frozen state. You sound a genuine laugh but it comes out strangled. Now it’s your turn to say something and you fall back on your previously assigned social roles. “Why are you back here Sir? We have a smoking room upstairs if you need a space for that,” you said, smoothing out the front of your uniform. Your hands slow as he stays silent, just looking at you. Are you imagining the way his eyes rove over your frame? Surely you must be. He looks up, sees how you’ve stilled and straightens up a bit. Shaking his head a bit, he nervously motions his hands in your general direction. “I’m sorry, it’s just that-” he pauses again, and you watch him with bated breath. “Your uniform isn’t on right.” Oh. 

Now you’re looking down at yourself in a frenzy, trying to right whatever mistake you made. He seems to take pity on you after a few minutes of not having located what it is. “I can,” he clears his throat, trying to rid it of the anxious growl it held, “Can I help you?” 

Your hands fall to your sides, a brief nod is all you can manage. He steps forward on the balls of his toes, like he anticipates you’ll run. The problem was in your collar, the back folded awkwardly within itself. You try not to think about how close he now is to you, enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him. Here you are, observing him again. Except you notice everything you couldn’t see from a distance. There’s a slight stubble across his chin and his eyelashes curl more than you thought. 

His nimble fingers fix it quickly, withdrawing from their previous position quickly. This action causes his hands to graze your neck. The sensitive skin there reacts, sending electric shocks all throughout your body and you jolt back. His reaction follows within the next few seconds. Before you can say anything, he’s already disappeared through a back door of some kind, into the sights and sounds of the crowd. 

...

You should have known not to carpool with Jack tonight. Unfortunately, he was the only one on the crew tonight who lived in your general vicinity. Also unfortunately, he got a salacious call from his girlfriend. Before you could even comprehend his words, you were dumped on the sidewalk. 

The night wasn’t ready to be over, it seemed. 

Following the bright blue line of the GPS on your phone, you began the trek to your home. Chilly air bit at your ears and you wished something warmer was between you and the elements. Hugging the thin jacket to yourself, your attention was tunnel visioned to the path directly in front of you. ‘Right, left. right, left’ you repeated, hoping this rhythm would get you through the 45 minute walk that lay ahead of you. Having just acclimated to your situation, something collided with you. Pushed to the ground, your heart didn’t have time to race before you were pulled upright again. The arms steadying you felt … familiar? Lo and behold, James Buchannan Barnes was before you, equally shocked to see your face. “Hello,” you said, rushing to get the words out before you lost the courage. Seeing him in the glitter of high profile parties while you worked was one thing, but running into a person of his stature out in the regular world was another thing. The suit he had been wearing a few hours before was now semi deconstructed. The top two buttons were undone, giving you just a hint of the skin beneath. His tie lay around his neck, the jacket (which you were sure was too expensive to be) slung behind his shoulder, hanging precariously from one finger. You tried not to stare at his forearms, exposed by how he rolled up his sleeves. You just ended up staring at his face then, which really wasn’t a good idea if not getting flustered was your goal. His eyes were now squarely on you, the heat your body was so deprived of earlier now beginning to grow in your chest. “I hadn’t been able to say this earlier, but thank you,” you began, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze. “I would have probably been stuck with my arms over my head trying to get out of that shirt if you hadn’t helped me. If I ever need to change again, I’ll call you.” What the fuck? It’s ok, you can ride it out if you don’t start rambling. 

There was silence for a few minutes, so obviously you started to ramble. 

“Not that I can’t take my clothes off myself, just that you might be better at it.” Bad. “Not that I want for you to take my clothes off,” that’s a lie, you do, “I mean that it’s definitely not your responsibility, that's what I meant you know. And that definitely doesn’t happen usually, it’s just cause the shirt was wet. But yeah, it’s my responsibility. And I’m sure you have much more important things to do…” Oh god.

“No problem.” he said, his voice just barely at an octave the human ear could comprehend. The previous silence fell back onto you both, your embarrassed gaze affixed on the ground. Decorum be damned, you were just going to turn around and start running away. While contemplating this, you felt something heavy rest itself around your shoulders. Lifting a hand to touch it, you felt silky fabric overlaid by wool. Looking up, you saw how close he was to you now, arms encasing your sides while laying the jacket onto you. After adjusting it to make sure it didn’t slip, he drew his arms back, slipping his hands into his pockets. His scent, which had intoxicated you the entire night, pervaded your senses. By reflex, you snuggled into fabric before realizing how it may look. “You were shivering.” he said.

 “I wasn’t planning on walking home tonight, so I didn’t layer up right,” you said after a brief pause. The tilt of his head prompted you to recount your night’s woes. After regaling him, his demeanor shifted. “ If you would allow me,” he said, “I would like to walk you home.” 

You tried not to look too shocked. Your night was veering into fiction. Then the truth of your situation hit you. New York at night was not kind to anyone, you had to have some kind of protection. What was better for the job than a fucking Avenger?! The words were caught in your throat for a few seconds, but you eventually managed to speak, “Yes I, uh, thank you. That would be - that would be great.” For the next few seconds, you both just stood. “Oh, right,” you had forgotten he didn’t know what direction to go. Neither did you, really, but google maps said northwards so that’s where you continued to go. 

Silence was right there beside you two, in the middle. You didn’t know how to cross that gorge, or if you even should. Then you remembered. 

“I tried to change the policy,” you said, before you could stop and consider your words. His steps faltered for only a second till returning to normal. That was too vague a statement, what were you thinking? “The water glasses, I mean.” He now paused for more than a second. “You remembered that?” he sounded puzzled. You couldn’t understand why he thought you wouldn’t. Did he really not know how memorable he was? “Of course, I had a lot more to say that I couldn’t get into.” He gave only a nod and you thought it was the end. “Why?” he said, clearing his throat as if to get the words out. “Why couldn’t you get into it?” 

You considered this, but eventually just shrugged. “I guess I’m quiet when working.” 

Silence threatened to fall back into place so you asked, “Do you like them? The parties?” 

It had always been something you were curious about, seeing as he had never participated in the fanfare and festivities of the numerous parties he attended. Not all of them were galas and fundraisers, some were your regular end of the week party for people rich enough to rent the building regularly. He would drift in with a few people (sometimes the faces you saw on billboards after they saved the city and sometimes others), stay with them for a little before they went to the dancefloor and he stayed at the table. Sometimes, he would get prompted to the dancefloor or into conversation with a beautiful woman. Still, there seemed to be a string drawing and holding him to the table. 

He remained quiet for a while, weighing his words like he was trying to find the right number of kilos to match his budget. When he spoke, you were shocked to hear how solemn it sounded

“I’m trying to find someone.” The longing was apparent in his voice. You had the distinct feeling that you were currently privy to something few people had ever even caught a glimpse of. You didn’t say anything, hoping to allow him the space he needed if any other words came out of hiding. 

He struggled with the following ones that did, “Before it all happened,” it was obvious what it all was, “I loved parties.” Clearing his throat, he probed further. “Seeing people and being seen, meeting others for the first time despite having been introduced last week, letting a few hours escape from a dull week.” He paused again, clearly struggling. There was something akin to wistfulness in his eyes, made glassy by past memories. “I’m trying to see if I can love them again, I guess.” He sighed and you tried not to pay too much attention to its musical quality, “It doesn’t seem to be coming back.” 

“Maybe that’s ok.” You don’t know if that’s the right thing to say. However, the pain he felt was so apparent in his words and you just wanted to alleviate it in any way possible. “Even if you don’t like parties now, are there new things you like?” you said. He paused to consider this. “I guess I read more.” he said with a slight chuckle. You grabbed the chance, “What books have you been reading?”

...

Along the way, your task to cheer him up dissolved and all that was left was a deep desire to get to know him better. You don’t know what prompted you to do it, whether insanity or pure genius, but you asked if he wanted to join your book club. 

To your surprise, he asked when the next meeting was.  

Your apartment building reared into view as you told him. With a nod, he escorted you to the wire gates leading to the central courtyard. “Oh, here.” you tried to shrug off his jacket, but his hands landed on your shoulders to stop you. “Keep it for now. You can return it during the next book club meeting.” Your shock at his acceptance of your invitation dissipated after seeing the mischievous smile on his face. “You don’t even know where it is.” you said, with mock exasperation. A sly smile lifting the corners of your mouth, you took out the pen from tonight’s shift. “Arm?” You said, motioning the drawing of the pen as you said it. He brought up the right one. The feel of his skin on yours was intoxicating and you tried to ignore the tension hanging in the air as you began to gently write the digits of your phone number. “Text me with this number and I’ll add you to our group chat,”. You both looked at each other, his arm still in your grasp long after you had finished. “I really hope to see you,” you said, before letting his arm drop and going inside. 

You, unfortunately, didn’t get to see the shy smile he walked with for the rest of the night.

[efewtges]

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