#machiavelli: FINE. i guess.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Also man, one of the few times they elected a Venetian pope

Poor Eugenius IV was like “maybe pay your taxes and stop embezelling state funds?”

Orsinni, Colonna, Frangipane families: Shan’t.

[fair-lead]

got an absolute nothingburger of a midterm essay prompt

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Soft Sighs in the Late Night, Red Eyes in the Early Morning

Very simple little story of you getting snacks for König when he works at night and learn he's being deployed. Not so sad, just a slice of life kind of work.

TWs: references to combat

Wordcount: 1.4k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Soft Sighs in the Late Night, Red Eyes in the Early Morning

You always liked scurrying into König’s office when he was working. He didn’t often take his work home, but on the rare days he did you liked to bring him snacks and drinks while he studied the fine print of military contracts.

You creaked open the door and crept up carefully as you took in the sight of König by the yellow architect’s lamp. Placing the tray down, he paused his writing and looked up to you with a smile.

“Has it been that long already?” he chuckled as he leaned back to take a better look at you.

“Guess so,” you smiled, taking your place on the stool he left out for you and leaning on the desk.

König was always subtle in how he flipped his papers over when he put his fountain pen down. Once, you’d been offended by how he hid his work from you. Over time, you realized it was safer for him to keep his papers covered. He’d told you once of a man who’d had his wife kidnapped, and after meeting the shell she became, you decidedly left the papers unchecked.

He steepled his fingers over the pages and gave you a grin, “So, what has my little mouse been up to today?”

You sighed, “Work was hard. Aaron kept complaining about the new marketing campaign that head office has been working on. He kept going on and on about how it was stupid and nobody would ever buy into it.”

“He’s the one who is stuffy, ja?” König asked.

“He’s the one who was going on about how he bought his first home when he was twenty,” you groaned.

“Oh, that one,” König rolled his eyes, “I sometimes wonder what his Kinder think of him.”

“Last I heard he tried to send his son to some wilderness survival camp for smoking a joint with his friends,” you rubbed your temples, “I really try not to tell people how to parent their kids, but I just couldn’t let that go.”

“Did his son end up going?” König cringed.

“Thank God he didn’t,” you took a cracker from König’s snack bowl.

“Those are my snacks!” König huffed.

“Gotta pay the tax,” you munched away happily.

König grumbled as he scooched the bowl closer to him. It was a nice attempt, but you stole another cracker regardless. You only relented when you reached for a third, only for König to swat your hand away like some pesky fly.

“Rude,” you sniffed.

“The ends justify the means,” König replied dryly.

You rolled your eyes at that. König would be the type to quote Machiavelli, wouldn’t he? Sometimes you couldn’t believe him.

“Why did I ever marry you,” you rested your cheek on one hand.

“Because I’m a good provider,” König answered as he took a cracker into his long fingers, “though you do your fair share.”

“My fair share?” you scoffed, “I think I do a bit more than that!”

“You do,” König acquiesced, “but I’m still the provider.”

You decided that today wouldn’t be the day you tried to tackle König’s misogyny. You could always do that tomorrow, or the day after, or whenever it came up next.

“So, can you tell me anything about what you’re doing tonight?” you slumped down so your chin lay on the desk.

“A bit,” König smiled faintly, “it’s mostly just about an upcoming project in Serbia.”

You frowned, “You’re getting deployed soon?”

König gently brushed his hand through your hair with a faint smile, “I’m sorry, but it shouldn’t be long.”

“You always say that,” you grumbled.

“This is just a one week job. We’re protecting someone in a car convoy. It’s nothing too exciting,” König assured you, “they tell me that I probably won’t even see any action. It’ll just be a security job.”

“Can you tell me who you’re working for?” you asked hopefully.

“Nein,” König pressed a kiss to your forehead, “not until after. Then I’ll tell you everything I can.”

Of course, everything he could was always terribly limited, but that didn’t particularly matter. You were more interested in the stories of his day-to-day life than the grand plans of the powers that be.

“Do you know who’s coming with you?” you asked.

“Nikto is one,” König said, “and Askel.”

“Isn’t Askel kinda weird?” you scrunched up your face.

“Not weird,” König grimaced, “he’s just too chatty.”

“Maybe that would be good for you,” you pointed out.

“Maybe,” König shrugged, “but I like the quiet. Nikto is good; Nikto is very quiet.”

You nodded and nestled your head against his bicep, closing your eyes and taking a moment to breathe in the moment.

König brushed your hair through his fingers mindlessly. He seemed lost in thought, as he usually was before deployment. You hated the thought of coming home to an empty home for the next month, but you knew that this was just a part of dating König. You could never escape the shadow of KorTac.

“So, how long will you be gone?” you asked.

“The mission says one week, I’m thinking that it should be three,” König murmured into your hair, “it won’t be as long as the last.”

You cringed. You didn’t handle the last one well. You didn’t think you could deal with that again so soon after the last.

“I promise I’ll be safe.”

You burrowed your face into his arm.

“You always promise.”

A low chuckle.

“And I’m still here, ja?”

You sighed. He was right, he was still here. It didn’t mean you didn’t notice the new scars that decorated his body. He tried to hide them, but you always found them eventually. Thankfully, he didn’t tell you how he got them. Well, not unless they were funny.

“So, no Horangi to set you on fire again?” you giggled.

“No,” König let out a long sigh, “thank God for that. My ass still hurts thinking about it.”

You laughed and hugged him close, getting in all the love you could before he left.

“Will you be leaving soon?” you whispered into the dark cotton sleeve.

“Soon,” König admitted, “I’ll be leaving soon. Most likely in a month.”

“Promise me you’ll be okay.”

“I’m always okay,” König laughed.

“Please,” you insisted.

“Then I promise, little Maus,” König kissed you gently, “I will be okay.”

You held him close a little longer, not wanting to let the moment go. König let you, knowing full well it was all you had to hold onto until he came back home. He hated leaving. He hated it every time. But if it was to keep you safe, to keep a roof over your head and food on the table, he’d do it a thousand times. You were worth every scar upon his body just to see you sleeping safe in bed when he’d come back home.

Konig Dump

Regular Stories

[andrewlovely]

Homecoming

USS George H.W. Bush USS Gerald R. Ford They dock in my hometown and dominate the landscape. Holy Roman Empire Such power is seductive… You can’t take your eyes away Two Bechtel A1B nuclear reactors Five squadrons of multirole air superiority strike fighters

Who could oppose them? And who would even think to? We are nothing. Provincials on the outskirts of Rome

I want to believe in Big Brother I want to rest easy knowing that Father protects the world And beam with pride whenever I see his warships coming on the horizon. Guardians of the Free World Sentinels of the West

But I’ve been too close and seen too much I know too much and I know better

Satanism in the frat house Machiavelli’s acolytes thirsty for blood But they’ll settle for red death and sexual assault. A brood of vipers A school of sharks who eat their own young

They turn on each other out of a kind of boredom Or simply because they know of nothing else better to do. Brotherhood is betrayal

Patio get-togethers with smoked salmon queso carrot dips and forced laughter. Amidst the bad jokes and the desperate cackling my dad’s friend tells me how much he loves Batman and how much he misses killing people.

Post 9/11 lonestar quarterback varsity cheerleader pep-rally culture Band of Brothers jingoism and Republican family values Post Reich Fourth Reich zeitgeist propaganda films Our dear beloved Hero of The Fatherland Our dear beloved American Sniper scouting the aisles of HEB for Always Ultra Maxi Pads and cheap microwave dinners.

I’m getting Laguna Beach flashbacks and Homeland Security Orange Terror Alerts. Over a million killed in Iraq, But Janet Jackson’s exposed nipple is somehow the pinnacle of moral depravity. Wealth is health.

Long gone the Comanche trails we used to hike and the old wooden watchtower where the good Christian children warned of strange nightly rituals and animal sacrifice. Now they paved the sacred grounds with another shopping mall and you can buy arrowhead souvenirs where every burger joint meets every coffee shop. Interstate I-95 on the next exit. Highway marker 279. Food and gas in 16 miles.

I woke up on some European toll road federal highway built by Colonel Sanders’ military junta. I could just as easily have been driving back from San Antonio Airport. Home of the 1999 NBA Champions. The signs are the same everywhere But they all lead back to the same source.

Rick was a driver for Halliburton. Always spoke to me in a heavy drawl about the importance of having a good attitude. “We gotta fight ‘em over there so we don’t fight ‘em over here, Andrew.” I always thought that was just the way he talked. Turns out it was the highballs and the VA drug cocktail he drank every morning. He wasn’t even from Texas.

I never did find out who “they” were. The ones we were supposed to “fight over there.” But apparently they were in cahoots with whoever it was he fought in Vietnam.

Rick had a pretty good attitude about driving a truck I guess. About as good of an attitude as you could have really. He went to church every Sunday and blew his brains out on the Fourth of July. A patriot to the very end. Yeah, they used him up pretty good alright.

Beverly was a Dallas debutante with a sweet disposition, if maybe wound up a bit too tight for the likes of Austin. I probably seemed alien to her and maybe too polite, or too gentle for the rugged “boys will be boys” expectations that southern women seem to cater to and delight in.

She always asked me if I wanted more sweet potato casserole with a mixture of disappointment and confusion. I think I just seemed strange to her. But she was nice enough, and everyone was always “doin’ good, ya know And we’re all just doin’ fine… And you know, Doyle just bought that new boat he was wantin’ And I think we’re finally thinkin’ ‘bout sellin’ that old house finally.”

Beverly eventually jumped off the roof of a nine story parking garage. But that just got swept under the rug right alongside everything else.

There was a murder in Dallas and all Americans carry it three layers deep in different forms of societal conditioning and infra-red shades of misplaced anger and resentment. “The military industrial complex now permeates all aspects of our national identity and daily life: the political, the economical, even the spiritual.”

Ordinary citizens are buried and there’s nothing left, they’re all used up. Empty vessels filled to the brim and then discarded At the brink, at the brink, the cracks always form at the brink!

Lightning strikes splitting down Dick Van Dyke’s milk bottles, crazing through the glass, and just at the moment of critical eclampsis, the water cannot hold, it’s too late for the light, too late for Japanese Kintsugi, and everything not saved will be lost.

There will be no apotheosis, no final reckoning with the cowardly and dastardly adversaries who always hid themselves, but who, thinking their time nigh and the hour at hand prepared duly and dutifully beforehand to be utterly invincible, their case bulletproof, their charge noble and steadfast, now suddenly dare to reveal themselves, [and what a gift (!)], so you can finally stand up and fight, so you can finally show yourself, and show your power, and fight them head-on, and fight them in the light of daybreak, and fight them in the light of high noon, and with no more evasions, and with no more doublespeak, and with no more shadows, no…

There will be no final apology, no great apocalypse, just a tired whimper and a bewildered release.

Now the casket was lowered with military honors, and we all saw that, we all saw it. But The Beast was never slain. It gave the eulogy at its own funeral dressed in drag. Hairline trigger fingernail painted black. The CIA has operatives with dreadlocks and man-buns now. They meet all their diversity quotas. All of the bureaucratic vestiges of The Republic have been allowed to persist. They carry on the day-to-day affairs of The Empire and seem to please the people Conjuring up images of some past glory or vaguely reminiscent of some new half-promise half-remembered. It’s been a successful rebrand.

We all live on three job credit cards, but if we can just figure out which bathrooms we’re allowed to use, we’ll probably be OK. - Lovely

[bandersnatchbandwidth]

Oh gods please do bring back the rodeo au that's great

i’m exceedingly happy yall like how much horse content i make omg..Here’s my sketch of Dirk in that AU! The horse is named Machiavelli because Dirk would, and he’s a 7yo pure QH

[itsevanffs]

Hihi!! I've been hyperfixating on tommary lately and I absolutely loved (In the dark!)! I wanted to see if u have any tommary/harrymort fics that u recommend.. preferably ones that feature a possessive Tom ^^ ty in advance

I guess this would be the right time to publicly declare my bookmarks as open? Everything on there is a hard rec, and I vigorously quality-check those... for my liking and my liking only. (Sorry, not sorry. They're there for me, after all.)

That being said, hmm. I've got a few you might like.

Below the cut: more (additionally to my bookmarks) Tomarrymort (Tomarry or Harrymort) recommendations with possessive/obsessive Tom in alphabetical order; NOT order of how much I enjoy them. I'd argue I enjoy them all equally, just in different ways.

Ps: thank you! I'm incredibly flattered you liked my work :D

and don't let the police know anything by littlecupkate https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920947

Ted Dirlod is dangerous, Harry Potter knows this for a fact, but the man was still his only hope at escaping a doomed fate. It is never wise to blackmail a crime lord. It is even more unwise(?) when said crime lord is obsessed with you. An expanded version of "praying to whatever's in heaven, please send me a felon"

Genuinely lovely? Ticks all my boxes, at least, and minimal angst, which is always a plus. That being said, you should probably read the work mentioned in the summary as well for context. But hey. Two cakes by one person ;) Can never go wrong, can it?

As Certain Dark Things Are to be Loved by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015619

Tom was Harry's best friend growing up and his first love. At eight, Harry gave Tom his first kiss before moving away. As a freshman in college, the name of the RA on the door across the hall is terribly familiar.

Also absolutely deliciously indulgent. Tom is a possessive terror and Harry loves him for it. Need I say more?

Harry Potter and the Search for Ancient Magic (series) by Snickerdoodlepop https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133141

Once Voldemort realizes that Harry Potter is his horcrux, his plans change drastically. So does Draco Malfoy's assignment for the school year. Harry's sixth year starts going very differently. Snape is on a mission. Harry needs to learn pureblood politics. Draco Malfoy is trying to convince Harry to forgive him. Voldemort finds himself visiting Harry Potter in his dreams. Everyone is realizing that no one is quite what they thought. And through it all, there's a mystery. What is Ancient Magic? Can Harry use it to save himself or will it pull him toward the dark side?

Honestly, genuinely, hands down the best fucking tomarrymort series I've ever read. Hard, hard rec from here. The first work is completed and the second is in progress, so it's a nice pile of words to chew through!

can't commit to anything but a crime by caelesti https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286483

Excitement is the word he does not dare utter, even in the privacy of his own mind. It’s wrong, he knows. These women are people, in their own right; people with fears and aspirations, with friends and families and dreams, and to have anything cut those lives short is nothing but tragic. To have anyone cut those lives short is nothing but condemnable. He doesn’t have James Potter’s laugh lines, but he does have his father’s innate flair for danger. He doesn’t have Lily Potter’s enthusiasm, but he does have her insatiable curiosity. (In every world, Harry will excel at finding the biggest spot of trouble available and sticking his nose in it.)

Hot serial killer serial killer hot. That's it, those are the thoughts. Please read.

Dripping Fingers by May_May_0_0 https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440826

When Harry finds Tom Riddle's diary he does not write 'Hello.' He does not write anything at all. He draws. Tom Riddle falls in love with the artwork. _________________ Sketch by sketch, drawing by drawing, the ink Harry pours into the diary manifests as creations in Tom's monochrome world.

Okay so if I'm the reincarnation of Shakespeare, May_May_0_0 is fucking... Ted Hughes. Which doesn't say much to your average viewer but that man wrote my favourite poem ever (the one I based my war fic off) and I hold him in very high regard. This story? It is poetry in its rawest form. Pure, condensed beauty. If you decide to read only one of the fics in this list, please choose this one.

Either must die at the hand of the other by Metalomagnetic https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356095

Voldemort survives the Battle of Hogwarts because Harry Potter had not been the one to kill him, as the prophecy demands.

When is Metalomagnetic not a master of words? When will I cease becoming breathless at every paragraph, at every cleverly twisted word that comes back and reveals itself so beautifully later?

Fine Line by galaxiesundone https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949952

Magic always leaves traces. The lingering darkness of Sectumsempra, combined with Harry’s nature as a horcrux, awakens the soul piece contained within Ravenclaw’s diadem. At twenty years old, Tom Riddle walks a fine line between man and monster, the devil and the light-bringer in one. His influence forces Harry to face an ancient enemy unlike anything he has faced before: temptation.

Long story short: Tom Riddle is Hot and Good At Being Hot and Harry truly doesn't stand a chance and I am here for it. Lord help me I love this fic to pieces.

Good Intentions by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/7035334

Five year old Harry Potter meets and befriends a seventeen year old Tom Riddle while hanging out at his dad’s station. James Potter decides to take Tom under his wing, using Tom’s connection with Harry to try and keep the teen grounded, even as he begins to investigate the Death Eaters, a dangerous organized crime group and their mysterious leader only known as Lord Voldemort.

The sheer potential of this fic. The horrible, terrible dread of future events that have yet to be revealed. I will cry.

Honey, Smoke, Shiver by machiavelli https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068062

Harry - Omega, only son of Lord Potter - is nothing more than a useful playing card in a political game of power and money, one that is bought by the famed Tom Riddle: powerful, dangerous, pureblood Alpha. Unsurprisingly, Harry loves being underestimated.

Machiavelli is always a rec from me. Sorry lads but that's the way it is. Never a moment where I won't recommend their stuff.

Sickly-Sweet Obsession by maquira https://archiveofourown.org/works/18259103

Quiet, studious Tom Riddle spends his first year thirsting after an older student—Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain, Harry Potter. His crush is common knowledge, and even Harry finds it cute… at first. Possessiveness spawns monstrosities. Tom does all within his power to mess with Harry’s dating life. And one seemingly harmless crush spirals into something darker, begetting deadly consequences.

Again; the potential. Delicious. This will bloom into something beautifully twisted, I'm sure of it.

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Audair https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745546

Riddle’s undivided attention snapped to him with the swiftness of shattering glass. His turbulent magic receded from where it had besieged the shop. "You,” he breathed. Coiling in leisurely motions, the eager tendrils of his magic reached for Harry, swathing about his limbs and neck and chest with a liquid, flowing fascination. "I’ve been looking for you,” Riddle continued, tilting his head to the side and sweeping his gaze over Harry. It was an appraisal that felt simultaneously like the raking of iron nails and the tender drapery of silk. It was so familiar, and yet… so foreign. In the winding streets of Knockturn Alley, an intricate dance of mutual obsession unravels between twenty-three-year-old Tom Riddle and a time-travelling Harry Potter.

This work has recently been undergoing a rewrite, and I can tell you with certainty it's only gotten better for it. It's beautiful; the setting, the atmosphere, the vibes... Perfection. Captures Knockturn Alley's mood impeccably and does not disappoint a single moment.

the pleasure, the privilege by asterisms https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227528

It begins with Vernon Dursley's body, dead across the table. In which Voldemort is dosed with amortentia, and nothing is better for it.

Completed, terrifying... and gorgeous.

The Shrike (to your sharp and glorious thorn) by PaperWorlds https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380079

Shrike: A songbird with a sharply hooked bill, known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling their bodies on thorns, the spikes on barbed-wire fences, or any available sharp point. A young Harry Potter survives an attack by notorious serial killer Voldemort. Over a decade later, they meet again.

Lads I'm so desperate for an update from this fic that I might cry if I think about it for too long. I keep saying it and I'll say it again; this is one of those fics with amazing potential that are sure to never disappoint no matter what path they take. An incredibly hard rec.

To Raise a Servant by bluegrass https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780816

Tom had found the boy amidst pouring rain. He figured he'd always wanted a pet snake.

Surprisingly not quite as dark as the summary makes it seem? I certainly enjoyed it, though, and that's why it's on this list.

What He Grows To Be by Severus_divides_into_H https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042240

Tom Riddle is a frightening coil of darkness, cruelty, and greatness, and changing him is Harry’s only hope for saving people he loves. Going back in time, he takes Tom from the orphanage, but his optimism shatters with every year they spend together. Tom still longs for darkness. Tom stifles him in his possessiveness. Tom is fixated on him to the point of destroying the world just to keep him. But Harry loves him. And the future changes.

Beautiful. And absolutely terrifying. I've started crying mid-scene at least three times for this fic, and it honestly seems unfathomable if you haven't read it if you're on my profile, since I think this is one of the fics that have shaped my style and ambitions. It is what I aspire to be.

[veryblushyswitch]

Alberto’s Discivery Part 2

Summary: After his experience with Giulia, Alberto decides to take this new information to Luca himself.

Lee: Luca, slight lee Alberto

Ler: Alberto, slight ler Luca

Authors note: I literally love these two so much so expect some more content for this amazing movie. I definitely want to do something with lee Giulia soon. Hope you enjoy! 💖 And special thanks to @otomiya-tickles for inspiring some of the cuteness in this fic! Your hcs are adorable!

Today was the day. He was going to talk to Luca about tickling. So why did he feel so nervous? And embarrassed?? And flustered??!! Giulia was right-

Even more so, he likes it. So if Luca thought he was weird for liking it, what would happen between them? He started getting really anxious. Every scenario spiraled through his head.

He ended up worrying so much that he went to Giulia again to talk things out.

After a short and meaningful conversation, a hug and a few pokes, Alberto felt better. He was ready to talk to Luca.

~

Alberto and Luca decided to swim for a bit and just talk about whatever. Laughing and splashing each other with each sarcastic comment and funny story.

After a while, they headed back to the house where they ended up sitting in Alberto’s room.

It was small like Giulia’s but it was cute. It had pictures of vespas on the walls and there were random human trinkets Alberto couldn’t help but keep. There was even a little mouse toy in the corner Alberto used to play with Machiavelli.

“I forget how much fun your room is. It’s always filled with cool stuff.” Luca scanned the room.

“Yeah. I guess it is pretty cool, huh?” Alberto smiled.

After a few seconds of silence, Alberto finally found the courage to bring up the “thing” with Luca.

“S-So… Luca. There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you about myself recently.” Alberto sat on his bed.

Luca followed and sat beside him.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Luca put a hand on Alberto’s shoulder.

“No I’m fine. It’s actually kind of the opposite. I really like something and I’m afraid that you won’t or you’ll see me as weird.” Alberto played with his hands.

Luca smiled and rolled his eyes.

“Alberto, if it’s something that makes you happy then I won’t find it weird. You can tell me anything.”

Alberto smiled and took a deep breath.

“Okay. So. You know how sometimes I poke you and you make these adorable little sounds.”

“I don’t know about adorable, but yeah.” Luca rubbed his neck.

“They are adorable, but anyway. I didn’t know what I was doing at first until I asked Giulia about it. And she told me what tickling was.”

Luca stared in disbelief.

“You didn’t know you were tickling me?”

“No… And I bring this up because, after I told Giulia, we talked and I realized that I like it. Tickling you. And being tickled. I realized the second thing after Giulia tickled me.” Alberto couldn’t make eye contact with Luca in fear of blushing or embarrassment. He was blushing nonetheless.

“And I know it’s probably weird and you’re not gonna want to be friends with me anymore. I understand and I’m sorry I- GAHA!”

Alberto yelped when Luca squeezed his side.

“Oh my gosh. Alberto, did you think I would find that weird?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Luca giggled.

“Alberto. I kind of already had a feeling. You always poke me and I see the way you smile when you do it. I don’t really mind being tickled actually. Especially when it’s with you. Tickle fights are fun! And you shouldn’t be ashamed of something that makes you happy.”

“Thanks, Luca. And you think they’re fun too?”

“Yeah! As long as we both stop when the other person needs them too. We can just say mercy or uncle is something.”

“Sounds good. You’re really okay with this?”

“Alberto what did I just say-”

“I know. I know. Just checking. So… is it okay if I tickle you? I’ll stop when you need me to I promise.”

“Hehe. Sure. I trust you.”

“Yay!” Alberto cheered before wiggling his fingers at Luca. Giggling at the way Luca was already laughing.

“Juhust be careful. IhI’m really ticklish.”

“I will.” Alberto pounced. His fingers curled around Luca’s sides prodding away.

Luca squealed curling up. His small giggles flowed through the air.

“Ahalbertohoho! Hehehehe!”

Alberto’s smile grew. Could Luca be anymore adorable? Apparently yes.

“Aww~ Are you ticklish, Luca?” Alberto’s pupils dilated at Luca’s squeals.

“Yohohou knohohohow IhI ahahahahaham!”

Luca continued to squirm until he fell onto his back.

Alberto quickly sat on his waist and continued his ticklish assault by scribbling all over Luca’s sides. Occasionally pinching up and down to draw out the cutest high pitched noises.

Luca’s legs kicked as he twisted and turned. His arms halfheartedly tried to push at Alberto’s hands, but all attempts were futile. Alberto kept up his attack, even starting to squeeze at his ribs.

“Ohoho my gosh- You’re so ticklish! This is amazing! And your laugh is really cute too~” Alberto scribbled along his lower ribs, seeing as it got a good reaction.

“NOHOHOHO! IHIHIT’S NAHAHAHAHAT!”

Alberto pouted playfully, pausing his attack to give Luca some time to catch his breath.

“Oh it’s not? Guess I’ll have to convince you. What happens if I doooo this?” Alberto suddenly brought his head down and blew a raspberry on Luca’s exposed stomach.

“HAHAHAHAHA! ALBAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! WHAHAHAT IHIHIS THIHIS?! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

This sensation was something Luca had never felt before. It felt like he was being tickled on the outside and inside of his stomach.

“It’s called a raspberry silly. It’s a human thing. I told ya, I’m an expert.”

Alberto blew raspberry after raspberry. Luca grabbed at Alberto’s hair, so much so that Alberto had to pin Luca’s arms beneath his knees.

Luca took in deep giggly breaths, thankful for the short break.

“There. Got those out of the way. How ya doing?” Alberto asked.

“IhI’m good. Thahanks for checking.”

“No problem.” Alberto tickled his neck earning a few small snickers.

“Now where to tickle you next?” Alberto wiggled his fingers above his waist.

Luca squirmed at the anticipation, a few giggles slipping out.

“I haven’t even touched you yet, why are you giggling?” Alberto chuckled.

“I don’t knohow.” Luca blushed.

Alberto smirked and brought his hands up into wiggling claws, lowering them slowly towards Luca’s vulnerable ribs. A place Alberto knew was really sensitive due to his playful everyday pokes.

Alberto then started to poke each individual rib. Being sure to count each rib out loud to make Luca blush even more. Of course messing up along the way causing him to start over.

“Boop. Boop. Boop. Boop. Hehe.” Alberto laughed.

“Hehehehahahahaha! *squeal* NAHAHAHAT THEHEHERE!” Luca squealed when Alberto slipped his fingers under his arms to scribble at the sensitive nerves.

“NOHOHOHOHOHO! *squeal* PLEHEHEHEASE!”

“You really need to stohop making that adorable noise, Luca. You’re mahaking me lahahaugh!”

Luca couldn’t handle all this teasing! His cheeks flushed a bright pink as more and more squeals delighted Alberto’s ears.

Luca cried for mercy when Alberto started kneading into Luca’s bottom ribs. Alberto immediately stopped.

Luca was still giggling, curled up on his side. A happy smile plastered on his face.

Alberto stared at Luca for a minute when Luca suddenly looked back at him. They kept eye contact until they snickered before falling back laughing.

Luca was holding his stomach from all the laughter, his legs doing little kicks.

Alberto was laying on his back and pounding his one fist on the covers, the other was covering his mouth to try and hide his snorty laugh.

They both finally sat up, Alberto wiping away a tear.

“Wehell that was fun.” Alberto smiled and grabbed Luca’s hand to help him up.

“Yeah. It really was. We should do that more often!” Luca jumped up and down. His eyes lighting up with joy and excitement.

Alberto looked at him with glowing eyes.

“Yeheah. Maybe next time I can get Giulia to help me. She’s one good tickler.”

Luca blushed and playfully shoved Alberto’s arm.

“You would know wouldn’t you.” Luca teased back.

Alberto shoved him right back with a rib poke for fun.

Luca squealed before covering his mouth. Alberto giggled and gave Luca a noogie.

“That’s the best noise ever.”

Luca laughed as he pushed Alberto’s hand off his head. Interlocking his fingertips with Alberto’s in the process.

They walked back home and happily and ate dinner with Giulia and Massimo. Giulia giggling at how they continued to hold hands under the table.

[punk-rock-unicorn]

The Library

Fandom: MCU

Pairings: Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader

Summary: Bucky and Sam take a pit stop in London before going to Madripoor. Bucky does not trust any line Zemo has on a fence. To bad you are not the better option.

A/N: My first Tumblr post and my first attempt at a reader/you centered story. Hopefully, it is good. May make a sequel to this. For right now it will just stay Teen for Sexual Tension.

--------------------

"Where are we even going?" Sam asked as he trailed after Bucky. Their unwelcome tag along followed at their heels. His coat fitting the rainy city more than Sam's own clothes as they walked. The neighborhood they were in was filled with tall buildings and the city of London was confusing. Bucky scowled but did not respond just yet. His eyes glued to his phone as he looked at it. He dodged a man who did not even glance at the odd group. Or seemed to notice the terrorist following at their heels. "Seriously man where are we...?" Sam asked annoyed as his hand reached out to grab Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky turned around with a glare directed at the other man. His eyes slipping to Zemo who only looked around the British city curiously. "I swore it was somewhere near here," he said and looked around the dreary city that had a slight drizzle of rain falling from the city. "I know we are close," he added before turning around and continuing walking. Sam looked at his back before shifting his eyes to Zemo who only did a tilt to his head.

"Seriously Bucky!" He called as he walked after him. He ignored the man following him as well as he could. At this point they were just using him for his jet. Though what Bucky wanted in London was anyone's guess. "What the fuck are you looking for?" Sam asked with an almost yell.

"Not a what," Bucky called over his shoulder. "A who." The tall man swore as he looked around the buildings that all looked the same.

"Wouldn't happen to be looking for me would you?" A slight British accented voice called before stepping out of an alleyway towards the three. The three men tensed and looked towards the person coming out of the shadows. A simple black jacket and trousers all they had on.

"Had to make it hard to find you didn't you?" Bucky called after calling your name. You had watched the boys since they entered the neighborhood curious on their location and where they needed to go. Not that it was that hard to figure out considering Bucky had texted you while you were gone. You smirked at the man and stepped closer with your hands in your pockets.

"Good to see you, Bucky," you greeted and your eyes slipped to the other two. One you knew from your adventure on the battlefield against Thanos. "Sam Wilson," you said and nodded to him with a smile. The second man you recognized as well but for a totally different reason. "Is there a reason Helmut Zemo is wandering around London free from prison?" You asked the two with a raised eyebrow.

"Bucky did it," Sam said simply with the same energy of a sibling tattling to their mother. Your eyes met the terrorist's eyes curiously. He had brown eyes and a beautiful face. His outfit was also stylish and the fur on his collar unique enough.

"Technically, he did that himself," Bucky muttered under his breath with a shrug. You released a sigh and rubbed at your face. "Can you bring us inside?" He asked you and you sighed.

"Fine," you said and looked around the street. It was empty and you walked a couple feet forward to face a nondescript building. With a flash of gold glyphs and a rippling of air the building unlocked. Sam and Bucky did not look surprised but Zemo did. You smirked at him. "Welcome to the London Sanctum of Magic," you said as you entered the building with the rich and warm interior. "Please touch nothing. I am the only Sorceress here at this time."

With that you led them to a nice sitting room with comfy couches. The interior was very British and almost ancient in design. You had always hated it growing up honestly. It felt too stuffy but now it was fine. Not that you had time to bitch about interior decorating choices. "So can I interest any of you gentleman in a cup of tea?" You asked and smiled at the group as they sat in the chairs provided.

Bucky and Sam sitting on one love seat while Zemo sat in an arm chair. "No," Bucky said before anyone else could. You saw Zemo open his mouth to say something but shut it at a glare from Bucky. "We need your help," he added with a scowl. His eyes glaring at Zemo who said nothing. Though he was looking at you curiously.

"Sorry I am not a psychiatrist," you said with a sarcastic smile. "Have you tried the place three blocks away? They have amazing biscuits." Bucky and Sam glared at you though it lacked any true heat. The criminal mastermind terrorist however chuckled under his breath. His eyes were deviously interesting you had to say. Something about him drew the eye. Or maybe it had been a long time where your only interaction was either Doctor Strange, Wong, or young initiates.

"We need to go to Madripoor," Bucky explained and you barely withheld your snort at the mention of that horrible place. "You mentioned that you had a line on someone."

"What and Daddy Warbucks can't help you?" You groused as you stared at the three. You sat on the arm of one chair and you watched a smirk curl the man's face.

"Well I could always be your dad-" he started to say when Sam exclaimed loudly in disgust. You threw your head back with a laugh. It had been a long time since you could have this much fun verbally sparring with someone.

"Now is not the time!" Sam cried out with a sneer. You snorted and looked at all three. "You have seen the news right? The Flag Smashers. They have super soldiers. We need to find who supplied the formula." Sam was trying to beseech to your desire to save others. Too bad he was barking up the wrong tree.

"Mate," you answered with a scoff. "I am a sorceress. My job is to protect this Sanctum, train initiates, protect artifacts, and listen to the Sorcerer Supreme, which you are not. I have no reason to care about some terrorists. No offense." You looked at Zemo and shrugged. He answered with a tight lipped smile.

"We just need your contact's information in case his line falls through," Bucky said as he tried to get between you and Sam. You met Bucky's eyes and glared as he gave you an almost puppy dog look. Damn him. You sighed and ran your hand through your hair.

"Fine," you hissed and stood up. "But it will have to wait till tomorrow. I'll send a message and hopefully get a response. Let me go get my phone. Bloody hell. I hate heroes." You grumbled and moved out of the sitting room. "Library is that way and kitchen that way," you said poking your head back in. "If the book looks ancient and probably bound in human skin do not touch it. Be right back."

----------

You grumbled and stared at the sent text before stepping back downstairs. You threw your jacket over a table in the library before stepping into the room. "Machiavelli," you heard a voice call as a gloved finger ran over the backs. "Epictetus, and some good classics here." You turned around to see the Baron of Sokovia pretty much fingering the spine of the books. "Do you actually have books bound in skin?" He asked and you smirked at him.

"Probably," you said with a laugh. "My parents always warned me about them. Most of our more important books are in the other part of the library." You stepped closer to the man who had a good lead on you height wise. "You can read anything you want here," you added with a dismissive shrug. "Most of it is in English. Figure that won't be a problem. Even got some Harry Potter somewhere."

His eyebrow raised and you snickered before sitting on the top of the table and watched him. His own coat was off and showed a turtleneck that fit him nicely. At least he was pleasant to look at even if the two Avengers wanted your help. "A little on the nose is it not?" He asked and you chuckled before your hands moved. A steaming cup of tea now rested in your hands while the tray sat behind you with another cup. "Two sugars, please," he said as he glanced back. A book about the Marquis de Sade in his hands. Philosophy of the Bedroom probably. You added the amount requested before handing him a cup. A breath going over your own before you sipped the rich taste.

He set the book back in its proper place and took a sip of the tea. Brown eyes met your own and you never thought tea drinking would almost turn you on. You could see his tongue on the edge of the cup and you licked your lips before sipping your own tea again. Almost burnt your tongue this time. "Which is your favorite classic?" He asked as he set the cup down. His arm sliding next to your side just so before he placed it on the saucer. Your eyes went to him and down to his wet lips. You wanted to lick the tea off of them and do some other naughty things to him.

"Would have to go with the Count of Monte Cristo," You answered with a grin at him. He pulled back with the gracefullness of an emphereal spirit. You almost wanted to grab his arm and pull him back. "Where are Thing One and Thing Two?" You asked as his back faced you. You could see a smirk twist his face before he went over more books. Skipping classics and philosophy to go to other sections. You watched him go as you looked him up and down. He had a nice body you had to say.

"Oh?" He asked and stepped back with a book. "And what about this?" You were sipping your cup of tea when the title was clearly shown. Fifty Shades of Grey. You choked on your tea at the look on his face.

"That is not mine!" You called out as you tried to clear the tea from your windpipe. You did not even think there was an erotica section in the library. You were trying to figure out where it came from when you smelled his cologne wash over you. Your eyes peeking up at him as you stayed in your spot against this table. His grin was salacious and dripping sin. The book was in his hands as he reached for his cup of tea again.

A smirk on his handsome face as those gloved fingers ghosted across your side. You saw his leg step close in between yours from how you were sitting. Bloody hell you wanted nothing more than for him to take you against the table. Or at least kiss you. How long had it been since you could snog anyone? "Charming snake," you hissed to him though your lips twisted in a smile.

"Why do you want to taste my forked tongue?" He teased as his lips ran over your own. You felt them tingle and you could feel your control failing as you met his eyes.

"Would rather have you taste me, love," you teased as your fingers ran over his chest. He had some nice muscles and you giggled as you heard a growl leave his throat. His lips pressed against you and you could almost taste a mix of tea and wine as you bunched up his shirt. Before you could even deepen the kiss or taste his forked tongue the library door slammed open.

"Oh come on!" A voice shouted. "Really?!"

Part 2

@joyfulinternettraitor

[cassiusapologist]

Hi how are you doing? :) first of all i apologize if there is a link or info on your blog and i didnt see it because im on mobile but like.. what is this blog about? 😅 So much brutecass?? I love them so much, i love you so much for your art!! Thank you for existing <3 Because on tumblr there was practically nada about them so yeah im pretty much quite surprised to see so much content. But what do you focus on/what do you like and why perhaps if you dont mind? Im really curious. Also you said this was a sideblog. What is your main one? Do you have a sideblog for all your different interests? 😅 Thank you and have a wonderful day 🤗

hi! I don't have an about or post for what this blog is about, but it's basically just my brutecass sideblog! mostly I just wanted a low stakes space to post about them and chill without getting stressed out about whether or not it was fine to skip the story telling and draw them kissing or wondering if I was secretly disappointing anyone.

this is going to get way longer than I mean for it to get.

tbh, up until very recently, I didn't care much for cassius. this blog actually started with the intention of focusing on cassius and his role in brutus' life through a haunted house/gothic horror/greek tragedy framework, and it was strictly a story telling interest, but after five minutes I realized that I loved cassius a lot and there's a lot of interesting stuff happening with him historically that I had been overlooking, actually, and that's why my twitter bio says that I owe him ten bucks and a fancy dinner.

my first love has always been history: as a kid, I spent a lot of my free time reading historical non fiction texts. I don’t know how to love things halfway. if I find someone in history that grabs hold of my heart, I’ll sit in that space forever. I found machiavelli at 15, and eleven years later I still can’t shut up about him. brutus goes back further than that, and cassius occupies a similar space now. I have over ten years to catch up with on cassius lmao [as evidenced by my other blog, @diinadam, which rapidly descended into some kind of dead romans chaos]

as for brutecass specifically, it's like, oh my god. they knew each other as children. they knew each other up until they died. the part of the national's empire line that goes 'there's a line that goes all the way from my childhood to you.' the way that appian compares cassius to a gladiator against brutus as a philosopher. the dialogue shakespeare wrote between them makes me cry. I love tragedy. I love poetry. ‘for 2000 years the name of cassius has been tied to brutus.’ for 2000 years, your name hasn’t been alone. I think a lot about how they clashed and fought but picked each other anyway. brutus didn’t last the month after cassius died. he probably introduced cassius to his mother and his sisters when they were boys.

on a less serious note, I also just think they’re neat. I love a conspiracy to kill a tyrant!!

and to answer your question do not have sideblogs for all of my specific interests, brutecass is the only thing that has enough of a...... focus of interest, I guess, that I wanted to have a space separate from my main blog. 

my general history/literature/sometimes movies/part time art blog is @diinadam and my personal is @cassiusapologist!

have a nice day, anon!! 💞

[japannkenn]

(Luca) Summer Heat (rated M) (unpublished/random pieces that I wrote)

Luca doesn’t like children, which is weird, because he technically is one? (He hadn’t been eighteen for that long, and things still felt the same) He does feel bad about it. He’d dealt with them over his years of study in Genova which was always a hassle, but it wasn’t his fault.

He didn’t know why he was intimidated by a couple of adolescents, just on the brink of consciousness of the world around them. Not old enough to worry about things bigger than how fast they can eat their gelato before it melted in the summertime heat.

He guesses he’s one to talk. Even if it’s been three years, he doesn’t feel like he knows anything. He may not be much better than these kids. He doesn’t know who he is. He thought he did. He thought he was starting to figure it out.

That’s why it’s so shocking to see how second nature Alberto is around a band of rowdy twelve year olds in the water, teaching them how to swim. And maybe they weren’t rowdy—just much too much for Luca to handle. He can’t believe how patient he is, how he humors their antics and how easy it is for him.

And he can’t believe how good he looks in that tiny red Bagnino tank top, iridescent purple scales shimmering in the sunlight, practically calling him.

Luca knew this was going to happen, so he brought a book to look down at if Alberto happened to turn back and steal a glance, lest he be caught staring. Because that would be the end of the world considering some of the things they’d done already.

There was a squiggly, fine line to their relationship.

And besides, he wasn’t good with kids. But it was fun to watch anyway. It doesn’t mean he didn’t feel bad.

“Va bene,” Luca hears him laugh from the water, a young girl looking up at him with a red tinge to her cheeks that definitely wasn’t from the setting sun. “If you can hold your breath for ten seconds, I’ll buy you another gelato.”

“Really? And I can pick the flavor?” Her eyes sparkle.

Alberto pauses comically. “No, no. I still get to pick the flavor,” his voice is giggly, and Luca’s heart wants to burst with affection and love.

“Hey! Non è giusto, you have to buy me one too!” A little boy pops up from under the water, eyebrows furrowed up at Alberto.

“Twenty seconds, then?”

“See that one right there?” He points to the same ragazza that he promised a gelato after he’d come back on the shore for a short break, sitting down beside Luca in the sand.

“Uh-huh,” he watches her as she makes a show of back stroking, glancing curiously at Alberto.

“She’s got a massive crush on me.”

Luca scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Ah, I bet that gets your ego nice and excited doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah,” he jokes, unwrapping an energy bar from his bag. He takes a bite, a quiet moment passes by and Luca awkwardly looks back down at his book. “Nah. I’m just wondering what I did to make her see me that way.” He says idly.

Luca chews his lip anxiously, incredulous. He starts to wonder if this was a trap. What was Alberto trying to do to him?

Whatever it was, it was working.

The Vespa was surprisingly still in commission, ready for a summer of rides down The Downhill, through the narrow roads, twists and turns to the piazza.

But Luca preferred Giulia’s bike whenever he could if she wasn’t using it. But he’d never admit it out loud that the reason he likes pedaling instead is because he thinks it’ll help him become more like Alberto. Physically, anyways. He was quite jealous, really, in this delicious, sensual way.

Actually, he thinks he’d tell Alberto the reason, if only he would ask. He wishes he would ask. He probably never would, because it was almost like he already knew.

“Don’t you wanna ride your fancy Vespa instead? Why do you need my bike?” Giulia even asks one day, putting Luca on the spot as he’s hopping on for a twenty minute cycle around the piazza.

“Let him use it. He needs the exercise,” Alberto says coolly from the porch, Machiavelli slung helplessly over his shoulder as he’s bringing him back inside from a bath.

Luca’s heart drops, his face burning red.

It’s almost annoying how bold Alberto is about it. No, it definitely is annoying. And Luca is tired of being constantly envious of his ever growing muscles. “Everyone’s bodies are different, you know?”

Luca glares at him. He’s trying to wash the dishes and not even Alberto was a fun distraction anymore. Just plain annoying. Stupid, dumb Alberto. “Haha,” he sulks.

“What works for me may not work for you,” he shrugs, scratching at his chin and appraising Luca’s body for a moment. What’s worse is that Luca can feel it, each little thought in his mind. What’s even worse is that in a matter of days, he’d become so self conscious about something he hadn’t ever thought about for more than five minutes.

Sure, he’d done his fair share of comparing himself to people, and especially Alberto. But he’d always had a summer fixation, whether that was a good or bad thing depended. It was always Alberto. And it wasn’t always good.

“If you’re really that worried about it, I can help you.”

Luca pauses, squeezing the sudsy dish sponge in his scaly hand. His first thought is to be defensive about it, and he is, but it’s a much lighter approach when he says with a little chuckle for good measure, “I’m not that worried about it.”

“But you are,” Alberto outsmarts him in that easy breezy way, winning another point for the Fluster Luca game. “Just a little. Right?”

When he turns to glare at his asshole of a friend again, he’s got that grin on his face, like he’d proven something, caught Luca in another lie the same way he could when they were fourteen, knowing and unbothered. It’s annoying.

Grumbling, he forces his attention back to vigorously scrubbing some dried alfredo off of a dinner plate. “I could give you training lessons. Just me and you.”

To keep from short circuiting, Luca laughs again, awkwardly.

Training started at eight in the morning the next day, on the beach. Alberto says they need open space to promote a healthy work environment, but Luca just feels put on the spot. He relied on the fact that Portorosso was a sleepy town, and it was unlikely that anyone would be awake this early. Besides the pescheria. Which is probably eighty percent of this town’s population.

Carp.

“Like this?” He asks breathlessly, trying to keep in tune with a swift jog in place, his entire body burning for all of the wrong reasons, not that he feels his ten-pack forming, but he can tell Alberto is watching him. Hard.

Alberto hums, scratching his chin. “No.”

***

Ferragosto this year is when he platonically-maybe-not-so-romantically falls in love with Alberto and Giulia all over again. They’ve got her old radio blasting the anthem of summer’64, il gatto e la volpe, and Luca can’t explain how excited he is to hear it again.

Fireworks burst over the astounding view from The Downhill. They’re finally old enough (well, excluding Giulia, but two legal adults were enough) to be out on their own under the influence of at least two glasses of wine.

It wasn’t that much, but Luca can’t help how giggly he feels, throwing his head back to sing, “Noi scopriamo talenti e non sbagliamo mai,” at the top of his lungs, delighted when Giulia takes the next verse.

“Noi sapremo sfruttare le tue qualità!” Her voice is shaky and cracks unexpectedly, but to Luca, it’s like music to his ears. Another firework rockets to the sky, bursting loudly.

“Dacci solo quattro monete e ti iscriviamo al concorso,” Alberto sings next, stumbling over the words and his voice is incredibly off key, but Luca beams at him, suddenly wanting to cry.

“Per la celebrità!” They all sing together, bursting into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

He never wants this to end. He wishes this bottle of wine were bottomless, so that the three of them could lay here in the grass forever underneath the inky black sky, lit up by colorful explosions, wiggling his toes freely in the wet grass, his two favorite people in the entire world right by his side, just like every summer.

But it’s going to end. It always did. That was the reality of it, and he always faced it. But just for a little longer, he could enjoy it knowing there was always next year. For now, he could be irresponsible and enjoy this. A little longer.

He reaches over, turning the radio up to the highest volume, cheering loudly over it.

Lui è il gatto ed io la volpe, stiamo in società

Di noi ti puoi fidar,

di noi ti puoi fidare,

di noi ti puoi fidar

There’s plenty of places to makeout in Portorosso, but somehow they’d ended up behind the house because—oh, now he remembered—it’s almost time for dinner, and they wanted to be back before sundown.

Admittedly, Luca was disappointed that nothing intense had happened on their little day trip to Isola del Mare, and to him it was a waste. He never did well with mixed feelings, and he couldn’t help not being talkative on the walk back to the Marcovaldo household.

If Alberto asked, he’d just say he was tired. Which wasn’t exactly a lie, just not the whole truth— because, merda, the swim there and back really isn’t a cakewalk or anything. He felt near exhaustion, leaning slightly against Alberto as they stumbled down the narrow road, street lamps lighting the dusk night.

He doesn’t know what kind of person he’s becoming, but it most definitely isn’t practical.

He stumbles to trail along when Alberto unexpectedly yanks him behind the dark alley-like space between their house and a neighbor’s and Luca groans confusedly because he’s already a little frustrated with Alberto, even if it’s childish and petty.

“What are you—,” A flame ignites like an explosion in his chest when Alberto roughly slams him against the concrete wall by the shoulders, sucking in a deep breath when he feels his chest pressing firmly against his. “Why—,”

All Alberto does is laugh, and Luca would punch the stupid grin off of his face if he could see it in this light. “What’s that you said earlier? Sono felice? If that’s true then why haven’t you said anything since?”

Luca grumbles. “I’m just tired.”

“Uh-huh, right,” he says knowingly, releasing his tight grip on Luca’s shoulders to drop one arm by his side, the other hand planted firmly on the wall by his head instead. It makes Luca feel worse (better? He doesn’t know), the choice to leave or stay looming over him like a playful tease. “You’re upset I didn’t put my hand down your pants earlier, aren’t you?”

“Don’t make fun of me.” Luca’s face heats up and he makes a weird noise of repulsion. “It’s stupid of me, I know,”

“I’ll tell you what…”

Sometimes or more often than not this summer, he doesn’t recognize himself as a top student in Genova, or a loyal son who herded goatfish for most of his life. It’s weird feeling different and thinking about himself like this. And Alberto, his dear friend who showed him this new world above the surface, is now his lover, a little more than just a friend, all and everything in between, and he’s different.

It’s strange.

This was certainly… unexpected.

When they finally come inside right in time for dinner, they’re skittish, and Giulia gives them a look that’s definitely more knowing than confused, but she’s uninformed nonetheless, and Luca can’t help but giggle. He feels like a brat.

He accidentally bumps into Massimo, rustling away from Alberto’s tight grip on his arm. He mumbles a quick mi scusi, sitting down in his seat. “Lo giuro, ragazzi,” Giulia grumbles exasperatedly, setting down cups of water around the table.

Luca steals a glance at Alberto as he picks up his cup for a sip, darting his eyes away quickly when they make eye contact.

“Ragazzi.” Signor Marcovaldo says sternly, and Luca and Alberto flinch. “Help set the table.”

“Certo, certo, sorry about that, papà,” Alberto rushes to the counter, leaning over to take two plates at a time. He sets them on the table, getting the last two. Right as Luca decides he should get up and help too, Alberto is on his way back to the table and they narrowly miss stumbling into each other, Luca letting out a strained little chuckle as they stare stupidly at each other.

Giulia clears her throat loudly, arms crossed.

Luca and Alberto immediately look at her, breaking out into awkward laughs.

“What is it with you two? Veramente,” she takes a seat beside Alberto after he finishes setting down the plates. Luca is next to stand beside Massimo at the counter, grabbing silverware. He can feel his heavy gaze burning holes through his head as he quickly rinses them in the sink, and if he just hurried then—!

“Luca.” Massimo grumbles. Luca flinches again, willing himself to look up at the man towering above him.

“Si?”

“Calmati.”

Luca shivers, drying the forks quickly in a towel. “Oh, sì, scusa,” he rushes back to the table, giving everyone their silverware before shakily taking his seat again. He catches Alberto staring at him again, and he slightly raises his eyebrows like asking stai bene, and Luca nods quickly.

“For dessert, it’s tiramisu,” Signor Marcovaldo says as he sits down, and Alberto’s eyes light up and he gasps excitedly. “For that, you have Giulietta to thank.”

Alberto frowns. Giulia grins smugly at him, and Luca lets out his first real laugh of tonight. “Ah, come on. Can tonight get any worse?” Alberto groans half heartedly, absentmindedly twirling some pasta onto his fork.

“Sure it can. I helped strain the noodles,” Giulia jokes, her mouth full.

“Oh, is that why you’re feeling so tipo tosto tonight?”

“Of course. It’s more than you ever help out around here.”

[enkelimagnus]

Literature

Bucky Barnes Gen, 1756 words, rated T for Hydra shit

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 3 Power Broker

Sam falls asleep on the plane over to Madripoor and leaves Bucky and Zemo alone. They actually talk to each other. I would say it's nice.

TW: brief allusion to past rape, internalized homophobia, brief mention of the holocaust

Read on AO3

Part 20 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

--------------

It’s an eleven hour flight from Berlin to Madripoor, even with Zemo’s private jet. Once drinks have been served, food has been eaten and threats have been made, they all find themselves settling.

Sam has dozed off on a seat, seemingly exhausted. After all, they’ve already travelled the eight hours from the states, and the day has been stressful at best. At least, Sam trusts him enough to fall asleep while Bucky watches Zemo. He wasn’t expecting that. Or perhaps his human physiology is betraying him.

Bucky needs less sleep than a normal human on regular days, and he also can survive much longer sleep deprived. He’s well aware of the limitations of his body. Hydra tested them thoroughly and multiple times. Zemo would know as well, that Bucky might look tired but it doesn’t diminish his abilities as much as it seems.

The man in question is at his seat with his book, though he’s regularly looking up through the windows of the plane or around the cabin. There’s something quiet and wistful about the way he stares at a spot where the carpeting is not perfectly set against the wall to the bathroom.

The silence is good, especially after earlier, where Sam and Zemo somehow managed to gang up on him about Marvin Gaye of all people.

It’s not that Bucky doesn’t like Marvin Gaye. He just doesn’t like much music. He’s sort of lost the taste for it. His brain is usually unable to perceive it as anything but unnecessary noise that keeps him from being completely aware of his surroundings. And at least 40s music doesn’t have death and rape associated to it.

And he doesn’t need to know what Steve thought of it, whether Steve loved it or not. He’s not Steve. Steve journeyed light into the 21st century. Everything was something new to learn and experience, it was exciting and bright. Bucky is travelling with baggage. And he has memories attached to songs and tastes and sensations and events.

Bucky simply can’t use the notebook the way Steve did.

Sometimes, he wonders if Sam forgets Bucky wasn’t simply on ice for 80 years. The issue with him is that he lived through most of it, and it was all torture.

Or maybe not all . He woke up craving Karpov’s kasha the other week, and it makes no sense. He only tasted it during one specific time of his life, when Karpov and him got stuck in a safehouse in the snow, with no way to reach the outside world, for two weeks. The Soldier’s rations and formulas ran out long before they were able to leave. Karpov was too smart to let him starve, and perhaps that time alone with the Soldier, away from the world, with no way to freeze him or unplug him had made him see he was still a man. The kasha was warm, and thick, and sweet and sometimes, Bucky remembers that feeling and craves it.

The danger with people like him, America’s Super Soldiers, is that we put them on pedestals.

Zemo’s right.

In all honesty, Bucky believes he’s forgotten who Steve really was.

Memories become blurry when they age and no matter how desperate Bucky is to crystalize them, to remember them, to be sure of what he lived, all he manages to do is to frame faded photographs and fill in the blanks himself.

Steve and him didn’t have time. He found him after two years of searching, only for Bucky to be back on ice within two weeks. After that, Steve visited a few times during his recovery, when he introduced him to the goats he’d named after the sisters he finally remembered. And then, there was the War, and the Snap and once Bucky was back to life, Steve was shattered. And two weeks later, he was gone.

They didn’t have time to learn each other again. Bucky doesn’t know who Steve is anymore, half of his memories feel tainted by Smithsonian explanations, and he hates it so fucking much.

He hates that he can’t remember right, he hates that Steve’s slipping away from him every second of every day, that all that is left is the fucking shield and Captain America. That Steve’s legacy doesn’t seem to run deeper than that, else Bucky would have less of a single-minded focus on that fucking piece of useless fucking metal.

It’s only been three months. Why does Steve feel like he’s been gone for a lifetime?

Bucky breathes out a shuddering breath.

When his eyes focus again, Zemo is staring at him.

The book is open on his lap. Bucky can read the title. Same Sex Fantasies in Heterosexuals. Fucking hell. He doesn’t need that right now. At all.

“You’re a different man than the one I remember,” Zemo says quietly after a moment. His voice is soft, just slightly above a whisper. He knows Bucky has sharp ears. He knows he doesn’t need to wake Sam up.

Bucky dignifies that with a huff and looks away for a moment. Zemo’s eyes don’t leave him. He can feel them on him, on his face, on his throat, on his hands, on his body. They make him itch. They make him want to punch him for looking at him like that.

Like what?

You know exactly like what.

When Bucky looks back, Zemo’s indeed still watching him.

“You’re old now,” Bucky says eventually, in a vague answer to what Zemo said earlier.

“Eight years have passed, James. You cannot blame a normal man for something he has no control over.”

Eight years. So Bucky was right. Zemo wasn’t dusted. He stayed in that solitary confinement cell for eight years as the world moved on around him, as the world fought and lost half of its people.

Had he wished to be one of the ones that were snapped out of existence? Probably. After all, every second Zemo breathes and exists is a second more he wasn’t supposed to have. He tried to kill himself in Siberia, once his mission was over.

“Do you ever read normal stuff?” Bucky asks, a bite in his words.

Zemo raises an eyebrow, head tilting slightly to the side. His eyes are still glued to Bucky’s face. He still wants to punch him.

“I would need you to define ‘normal stuff’ to answer this question.” There is a hint of mirth in those brown eyes though. He knows exactly what Bucky means.

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes. “Machiavelli, fucking… whatever this shit is,” he makes a motion of his chin towards the book. It’s in German, something about boundaries in relationships. Hilarious, really. It’s not like Zemo has anyone to set boundaries with. Unless those eight years of solitary have somehow driven a rift between Zemo and his own dick. “That’s not normal stuff. Novels, popular stuff…”

“I wonder,” Zemo starts. “Have you any recommendations for titles of ‘popular stuff’ for me?”

Everything Bucky can think of is old. He’d told himself he’d look into acquiring books but… he hadn’t had the time or the energy.

“I see your taste in literature has elected to stay with your taste in music, then.”

Fucking ass. Bucky closes his eyes and sighs so heavily he’s pretty sure Sam’s going to wake up.

“To answer your question, James,” Zemo starts, conversationally, as if they aren’t enemies, as if they are just old friends, so old they have become strangers. “I do read normal stuff.” The phrasing is foreign in his mouth, in that accented voice of his. “I’ve read all the classics, and children’s literature. Eight years are long. I practiced my Russian with translations of Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings at first.”

Bucky hums, looking up at him for a moment. “I noticed your pronunciation had changed,” he says quietly. “Did you read it to yourself out loud? Pretended someone was telling you a story?”

It’s cheap. They’re both aware of how lonely the past eight years must have been. It’s cheap, and it’s low-hanging and Bucky almost feels guilty.

Zemo’s small smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Have you read Jules Verne?” Bucky asks, trying to erase his taunt with some more literary conversation. “Was obsessed with his work as a kid. Kinda like Tolkien, but even better because it was… full of invention, not of magic.”

There’s a floating moment, a few seconds of Zemo just watching him with that slight sadness in his eyes before it is washed away and replaced by a hum.

“I’ve read those books, yes. In the original French,” Zemo points out and Bucky is almost grateful for the boasting. “You should seek a new translation, if you’re not adept at the original language. The one I assume you read was a descendant of 1870 translations, riddled with errors and political censorship. They fixed that in the 60s. You’ll like the new ones better.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I’ll take that under consideration, I guess.” He’s so sure he’ll like it.

“And if you find yourself in the north of France one of these days, you should stop by this little city called Amiens,” Zemo continues. “A fine place, old and new, in the way only Europe can be. Jules Verne died there. The city’s positively themed after the man and his work. You can even visit his house.”

Visiting a dead man’s last residence? “That’s kinda morbid,” he mutters and Zemo has a small chuckle.

“People visit Anne Frank’s house as if the walls aren’t hollowed with fear,” he points out. “Dying makes one the public’s intimate friend. You know that better than anyone else.” He gives Bucky a sidelong glance. They both know he’s talking about Steve, and the documentaries and exhibits and think-pieces.

Bucky nods quietly and looks back through the window. The sun is painted indigo and pink. It’s beautiful. He’s forgotten the sunset could be this beautiful.

When he looks at Zemo again, he notices the exhaustion written all over his face, in the small wrinkles and under eye bags and the way his eyes won’t settle on anything for too long, desperate to stay awake.

“I’m not gonna kill you,” Bucky says after a moment. “We need you.”

Zemo chuckles tiredly, a soft and muted sound. “If that is the one thing that is keeping me alive… I believe I shall keep myself useful, then.” It’s almost sarcastic. A man living on borrowed time, wishing desperately he could be executed.

“You do that.”

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

Rodelinda (Met, 2011): Reactions, Part II

don’t mess with her

okay Eduige calm down but also I’ll give you a pass because unlike Bertarido, you don’t know the context of her accepting the proposal

awwwwwwwww

yes girl you go get revenge on him

RODELINDA WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING

THANK GOODNESS GRIMOALDO HAS A CONSCIENCE

(I think now that Rodelinda was hedging her bets on that. still, an EXTREMELY risky and bold move on her part.)

BADASS

DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT

“fine you win I can’t have child murder on my conscience”

good on you for finally deciding to give her up, I guess???

really excellent singer right here. everyone in this show is just very talented.

and Unulfo’s a bookworm! which makes him even cooler

Area Dude Has Taken Machiavelli Way Too Seriously

the lovable gay kind-hearted stylish bookworm with a fantastic voice that we all need in our lives

why can’t Rodelina, Unulfo, and Eduige all just co-parent this adorable child

Area Mezzo Miraculously Recognizes Disguised Brother By His Voice

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

when you find out your hubby is still alive after all

she finally caught a break

when you have a crush on your sister-in-law

boo Grimoaldo but YAY Bertarido for APOLOGIZING

hey STOP IT

still not a huge Bertarido fan but awwwwwwwwwww

nooooooooooooooooo

I love these three SO MUCH

[feely-touchy]

I hope these letters find you well

I hope they introduce themselves kindly

That they're firm in your hands

Radiating reassurances

Warm

Smiling

That they arrive in a timely manner

In your time of need

Asking you many questions

In your own voice

That they sound at home

Settling down with you

There for dinner

There for washing up

Expressing gratitude

Explaining how you've been taken for granted

I hope these letters find you

Safely

When you're alone at night

Like a train ticket

Like a red-eye flight

When the second guesses need interrogating

Run over by a fine tooth comb

Untangling your hair

Massaging your scalp

Relaxing your neck

The way a good hug does

When your eyes are puffed marshmallows

Your hands sticking to your temples

When the charred shell of your Thursdays are burnt bitter

Smoldering

Too hot for your cat's tongue

Just right for the weather

I hope these words find you

By a dictionary

In darkness

With a flashlight

Free from the unscrupulous inspections of over-the-shoulder counsel

The opposite of insurmountable

Neighborly

Without McCarthyism or Machiavelli

Friendly

Meaningfully

I hope they wake up early

With great purpose

To kiss you

Gentling your sunrise

Dimming your downers

Brightening your fridgelight

Crisp

As cold air and warm clouds of breathy good-morning's

Finding your bed-head charming

Unable to sog your cereal

Ready to fetch the paper

Able

To soften the morning in peach

Fuzzy and sweet

I hope these letters get in your mouth

Through your nose

Like the smell of warm bread

Like freshness and clean linens

Cultivating the soul

Tilling the bed wear sleeping dogs have lied for too long

I hope they serve you

As a black dog

As church

As family

Becoming familiar

Opening up your heart

Expanding your sense of self into corners you've stayed away from

I hope they stray with you

Taking the long way home

Enjoying the sights

Building a bistro

A park

A community center

I hope they become your words

That you commit them to paper

Then commit to them

In full

That they bring you

Everywhere

Peace

Love

Understanding

Acceptance

That they will swell in you like typhoons

Rebellions

Dissension

Innovation

That they will be passed

Returned

Travelled

Beloved

Until you hope for them too

[kimyoonmiauthor]

How to debate on social media and win

99% of most Twitter arguments are pretty stupid. We know this, so it shouldn’t be a shock, but I thought I’d try at least to show how one can win a debate anyway.

- Read up!

How to win friends and influence people by Dale Carnegie.

The Art of War by Lao Tzu (free online--also an audiobook).

Machiavelli’s The Prince.

Social Psychology, particularly on the Backfire Effect and Implicit Bias. It’s worth reading other common biases if you can manage it. Stereotype threat is also useful. Correlation bias, for example is common in these fights and also Strawman. Calling these out won’t hurt you. Calling out the tactic will show that you know what they are doing and also lets them know you are listening.

- Choose the battle you can win

Changing someone’s mind completely, is a battle you’re going to lose. Ask for the smaller thing. Usually you can win the battle to make someone think about what they are doing. A small doable thing is often easier than asking someone to change their personal hair color or get a tattoo.

Make sure your references are lined up and reliable and in order before you challenge. Usually aiming for things like making them think, look up a definition, making sure they understand fair boundaries, are doable. Trying to win the war before winning a battle, as Lao Tzu put it, is inadvisable.

Make this aim clear as possible (in a thesis statement if you have to).

If you do not know what battle they are trying to win, stabbing at what the battle could be is sometimes useful, but always label it as a guess, not a fact. Give them a chance to think this through. What is their aim. You can always ask, guess, etc.

Who is the audience? Who are you trying to win for?

You can be aware of people outside of the conversation in order to trap the person into considering their possibilities. Even if you tell them their choices, they would still have to choose between bad choice and better choice. Make the better choice tempting and easy.

If you are just addressing this person to win with your peers, it’s not a very worthy cause in the first place. Reconsider.

Do not do all of the labor yourself.

Make them show to you that they are willing to listen in the first place. If they are not willing to pull reliable references, put up definitions for the thing you are engaging in, then it’s not worth your time.

Establish common ground

What is their core belief? You can battle core beliefs with stronger core beliefs that you know are commonly held between the two of you. In order to do this, you need to know about them, and what they care about. Take the stronger belief and make them think hard on that stronger belief, and then work to make them use that belief system to examine the other belief system.

Are you the challenger or the challenged?

If you are on neutral ground, as Lao Tzu said neither have the advantage. If they are challenging you directly, then you have the higher ground. If you challenge them, then you have to gain ground by being ready and set. Know what you are going to battle them on and win on.

Where are you fighting?

E-mail? Twitter? Facebook? Know the advantages and disadvantages of each platform and who is watching before making a challenge. Remember, other people are watching your actions too.

Logos, Ethos and Pathos.

Most of twitter forgets Logos and Ethos and goes 100% Pathos. Emotions are fine, but in most cases of twitter arguments they are not shared feelings. You’d need shared Pathos, shared Ethos and then use different logos to gain ground.

I feel you’re wrong just because is a terrible argument and you’d get an F on papers for it. It also doesn’t work to convince people.

The higher your ethical ground, the more likely you can win. If it’s a universal ethical belief, or one they, the person professes to believe deeply, then they will have to eventually stop and reconsider which is more important.

Listen to the other person

If they give you something in the argument, then leverage it. Try your hardest in your answers to show you are listening to them by using the reiteration technique. Echo their main concerns. Listen, not just to argue back, though, but listen to see if there are weaknesses in your own argument and concede them quickly.

Give them regular time outs to think about it. Sleep on it. (It’s also useful if other people in your group respect this, instead of doing large scale attacks--send your best.)

Helps you to calm down, direct your emotions correctly, find more resources, renew your battery, and also time for them to reconsider their position. It also respects their mental health as well.

The instant reply comes from feeling attacked, so let them think about it and give them time to. Also, if it exceeds 24 hours, it’s probably wiser to tell them you are doing this, but don’t delay indefinitely.

Think of this other person you’re battling as a person, not a monster.

If you give the person respect and their humanity, when they stab you and you continue to treat them with respect and humanity, it looks bad on them and people will side against them for it. This does not mean you have no right to be angry. It means that you are trying to win more than against them, but also for the audience watching as well.

Any name calling, you can call it calmly for what it is. Any questionable behavior, you can call it out and point out they’ve done so. Goading is fine, to a point, but do not assume anything about them that they have not told is true. Also confirm anything they tell you.

There are ways to give them a moral out which are in your favor. Like saying that the organization is at fault, but you still feel that they have responsibility. Or saying implicit bias affects everyone, including me. The more you humanize them to them and to yourself, the greater chance you bring empathy they will not expect.

Keep them on task.

People will try to squirm out of the debate with whataboutism, trying to change the subject, not being able to admit they were wrong, trying to make you emotional enough to deviate. Don’t give in. Restate your thesis and goals and ask them to come back.

Give them a chance and way to repair.

Shouting about how you feel hurt and how dare they will do absolutely nothing for you. But if you argue and then give them a way to realize and fix it, that will do a lot. What do you people want? Isn’t a great way forwards, but if you do things like ask for an apology, please think about it and make the request doable and within their reach, this is much easier to fill.

They will either disengage because they were always a troll in the first place, or you will have a nice conclusion where you come to understand each other more, even if you disagree.

[glassesofroses]

Chapter 1 || Stay

/ 1 Month Later /

"Colonel Phillips, where's Carter?"

He groaned at the sound of her name, "I don't know, she took Howard, and Steve to go get all of our missing or dead soldiers, we don't even know if they're going to make it back alive" He rubbed his forehead.

"Wait, they left they camp ground? Steve was supposed to do another performance and then head to Pennsylvania!"

"Steve really wanted to get his friend back I guess. What was his name? John, Jack..."

"James Buchanan Barnes..." I said my eyes wide.

"Wasn't he supposed to be back yesterday?" I asked, worry filling my voice.

"He got captured by Hydra. Along with a lot of our other men."

I turned away and rushed out of the tent and into mine which just got a radio. I tried every station that I knew of, every station that was connected to a plane. Bucky...

//

I walked around in circles for the past two hours, waiting for orders from Phillips, or anybody for that manner. Peggy ran over to me, nearly scaring the soul out of my body.

"Peggy what the hell was that!" I yelled nearly jumping on her.

"Steve got in a few days ago, he's getting everyone out, he's getting Bucky. They're going to be fine," Putting her hands on my shoulders to reassure me.

"But it's so dangerous Peggy and I know how you feel about him! He could get hurt as well!"

"Don't you think I thought about that Annie!" She yelled back.

"We both love the guys that are in the most dangerous position now!" My heart stopped, my mind racing as I realized something

I love Bucky, even only after a few dates I guess it just clicked...

//

Instead of spending my time training the newbies that have come to take their place within the last 4 hours of Bucky being gone. I was in my tent with Peggy, worrying about what would happen if they didn't return.

But, as soon as I thought those thoughts there was a rumble outside. I got up and walked outside, seeing all of the men were outside and in rows on each side of the street. There was small talk, something about people coming in.

I pushed past all of them and saw Steve in the front, followed shortly was Bucky and other people. I felt like my heart was soaring when I saw him, curly hair, shirt slightly open, Lord help me. I only went on one official date with him and I couldn't help that feeling like that he was mine and I was his, but I kept those opinions to myself as he might not even feel the same. He took one look at me and he smiled, a grin so wide it could rip his face off. He knew. Everyone crowded the men who just returned from god knows where and walked god knows how long.

I tried to push my way through the crowd and tell everyone to give them space just so I could 'talk' to Bucky, but there were honestly too many of them. I might be really strong, but I wasn't strong enough to take on hundreds of men that easily had one hundred pounds on me with just one of them.

"Hey! Let's give it up for Captain America everybody!" I heard Bucky yell, finally giving up on my crusade to jump into his arms and sighed.

I smiled again and started to make my way back to Peggy but a strong hand pulled me back.

"With the smile that you gave me, I thought you were going to say hi," I turned around seeing Bucky standing in front of me, that same fucking grin smothered on his face.

"Sargent Barnes, I thought we weren't going to get that second date," Looking up at the tall man in front of me.

"For a second, I didn't think we would either. Why not tonight, same place, same time, they told me I don't have to do anything besides rest and eat for the next week?" He asked.

"I don't think that your idea is a very good one, you need to rest after everything that happened to you at the HYDRA base," Reluctantly putting his needs before mine, well not really reluctantly.

"Trust me, after everything that happened you were the only constant that I had, I need to spend time with you," He mumbled, slowly putting his arms around my waist, making my face turn red.

"Fine, if you insist," I whispered, my pulse racing.

"Great." He bent down and gave me a kiss on the cheek before leaving to go over back to Steve.

"Second date I assume?" Peggy smirked as she walked over to me.

"Oh yeah. Same place, same time," I almost squealed.

"Machiavelli, are you okay? I heard a scream." Colonel Phillips came over placing a hand on my back.

"Of course sir, I am alright. Thank you for asking," I cleared my throat and wiped the smile off of my face.

"Alright..." He walked away, thank goodness.

"Oh my god I'm going on a second date!" I whispered quietly so only Peggy could hear me.

~

Bucky's P.O.V (omg)

"Second date man, I'm proud of you," Steve told me as he slapped me on the back, almost pushing me to the ground, yeah, I haven't gotten used to him actually being bigger than me in basically every aspect, wait...

"She just makes me feel different you know? But do you think it's weird that if things don't work out she can make my life here hell?"

"One, only if you make it weird. And 2, she wouldn't do that, she likes you too much."

"You think so?" Sounding hopeful.

"I know so. This is your second date, so you're going to have to step it up clothing wise."

"But we're going to the same place as last time," I complained as he pushed my towards his tent.

"No, you aren't, you're going to take her someplace better than the last place. Pizza can't be on the menu."

"Fine, but I'm not wearing a suit jacket, I'm wearing my brown leather one, I'll wear anything else with it."

I could tell that he rolled his eyes, I didn't even have to turn around to look.

~

Annie's P.O.V

"Peggy, pardon my french, but where the hell do you get all of these dresses?" I exclaimed, throwing about ten of them onto my bed in exasperation.

"I honestly have no idea, I don't remember packing them at all." She laughed.

One dress caught my eye, thin straps, light silky material, light pink with dark blue and white flowers printed more near the bottom. I lifted it up and turned towards my best friend, she nodded her head.

"Definitely that one. Now I'm going to leave and talk to him for a quick second okay?" She left before I had any say in what she was going to be doing.

She's going to make this awkward.

~

Peggy's P.O.V (yay!)

I walked over to James' tent and flung it open not caring if he was dressed or not, over the past month I've seen a  lot of things I didn't want to see, and it didn't phase me anymore.

"James Barnes," I shouted.

He turned around with a jump and fear in his eyes.

"You are taking out my best friend tonight for the second time. I expect that when she returns to our tent, that she will be smiling. If she is not smiling, the smile practically breaking her face, I will kill you."

He started to laugh nervously, then saw I wasn't kidding.

"O-Of course Peggy."

"No, you don't call me that, only my friends call my Peggy, you aren't my friend. You call me Agent Carter, never by my first name," I turned on my heel and left him in a pool of his own sweat.

~

Annie's P.O.V

I walked out of the tent sneakily, for once, everyone was either in their tent or across the field playing god knows what. It wasn't that cold tonight so I saw no need for a coat. I walked over to the area where we met up last night and saw him standing there. Damn, I wanted to beat him to our spot this time. He stopped leaning against a pole then stood up straight as his eyes grazed over me. He was still wearing that leather jacket, but something must have gotten into him since he was wearing nice slacks, a white button-up shirt, and fancy black shoes.

"Are you waiting for someone James?" I smirked.

"Oh you know I hate when you call me that," He teased, walking towards me with his hands in his pockets.

"I shall repeat myself, are you waiting for someone, Bucky?"

"Why yes I am, I am waiting for the most beautiful girl that I have ever laid eyes on, we were planning on going for a second date, this time, somewhere more fancy since his friend almost killed him."

"This girl must be very lucky," I took a step towards him, both of us, only a few feet away from each other.

"Mmm, very. I can't seem to find her anywhere, though." Pretending to look around, very amused.

"That is just a downright shame," I laughed, my head falling down so my hair was in front of my face.

"You know I think I just found her, and I would really like her permission to kiss her but only if she doesn't mind of course."

"I'm going to have to think about that one, and this is a very tough decision. Having a handsome man kiss me and take me out to dinner, or just have a handsome man take me to dinner. I think I might have to get back to you on that offer."

"Then let me try to make this decision easier for you, I am a very good kisser."

"Well, we will just have to try and see for ourselves." Biting my lip as I looked up into his beautiful, stunning eyes.

"I take that as a yes?" He asked.

I nodded my head. He took his hands out of his pockets, walked the few feet to meet me where I was standing and placed his strong hands, that I admire so much, gently on the sides of my face. He then leaned in and pressed his lips against mine. Oh, my god, I won't even get started on this. I can just say, that it was definitely the best kiss I've ever received in my whole 27 years of existence.

He pulled back looking into my eyes, "Am I right? Am I a good kisser?"

"Very" I smiled, lacing my hand with his as we walked to the same restaurant as before, despite everyone's comments to go someplace else.

[pearwaldorf]

1, 7, and 19, please and thank you!

favorite fic you wrote this year

The favorite one I wrote hasn’t been published yet, because honestly I’m holding on to it because I love it so much. It’s my weirdly specific niche little baby, and I’m so afraid nobody’s going to love it as much as I do. Which is fine, but also absolutely not.

Of the published ones? gotta blame it on the goose, the Good Omens/Untitled Goose Game crossover. It is so, so ridiculous in the best way.

longest completed fic you wrote this year

we gladiate but I guess we’re really fighting ourselves, the Rey and Kyle head roommates fic that’s been languishing for a couple years while I was waiting to get my words back. 5200 words, which I think might be my longest fic ever. (I’m pithy, OK?)

any new fics to start next year

Oh god, so many. A selection (subject to change, as always):

The one where Crowley helps Leonardo da Vinci and Machiavelli steal the Arno River for Florence (based upon real life events)

The one where Aziraphale Works Through Six Thousand Years Of Shit

An appallingly metafictional piece set in the Slow Show universe consisting of items from the Crowley-Fell archives

A Portia (and then Portia/Nadia and possibly Portia/Nadia/Apprentice) story I started for Yuletide last year but never finished