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gaysindistress · 2 years

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Sad girl - seven

summary: James has an interesting new business proposal and one hell of a condition to deal with.

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: cursing, guns, violence (it is a mob au after all), Bucky’s smartass, John Walker being a dick, arguing, sexual tension, being held at gunpoint

word count: 3.2k

part 6 | series masterlist

taglist: @missvelvetsstuff @angelsincident @spencerreidisagorgman @ goldensunflowe-r @i-have-no-life-charlie @esposadomd @reader-without-a-story @unaxv @iateall-yourcookies littlelizardlizzie @alana4610 0 @kandis-mom

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

She shouldn’t have trusted Steve to not say anything to James. He’s his right-hand man, from what she can tell, so, of course, he’s going to rat her out. His frustration is evident in the way he keeps flexing his hand, curling it into a fist and relaxing it. They’ve been sitting in his office for about 10 minutes now and neither of them has spoken, waiting for the other to speak up. She's assuming that Steve had texted him when they were driving back to James’ house. She should’ve just thrown her phone out of the window to avoid all of this.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I need to? He’s relatively harmless.”

“No one we know is harmless, Doll. You should know that and especially considering how he’s involved with your family.”

She stands up from the couch and places both hands on his desk, leaning over to try and intimidate him.

“Pepper so kindly told me what happened. Not that I care but why didn’t you tell me?”

His eyes briefly flicker to the “B” necklace that’s hidden under her blouse collar before meeting her stare.

“I assumed you either already knew or didn’t want to know. I’m sorry for not talking to you about it earlier.”

“Oh wow, the big bad James Barnes is apologizing to me. Let me get my phone so I can video this and get proof that you’re not always right.”

James grins at her remark, standing and leaning forward as well, “I never claimed to always be right but you’re right I am apologizing. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

She tries her hardest to not shrink under his blue eyes but the intensity forces her to break away and retake her place in the chair behind her.

“Yeah, everything.”

His eyes glint satisfaction as she backs down to him so easily.

“Your father was getting his vibranium from the Wakandans but Namor came to him, offering to cut the costs in exchange for protection as they expand into New York,” he starts to explain, sitting back into his own chair, “Walker has been trying to insert himself as a middle man for a while with your father, hence why he tried to start a relationship with you. He thought if he could get in good with daddy’s little girl, Stark would start using him but he didn’t expect you to be so you. His plan failed with you but Pepper convinced Anthony to use him anyways and that’s how he started communications between Namor and Stark Industries. The only problem is that going to the competition was going to piss off the Wakandans and they weren’t supposed to find out until after it was all done. Someone leaked the switch to them and Stark came running to Steve and me. In exchange for Steve’s men, Stark added him to the Talokan deal so Steve could have things made for his men. We were in negotiations about what else he was going to give me but Pepper suggested that a permanent alliance would serve us both better. I wasn’t expecting her to arrange a marriage but there wasn’t enough time to try and figure something else out so I agreed. I figured that I would be able to find something else and that’s what the meeting you interrupted was about. Anthony wouldn’t budge so here we are.”

“Wow so you got fucked over and I got used,” it’s her turn to laugh.

“I wasn’t fucked over but you definitely were used by that dick head. I would say I came out on top with my end of the deal. I’ve heard stories about you and seen glimpses of that famous Stark attitude so I was ready for the challenge.”

“Ouch. Girls typically don’t like being called challenges,” she feigns hurt, placing a hand over her heart.

“Would you rather I call you an inconvenience?”

“Jesus no. You really know how to make a girl feel special,” crossing her left leg over her right, she shifts in her seat.

“I aim for completely fucked out but I’ll take special,” he casually adds, eyes raking over her legs as he pulls out his phone. By now any annoyance had left his body and he tells himself that’s not all because she is close by. Admitting that she is the reason for calming down means one thing and she’s made it very clear that she does not want that.

“I have to go to Washington D.C on business later this week. It should only take a few days so I should be back by Saturday. The wedding planner Nat found wants to meet Monday at 12 to go over the basics.”

She can’t stop shifting in her seat, thighs rubbing together every time she moves to find a semi-comfortable spot. At this point, she’s barely listening to what he has to say since he so causally mentioned a girl being fucked out is his primary goal in life. Internally her brain is telling her to sit still and get out as fast as she can but other thoughts are flooding her mind from between her legs.

“Are you alright?” pretend concern laces his voice at her fidgety state.

“What? Oh yeah I’m fine,” she fails to lie and it’s clear he knows she’s lying by the way his lips turn up in that stupid smirk.

“You sure? Something seems like it’s bothering you,” he pushes, hoping she’ll crack a little more.

“It’s nothing,” she snaps, “why are you going to Washington?” “So full of ‘why’s today. Might have to teach you how to sit and listen without any questions.”

“I wouldn’t be such a challenge then, would I? You’d lose interest if I didn’t push your buttons.”

The smirk breaks out in full force, “Maybe I want a good little housewife who obeys and doesn’t question me. I could get used to seeing you, so stubborn and spiteful, kneeling before me with wide eyes.”

His brave words spur something inside of her. If he wants to mess with her, two can play this game and right now she feels like inflicting a bit of her own torture on him.

“We both know you don’t want that. If you did, we wouldn’t be here and you’d be off fucking some socialite girl who spends all of daddy’s money. You like the challenge. You want someone to put you in your place,” the sight of him licking his lips only pushes her to keep going on.

“You’re a powerful man, you’re more than capable of getting what you want so there’s no way you just let this all happen. You want me and it’s getting to you that I won’t let you have me. I can only imagine how frustrating it must be to always get your way and now you’re being denied.”

The tension has shifted in the air and if anyone were to step foot into the room, they’d be wise to immediately exit. Both of them are trying to gain dominance and prove that they make the other break. James has reclined back into his chair, legs spread because what else says “I am the boss here” than manspreading? Doll has kept her legs crossed and her hands on her knee to show she isn’t bothered by any of this but really it’s because there’s a deep ache that is starting to crack her façade.

“Has it occurred to you that I’m letting you act this way? You said it yourself, I get what I want. If I wanted, I would’ve had you that first night.”

“Radial idea: you’re not in control here. I am. I set the pace. I make the rules. I decide what happens. If I want you to beg for me, I’ll have you on your knees with tears in your eyes, begging for me to finally do something. If anything is going to happen, it’ll be on my terms, Bucky. You might be the man and the big boss that everyone fears but I’m the one who calls the shots,” her voice barely wavers no matter how fast her heart is beating against her chest. She’s thanking the gods that she’s not standing because she would’ve fallen right into his lap.

“Prove it,” the challenge causes another wave of downright filthy thoughts to flood her brain and flush her body.

“Answer my question first; why are you going to Washington?” “Do you know what I do for work?” his hand comes up to rub his jaw, fingers scraping over the stubble that has grown over the last few weeks.

He doesn’t wait for her answer, “When people can’t get their hands dirty, they call Steve. Sometimes it’s extracting information or an asset, other times it’s not as nice and that’s where I come in. Since I handle the more sensitive side of things, it attracts some high-profile clients and that often means a business trip to Washington D.C.”

“So you’re a mercenary.”

“Freelance contractor is my official job title.”

“Good to know you’re in bed with the government. At least let me know when you decide to fuck a senator so I can sleep somewhere else.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise but quickly fade back into his smirk, “Already thinking about us sharing a bed?”

“No, I figured you slept in a coffin at night because you’re a soul-sucking vampire who’s only after money.”

His deep laughter fills the room and warms her cheeks among other body parts, “I’d bring in a bed to properly fuck you.”

“Look at who’s already thinking about us sleeping together and bold of you to assume you’d be doing the fucking,” rivaling his crass words is the only option at this point to maintain her dominance.

“Oh please tell me how you plan on doing that.”

“You’ll have to wait for that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have paperwork to file since you so rudely demanded I meet you in your office when I first got here,” uncrossing her legs and standing up, she’s praying to god her legs will keep her upright and that the horny bastard between her legs will chill out.

“Can’t wait, Doll.”

_______________________________________________

“Motherfucker,” whispering to herself as her body refuses to relax after her meeting with James. Two hours later and she’s still staring at the same patient intake form. At this point, she won’t be able to get any work done and her mind can only come up with one way to release that thought.

“No, no, no, no, nope. Not gonna happen,” she mutters before slamming her computer short and sitting back against her desk chair.

She looks around the room for a second idea and her eyes land on the book she hasn’t touched since she moved in. Chloe Gong’s ‘These Violent Delights’, a book she had been excited to read, seems a little too on the nose with her current situation. Anthony always teased her about her book choices, claiming that she read too many ‘kid’ stories when she should be reading the classics and educational books. Her mom, on the other hand, had encouraged her to keep reading whatever she wanted and would happily buy whatever she wanted. That was the one thing she missed the most about her mom; the unconditional love and support. Her childhood hadn’t been the easiest, her mom repeatedly getting sober and then relapsing. She couldn’t blame the woman though considering the man Anthony was even if he wasn’t there for the first couple of years.

Her mom rarely talked about what happened between her and Anthony but it was implied that she got knocked after a one-night stand, tried to run, bad people found her, and her dad didn’t exactly spring into action to help aside from suggesting a terrible name. Her mom had done what she could to make sure Doll was not involved in Anthony’s world at all. She didn’t even know that her dad was Anthony Stark until she was 10 and her mom dragged her to his Manhattan Apartment, begging him to take her. Pepper was the one to answer the door and agree, forming the initial impression that she was going to be an ally to Doll. She had been until she turned 15 and Anthony started paying more attention to her because of her excellent grades.

“The prodigal daughter has returned,” is what he had told her after vowing to always protect her. Laughable now considering how he gave her up so easily and didn’t bother to return her texts in a timely fashion.

Speaking of the devil, her phone alerts her to a new text that reads,

“Walker claims he hasn’t talked to you since the fundraiser. Must be someone else. Have James look into it.”

Completely destroying her phone is starting to seem like a good idea. Alas, she cannot because she’d have to set up a new phone and the whole process is just not one that she wants to deal with. Her mind is still preoccupied with the life or death decision of to booty call James and suffer his endless teasing or take one cold ass shower and hoping the cold restarts her system.

The sound of men talking and the car door closing decides for her; cold shower it is.

_______________________________________________

James had left about two days ago with a wink and an overdramatic ‘Goodbye Doll. Behave’ while Natasha rolled her eyes as they drove away. In their absence, Steve became her surrogate fiancé, either following her or sending other men out with her. On the days when Steve didn’t tail her like a stalker, she felt relief not suffocated but also upset from not having a certain soul-sucking vampire close by even through his friend.

Today a large blonde with long hair and his lanky black-haired counterpart, Thor and Loki if she remembered correctly, was assigned to her. Neither man has said anything to her or even looked at her so it was more like two shadows hiding in the lobby of her office. They had tried to do a security sweep but she stopped them to remind them that it was the Stark Tower after all and there were men stationed everywhere.

Leaving the two, she gets her keys out to open her office and instantly feels another presence in the room with her. A part of her is saying to scream out for Thor and Loki but the other part knows who has broken in. As she closes the door, her suspicions are confirmed when she spots John Walker sitting on her therapy couch, lounging like he owns the place.

“What do you want?” she hisses.

“For you to answer my messages.”

“Get out,” her fingers itch to grab the gun she normally keeps tucked close to her ribs but she solemnly remembers she decided against it this morning.

“After you explain something to me,” metal flashes and he’s whipped out his own gun.

“Sit”, he orders, pointing with the gun to the chair she usually sits at during appointments.

“Don’t even think about grabbing yours, sweetheart. I’m much faster than you. Now explain to me why you haven’t been answering your phone.”

Silence will only get her so far in this situation but she decides to try her luck anyway.

“Silent treatment, how mature?” his patience is starting to grow thin.

“I don’t think it was very nice of you to block me either. I had to get a new number and that was really inconvenient for me.”

She only nods her head, mouth in a straight line and jaw clenched.

“And you know how I don’t like to be inconvenienced.”

Again she nods.

“Did your little boyfriend have anything to do with it?” No response.

Suddenly he is up and over the top of her, forcing her back in the chair, “I was surprised when I heard you were engaged to him. He’s got quite a few years on you, not sure if he can keep up you. Or do you fake it and pretend to enjoy so you don’t hurt his feelings? I’m sure he would love to hear how much of a dirty slut you really are.”

“Oh please. You should be more concerned about the fact I faked it with you to get the fuck out. Your precious little ego can’t handle rejection and now you’re doing everything you can to fix it,” she can’t help but laugh at his failed attempt to scare her.

“Would you like to try that again?” she can feel the cold metal against her neck.

“Do you want me to spell it out for you? You’re terrible in bed so, I faked my orgasms so you’d get off and I could leave to find someone who would actually do the job. You are the epitome of toxic masculinity. Drop it and leave me alone. This is the last time I’m going to tell you.”

“Or what?” he shoves the gun into her neck harder, finger tensing on the trigger. She can barely see the revolver cylinder and nearly laughs at the game he wants to play.

“I haven’t decided yet but I’m sure my fiancé would have some ideas once he sees the barrel marks on my neck,” he pulls the trigger and her eyes squeeze at the sound of it clicking to the next chamber.

“Say stupid shit again and I can’t promise that the next chamber will be empty.”

Never one to follow instructions, she spits in his face. He flinches, dragging a hand over his face with a menacing look in his eye. He squeezes the trigger again and it clicks again.

“You’ve only have 4 more tries, think about your next move carefully.”

“Your dick is small.”

“3 more. Do you really want to keep going?”

Shrugging her shoulders the best she can, “I don’t think you have it in you to shoot me.”

This time he pulls the trigger twice, both times clicking to show that her sixth chance will have been her final one.

“Start answering my messages and I won’t have to come and visit you at work, sweetheart,” he stands and leaves the office without another word. The alarmed voices of the men outside invade her office and in seconds Thor and Loki come barging in. Thor is the one to check her over for any injuries while Loki speaks in a hushed voice on the phone, more than likely calling Steve.

Loki motions to Thor to join him on the other side of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts and an aching neck. The shock starts to sit in and her body betrays her, going cold and trembling. She can’t hear whatever the men are saying but she can only assume that Steve will be there in moments and will no doubt be furious.

What feels like seconds later, Steve is storming through the door, barking orders, and crouching down to her eye level.

“Hey, we’ve got to get you out of here and somewhere safe. Let’s go,” he grabs her hand, pulling her out of the chair to usher her out of the office. She allows him to tuck her into his side, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders as he leads her through the building. The entirety of Stark Tower has gone into full alert mode, all personnel are on the hunt for John. They pass by everyone without a word and exit the building of chaos behind them. In the haze of shock, she barely registers that Steve has gotten her inside the SUV or that he’s been on the phone, trying to calm down whoever is on the other line.

The last thing she remembers is the surprised look on Steve’s face as she slumps forward and faints.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #mob au #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes and reader #mob!bucky barnes imagine #mob!bucky barnes x reader #sad girl - bucky barnes

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dansconcepts · 2 months

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Lucky DICE

My take on the PhantomThief!Ouma AU (even though I have multiple takes in my docs so really this is more like just a DICE with Komaeda in it AU) based on the prompt in this Youtube short. It's meant to be a whole mystery-esque sorta thing? with some unreliable/misleading elements. The plot's roughly there (plot is really hard for me) but I'm hoping to fledge it out more maybe.

Shuichi tentatively roams the admittedly modest lair, equipped with the darkness of night lit only by a window. Rooms lead out from beyond the table that sits proudly beside a large retractable screen. Closed doors are lined with messages etched into their frames: names of DICE members, as well as personalized touches in the form of stickers and drawings.

The detective would find all of it honestly endearing if it wasn’t for the fact that they belong to the crime organization that’s been terrorizing the city for a while now. But seeing these hints at people, perhaps young, he begins to wonder- not for the first time- if he’s missing something intrinsically apparent in this whole case. What he needs is something concrete, something beyond the measly conjecture he has.

His feet stop in front of the door he came here for. Supreme Leader it read, in messy scrawl and purple ink. There’s the silly art, serving as the signature that he knows so well beside it- a tiny caricature of DICE’s figurehead, with a peace sign, wink, and a stuck out tongue. And right underneath is the doorknob. It will get him answers, he knows, but he’s slow to lift his hand anyway.

He bites his lip. Again, he wonders where his hesitance lies- a hunch with no evidence, reliant on a lingering feeling despite being met with all the facts. Shuichi doesn’t owe him anything. The Phantom Thief committed his crimes with an edge, a malice, and that strengthens his resolve.

The detective turns the door, slowly. His eyes dart around the room as the crack widens, absorbing the calming light that comes from a nightlight perched on a nightstand. A chessboard lays in the center, most pieces having remained and yet are arranged out of place on the board, only having a white king, black bishop, and assorted black and white pawns. Cans of Panta are haphazardly sprawled out everywhere. The bed looks pristine besides a slightly ruffled sheet. Alternatively, the desk, a beautiful dark wood, is a frenzy of suggested activity with papers and photos in seemingly disorganized piles and-

Is that a whiteboard?

Normally, the idea of having a whiteboard in one’s bedroom isn’t the strangest thing, but the way it’s filled out with photos hung by tape and lines connecting both text and images makes him think he’s looking at a reflection of his own thinking board for this case. Perhaps a corkboard is too old-fashioned... Yet, he muses, he’s evolved from simple burglaries and mysteries to a syndicate of crime, and sticking to basics was the best way for him to start tackling such a jump.

He approaches the board. The connections being made… it’s recent hits, with some locations being X’d out and others highlighted. There are faces he doesn’t fully recognize in most of the photos. Most of them seem to suggest DICE members, if the clown mask covering their faces are anything to go by. One white-haired man is circled in red, with a large and sloppy, as if angrily written, LIAR over it.

His eyes roam lower, and he’s greeted with a shock. Small text, in the same handwriting as outside, forces his brain to run a mile a minute.

Detective Shuichi Saihara, it read, …trustworthy?

And on the ledge underneath, surrounded by a couple of markers, are a pack of cards. Non-standard, if the navy blue look embedded on the pack was any indication. He opens it, expecting to find dark cards to match the box’s aesthetic, and pulls out the first one near the front of the deck. White. He flips it. Also white, purely plain, identical to the front. Widely untypical, but highly familiar. The detective thumbs at the glossy finish. Memories of a beautiful checkered backing hit him unbidden, and playful text laughing at his expense, yet cheering him on… Except for the most recent time, where it was leering, conniving, borderline threatening in a faux-pleasant tone-

Nope. Not the time.

The detective laxes his grip. Ah. The card now has a permanent score in the middle.

He brushes it aside- although he murmurs apologies into his head- and looks through the rest of the cards. Finally, he finds what he’s looking for in the form of a date written along the top. He picks through the cards which contained a similar look, and it was all consecutive, almost as if the cards served as a journal or diary of sorts. There’s a handful of cards left that appear blank.

He’ll examine the rest later. Instead, he focuses his attention on the first card. It outlines, he skims, the third heist DICE carried out (and, he remembers, was when he was enlisted on the case officially). “Detective… new… told Ace not to be an idiot… no Kyouko…” His eyes dart to a passage that actually catches his eye. “This new Detective seems like a stick in the mud anyway, a complete anxious nerd type. But he did figure out our whole MO, so maybe he’s more interesting than I thought.” Shuichi flushes. It was true, but still, to be called out so blatantly…

Next entry. “He did get more interesting. I just had to get up-close and personal, y’know? He’s so convicted for a guy who could barely look me in the eye! That needs to be changed and fast. It’s cute,” And now he’s flushed for a whole other reason, “But that’s only because underneath is this really determined guy who wants to figure things out. And man, do I enjoy someone who plays the game.”

Next. “How often is he going to linger with the notes I leave him? I’m going to get caught this way! But he always reads it with this small smile, and I don’t know why, but it makes me stupidly happy. Yikes. Time to not dwell on THAT thought any longer.”

Okay, now he’s sensing a pattern. The navy blue on the box, the name repeated in every entry… is this whole deck about him?

No way. No way at all that’s it.

But the evidence speaks for itself. He reads further, skimming, his name or a variation always sticking out, and he can’t help but finish every entry as it dials further and further into something that seems… adoring. Borderline affectionate. Shuichi honestly can’t believe it.

The last words of the final entry catches his attention. He recalls the date and his jaw tightens. A day before the latest heist. “Joker said he’ll be making the next heist ‘a celebration of hope’. It’s bound to be a whole ploy to get me closer to my beloved, from Queenie’s laughter and all. If anyone can make it happen though, it’d definitely be him. But I’m concerned. I’m a little worried there’ll be an explosion, knowing Joker. But I know he’s learned his lesson.”

Hmm.

He looks through the remaining blank cards, flipping them just to make sure he doesn’t miss anything. On a seemingly random card, 4th last, he finds familiar purple handwriting.

It’s a lie!

Cold sweeps through his system. A lie? What was a lie? Where? He took everything at face-value, but there’s a lie? The detective frantically looks around, the shadows suddenly seeming oppressive and choking. Was it the whole deck, or something specific? A single card? A handful?

Was it the feelings he thought were there?

He steps back, the card mocking him.

It’s a lie! It’s a lie! It’s a lie! rings through his head, hearing the voice that often accompanied it. And as it ricochets in his head, he hears faint murmurs permeating through the walls.

God, what was he thinking? He needs to get out of here. He can’t believe he just let himself come in here, spurred by a single letter.

The detective looks to the door, but no, can’t go through there. He peers through the window. Seems clear. Luckily chasing the Phantom Thief gave him some practice in endurance and balance, because this patio wasn’t going to scale itself.

He jumps, roughly skidding down the slope before landing on his feet. Luckily the house wasn’t too tall. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, the detective slinks off into the night, wondering if this is how he feels after a heist.

#DICE au #danganronpa #sdr2 #drv3 #drabbles #long post #this is something i want to turn into a 10k+ word fic #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #nagito komaeda #DICE mention #phantom thief au #i have some fanon names for the dice members #oumasai #saiouma #self indulgent

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moosemonstrous · 9 months

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Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - night classes

“It’s so cool,” Gabe pulls his face down to get a better look at his eye. “You’re like Dr Luo! Is it like that forever now?”

Robbie wracks his brain for an image of Dr Luo – he’s pretty sure that’s one of the bad guys in Ninja Wolf. Wait, this hurts your feelings? That’s hilarious. It’s nothing. He’s just glad Gabe isn’t freaked out by the way his pupil is still misshapen, the surrounding iris cloudy-brown from the broken blood vessels. Dr Montesi said the damage is mostly cosmetic, but seemed a little taken aback that he could see without much trouble. She spent the majority of their appointment frowning and making notes while Cho rattled off incomprehensible test results. They clearly arrived at some sort of a reluctant conclusion, but didn’t translate it into non-PhD, so all he knows is that he needs to go into the resonance machine again, this time for a full-body scan. MRI became MRS, which will apparently make all the difference.

He’s been prescribed extra rations. He’s already struggling to finish what the mess hall considers regular ones – but Gabe is always hungry after finishing his, so it’s hardly a problem.

“It should go back to normal in a couple of weeks,” he says as Gabe pulls his lower eyelid down. “How was school, anyway? Did you meet anyone new?”

While school-prep was essentially quarantine, proper ‘school’ turns out to be something of a misnomer – it’s a classroom attached to the unattended minors centre where the whole base dumps their kids when their guardians are at work, or otherwise occupied. Sometimes, after a demon attack, some of the children find themselves permanent residents until alternative care can be arranged. It’s good for them to be used to the environment.

“We’ve been notified you will be joining the academy,” the teacher told Robbie while Gabe was saying goodbye to his new classmates. He didn’t offer congratulations. “You don’t need to worry about the schedule. I know Major Brooks likes to run his sessions long.”

Major Brooks can like his sessions on the moon for all Robbie cares. He’s not letting Gabe live out of a temp bunk full of abandoned and orphaned children. The nightmare he had, the one about dying in The Charger – Didn’t die. – still makes him uneasy, and he has no plans on joining any strike teams. Besides, it seems a little unfair – as in any other childcare facility he’s ever seen, the staff are stretched thin and never paid enough for all they’re asked to do. Robbie can’t imagine preparing for a shift with sixty kids and ending up with a hundred, because someone up in the dome ran an exercise for an extra two hours.

That’s because you’ve never been in a Kwoon ring. Trust me, it’s better than hanging around a cripple all day.

He freezes. Was that–

“...and Lin said her dad can make me elbow pads like hers,” Gabe finishes recounting. Crap, Robbie didn’t mean to space out like that. “I want to draw her a picture from her story. Can we get the book?”

Gabe has a school-issued tablet that came complete with a stern warning about selling Shatterdome property. It takes Robbie longer than he’d like to figure out how to access the online library. Every piece of technology they get is second-hand or renovated, and still years ahead of what he could afford back in L.A.

The e-reader has adjustable text size and screen contrast, and a read-aloud option. Damn, you’re easy to impress. The book Gabe requested seems to be some sort of a video game novelisation.

This is all too good to be true, he thinks when Gabe is busy finishing his second helping of noodle soup while following the text along to the narrator in his earphones. The stipend he’s getting from medical is slightly less than what he’d make as a mechanic, and nowhere near enough to save up and leave, but so much on the base is provided for free it’s not really a concern. It feels not unlike the first few weeks in their own flat back in Hillrock Heights – a to-date unprecedented amount of comfort. That lasted only seven months before the demon attack. According to the countdown display, the next one is due in three weeks.

“Robbie-Robbie,” Gabe sing-songs without looking away from the screen. “Your soup is getting cold.”

“You’re holding it wrong. Extend your thumb,” Robbie says to his dad, grabbing his staff to demonstrate.

Dad is only a couple of inches taller than him. He rolls his eyes. He looks… fond.

“I can still knock the snot out of you, soldier boy.”

Robbie laughs. It sounds forced. “Yeah? That a threat?”

“Hell yeah.” Dad looks a little unsure for a moment. “Seriously, Juliana is watching. Go easy on me, huh?”

Robbie doesn’t remember having dreams like that before. Normal stuff, sometimes nightmares, but never these… these weird whole-scene narratives. He lies in his cot for a good ten minutes, trying to level his breathing; it felt so real. His arms ache.

Four in. Hold four. Four out. It’s being in the Shatterdome. Back in the Shatterdome. It’s messing with whatever… block he’s got in his head. There are records – classified, but maybe if he asked–

Or you could just plug back into The Charger. It’s got what you need.

Is it weird that Gabe doesn’t seem interested? Then again, he was too little to remember dad at all. He stopped asking after mom fairly quickly too. It used to be a point of pride for Robbie – he could do it by himself. They didn’t need anyone else.

He presses his knuckles into his eyes until he sees sparks. Jesus, pull yourself together. Right. He swings down from his bunk and goes to wake Gabe up – he’s been sleeping like a log with all the noise suppression in the crew quarters. They have morning routine down to the minute – roll out the kinks from Gabe’s legs and lower back, make sure he doesn’t try to spit out the one pill that doesn’t come in a sugar shell, decant the rest of the day’s meds plus emergency supply into the plastic container, check the medical info sheet is still in his backpack where it’s supposed to be. Gabe showers in the evenings, and Robbie in the mornings while he gets dressed. Back in L.A., the harried social worker he used to harass for advice mentioned that now Gabe is a teenager, Robbie needs to occasionally leave him alone behind a closed door, and this is the best he can offer – other than never, ever thinking about it any further in any detail.

All the kids get meals at the beginning of each shift, so he drops Gabe off first before looping back to the mess hall for his prescription food. Most of everything on offer is vegetarian, but with his new academy assignment Robbie can technically access the pork. It’s half eight in the morning – he has to solemnly promise the old lady behind the counter that he won’t starve to death on just rice and beans.

It turns out to be the wrong choice.

Tony waves Amadeus over to the edge of the viewing platform and points to the mat to the far side of the gym, where Robbie Reyes is getting his ass handed to him for the fifteenth time in a row. He’s probably counting, too. He looks the type.

“Ouch,” Amadeus hisses in sympathy. “Wasn’t he supposed to just run laps?”

“Yep,” Tony pops the ‘p’. He wishes he’d brought popcorn. “Don’t ask me, they were already at it when I got here.”

They watch the sixteenth match end, once again, with Reyes flat on his back on the mat. Tony waits until Eric gets him up again to nod his head to the other side of the platform. “Watch the Colonel.”

Ivanov doesn’t make a habit of observing the recruits. He shows up in the Kwoon Combat Room for pair ups, because that’s always good fun, but the cadets are pretty pitiful until Eric whips them into shape, and the brass tends to train when the impressionable young people can’t hear their backs creak from the effort. He’s been watching Reyes like a hawk, though, and according to Tony’s quick dig into base surveillance, arrived just in time to potentially instruct their Fightmaster to change up his training program. Eric doesn’t sway from his routines unless directly threatened with public speaking. Or unless Carol asks nicely enough, and she’s on duty this morning.

“His orthodontist will have some work to do,” Amadeus comments. He produces a pack of jelly beans from his coat pocket and offers some to Tony. “Are we being anti-establishment again?”

“Please, we’re always anti-establishment. Say, I know nothing about martial arts. Is Reyes any good?”

Only the rangers stand any chance of winning against Eric, and usually only after several years of learning his every move. That the kid hasn’t tapped out yet is already pretty impressive, but Tony has been known to mistake stubbornness for skill before. Amadeus crunches on the jelly beans for a long moment before replying.

“It’s like he’s been studying from old movies,” he says, thoughtful. “Knows what to do, but can’t back it up.”

“Did he mention getting any lessons?”

“Two boxing classes at fifteen.” Amadeus has the good sense to appear slightly red-faced at how quickly he pulled that information out of his giant brain. Tony magnanimously lets it slide. “What are you saying?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. But something smells funny here, doesn’t it?”

“Wait till you see what Montesi pulled out of his MEG scan.”

“Oooh, do tell.”

One level below, Reyes begins losing his cool. He puts enough strength into his next hit that when the wooden staff hits the mat instead of Eric’s leg, it bounces back and nearly hits him square in the face. Tony really doesn’t know much about fighting – he’s more of a lover type – but he knows Eric Brooks, and under three hundred layers of repression and self-esteem issues no therapist in the universe could crack, the big guy appears to be surprised.

“Not here,” Amadeus pockets his jelly beans. “Patient confidentiality and all that.”

That’s even more curious. “That good?” Amadeus has that look on his face. It’s been a while since Tony had last seen it, and he can’t say he enjoyed the resulting mayhem. “Alright, boy wonder. Lead the way.”

#Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU #robbie reyes #gabe reyes #tony stark #Amadeus Cho #Ugh I'm not happy with the routine description but #Let's keep this baby rolling #I'm fully committed to Blade and Robbie bonding over failure at emoting #Also in: this is why I'm so hung up on involving the hippocampus

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sluggybunny · 7 months

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boooooo game dev booo

(background image is not part of the game it;s a placeholder, i did not create it. the ui is made by me tho) i have been putting off ui stuff so much jdkfhkdsh please help

it's so hard because you have to make small pieces and try and put it together in your brain. ive done mock ups but there's still like so many windows and things to keep in mind. i still have to design all sorts of menus but if i can get the basic elements then its just arranging shit.

this is the main thing thats been like. halting dev on the game because i have to get the ui set up to properly implement all sorts of functions. i do alot of placeholder stuff but i find that it takes a lot of fiddling /going back to edit text and arrangments that i think i should get it out of the way first. i can polish it up layer, i suppose.

i have been paying alot of attention to the ui in games that i play to get some ideas. animations are gonna be hard to figure out.

other things achieved but lack cool visuals to wow and stun the masses:

i created a grid-based location/travel system. this means nothing to the player besides that the world should feel cohesive and put together despite the game being in 2d & text. there will be a mini map. the first area is a town & surrounding forest-y area. im very proud of the coding i did for the location system so please clap

inventory system is somewhat working. there are items and you can pick them up and they all have stats and descriptions. yay! The clothing system works too. You can dress up and the clothing all have style points so you can dress to impress or distress. It will be fun when I get to draw the icons for the clothing because I shifted the game's aesthetics more towards a whimsy victorian-esque thing and i have been endlessly scrolling through various lolita stores.

i created a way to store the npc's data in a nice way. i like objects so much even if it's pointless at times. it will be useful for the player's journal system, it will keep info on the npcs. npcs will have various stats to keep track of like love/dominance and relationship flags. and hopefully birthdays although i am running into an issue of "is this actually a good idea or am i going a little too kojima on this"

ive gotten pretty far for just 1 person and especially someone who doesnt have formal coding knowledge and is too anxious to dare ask any ppl on the forums. if i run into a problem i will just bang my head against it until i figure it out.

anyway idk bye i wanted to ramble bc im lonely

#>sluggy dev

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

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Pedantic, chapter three - a Malevolent AU

Arthur Lester is the best IT architect in the world, and the reason Carcosa, Inc. has its fingers in every pie. Government, medical, everyone in the world uses its systems. Arthur is also going blind and nearly gives up… until a deeply annoying cybersecurity programmer prods him into trying something new.

Chapter Three: The choice is made. What does Arthur have to lose? (The answer is his heart.)

AO3

----------

John Doe began sending images around four in the afternoon.

Arthur checked. That meant John was goofing around at two in the morning his time.

The first was a sticker depicting a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Beneath it were the words, Licensed to bear small arms.

Arthur snorted his coffee as Cassilda described it to him. When recovered, he said, “Doe, what the hell?”

No Doe here. That name went out with the dinosaurs.

“It’s your name, idiot. Are you saying you’re old and extinct?”

Maybe I’ve got big teeth and little children love me.

Arthur laughed again. “That can come across all kinds of wrong.”

I’ll give you wrong. A pause, followed by a second text. That made more sense in my head.

“It’s two in the morning, you whacko. Why are you up?”

Waiting for you, princess. Also, Baldur’s Gate 12 is addicting.

“Excuses, excuses.”

John sent a picture of a cat.

It is a young Siamese cat, Cassilda said. Less than a year old. It stares up at the camera with an expectant look, sitting primly, tail wrapped around its feet. Beside it is a human leg in pajama bottoms, wearing a fuzzy slipper.

“Who’s this?” said Arthur.

Guy. She’s my buddy.

“She?”

I fostered. I’d say, “Hi, guys,” every time I came home, and this one got too used to it.

“I see. Doomed. You had to keep her.”

She kept me.

There was no reason for Arthur to know this reply was different from the others, like there was more to this than mere words said.

But there was. This had mattered in some big way.

He tried to shake it off. “I haven’t had time for pets. I get so focused on my work… they’d starve, or something.”

You just need a partner to share the load, is all.

Right.

There were a few ways to take that, and Arthur doubted all of them.

He let it go.

So John sent another photo. This one was a glorious setup; two meter-wide monitors, multiple keyboards, and ample desk space for the numerous snacks and drinks arranged as if in front of six stations.

One chair. It was spun to face the camera, as if whoever had been sitting in it hopped up just to take a pic.

“What’s this?” said Arthur.

Where the magic happens, baby.

Arthur smiled, considering his own absolutely ascetic layout. “Why multiple snack stations?”

Because I have numerous systems running, taking up a portion of the screen. I slide between them, and they require different flavors.

Arthur laughed. “They what?”

That system we’re customizing for the fucking Migo? That’s spicy.

Arthur did not like them. They didn’t trust his ability to make things just work, and kept making requests that complicated the system for users. “I agree.”

The Yithian delegation is a challenge, but I like them, so they get barbecue chips.

“Oddly specific.”

Their biggest challenge is older tech. I like making them able to go toe to toe with the assholes in spite of it.

“I like that, too. You’ll have to show me how you’re getting around their iCore B11 chips.”

Sure. Anyway, enough about me. Decided?

Arthur fell silent.

He walked to his window, looking out. He could almost see the view from this office; or maybe he’d just spent so much time here that his mind overlayed memories—the tree-filled hill falling away, Melbourne stretching out below, the smaller stone bastion where his own home sat gleaming in the fading sunlight.

He held onto the memory, staring at blurs.

His feed dinged. Parker’d sent a message.

“Hold that thought,” he said to John Doe, and sat down to hear Cassilda read it out.

Well. It was a thing.

Arthur called. “Are you fucking serious?”

“When you said he came out of nowhere a year ago, I didn’t think you were literal,” said Parker, amused. “But yeah, I’m serious. Social security number issued last year. Birth certificate not found. No known schools. Not so much as a photo in a yearbook. He’s a ghost.”

“That can’t be,” said Arthur. “Carcosa would never hire someone suspicious, never mind put them in charge of security.”

“Well, Hastur de Amarillo did. And you’re gonna love this part: there’s no record of an application.”

Arthur hesitated for all of one second. “Hold on.” He had Cassilda open his system in the back end.

He had his own back doors. It wasn’t really legal, but Arthur had access to everything simply because it was his baby and he had to in order to fix things or tweak them.

This was worth doing himself, without help. Squinting, close to the screen, he took the mouse in hand and navigated.

John Doe’s employment began one year and two months ago. There was his address (wait… already in Manhattan?), his income (nice), and… that was it.

No interview. No notes. No contacts. No medical contacts or work history. No references. No resume.

He really had sprung from Hastur’s head fully formed, apparently.

“Nothing?” said Arthur.

“Nothing. Whoever he was before your boss hired him has been hidden so well that I can’t dig a fucking thing up. I don’t know what this guy is hiding, Arthur, but this unnerves me.”

It unnerved Arthur, too. John Doe might have the skill to cover his tracks, but it felt impossible to be that good in this day and age.

John had been smart enough not to invent a past. That would’ve been seen through immediately. Instead, he just… didn’t exist. How many systems would he have had to hack? This was upsetting.

“Thanks, Parker,” said Arthur.

“I’ll keep looking, but… he’s hiding something big. People can’t hide themselves this much and still get jobs.”

Arthur knew the answer was to ask Hastur. He didn’t want to ask Hastur. He didn’t want to have to answer Why do you want to know?

He sighed.

“You okay there?” said Parker.

“It’s just complicated.” The implications of being able to do this were staggering. John Doe…

John Doe was a dangerous man.

“Fuck,” said Arthur.

“Use a condom,” said Parker, knowing damn well that would pull him out of his funk.

Arthur laughed. “Goon.”

“Right. I’ll let you know what else I find.”

“Thanks.” Arthur sighed. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Arthur had no idea what the hell to do now.

Arthur liked to celebrate a successful launch. He didn’t like to do it alone.

In his twenties, he’d spent a lot of time in the local nightlife, just in the company of strangers, enjoying some booze, the laughter, the dancing.

He hadn’t done that in a few years. It was too scary when he couldn’t really see what was going on.

He sipped his champagne, anyway, mulling. Maybe it was the booze on an empty stomach, but he knew what to do. “Text John. All right, asshole, I’ll take your bet, but you won’t like what I demand when you lose.”

All right! What, you want me to mail you my balls or something?

It was definitely the booze. “No. You’re going to tell me who the fuck you really are and how you hid yourself so well.”

Silence for a long moment, which Arthur could have predicted. It was a rude thing to say, and possibly illegal, and showed he’d been looking into John.

None of which he cared about right now. He tried to refill his glass and realized he’d drunk the whole bottle. When had that happened?

Deal.

Wait, what was?

Well. This just got interesting. “Good. We start tomorrow.”

Good.

It was the most succinct John had ever been. Arthur suddenly felt bad and took a picture of his empty champagne bottle. “To celebrate our new relationship,” he said.

A beat. Maybe he’d pushed too far. Maybe he’d busted this relationship before it even got started. Maybe—

I can drink you under the table, said John, and Arthur knew they were okay. Sleep it off. Wow me tomorrow.

“I will,” said Arthur, far more petulantly than he was proud of, and was grateful text did not portray.

He didn’t remember falling asleep on his couch, but he sure did, and dreamed of programming all night.

------

CHAPTER FOUR

#john x arthur #arthur x john #malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent fic #malevolent fanfic #john doe malevolent #arthur lester #kayne malevolent #malevolent au #pedantic fic

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illgetthe · 2 years

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twice every year since I found it I get the sudden uncontrollable need to re read paranatural in its entirety. I think that time is coming up again but I’m going to hope it stays back long enough for me to study for my math test. anyways here >:) running debate over whether Ed is going along because he doesn’t want to explain where his parents actually are or because he, too, thinks he might find his mom at the grocery store. image id in read more

[image id: two images here. the first is johnny, a kid with red spikey hair wearing a white tank top that reads ‘ur mom’. he has his arm slung over Ed,- a blonde with glasses that obscure most of his face-, in a friendly way. Johnny’s grinning excitingly while Ed looks a little like he’s discussing a math problem, one finger up and a vaguely quizzical expression on his face. The text reads “My Mom said we could challenge random kids to fights in the woods if it’s alright with your mom!”, with a tiny red inked Johnny next to it to indicate the speaker, then a tiny yellow Ed to indicate his reply of: “ Well, see, I’ll try to ask her but I’d have to find her first and that’s going to take a while.” this is funny because Ed’s parents are very much missing.

image two is arranged like a selfie, with Johnny making peace signs and holding the camera up to where most of the inside of a small grocery store is visible. in the background, Ed is not shopping, but he is climbing one of the shelves- it is to be noted in both images ed is wearing a green hoodie, and a ‘ur mom’ tee shirt. he’s not wearing it like Johnny is, though, and instead has it tied around his head like a bandana or something. max, another character, is also behind the register, looking very confused and a little like he’s going insane. he’s not with them, his dad just owns the store. below all this is a caption in a format to mimic Snap-chat’s typing, that reads:

“at the store with the homie because he said his mom left to go get milk and I was like, oh, LMAO, I know where that shit is, I got you bro” end id]

#paranatural Johnny #Johnny jhonny #paranatural #pnat #pnat Johnny #pnat max #pnat Ed #ed burger #max puckett #paranatural fanart #paranatural Ed #paranatural max #my art:^]

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foreverindreamlandd · 3 years

Text

In the Embers ~ 4

Pairing: Firefighter!Bucky x F!Plus Size!Adopted Rogers!Reader

WC: 5.3k

Summary: After returning home from a failed career as an artist in LA, you are reunited with the boy next door who has always owned a piece of your heart, and there's no running from each other this time.

Chapter Note: *the plot thickens* ;)

Chapter Warnings: Negative self-body image, brief mentions of diet culture, anxiety, depression, a weird situation with a boy that is technically consensual but might make you feel a bit icky, oh and I threw in some more protective Bucky because I can ;)

Series Masterlist / Series Playlist

SIXTEEN YEARS OLD

John Walker came out of nowhere.

Well, he had always been there. You had met him your freshman year at band camp. He was the charismatic, overly conceited trumpet player who would flirt with all of the girls….except for you.

Not that it surprised you all that much. Why pay any attention to you when there were prettier girls to keep hold of his gaze? Still, each time his eyeline brushed past yours without a care that you existed, you felt a slight ache in your heart.

Then, one year later out of nowhere, his eyes found you. It was a slow process, his glances would come your way more frequently and linger for a few extra seconds. He would sometimes give you a soft smile if your eyes locked. Conveniently, the seating arrangements for indoor rehearsals changed so that he sat right behind you, and he would try to talk to you whenever there was a spare moment and text photos of the back of your head saying how great the view was.

It was so….strange. You had never received any type of attention from a guy like this. You had some guy friends in art class, and you interacted with Sam and Bucky almost daily because they practically lived at your house, but it had never been like this. This made your stomach queasy, your face hot. You giggled more often, unused to the constant attention.

John finally made his move the day of the annual Thanksgiving game. The band always held a pancake breakfast before the game, and last year Steve had to begrudgingly wake up super early to drive you to the school before going home to start his own preparations for the game.

During rehearsal the night before, you were whispering to Sarah asking if she could give you a ride, seeing that this was Steve’s senior year and this would be his last game ever. You wanted to gift him the opportunity to sleep in and enjoy the day as much as possible, even if the idea of not getting to spend the morning with him for his last game was somewhat bittersweet.

“I can drive you,” John had interrupted, apparently eavesdropping on the conversation. “You’re not too far from me, anyways.”

You whipped your head toward him, wide-eyed. “You don’t need to do that, John. I don’t want to be a pain-”

“Nonsense,” he lightly shoved your arm and grinned, “Besides, it gives me an excuse to spend more time with ya.” He gave you a wink and you felt that queasiness in your stomach, somewhat similar to the sensation you experienced whenever Bucky smiled at you.

Stop thinking about Bucky, Y/n. That’s….that’s nothing.

You quickly looked at Sarah, who glared at you, her eyebrows practically at the top of her head. Then you looked back at John and smiled. “Okay, thanks.”

His grin widened.

He arrived 10 minutes late the next morning, allowing you more time to pace in the entryway of your home, desperately staring outside waiting for his car to pull up.

The trunk popped open and you tucked your saxophone inside before sliding into the passenger seat. John smiled at you, leaning in for an awkward car hug. The gesture made you smile in surprise.

“Morning, gorgeous.” Your breath audibly hitched. No one had ever called you gorgeous before.

“Thanks again for the ride, John. Ready to eat some pancakes?”

His eyes narrowed and his grin turned mischievous. “Actually, I wanted to show you something real quick.”

He took you to the infamous abandoned side street that was known as the teen hookup spot. The shock of actually being here with a guy overwhelmed your senses, and you couldn’t find yourself able to speak.

John noticed when your hands started to fidget once realization set in and frowned. “You okay?” he asked, voice concerned. “We can go to the breakfast if you want. No worries.” You could tell from his tone that he meant it.

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you would have told him that you did want to go to breakfast. That this whole situation was way out of left field, and you wanted to go hang out with your band friends and eat pancakes. Go back to what was normal for you.

But a cute boy was offering to give you attention that you had only ever dreamed out before, and if you said no, would you ever get a chance again? Would anyone else ever feel the same?

John was nice, and he was here, and he was asking if you felt comfortable, which was a gift not many girls were offered in situations such as this.

You stilled your hands as you gave him a smile, bobbing your head up and down with silent consent. John smiled, attention returning to the road as he found a spot to park.

Once the car was turned off, John made his move, leaning forward and pressing a wet, sloppy kiss on your lips. It wasn’t what you had expected from all the romance books and movies you had spent your young adult life consuming, desperate to live vicariously through those characters. Still, his lips were warm, soft, needy.

You never made it to the pancake breakfast, but you also had your first kiss; your first boyfriend, so you weren’t too beat up over it.

Once the game ended, you rode home with Steve and Bucky for Thanksgiving dinner. Ever since Bucky’s dad left, the five of you spent the holiday together. The Rogers family was in charge of the main course, Winnie and Bucky were responsible for dessert.

It was a similar gathering to the one you had every Sunday evening for dinner, just with much more food, and everyone made more of an effort to dress nicely.

Today, you celebrated the victory of Steve and Bucky’s last football game, cheersing with sparkling apple cider.

“You seem to be in high spirits, Oak,” Bucky inquired quietly as the two of you stood at the kitchen counter, filling your plate with turkey day-related goods.

You fought back a grin. “Just thankful for the win, I guess.”

Sometimes you swore that boy could read you better than anyone else, so you weren’t surprised when you glanced up at him to find an expression that said something along the lines of are you kidding me painted across his face.

“So this doesn’t have to do with that kid Walker driving you to the game today?” He nudged you with his elbow and you felt your face start to burn.

“I-I don’t….that’s not-” you stammered.

“Relax,” Bucky chuckled. “I’m happy for ya. I knew this day would come eventually, that some punk would worm their way into your heart. Just as long as he treats you right. Otherwise, I’m kicking his ass.”

At that, you rolled your eyes. “Alright, tough guy. You know I already have a brother that I have to worry about harassing boys, right?”

He laughed again, but as he looked down at the stuffing, his smile dropped. There was an awkward silence for a few seconds before he looked back up at you. His expression was a mixture of serious and….something else you couldn’t quite identify.

“Stevie doesn’t have to be the only one to care about you, Y/n.” The use of your real name brought a flurry of butterflies into your stomach, which only grew tenfold when he rested a hand on your shoulder. “You mean a lot to me, okay? I don’t want some shithead hurting you. Ever.”

You allowed yourself a brief, blissful moment to stare into Bucky’s eyes, the storm of blue swirling together in so many different shades, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to accurately portray it on a canvas.

A sudden wave of guilt washed over you as you remembered John, the boy who kissed you and for some reason liked you, who didn’t deserve to have the girl he liked admiring the eyes of another guy like this.

So you pushed away the canvas in your mind, scrunching your nose at Bucky and lightly bumping your side against his.

“Alright, ya big softy, are you going to let me have any of the stuffing or are you planning on keeping it all to yourself?”

NOW

You sat at the edge of the chair, elbows leaning on your legs, hands mindlessly fiddling with the paintbrush as you stared at the blank canvas.

“You can do this, Y/n,” you muttered to yourself. “You literally got paid a buttload of money because you were so good at this. Just. Paint.”

You lifted the brush covered with the acrylic chestnut substance and hovered it over the untouched surface, moving to the bottom, then the middle, then the top, unsure of where to start. A drop of paint threatening to touch the canvas without your permission caused you to pull it back - for the tenth time this morning - and a loud groan escaped your lips.

This had been the most progress you had made all month.

When you first moved home, your mom surprised you with a mini art studio in the garage. It was such a nice gesture and you gave her your best smile when she showed it to you beaming with pride, hiding the fact that the sight of it turned the contents of your stomach to acid.

You couldn’t find it in your heart to tell her that you hadn’t painted in months. And before then, anything you produced was so lifeless.

Literally, lifeless. It was early on in college that you discovered your love for painting trees, most likely inspired by Big Oaky, but you added your own twist to it. You always started with the trunk to set a base for your work. After that, you let creativity take over, swirls, blotches, spots of any and every color filling up the rest of the space. In the beginning, the options were limitless, you felt like you could paint anything, and you did.

There were so many paintings you had done that were so colorful, so creative, so out there, so beloved by your followers in the art community. They loved the way you combined the realness of nature with the abstract possibilities of your mind.

Your personal favorite was something a little more simple, one you had done in your second year at RISD.

An oak tree, surrounded by swirls of very specific shades of blue, its leaves made up of shimmering stars. At the top of the tree sat the silhouette of a young boy, staring up at the full moon above, and a girl sitting in a branch just below, looking up at him.

It was the only piece of art you never put up for sale. Brock had begged you for years to let him put a price tag on it, saying it was your best work and could make a killing, but you always refused. He would then proceed to huff and puff at your response, grumbling his complaints about your decision.

He was all too keen about getting as much money as he could from your work, seeing that it was his main source of income. When you returned home, most people asked why you were working at a bar if your art had sold so successfully. You joked about the expenses of LA, but the truth was that Brock’s cut of each sale was much higher than it should have been, and you had barely enough to get by once rent and bills were paid.

Then one day, when your paintings had slowly shifted into thin trunks of jagged bark, all life and joy taken away from your work due to the slow progression of you losing life and joy in every aspect of your world. Less money started coming in, and so Brock made the executive decision to sell the painting.

He had done it during one of the shows that you couldn’t attend. You started growing more tired, more physically and emotionally exhausted from your life, without any motivation to do anything, even work to try to sell your art. So Brock decided to do it for you even when he couldn’t.

It was the first time you ever screamed at him, and he screamed right back, telling you exactly how he felt about how everything was going in your career and your relationship.

You hadn’t painted since. The thought of doing it only brought guilt and anger and shame. There was no escape with your art anymore. It chained you to your old life like a prison.

Today was no exception. Still, you were here, you were trying. That was more than you could say before.

With another pained groan as you pulled out your phone to check the time, you stood up to wash the brush, then got ready for work.

Other than painting, things in life were going pretty okay for you. Work was going well, and you were so grateful to be able to spend that time with Sarah, Carol, and any other regulars who enjoyed chatting with you during shifts. They were all people who lifted you up instead of beating you down.

The first time someone complimented the drink you made for them without being pressed to do so, you nearly cried on the spot.

Sundays were still your favorite days, always looking forward to spending time with your family, laughing and catching up while eating your mom’s delicious cooking and Bucky’s amazing baked creations.

It was a life you had been desperate to flee from when you were younger, wanting bigger and ‘better’ things for yourself. You imagined that moving to a city - first Providence, then LA - would give you a better chance to flourish. That the ties of small-town living and everyone knowing one another, judging you from your past and your present, your worth based on your social status in high school and how you looked.

That, unfortunately, did not happen. College felt just like high school, just more expensive and a new pool of people to judge you. The stress of art school and ‘mild’ depression you suffered after everything caused the weight to fall off. But once your appearance changed and your art started getting more appreciation, your peers and instructors started to notice you as well. It was a weird high that felt like you had finally ‘made it,’ and you rode it throughout the four years until an art manager from LA discovered you, his charming smile and promises for success and a life beyond your wildest dreams tethering you to him as you moved across the country.

Los Angeles was infinitely worse. It was the city where you were solely judged based on your looks. If you didn’t have them, then you weren’t worth anything. Your face had to be caked with makeup, your medicine cabinet needed to be filled with diet pills, and every meal you ate needed to have kale in it.

But it was so glamorous, so different, so big, that you didn’t realize you hated it until things in your life got worse and you needed support in a place that had no interest in providing it for you.

Here, it finally felt like you had nothing but support.

Nothing like upending your life and moving to the opposite end of the U.S. to help you realize that home wasn’t as bad as you thought.

You walked up to Carol as she cashed out her final transaction for the evening.

“So, what do you two have planned for date night?” you asked with a gentle elbow nudge to her arm.

Carol grinned, counting the stack of $1’s. “We’re going to that outdoor movie thing a few towns over. The one where they set up seating areas made of hay bales in the fall? Hocus Pocus is playing tonight and you know we’re all about the Sanderson sisters.”

You smiled, remembering the times you went to those outdoor movie nights growing up, and the ridiculous amounts of straw that would get caught in your hair. “I hope you plan on stealing a bottle of booze to take with you.”

The blond laughed at that, lifting up a bottle of apple brandy in response. “Can’t steal it if you own it!”

You laughed along with her, shaking your head.

“So….I have a question for you.” Your brows raised questioningly at her. “The Fall Festival, were you planning on going?”

“Are you and Sarah closing the bar for the day?” Carol nodded. “Then maybe, yeah.”

Her lips pursed together. “You know I’m helping with the preparations, right?”

This time, your brows knit together. “Yes….”

“How would you feel about helping out at the kids arts and crafts station? Wanda will be there, but the other volunteer backed out cause she’s 8 months pregnant and didn’t want to be standing around all day surrounded by chaotic children with paint all over their fingers.”

“Oh, Carol, I don’t know if I can-”

“I know it’s a slap in the face to your professional talent and will do nothing to increase your work experience, but I think you would be awesome at it! You’re always so amazing with AJ and Cass.” Her bottom lip pushed forward into a pout. “Pleaseeeee?”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile curved up your face. “Fiiine. If it’s for the children, I guess.” Maybe $5 crayola fingerpaint is where I really need to start, anyways.

Her pout extended into a wide smile and she pulled you into a hug. “You’re the freaking best. Thank you!!”

“Don’t thank me too much. It’s honestly the least I can do after all the glasses and bottles I’ve shattered these past few weeks.”

Carol moved to the back, hurriedly grabbing her jacket and bag. “Consider us even, then!” she called out as she headed out the door.

The next few hours were pretty quiet, a few stragglers coming in and out, your constant companion being Dum Dum who was playing solitaire in the corner. His wife had passed away many years ago, and they had never had kids, so he spent a lot of his time at the bar. He wasn’t a drunk, and never had more than two drinks. It was more for the company, which you gladly gave.

You loved moments when Bucky would stop by the bar and immediately beeline to Dum Dum, bringing him in for a big hug before grabbing the seat next to him. The way his former coach would light up from the additional camaraderie made your heart melt every time.

And then Bucky would give you a side smile and a wink, causing your heart to solidify and start beating out of your chest.

He tried to come at least once a week, whenever his strenuous work hours would allow. Sometimes he’d bring freshly baked goods - you teared up the first time you tried his croissants - saying something about you needing to eat and there being no working kitchen in the building.

“Bucky, you know I bring food with me.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I bet whatever it is, it’s not as good as this,” he said while handing you a lemon poppyseed muffin. It was a fair and very true point.

He had stopped by the night before, so you weren’t expecting him to stop by this evening, so you were stuck with yesterday’s leftovers. Once Dum Dum left and you were without regular company, you kept yourself busy by cleaning the work space and googling somewhat easy cocktail recipes and making pyramids with shot glasses.

Your back was to the entrance as you worked on making a Jack and coke for someone when a familiar voice boomed throughout the bar.

“Holy shit, Y/n?”

You froze for a second, eyes closing as you prayed for the voice to just be in your head.

When you turned around though, you discovered said prayers had unfortunately gone unanswered.

John Walker stood at the door with a surprised smile on his face, an arm wrapped around the shoulder of your least favorite redhead, Dot.

Right. Sarah mentioned those two had tied the knot a few years ago.

They had actually been together since that night you walked in on them going at it. That was apparently the night that John knocked her up, and their reckless hookup had turned them into a family of three. John dropped out of Brown, got a job as a cop and Dot stayed home with the kid. Now, from what you had heard, there were five Walkers living in your town.

Awesome.

You pursed your lips, rage pulsing through you. “John. Dot.”

Dot winked at you, a prideful smile on her face. “If it isn’t the infamous painter,” she said in a low, sultry voice.

John had an overly enthusiastic smile that made you wildly uncomfortable. It was as if he had totally disregarded everything he put you through.

“Holy shit!” he said again, dragging Dot to the bar. “I can’t believe it! I mean, I heard rumors that you were back, but it’s so weird to see you! How long has it been?”

Not long enough. “Since high school, I guess.”

“Damn, you’re right. Man, those were good times.”

You raised your brows, not even responding to that. “Heard you two have some kids now. Congrats.”

John’s grin widened, his chest swelling with pride as he smacked a wet kiss on Dot’s temple. She grimaced. “Damn straight!” God, had he always been this loud? “We got Johny Jr., Dottie Jr., and Donald.”

“We call him Donnie,” Dot added. “John liked that it sounded like our names put together.” She rolled her eyes, as if the names of her children were more of a joke to her.

You nodded, desperate for him to shut up so you could do something else. “Well then, what can I get for you?”

Dot stayed for about an hour, mostly quiet as John continued on and on about his job, his kids, his wife, high school, all of it, while you meandered through the bar taking care of orders and wiping down tables.

Then, it was just the two of you. The bar was closing in an hour, and you feared it would be the longest hour of your life.

Your phone buzzed.

Bucky: I know it’s late. But holy shit the sweet rolls I just made. Bomb.

You: Omg please save me.

Bucky: what’s wrong? you okay?

You: I’m fine. Walker’s here and he’s being his normal annoying self.

Bucky: omw.

Bucky was there in 15 minutes - just as John started to bring up the ACAB movement where you were about to consider hitting him on the head with the giant bottle of Grey Goose sitting next to you - door busting open as he quickly walked to the bar a few feet away from John. He gave you a single nod with a clenched jaw, silently asking if you were okay. You nodded back.

John did a double take, switching from a smile to a boyish look of fear at the sight of Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky! When did you get here man?” John was five beers in and his words were beginning to slur.

“What are you doing here, Walker?” Bucky didn’t look in his direction, just kept his eyes on you.

“Just getting a drink dude. What’s your problem?” He scoffed.

Bucky’s fist clenched and he finally looked at John, who leaned back in response, eyes wide.

“Has your memory completely gone to shit? I hope I don’t need to remind you of our conversation from a few years back.” He pointed to Walker, “You,” then pointed to you, “Stay away from her.”

A chill traveled down your spine at the soft but lethal tone in Bucky’s voice. Not that you were afraid of him, anything but. You felt safer than you had in years.

John looked between you and Bucky before scowling, pulling out his wallet and throwing a few bills down.

Bucky stared at the money then finally spoke to you for the first time since arriving. “That how much he owes?”

Your lips pursed. Though every cent counted and the money John left would barely cover enough to leave you a tip, you were more concerned about getting him the fuck out.

The silence was enough of an answer, though, and Bucky returned to glaring at John until he pulled out another $20. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out with a muttered, “Whatever.”

As soon as he left, you released the breath you had apparently been holding.

“Thanks, Buck,” you said in a low, tired voice.

He nodded, expression softening toward you. “Sorry you had to deal with that asshole. I swear if I had any leeway in the police department I would have him transferred somewhere far, far away.”

You grabbed a glass to pour Bucky’s usual order from the tap. “Well, I think after his stern talking to from Mr. Tough Guy Barnes, I won’t have to worry about him coming here anytime soon.”

Bucky chuckled, grabbing his drink and taking a sip. “Other than that bozo showing up, how’s your day been?”

“It was fine. Carol bullied me into helping out at the Fall Festival, so I guess you’ll be seeing me there with my skin covered in paint.”

He sat up straight at that, his smile widening in excitement. “That’s great, although I feel like you being covered in paint shouldn’t be a strange thing to see? That was practically part of your wardrobe growing up.”

“Yeah, it didn’t used to be strange, but honestly I haven’t painted anything in months. I guess chaos and pressure don’t always spark creativity.”

The smile dropped, Bucky’s expression serious as he let your words sink in. He took a sip of beer as he gathered his thoughts, then rested it back on the bar and looked at you. “Listen, I know it feels like your life has burned down to nothing, and maybe most of it has. But in my experience - and I know a lot about fires - it’s about what you do with the aftermath. It takes a while for fires to go out, and until then there’s all these embers and shit in their wake, waiting for a spark to bring them back to life, better and stronger than what it was before. You’ll find your spark again, I know it. It’s just that you’ve been through a lot of shit, Oak, and you gotta allow yourself time to process it.”

The amount of gratitude and admiration you felt for the man before you was almost too much to bear, your heart on the verge of bursting. So of course, you tried to deflect those feelings by responding with sass. “Man, Bucky, I had no idea that fighting fires could make someone such a stellar life coach.”

Bucky chuckled. “To be honest, I learned that from your mom. She…” he cleared his throat, twirling the glass with his fingers as he stared at the bubbles floating up to the surface, “She helped me a lot when mom died, when I felt so lost with everything I was doing. I don’t know what I would have done without her and Stevie.”

You fought back a cringe at the feeling of a knife being plunged into your gut, instead focusing on extending a hand out to rest on Bucky’s arm. He looked up and met your tear-filled eyes.

“I should have been here. When your mom passed. I know I can never make up for it, but I’m sorry, Bucky. I’ll miss her for the rest of my life.”

Bucky’s jaw worked and he blinked rapidly a few times before giving you a small smile. His other hand reached out and landed on yours. “Life gets messy, Oak. We all make mistakes. You did what you needed to do, and I promise I hold nothing against you. Hell, I was the first one to run away, right?”

It wasn’t funny, but you still breathed out a small laugh.

“You’re here now,” he continued, eyes boring into yours, “That’s what matters. And my ma never stopped loving you for a second. There was no resentment from her. She more than anyone knew what it was like being in a bad situation and wanting to be rid of it. More mistakes might be made, but I know I’ve learned from mine and I’ll try my best to make sure they won’t happen again. That’s starting with not running away again. Ever.”

This conversation was getting too real, too fast. Still, you couldn’t help but stare back into his eyes for a few seconds before pulling away.

“Alright, Buck,” you said with a forced chuckle, “You came to my rescue, so I guess you’re free to go now once you finish your drink,” you said, moving to the other side of the bar to wipe down the surface with a small side smile.

You heard a dramatic tsk from behind you. “Kicking me out already? I just got here!”

“Because I asked you to come! Which I super appreciate you doing, but you don’t have to hang out if you don’t want to.”

“Well, I want to.”

You looked over your shoulder back at him. “Really?”

“Hell yeah. These were my favorite moments working at the bar. The quiet at the end of a long night, soft broody music playing in the background. It’s so….relaxing.”

You grinned. “I love it, too. I usually go for Hozier or The Paper Kites for my broody ‘I’m the protagonist in my own story while wiping down tables after a long day at work’ moments.”

“Exactly! Now, freaking put it on already!”

You laughed, pulling out the iPad and blasting your favorite somber music.

Bucky stayed until close, telling you stories about crazy shit that used to happen when he worked here. How he would sometimes sneak shots at the end of a long shift, or mess up someone’s drink if they were rude to him or the Wilsons.

“If they’re real assholes, pour a packet of stevia into whatever they order. You’ll definitely have to remake it once they take the first sip, but the reaction will be worth it.”

Once the bar did officially shut down for the night, Bucky grabbed a rag and helped wipe everything down, saying he enjoyed the nostalgia of it when you protested.

When everything was done, Bucky tried to usher you to the door to walk you to your car, but you shook your head.

“You’re forgetting something, Buck.” He gave you a perplexed look while you grabbed a bottle of whiskey. “You said you took shots after a long day, and I would say running into my shitty ex falls into that category.”

The look on that man’s face as he bit his lip to contain his smile made you giddy. He walked behind the bar as you grabbed two shot glasses, filling them to the brim with the good stuff.

You held out a shot for Bucky, keeping yours extended to clink them together.

“To asshole exes,” you stated, a satisfied grin on your face knowing that you survived an encounter with John Walker.

Bucky scrunched his face in disgust. “To strong women who deal with assholes everyday, and to finding that spark.”

Your eyes stayed locked on each other as you knocked back your shots, and the alcohol running through your body wasn’t the thing causing your head to spin.

Next Part

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #modern!bucky au #firefighter!bucky #plus size!reader #f!reader #adopted rogers!reader #modern au #in the embers #ite #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x fem!reader

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infitsovermisfits · 2 years

Text

Video Killed the Radio Star - Steve Harrington x GenderNeutral! reader

AN: yeah at this point I'll write for any stranger things character from the Fruity Four lmao i love them all and they deserve to be happy. sorry if this feels rushed/ fast it's like 4am here and i wanted to get this done asap so little to no editing (yikes) anyways. wooooooo

WARNINGS: gender-neutral reader, alternative/goth reader, reader in their 20's/out of school, bullying, parental issues, mentions of fire - the aftermath of Starcourt, spoilers for 'The Last Unicorn', Steve is alluded to bi/ openly bi to Robin, mentions of parental neglect, absent parent, alluded to dead parent, mentions of death, set before season 4

word count: 7673

Steve thought of himself as confident, self-taught through his high school years. He was also observant, noticing small details in himself and others. Changes that usually no one would see.

You had been here a few times before. You'd glance over the new releases and rivals but rarely something would catch your interest there. Then you'd move across the store to the horror section and stare at the covers until something piques your interest. You'll pick up a tape, look it over, run your fingers, decorated in chipping black nail polish and various rings over the artwork and study it for a moment. You take your time with the images on the front cover, curious eyes scanning over the work to deconstruct any clues as to what the film's about. If you've seen the movie, you're less curious, taking it and holding it in your hand as you pick out other films, then stand and look between the two tapes you're most interested in, silently weighing which one you'd rather see.

Sometimes, you go in and examine the tapes but don't rent any out. He wonders if it's because you don't have the money, or because you changed your mind. And where normally he'd stride up to you and ask if you need help, he always finds himself glued to the spot. If he's at the front desk, he makes himself busy by grabbing a sheet of paper and scribbling while sneaking careful glances up at you; if he's stacking the shelves, he'll make sure to be slow, pretending to lose his place in the alphabetical order or arranging and rearranging the tapes just to be near you longer. Always, though, he's stuck in an internal battle with his mind over saying anything.

You've charmed him, he guesses. Typically, it's the other way around- Steve doesn't just spend twenty minutes styling his hair to not get compliments from the girls on it. But you're there dressed in all black like it's someone's funeral, necklaces hanging loosely around your neck, shoes with platforms to make you taller... And he feels the heat rising on his neck, his heart pounding and his palms clamming up.

He doesn't usually do that,

"Are you gonna just keep staring or...?" Robin asks, nudging him in the side as she joins him at the counter, causing him to straighten, "C'mon Steve, you're usually stalking the person up the aisle-"

"I don't stalk people, what?" He turns to his closest friend with a frown,

"You do, dingus," He rolls his eyes at the nickname, involuntarily sneaking another glance at the only other person in the store, "All these poor people just trying to come and find a good movie to watch on a... Wonderful Thursday evening and you are being a huge weirdo," She smiles to herself as she runs a boxcutter over the tape holding the box of new deliveries closed,

"I am not a weirdo," He justifies, "Okay? What if they're looking to steal something, huh?" He doubts you would. He moves to the computer and pretends to click on a few things. He still hasn't figured out how it works entirely- Robin's the expert. He just skims over the text,

"Why would you just assume that though?" She looks at him with a frown, "They could just be looking- it's a video store that's what you do. You don't just randomly grab a movie off the shelf and go 'I wanna see this!'" She says, "You look at things- movies? They're moving pictures so we watch-"

"I'm not an idiot, Robin," He rolls his eyes and smiles when she laughs,

"Ok, but are you sure? Because it kinda-"

"Excuse me?" Your voice interrupts their bickering. Two sets of eyes land on you. Without him noticing, you moved toward the counter with a tape. He did find it odd today that you strayed from your usual spot at the horror section and moved over to the kid's section, placed lower so the little ones can see the selection better. Maybe you had a younger sibling, "Sorry- I'll just-"

"No, it's okay, we were just talking uh-" Steve straightens quickly, moving back to where he was at the counter near you. He tries hard to stop his hands from shaking, "What did you need?" He asks with a smile,

"I just wanted... It's kinda stupid. I've never seen this movie before and I was just wondering if... If you knew it was good?"

Perhaps Steve hadn't spoken to you before because he believed in all the rumours. That anyone who wore so much black and listened to music fit to summon the devil himself was clearly evil, or at least shouldn't be messed with. Because you were the new kid, starting school halfway through sophomore year after moving to Hawkins unexpectedly. Maybe because he faintly remembered how Tommy H had gotten his gum stuck in your hair in sixth period, and how your eyes had welled with tears and how you had run out of the math class.

And he didn't say anything then. Or do anything to stop his 'friend'. Once again, proving he was just the ignorant asshole everyone made him out to be.

But he was learning. Learning how to accept people for their strangeness and oddness of the people around him- and not letting guys like Tommy H be the real assholes. He hardly ever spoke to the guy anymore, though he kept calling and trying to make plans with Steve, he'd blow him off. He far preferred the company of Robin: who would sit and talk his ear off about grasshoppers and praying mantes she thought were cool; who would involuntarily spoil the plots of movies he mentioned he had never seen before; who would kick him in the foot and nod to the door whenever a girl she thought was pretty would come in, and blush and fluster and stutter under her gaze.

A weathered copy of 'The Last Unicorn' sits on the counter before him. His brows raise, and from his peripherals, he could see Robin's mouth open slightly in shock. It was certainly unexpected. After seeing you rent out the copy of 'Halloween' so much, he thought he had your type down cold but... Here you were. Surprising him,

"Oh, that..." he really doesn't know what to say. All he can do is blink at such an innocent-looking creature on the cover of the movie, then look back at 'scary', intimidating you. The words die on his tongue, as all he can do is stare into your eyes. He thinks they're the most beautiful he's ever seen,

"I mean I read the book and it was great- I loved it," You start saying, hand tracing the outline of the Unicorn on the front cover, "The design of it looks cool... I don't know if that's enough to convince me to rent it," You frown, twisting the tape around to look at it better, "Cause you know. What if it's not accurate to the book and I hate it? I'll only think about that when I want to reread it," You say, and your eyes meet his again,

"Yeah! I get that," Steve mentally kicks himself for not knowing what to say, "I mean, I honestly haven't watched, or uh... Read the book but you know," He shrugs, "Unicorns right?" He laughs. You blink slowly, a frown set on your lips. Your eyes no longer have an excited spark in them and he feels awful,

"Yeah," You say slowly, "Actually I think I'm gonna put this back-" he can't stand how sad you sound,

"No! It's uh-" He shakes his head, "Sorry, I didn't mean for that to sound so mean. I mean, you should see what some other people rent out," He says,

"Oh?" He's glad he has your attention again,

"I mean yeah," He shrugs, "You learn not to judge," He assures, "I've never seen this one before either but from the cover, it looks good. What's the book about?" And that's enough for the smile to return to your face,

"It's... Okay, I realise it sounds stupid-" You start,

"Well, there's plenty of other stupid movies out there," He smiles, nodding for you to go on,

"See this unicorn?" You tap the illustration on the front, "She goes on a journey in search of her family after finding out she's- well, the last of her kind," You smile fondly, "I like it because of the topics of mortality, you know? Like... She's this immortal and she's not human. Creatures like that- they don't experience emotions like you or me," He could listen to you speak about this forever,

"That's a lot for a kid's movie," His brows knit as he glances at the screen and taps the letters of your name one by one on the chunky keys of the keyboard, focusing hard to not mess it up and confuse the backspace with shift again,

"Book wasn't for kids," You say, "My uh... Mom would read it to me sometimes. It was her favourite so... Y'know. I admire her taste," He nods to you and says the total, taking the money and counting out your change, "Hey, uh... Thanks, Steve," His head perks up and he loses count of the quarters because you said his name,

"For...?" The cold metal of the coins inside soothes his warm skin as he clenches his fists a little tighter to stop them from shaking,

"Not judging me," You smile. It's not a big thing he's done. Simply asked you about a film you like. The absence of snarky comments about your age and genuine interest in what you liked- you weren't used to that. And certainly not from former King of Hawkins High, Steve 'The Hair' Harrington,

"Of course," He smiles, "Tell me how your movie went," He nods to you. And you give him this smile, this beautiful smile that warms his heart. He wishes that moment, where you're looking at him and just smiling, full of joy, he wishes it would last forever. He wishes he could commemorate it in his mind, because he swears your happiness could clear the very rain clouds from the grey sky.

The day is long. Customers come in and out occasionally, but nothing too busy. The sun is already setting by the time he and Robin close up and he feels exhausted, knowing there'll be a lot more folks tomorrow and the weekend. He drives Robin home, mostly quiet as he listens to her,

"But did you see the way she looked at me!?" She waves her hands in exasperation,

"Which one?"

"The red-head!"

"Uhh... No, was I on break?"

"You checked her out? She rented 'Baywatch'?"

"Can't remember," Steve mumbles as Robin groans, dragging her hands down her face and smudging her mascara,

"Are you still thinking about the 'Unicorn' person?" Where he hoped and prayed to God or anyone else above that you hadn't seen him blatantly staring at you anytime you came to the store, he should have guessed by now his equally observant best friend would have caught on, "Cause I haven't seen you so wide-eyed and shaky since that guy at-"

"Wh- I'm not thinking about them! Or Kyle, for that matter," Robin groans,

"Steve, you can do so much better than a guy called Kyle,"

"What's wrong with Kyle?"

"The fact that he's called, Kyle," Steve rolls his eyes, "Come on Steve- you gotta get better standards. That guy was sleazy as hell and definitely lying about his age!"

"Why'd you even take me to that bar if you were just gonna complain about all the guys I went and talked to?" Steve asks, sending her a small frown. She sighs,

"Because A, I don't want you getting hurt or heartbroken by some weirdo and B, you deserve someone who will actually like you for who you are!" And though she likely won't ever know it, those words mean the entire world to Steve. If he wasn't sure now, he was definitely, one hundred per cent sure that Robin loved him- platonically of course, only ever. But she clearly cared for him. Of course, she would ask him to take them both out to a gay bar two towns over in hopes that he'd find someone too,

"How's Cassie?" He asks, trying to somehow make the prickle of tears in his eyes go away by asking about someone she had met,

"She's nice," Robin smiles too, wide, "She introduced me to a friend of hers actually. Her name's Therese,"

"Sounds fancy,"

"She's from France," She makes joins her fingers and thumb together to make a point, waving her hand, "From ze great of Paris," He laughs at her poor attempt at an accent,

"Okay, that wasn't French,"

"How would you know French!" She shoots back,

"I might not know French but I know enough that that wasn't close- and what's this?" He makes the same gesture, "That's Italian-"

"No, it's French, Steve!" Their argument continues as it usually does, and though Steve eventually concedes, even though he knows it's one hundred per cent Italian, he still smiles brightly. Once he drops her off, he decides he needs to do something nice for Robin- show her how much she means to him.

Without her, he wouldn't be... This. Sure, he's been stripped of his title of King, and he hasn't gone on a meaningful date that hasn't ended in making out or sex in years, but that really doesn't bother him. Though, he does long for love. Robin certainly wasn't wrong about that. He does deserve someone to love him for who he is. He'd accept anyone's flaws if they accepted his.

A few years ago, he would have likely driven by the only bookstore open in town without so much as sparing it a glance. In fact, he has to turn back when he realises he missed the corner on which it stands, the parking spots in front of it empty and a 'closing down' sign plastered to the front, along with various sales of varying percentages. Now, he's getting out of his car, and he doesn't stop to look around the street to make sure anyone who knows him isn't around. Frankly, he doesn't care who sees him. He has nothing to fear- after all, social and public scrutiny are nothing compared to smashing creatures from the upside down to goop with a baseball bat, and fistfighting Russians beneath a mall. A small bell jingles to signify he's inside,

"Hey! I'm just in the back!" He recognises the voice that calls out as he stuffs his hands in his pockets, dropping his keys in the left. He glances around at the bookshelves all around- some are already vacant, with boxes labelled with different genres scrawled on the fronts, "Sorry- just moving some things back there ahead of time- Oh!" And it's you. And you're surprised to see him there, "Hi, Steve," There's a pleasant smile on his lips- not the one reserved to appear nice to customers, but one for friends, or someone you know,

"Hey!" He greets, "I didn't know you worked here," Of course, he didn't. This is his first time setting foot in this bookstore,

"Yeah, well," You shrug, "I got the job when I first came here... And now it's going out of business so, technically I won't be working here soon," There's a sad smile on your lips now as you glance around the cosy store, and let out an equally pained sigh,

"Sorry to hear that..." His gaze follows yours along the bookshelves, focusing on all the empty spaces left by the missing books, "It looks really cosy here though... Wish I'd stopped by here sooner," He grimaces,

"Yeah, well... No use dwelling on the past," You say, brushing your hands on your clothes. It's the same outfit you were in earlier that day, you just have your name on the name tag pinned to your shirt, "You're here now. Managed to catch me before I go," You smile as you walk to the counter,

"Before you go?" He tries not to sound too panicked at the thought that you were leaving just as he had started getting to know you,

"You know. Cause the store's closing down?" You tap a sign on the counter that reads 'Big Closing Down Sale! All Books Must Go!'. He relaxes, nodding and glancing around,

"Oh, right," He mumbles, "Well, in that case- do you have any books on bugs?" You blink at him, "Uh, not like... For kids- it's for a friend. She's really obsessed with them. Wants to be an uhm... Eto..? Etomologyst?"

"Entomologist?" You try,

"Yeah! That!" He smiles brightly, "You have any?"

"Mmmm... I think? I'll check in the zoology sections," He's thankful you motion with your hand for him to follow you through the bookshelves. You don't glance at them to even check you're going to the right place- though they're marked from A to Z as he reads on the small inscriptions. You turn and he follows you all the way to the end, stopping at the 'Z's, "We organise them by genre," You explain, "Alphabetically and according to genre,"

"Huh. We try organising like that too," You look from the books back to him. He forgets how to breathe for a moment,

"You do?"

"Yeah," He swallows, "Like uh... With Horror, we'll start the 'A's at the front and... Yeah," You nod,

"I've noticed. Sometimes they're out of place though," You mumble, attention going back to the books. You step a little closer to get a better look, "It bothers me so I fix them up," You say quietly,

"Thanks- makes my job easier," And you laugh pleasantly,

"I wish we had customers like you, Steve," You say through a tired sigh, folding your arms as you continue looking over the shelf, "Couple of months ago we had a few freshman run in here and start ripping up our books-"

"Holy shit, seriously?" He frowns as you nod,

"These kids have no respect for fine literature," Then you pause and your shoulders go slack, "I sound so old," You joke, and he laughs softly,

"You sound like Mr Adams," He says. Your attention snaps back to him,

"I do... Oh god," You say, putting a hand on your forehead, "Yeah, you were in that class with me," You nod, looking back at him, "I do sound like him," A look of disgust crosses your face and he laughs,

"Oh I guarantee you're far more interesting than that old guy," Steve says, watching as you crouch down and open a box, sliding your fingers over the spines of the books and reading the titles, "And far less creepy," You finger halts over a title he can't read, on the account that it's upside down, and you look up at him with wide eyes and parted lips. You look like you want to say something to him, but then you change your mind. Going back to the books. A silence falls over the two- Steve can hear faint music playing. A piano playing a vaguely familiar song. He listens intently to the melody though he can't entirely decipher it-

"There!" You stand quickly, brushing the dusty cover and sniffling a little at the dust that flies off it. You hand the book to him, 'Entomology- Cedric Gillott' printed on the front cover, "It's got the basics and information and that stuff in it. Good read, I think," You say. And as he reaches out to take the book from you, his fingers brush yours. Though he can't see them, covered under the book, he feels his skin tingle at your touch. Your hands are cold. Steve wants nothing more than to gently take them and hold them in his until your warm up,

"Thank you," He whispers as you give him a nod and close the box again,

"That's all we have- sorry! I thought I'd have more but I guess not," You say as you stand and move by him. And as you do, your elbow brushes his, sending more tingles running along his skin. He follows after you almost blindly, tripping over a box as he goes and snapping him back to reality. He feels like he's walking on clouds and his head is spinning. Jesus Christ- if he didn't do something about this crush soon-

"The movie!" He stutters out once he gets to the counter. You're tapping in his total but stop at his sudden outburst. Maybe some small, impatient part of himself finally won and took the reigns, tired of not talking to you and pining over you for so long. He blinks back at you, surprised himself, and feels the skin of his face heating, "You- you rented the movie. The uh... 'Last Unicorn', right?" You nod, "You watch it yet?"

"No, actually. I had to come into work- my co-worker called in sick so... I'm planning on watching it tonight though- the book'll cost you two dollars, by the way," You say with a slight smile,

"Only two dollars?" Steve asks as he pulls out his wallet,

"Well yeah. We're going out of business. I originally wanted to do a one-dollar sweepstakes situation but my manager told me he still wants to make money," You laugh softly as he hands you a ten. You blink, "I uh... I don't think I have change-" You open the register and frown as you rifle through coins,

"Keep it," He says, sliding the book of the counter, "I... Maybe you could buy some popcorn? For the movie?" You glance from the ten he placed on the counter then back to him, then you smile,

"Regular microwaveable popcorn's only like... A dollar, Steve," You say softly,

"Have you seen what they charge for a bucket at the Cinema?" You laugh at that, "And who says you need one pack when you could buy eight?"

"Right," You laugh again, taking the money uncertainly. There's a frown on your lips, and you glance back at him like you want to say something- hand it back to him and tell him to keep it and take the book for free. He opens his mouth, ready to urge you to keep it but you beat him to it, "Well if you're free tonight, maybe you can watch it with me?" Your voice goes quiet, like you're afraid someone else in this vacant building will hear. Steve's eyes widen at your proposition, and you must think that's a bad thing. Because next thing he knows, you're shaking your head and shuffling through the coins again, "Never mind- I don't know why I asked that," You chuckle nervously as the coins clink beneath your fingers as you count them out,

"Hey, no, no, you don't have to do that," It's fairly hard to contain himself with how happy he is you asked him out. No one had ever asked him out. It was always the other way around, "I'll watch the movie with you. I mean, I've never seen it before and I work in 'Family Video', I might as well be well versed in my movies," He tries to play it off cool, though the smile on his face stays put as you relax and smile back,

"That's... Nice," You say, looking at the coins in your hand, "But..." His heart sinks, "Won't you uhm... Be embarrassed?" You ask in a small voice, now frowning sceptically, "Or worried?"

"Worried- why would I be worried?" He asks confused,

"You know... To be seen with me?" You ask with a frown, "I mean, after all, I'm the 'terror of Hawkins', I've eaten a live snake before," You say in exaggeration, relaying rumours that had been spread about you from the moment you set foot in this town, "You're not... Scared people will... Talk?" You're quiet now, so full of self-doubt it breaks him, "The former King of High school with the New Town Freak?"

"How could I be worried about what other people think of me?" He says, "When I'm happy I get to... Spend time with you," He smiles at his own words. You can hear the genuineness behind his words because you smile wider and nod,

"Yeah," You say softly, "Uh, so... I get off in about... Oh! Ten minutes! I'll close up early and uh... Yeah," He almost can't wait, standing near the door and grinning, trying to make himself look busy by opening the book he bought and glancing through the page. Some words he remembers from Robin's rants but others just confuse him. Though he can't be entirely focused. All he knows is he's going to watch a movie with the person he's been crushing on for weeks.

You emerge soon, wearing a long black jacket, hiding your name tag and a bag on your shoulder. You pull a set of keys out as he walks out with you, waiting patiently as you lock the door and pull down the shutters. He even offers to help with the second one, seeing you struggling as it appeared to be jammed. He shows you the trick he learned through closing up 'Family Video' so many times, realising the two places got their shutters from the same place. You look at him with wide eyes as he shuts it smoothly- you thought about the months of you making a fool of yourself by yanking the metal down while it squeaked and groaned under your straining. It hardly made a sound when he did it. Naturally, you ask, and he's all too happy to tell you about working at 'Family Video'.

Talking with you is easy- where he doesn't think his time serving aboard the ocean of flavour at Scoops Ahoy last summer was that eventful, you ask him what his favourite flavour was. He'd love to tell you about the Russians and his adventures that led to the mall burning down, but that'd be a story for another time... Or never. He wouldn't want you exposed to that kind of danger. Maybe when you were a safe distance away from Hawkins he'd tell you, but for now, he was all too eager to tell you about how good of a combination of salted caramel and mint chocolate chip was.

You get popcorn and various snacks within the ten-dollar budget, though when it comes to paying, he does it for you. You don't mention anything at the store, but when you get to the car, you offer to buy the pizza to repay him. He's hesitant at first but eventually relents. You ask more about salted caramel and why on earth someone would eat ice cream with the flavour of toothpaste,

"I live just here," You point to the house. It's small, and all the lights are off, "My dad doesn't get home 'till late," You unbuckle your seatbelt and pick up the bags from the floor of the car. He offers to carry them for you. You slap his hands away, though relent when you comically struggle with the door.

It's small. That's never been a bad thing to Steve. As you take your shoes off, sitting on the steps to the second floor, he picks up the bag you set down and glances around. There are pictures of a happy family on the walls- real pictures. Men and women gathered around in a yard talking and laughing, around a campfire, one playing the guitar, children playing in the snow and on the playground. And once you motion for him to follow you to the living room he's stricken by a large painting hanging above the couch.

It depicts winter over a dark wooden cabin, with flowers of various reds and blues painted on the large white support beams around it, and decorating the window frames. The roof has a thick blanket of undisturbed white snow, around a foot deep, covering it, and the fields in the foreground don't look any different. To the right, half of a similar house, this time a more warm, orange tone in wood sits, a pathway trodded in the snow by footprints dragging mud from the frozen earth below and staining the pristine white. Beside the path, two long tracks run, indicating a cart of some kind had driven through there. As he stares more, he feels weight leaving his arms, and he spots a horse-drawn carriage with minute details off in the distance, disappearing just over a hill. A large building sits in the back, though it's such a dark shade of grey that it mixes with the deep ashen clouds, resembling a palace formed from clouds, or something akin to Dracula's castle. He had missed it before, but opposite the houses on the right, some deer walk through the snow. Just two- one with antlers, one without. They're so small yet so precisely painted. He can see the individual streaks of paint where the colours were married together. Then at the bottom, in swooping black- no, deep, rich grey, the colour of thunder clouds, is a name he doesn't know how to pronounce with '75 next to it,

"My mom painted that," He's pulled out of the winter by your warm voice. You're smiling fondly, standing beside him with two cans of Coca-Cola. He can faintly hear the popping of popcorn from your kitchen. He closes his mouth, wetting his lips and standing back a little to admire the painting as a whole,

"It's... It's really beautiful," He says, and you laugh softly,

"Thanks... It's my dad's favourite. He says it reminds him of home," You reach out to touch the name on the bottom, tracing a line with your fingernail under it, "I remember her painting it. I think I was ten? Or eleven? I can't remember," You offer one of the Cokes to him and he gladly takes it,

"She's really talented," You nod, "Where is she now?" He asks softly, as if that'd help soften the blow of the question. It never does,

"She's gone..." You say, "Left. Didn't come back home one night," It's all you say before the microwave dings and summons you away. You set the coke on the coffee table, covered in magazines and an open notepad. His eyes fix on multiple games of tic-tac-toe where 'x' mostly won with the occasional draw. There's a half-empty beer bottle and the can of coke, as well as a plate with crumbs littering the surface.

Your living room is cozy- nothing huge with needless statement pieces and excess furniture to fill the void. There's a couch, a worn armchair with an open crossword puzzle on the side and the remote balancing next to it. The television sits on a cabinet, and there are large shelves next to it- one shelf dedicated to books, another containing a bowl of sea-shells and framed pictures he can only see the colours of- soft beige and light blue- beach photo he guesses. Nearby are what appear to be handpainted figurines, mostly animals. Then an angel, a piece of its right-wing is chipped off at the tip. A clock ticks away on the wall and there's a calendar stuck on June next to the shelf. More paintings on smaller canvases hang up there, and from the browns and greens, Steve can't decipher what they are. He'd have to get closer,

"How did you convince me to buy this much popcorn?" You laugh. You pour the contents of a bag into a bowl half-full of popcorn already so it almost spills. You throw the bag in the direction of the trash and miss, before taking a kernel from the top and eating it. He finds it adorable when you yelp, fanning your mouth upon burning yourself,

"Yeah, you should be careful with that. It's hot," You give him a playful glare as you join him and set the bowl down,

"Thanks for the advice, Harrington," You tease, and he simply grins and winks at you as you move past him to shut the blinds, hiding various plants placed on the windowsill from view. The room is dark, given the slithers of light that remain outside, and you quickly turn on a large lamp that casts a warm yellow glow. Steve realises he had never felt more welcome and at home than he did in that moment. His cheeks hurt considering he can't stop smiling to himself. As you pick the VHS tape from your bag, delicately sliding the cover off and leaving it on the table, he takes a good look at you like this. Your home is comfortable and small, and you look relaxed and calm. With a small sigh, he sits on the couch, and finally shrugs off his jacket once you place the tape in. Before you walk over to him, you grab a book he hadn't seen near the dresser and smile as you hand it to him,

"'The Last Unicorn'," He reads, glancing up as you grab the remote from the armchair, nodding and placing another popcorn kernel in your mouth. And for one, horrifying moment, he thinks you'll sit away from him when you place a knee on the plush of the chair,

"Mhm," You hum, reaching for a cream-coloured blanket resting over the chair, "It's a good read- really," You assure as you, to Steve's relief, move off the chair and walk over to him, "I'm letting you borrow it once we finish the movie," You wink at him this time. His heart beats a little faster.

The couch is small, and when you sit down you curl your legs under you and pull the blanket over them. You then glance up at him, holding the blanket open and motioning closer to yourself. He sat further away, but this invitation to come closer warms his heart. He shuffles over until your legs touch his thigh just gently, and allows you to drape the blanket over him. You hand over the remote- he notes you paused the Tape on a commercial- and grab the underside of the coffee table to pull it closer. You easily reach for the popcorn, shifting around so the bowl can sit comfortably between you two,

"Ready?" He can hear the excitement in your voice; see it on your face. He set the book back on the table,

"Ready," He says, reaching for his can of coke and motioning for you to do the same. He holds it up, in a mock toast, and you laugh as you dink the cans together and drink a sip each.

Steve Harrington didn't expect a movie about Unicorns to make him so emotional- and neither did you. But here you both were, taking turns sniffling as the unicorns emerge from the water, safe from the bull, and run to chase their freedom. You only paused it halfway to pick up the pizza from the front door that he hadn't realised you must have ordered while he was busy admiring the decor. Over the course of the movie, you had moved from laying down, to sitting up, to clutching Steve's hand, and now you were leaning against his shoulder with his arm around you,

"Holy shit, man," You laugh wetly as the credits roll, sitting up to wipe the tears from your cheeks and stretch your arms above your head, and your legs out under the table, "She really found them,"

"Go Lady... Uh-"

"Amalthea," You smile, turning your head to him, "Were you crying too?" There's surprise in your voice,

"Wh- Yeah? Are you kidding me?" He sits up with a slight smile, setting his legs on the floor, "God- I understand why you like the book, with all the mortality stuff?"

"I know!" you say excitedly,

"I mean, her crying over being in a human body-"

"I know!!" You repeat excitedly, "God- that, the last scene and the first scene with Molly g-"

"Molly was the-"

"The lady with the funky hair," You say as he nods, "But yeah. That part got me. Molly- ugghh!! She deserved better!" You say, flopping back on the couch with a bright smile, "I really enjoyed that, Steve," You tell him softly, turning your head. It's music to his ears and has him smiling and blushing all over again,

"I'm glad," He said, "I'm glad you invited me over too," He says honestly,

"Yeah... I was kinda... Hah- sorry if this is rude, you know," You shrug, "But uh... I've never been on like... A date before?" The surprise must be clear on his face because you nod and look away bashfully. This was a date to you... "Yeah, hah... Guys like you would only ever ask me out on dates as a joke. To laugh at me," You say in sadness, "Invite me to dinner or a movie and never show, or they'd tell me to my face that it was a joke or a dare," You grimace,

"That's so shitty," Steve frowns, "I'm sorry they did that-"

"Hey, it's fine," You laugh weakly, "I mean, it was years ago, right? Guess times change once you leave school," You shrug, looking back at him, "But... You proved me wrong. Guess I can't judge a book by its cover- I mean," You gesture to yourself, "Look at me. I'm a walking contradiction," You smile, "I dress like this but look at my house. Looks like a grandma lives here," He laughs at that, "Well, it does!" You protest,

"I like your house," He says, "It's really... It's nice,"

"Heh- sorry it's no mansion, rich boy," You tease, setting an elbow on your knee and resting your hand,

"Hey, I mean... Your home at least looks like someone lives in it and not like it's a set ripped straight from Ikea," He grimaces. You laugh softly, to humour his joke, but give him a long look,

"Is that why you were staring so much?" You ask the question softly, "At the pictures and the painting?" You gesture loosely behind you as he nods slowly,

"My parents are busy people," He says softly, matching your gentle tone, "They don't have time for decorating. It's just whatever looks expensive or whatever works the best and there. No style or coordination or anything," He sighs, "I mean... There's so much empty space and nothing to fill it... I'd give anything to live in a place like this," He said honestly, your eyes never leaving his face, capturing his eyes once he finished speaking and holding his attention there,

"Well, Harrington," You say, reaching a hand out to touch his, "You're welcome to come over whenever you want to," He feels like you're about to lean in. Or say something else. He hardly has the strength to turn his head away from yours to look at the clock. He squints to read it but sees it's getting late- and some small, insecure part of him starts whispering he's outstayed his welcome,

"I should start heading home," He says, nodding to you as he stands and stretches his aching back, reaching for his grey jacket,

"Oh right," You hiss, standing too. And when he catches sight of your face, he doesn't miss the disappointment there,

"When are you free next?" He asks, shrugging the jacket on, shaking it a little to hear the jingle of his keys,

"Mmm... I start at eight and finish at two," You say, reaching down to grab your long empty coke and fiddle with the tab, "And if my co-worker isn't home then I finish at five like normal," You say, "But that's... Only tomorrow. Last day," You grimace,

"I see," He says as you remove the tab and grab his, removing it too. You stash them in your pockets, then grab the blanket, draping it over your shoulders like an oversized cape,

"Yeah... It's bittersweet you know- that old store closing means I have no job anymore but... Hey, at least I'm free more," You shrug, smiling,

"That's... Good?" He asks as you walk him to the door. You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes and giving him a look,

"Didn't you just ask me when I'm free next time Harrington?"

"Oh, right," You laugh again, sweetly. He puts his shoes back on, bending down to tie his laces, "Yeah, I mean... If you're looking for another job then-"

"I already have one," You assure him as he stands, tilting his head as if to say 'go on?', "At the library. Pays well and, well, I'm well equipped for the job," You say,

"That's good," He smiles, already mentally calculating the fastest route from the library to his workplace,

"Yeah- we'll be close by. It's like a five-minute walk," You say, as if reading his mind,

"Huh," He smiles, "I can always drop you off...?" He offers,

"I prefer walking," You tell him, "Thanks, though. And thanks for watching this with me," You say softly again, stepping closer, "Hey, if you wanted to do this again, next time, we could watch something you like? We'll make it fair," You say smiling, "One of us picks the movie, and the other buys the snacks?" You hold your hand out for him to shake,

"Sounds like a great deal to me," He says, "Can't wait,"

"Can't wait for you to scream like a little girl at 'Alien'," You laugh to yourself. Though he'd never seen it, he heard the more... Gorey bits from Robin explaining animatedly how some creature pops out of someone's chest,

"Eugh- I'd prefer watching the unicorn movie over that," He chuckles to himself and reaches for the front door,

"Hey, c'mon. Alien's classic!" You smile, "Fine... 'Jaws'," You suggest,

"Better. I always liked that one," He says,

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, because I bet you I could outswim the shark," He says, hearing you laugh loudly as he opens the door, "What? You've got that little faith in me? I was captain of the swim team for years! A lifeguard for two- I'd punch that shark right in the nose!" He makes a loose punching gesture and leans against the frame of the open door, watching as you laugh to yourself clutching your stomach,

"It'd bite your hand off!" You laugh out, and he shakes his head,

"I'm too fast. I'm like... A ninja," He shrugs, smiling as your laughter dies down and you're left beaming at him, face illuminated in the cool light of the moon outside, eyes sparkling as you look up at him,

"Sure you are," You say softly. For a moment, all you do is stare into his eyes, holding his gaze, unblinking. Your eyes flick over his face, his hair, and the freckles dotting his skin. Your eyes flick from his lips back to his eyes, where they already hold your gaze. He wants to reach out, touch your skin and feel its softness under his fingers as he brushes hair from your face. He wants to feel the touch of your lips against his. He wants you to know how he feels- how he doesn't want to leave and go back to that silent, frozen house. He wants to be here- in the warmth, your warmth, surrounded by family and love,

"Drive safe, okay?" Your voice is so quiet he almost doesn't make it out over the crickets chirping outside. And when he realises you're so close he can feel your breath mixing with his, he's almost startled,

"Okay," He whispers back, causing you to smile. Your eyes dart down once again, before you're moving a hand up to touch his cheek and closing the distance. He almost doesn't react at first, sure this is some dream. But he wakes up soon enough and realises you're kissing him, and this is the safest he's felt since he emerged from the fire. He reciprocates, lips moving against yours just gently, not intending on starting anything. Simply letting himself feel loved and... Happy. Like he wanted, he moves his hand up to touch your face, just holding you there as you kiss. He feels your hand move down his face, delicately sliding down his neck and resting on his shoulder, toying with the collar of his polo. In turn, his hand curls around your waist, and he's delighted to find you moving impossibly closer to him, so you're pressed close, safe in his hold.

When you get short of breath you pull away but don't stray too far, resting your forehead against his. You lifted yourself on your tiptoes to match his height and when you stand back down he follows you, tracing your gentle skin with his thumb, commemorating the touch to memory,

"Will you take me out tomorrow?" You ask softly, pulling back enough to see his face. His pupils have darkened slightly, yet he's looking at you with a look of pure adoration, setting the butterflies in your stomach and chest swarming, "We could go to the park? I could uh... Read you the book?" You offer,

"It's a date," he tells you softly, and your smile widens,

"A date..." You repeat, exhaling happily. With a grin, you stand back up on your tip toes, kissing his cheek and stepping back, "Oh- wait here!" You say quickly, momentarily ducking back to the living room and emerging with a pen. You take his hand, turn it over and scrawl a few digits on the back, "Call me when you get home, okay?" You ask. He takes your hand in his and squeezes it gently,

"Of course," He nods, "Goodnight," He adds, deciding to lean forward and plant his lips to your forehead. Reluctantly, he lets go of you, before turning and walking to his car. Though he hears the door close behind him, when he turns, he spots your face in the window. He grins, and you grin back, waving a hand as he goes to his car.

All Steve can think about as he drives home is the buzzing of his lips and the ache in his cheeks because he kissed you. Because he found someone who loves him back just as he is. No facade, no bravado. Just as Steve.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve hairrington #steve stranger things #steve x reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #stranger things season 4 #stranger things 4 spoilers #stranger things spoilers #st4 #stranger things 4 #steve harrington stranger things

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4joonkookie · 3 years

Text

After Midnight

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Words: 1.8K

Warnings/Tags: shameless smut, fuckboi!Namjoon, choking, strangling, reverse cowgirl,thigh riding, ruined orgasm, angst, fluff, masturbation, mutual masturbation.

Summary: You prey on Namjoon when he can’t be peeled away from his work in the studio and after a slight speed bump, it continues in the bedroom.

(In order) thigh riding, Yoongi Cameo, ruined orgasm, mutual masturbation, (eventual orgasms) and reverse cowgirl.

It’s Midnight.

You’ve been waiting in bed almost 2 hours for Namjoon to finish in the studio. You texted again and he’s been “almost done” for over an hour now.

You’re panty-clad only but throw on his nearby hoodie and quietly head downstairs to fetch him. You gently open the studio door, hoping not to disturb anyone.

“Hey.”, he turns from a computer screen as you close the door behind you.

He quickly turns his attention back to the screen, engrossed in his work. You reach him and turn the rolling chair just enough to squeeze onto his lap.

“Almost, I swear.”, he says, eyes not leaving the computer screen.

“You said that at 10.”, you whine, placing little kisses on his neck.

You brace yourself on his lap and lean forward facing away from him to reach the mouse of the computer, closing all of the applications.

“Oh I like this”, he says, grazing his hands over your near-bare ass and admiring this coincidental view. He’s pleasantly distracted until he sees what you’re doing.

“Wait , wait, wait, I'm not do__…”, he begins to scold you.

“You’re done.”, you look at him convincingly and nod, turning to straddle him face-to-face in the chair. You bluff, “...unless you’d like me to go.” beginning to stand from his lap.

He uses a large arm to pull you back straight away and locks his lips with yours.

“Mmph… 20 minutes...”, he negotiates between heated kisses. Just give me 20 minutes and I’ll head upstairs and we can finish this.”, he says, grinding his lap up.

“We haven’t started anything yet.”, you groan as you reach for the waistband of his shorts.

He lifts you by your waist and spreads your legs over one of his thighs. He begins guiding your hips back and forth and you both groan into the feeling.

“We can start like this.” he says.

“Not while you’re working.”, you counter, wanting, needing to be more important.

“No?” he says, not letting his lips leave yours but rolls the both of you back to the computer.

He lifts you off his lap briefly to raise one leg of his shorts and pulls your panties to the side. Your lips hug his bare thigh, dragging your swelling center over his smooth skin. He pushes his leg up, causing you to cry out.

The moisture flowing allows you to slide easily, Namjoon keeping his leg firm in place. The increase in sensation makes your mind foggy but you tease anyway:

“And exactly how many girls have you convinced to grind on you while you work in this studio?, you ask, not disrupting the rhythm you've created.

“None that look as good in my sweater as you do”, he says softly, sliding a hand under the sweater and feeling up your breasts underneath.

Your core slips and slides on his thigh, orgasm hot in your belly. You try to distract yourself to pull him farther from even considering touching that computer again.

“Mmmm...and how many girls have worn your sweater?”, you moan in his ear, grinding with pleasure.

“None that look as sexy with my hand wrapped around their neck as you do.”, he replies, not missing a beat. Damn. His hand in the sweater grips around your throat with light pressure, Namjoon eoying watching your boobs bounce while you move on him.’

“More?” he asks.

“More.”,you reply, moans becoming needier and breathier.

The sweater rides higher on your body when he squeezes your neck a bit tighter, pushing you down on his thigh harder. You’re swept away, hips moving instinctively, chasing the climax.

“Come, baby. Make a mess on me.” He swoons and tightens his grip on your throat ,catapulting you to your orgasm. Your legs are shaking when the studio door swings open.

Only you can see a mortified Yoongi squint his eyes shut, use a hand to cover his already shut eyes and never lets the other hand leave the door handle before slamming it back shut.

“Oh my God.” you say, humiliated and softly and drop your head to Namjoon’s shoulder.

“ ...I forgot.”,he says, frozen with his hands on your waist. He was expecting Yoongi.

“You knew he was coming?!”, you grip his shoulders, feeling your blood boil.

“I asked him to come down to help me finish_”

“Ugh!” You grunt, interrupting. You angrily hop off his lap. “Have him finish you off then, see if I care!”.

You storm out of the studio, not even minding Yoongi still outside the door with a view of your bare ass, trotting away.

Stomping upstairs, you return to the bedroom. You take off Namjoon’s sweatshirt, your body overheated with embarrassment and ruined orgasm. You shut off the lights, hide under the blanket and hope to fall asleep and put off the discomfort and frustration until morning.

You expect Namjoon to stay with Yoongi in the studio and are surprised when a flash of light pans the room when the door opens. The lights turn on and he laughs when he sees your curled up body under the blankets, surely pouting. He jumps on the bed and wrestles you out from underneath the blanket.

“You pull tight at the covers and fight to keep shielded.” He finds your ribs on your blanketed form and tickles you until you let go of the sheets. You greeted with his sweet smile.

“Don’t be embarrassed…” he begins.

“But I am.”, you snap back more roughly than you intend. “I’m embarrassed that I had to literally hunt and pin you down to try and get laid.”, you're noticing real feelings coming out under the heat of embarrassment. “That I had to all but beg to tear you away from your work.”

He hangs his head in realization. He looks at you to speak. “I'm sorry, you’re right...”, he says, sincerely. He continues “....but I'm so glad you did...”, insufferably sweet.

“ Well, next time I won't.”, you reply, still cross with him. “I’ll just take care of it myself.”

“Only if you let me watch.”, he teases and begins to stroke your body and kiss your neck. It’s enticing but your ego is still bruised and you’re not ready to give back in to him yet.

“Take off Your pants.”, you demand and gesture at him to sit on the end of the bed. He complies readily, undresses and sits with his exposed cock on one end of the bed.

You pull the still-sticky panties off your body and get on all-fours to arrange pillows on the opposite end of Namjoon, revealing your ass to him. You mimic the view he’d enjoyed earlier. You gather several pillows to prop your back up and use one to sit on.

You settle yourself on the pillow and spread your thighs apart to expose your glistening cunt, still wet. Namjoon’s cock swells further, eyes darting across your body while his brain catches up to his dick.

You begin by dragging some wetness above to your clit. Your leg twitches when you move over the sensitive nub. You use the flat pads of 2 fingers to circle around, breath quickening.

Namjoon runs an antsy hand through his hair while exhaling deeply, mesmerized.

“Fuck baby…”, he groans while grabbing at the base of his leaking cock.

You spread wetness around your opening before sinking your middle and ring finger inside. Using your other hand to spread your lips apart so Namjoon can see.

He moans and uses building precum to turn his wrist around his shaft.

The image of him working his own cock propels you faster, rubbing faster and your pelvis instinctively grinds against your own fingers.

Namjoon strokes up and down his length. “You sure you don’t want to come over here, baby?”, he growls, tempting you with his dripping cock.

You look at him thoughtfully for a half-second before nearly pouncing on him across the bed. You’d kill to get that moment on his thighs back. It’s an offer that can’t be denied.

You straddle the same thigh and settle yourself on either side. Namjoon is keen on your idea and replaces his hand around your neck.

“Where were we?”, he whispers, setting a rhythm with his lap.

“I was telling you how sexy you looked with my hand wrapped around your neck…”

It’s just a few rolls Of your hips before the sensation captures you again.

“...and how I wanted that pretty pussy to make a mess on me”, he praises.

You start to see white when his grip tightens around your neck.

“Mmm...Joonie” you moan as your peak takes you over.. He keeps his grip tight on your throat until your orgasm and hips roll slower.

“Turn around.'' he says. You can hardly make out what he’s saying in your blissed state but turn to allow him to envelope his cock inside you.

He groans when you bottom out, You rotate your hips, grinding over his shaft until Namjoon can’t control his breathing.

He lays little slaps on your skin, grabbing and groping your ass cheeks.

You rotate your hips, grinding over his shaft.

“mmmph_ I love the way you move.”, he praises. You glance back to find him with one hand behind his neck and the other guiding your ass as it bounces, eyes fixated on the work on his cock.

You arch your back, and he uses his hand to keep you high up, impossibly deep. He pushes down on your shoulders as he thrusts from below you, eventually lifting himself up to his knees for a better angle. He still pushes the small of your back to guide you around his cock.

He gorans out and moves faster causing you to lose your balance. He doesn’t let you slip off but catches you bent on all fours, never losing stride.

“I’m gonna make a mess of that pussy, baby.”, he threatens as he fucks his orgasm into you. He keeps his rapid pace and bottoms out a final time.

He falls beside you and gives your ass a rewarding rub.

“I’m sorry.”, he begins. “It’s hard for me to walk away from work”, he says, still catching his breath. “ But you’re a welcome distraction. and I love it when you ‘hunt and pin’ me down.” he kisses you.

In a teasing tone, he continues, “And how many guys have watched you touch yourself like that?”

He looks truly curious but you leave him guessing anyway.

“None that look as sexy watching me as you do”. You tease back as you stroke his cheek.

#bts smut #bts one shot #bts fanfic #bts fic rec #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x noona #namjoon thirst #namjoon smut #thigh riding #namjoon fic

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meltingpotimagines · 3 years

Text

Husband!Hawks

this mans

is not husband material

but!

for the right girl? he may be willing to play the part

listen, mans may not be a simp but he is cHARMING okay? he got potential

besides he’s lowkey a simp for the right girl but whatever

was very romantic when he proposed

managed to rent out an entire park perks of being the #2 hero

decked out a gazebo with fairy lights, candles, and rose petals

considered making a heart with the rose petals but decided just scattering them around would be classier and less cheesy

set up a picnic with a basket f u l l of food

sandwiches, cheese, fruit, desserts, the works

and ofc a bottle of champagne bc tonight you two would be celebrating

or so he hoped

you wouldn’t say no right?

i mean who could say no to that gorgeous face pHEW

pulled out the ring box right as you swallowed the last of the macaron you’d been nibbling on

his heart sped up as your eyes widened, a breathless ‘keigo’ escaping your lips

“i know you might not be ready, but the more i get to know you, the more i realize that i don’t want to live the rest of my life without you. you’re the girl of my dreams, and i never want to wake up. would you marry me?”

“are you s t u p i d? ofc i will!”

his grin has never been as bright as it was at that moment

slipped the ring onto your finger and immediately pulled you into his arms and took off into the air

slowed your assent as you two soared above the clouds and spun around, unable to contain his joy

gazed at your face with those golden eyes, taking in your beauty, before giving you the sweetest, most tender kiss you’ve ever felt

oh boy the wedding

when i tell you this was an e v e n t i mean anyone who was anyone wanted to go to this wedding

but only those that were close to the two of you were invited

haha suckerrrs

somehow got all might to officiate

who knew all might could officiate weddings?

certainly neither of you

no one really knows how that decision came to be but i mean no one was complaining either so

he let you make all the decisions except for one

the flowers

he h a d to be involved in the flowers

he appreciates pretty flora and if the bouquets and floral arrangements at his wedding weren’t the prettiest possible he would n o t be satisfied

teared up as you walked down the aisle (which he will neither confirm nor deny)

not that he wasn’t lookin’ mighty fine too

just imagine: tan suit with a black button up and a gold tie, gold cufflinks with a ruby set in each

i know those are his costume colors but he looks good in them so y’all can fight me

dipped you for your first kiss as husband and wife to everyone’s amusement

best believe a few different cameras caught that

the timing of the wedding was planned out so the reception was held at night

semi-sheer white tents and custom black ten-feet tall candelabras

the soft glow from the candles combined with the moonlight made for the perfect dreamy vibe

he managed to find a florist that could dye white roses black and cover them them with a thin layer of gold glitter

was it necessary? no

did it look good? heck yeah

the gold glitter shined beautifully against the black roses

tho

the way your eyes sparkled as you danced with him was far more captivating

you two had flown up into the sky to dance your first dance together

your silhouettes against the bright moon made for a perfect picture

the only reason you ended up coming down was because neither of you had eaten much that day and a guy’s gotta eat

he gonna need stamina later *winky face*

you cannot convince me the man wouldn’t insist on fried chicken

like a whole buffet table of different flavors

but i mean fried chicken is good so can’t blame him

everyone expected him to smear some cake on your face when he fed you that first piece

instead wiped off the frosting that got on your lips with his thumb and licked it off

your best friend caught t h a t one on camera and will never stop teasing you about how flustered you got

he kept up a great image of a polite host but on the inside he was ready to g o

it had been a long day and he was ready love on his wife

heh

wife

he likes the sound of that

peppers your face with kisses on the ride home

yeah yeah i know h o n e y m o o n but where y’all were goin’ was forever away and mans just wants to shower you with affection as soon as possible (esp considering he had to keep his hands off you all day since you two never had a moment alone)

scoops you up the second you’re out of the car and carries you over the threshold

gives you a soft kiss before putting you down

and that’s the last soft kiss you’re gonna get for the night lolllll

definitely the type to make you breakfast in the morning

also the type to cook in nothing but an apron and boxers but anyway

you better be up in time to see that sight bc if not, you’re getting breakfast in bed not that i’d complain

he’s not the best cook but mans can manage some bacon and eggs

plus some fresh fruit bc it makes it more visually appealing and less like he doesn’t really know how to cook

he set the tray on your lap and climbs back into bed, pulling you into his side so your head can rest on his chest as you two munch on breakfast

there’s something so soothing about the sound of his heartbeat

a soft little rhythm that nearly puts you back the sleep

didn’t help that he was unconsciously running his fingertips along your arm, drawing random squiggles and shapes

will tilt your head up by the chin every so often to give you a little peck on the lips

if you do fall asleep, he’ll just gaze at you softly while lightly tracing your features

still can’t process that you’re married

someone actually loved him enough to marry him

there was someone that didn’t just admire or use him bc of his quirk

didn’t give him attention purely bc he’s the number 2 hero

you saw all his flaws and shortcomings and insecurities and loved him regardless

if he’s dreaming, please don’t wake him up

you cleaning him wings for him is something he loves so much

it’s such an intimate task that makes him feel cared for

loved

how much time you take in cleaning them and how tenderly you handle each wing

it’s one of his favorite ways to spend time with you

it’s nice being taken care of for once, esp when he’s always taking care of others

absolutely loves taking you on night flights

will take you in his arms and just soar above the clouds

with the clouds below you and the stars above, it feels like you two are the only people that exist

definitely dances with you during some of those flights

wraps one arm more tightly around your waist and take your hand in his and just… slowly spins in the air

it doesn’t look like much but when you’re just looking into each other’s eyes, it feels like the most romantic and intimate moment you could ask for

your life is quite literally in his hands but you’ve never felt safer

even more so when you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the crook

his arms wound securely around your waist, the comforting smell of his scent, the kisses he presses to your temple every so often

it feels like home

likes startling/scaring you a lot

will sneak into the house after work just so he can tap on your shoulder from behind

the gasp you let out as you freak out for half a second never fails to amuse him the jerk

will always make it up to you with long, deep kiss

if he gets home late after a long day he’ll just crawl into bed and pull you into his arms before burying his face into your hair

no talking, just breathes in your scent before he crashes

he sleeps really well like that, but, although he won’t admit it, he sleeps best when you hold him, his face buried in your chest

he feels warm and safe, like it’s okay to be vulnerable for once

absolutely flirts with you while at work

probably definitely sends you a few spicy pics or texts

it gives him such smug satisfaction knowing the affect he has on you when he’s not even physically there

picks up take-out when he knows your too tired to or would rather not cook

like to back hug you and wrap you up with his wings

9/10 times will bury his face in your neck and nuzzle

sometimes if he spots you while on patrol, he’ll fly over and flirt with you

“how you doin’, gorgeous? the name’s hawks. what’s a pretty lil’ thing like you doin’ in a neighborhood like this?”

sir, this is one of the safest areas in the city pLS-

but if you actually a r e in danger? oh boy

no one, and i mean no one, touches his girl

honestly i’d rather fight bakugo one on one than deal with keigo’s wrath

he’s one of the chillest people you will ever meet, but when he’s that mad? s c a r y

will keep a close watch on you for a while after that

asks you to always let him know where you’ll be and to text him when you get home

definitely considered installing a tracking app on your phones

he’ll calm down eventually, but for the moment he’s extremely anxious

although he certainly tried his best to hide it

he didn’t want to stress you out too, especially if you had any anxieties from it yourself

he was just afraid to lose you

he doesn’t know what he’d do without you

after all, you’re the most precious thing in the world to him and he loves you more than he could ever put into words

#happy birthday b #hope you enjoyed this #hawks #hawks imagine #hawks headcanons #hawks x reader #keigo #keigo imagine #keigo headcanons #keigo x reader #keigo tamaki #my hero academia #mha imagine #mha headcanons #boko no hero academia #bnha imagine #bnha headcanons

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emiewritesthings · 3 years

Text

doctor, doctor - jay halstead

jay halstead x fem!reader

summary: in which y/n takes it into her own hands to look after a sick jay

a/n: i’m not gonna lie i think this is one of my fav things i’ve ever written, i would really appreciate some feedback and p.s the beginning of it is based on that scene from brooklyn 99 :)

masterlist

“okay, it’s 10 o’clock, meaning halstead is officially an hour late to work,” y/n announced as she appeared from the break room with a mug of poorly made coffee. looking around, she had immediately distracted everyone in the room with her playful smile. “okay let’s do this, theories!” she encouraged, taking a sip with excitement, but immediately regretting it as s he spat it back in the mug and abandoned it on adam’s desk as she leant against it.

“uh, he forgot to set his alarm?” antonio suggested, willing to play along with the little game that y/n had created. however clearly his answer didn’t suffice as y/n scrunched up her nose and shook her head in disappointment.

“you are a detective in a unit that just last week rescued 5 people kidnapped and used as chess pieces in a human sized version of the game and the best you could come up with is he forgot to set his alarm? pfft, disappointing, dawson. who’s willing to take this seriously?” she scoffed, brushing his idea off with a simple roll of the eyes as the group laughed at her ridiculousness.

“maybe he has been murdered by a gang looking for revenge.” adam piped up, earning a sudden and rather forceful slap on the back as y/n cheered. her eyes looking over at antonio as she gestured towards the less experienced detective.

“yes, that’s what i’m talking about. bit dark, ruzek, but better than dawson’s,” y/n hummed, adam clearly pleased with the praise he had received by the pretty detective. “any one else wanna shot?” she offered it out into the room, suddenly the sound of rolling wheels on the chair had everyone turn to face al who was munching on a ham sandwich.

“he walked into the middle of a drug ring, slept with the kingpins daughter and is now having limbs removed, one by the hour.” suddenly an eery silence fell in the bullpen as al suddenly disappeared back to his desk and everyone was left with an image that she was sure was burned on the inside of everyones mind.

“uh, okay, someone might want to arrange a psych check for olinsky asap,” y/n mumbled, pointing in the direction where he had once been and looking around as if checking that she hadn’t been the only one to hear al’s suggestion. “anyways, all of you are wrong. clearly he has joined a motorbike gang and now makes his money on the road striking off names on the government’s hit list.”

just as the room erupted into discussion about how idiotic this conversation was, as well as their ideas, the sound of footsteps caught y/n’s attention as she arrived at her desk. however as he reached the floor, the reason for his absence was clear.

“woah, you look like death.” adam chuckled, it immediately being silenced as jay sent a deadly glare his way. with his skin paler than normal with undertones of green, a layer of sweat draped over his forehead. jay flashed as smile at y/n as he passed, reaching his desk and collapsing on his chair with a wince.

as everyone went back to what they were doing, y/n found herself straying her eyes away from her computer screen for longer and longer periods of time until she found herself by his side with a sickly sweet grin, pun intended.

“i don’t wanna hear it, y/l/n.” jay mumbled, massaging his temples with his fingers hoping it would somehow sooth his pounding skull. whilst usually he had every minute of his day just to hear the woman chat away about whatever crossed her mind, he had found himself in quite the state since last night, leaving him restless and irritable.

“believe it or not, i just wanted to make sure you were alright,” y/n’s entire demeanour crumbled as she melted at the soft features of his face that came with being so vulnerable. but from the look in jay’s eyes, it was clear he didn’t 100% believe her excuse. “and to ask what the hell you think you are doing here? you are sick jay, you need to rest.”

it was very rare that jay found himself ill. in the years that y/n had been working by the man’s side, she could count on one hand the times she had seen him with so much as a cough. in fact she had called him captain immune system for a period of time when she realised he was pretty much indestructible. y/n couldn’t deny the concern bubbling in her gut seeing him so weak.

“i’m fine,” with her eyes slitted in a look that practically shouted ‘bullshit’, jay continued. “i promise, it’s just a little cold. nothing serious, i think i’ll survive.” he joked dryly, finding it incredibly hard to look away from y/n for her eyes were filled with a warmth that he knew was an expression usually saved for those she cared deeply about.

“yeah well, you need to take care of yourself, jay, i’m being serious. chicago can cope if you just have one day off, get your energy back.”

y/n was reminded of the times she had the exact same words spoken to her by the exact person that didn’t seem to want to take them onboard. every time she had so much as a sniffle he would be straight over with some soup that his mother used to swear by and the name of a box set that he would put on for the two of them to watch as he sat stroking her hair in order to try and convince her body to rest. neither of them had anyone else to take care of them, so had taken it upon themselves to be that person for the other.

“now, i’m gonna go tell voight that i’m taking you home before you infect this whole office.” before he could object, she had already ran (not literally but jay was impressed by her speed walking) to her boss’ office. knocking on the door, with a sweet smile and a sea of words running off her tongue so quickly that voight had to agree just to shut her up, y/n returned by his side. “come on, germ face, your carriage awaits.”

“you know i love it when you talk dirty to me, y/l/n.” winking at her, y/n giggled as she supported him back down the stairs and out of the station. the two chatted away, y/n explaining how she thought al was secretly a sociopath and jay filing her in on the newest instalment of his apartment block drama until they pulled up in front of jay’s apartment building.

as they walked through the door, jay’s arm resting around y/n’s shoulders as he struggled to find strength, they managed to reach the sofa before y/n’s body gave up. both of them letting out large breathes before looking at each other and falling into laughter.

“you hungry, i could try making your mom’s soup?” y/n asked, as she pushed herself up to look down at the man. her hair falling down around her face and tickling jay’s skin. “i’m sure it won’t be as good as her’s but i’m willing to give it a try.”

the way she was sat with the large window gleaming light behind her, y/n almost looked like an angel. her eyes and smile were wide, with her beauty wrapping its hands around jay’s neck squeezing until his head felt light and he nearly reached up to touch her porcelain skin. but jay had noticed the sensation way before he was blocked up with a cold.

“yeah, uh, that sounds nice.” jay agreed with a minimal amount of sass, but y/n didn’t seem to notice as she moved off the cushions and towards the kitchen. she had pretty much memorised the recipe when jay had finally given it to her on her birthday after offering to pay for it multiple times. whizzing around the kitchen, she was too busy to notice the tired eyes admiring her from afar.

jay wished his mom was alive to see the woman that she would have loved. all the times he had brought girls back to his family when he was younger didn’t add up to an ounce of the beauty and power that y/n held in her middle finger. the way she bit back at his wit, but also had the ability to spot when he was upset from the other side of the city. she was everything her mother wanted in a daughter in law, everything she wanted for her little boy.

“okay, give me your honest opinion. i can take it i promise.” y/n sudden appeared with a tray that held a large bowl of the semi-thick orange liquid, a glass of water and a couple pills. approaching jay, she carefully helped him up from where he laid and placed it onto his lap. “actually that was a complete lie, do not tell me the truth. i may just cry.”

“why thank you, nurse y/l/n.” he teased.

“it’s doctor actually.” she quipped back.

jay chuckled lowly, as he grabbed the spoon and took a large spoonful to his mouth. feeling the slight sting of his tongue at the heat, it was only when the flavours hit that he was suddenly transported to an earlier time in his life. a simpler time. only this time there was y/n by his side.

“the verdict?” she prompted, taking a seat besides him, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“not sure whether i want to tell you, don’t think you’ll fit in this room if your ego grows any bigger.” y/n grinned as she leaned over to press a kiss against his shoulder. jay closed his eyes at the contact, feeling the ache in his body freeze for a moment as it registered the tingling sensation. “all jokes aside, it really is good.”

“i’m glad, your mother was a smart woman.” she nodded, leaning forward to turn tv on. jay continued to spoon the soup into his mouth, as y/n chose a show that they both had started together and had refused to watch another minute without the other. y/n leaned back making herself comfortable, having already texted voight telling him that she would most likely need the entire day off, and getting the go ahead, she had no plans other than being by jay’s side for the next however many hours.

it was sometime in the early evening and the tv continued to emit light, but neither jay nor y/n was paying any attention to the drama. jay, with his head on y/n lap, was leaning into her touch as her short, thin fingers ran through the dark strands that sprouted from his scalp. his body wrapped in a blanket that y/n had grabbed from his room, he felt completely at peace.

“you know what, i think you are more bearable when you are at death’s door.” y/n joked quietly, as the forest green eyes were exposed back to her own. jay groaned in annoyance, realising that there was no sweet y/n without the sharped tongue y/n. a trait he adored, but at his own expense.

“and to think i was starting to think you had gone soft on me, y/l/n.” he hummed, wishing he could forever have her giggle on repeat wherever he went, for the sound made goosebumps run down his neck and down his arms, like some kind of magic that only y/n possessed.

“as much as i love you, i can’t risk my bad ass reputation for you.”

although jay was sure it was just part of her banter, the moment the ‘i love you’ fell off her tongue, he found himself wide awake, unable to push past the feeling in his gut as it looped over again and again in his mind. y/n could see the conflict in his face, as he glanced up at her with something she had never noticed before.

“you mean it?” he asked.

“mean what?” confused, her fingers fell from his hair, making jay regret ever opening his mouth.

“do you really, you know, love me?” he knew he had committed too far to try and retreat. maybe he could blame it on the fact he couldn’t think straight, although she was like a lie detector that wouldn’t let such a bogus excuse pass. y/n blinked down at him, watching as he sat up to look at her with a hunger that needed to be addressed. swallowing the lump in her throat, y/n nodded.

“of course, you are one of my best friends, jay.” it was true, but it wasn’t the full truth, both of them knew that.

“i didn’t realise we had started lying to one another,” jay’s eyes were soft, as he reached to place his hand against her cheek, smiling as she slowly leaned into it. closing her eyes, she tried to find what direction she was looking for, but didn’t dare take the first step. without even thinking, jay jutted forward and captured her lips before they could form a single syllable.

gently, but passionately, jay and y/n moved their lips against the others. the feeling was ever-growing as the kiss deepened and deepened until they had no choice to pull back, deprived of their ability to breath. as jay’s eyes came back into view, y/n, for the first time in her life, had lost the ability to form a sentence.

“we just...” she began but it ran off quickly. jay chuckled.

“we did.”

the two sat in silence, examining the other one’s face until y/n found herself moving forward until she was sat in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist as she pressed her lips against his. just like before their bodies and minds were set ablaze with desire and what had remained unspoken for what felt like forever. jay had nearly completely forgotten about the illness that had put him in the care of the woman that he craved more than anything else the world had to offer.

as their lips parted ways, suddenly the air had thinned and everything felt... normal. jay’s lips were unable to break out of the large grin mould that y/n had put them in, which was soon mirrored by the young woman. a small giggle escaping her lips.

“if i get whatever it is you have, i expect the exact same treatment.”

“only for you, doctor y/l/n.”

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ian-galagher · 2 years

Text

The Anniversary

Ian can't sleep. It's worse than the night before Christmas, he's that giddy about his second anniversary. Expectations are high after the elaborate surprise party Mickey had planned the year before, but when Ian walks into the kitchen that morning it's business as usual.

"'ey." Mickey grumbles over coffee and toast.

"Morning." Ian replies, grabbing his own mug. A knowing smirk passes between them but nothing is said out loud.

There are no balloons, no pancakes, no flowers. It's almost disappointing but it had started the same way last time. So breakfast isn't the big surprise, that only means there's more to come later that day and Ian can't wait. He'd hardly expected his entire family to be gathered around to watch him shovel toast into his mouth anyway.

(continue on AO3 or below the cut, 1200 words + image)

Random people congratulate him throughout the day, mostly after he tells them. There are texts from his family but nothing else happens. No clowns pop up and no one serenades him, but he wouldn't have liked either anyway. Part of the fun is trying to guess what Mickey has planned for him but it remains a mystery, which only gets him more pumped for when his shift is finally over and he can go home to find out.

Around dinner time his level of excitement is through the roof. They kiss at the door, but then Mickey plonks himself down heavily onto the couch. Ian doesn't sit, instead he remains standing before Mickey, hands on his hips. "So what are we doing about dinner?"

He can't wait to find out. The bar again? Or maybe a fancy restaurant? It won't be a barbecue in February but maybe there's a party arranged at someone's house, with a home cooked meal and all their friends and family invited. He imagines them already there waiting for them to show up and surprise him and he doesn't want to run late.

"I dunno, you tell me." Mickey shoots back, sly smile on his lips. It could be a game, but Ian's not sure how to play it. He can't help but feel a touch disappointed when Mickey keeps eyeing him expectantly. "No really." Ian says with a frown. "What's the plan? Where are we going?"

"We going somewhere?"

It's not the reply he was expecting. It can't have been a one time thing, surely? He's not going to ask Mickey if he remembers what today is, not again. He knows. Ian knows he knows.

Ian scratches his chin, getting the tiniest bit annoyed with the situation. "You really haven't got anything planned?" Mickey gives a defensive shrug at that. He looks a touch hurt when he replies, "Thought it was your turn." And, yeah okay, that one stings but how was he supposed to know they were taking turns with this? It hadn't even crossed his mind, he'd been too excited to find out what Mickey had planned for him to come up with a surprise of his own. Only now there are no plans, and their second anniversary is threatening to be just a day like any other.

"Shit, I'm a dick." He drops down next to his husband on the couch, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut at the realization. "Shit, I'm sorry-"

"It's fine. We'll just make something for dinner. What have we got we can use?" Mickey's hand lands warmly on his thigh where it stays. Ian doesn't dare to look at him, too embarrassed this is how they're about to spend their evening. His mind wanders over to their kitchen cupboards and their contents where another disappointment awaits them. "I haven't been to the shops either." He groans. He's only making it worse. He really had banked everything on there being some sort of dinner arranged for him tonight.

"Must be somethin' out in that garden of yours. Tomatoes?"

"Mickey, it's February. Tomatoes don't grow this time of the year."

"That's a shame. Maybe we should check out the garden anyway?"

That doesn't make any sense either. Really, why would they? Mickey should know by now their garden is a wasteland during winter, they pass through it every day. It's not until April that the first shoots will come up through the soil, and it won't be until the end of May before they'll fully be able to enjoy their garden again. It seems such a silly thing of Mickey to say. It's almost out of character for him. It takes Ian far too long to catch on but eventually he cracks open an eye to peek at him. "The garden, huh?"

Mickey's grin is too wide to be a coincidence and Ian leaps up from the couch, dashing towards the backdoor followed closely by the man he loves.

He just hopes it isn't another tomato plant. After he told his family he liked growing them they wouldn't stop getting him tomato plants. He has more than he knows what to do with at this stage and he can't house another, but that's not what awaits him when he pushes open the backdoor.

Instead he's greeted by the largest insect hotel he's ever seen. It's standing right at the back of the garden where it catches the sunlight beautifully. Between the tomatoes and the flower beds, where bees will buzz and look for suitable spots to lay their eggs, a massive construction stands with more than enough room for just that. Ian's eyes roam over the tiny drilled holes in the wood, counting out hundreds of hiding places for insects of all shapes and sizes, and it fills his heart that they'll be able to provide a home for all of them this summer.

Mickey's there to bask in the glow his smile emanates, beaming right back at him with that same gleefulness of a plan well executed and a present well received. "You like it? It's a home for all your little bees."

Ian turns to him, eyes gleaming as he takes Mickey's face in his hands and plants his lips there where they belong and will always return to. Where loving words take their shape and pass their tongues on a daily base.

"Best present ever." He murmurs against Mickey's grinning mouth, not leaving space for an answer as they melt back together again. It may be February, but their kiss is as warm as a summer's day.

When they break apart, Ian stares into loving eyes, wondering not for the first time what he's done to deserve a man this kind and thoughtful.

"We can just order a pizza." Mickey says casually, reminding him they still haven't got any dinner plans.

"After this? I'm taking you to the best restaurant Chicago has to offer." Ian says, feeling generous. "Get you the biggest honey glazed steak on the planet."

Mickey's eyebrows bounce at that. "That thing comin' in handy already!" He says, slapping the roof of the hotel. Mickey can have his moment in the sun, which is why Ian doesn't point out the insect hotel isn't the same as a beehive. He does however park the idea of beekeeping as something to look into in the future.

"'lright, let's go!" His husbands says, turning towards the house. "But next year it's your turn!"

Ian smiles, throwing one last look at the gift Mickey got him and plans to give him a dozen surprises in return.

Notes:

I walked past this beast at the garden center and instantly thought about how Ian would own several. They're about 300 bucks but so worth it because they can fit so many little bees!! I have a smaller one myself that's very successful and I can highly recommend them, they're so much fun!

#shameless #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #fanfic #fic #the anniversary #i hope you guys like it #i have 4 WIPs i neeeed to get finished but this is just a tiny tiny thing inbetween

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binniesthighs · 4 years

Text

1-800-Be-Mine | reader x minho | sfw

happy valentines day!! this lil fic of mine is something very new and different from what I’ve tried before and I’m so so excited to share it with you!!

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho

Genre: fluff, sci-fi, futuristic au, valentines day special!

Tags: strangers to lovers, sci-fi au, futuristic au, blind date au, AI au with a twist, mentions of food and alcohol, featuring hyunjin, tiny heart-shaped confetti of comedy and rebelling against the man lol, fluffy growing feelings

Warnings: Minho’s character in this is an adorable, charming, feeling, AI robot. haha idk if this is a warning but it might not be everyone’s cup o’ tea, if so, that’s why I’m mentioning it :)

Tagging: @stayhavens thank you for allowing me to be a part of this event ❤️

Word count: 7.1k

“If it’s the color of your shirt that you’re worried about, I don’t think that he’s gonna care.”

“--I can’t believe that you’re putting me through this. I didn’t even ask for...whatever the hell this all is.”

“You’re getting worked up over nothing, Y/n. This whole thing is literally the lowest commitment thing that you could ever do on Valentines Day.”

For the twentieth time, you held up the shirt and hanger over your torso in front of you streak-stained mirror. It shouldn’t have mattered much, or even at all, but here you were, wondering what color a synthetic human would like on your body the most.

With feet in the air, your best friend swung his feet with pointed toes and eyes glued to his phone.

“Quit looking at me like that.” Hyunjin didn’t even need to rise his head up to feel your glare. “He’s programmed to forget about you the second that your time runs out, so, I really don’t know why you’re wasting your time over this.”

One more time, you switched the creamy white satin for the wine-red velvet.

“God, this is so depressing.” The shirt hangers clinked together where you threw them down on your bed. “It’s all your fault too.”

“I can’t see why you aren’t excited for this!! I literally made it so he’s perfect for you. There’s like, a 0% chance that this is gonna go badly. You could spit escargot into his lap or get his tie stuck in the car door and he’d still think that you’re the best thing ever. You can do no wrong.”

“That’s the point...”

The floor started to look a lot more appealing in your despair. If you were making a dramatic show for yourself or for you friend, you had no idea, but somehow it felt a little better letting your body sliiide down the side of the wall into a little pool of half-done make-up and hair still damp.

“Stop throwing a tantrum.” Hyunjin scolded. “You have to be there in 45 minutes.”

“What if I...just don’t show up?”

“Then, you’d be robbing me of $360 and the most expensive gift that I’ve ever gotten for you. And, you’d break my heart. I don’t wanna be heartbroken on Valentines Day. I’d hate you forever.”

“Nooooo you wouldn’t.” You tossed your forehead into the palms of your hands.

“I’d hate you for a month probably.”

“Don’t you have somewhere that you need to be?” As expected, your hands were smudged a bit from the tiny dusting of eyeshadow that you had added to your lids.

“I told you already, she doesn’t get off until 8 so I’ve still got time. Besides, I already set everything up back at the apartment. I’m in no rush.” At last, your friend cast aside his phone on the mattress with a bounce. “Get up. I’ll help you. You should still look nice anyway...even if he doesn’t care. This night is about you anyway.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Is satin supposed to feel scratchy...? What? Satin being itchy? ...You must be going crazy if you think--

“--Annnd we’re here!”

The wheels of Hyunjin’s less than glamourous car skidded in front of the hotel with an obvious screech. He was never one for being a good driver anyway. With the pull of his hand through is blond hair he nodded his head for you to open your door.

“Time’s ticking. It’s nearly 7.”

“--Jin--”

“I’m not explaining it again. Just go do the damn thing. You’re overthinking it. Like you do with everything...”

Your best friend rolled his eyes which were blue today: a part of his own Valentines Day outfit: that of which he looked much better than you thought you had. He had slung his arm over his steering wheel looking on, and even more impatient with you by the second.

“Is it a fucking crime to be nervous??”

Hyunjin laughed out sharply. “You’re so cute. ~Especially when there isn’t anything to worry about.~”

You flicked him hard on his perfect arm covered by his perfectly planned and billowy white top.

“Would you like to go out there and meet him if it’s so easy?”

After a subsequent eye roll, your friend reached his long arm to pop open the car door on your side. “You’re not going to make me drag you, are you?”

“I can get it myself.” You growled, shoving his hand away.

The February air was crisp, and just cold enough for your breath to appear lightly in front of your face. Immediately, you started to regret everything: the itchy satin shirt (which you guessed probably wasn’t satin) the stiffness of your styled hair, and the way that your feet felt in the pair of shoes that you had broken out just for the occasion. You had even put perfume on; something that a “strictly deodorant” person as yourself found to be suffocating and odd.

Do Mirrors even have a sense of smell?

On the busy street, cars whipped past with headlights of yellow and red, and the bustle of the holiday evening buzzed on the sidewalk with couples marching down the way arm and arm and hand in hand. The energy of the evening seemed vibrant almost as if the whole world seemed to be slightly more awake. The plastic heels of ladies in their best shoes clicked past.

“Good luck!”

Hyunjin mustered up the most genuine smile that you thought possible for him to craft considering it wasn’t genuine in the slightest.

“Text me about it tonight--or--actually, not tonight, I’ll be...” He obviously winked, “...busy tonight.”

“You’re disgusting!!”

You slammed the car door in Hyunjin’s snide smirk while he laughed out a “Love you!” before speeding away without a care.

The remnants of old snow caked up in the corners of the hotel where Hyunjin had arranged the date. The hotel itself was very old fashioned looking, almost like it had come right out of one of those old movies he would tease you for liking--it was probably why he had chosen it, you thought to yourself. There was a large golden marquee with a strand of lightbulbs tracing the edge all around it much like an old-timey theater, which gave the name for the hotel. At the doorway made of the same golden hue, there were attentive bellhops in matching blue velvet uniforms and leather gloves that they blew in to to keep their hands warm.

When you thought more of it, the night was a bit colder than expected, so you pulled your coat closer to your body. Hyunjin had suggested that you wear your pea coat, however it’s warmth factor wasn’t something to write home about. He had something about how it had made your arms look good...as if he would care anything like what your arms looked like.

You pulled out your phone with your cold fingers to find the information that Hyunjin had sent you.

Name: Lee Minho

Model: Generation Four

Specifications: Personalized

Service time: 7pm-12am

Instructions: Meet at the front entrance of the the hotel The Grand at exactly 7pm where the Mirror will be waiting. Mirror will look like: [see image]

You hovered your hand over the little see image tab. Before, you had decided that you didn’t want to see the picture, and rather leave it as a surprise. That was the thrill of a blind date, right? For a moment, you rationalized it as peeking so that you knew what he looked like so you could find him. You hovered, and hovered...

“No, I shouldn’t...” You whispered out to the open air while you shoved your phone back into your pocket.

“Excuse me?” One of those attentive bellhops had snuck behind you and rose a caring hand to your shoulder: an action which made you jump. “Is there anything that I can help you with? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Oh.” You straightened yourself. “Yes, I am waiting for someone. They’ll be here really--”

“--Is it me that you’re waiting for?”

He had strolled right up to you, and you could barely form the words on your mouth to say “yes.” You had heard the stories about Mirrors before, but as far as you had known, this was your first time ever seeing one this close...and you wouldn’t have even known that he was any different from the flesh and bones that you knew you had.

He was devastatingly handsome; the kind of handsome that models were. Every single one of his features seemed to be carefully planned and calculated down to the little freckle on his nostril and his nose bridge of a perfect angle. Even his physical proportions seemed to be perfect: his arm muscles curved in wonderful angles under his black suit jacket that had one button at the front. He was dressed simply: merely a black tux with a white button up underneath and a deep navy blue tie. His chocolate brown eyes were a bit unique, looking even slightly cat-like.

Not like you had a type, but if you were to have one, he definitely would have been it.

He smiled upon seeing you, and coolly adjusted his silver cufflinks which you noticed had an insignia on them that looked a familiar: it was that picture of the eye with the spokes around it, the symbol of 3rdEyeCorp. As expected, everything in life seemed to come with a branding: even synthetic humans.

“Should we go inside?”

His voice was gentle and soothing, the kind of voice that you knew could lull you to sleep or convince you to do things that you wouldn’t want to. It was a voice that could put you at ease, and you wondered if that was intentional. Perhaps Hyunjin had told them that at times you could be neurotic.

You finally squeaked out a, “Yes.” then followed him towards the soft glow of the magnificent building. He had slipped over past you to open the door, letting you enter first.

“Oh...thanks...”

As you passed him, you could have sworn that he smelled like some kind of citrus scent. In fact, you didn’t know that he could even have a smell. This was but one of the many questions that had been plaguing you for the past couple weeks since learning of Hyunjin’s plan.

It wasn’t that he smelled like a person: that kind of earthy scene mixed up with the lingering scent of shampoo on hair, or a bit of mint holding to the corners of your mouth after you had brushed your teeth right before you exited the door. Still, you didn’t mind the citrus, it was better than nothing at all, you assumed.

He walked up to the maître d with perfect posture, and it was then when you noticed that you were slightly shorter that he was. His suit was pressed, and a line ran down the back directly over his spine.

“2 for L/n?” He said properly, and it felt strange hearing your last name come from his mouth.

“Right this way.”

He looked back at you, almost as if to see if you were doing okay. He held a little glint in his eyes that looked careful, caring even. From the very few words that he had said to you, he still maintained a composure about him that was...human. He was comfortable.

The three of you reached the table with the ironed white table cloth, small bouquet of red roses and two flickering tea candles. The lighting of the room was dim as all restaurants such as this were, and there was a light hum about the room coupled with the occasional clink of silverware on China. There was a fireplace to the corner of the room, and the dense smell of expensive wine hung in the air.

The maître d placed down the menus. “Your server will be with you shortly.”

You thought the small action a bit comical. You were the only one who knew his secret. Still, he nodded with a polite smile. “Thank you.”

The satin fabric on your shirt scraped at your bare chest, and you attempted your slyest attempt at making a tiny itch look nonchalant. He picked up the menu with a few of his brown strands dipping over his eyes. You studied him as he looked it over, not having a clue why. You thought that you had heard somewhere that his kind couldn’t eat. Perhaps he was a new model.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t formally introduced myself yet.” He put the menu down with a little embarrassed smile. “I must’ve forgotten. I’m Lee Minho.”

“I know.” Your cheeks felt hot. “Uh-and I’m Y/n. But--you probably knew that too.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Smile lines crinkled under his eyes. It was the first imperfection you could find about him.

“Yo-you too.”

Minho reached out a slender and pale hand for you to shake and you stared it in a moment of fear. You had never touched a Mirror before, much less wondered what they felt like.

“I don’t bite.” He chuckled out a small laugh that was much too cute for his own good. His shoulders then appeared to relax and he allowed himself to slouch. “At least, my model doesn’t.”

You choked out an ugly chortle at the joke. “Ah. I see.”

“You don’t have to be scared of me. I promise that I feel like anyone else.”

You took it, jumping a little at the sensation. He was warm--not exactly like you expected him to be cold and metallic however. The skin of his hand was cracked and grooved as normal, and it was squishy as if you could feel the muscles that would be underneath.

With a warm grin, he soothed you saying, “See?”

‘Oh...mmhm.” You shook his hand firmly. “Holy shit that's really creepy.” You muttered the words as softly as you thought you could have.

“Creepy?” He laughed out again. “Should I be offended? No one has ever called me creepy before.”

“Oh! Um, s-sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“--It’s okay! I was just kidding. I completely understand. Especially if this is your first time meeting someone like me. It is your first time?”

You nodded drawing your hand back with the warmth from his hand still lingering on yours.

“Let me know if there is anything that I can do to make you more comfortable. Seems like...we’re meant to be too.”

“--Meant to be?” You nearly dropped your cloth napkin to the ground.

“I mean, based off of your profile, they thought that I would be best suited for you. And you know...the programming and all that.”

“Oh! I guess so...”

Next, you thought it best to busy yourself with that glass of water that was looking very oddly refreshing.

“I meant to tell you as well that you look very nice. I think that color suits you very well.”

Drops of water got caught in your throat, “T-AHEM-this?” You pinched at the fabric.

Minho’s eyes widened at your sputtering coughs, signaling to a waiter to come fill your glass once more.

“Sorry, was I not supposed to say that?”

“No! No no, it’s...you’re fine. I was just a little surprised.”

“Surprised? Why?”

“I just didn’t think that you would...nevermind.”

Even though you had nearly choked yourself seconds ago, up went your water glass to your lips once more.

Minho fidgeted with his bangs with his pinky finger: a surprisingly vain little task. Under the dull lighting of the whole room, he did look very handsome; almost much too handsome to be in such a place with you. All at once, you became suddenly aware of the irregular patterns of those eyes peeking at you from their own tables with haughty and whispering words on their lips.

“You look...very nice as well.”

“Mm thank you.” As charming as ever, he gave a smile back. “This is my first time wearing this. I actually picked it out myself. I thought that you would like the color.” His pale fingers ran down the silk indigo tie.

“You thought about it too??”

“Thought about what?”

A snide smile crept over your mouth. Hyunjin could eat his words.

“Well do you? Like it?” A curious little smearing of worry painted Minho’s brow that was once again must too cute for his own good.

“I-I do like it.”

In all honesty, Minho would have looked good in anything, you thought, no matter how ridiculous. Under the thin white cotton of his shirt, you could see his toned pectorals as well. One pinch to the side of your leg was just enough to scold yourself.

He looked around himself in a bit of a silent wonder: from the rafters of the high ceilings painted in gold leaf, to the speakeasy on the far edge of the room with the posh looking bartender.

“I always thought that places like this were kind of stuffy.” He wrinkled his nose.

“You...what?”

“There's always someone at one table wondering if they look better, rank higher, or are more successful than the person at the other. Don’t you think the same?”

“I mean...I think they do keep looking us?”

“Ah. I noticed that too.”

Minho looked around himself carefully, then leaned in closer towards you. “Do you think that they know that I’m...you know?”

You snorted out a laugh covered by your hand. “What? No? How could they?”

“A hunch.”

“Can you even get hunches?”

“I may be a robot, but I can still read a room.”

You hushed him, “Shhhh! Say that any louder and then they’ll really know.”

A waiter in a black apron sauntered up to your table with a thin moustache and a big of a sagging face. He looked a bit less like a real waiter and more like a cartoon one.

“Good evening. Have you finished looking over the menus? Perhaps a bottle of wine to start you off? We have a new house merlot that I would highly recommend.” He reached a spiny finger to point at the name on your menu. “It would pair particularly well with our specials tonight. Seeing as it is Valentines day--”

The droning of the waiter continued on, and you had noticed that Minho wasn’t paying any attention at all. Rather, he had settled his gaze on the flickering of the candles, and the yellow light sparked in his pupils. For mere seconds, you could see something a bit different about them: a extremely thin circle of blue-white light around his irises.

The waiter pulled out his pad with an expectant gaze.

“Uh-yeah, I-I’ll take that. That--whatever-you-just-mentioned.”

He appeared puzzled. “You wish to start with the special orange Crème Brule first?”

“Ah-no! Sorry, can you..” You cringed, “Repeat what you just said?”

He rolled his eyes, but did respectfully as he was told while you sunk further into your chair with Minho’s teasing smirk. This time you listened to the specials, even though you decided you didn’t even want one, but rather picked one of the cheapest items on the menu. That was one of the drawbacks of paying for your date: he had no obligation to pay for your meal.

The waiter looked even more puzzled when Minho said he wasn’t ordering anything, but shrugged, burying his pad back into his pocket saying, “I’ll be over with the wine shortly.”

“Do you want to know something?” Minho leaned back in once the waiter was out of an earshot.

You treated yourself to yet another sip of your emptying glass, and nodded.

“There’s at least four others like me in here.”

“Four? How can you know?”

“I think I’d know my own kind when I saw them.”

“I would never be able to tell.”

The waiter returned, showing the label to the wine to both of you before popping it open and pouring it into glasses with the twist of his wrist. Two drops from the crimson top stained the little napkin he used.

Minho’s hands toyed with the stem of the glass, but didn’t take a sip.

“That’s why they call us Mirrors.”

“How do you mean?”

“Because you’re supposed to see yourselves in us.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Your body had started to warm with the energy of the room after long, and your appetizer of escargot had arrived. Oddly, since Hyunjin had mentioned it before, it embedded in you an odd craving that you couldn’t satisfy until you had some. By now, you had realized that Minho likely wouldn’t have been eating with you, but it was strange: even the other Mirrors in the room appeared to be.

“I’m assuming that you can’t eat then?” You popped the buttery taste into your mouth.

“Yes. It doesn’t make sense for my...biology. If you can call it that. I can’t digest food nor do I have the mechanisms to do so.”

“Maybe we should have done something that didn’t include food then.”

“I do have something though! I know that eating alone like this can be uncomfortable.”

He grabbed inside his inside suit pocket and pulled out a wallet: thin and black leather. It had almost nothing in it save for what looked like a iridescent square. Over top of it was the same logo on his cufflinks. He flipped it around his fingers like a playing card.

“What is it?”

“My dinner.” He sated matter-of-factly.

“You’re gonna...eat that? Maybe you shouldn’t--”

He placed it neatly in front of himself, pressing the surface and it morphed into some kind of three dimensional polygon shape of pixels, both large and small, until it settled into a perfect copy of your dish that you had sitting in front of you.

“It’s holographic.”

“Of course it is.”

“Newest in tech at 3rdEye. This is my first time using one. They thought it would be a good idea to send the prototypes out with the Mirrors tonight for the beta test. What do you think?”

“It’s very...realistic.”

“It’s pocket sized, and it can really transform into anything that you could want, but of course...its still not really solid. Perfect for me though.”

He took a bite of his escargot with an equally holographic fork.

“I imagine that it tastes very good.”

“You can’t taste things?”

“Unfortunately, no. Since I don’t need to eat, don’t know why I would need to. I’ve got all the other senses though.”

The house merlot was bitter on your tongue and full bodied. You couldn’t imagine what your life would have been like without taste. He chewed on, and somehow the action really did seem comforting.

“You’re very um, open about yourself. You know...talking about yourself so bluntly. I feel like some people when they do these things, they just want to keep on that suspension of disbelief as long as they can; pretending that you're--”

“--A real person?”

You hadn’t intended on it coming off as insulting, and a “sorry” formed on your lips.

“--I’m not offended. And, you’re right. Most people do. But, I could sense that you were different. I don’t have a problem telling you about me. Something told me that you would like to know.”

“Something?”

“Enough about me though, lets talk about you. You’re a doctor aren’t you?”

“-For animals. Nothing too crazy. I’m working up my way to have my own practice some day. For now, I’m just doing nurse type stuff. Giving immunizations, checking teeth and stuff like that.”

“I read your thesis. The one from your pre-vet. I thought that your research was very interesting. How come you didn’t continue on with animal behavior?”

His string of questions made you crack out into laughter. Never had anyone you had ever dated said that they had read up on you.

“I can’t believe that you just said that.”

“What? I had assumed that you might want to talk about something that interests you like that.”

“That was...so long ago, I don’t even think about that paper anymore.”

Minho took some of his wine down with a polite dab of his napkin to his lips.

“How about hiking then? Or those Frank Capra movies that you like? Which one is your favorite?”

“Stop, stop. This is--”

His eyes widened. “Did I misspeak again? Your friend said that it would be okay if we did the proper research--”

“--Just...sorry, it’s strange that you know everything about me already and we’ve hardly just met.”

“I’m not following.”

“Can you just...forget like, everything you know about me for a minute? This is supposed to be a blind date isn’t it?”

“I can do that.” Minho tightened his tie.

“How about we talk about something else?”

Minho nodded in agreement with a determined tiny grin. “I can tell you about what I do?”

“You have a job?”

Your prompt waiter appeared with a giant silver platter which glinted in the light of the numerous dancing candles around it. The ceramic plates clinked into the glasses assorted on the table, and he lastly offered out freshly grated parmesan for your pasta. You said “when” and he was just as quickly out of your way, but not after granting the both of you one more questioning glare.

“Yes.”

Your date flipped over his holographic square, and soon it transformed into another spitting image of your meal.

“I’m supposed to tell you that I’m a college professor of ornithology but since we’re being blunt here, my job is working for 3rdEye, and doing basically whatever they ask of me. Including this. And actually...” He twisted a string of noodles around his fork. “...I think that it’s going pretty well.”

A quick giggle erupted out from you. “I’m glad that we’re being honest because you do not look like someone who teaches twenty somethings about birds.”

“But if I had said I did, would that have made you like me more?”

“Maybe. I’m sure that they picked that because I did graduate research on migration and flight patterns.”

“Likely.”

“Maybe I should have stuck with animal behavior. Then we would have had more to talk about.”

A silence filled the space between you as you tried your best to eat your pasta with as much grace as you could. Of course, you were still one to get it on your lap and the table cloth, but luckily you had a napkin to protect you. Your date on the other hand, ate as if he was eating with the queen herself. For several moments, you really did allow yourself those brief moments of ignorance: you really were just two people, sitting in a fancy restaurant on Valentines Day, eating a meal together, on a date, as an normal two people would do. Every few moments too, he would look at you with a type of gentle adoration in his eyes too.

And it felt nice.

It really was as effortless as Hyunjin had said. You would be eating your words on this one.

At last, you had scraped out the last chunks of tomato and vegetable bites from your shallow dish, and you sat back which a sense of drowsiness clinging to your eyes. Over time, you had slumped deeper and deeper into your chair as you felt your body warm with the fireplace. You didn’t mean to look, but your watch had read just past 9 o’clock.

“That all tasted good.” Minho sighed, and slumped along with you.

“I thought you couldn’t taste?”

“Ah. You’re right. Well, I enjoyed eating that with you. Did it taste good?”

“It did.”

“Should we get some of that orange Crème Brule from earlier?”

You folded up your napkin on the table. “You mean should I get some of that Crème Brule? I’m the one paying here remember?”

“Are you?”

With the stretch of your arms, you answered, “Not today. I don’t have that doctor’s pay...yet.”

“But shouldn’t you eat something sweet on Valentines Day? Isn’t that also what its about?”

You laughed, “I don’t know where you heard that, but no, it doesn’t.”

“Ah, I see. My understanding of the holiday is very jumbled. Holidays are like that for us. The sort of emotional attachment to them is hard for us to understand. I’ve watched millions of hours of films to understand them...but--”

“--Millions?”

“Yes?”

“That’s…insane.”

“Not for me.” He said with a happy little grin. “Should we be leaving?”

In one motion, he swept up his shirt sleeve, just over his wrist where you had expected him to have a watch. Instead, a faint blue glow emerged on his skin making letters and numbers that you couldn’t read as well from upside down.

“Hm. 3 more hours. What else would you like to do with our time together?”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The winter cold bit at your ears while the two of you walked together down the busy urban stretch. Even later into the night the giddy excitement of friends ambling down the streets and couples linking to eachother with tipsy happiness could still be found everywhere. You barely knew him, but you still felt in some way compelled to reach out and interlock your arm with his as those other couples did. You had a half a mind to reach out to him, but another half a mind to keep your arms wrapped around yourself.

But, as if he had read your mind, he reached out his hand behind him to quietly slip your arm into his.

“Put your hands in your pockets.” He asked, and you did so. “I figured that you must be cold, so...my body heats itself too, makes me more...you know.”

He was warm. Much warmer than your entire body felt had felt then, but still you noted that the tips of his ears and nose had turned pink.

“Where to?” He questioned next.

“I-I’m not sure. I didn’t think this far.”

“I could pick?”

“You know where to go?”

He was silent for a moment, then nodded. “There’s a place that I wouldn’t mind going to. Do you know how to skate?”

“Ice...skate?”

He huffed out with a tiny smile, and you noticed that when he did, no visible molecules could be seen in front of his face.

“Do you? I can pick something else? It’s not everyone’s skill.”

“N-no. I can do it.”

You don’t know why you had said it: perhaps you felt as if you had something to prove to this inhuman person, or you really did want to go there with him, no matter where it was.

You had never learned how to skate in your life.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The ice rink was lined with pink and white string lights: likely a Valentines Day decoration. Plastic hearts made of fuzzy tinsel also decorated the edges of the rink and sparkled under the lights. It had been built into the center of a public park, and bodies huddled in winter coats sat together on the benches to the side, waving at those they knew when they slipped past. Tinny music played over the outdoor speakers: it was some pop song that you had heard before, but didn’t know the name of.

Minho laced up your skates for you, and even then you noticed that his knuckles had turned pink too.

“Are you...cold?”

“Oh! This?” He turned his hands around. “No, I’m not. it’s just another one of my humanisms.”

“Humanisms?”

“Something to make me look more like you. When it’s cold outside my body senses it and does this.”

“I see.”

Even if you knew that he couldn’t possibly feel things in the same why, he was damn convincing--and you couldn’t help but think it was unbearably cute as well.

“Done! You ready? You can take my hand if you want?”

You stood wobbly as a deer taking its first steps. Walking on the blades was much more difficult than you would have guessed. He didn’t need to ask twice for you to grab hold.

“I’m assuming that you know how to do this?”

“There’s a lot of things that I know how to do.” He winked.

The second that your feet met the ice, you felt your heart start beating into overdrive with your anxiety of falling. Over the ice, it too felt colder, and that didn’t help much either. With one hand you clawed to the side of the rink, and the other dug into Minho’s arm.

“I thought that you said that you knew how to skate?”

“I lied. I’m gonna fall on my fricking face and its gonna be the most embarrassing thing ever. Worse than spitting escargot into your lap.”

“Spitting escargot? What?”

“Just--can you help me?”

He tittered with an adorably warm laugh and grabbed back at you firmly. “I won’t let go.”

Even the toddlers in their little training bumpers were more skilled than you. Minho was patient, and coached you through the skills of the left and right motions of your feet and getting into a rhythm. You still flapped your arms around wildly like a wobbly penguin, but he was eventually able to coax you away from the wall.

“See! You’re getting the hang of it!”

“Really?”

Minho nodded profusely, letting go of both of your hands to hold just one. “Stop looking at your feet and just look at me. You’ll trip yourself up focusing so hard.”

Other couples whipped past you, and you thought it best not to look at how easy it was for them.

“I-I think that I’m doing it!”

Minho’s eyes lit seeing you start to swing your feet back and forth. In that pink lighting of the rink, you could see that thin ring of light around his eyes once more. Even though it was unnatural, you still thought that it looked beautiful.

“WATCH OUT!!” Came a distant voice from behind you.

Before you had a second to turn around, a fuzzy blur came barreling into you. Two small bodies: a couple middle school boys chasing each other, came colliding with your teetering body, forcing you to fall to the hard ice with a terrible thud.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” One of their pre-pubescent voices cracked.

“I-I’m fine...I think.”

Your air had been knocked right out of your lungs and your butt ached with a sharp pain that you hoped you wouldn’t be feeling for days. Both of your hands were wet with ice from the contact. Minho quickly offered you his hand up.

“-You okay?” He brushed ice off of your coat.

Truthfully, you were horribly shaken, and your chest shook, but you lied once more. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“No you’re not.” His worried eyes studied you. “Lets get you something warm to drink okay?”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“One hot chocolate please.”

Minho fiddled with his wallet, picking out that same iridescent square from before. As soon as his fingers touched it, it glimmered into a credit card.

“It can do that?” You had uttered, but he gave you back a cautious glare.

The man at the little coffee stand took it without question, and somehow, it worked.

“$3.15″ He monotoned, and gave the card back.

The white Styrofoam cup warmed your hands instantly, and the chocolatey steam delighted your nostrils.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s no problem. I wanted to.”

You took a sip, but a strange silence befell over your date, and he furrowed his brows.

Under his breath, he repeated the word “...wanted?”

The further that you walked along the river together, the less that you wanted to take another look at your watch where it peaked out from your coat sleeve. You imagined that it must have been nearing almost 10:30--optimistically. Instead, you took long and purposeful sips of of your drink and indulged in the way that the heat would seep down from your throat and all the way down your body.

Onward, one of the great and massive bridges of the city blinked with an array of multicolored lights: some from cars, others from the way that it was decorated to look a bit like shining stars. Under the lights, the navy-black of the river reflected the fractals of light. The walkway was nearly empty of people except for the odd couple sitting and cuddled up by the edge of the water. The water should have been frozen, but it didn’t appear to be giving up just yet.

Your companion had drawn quiet with eyes cast down to his walking feet. You had half a mind to reach out to him...

“Is there anything you would like to do?” Your question filled the quiet, but you didn’t expect him to stop in his steps upon hearing it.

“Are you asking me if there is anything that I want do to?”

“Yes...?”

Minho was again quiet, then turned to look at the vast expanse of the cityscape in front of you both.

Suddenly, he began, “Valentines Day is a holiday that has to do with loving, doesn’t it?”

You stammered at the question in your confusion, but still answered. “Yes.”

“You express love on the holiday? You show people that you love them, and that you care for them. Right?”

“I think so...but why are--”

“--What do you think that it means to love something?”

Distantly, cars honked, and music boomed out from drawn down windows, and it floated in the evening air.

For you, loving was something that was second nature. It was little bits of happiness, fuzzy feelings, but it also ached, and felt like being lost. How could you possibly begin to describe what it meant?

Minho’s eyes were full of intrigue and even maybe a twinge of desperation. Could Mirrors even hold such a thing in their eyes?

“I-I’m not sure how to cover it all, but, I guess that I could say that loving something, or someone, is to want them. You want to be around them, you want to see them laugh or smile, you want to make them feel that you care. I don’t think that it is much more complicated than that.

The man appeared even more confused, almost like he had been computing his own mental calculations right before his very eyes. Then, all at once, his eyes softened.

“If loving something is to want it; to have desire, desiring is the first step? Love must be simplier than I thought that it was, and maybe...I think that I can do it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Minho swept up his hands in yours after casting aside the cup to the ground.

“You asked me if I wanted to do something. But the thing is...I don’t think I’ve ever wanted do to anything ever before in my life. It was just, what others wanted of me and what I colud do for them. Not me.”

Realization swept over Minho piece by piece, and soon it all unfolded for you too.

He drew your arms and hands around the back of his neck to pull your body closer to his.

You might’ve looked before, but his lips looked soft and unbelievably sweet: like melting snowflakes, whipped cream, or the fuzzy flesh of peaches.

“I do want something.” He said at last.

“Minho...what are you saying?”

“I-I can’t tell if what it is that I’m feeling is some kind of algorithm, or I’m just...you’re so...different.”

“I hope that you’re not just saying this all--”

“--I’m not! I’m not. I promise...an-and Mirrors can’t lie.” He laughed out. “How can you make a machine that’ll lie to you?”

His hands crept up your sides, and all the way up to cup your face in his hands.

He was impossible. In every way, but he was real. As real as the warmth from his hands and as real as the way that his mouth appeared to wet with saliva and how you could count the tiny moles on his face.

“Well, what is it that you--”

He had drawn your face close up into his, then closed any space that divided the two of you. Your lips parted with his into a meeting of his plush lips that were even softer than you had imagined. Even though you knew he couldn’t taste it, you flooded the taste of chocolate into his mouth, and your body shivered in the way that he ran his tongue over your bottom lip. He wasn’t intrusive, but rather curious, and thrilled. Any semblance of him that was any less than the skin that you felt on yours faded, and you poured yourself all back to him. His fingers held fast to the sides of your face while he kissed back every with every bit of him that he could. Even in the one moment when your eyes had fluttered open, he held his eyes closed, to focus only on you. Your own wondering hands laced into his fuzzy locks.

Each and every kiss that he painted across your lips was laced with indescribable want: something that he shouldn’t have even known, but you could feel it. He echoed the smile that you had pressed into his lips.

“I just want to be with you tonight. Just a bit longer. No more timers.” Minho whispered onto your mouth, barely breaking.

On the one hand, his request terrified you. A Mirror, one who you thought to be unfeeling, pre-programmed, an empty shell, wanted you. But still, you couldn’t control yourself from wanting him back, and everything about him that you knew and didn’t know. Wanting him, was the simplest thing you could have done.

“I-I want that too.”

His smile was thankful, and suddenly every little way that his eyes would crinkle or the corners of his mouth would upturn seemed more genuine.

Minho traced your hands to the back of your his neck where he guided them to the tip of his spine.

“Touch here.” He guided your fingertip over what felt like a bone. “Press down.”

You did so, and the patch of skin sunk down a bit like a button. You held his eyes which flickered wholly with that blue-white light you had taken notice of before.

“Say “Bypass LK2510.” “

He held your finger down still, and you repeated the phrase, watching as the light vanished all at once, even that thin ring around his irises.

“What did that do?”

Minho blinked a couple time like he was ridding sleep from his eyes, then beamed with a grin that only got wider and wider. “They shouldn’t know where I am for a while. You disabled my tracker.”

“I did what??? Can’t I get in trouble for that??”

“Not when I made you do it.”

In his delight, he pressed his lips back up against yours with a kind of light air that was ecstatic and hurried--it was contagious, and the feeling swept over you until you were just as giddy. You were nearly as giddy as a school child reveling in the mischief of knowing what they were doing was against the classroom rules.

Your chest swelled with nervous excitement, but it wasn’t nearly as addictive as any drug that you could imagine.

“Where do you want to go now?” You asked him with hands clinging to the sides of his coat.

“Anywhere.”

[nsfw version/ending coming soon on binniesthighs!]

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zedecksiew · 3 years

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Kriegsmesser

When I received Kriegsmesser in the mail I finally googled "kriegsmesser", and found out it meant "war knife". Which makes sense; Gregor Vuga's ZineQuest 2021 project is a tribute to "roleplaying games named after medieval weapons".

I love Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay's piss-renaissance Old World setting. I tend to pick up WFRP-a-likes sight unseen:

Warlock (quality);

Small But Vicious Dog (yesss);

Zweihander (which I have come to hate); etc.

Anyway: I backed Kriegsmesser without really knowing anything about it. So Kriegsmesser surprised me.

Kriegsmesser grew out of a Troika! cutting. Its 36 backgrounds are compatible with that system: each come with a couple of lines of description; a list of skills and possessions; an a visual cameo cropped from actual 16th-Century woodcut art.

Cohesive and competently flavourful. My favourite is the Labourer, who always starts with "an empty pine box":

"You've spent your life breaking your back, working hard for other people's profit. You have nothing to show for it but a spectre of the future."

(The obligatory ratcatcher-analogue , called the Vermin Snatcher, is here -- check that box!)

Kriegsmesser also comes with its own ruleset. Hits all the notes it needs to, with lots of orientation and advice for how to run a game -- but ultimately super-simple, mechanically:

Roll d6s equal to the value in a relevant skill, look at the highest result. 6 means you get what you want; 5 or 4 means you get what you want, at a cost.

It's not quite a dice pool, since only the highest result matters. No opposed tests.

Kriegsmesser intends to have this base mechanic handle fights, too. The combat rules - with armour, toughness and weapon values -- are nested in an optional section.

For a WFRP-a-like, this feels like a purposeful departure.

Many of WFRP's most celebrated adventures are celebrated for bits that their underlying ruleset does little to support: the investigative structure of "Shadows Over Bogenhafen"; the complicated timetable of "Rough Night At Three Feathers".

Ludwig von Wittgenstein never needed a statblock to be memorable.

Not to say that lethal, hyper-detailed fights isn't super Warhammer-y. (Kriegsmesser includes an injury table, broken down by body-part -- check that box!)

But here it feels like Gregor is saying: "I'm not Games Workshop and Roleplay isn't an ancillary of Warhammer Fantasy Battle; we can evoke grim-and-perilous-ness even if we fork away from heavy combat rules."

It has become ritual for me to read my partner Sharon to sleep.

Sometimes I read her RPG things. The other night, after I read her Kriegsmesser's introduction --

" The Empire wages an eternal war against Chaos. Its priests preach of Chaos as an intrusion, something unnatural ... These men see Chaos in anything that does not buttress their rule. They call it disorder, anarchy, corruption. They say that to rebel against their order is to rebel against god and nature. That the current arrangement is natural, rather than artificial.

" Meanwhile, the common people look to the Empire to deliver the justice that they were promised and they find none. They look to the Empire and do not see themselves reflected in it. They look around at what they were taught was right and good and see only misery.

" Their world begins to unravel. Chaos comes to reside in every heart and mind sound enough to look at the world and conclude it is broken. "

-- Sharon remarked: "Nice one."

The RPG things I read her generally leave Sharon lukewarm. She has enjoyed a couple -- but, yeah: for many of these books, text isn't their strong point.

Kriegsmesser is the only time I can recall Sharon praising the writing of an RPG book without my prompting.

Nice one.

That introduction surprised me. It underlines Kriegsmesser's biggest departure from its WFRP-a-like pedigree: how it characterises Chaos.

Corruption, a mainstay of most grim-dark-y games, is made an optional rule, like combat. Explaining this, Gregor writes:

" Kriegsmesser partially subverts or deconstructs the traditional conceit of Warhammer where the characters are threatened by the forces of Chaos. In this game it is the player characters who are the agents of 'Chaos': they are likely to become the 'rats' under the streets, and the wild 'beast-men' in the woods bringing civilisation down. It's the Empire and its nobles and priests that are corrupt ... "

Describing the Empire, Gregor writes:

" The Empire encompasses the world yet is terrified of the without. It enforces itself with steel and fire yet considers itself benevolent. It consumes the labour of others with bottomless hunger yet calls its subalterns lazy, or wasteful, or greedy. "

Holy shit this is the first time I've seen the word "subaltern" in an RPG thing, I think?

I love this.

Rant incoming:

With every passing decade Warhammer abridges its Moorcockian roots more and more; nowadays it is "Order = Good" and "Chaos = Evulz", pretty much.

Gone are the days when chaos berserkers are implied to grant safe passage to the helpless (because Khorne is as much a god of martial honour as he is a god of bloodletting); Or that the succor of Papa Nurgle is a genuine comfort to the downtrodden; Or that Tzeentch could unironically embody the principle of hope, of change for the better.

As Chaos is distilled into unequivocal villainy, Order goons get painted as Good Guys by default --

Giving rise to Warhammer's contemporary problem, wherein fans are no longer able to recognise satire.

When I was introduced to 40K, it seemed pretty clear that the Imperium was a Brazil-esque absurdist-fascist bureaucratic state: planets are exterminatus-ed due to clerical error; the way it stamps out rebellions is the reason why rebellions begin in the first place.

Tragi-comic grimdarkness. That was the point.

Nowadays that tone has shifted -- and you're more likely than not going to encounter a 40K fan who argues that the Imperium's evils are a justified necessity, to prevent worse wrongs.

We went from:

"Space Nazis because insane dumbass fuckery, also chainswords vroom vroom rule of badass!"

To:

"Space Nazis because it makes sense actually, and also chainswords make sense because [insert convoluted rationalisation here]."

Even Fantasy Flight's Black Crusade line, which ostensibly offers a look at 40K from the perspective of Chaos, never truly commits to its conceit.

With prep you could play a heroic band of mutant freedom fighters, resisting the tyranny of the Evil Imperium --

But I don't remember Black Crusade giving that kind of campaign any actual support. Its supplements service the relatively more conventional "You can play villains!" angle; the Screaming Vortex is a squarely Daemons-vs-Daemons setting.

This tonal drift culminates, in my mind, with Age of Sigmar, Games Workshop's heroic-fantasy replacement of the old WFRP / WHFB setting.

Here's the framing narrative for AoS's recently-launched Third Edition. Let's see whether I've got things right:

A highly professionalised, technologically-superior tip-of-the-spear fighting force (the Stormcast Eternals);

Backed by an imperialist military-industrial complex (Azyrheim);

"Liberating" rich new territories (Ghur) for exploitation by a civilised settler culture (Settlers of Sig-- I mean, Free Cities);

Justified because the locals are irredeemable heathens (Chaos and Kruleboyz).

I mean, that's a sweet-ass Warhammer setting. It's contemporary, laser-guided lampoon. Except it is played totally straight.

In AoS, a literal crusade is justified as the moral good.

I think Kriegsmesser surprised me because its framing of Chaos -- as a promise, as the light of hope shining through cracks of a broken world --

It feels so fucking right.

Yes: its a subaltern deconstruction of the conventional moral universe of Warhammer -- but it is a take that is also already implied / all but supported in the various depictions of the setting: from WFRP to the modified title-crawl of Black Crusade.

I'm annoyed I didn't think of it, myself. Damn you, Gregor!

And I'm annoyed that more Warhammer fans aren't thinking it, also.

lmagine if Kriegsmesser's perspective stood on equal standing as the GW orthodoxy. Imagine if, instead of simplifying stuff into "Order = Good" and "Chaos = Evulz", GW did a Gregor Vuga.

You'd have a Rashomon-ed Warhammer, where villainy depends on perspective:

You are fearful villagers, huddled around your priest, muttering prayers against the wild braying coming from the trees beyond your gates.

You are Aqshyian tribeswomen, defying the thunder warrior towering over you, the foreigner demanding you bow to his foreign god.

You are a Tzeentchian revolutionary cell, desperately trying to disrupt a Inquisitor's transmissions so your home planet isn't destroyed by fascist orbital fire.

Get Kriegsmesser HERE.

+++

( Image sources: https://theenemywithinremixed.wordpress.com/2021/05/21/thoughts-on-the-4e-death-on-the-reik/ https://www.criterion.com/current/posts/59-brazil https://www.deviantart.com/faroldjo/art/Warhammer-40k-Black-Crusade-273596035 https://www.warhammer-community.com/2021/06/09/fancy-a-new-life-bringing-order-to-the-mortal-realms-join-a-dawnbringer-crusade-today/ https://www.nme.com/blogs/the-movies-blog/team-america-15-anniversary-south-park-2558750 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palestinian_children_and_Israeli_wall.jpg )

#reviews #kriegsmesser #gregor vuga #warhammer #writing #rants #overthinking #rpgs #wfrp

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