#“I could make that” and it’s the most thought provoking work of art I’ve ever seen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aggravatetheaxe · 3 years ago

Note

Hey! Saw your post and saw you said you were upsettie spaghetti so I wanted to cheer you up!

Slashers who stop everything they’re doing because their “My S/O needs me” senses are tingling and go to their rescue to comfort their angry s/o?

I was hoping to come up with A way for you to get your emotions out through your writing- 😅

Hope you feel better! 🖤

I've never done a post in this style before so hopefully I do okay! I think I covered pretty much all the slashers I write for so far (I didn't do Billy Lenz because I still need to read the novelization). I may have gone way overboard, so if I do these in the future, I'll probably just pick a few instead of doing the whole roster 😅 (or you can pick for me). But doing this much work did distract me!

Above the cut:

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Included below the cut:

Michael Myers (OG)

Jason Voorhees

Leslie Vernon

Thomas Hewitt

Bubba Sawyer

Brahms Heelshire

Erik ("The Phantom")

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC slasher)

Kathleen Montgomery (OC slasher)

Masterlist

***

Bo Sinclair

Despite being autistic, Bo is very in tune with peoples auras and body language. He has to be to manipulate and deceive people with any modicum of success. He's trained himself when it comes to these things; even besides masking or manipulation, he needed to be keenly aware of when his parents were in Bad Moods so he could either avoid them or prepare himself.

The mood he's probably best at when it comes to this, for those reasons, is anger. He can smell anger a mile away. So if you're fuming, you better believe he notices.

At first he's annoyed and will demand to know what your problem is. He's not a very tolerant person, and he can be a bit of a hypocrite. He's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but when it comes to others having big, messy feelings ... he's not so comfortable with that. He gets overwhelmed.

Once he realizes that this is more than an attitude problem, he'll take it much more seriously. And assuming you're not mad at him, he'll want the rundown on the whole situation from beginning to end. He wants all the dirt.

He'll let you rant, and honestly, he'd think you being this angry (when it's not directed at him, but even still sometimes) is kind of sexy. And don't expect him to shut his mouth, either; he'll be ranting right along with you, affirming you and insulting whomever/whatever you're angry about.

He doesn't wanna cuddle. He genuinely thinks you can't cuddle anger away. He'll put on some loud-ass music and let you vent your frustration however you prefer. Maybe suggest a long drive down to the lake or into town or just ... picking a direction and going. He has fantasies of running away from his anger sometimes. He knows how it is.

Depending on what you're angry about, it could definitely get to the point where he's angrier about the situation than you are. And if it really hurt you, he will not let it go as long as he lives. The best he will ever do is maintain a grudging neutrality or distance from the person/situation that made you angry.

He's very protective. If you're angry at someone you need to maintain a relationship with, you're going to have to keep an eye on Bo to make sure he doesn't deliver revenge for you behind your back. If it's something he can solve, he'll do it, so if you don't want him running his mouth, watch him.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent is in the same boat as Bo when it comes to sensing auras, though his handle on body language and facial expressions is not as keenly honed. While Vincent was not physically abused as brutally or as often as Bo, this wasn't because of some sterling quality he had that Bo lacked. He was always The Good One because he saw what his parents did to The Bad One and knew he needed to protect himself. He tried not to do anything that might provoke his parents.

You can feel anger before a fight like you smell ozone before a storm. Vincent is attuned to the feeling not just because of his parents but because of Bo's temper, too. Because of this, like Bo, he can very accurately sense anger in particular.

His initial reaction is to observe you, gauging if you need time to cool off. If you need space, Vincent is the Sinclair for you. He's used to being quiet and deflecting and riding out anger.

However, once he realizes that your anger is not directed at him or isn't explosive enough to become a problem for him, he's concerned. Rather than asking what happened, he will ask if you're okay, and leave it up to you whether you'll tell him about it or not.

If you vent, he'll sit and listen patiently, maybe even thoughtfully working on a sculpture while you rant. He's not judgemental and he can be very emotional himself, so you could say the most ridiculous, dramatic things and he wouldn't even bat an eye. Let out all your messy, destructive thoughts and feelings. Just try not to throw or punch anything; that's when he shuts down.

If you decide you just want comfort, or decide you need comfort after ranting, art is his first suggestion. It may seem cold to you at first, that his instinct isn't to hold you or kiss you but rather to redirect you to a project - once you got to know him, however, you'd know that's his most genuine way to show he cares. Redirecting to something creative calms him down more than platitudes ever could, and he wants that for you. He's nonjudgmental about the art you create as well, even if it's objectively terrible. It's not about the quality.

He won't turn you down if you need physical affection, however. His twin is extremely tactile, so it wouldn't be the first time he held someone after a breakdown. He prefers to do this if he's certain you won't lash out physically, but if you were in a really bad way and needed to be touched, he'd do it regardless.

Lester Sinclair

Lester witnessed his parents' anger, but it was usually indirectly; if Bo was the Bad One and Vincent was the Good One, he was the Overlooked One. He's not a perfect person, probably not even a good person, but of the three brothers, he's the most normally socialized. He isn't trained to be tuned into everyone's every shifting mood in order to survive.

It takes Lester a little longer to pick up on your anger than his brothers, but not too much longer. It takes him a couple tries at trying to talk to you or get your attention before he realizes something is really wrong.

His first reaction is to get upset. He soaks up emotions like a little sponge, so he's suddenly cranky, too. He also jumps to conclusions and assumes that you're angry with him, and he does not take rejection well. He might be bitter and passive aggressive. You being angry just makes him want to go in another room and not be around you, and yet at the same time, he wants your reassurances. It's messy and sad.

Once he realizes - either through observing you or through you communicating with him - that you're mad at another person or situation, then he'll feel comfortable enough to approach you and ask you about it. You'll definitely need to reassure him that you're not mad at him though.

If you wanna rant, he'll take you on a long drive and let you vent your heart out to him. He won't be quite as aggressive as Bo, but he'll be on your side, frowning with disapproval, telling you "Ya can't fix stupid." If you want only comfort or need comfort after venting, he feels much more equipped for that. He'll put something relaxing in the VHS or let you play his old Super Nintendo, get you a beer, just let you chill out. And he'll let you win at Doctor Mario.

If the situation is something really serious, you best believe he'll be talking to his brothers about it the second he gets a chance. He may be a sweet guy, but he can be real nasty, and he doesn't fuck around when it comes to you. You might have to keep an eye out to make sure he doesn't tell someone off or punch out someone's lights.

Michael Myers (OG)

In 1978, Michael is not very in tune with any emotions besides fear, and even then he only really understands it in an abstract way, as his condition and upbringing haven't really been conducive to him learning about emotions. Unless you're screaming in terror, have tears running down your face, or are shouting angrily, he really can't read your moods. Without any obvious change to how you normally act or look, there's a huge chance he might just not notice if you're angry. He spends a lot of time in his own little world.

In 2018, even though he's spent over 50 years institutionalized, Michael has had time to take in the world, and he's seen a lot more. He understands fear much more than he did when he was 21, but what he understands most of all is anger. His anger fuels him. He would pick up on yours right away and be curious, though he wouldn't verbalize it.

If you tell him how you feel, he'll take note of it. If he witnesses you doing something destructive because of your anger, he'll simply observe. He would be fascinated with this thing you're doing, because it's not something you normally do, and though he might not notice emotions, he certainly notices routine and pattern. Either way, you'll have to tell him how you feel, because he'll simply watch you otherwise.

One thing that can be said for Michael is that he's a good listener. He may not internalize everything you say, but he will remember what he thinks is important. You may be surprised; he may remember tiny little details that seem inconsequential to you but loom large in his mind.

Unless you were caused serious physical or mental harm, he would not be angry on your behalf. He would, however, do nothing to assuage your anger. He thinks it would be kinda neat and interesting to see you snap. He's not 100% sure why you don't just do it.

In 1978, he won't be much help beyond listening to you, but he would be curious to see what you do to vent your anger. You may find him by your side more often, observing you. He may also want to find and observe the object of your anger, especially if it's a person. In 2018, he would, in his own way, suggest you solve the problem by murdering someone/something. He's insatiable, but killing is the closest he's ever come to satisfaction. You should try it.

Jason Voorhees

Out of all of the slashers, Jason is the most likely to actually literally sense your anger, especially if you're psychically sensitive/powerful like Tina Shepard. I'm talkin'—assuming you have a pre-established relationship—he'll be doing something else and just get this itch that tells him you're out there somewhere, pissed off.

Obviously this is untenable. As long as he's not super busy or Pamela has other plans, Jason will stomp his way through the woods to get back to you, regardless of the urgency of your anger. If Pamela doesn't approve, well, he'll let a little anger go and assume you're okay. If he suspects you may be in danger, though, he's sprinting regardless of what Mom says. There's time for both things, Ma!

The first thing he'll do when he returns to you is scan your dwelling, then you, making sure nothing is broken. At that point, you'd probably be able to sense his confusion even without him signing. Jason doesn't experience emotions quite like a human anymore, and he's quite tactile besides, so a lack of tangible or visible clues as to why you're upset would trip him up for a second.

He doesn't want to comfort you at first, he wants to know what's wrong. He'll listen to you vent only long enough to understand the situation and identify his target. His immediate next move would be to eliminate the problem. You'll definitely have to hold him back, and it may take a bit of convincing. Earthly consequences don't really apply to him.

Before comfort comes blowing off steam, for you and for him. His first choices would be mangling some trees (you can pretend it's for firewood) or skipping/throwing stones into the lake. You're welcome to join him if those things calm you down; watching him get his stone to skip like 11 times on Crystal Lake may make you feel better, at least.

You might hang out there for hours before he suddenly decides it's time to go home. He'll do what he can to make your comfortable or stay out of your way while you make yourself comfortable, then comfort you as you please. His go-to choice is always foot or hand massages.

Leslie Vernon

Leslie is extremely observant and surprisingly analytical given how silly he is in the day to day. His intuition makes it pretty easy for him to read people, but especially you, since you two are so close. Especially-especially if you're his Survivor Girl (gender neutral term of course). You two are in sync, so he knows if something's up. Maybe even before you fully figure it out.

God, you're so hot when you're angry, you really are. He almost wants to let you scream and holler and go nuts. But he prefers you only get angry like that at him, especially if you're his Survivor Girl, so his first move is to comfort you or talk you down to a place where you can be comforted. He'll speak to you calmly and rationally, reassuring you and touching you if you wanna be touched—on your upper arms or shoulders or face, or with one arm around your back.

He doesn't just want to comfort you, though, he wants to calm you down enough that you can tell him what happened. Even if you claim you don't want to talk about it, he will coax it out of you eventually. He's gotta know what got you so upset. It's his business to know everything about you!

Assuming you're angry at someone/something that isn't him, he'll talk it through with you. If you're upset about an argument with someone, he has the capacity to see it from the other side, but ultimately, he's there for you. He'll let you bitch as much as you want, still touching you, and he'll be disgusted and/or disappointed with the situation.

Above all, though, what he wants is to see you smile again. The only worries on your mind should be the ones he comes up with, and man, he's not even halfway done grooming the next batch of unlucky teenagers. He'd pat your face or touch your hair and tell you to cheer up, and probably defuse the situation with a stupid quip or joke. Take you out somewhere fun, maybe.

Once you were cheered up, he'd humbly suggest you solve your problem with a little murder. "I mean, I know killing's not really your thing—you're really good at it, though, a talent! You know that..." Pause, considering you. "You want me to do it? 'Cause I can clear my schedule for the rest of the night." If you decline, he'd be like "Suit yourself" but may or may not still murder whoever upset you. If you agree, he'd be super excited to make a romantic night of it. His mind would be going a million miles an hour planning everything out.

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy knows anger when he sees it. Not only does he have loads of internalized anger, he's been on the receiving end of it plenty. He's far too large to be scared of anyone in a physical sense anymore, but he's been shouted at countless times. To know when to shut up and do as he's told versus arguing back, he's learned to gauge intensity and direction of anger, and he well knows that anger can be redirected to him.

So, he instantly recognizes your mood, but it might be a while before he approaches you. When he does approach, he'll let you decide what to do, whether that's throwing your arms around him or banging your fists on his chest to vent your anger. You won't hurt him.

Eventually, once you're all hugged or cried or screamed out, he'll wrap his arms around you and give you a reassuring squeeze. There's no need to tell Tommy what's wrong—he won't ask unless you're obviously in serious distress or injured—but if you decide to speak, he'll listen, brows drawn tightly the whole time. He's thoughtful about the situation.

If you're mad at someone in his family, there isn't much he can do for you besides comfort you and assure you that whoever upset you—Hoyt, probably—didn't mean what they said. If you were hurt physically, it would be another story, but his family gets in shouting matches all the time.

Rather than offering help, he'd wait for you to request it of him. Whatever you ask, shy of hurting his family, he will do. Murder someone? No problem. Make you some food? You got it. Bring you a blanket? Sure. Give you some quiet alone time? That's fine, too.

If you need to vent, he's got plenty of ways to get out your frustration. Plenty of farm work to do, or you could work on something around the house with him. He might suggest knitting or sewing or some other handicraft you enjoy. It always makes him feel better to buckle down and use his hands for something.

If you're still preoccupied/upset by the time you two bed down, or heaven forbid the next morning, then he starts taking it more seriously. Something that disturbs you for that long is bad news. He'll watch you carefully the next couple days to see how you're doing, waiting for you to need him for something.

Bubba Sawyer

Like Tommy, Bubba has been on the receiving end of anger many, many times, so he's familiar with what it looks and feels like. Despite his size, he's still susceptible to physical violence at the hands of his loved ones, so he's very wary of anger.

However, he doesn't have a female presence in his life like Luda Mae, who expresses her anger through passive aggression—so, he's more used to shouting and screaming. If you aren't prone to screaming and shouting, it might take a little bit for him to realize you're not just sad or upset, you're angry.

Bubba will be over you. He'd give anyone else their space because he'd be afraid of retaliation, but you're his special person, and he's pretty sure you're not going to hurt him. He'll touch your hair, your arms, your wrists; he'll babble as he tries to figure out what's wrong. He just wants to comfort you and let you know everything is all right.

If it's too much or you're overwhelmed and you snap at him, he'll ease back. He'll blubber like a kicked puppy, but he won't give up. He'll still try to comfort you, just in other ways, such as getting you a comfort item or article of clothing, or maybe some food. And boy will he helicopter.

There's no need to tell Bubba what's wrong. In fact, it might be better if you didn't; if it's something he can't fix, it would do nothing but majorly stress him out. If it was one of his family members who upset you, as with Tommy, he wouldn't be able to do much. Even if you were hurt, he's just not in a position to stand up for you. That fact would absolutely kill him, though. He'd end up getting even more upset than you.

He doesn't know what help to offer you beyond comfort, but like Tommy, if you requested something specific, he'd try to carry out your wishes. He'll also try to cheer you up with some music and dancing, or just being silly like you like.

Need to blow off steam? He's got plenty of coping mechanisms! Bubba's idea of a perfect de-stress session is turning up the radio and getting lost in crafts. He's got lots of supplies, mostly to create clothing and accessories, and you're special, so you can have your pick. A drive and the radio might be nice, too. If neither of those appeal to you, he'll try cooking or baking with you. He loves sharing the kitchen with someone.

If none of that works and you're still upset, be prepared, because he's gonna be an anxious mess until you're better.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is somewhat familiar with other people's anger. He certainly has a whole fountain of internalized anger brewing just beneath the surface, but that's different. He knows that when Mummy is angry, she yells and cries, and when Daddy is angry, he seethes and stews. The former would be obvious to him, but the latter would take him a few minutes to be quite sure about. You're not acting how you usually do. Are you being stern or are you angry? Are you cross with him?

He does not have a lot of empathy for other people, so if your anger gets in the way of his routine or the attention he wants, he'll be irked, cranky, sad. Not necessarily at you—though that is possible—but the situation in which you find yourselves.

Much like Bo, he's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but it makes him uncomfortable and scared when other people have those feelings. He might even hide from you for a while, especially if you screamed and cried.

Once he realizes something is really wrong and you're not mad at him, however, he'll start thinking of ways to cheer you up so things can go back to normal. He hates having his routine interrupted; he's very particular. And he cares for you, so seeing you in distress is very scary and uncomfortable for him.

He'll start by fetching you something you like—something manageable for him like your favorite juice or a sandwich, or if you have a special item or article of clothing, that. He's quite shy, though, and like I said, he'll probably be hiding, so he'll leave it somewhere he knows you'll find it (on the bed, outside your door, on your desk, etc.)

If that doesn't calm you down and your anger is really getting in the way of his routine, or otherwise making him uncomfortable, he'll finally make an appearance. Very bashful and timid at first, using his little boy voice. "What's wrong, Y/N? Did something bad happen?"

If it's something that can't be helped, he'll suggest you do something together to take your mind off it (most likely something he likes to do). He may even be coaxed into taking a walk around the grounds, though he doesn't like to leave the manor at all, so you'd have to convince him. He prefers quiet playtime, maybe some coloring books or loud music to vent your emotions. It would intrigue him to see someone else use his toys to calm down. As long as you recognized he was being very nice, sharing them.

If it was an argument you had with someone, he would want more information. Are they likely to leave you alone, or will they come to the manor? Will he have to deal with them? Because it's scary, but he'll do it for you.

If, for some reason, none of those things work, he may cry or throw a fit. Either way, he'll be frustrated. Adult Brahms may make an appearance and try to help you in more Adult ways.

Erik

Though he lives five cellars beneath an opera house now, Erik hasn't always been entirely reclusive. Even these days, when he can stomach it, he sometimes goes out to see the world. As a younger man, he observed people's lives and moods with a hungry fascination (that has now mostly been replaced by melancholy and longing and bitter anger). Like several of the other slashers here, he's had to train himself to sense fury to protect himself. He's also incredibly wrathful, so you could call him an expert!

He has a very keenly honed sense when it comes to you specifically, since he's watched you so much. He notices the change in your demeanor immediately.

If you know him as the "Angel of Music," his voice will appear to you once you're alone, asking you what's wrong and assuring you you can confide in him—he will insist you tell him, though. "There are to be no secrets between us, Y/N." He will listen without interjection as you vent your heart out, and when you're done, soothe you. Don't let his calming voice deceive you, though; behind that mirror, he's seething, planning to take matters into his own hands.

If you know him as Erik, he will go to you the second he recognizes the shift in your mood and take you from what you're doing, regardless of your wishes. He'll sit you down, kneeling before you with your hands in his, and gaze into your eyes, imploring you to tell him what's wrong. He'll absolutely allow you physical comfort, but he will also absolutely insist you tell. He'll need reassurance that you're not angry at him, because that thought would break his heart.

He will let you vent however you wish. You could have the most dramatic breakdown ever—throwing things, beating your fists on his chest, wailing—and he wouldn't judge you. He would be awfully concerned, though.

Will be 110% on your side. You are his poor little meow meow. "My poor love, my poor Y/N!" He is beside himself with sympathy for you and you only, and is very offended on your behalf.

He will always suggest music as an outlet for your anger, but he will have taken note of your other hobbies and interests as well. He'll fetch your things for you without being asked, as long as it won't separate him from you for very long. If you'd rather just have comfort, that's fine, too. He could hold your hand and caress your face for hours on end under normal circumstances, so no problem there. He may also suggest a little time on the surface, if you normally live in his home. Fresh air will do you both good, he reasons, and he enjoys spending time with you where others can witness it. It fills him with pride and love.

Otherwise, he's at your service for any other soothing activities you need. A calming bath, some sweets, shopping, anything. Perhaps avoid asking for any sexual contact, however. First of all, being asked directly makes him very skittish and nervous; second of all, his method of love-making (when you can coax him) is very intimate and tender, which may be tedious if you're in an angry mood.

Unless the situation is extremely serious or dire, his first priority is making sure you're soothed. Once that duty is fulfilled, however, he is absolutely angrier about it than you are. If it's not that serious, he won't skip straight to killing, if only because he knows it upsets you. He will definitely be writing an extremely strongly worded letter, however. If someone slighted you seriously, they're getting threatened. If someone hurt you physically, they're meeting the Punjab lasso.

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Deacon definitely knows when people are angry. His step-mom was a passive-aggressive laundry-folder and his dad was a storming out of the house kinda guy; when the two of them were together, they were all hushed but heated arguments at night when they thought he couldn't hear them, or else extremely embarrassing passive-aggressive arguments in public. Growing up, he found himself around a lot of angry people. And there's no shortage of anger in him, either.

So yeah, Deacon knows when people are pissed, and he knows when people are pissed at him. The thing is, he just thinks it's fucking hilarious. He was that kid that would goad peers and teachers just to be an asshole and had virtually no friends as a result. He's a menace on the internet, too: a horrible troll for no reason, stirring the pot even when he doesn't have a stake in the argument. He's trained himself to find people's weak spots so he can strike at them. He does it to make himself feel more in control of his life and his own anger.

So when you're ticked off, he's gonna notice the change immediately. If you made a vent post on social media, he probably knows you're angry before you even see him. He follows all your social media (even if you don't realize it) and checks it constantly. He'd call you out of curiosity to ask what happened. He's open about his stalking tendencies: "I saw your post, babe, who do I need to stab?"

If you otherwise come home angry, he'll be up on his feet, following you around the house and pestering you, trying to get you to tell him what's wrong. If you try to hug him, he won't push you away, but he'll be distracted, trying to needle answers out of you the whole time.

There's no question in his mind as to whether or not you're angry at him. He just assumes you're not; he has a pretty good handle on how you act when you're angry at him specifically.

He'll let you rant all day if you want. You could talk about the shit that's pissed you off for hours and he'd still listen. Outwardly, he might poke you a bit and play devil's advocate for the other side of the argument, if there is one. This is purely for the purposes of being a little shit.

Internally, he's already going down his pre-murder checklist. If it was someone at work, they're dead. Someone in the neighborhood, dead. Online? It'll take a couple days, but they're dead. Even if you're not angry at anyone in particular, just a situation, he'll find someone to menace. He'd walk through fire for your approval.

He's not good with soft, emotional comfort, so instead he'll try to think of something to help you let off steam. His go-to is something competitive, especially if it involves you chasing each other. A Nerf or water gun war, a PVP game with you on opposite sides. He'll put up a good fight, but you always kick his ass.

Once the immediate situation is addressed and you've ranted your heart out to him, he can't keep his hands off you. "Seeing you all pissed off drives me crazyyyyyy." He's grinning, brown eyes sparkling. "Come onnnnn ... I'll get it off your mind!"

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC)

Courtney is a hunter of all manner of game, so he's used to interpreting non-verbal cues and body language—when an animal is in distress, when an animal is about to attack, etc. His grandfather was a very angry man, as well, in a simmering sort of way. He would seethe about something before suddenly delivering one decisive strike. Courtney himself is not a particularly angry man, unless some prey is really giving him a hard time, but he can read your body.

If you come home angry, he'll stop in the middle of what he's doing and watch you, still and quiet, just confirming his suspicions. If you leave the room he's in to go collapse on the sofa or something, he'll follow you, looming over you and waiting for you to tell him what's wrong. He's patient.

If you want to vent, he'll sit and listen thoughtfully, doing something with his hands while you speak—probably cleaning his gun or some other weapon. He doesn't look at you. He wouldn't demand greater context to the situation but he would ask "Why?" and "Who?" until he understood Enough.

If you want comfort, he'll sprawl on the couch and let you lay on top of him. He'll probably pull a blanket on top of you to try and encourage a nap. If the nap doesn't make you feel better, he's feeding you protein. Do you like homemade jerky?

Sex is also on the table (not literally ... unless). He's found it's a great way to blow off steam, and he's more than happy to make all worries, troubles, and other thoughts go away for a little bit. Expect that to be the rest of your night, though, because he doesn't do quickies.

Generally, he trusts you to handle your own shit, so he would be more focused on you than whatever made you feel the way you do. However, if days passed and you were still angry/upset/sad, or if it plunged you into a breakdown or was an otherwise extremely serious situation ... just give him a target. It's up to you, but if you tell him to take the shot, it'll be quick and clean. If you're unable to make the decision, he'll decide for you without hesitation.

Kathleen Montgomery (OC)

I'm still developing her so this one won't be as in-depth and is subject to change.

Kath makes it her business to know everything about you. Chances are she's seen you explode screaming while stalking you ... chances are, if you've been in a relationship for a while, she's made you explode screaming. She knows what you look like when you're angry. Besides, she's strong for her size, but she often has to take down people who are much bigger and stronger than her; she uses manipulation and trickery to help ease that divide, so she's good at reading people.

Like Deacon, she also monitors all your social media, so if you made a vent post, she already knows you're in a shitty mood before you come home. Unlike Deacon, she doesn't tell you how she knows, so you're left to assume she's just all knowing. Considering her god complex, that works for her.

She'd probably text you to come home, and she expects you to answer. If you're unable to come home, she'll call you to ask what's wrong.

Once you're together, she wants to know everything about the situation. Even as you're speaking, she's already on her phone or laptop, looking up the people involved. Instead of getting mad on your behalf, she laughs. She's a fan of emphasizing how pathetic or weak the opposition is.

She takes your feelings on the subject seriously, but everyone else in the situation? Insects. Not even worthy of your time or concern, let alone hers. You're obviously in the right here (even if you're not). She'll tell you as much, and say some pretty intense, over-the-line things about whomever/whatever you're angry at.

Overall, however, she's calm and collected about the situation. Your bout of anger is a chance to get you to be reckless with her. She'll do your hair and makeup and dress you up nice, then take you out. Fast driving, drinking, baiting people at bars, menacing neighborhoods ... maybe a little killing, if you'd like.

***

Masterlist

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

Text

Infatuation

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: It’s not a secret that Corpse prefers taking care of his hair himself rather than going to a hair salon to get it trimmed and/or tampered. However, he only has so much knowledge of how to properly do it without having to obliterate his budget. Luckily, his girlfriend comes to his rescue.

Requested by Anon. Hi lovely! Thank you so much for the incredibly fluffy request! I’ve been very pumped to write it and now here it finally is - so sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post it but I still hope you come across it and give it a read! Love, Vy ❤

“Um, what are you doing?“

I just walked into Corpse’s apartment to find him barricaded in the bathroom, giving himself a hair appointment. We were supposed to have a chill night in watching movies, but it seems to me like those plans will either have to be delayed or canceled, given the chaotic state both Corpse and his bathroom are in. I mean, how dumb was I to expect he was actually doing his hair justice when he told me he styled it himself? Why didn’t that immediately raise an army of red flags in my head and lead me to question his methods?

I’m honestly quite jealous of Corpse’s hair. It’s always so soft and silky and no matter how much or how little effort he’s put in it, it always looks good: either evidently carefully styled or boyishly messy, it leaves me with heart-eyes regardless. But to see him massacre it like this, it makes me wish I could report it as a crime.

“Ain’t obvious?“ He sounds rather frustrated and I feel at least slightly better due to this fact. He deserves to be as frustrated as I am by the sight of the crap he’s doing. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to wait for me for...a little while. I just need to get this under control and, um, clean the mess. Sorry for ruining your night like this, babe. I-I really wasn’t planning on it to take this long but I forgot to buy one of the products and I thought I could wing it without it but...I very clearly can’t so...“

“Please, stop talking. I don’t need to know what sins you’ve committed - if I do I’ll probably have to give you the silent treatment for like a week or so.“ I call out to him as I quickly skip over to the kitchen to leave the food I bought on my way over before returning to the bathroom and carefully taking a step inside, mindful of where there are hair strands on the tiles. Even severed, his hair is beautiful and I have a ton of respect for it - ok fine, I adore it. Corpse definitely doesn’t appreciate it properly. I walk over to the shower, reaching out to the two shelves inside which are lined with different types of hair products. “Oh fuck...“ I let out the whisper without even realizing it because I’m so stunned by the brands I see on those shelves. “Corpse, um, what the actual fuck?”

He turns to me, eyes wide and terrified because of my menacing tone. “What? What is it?” His gaze searches the spot where mine was just pointed at, looking for anything that could’ve provoked such a reaction from me. Seeing nothing but the hair products, he meets my deadly glare yet again, “What’s wrong?”

Alright, this man-child needs some serious help

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong.“ I say, stomping towards the exit of the bathroom, “You’re gonna stay here and wait for me to come back and don’t you DARE, even touch your hair, let alone bring a pair of scissors or any chemical near it. Copy?“

“Copied and pasted, ma’am.“ He salutes me, knowing better than to ask questions when I enter my commander role. There are quite a few things that set me off into this bossy-ass persona, and hair mistreatment is most definitely one of them. Thing is, Corpse doesn’t know that. Well, he didn’t know that, pretty sure he’s guessed it by now.

Feeling myself soften at his obedience and trust, I give him a smile and a wink over my shoulder as I go to grab my bag and leave the apartment to complete my mission, “Good boy.”

* * *

“Isn’t that a lot better?“ I ask, gently running my fingers through Corpse’s freshly cut, washed and dried hair. I’ve spent a good five minutes just smoothing through it with my fingers. I bet he’s expecting me to say ‘my precious‘ at any moment now, and trust me it’s tempting, but I still don’t, I won’t give him the pleasure of predicting my actions. Wow, we’ve really reached that level of being familiar with one another that I predict that he’s predicting what I’m gonna do next. While I’m a guessing game for him, I tend to think of myself as more of an open book. You just gotta be fluent in the language it’s written in to understand it.

I’ve gone off-topic, my bad.

“Yeah, you’re a lot less scary now.“ He tells me, his hand finding mine in his hair and taking it to his lips to place a kiss on my knuckles.

We’re positioned so that we’re in front of the bathroom mirror with Corpse seated in a chair in front of me and I’m for once in my life towering over him from behind. Our height difference was threatening to be a hinderance in my work on his hair, but we easily figured it out.

I can’t help but laugh, “You know what I meant.“ I curl one of his already curly strands around the pointer finger of the hand that’s still wandering around the soft dark curls while the other remains in his gentle hold, resting on his shoulder.

“And you know what I meant.“ He shifts in his seat to look at me directly, not via the mirror, “Since when do you have a hair infatuation?“

I roll my eyes and retract my hands, defensively folding my arms over my chest, “It’s not an infatuation with hair, dummy. It’s an infatuation with your hair.” I correct him, doing quick work of styling the stray strands that fall over his forehead and eyes. “I really like your hair, you already know that. I can’t handle the thought you’re doing such a shitty job taking care of it.”

He shrugs, furrowing his brows, “Hey, I was buying top-shelf products, cost me a fortune every month, my hair was being treated like royalty.”

I roll my eyes once again, “High price doesn’t always equal high quality, Corpse. Did you ever stop to read what was in those products?” I don’t let him answer, I don’t need him to confirm what I already know. “Even if you did - which you didn’t - you wouldn’t know what each of those ingredients do to your hair. You see, taking care of hair, especially hair like yours, takes patience and knowledge. It’s practically an art form. It’s not like you can just buy any product that has ‘suitable for curly hair’ on it. There’s a lot more to that.”

It’s only after I finish my monologue that I realize he’s looking at me with amazed amusement in his gaze, almost like a parent listening to their kid talk about their wish of becoming an astronaut. “Since when do you know so much about hair? You’ve been using the same shampoo and conditioner since I know you and now you wanna lecture me on hair care?”

I raise an eyebrow at him, exasperated by his stubbornness on the matter, “Who said being consistent with your hair products is a bad thing? You know, frequent changing of brands has the potential of being damaging as much as aiding.” I explain with the most amount of patience I can muster, now taking over the parent role myself, “And as for your previous question, I know so much because my mother is a hairdresser.”

His eyes widen in surprise. I can practically see the gears in his brain turning as he tries to recall if I’ve ever told him this before.

“How come I don’t know that?“ He asks finally after a long moment of silence. “Why haven’t you told me?”

“You ask that as though I just tell you things like that on the regular. Did you also want me to drop the info that my dad’s a mechanic in passing conversation about video games? Cause that’s a little hard to shoehorn in....“ He cuts off my sarcastic rambling with a brief peck to the lips. He’s the only person allowed to shut me up, and only like that. Anything else will earn him either an earful or a silent treatment.

Just kidding....unless...

“So, does that mean you’re continuing the family business?“ he asks when he pulls away, “I mean, you’re technically my personal hairdresser now.“

I furrow my brows playfully, “Wait, what? Since when?”

“Since I hired you approximately an hour ago.“ He beams up at me, satisfied that I’ve fallen in his trap.

“And what about my payment?“ I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

He looks to be contemplating for a second before he stands up from the chair, taking my hand in his leading me out of the bathroom, “Well, each appointment you’ll give me a different price, Miss Y/L/N. But, considering today was your first day, I choose to pay you with dinner.“ He sends a wink my way, laughing when he’s met with an unamused expression on my part as I stop in my tracks, causing him to halt his movements as well.

“You really plan on paying me with the dinner I bought?“ I raise an eyebrow at him, freeing my hand from his so I can put both my hands on my hips for the complete 'I’m far from impressed’ look.

“Yeah...? Problem?“ He asks, faking nervousness and guilt as he closes the distance between us, once again returning to the default of towering over me instead of it being the other way around.

“Several actually. First of all...“ I raise my finger in the air accusingly, ready to go off but the arm that wraps around my waist and lifts me off the ground causes my words to die down, evaporating in a frightened squeal, “Corpse no!! Put me down!“

Of course, he ignores me, carrying me into the living room while I don’t know whether to thrash or stay as still as possible.

Tsk, so much for gratitude

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aulel-process · 3 years ago

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Oh! I think I know why “democratic” felt contradictory or hypocritical. I’m the most ill informed person ever. I never read newspapers, except for on rare occasions the arts and culture sections. I don’t know what is going on in the world. I didn’t have time to sleep while I was in school, the only things I read were academic texts; my only knowledge of politics comes from art. I think “democratic” means something different in the high art cultural context than it does in the mainstream politically left sense. Democratic in high art looks like Moschino referencing McDonald’s.

I think my inner confusion came from people associating the term “democratic” with powerlessness, unfairness, injustice, lack, disadvantage, etc... which came as a surprise because I’ve only ever seen the word democratic used in a celebratory way (and those who reject it with backlash as in the wrong)... I’m pretty sure the person who buys clothing off the Moschino runway or the gatekeeper to the Centre Pompidou don’t see the world through the lens of powerlessness or lack... that’s not to invalidate the perspective... quite the contrary, it’s to imbue the term democratic with the noble associations that art has celebrated it for in the last century or so...

I’ve also seen the word “empowerment” applied to my art because of the gay subject matter and I reject the term because I think it works against itself... to say a group needs empowerment implies it lacks power to begin with... and as long as a person sees a group as ‘lacking,’ then that upholds the very lack/difference that one is meant to overcome... the state to arrive at would be to look at a subject matter and respond with, “no big deal... just some beautiful people” because that is what the subject matter is... I know I bring up the term stigma, but it comes as a surprise to me that people actually do respond to gay art with, “omg injustice, powerlessness!”... maybe I’ve had a sheltered existence, but I’ve never met anyone homophobic or transphobic or any other kind of phobic so it comes as a surprise to me that this actually exists (of course I’ve read about it in textbooks and elsewhere, but I thought it was some abstraction or something)... I’m not accusing anyone of anything; I recognize I have my own biases (my tendency towards elitism), and my biases are arguably much worse than the hypotheticals that I thought I was challenging... I think art as I experienced it in an academic setting is really quite radically progressive... I mean... academia is the place where 50 different genders are invented and then multiple nude models brought into studio so we can paint new hybrid genitals on behalf of all of the genders and the rest of the world is like... do we really need this? For a highly exclusionary institution, it is perhaps the most radically inclusive place a person could find... given that the pressure is to be ever more radical/crazy, to shock/provoke, just about everything seems like “no big deal” so for a person to see gayness and make a big deal out of it, is just so so strange to me... have some genitals for dinner:

(Judy Chicago’s The Dinner Party which was referenced in Squid Game)

I think I took school too seriously and spent too much time in it... I didn’t realize I would seem like a freak show to the rest of the world.. huh... whatever...

Anyways... Contrapoints once said, “the left needs glamour”... and arguably... that is what high art does... it isn’t about empowering those without power... high art is power... it doesn’t have to fight power... it’s about celebrating the inherent nobility of every person... because high art (art in general) was historically reserved for kings and queens and now it’s ‘democratizing’ to include everyone... it isn’t even noblesse oblige, because that also comes off as condescending... as in, let’s help these people because they need it... that seems like charity... which I don’t think is the ethos... it’s really... there’s just... nothing wrong with being weird/different because we can’t tell apart deviance from being a special sparkle snowflake.. after all the aspiration is “distinction”... if you can’t be famous, be infamous... it’s really the same thing... as long as you aren’t “commonplace”... yeah.. that’s the funny bit... champion radical gender innovation but be part of the majority, nono.... but no... that’s more my own biases... and I’m working on it...

#art #democratic

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w2beastars · 4 years ago

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Waezi2′s thoughts on “Beast Complex” chapter 17.

Sorry it took so long to write this blog. I've been in pain for a couple of days and couldn’t coventrate when I tried to write a blog.

Chapter 17 of Beast Complex is about the goat Kiyosumi and the turtle Abu.

Kiyusumi is a seventeen year old student with a pair of big horns. She sits behind Abu who almost always hide inside his shell that has the word “Hell” tattooed on it. These two big teens haven never spoken to each other despite them sitting this close to each other in class. Abu is literally a withdrawn person and Kiyusumi is the sort of quiet girl who does’t speak unless spoken to. In fact, she is rather passive and only do something if told to. But she does exactly what she IS told to, even if she doesn’t want to. Like when she is asked to look out for students who smokes at school since she is part of the school’s disciplinary committee.

But Kiyusumi is not exactly the embodiment of authority, so when she does find a couple of smokers on school ground, the scoundrels just laugh at her as well as intimidate her into shutting up.

But who comes to our big-horned goat’s rescue?

Abu the Turtle. It so happens that he likes to take naps behind the school building and he asks the smokers to go somewhere else as he is not exactly fond of cigarette buds and smoke.

And he scare off the smokers since he is tattooed like a gang member. They leave, apologizing for invading his “territory.”

Once they are alone, they can let it sink in that this is the first time they actually talked to each other. Kiyusumi is baffled by both finally seeing more than just Abu’s shell and hands, and that he has tattooed most of his body. Abu explains that he is passionate about tattoos and practice tattooing by using his own body so that he one day can do it for a living. And he takes Kiyusumi by surprise by telling her that he always wanted to tattoo her dangerous horns.

And her horns ARE dangerous. Kiyusumi’s horns are still growing, and they will eventually penetrate her skull if she doesn’t get them removed. but Abu is the first to notice it, or at the very least pointing it out.

Abu takes Kiyusumi with him after school and show her his tattoo studio AKA his grandpa’s garage. It is obvious that he is extremely passionate about his craft

Kiyusumi allow Abu to work on her horns. He is grateful, but he also points out that they could be the death of her and ask if she has ever thought about having them removed. Kiyusumi explains that she has thought about it for years... but due to anxiety and lack of confidence, she never did anything about it. Instead, she hoped that someone would tell her to do something about her horns, point out that they would eventually stab her skull, that she should get rid of them, anything.

This is a classical trait of depression. Doing something, or in this case NOT do something that results in self destruction of a sort and hope that someone tells you to stop. To show that they care. there are some cutters who secretly hope that someone will notice their self inflicted scars.

But it seems like no one cares enough to tell Kiyusumi that they are worried. OR that they prefer not to “meddle.”

Abu points out that people prefer to mind their own business. They prefer to ignore it if someone has drastically changed or are in pain. and they do so because it is convenient to act like nothing. Heck, when Abu tattooed his shell for the first time, no one seemed to notice, or they just acted like nothing when seeing a guy with the word “Hell” on his back. He had to get tattooed way more than just on the shell before people had to notice and he now has to hide his head, arms and legs so he doesn’t disturb people with his art.

Trust me, Abu is not exaggerating. I seen people walk past a man who was clearly having issues with his stomach as he lied on a bench. Most prefer to look past what they don’t want to deal with.

After finishing the decoration of Kiyusumi horns, the two teenagers decide to spend the night together and just hang out. Do stuff teenagers do. And they are both extremely happy. Abu is not hiding in his shell and Kiyusumi is smiling and laughing.

We cut to one week later where someone finally notices Kiyosumi since she decided to get rid of her overgrown horns. One of the girls in her class(a tiger) tells her that it is surprising to see her horn-less, but that it makes her face look brighter. Suiting, since Kiyosumi feels brighter. This is the first time she can recall making a choice of her own, and a very good one since it means she is not gonna die.

Abu is congratulating Kiyosumi in his own way by tattooing his shell again so that there are flowers growing out of the word “Hell”. His first tattoo is a very cynical and provoking one, so his adding the same type of flowers on it as the ones he made on Kiyosumi’s horns before she had them operated off is a sign of optimism.

I like this chapter a lot. We dealt with depression before as well as suicidal behavior, but this BC chapter deals with the quiet cry for help, the sadness that follows when no one gives a shit, and how much effort people put into ignoring someone because they rub them off the wrong way. A great detail is that at no point does Abu tell her that she should have her horns removed. He just points out that they are dangerous and asks if she had considered. She had to make this decision for herself. If he had told her to do it, she would have since she automatically does as she is told, but even though he noticed the horns, Kiyosumi was the one who made the choice that prevented her early death.

#Kiyosumi #Kiyosumi beast complex #beast complex #beastars #Abu #Abu Beast Complex

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veilder · 4 years ago

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Hi! Would you happen to have Convin or Reed900 fics to recommend?

Oh, hello! I can definitely help you with Convin fic recs at least, lol! Reed900, not so much, but there are plenty of blogs around that you could ask for that ship. ^_^ But yeah, I’ll try to categorize these as best I can! And give a little summary, too! :D

Longfics 75k+ (Complete)

1. Mission: Unexpected by J11nxed (@j11nxed) Rated E (violence, sexual content, language, abuse): Super great casefic with lots of amazing character development. Very funny. Probably my favorite characterization of Connor and Gavin, lol. The fic I read when I’m feeling down. ^_^

2. Golden by jarpad (@embaggins on Twitter) Rated M (dark themes, mature content, allusions to self-harm/suicide, mental health issues, language): An absolutely beautiful story of healing and overcoming your demons handled in a very respectful manner. The subject matter is very thought provoking and it brought me to tears, both cathartic and not, more than once. It’s a heavy story, but... So worth it, imo.

3. like roses, death blooms by alekszova (@ewates) Rated M (violence, rape, torture, abuse, mental health issues): A very, very dark revenge fic. Definitely the darkest one on this list. If you like heavy angst, this might be for you, though please heed the tags. A lot of this story is about the aftermath of horrific events but there are still some very brutal scenes.

Mid-length fics 20k-75k (Complete)

1. Running Uphill by NHMoonshadow (@sharysisnhmoonshadow) Rated M (violence, peril, language): The ultimate time travel soulmate AU fic imo. Absolutely top tier Gavin characterization and development. Rich backstories and relationships. Definitely some trauma, omg. But ultimately, a happy ending. Definitely a must-read for any Convin fan imo.

2. Traces by berryblonde (@berry--blonde) Rated M (language, peril, minor suicidal ideation): One of the first long fics I ever read for this ship and still one of my faves. Excellent casefic setup, very interesting premise and some very dynamic characters. Also, really A+ backstory for Gavin. This is basically a classic for anyone who wasn’t around in the early days of fandom. Highly recommend!

3. His Robin by wolfetz Rated T (drama, language): Absolutely fantastic coming of age story set in a human!AU world. Really great character work for both Connor and Gavin and their relationship through the years. Love this one.

4. A Scratched CD/A Faulty Code by consecrated Rated T (mental health issues, language): Companion pieces told from Gavin and Connor’s POVs respectively. These were also very early fics I read when I was first getting into the fandom and I love them both dearly. The characterization here went a long way towards me loving the ship to begin with. A great intro to Convin.

5. That Boy is a Powder Keg by QueenHarleyQuinn Not Rated (language, violence, mature content, mental health issues): One of the most realistic takes on Gavin going from his canon asshole self to someone who could feasibly be in a relationship with Connor. I’m definitely due to re-read this cuz I can’t quite remember the details anymore, but I know I really enjoyed this at the time. Good for anyone who likes a more antagonistic take on him.

Shortfics/Oneshots (~20k)

1. Sedum Spathulifolium by Burrahobbit Rated T (language): This fic... is so dang sweet. I’ve read it so many times. It’s absolutely adorable, what can I say? Love their dynamic here. ^_^

2. Always know that you are not alone by Liveinelf Rated T (language, drama): Another fantastic take on Gavin and his growth as a character. He starts off very close to canon here and is one mean asshole. But this fic does a great job of explaining why he acts as he does. And how he changes. Highly recommend.

3. Some things never change by berryblonde Rated T (language): An absolutely hilarious fic, lol. The view of Convin through the eyes of some rookie trainees, omg. It makes me laugh so much. XD

4. Mankind Needs More Empathy by BrightestStarInTheSky (@brighteststarinthesky) Rated T (language, drama): Some good old-fashioned Gavin-getting-his-head-out-of-his-ass, lol. I love fics like this. Need a good basis to start a relationship, after all. Apologies are in order. ^_^

5. as i see them by rekal Rated T (language, drama): Same as the previous entry, this one deals with Gavin’s character growth and how he and Connor grow closer in the aftermath. It’s lovely.

6. Sweet/Wise men say... by 99MillionMiles (@99millionmilesaway) Not Rated: Two short, sweet fluff pieces that absolutely delight me every time I reread them. And as a bonus, some beautiful art by @deep-in-mind67, too!

7. Melted Phoenix by Astrapod Rated M (violence, trauma, mental health issues, mutilation, peril): This one... This is a heavy fic. It starts off with a very harrowing description of android violence that might be too much for some folks to handle. Proceed with caution. But, if you can weather that, this is an absolutely beautiful fic about love and healing. Definitely recommend.

8. So Pathetic and So Lovely by alekszova Rated M (language, drama, mental health issues, mature themes): I think the fic’s description speaks for itself here: “ Neither Gavin or Connor think they are capable of being loved by the other, but that doesn't mean it's true.” Definitely worth a read.

9. An unexpected turn of events by Smokey310 Rated T (language): This one is freakin hilarious. Connor and Gavin and a night out at the club, omg. I love this fic to death. XD

10. As Do I by berryblonde Rated T (drama): A human!AU where your soulmate can feel the injuries of their other half. It’s the story of a lifetime together. All the way til the end.

11. because the bed’s warm and it’s cold out by voidpants (@voidpants) Rated G (no warnings): Connor and Gavin being old men together. It’s beautiful. Such a lovely take on the two of them.

Unfinished Fics/Honorable Mentions

1. Spinning Yellow by sheepishwolfy (@sheepishwolfy) Rated E (violence, language, mature themes): Amazing casefic with top-tier characterization. What’s written of it is still amazing, even if it’s not complete.

2. Amidst a Crash of Worlds by fireplanetz Rated T (violence, mature themes, war, language): A fic told entirely through letters between Connor and Gavin in the aftermath of the bad ending of the game. It’s such an awesome idea and it’s executed so well. Definitely recommend.

3. The Bet by Pence Rated T (language): Brooklyn 99-inspired DPD shenanigans. Need I say more? It’s so funny and I love the characterization of Connor and Gavin. Mostly finished, too! Just the final chapter missing!

4. Wicked by MercuryPilgrim Rated M (language, mature content): I love this one. It’s such a unique take on Connor and Gavin and it works so well, too. They are delightful here. Love the dynamic!

5. (can’t say) i don’t love you by Chibbers (@teh-chibi) Rated M (language, drama, sexual content): An angsty hanahaki!AU fic where these two idiots don’t realize they’re in love with each other. Really great writing here. Very emotional. Made me feel a lot.

And I guess I should mention that I have fics of my own, too, about half of which are Convin? You can check them out on my AO3 here! ^_^

So yeah, there we go. Those are really all I can think of off the top of my head. I know I missed some amazing works, too, alas. But at least this can give you a good start, yeah? Hope this helps @pancrystal! And thanks again for the ask! :D (Also, if I messed up any of the link or if there’re any glaring typos, lemme know. This was a lot of janky, Tumblr formatting, omg. >_<)

#dbh #fanfic #fic recs #convin #connor #rk800 #gavin reed #reed800 #gavcon #please feel free to add any onto this in the comments!#I definitely know I missed some!#and also add your URL if you like since I didn't know everybody's lol! XD #pancrystal

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nitrateglow · 4 years ago

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Favorite films discovered in 2020

Well, this year sucked. I did see some good movies though. Some even made after I was born!

Perfect Blue (dir. Satoshi Kon, 1997)

I watch a lot of thrillers and horror movies, but precious few actually unsettle me in any lasting way. This cannot be said of Perfect Blue, which gave me one of the most visceral cinematic experiences of my life. Beyond the brief flashes of bloodletting (you will never look at a screwdriver the same way again), the scariest thing about Perfect Blue might be how the protagonist has both her life and her sense of self threatened by the villains. The movie’s prescience regarding public persona is also incredibly eerie, especially in our age of social media. While anime is seen as a very niche interest (albeit one that has become more mainstream in recent years), I would highly recommend this movie to thriller fans, whether they typically watch anime or not. It’s right up there with the best of Hitchcock or De Palma.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (dir. Sergio Leone, 1966)

Nothing is better than when an iconic movie lives up to the hype. Clint Eastwood, Eli Wallach, and Lee Van Cleef play off of one another perfectly. I was impressed by Wallach as Tuco in particular: his character initially seems like a one-dimensional greedy criminal, but the performance is packed with wonderful moments of humanity. Do I really need to say anything about the direction? Or about the wonderful storyline, which takes on an almost mythic feel in its grandeur? Or that soundtrack?

Die Niebelungen (both movies) (dir. Fritz Lang, 1924)

I did NOT expect to love these movies as much as I did. That they would be dazzlingly gorgeous I never doubted: the medieval world of the story is brought to vivid life through the geometrical mise en scene and detailed costuming. However, the plot itself is so, so riveting, never losing steam over the course of the four hours it takes to watch both movies. The first half is heroic fantasy; the second half involves a revenge plot of almost Shakespearean proportions. This might actually be my favorite silent Fritz Lang movie now.

Muppet Treasure Island (dir. Brian Henson, 1996)

I understand that people have different tastes and all, but how does this movie have such a mixed reception? It’s absolutely hilarious. How could anybody get through the scene with “THA BLACK SPOT AGGHHHHHHH” and not declare this a masterpiece of comedy? And I risk being excommunicated from the Muppet fandom for saying it, but I like this one more than The Great Muppet Caper. It’s probably now my second favorite Muppet movie.

Belle de Jour (dir. Luis Bunuel, 1967)

I confess I’m not terribly fond of “but was it real???” movies. They tend to feel gimmicky more often than not. Belle de Jour is an exception. This is about more than a repressed housewife getting her kicks working as a daytime prostitute. The film delves into victim blaming, trauma, class, and identity-- sure, this sounds academic and dry when I put it that way, but what I’m trying to say is that these are very complicated characters and the blurring of fantasy and reality becomes thought-provoking rather than trite due to that complexity.

Secondhand Lions (dir. Tim McCanlies, 2003)

The term “family movie” is often used as a synonym for “children’s movie.” However, there is an important distinction: children’s movies only appeal to kids, while family movies retain their appeal as one grows up. Secondhand Lions is perhaps a perfect family movie, with a great deal more nuance than one might expect regarding the need for storytelling and its purpose in creating meaning for one’s life. It’s also amazingly cast: Haley Joel Osment is excellent as the juvenile lead, and Michael Caine and Robert Duvall steal the show as Osment’s eccentric uncles.

The Pawnbroker (dir. Sidney Lumet, 1964)

Controversial in its day for depicting frontal nudity, The Pawnbroker shocks today for different reasons. As the top review of the film on IMDB says, we’re used to victims of great atrocities being presented as sympathetic, good people in fiction. Here, Rod Steiger’s Sol Nazerman subverts such a trope: his suffering at the hands of the Nazis has made him a hard, closed-off person, dismissive of his second wife (herself also a survivor of the Holocaust), cold to his friendly assistant, and bitter towards himself. The movie follows Nazerman’s postwar life, vividly presenting his inner pain in a way that is almost too much to bear. Gotta say, Steiger gives one of the best performances I have ever seen in a movie here: he’s so three-dimensional and complex. The emotions on his face are registered with Falconetti-level brilliance.

The Apartment (dir. Billy Wilder, 1960)

While not the most depressing Christmas movie ever, The Apartment certainly puts a good injection of cynicism into the season. I have rarely seen a movie so adept at blending comedy, romance, and satire without feeling tone-deaf. There are a lot of things to praise about The Apartment, but I want to give a special shoutout to the dialogue. “Witty” dialogue that sounds natural is hard to come by-- so often, it just feels smart-assy and strained. Not here.

Anatomy of a Murder (dir. Otto Preminger, 1959)

I’m not big into courtroom dramas, but Anatomy of a Murder is a big exception. Its morally ambiguous characters elevate it from being a mere “whodunit” (or I guess in the case of this movie, “whydunit”), because if there’s something you’re not going to get with this movie, it’s a clear answer as to what happened on the night of the crime. Jimmy Stewart gives one of his least characteristic performances as the cynical lawyer, and is absolutely brilliant.

Oldboy (dir. Park Chan-Wook, 2003)

Oldboy reminded me a great deal of John Webster’s 17th century tragedy The Duchess of Malfi. Both are gruesome, frightening, and heartbreaking works of art, straddling the line between sensationalism and intelligence, proving the two are not mutually exclusive. It’s both entertaining and difficult to watch. The thought of revisiting it terrifies me but I feel there is so much more to appreciate about the sheer craft on display.

Family Plot (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1976)

Family Plot is an enjoyable comedy; you guys are just mean. I know in an ideal world, Hitchcock’s swan song would be a great thriller masterpiece in the vein of Vertigo or Psycho. Family Plot is instead a silly send-up of Hitchcock’s favorite tropes, lampooning everything from the dangerous blonde archetype (with not one but two characters) to complicated MacGuffin plots. You’ll probably demand my film buff card be revoked for my opinion, but to hell with it-- this is my favorite of Hitchcock’s post-Psycho movies.

My Best Girl (dir. Sam Taylor, 1927)

Mary Pickford’s farewell to silent film also happens to be among her best movies. It’s a simple, charming romantic comedy starring her future husband, Charles “Buddy” Rogers. Pickford also gets to play an adult character here, rather than the little girl parts her public demanded she essay even well into her thirties. She and Rogers are sweet together without being diabetes-inducing, and the comedy is often laugh out loud funny. It even mocks a few tropes that anyone who watches enough old movies will recognize and probably dislike-- such as “break his heart to save him!!” (my personal most loathed 1920s/1930s trope).

Parasite (dir. Bong Joon-ho, 2019)

This feels like such a zeitgeist movie. It’s about the gap between the rich and the poor, it’s ironic, it’s depressing, it’s unpredictable as hell. I don’t like terms like “modern classic,” because by its very definition, a classic can only be deemed as such after a long passage of time, but I have a good feeling Parasite will be considered one of the definitive films of the 2010s in the years to come.

Indiscreet (dir. Stanley Donen, 1958)

Indiscreet often gets criticized for not being Notorious more or less, which is a shame. It’s not SUPPOSED to be-- it’s cinematic souffle and both Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant elevate that light material with their perfect chemistry and comedic timing. It’s also refreshing to see a rom-com with characters over 40 as the leads-- and the movie does not try to make them seem younger or less mature, making the zany moments all the more hilarious. It’s worth seeing for Cary Grant’s jig (picture above) alone.

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (dir. Joseph Sargent, 1974)

This movie embodies so much of what I love about 70s cinema: it’s gritty, irreverent, and hard-hitting. It’s both hilarious and suspenseful-- I was tense all throughout the run time. I heard there was a remake and it just seems... so, so pointless when you already have this gem perfect as it is.

They All Laughed (dir. Peter Bogdonavich, 1981)

Bogdonavich’s lesser known homage to 1930s screwball comedy is also a weirdly autumnal movie. Among the last gasps of the New Hollywood movement, it is also marks the final time Audrey Hepburn would star in a theatrical release. The gentle comedy, excellent ensemble cast (John Ritter is the standout), and the mature but short-lived romance between Hepburn and Ben Gazarra’s characters make this a memorably bittersweet gem.

The Palm Beach Story (dir. Preston Sturges, 1942)

Absolutely hilarious. I was watching this with my parents in the room. My mom tends to like old movies while my dad doesn’t, but both of them were laughing aloud at this one. Not much else to say about it, other than I love Joel McCrea the more movies I see him in-- though it’s weird seeing him in comedies since I’m so used to him as a back-breaking man on the edge in The Most Dangerous Game!

Nothing Sacred (dir. William Wellman, 1937)

I tend to associate William Wellman with the pre-code era, so I’ve tried delving more into his post-code work. Nothing Sacred is easily my favorite of those films thus far, mainly for Carole Lombard but also because the story still feels pretty fresh due to the jabs it takes at celebrity worship and moral hypocrisy. For a satire, it’s still very warm towards its characters, even when they’re misbehaving or deluding themselves, so it’s oddly a feel-good film too.

Applause (dir. Rouben Mamoulian, 1929)

I love watching early sound movies, but my inner history nerd tends to enjoy them more than the part of me that, well, craves good, well-made movies. Most early sound films are pure awkward, but there’s always an exception and Applause is one of them. While the plot’s backstage melodrama is nothing special, the way the story is told is super sophisticated and expressive for this period of cinema history, and Helen Morgan makes the figure of the discarded burlesque queen seem truly human and tragic rather than merely sentimental.

Topaz (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1969)

Another late Hitchcock everyone but me seems to hate. After suffering through Torn Curtain, I expected Hitchcock’s other cold war thriller was going to be dull as dishwater, but instead I found an understated espionage movie standing in stark contrast to the more popular spy movies of the period. It’ll never be top Hitchcock, of course-- still it was stylish and enjoyable, with some truly haunting moments. I think it deserves more appreciation than it’s been given.

What were your favorite cinematic discoveries in 2020?

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askfallenroyalty · 4 years ago

Note

I don't think you did anything wrong. When a story is being written, there are a lot of different ways to adress and express something and maybe that's why you're being misunderstood. I think there are just too many things to adress in this story that maybe some people will get when these things are implicitly implied and some people will not. So when a breaking point comes, they'd think it came out of nowhere. You can see this with the amount of asks you receive asking you often the same thing.

Does that mean it's wrong? Ofc not! I myself was a little bit confused with Frisk's reactions and conduct in general until you explained it in your recent asks, and I thought man, that was what I was missing!

Now, yes I believe some parts of the story could have been explained in a different way, because in my opinion there's a lot to read between the lines. If you don't try to understand the characters, you'll clearly be confused as hell. But that's why I love this story! As you said before, there's nothing meant to be black/white coded, and I really appreciate the world and the character's complexity in general. You don't have some of the answers in hand, an that's when you have to analize! (At least that's what I do haha)

I also really felt like telling you something I've been relating to, so I'm putting the respectives tw if someone doesn't want to keep reading (TW: Suicide mention).

In the DW Arc, when the Christmas and Feylow stuff happened, I realised through Chara that I was doing the exact same thing with a friend of mine. He was going through a lot of stuff, and tried to commit suicide multiple times. I was focusing a huge amount of energy on him because I was afraid to lose him, and when he suddenly stopped talking to me so he could take a break, I felt really lost. Because he was the person I talked with the most, one of my dearest friends, and the idea of losing him and not being there to stop it made me insanely anxious, because that used to be the situation most of the times. Now it's been a year since he's stopped talking to me, and I don't exactly know the reason. But I couldn't keep running behind someone who didn't seem to keep wanting me around. And if it wasn't for you, I couldn't have realized how much this was hurting me.

And now, as much as it hurts me to see him acting this distant and cold with me, I'm okay with it. I really am. Because I now have the tranquility to see him continue, even when things are not okay. I can't force a friendship and I really needed to understand that back then. I trust him as much as he trusts me.

I really wanted to thank you for writing this story because it has helped me in a way I didn't expect, and I'm sure it will help a lot of people too! I'm even learning from your way of taking and discussing things haha.

I just wanted you to have this tranquility I have with this story because I trust it'll work out and explain itself once it's finished. And I just can't express how thankful I am to be reading your story.

Thank you again,

I'm looking forward to more of your work and please, take care! Don't stop doing what you enjoy! 🦋

putting it under a readmore because of how long the ask/response is, sorry!

i’m at a loss of words because wow, this ask really hit in a way i’ve never really could of anticipated. when writing AFR, i write a story about things I felt. I’ve been Chara, I’ve been Asriel and Frisk at points in my life. I write because I need to tell their stories and make it real, specifically for my own sake of getting through my own pain and to tell the world this is who i am and that I will be ok, there is hope in this world. It’s a selfish desire for me, but ultimately that’s what art is i feel. I couldn’t draw this much and put so much time and effort into something without it being meaningful or personal.

but art is communication, and when I write to be seen and to be heard, I know there’s others who are reading and are connecting with the work. (otherwise, I wouldn’t be getting asks right? its a lonely process, i forget there’s the second half of the equation -you guys) and i’ll do my best to make sure people are accommodated and can experience this story without hurting in a way that’s past enjoying a emotionally gripping piece of media. i don’t want people to be upset or hurt for my work, and I want to ensure I can make this without hurting others.

I try to leave a lot of ambiguity and room for people to interpret stories and I don’t mind people missing the point or interpreting things vastly differently than what I intended. that’s fine, that’s what art is all about. i don’t want to hold people’s hands and tell them what’s happening or what they should feel -i want them to choose and decipher and think things over. stories should be stimulating and thought provoking, and i can’t decide what those thoughts are. I wouldn’t want to. Personally, if it means people become more confused and lost over the story -well, that’s a trade off I have to take. if it means the story is more up-to-interpretation, than it’s worth it to me.

i do regret with how fast and punchy the arc ended up, and I feel my hints may have been too weak. asriel/flowey has been bluntly surprised/asking to be killed twice, he hasn’t felt like himself since dying and has lost his support systems ect. as a person who’s Been Through Shit, I thought it was as obvious as the sun what was to come but thinking on it now?

with how distance asriel is, how limited the perspective is to chara (who hasn’t known Asriel has been going thru the same depressive/suicidal thoughts as they have this whole time) it was a shock to the system. and in a way that’s fine in my eyes if the reader was completely shocked as you can emphasize more with chara that way... but in the same sense its horrifying for them, it must be for the reader as well.

and I do feel I should of thought of a way to handle the scenario to where it was less in your-face with Asriel’s decent into desperation and attempts. I don’t want to ever show it on screen, I don’t want to ever go into detail and make it any sort of fun for the viewer. it’s supposed to be disturbing and painful and I tried to show how greatly painful it was affecting both chara and frisk. Suicide victims are victims and everyone involved suffer from it. It’s ugly and never something one should be anything but ugly.

that is my intent for it be that, but as I’ve heard from people it’s still a shock and went too far. Authorial intent doesn’t matter when people react to your stories. yes, the context can be good to have, but people’s feelings and reactions mean the world more. I hope with the added context of the complete story that helps it in the long run, but as it is I’m very unhappy with how I tackled it and I don’t really have a good answer to how I should of gone about it. but at the end of the day that doesn’t matter as it happened and I can’t change it.

i’m sorry about your friend and i’m sorry for the pain you’ve experienced as well. it’s not easy being in that position (nor is it for ur friend as well of course) and it’s perfectly fine to feel hurt and to take time for yourself to address those feelings. You, as a person, matter and your feelings are justifiably important as well. nobody asks to be mentally ill and your friend’s choices aren’t fully theirs because of that, but it doesn’t change how it’s affected and hurt you. Losing someone’s friendship has always been a painful and inevitable experience people must go thru in life. I’m sorry that you’ve gone through that, but I’m glad -so happy that my story has helped you in any amount. I sincerely wish you both the best and to heal, I’m proud of you anon for getting through this.

I can’t really express how much it means as a writer to see how my work helped you. Like I mentioned before, I write and feel like it’s by myself that makes this work but it’s a 2 way street -you guys contribute to the story and the story only exists and is perceived by you. without an audience, it really truly is just me here. what you gain and experience within a story is just as important as the writing of the work itself and I often forget that.

Thank you. This was a really nice and eye opening ask and it’s going to be on my mind for a while, haha. I hope once the story is done and I can post-correct how I handle the story, people can learn and gain meaning to it like you have. Sorry if this was a bit rambly, I’m very thankful for your response (as well as everyone else who’s messaged!) and I’m very happy and excited to continue and to do my best. Thank you all so much.

#ooc #tbd #not art #suicide #ask to tag #also sorry i do not mean to get so parasocial here! is it parasocial in this instance?#i'm not fully sure but regardless #i do want my readers to be ok and I hope its not out of line to respond like this #maybe i'm overthinking things im sorry asdfkljasd #Anonymous

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what-the--curtains · 4 years ago

Text

Not a Piece of Art

Part 2/5 - The Dinner Party

(Javier Peña x f!reader)

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Summary: You’re invited to the targets house for dinner, will they see through your act? Or can you keep your hatred hidden for long enough to get the information you need?

Authors note: Thank you for all the lovely comments and likes and reblogs💕❤️! I’ve been feeling kinda bleh recently so I apologize for it taking so long and I’m also sorry if it’s crap but I’m pretty happy with the story line (also there’s gonna be a follow up to this series for sure). Anyways hope y’all are keeping well and thank you for reading!!

Warnings: THIS STORY WILL BE 18+ starting next chapter (minors DNI) . For now it’s just swearing and allusions to abusive relationships

Word count: 5.7k

Tagged: @trash-dino-5000 @diogodxlot @agingerindenial

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You watch the moving trucks hired by the DEA to facilitate your luxurious, but imaginary lifestyle roll up the driveway one after the other. Each truck opened to reveal piece after piece of expensive furniture better suited to the silver screen than your real life adding to the dysphoria you'd been feeling over the past few days. You were now living and enjoying someone else's life, a fact that left an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Though the anxiety you were feeling was likely due to the very real threat of being murdered, and not the lavish home decor you were now in possession of. If there was one thing to be thankful for it was your close proximity to the water, you’d been landlocked for too long. Peace washes over you as you watch the water break against the cliff face. You turn towards the target's house gazing up to the balcony on the third floor. The doors are swung open and a woman in white stands with her arms outstretched on the railing, standing like a queen overseeing her kingdom. You were being watched. You lift your hand up to block out the sun, hoping to get a better look at her, but she's gone by the time you do.

Noticing the overwhelmed look plastered on your face as the trucks arrived Javier decided he would take on directing the movers. Only calling for your help when furniture needed to be placed, as interior design was admittedly not in his wheelhouse.

“You know where that goes?” Javi asks the movers, lighting up a cigarette and placing it between his lips. The movers nod as they lug the enormous mattress inside. He turns scanning the landscape to locate your whereabouts, you'd been all over the place this morning. Whether you were playing into the spacey artist trope or the pressure was finally getting to you he wasn’t really sure. Either way he wanted to make this transition as easy as possible for you, and considering you weren't a field agent it was also his responsibility to keep you safe. He spots you near the walkway that leads down to the ocean, a gentle breeze blows in from the beachfront causing the linen dress wrapped around you to part just above your thigh. There's a relaxed smile etched on your face, resulting in a calm that Javi had never witnessed emanating from you before.

An arm snakes around your waist and you lean into it for a moment before remembering who it belonged to causing your body to instinctively retract. You push back off his chest and watch as Peña shakes his head in quiet frustration before turning back towards the moving trucks. You chew your lip, you knew you had to do better at acting the part you’d been ordered to play. If you didn’t this mission would be over before it even started. Memorizing your alias was easy enough as was adopting the british accent, but acting in love with Peña. That was where it all fell apart, but if there was one thing you knew for sure it was that you did your best work under pressure. You swallow hard as the last few trucks slip away down the driveway. The notion of being left alone with Peña for the first time was an anxiety not even the ocean could sooth. With a deep breath you will your legs to move towards your new home which is currently looking more like a cell. You walk by Peña who snuffs out his cigarette in the dirt before following you inside.

“Why would two people ever need a house this big?” he asks, closing the door behind you, his voice bouncing off the marble walls.

“So they never have to see each other.” you offer, running your hand along the granite countertops.

“That felt targeted,” he says, watching your hands movement intently.

“It wasn’t, at least not intentionally. You notice how this whole back wall is glass? Weird design choice” you remark, trying to open up a civil dialogue with him.

“Probably built it so they can keep tabs on the neighbours” he offers coming up behind you, standing a little too close for comfort.

“Why build a house across from yours if you're trying to be undetected?” you ask, turning around nearly colliding with his chest, huffing at the inconvenience before maneuvering around him.

“If you were a federal agent and a big empty house was available for a stake out would you take it or would you go for the rocky beach or bug infested forest? Keep your enemies close, they expect the feds to show up here, so they make it easy to monitor” he explains, in a surprisingly uncondescending way.

“Hadn’t thought about that” you admit.

“Don’t teach you everything in those fancy buildings with ivory towers” he chuckles, as he sits down on one of the couches.

“Never claimed that they did” you retort “did they bring any food in?” you ask, moving towards the fridge.

“Not sure, figured the kitchen was your domain, can you bring me a beer” Javi says, the subtle misogyny fueling the rage simmering inside you.

“I’m sorry what exactly did your last servant die of?” You snap back.

“What? We’re supposed to keep up appearances” he responds calmly from the couch, feet crossed on the coffee table that cost more than your yearly rent.

“And what exactly is my appearance supposed to be? The domesticated housewife who brings you beer, cooks you dinner and sucks you off?” you respond, rage finally boiling over.

“Well I hadn't asked for that last one yet but...”

“Unbelievable! You can cook for yourself Peña. I'm not your wife and im definitely not your fucking mother”

“You certainly nag like her. Seriously a beer, it's not asking much” he demands.

“You know...” you say opening the fridge and pulling out a beer walking it over to him “I don't know if you’ve heard...” you continue, nudging his feet off the table with your calves as you place the beer down “of these amazing things...” you say, kneeling down, parting his legs and rising up between them, making eyes at him as you slowly run your hands up his thighs. “Called legs!” you state slapping your palms down on his thighs smiling as the growing smirk on his face quickly disappears “You should try using them sometime” you finish standing back up, grabbing the beer from the table and heading back into the kitchen to cook yourself, and only yourself, dinner. You'd managed to stay out of each other's hair for the rest of the evening, but another blowout ensued when it came to figuring out your sleeping situation.

“C'mon you don't have to be such a...” Javi exclaims calmly

“Such a what Peña?” you ask watching him bite his tongue “No please finish that sentence. I’d love to hear what thought provoking and truly innovative ideas you have about me.” You retort

“Just get in the bed” he pleads, lifting up the sheets and motioning his hand towards it.

“With you? I'd rather be shot” you state.

“Keep acting like this and your wish may just get granted sweetheart” he says through gritted teeth, the petulant show you were putting on wearing thin.

“Newsflash Peña! They can’t see us in here, so I think I'll take my chances on the couch” you assumed it was far enough away from the windows to keep you from prying eyes.

“Your fucking funeral” he shouts down the hall, watching you storm off with an armful of sleepwear you'd brought from home. The sleepwear was not flattering nor did it fit into the rich aesthetic you were currently upholding, but at this point, you didn't care. You'd chosen the oversized band shirt and basketball shorts because they hid your body away from prying eyes. Not that Peña would be looking, you hardly qualified as his type. You flop down on the couch rolling your eyes at the beer bottles he’d left there, likely for you to clean up. Irritated you fall asleep, cursing the couch for being inexplicably the most uncomfortable thing you'd ever had the misfortune of sitting on.

Your woken as the doorbell sounds throughout the house startling you so badly that you fall off the couch with a loud thud. “Shit!” you curse realizing it was likely the target. As quick as you can, you strip off your pyjamas and throw on the robe you had snatched in a hurry last night, only just realizing it was practically sheer. You yawn as you open the door to a beautiful woman who you immediately recognize as the target's wife, Helena. Presumably the same woman who you had seen on the balcony yesterday. She looked every bit a billionaire's wife with her hair neatly styled, 6 inch heels and perfect makeup while you, well you currently looked, and smelt, like you’d slept in a sewer.

“Hi im Helena, we saw you move in yesterday, we live next door.”

“We?” you ask squinting into the early morning light as another yawn escapes your lips

“Me and my husband” She says looking past you towards the couch where you had slept. Shit. Peña was not going to let you live that one down. Speaking of the devil, he appears from the bedroom in an open robe, and very thin linen pants, a look that made you realize why so many women were easily charmed by him.

“Cara mia, who's at the door?” he asks, eyes darting to the obviously slept in couch before settling on the beautiful woman standing before him. A woman who'd have his full attention if it wasn't for the transparent robe clumsily wrapped around your body.

“Our new neighbor” you say, refraining from using a cutesy nickname afraid you'd choke on it.

“Forgive my wife, she hasn’t been sleeping well” he says, coming over and wrapping himself around you, kissing the top of your head, before resting his chin on it.

“I find I sleep best when next to my husband” she responds offering Javi a megawatt smile which he returns.

“Maybe if your husband doesn't snore like an elephant” you respond sleepily with a soft laugh. You were surprised how well the british accent rolled off your tongue despite the early hour.

“Mine does as well, shakes the whole house! The things we put up with when we are truly in love are amazing” shes says, reigniting your anxiety “We want you to come for dinner, we've hired a chef” she continues.

“We’d love to, always good to know the neighbours, we like to make sure we're keeping good company” Javi reponds.

“Excellent, lets say, 7:30, be on time, my husband doesn't like to be kept waiting.” The second the door shuts you wiggle out from his grasp and make your way over to the kitchen pouring yourself, and only yourself, some coffee, still tired from the piss poor sleep you'd gotten last night. At least this time it wasn’t because you had to listen to someone having rigourous sex through the walls.

Javier follows close behind snatching the cup from your hands and taking a sip, knowing full well it wasn’t meant for him. He watches your eyes bulge slightly and your jaw tightens before you storm off into the bedroom to change out of the see through robe, much to his dismay.

“We need to go over the plan for tonight,” he says from the kitchen.

“Alright what is it?” you ask emerging in one of the many luxurious outfits provided to you.

“We’ll scout it out, find the room where they keep the paintings nd take the samples you need.”

“Ya” you say “and how exactly am I supposed to sneak in test tubes filled with liquid that traces drugs. ” you ask

“Bring a purse? I don't know. You're the genius you figure it out” he shrugs.

“I could wear a long skirt and strap them to my legs?”

“No they'll know you're hiding something,” he says, shooting down your idea.

“Purse it is then” you respond. “If they come back positive then what?”

“We can figure that out later, but i'll drop hints that the money I've made has been done in less than legal ways, and mention your outstanding knack for counterfeiting. Oh and wear something short tonight” he says “More to see means less to hide” he offers when he sees you glaring at him. “ and no scowling at me while we're in there, unless you really want to blow it” he laughs, your hatred for him almost comical at this point.

“What am I supposed to do when you're being insufferable then” you dig, with a wide fake smile.

“Save them up for later, besides it won't be me in there with you, it'll be my character, who you don’t hate.”

7:00pm

You change into a burgundy dress with an open back that falls well above your mid thigh, its length hardly covering you. You make a note not to bend over throughout the night, as you sling on the high heels that cost more than all your shoes combined. You grab the swabs and plastic bags needed to keep them sterile and stuff them into your purse before slipping on your wedding ring, and exiting into the kitchen.

“Alright, how do I look?” you ask, reopening the purse and re organizing the material inside it. When you finally look up you’re taken aback. Peña's usual attire of tight jeans and button up t shirt’s had been replaced by a stunning velvet pastel coloured jacket worn over top, a partially unbuttoned silk dress shirt and black dress pants. He cleaned up well, very well.

Your prolonged look doesn't go unnoticed by Javi, nor does the way your eyes quickly dart back down to your purse when he meets your gaze. He refrains from making a snarky comment knowing it would only piss you off, and that was the last thing he wanted to do before infiltrating a highly dangerous situation.

“Perfect, hermosa” he says, he wasn’t lying about it either. He knew you weren’t really listening to what he was saying, but god if you didn't look perfect tonight. Pretending to be in love with you would be easy enough for him, he hoped you’d be able to maintain the act as well. He watches as you move gracefully around him in heels that were working exceptionally well at emphasizing your... assets. He averts his eyes when you reach up for a bottle of wine knowing that more than you’d want him to see would be out.

“You know I can speak Spanish, right?” you say, a small smile creeping on your lips before quickly disappearing back into the cold facade you were determined to keep up against him.

“Well, I do now” he laughs, slightly embarrassed he got caught out complimenting you sincerely. He slides on his wedding band and escorts you out the door.

“God how do people walk in these for more than 15 mintues” you mutter, your feet already killing you. You almost regretted pushing Peñas arm away when he’d offered it to you earlier. Approaching the house you feel his hand wrap around your waist and you lean into him in an attempt to take some pressure off your feet. He rings the doorbell, lowering his hand as he hears the heels approaching from down the hall. Lifting up the hem of your dress he begins rubbing small circles over your thigh with his thumb. Any other time and you'd have broken his hand without a second though, but it fell well within the contract you’d had him sign detailing exactly where and when he was allowed to touch you.

“Welcome” Helena says as she opens the door in an equally revealing dress. She leads you through the enormous entrance way and into the main foyer, gazing up you see balconies on each level overlooking the large ballroom area. Your amazement at the house was cut short as you turned to see Peña who was currently only paying attention to Helena's fine architecture. If your eye rolls wouldn't give your true feeling for eachother away, his ogling certainly might. You elbow him harshly in ribs causing his hand to inadvertently dig deeper into your skin. His grip releases as Helena's husband enters into the room grabbing her and kissing her deeply for just long enough that both you and Javier feel uncomfortable.

“Welcome” he booms after separating from Helena, grasping Javis hand in his. You can see the veins in his arm bulge, as he clamps down on Peñas hand in a bizarre play for dominance.

“Here” you say offering him the wine, causing him to release his grip “Your home is as stunning as your wife” you smile as he looks down at the bottle reading its label.

“This one’s from a good year! Neither of our wives were even born then, lucky for us” he laughs, winking at you “We’ll have it with dinner.” he continues, pulling Javi into his side and walking him towards the bar.

Helena smiles at you and raises her eyebrows, rolling her eyes at her husband's behaviour. “Come now, alcohol will get us through the night” she states, leading you down the hallway. You knew her suspicions were high, and it wasn't lost on you that she’d likely shared her feelings with her husband, but she was being remarkably kind, which only added to your concern.

“Drink? What’s your poison, Carino?” Carlos demands of you. He was larger than life in both stature and personality, charming but in a terrifying way.

“I do believe he's talking to you love” you joke, smiling up at Javi earning a laugh from Helena.

“Whiskey, neat.” he says, you couldn't tell if Carlos was amused or upset by your disobedience, but the way Peña was currently pulling you discreetly out of Carlos’ reach made you think it was the latter.

“I usually don't ask twice, but for someone so beautiful and so clever, I'll make the exception. Though just his once” Javis grip around you relaxes and you flash Carlos a smile.

“Gin and tonic, if you don't mind”

“Any preference” he asks.

“Dealers choice”, you say, offering him back the control which seems to cut the tension and it's not long before he’s once again laughing with Javi.

“We're glad to have neighbours again '' Carlos says “especially ones who seem so agreeable.” His approval doesn’t relax you. Approval wasn’t trust and you’re well aware that this was just as much an interrogation as it was a dinner party. Carlos takes a seat in one of the upholstered armchairs gesturing for Javi to join him. Helena nods her head towards the couch and you follow her lead. Your eyes are quickly pulled off her when Peña yanks you down onto his lap.

“Darling!” you exclaim thanking the lord you didn't use his real name by mistake. “I could have spilled this very expensive drink all over this very expensive chair, I'm so sorry! I'd say he's not usually like this but...”

“I understand his need to have a beautiful woman in his arms as often as possible, it's why I'm on my fourth wife!” he boasts.

“I'm hoping i'll stick.” Helenea says, holding her drink up as she gazes lovingly over to Carlos, though something behind her eyes told another story. Perhaps you weren't the only one harbouring a secret hatred. “I'm hoping you’ll both stick as well. Neighbours can be problematic, nosy even, our last ones were before they...moved” Helena says from the couch

“Hard to imagine someone tiring from living in the house. It's beautiful, did you build it?” you ask

“Paid for it, but Helena designed it the whole thing, she's very gifted.” Carlos brags.

“I'd have to agree with that,” Javi says, smiling at her which she returns, a flirtation playing on both their faces. Javis hands may be on you but his eyes were on her and if you were picking up on it Carlos certainly had as well. You jump slightly when the server enters the room to inform the group that dinner was ready.

Javi pulls out a chair for you and you sit down placing your hand on his as he takes his seat next to you. The meal was the best you ever had, five delicious courses each one more decadent than the last.

“You don’t take her out to many five star restaurants? It seems as if she's never eaten such a meal!” Carlos excalims. Evidently you were doing a piss poor job at hiding your delight.

“I'm still getting used to the lifestyle if i’m honest. Though I imagine a meal such as this is still rare, even at the most expensive restaurants” you say before Javi can respond for you, the recovery impressing him slightly.

“You should have seen what she was eating before I met her, back when she was a starving artist” Javi says, as you bring a hand up to rub along the velvet jacket covering his broad shoulders.

“The billionaire and the starving artist, now I must know. How did you come to find each other?” Helena asks.

“My art dealer went to New York and brought back one of her paintings, it came with a photo and after seeing it I knew I had to have her, if she’d take me”

“And how did an old man like him convince a sweet young thing like you to marry him?” Carlos asks.

“No convincing needed, not when he sent thousands of my favourite flowers to my studio before showing up at the door himself. Any man willing to put that much time and money towards meeting me deserves a date. At least in my books and he’s continued to prove himself to me ever since.” You gaze up at him lovingly, so convincing that for a moment even he forgets you hate his guts.

“What are they? Her favorite flowers?” Helena probes, earning a grunt from Carlos presumably displeased with his wifes intrusiveness.

“Sunflowers. They're hard to find in New York, especially in the winter, I had to ship them from California.” Your gaze of faux adoration turns quickly to genuine surprise. How had he known what your favourite flowers were? It wasn't outlined in your character profile and you'd certainly never told him.

“I’ve seen the piece, its beautiful, your wifes very talented,”

“You should see her school portfolio, copies of works that were almost exact replicas of the originals. She possesses the talent of a hundred artists before her”

“You flatter me. Copying is a technique used to learn, but it's no measure of true artistry or creativity” you laugh. “When did you see my work, were you in New York?”

“Oh no I'm an art dealer myself, but I have people go to places for me. Your work was passed over my desk a few weeks ago.” Carlos explains.

“Perhaps I could paint you something then I would finally have a truly unbiased critic” You watch as Carlos slowly nods his head, contemplating your offer.

‘You’ll have to see our art collection, we have pieces here from all over the world” Helena says,

“How long have you been in the business?’ you ask, taking Carlos as a man who liked to show off

“longer than you've been alive” he says winking at you.

“Well I can only imagine what pieces you must have , you've proven to have exquisite taste, in all areas of life.” you smile eyes briefly darting to Helena.

“Helena show her the gallery would you, I wish to speak with my friend here in private”

“Will you be joining us later?” Helena asks, causing him to grunts out a yes before pulling Javi into another room to talk about god knows what. She leads you up to the second floor, each step you take causing a sharp pain to shoot down your foot’s arch.

“You get used to the heels, small price to pay for the lifestyle. Walking around in them in the house for a while helps.” she explains.

“Thank you” you say. “Somedays I dont think I'll ever really acclimatize to the lifestyle.” She leads you into a large room, greek style pillars run through the middle while art from around the world lines the walls. If the pieces were real this room was worth millions.

“How does your family feel about you living here? It must be hard them being so far away in England”

“I uhm...I... don’t have any.” You can feel her eyes boring into you assessing the answer you just gave her. “They passed, when I was 19” you continue turning to meet her gaze.

“I'm so sorry. To lose them so young must have been devastating, but I don't need to tell you that, do I” she says, shaking her head. You nod swallowing hard gazing back to the paintings. “Lucky he found you I suppose, and such a handsome man at that. Many billionaires are.... not.”

“Lucky for us both then” you say, moving along the wall “these painting are beautiful, I envy you being surrounded by such formidable pieces, and only a walk away”

“Yes'' she says, as if she doesn't care. She's watching you intently, trying to suss out where your loyalties lied, your lack of descriptive fondness for your husband suddenly seemed like a poor choice on your part. Before she can ask another question you hear Carlos yell out for her, the noise startling you both, so much so that her hand clamps down on your wrist.

“Duty calls” she says, composing herself and relaxing her grip on you.

“Should I come with you?” you ask, playing into the deer in headlights trope which seemed to have an effect on Helena.

“No, he asked for just me. I don't like to disobey him, he's not a kind man when not listened to.”

“Are you safe here” you ask.

“As long as I don’t cause trouble I should be.” she affirms.

“Well, you're welcome at ours, at any time. If anything happens, even if it doesn't you can stay with us. Heavens knows we have the room.” you say sincerely, the concern coming from you, not your character. Helana nods offering you a soft smile squeezing your hand before leaving the room.

“See how obedient she is, how compliant, she's perfect, don’t you think!” Carlos says

“Hard to argue with that,” Javi responds, giving her a once over.

“And beautiful yes, c'mon you are married not dead” he prompts when Javi doesn't respond immediately

“Very much so” he says, smiling at Helena before turning to Carlos who was intent on showing off his wife in the most demeaning way possible.

“Was there something you needed love?” Helena asked. She was used to her husbands showing her off to other men, but she was growing tired of it. She was involved in her husband's work, primarily in the organization making sure everything ran smoothly, she knew if it didn't she would inevitably be to blame. She valued her life, so she learnt fast, adapted like a pro. Four years later and her husband hadn’t offed her yet. She was a mastermind in a career she had been inadvertently forced into, but a mastermind nonetheless. To her husband she was nothing more than a trophy, but better to be that than a punching bag.

“A word in private” he says, gesturing to her with a come hither motion.

“Your wifes in the art room, up the stair, down the hall to the left, take the drink with you, we won't be a moment” He says, his eyes telling Javi to vacate the room. He lets out a grumble as he closes the door behind him. He shakes his head, swirling the whiskey as he walks towards the gallery. He’d fumbled tonight by not making it clear that he only had eyes for his wife, a hard task considering Helena, who he realized too late was likely meant to see if his gaze could be easily swayed. Which it had. All thoughts about any other woman cease to exist when he walks into the gallery and sees you bent over swabbing a painting. Something about watching you in your element had always been mesmerizing to him. It’s why he was always dropping off files for you, the task could easily be outsourced, but he enjoyed watching you maneuver with ease around the various machines.

“You should be more careful querida,” he says, chuckling as you jump back.

“Watch the door, would you? I've got two more to do” he leans back against the frame, one eye on the door, one eye on you watching as you meticulously swab the remaining paintings. “All good, you don’t think they keep cameras in here?” you ask, closing up your purse.

“No. Cameras are easy to hack.” he says nonchalantly, as he comes over to you stopping at your side looking up at the painting, suddenly understanding people's fascination with art. You grab the drink from his hand and take a sip placing it back down on the empty pedestal propping yourself up along with it when you hear footsteps approaching.

“Come here” you demand, and he does, eyes suddenly darker than before. He stops a few inches in front of you. “Closer” you beckon, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him into you. You drape your arms around his shoulder extending your neck allowing his mouth to graze lightly over the skin just in time for Helena and Carlos to witness it. You push him off you in pretend shock.

“Please, don’t stop on our account” Carlos laughs

“I'm sorry, god these pieces must be worth thousands and here I am sitting on one” you say hoping the act wasn’t too transparent.

“Don’t apologize, a work of art belongs on a pedestal” Carlos says, the complementing causing Javis jaw to noticeably clench. He was a better actor than you gave him credit for, maybe they would buy this relationship after all.

“We should probably be going, once she starts it's hard to get her to stop,” Javi says.

“So that’s how she trapped you” the husband responds, the entire exchange causing you to cringe internally. You hop down off the stool as Javi finishes the whiskey offering the glass to Helena who takes it before leading you towards the front door.

“We must do this again soon,” she says settling into Carlos’ arm

“Perhaps at ours next time?” You offer

“A generous offer, but we prefer to entertain.” He says

“Then I look forward to seeing you soon, especially if another meal like that is in store” As you exit the mansion Javi makes sure his hand is visibly running over your body, but you slap it away the second you can.

“Ouch” he says, shaking out the hand, the rings on your fingers leaving a particular sting on his skin.

“Suck it up” you respond, having had enough of him for the night.

“Cut the shit, your attitude problem is going to get us killed” he whispers through gritted teeth.

“I don’t have an attitude problem. I just have a problem with you” You say, turning to face him and prodding a finger into his chest “ and don’t act like you ogling his wife was helping our case either. Ya I slipped up tonight, but so did you, so shoulder some of the blame you’re throwing my way.”

“Jealousy’s a nice colour on you” he laughs, knowing how riled up it would get you.

“Ha!” you fake laugh “ because it's jealousy and not the fact that your inability to keep it in your pants is going to get me killed.” You exclaim as you enter the kitchen grabbing down a glass and chugging some water before going into the art room where you were storing the testing kits.

You? Jealous? Of what exactly. What did he think he had to offer that would make you want or need to be the subject of his attention. Attention he gave to anything that walked or batted its eyelashes at him. Jesus he was insufferable, you hated that he had this notion that your anger was based on jealousy and not multiple interactions where he'd failed to impress you. Even if you had come off as jealous it was all a part of the act. He had been acting jealous throughout the night, did he think you weren't competent enough to do the same? You had three degrees for fucks sake, you deserve some credit. “Fucking asshole” you mutter, the manifestation of the words helping you to calm down enough to dip the q tips in the liquid, sure enough, they came back positive the paintings had been near drugs, you’d tell Peña about that later. You see the light on in the bedroom as you exit the “art room” and you head towards it determined to get one last punch in before going to bed.

Javier had just settled into the enormous bed he had the luxury of having all to himself, moments away from flicking the light switch when he notices your figure in the door frame.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks

“I think he's abusive, the husband you were getting along with so nicely” you spit out, the venom intended to question his character in a hurtful way, but it doesn't seem to phase him.

“It's the job to get friendly with the monsters, doesn't mean I like them” he reasons

“I told her she could come here if anything happened, so we’ll have to hide this stuff a bit better” you remark, turning your failed attempt to get one last dig in, into a valid reason for starting up a conversation.

“Guess you'll have to stop sleeping on the couch then” he smirks. Check mate. Your eyes bore into the bed you had just talked yourself into sharing with Javier Peña.

#javi x y/n #javier pena x reader #javi x you #javi x reader #javier Peña x you #Javier Peña x y/n #narcos fanfic #narcos #enemies to lovers

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clarajulia · 4 years ago

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i really took my time with these haha

1. What would the happiest and best version of yourself look like?

all connected to the earth, aligned, happy, feeling free and having people around me that i love. feeling secure and settled within myself

2. What message/advice would you give to your past self?

to be more aware when going into a relationship not to lose myself, to still be in touch with my feelings and my own sense of self. but on the other hand, i think it was necessary for me to have experienced that or else i wouldn’t be so strong in that today, i wouldn't have learned my lesson so i guess everything works out the way it does.

3. What is your happy place and why?

going to bed at night with my cat awaiting me.

alternatively, the company of my best friend @incompletedolphin because she just makes me feel so happy

4. Have you ever been in a toxic relationship? How did you get out of it? Any advice?

i’ve experienced toxic friendships like i guess most people when they're growing up. it was hard for me to bring up the nerve and self respect to walk away from that but in the end, like i said, everything shapes you to be the person that you are now so i wouldn’t change anything about the way that happened for me.

5. If money didn't matter (if you earned enough money from it) what job would you want to have and why?

musician, singer but i guess everybody knows that that’s the path i’m already taking so other than that:

be a free painter, artist, expressing my mind and feelings in art

6. Do you have your happiest memory? If you don't mind sharing please tell us about it.

one that immediately pops in my head is when me and my friend group at the time were sitting in the hallway of our school and i had just finished recording and producing my first song that i had worked on foreverrrr and i showed it to them and we all cried

7. Do you have your saddest memory? If you don't mind sharing please tell us about it.

i think when i was nine and my rabbit died that i loved unconditionally and my grandma came over to cheer me up (that was shortly after my cat had died too first). i played a song on the piano for my rabbit, sobbing, and my grandma sobbed too and hugged me tight. i just remember feeling so incredibly sad like i had just lost a family member. i missed him so much for such a long time.

8. What is the movie/book/tv show that made you think a lot or made you change something about yourself?

bojack horseman is the best, deepest, most thought-provoking tv show that i know

9. If you ever were to write a book what would it be about?

i guess art and the way i see the world. the way in which i experience life. and how to me every notion, every cell, every breath, every moment and emotion is art and something to be cherished. and also how easily we get lost in our heads.

10. Do you have a strange habit?

watching films half and never finishing them

11. Have you ever met a person that drastically changed your life?

yes i have, meeting my best friend in 5th grade has forever changed my life, meeting my boyfriend has drastically, suddenly changed my life.

12. How would you describe yourself in 5 words ?

messy head in cloud mind

13. What is your idea of a perfect day?

spending it with someone (maybe even a person i don't know so well) just us two, not in a group, spending all day outside, making tea, having unforced deep talks, doing things i don't usually do! go swimming, make a fire maybe, play basketball things like that

14. Do you have any embarrassing stories from your life?

i have so many embarrassing videos of me at 12 years old it’s not cool

15. What is the strangest thing you've done or seen ?

honestly, frankfurter hauptbahnhof.

16. What is your gender identity? Do you think you do a lot of stereotypical things that are assigned to your gender?

i think there are crazy high expectations to fit as a female, mostly to please men or to be seen as “sociaty-ly pretty”

17. If you could bring one character from a book to life, who would it be and why?

i hardly ever read so this question is hard for me to answer but i’m sure i’d have a lot to learn from the boy in “the alchemist” which so far is my favourite book i’ve read

18. Do you have a person in your life that makes you feel special or a person that you feel like you're soulmates with?

i do. there’s a couple people that make me feel really special. but my favourite person on this earth is my best friend lilén and i believe friends can be soulmates, maybe even more than lovers.

19. What has been the hardest thing you had to deal with? Do you have any advice on how to deal with a similar situation?

heartbreak.

i have no advice because i’m still figuring it out. but what i’ve learned so far is the importance of letting yourself hurt, really allowing yourself to feel everything that there is because that’s the only way for things to really get better.

20. What are you currently waiting for?

summer. and my first tattoo that i’m getting tomorrow.

#question tag

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frogsmulder · 4 years ago

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Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 5 Under the Midnight Moon

Starting from the final events of 09x20 The Truth, Mulder and Scully tackle their new reality as fugitives. When they finally settle into things, Scully finds out she is pregnant again. A canon divergent AU where I thought, what if Scully got pregnant whilst on the run instead of at the end of season 11?

3.7k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

The night was mild but the coastal breeze had its biting edge. Nipping at Mulder's toes, it reminded him that he really was in Mazatlán, Mexico, and the beauty of the sky and the sea softly roaring wasn't just a lyrical dream. The music from the clubs on the promenade pulsed through the air; a low hum by the time it reached the beach. He sat on one of the blankets from the car laid out over the soft dips and mounds of the sand, guarding Scully's socks and shoes and Moby as he watched her. Scully, ever his lyrical dream, paddled at the shore, not caring for the power of the elements, but liberated by the tug of the tide. In the candescence of the moon, her blonde hair was illuminated an ethereal silver like a halo, gently billowing in the breeze. Her pants were turned up, the waves cresting and crashing at her feet, the sand no doubt sifting through her bare toes as whisps of seaweed floated at her ankles. There was a lightness to her step that made everyone she took look like a dance of her spirit. Beside her, Emily was jumping over the waves as they rolled in. Her little feet made no splashes in the water but she was giggling and skipping all the same. His heart ached with contentment to see them both enjoy a moment of happiness. Gazing up at the black night sky littered with the warmth of orange light pollution, he thanked the far-off, scattered stars, knowing whoever was up there had smiled on him with mercy.

Man, you're properly screwed.

The three musketeers appeared behind him with the dulcet tones of Frohike carrying on the wind.

Yeah, dude, you can't keep living like this, Langley added.

"Like what?" Mulder asked defensively.

Byers sat down in front of Mulder and clasped his hands. What the others were trying so eloquently say is that you need to tell her about us.

Mulder rubbed his face in his hands. With his sight darkened, he couldn't tell that the trio was there like they had simply blinked out of existence– no presence, no warmth, no sound of breath greeted him. He was chasing visions in his own head again. He took a deep breath. "I don't know if I can do that to her."

Frohike sympathetically tried to pat his shoulder. Mulder, we had a deal: if you don't treat the lady right, I get to make a pass.

Mulder scrunched his nose. "I don't ever remember making that deal."

He's right, Frohike, that never happened.

Shut up, Langley, he warned. I might be dead, but I'm no less of a catch.

Because you looked like a wet fish while you were still alive, Langley jibed.

Mulder chuckled, "I didn't even have to say it."

He looked up to see Scully walking back up the beach towards him, a peaceful smile playing on her lips. The reflection of the ocean still twinkled beyond the infinite blue of her eyes. He felt as though he had taken a lungful of seawater, something like an intoxicating potion swirling around his insides, polishing unbridled emotion.

"Talking to yourself again?" she asked cheerfully, pulling a stray strand of hair from her curling lips, blissfully unaware of the company he held.

Beaming up at her, he joked, "One day, they'll lock me up for it."

Come on, man! Frohike exclaimed accompanied by a reprimanding, Mulder... from Byers.

Scully's face fell, a flash of pain darting behind those endless oceans, suddenly turning the air sombre. All at once, the imaginary taste of salt on his tongue spoilt and dried his mouth.

"Please don't say that," she said calmly, her voice a mask free of malice or vulnerability.

"Sorry, I forget," he muttered.

The trio moved out the way as Scully unknowingly walked between them and sat beside Mulder. "It's okay," she murmured, eyes drawn to the water.

Frohike, Byers, and Langley all looked at him expectantly. He ignored them indignantly and laid down with his head in Scully's lap, shuffling on the scratchy blanket to get comfortable. She idly stroked her fingers through his hair, fingertips cool against his side-burns. He shivered from the chill of her touch, but leaned into her affection, letting the tingles shoot down his spine.

Frohike groaned exasperatedly. Let's leave the two lovebirds to it, he said, frowning at Mulder and gesturing for the others to follow. I'm sure he'll tell her eventually.

Mulder chuckled at him and the disgruntled expression on his face as he walked out of sight.

"Are you okay?" Scully asked, a purring lilt to her voice.

"Yeah," he sighed, then nestled further into the cradle of her lap.

She hummed contentedly, continuing to draw waves through his hair. Her stare was fixed not on him, but following the line of the horizon where cargo ships were dotted like tiny toys. She was more peaceful, her spirit soothed for a few hours by the lullaby of the waves. Yet she still kept that part of her private. Her silhouette was stoic, not letting on what undercurrents pained her. He just felt like a sponge, absorbing all her hardship and mirroring it back to her. Her pain was his hurt; her wounds why he wept.

Mulder placed his hand on top of hers by his head, nuzzling his cheek warmly into her palm. "I like it when you're like this," he mused.

She cocked her head with curiosity. "Like what?"

"Carefree," he said simply.

"What do you mean?"

"I can feel you and you're the most relaxed I've ever seen you these last couple of months–" Turning, he sat up and cupped her cheek, holding her as if she were a delicate and intricate work of art, constantly shifting and changing, swirling and charming him with her mystery. He watched the puzzle pieces in her eyes and her jaw shift and tighten. He smoothed her porcelain skin over with his thumb, her cheeks rosy from the chill, no longer thawed by her constant smile. "–But you're still putting on a strong face."

"What do you mean?" she asked again below her breath.

He brought their foreheads together, noses kissing like Eskimos', daring to say what had been on his mind since they had first driven out of New Mexico. "I know you're coping, but it's killing me watching you close off from the world. I don't know how long I can wait for you while I'm in the dark, not knowing what monsters you're fighting. Seeing you then, it was like I got the old, happy Scully back for a moment."

Carefully, she spoke, "It's never been my intention to hurt you. I'm sorry if I've made you feel that way. I, uh, don't think I need to tell you how hard I have found this."

"I know, I'm sorry." Sorry for everything. Sorry that she needed to put up her ten-foot fences. He realised that it was his fault. "I'm selfish for wanting more from you," he mumbled and clenched his eyes closed, willing away the hot sting that tormented him. The air shifted around him: the compress to his forehead vanished, the warmth of a small hand appeared against his other cheek, tending to a tear with a delicate swipe.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you either..." he whispered and waited. Waited for her exclamation of anger; her disappointment; her harsh words telling him that they were nothing if they couldn't trust each other. Yet none of it came. He stumbled over how to order his thoughts. "There are so many things in my head, Scully..."

He slowly opened his eyes to see her piercing ones mere inches from his face. The faint creases that defined them, like fine brushstrokes on the pale canvas of her skin, suddenly became crisp with clarity. Behind her, the rest of the world remained a dark blur, obscured and fading into oblivion. It looked a lot like the inside of his mind: a dark swimming void that only focused to a sharp point when he could see his touchstone.

"I can see people I shouldn't..." he started, his voice strangely calm and docile. Finally saying the words, he felt the ache in his chest alleviate. Keeping her face in focus, he grounded himself in the detail of her laugh lines, having watched them grow deeper over the years. He recalled a time not too long ago when the sole reason he had been placed on this planet seemed to be to make them appear. But that was before he had been abducted; before he'd died; before he'd brought back souls with him from the other side.

"They come to me, talk to me, and I can't tell if it's real or a sick and twisted projection of my subconscious. The Smoking Man, Langley, Frohike, Byers... Emily... I want to believe they are real... but I– I–" he shook his head desperately– "I don't know what to believe."

Scully nodded, unsurprised that the trauma he had seen had manifested into monsters of his own, yet she was surprised that she hadn't thought of the possibility. In the last couple of months, it had been him catching her when she fell, him holding her together when she broke apart. He had been her silent buttress supporting her, for which she was eternally grateful. She knew he suffered too, but he had taken their whole situation in his stride. Yet she had been stupid to think that he was doing okay. In her own world of survival, she had been so disconnected from reality, so ignorant. She should have picked up on the signs: the far off look he'd get like he was watching something else; mumbling to himself like he was with somebody else. Tiny, minuscule things, that she had shrugged off one at a time, all came tumbling together like a tonne of bricks. She bit her lip but she wanted to kick herself.

Brushing back Mulder's shaggy fringe out of his grey-hazel eyes, she glimpsed his soul beneath, entirely trusting, entirely innocent. A pang of guilt hit her deep down that she could have possibly failed him. She sat up, her hands falling into her lap, and sighed.

"I could tell you that stimulating different areas of the brain can provoke auditory and visual hallucinations, that extreme conditions have been known to create the sensation of a 'third person'. But I think the answer is a lot simpler than that: I think it's stress." She gaged his reaction, knowing it was probably not what he wanted to hear, but he continued to listen intently, head softly bobbing with everything she said. She took a deep breath. "The last few years have been hard– to put it lightly. There were days where I couldn't stop wondering what I was going to do without you–"

He smiled at that and she felt a similar one quietly creep into the corners of her mouth, mirroring him.

"–You know, when you weren't there, I used to pretend you were and talk to you as if you were in the room with me. Maybe the ghosts you see are just a comfort and a way to rationalise things."

"Is that your diagnosis, Doc?" he smirked. "Stress?"

Scully could see he was trying to laugh it off and she wished the answer was that simple, but stress didn't cause as sophisticated hallucinations as he was describing– exacerbate the symptoms maybe, but not cause. But she couldn't tell him that and cause undue worry without any chance of finding a real answer. She couldn't put him in more pain. It was better that she alone worried for him rather than them both be uselessly anxious.

"Have you been sleeping properly?" She lifted his fringe back again, checking for signs of tiredness in his eyes. There were dark circles under them, but no more so than usual and they weren't bloodshot.

"Do I ever?" he said as light-heartedly as possible.

She couldn't help but smile a little, letting his hair flop back into place once satisfied. Sighing, she asked more quietly, "You've seen Emily?"

She was aware that she was indulging in a foolish fantasy, but the possibility made her heart race. Rationally, the hallucinations Mulder had would be meaningless. Perhaps it was only curiosity driving her, but the clenching in her chest told her it was more than that. It had been so long since she'd seen Emily's sweet smiling face, that she needed to know, and more than a small part of her wanted to believe.

"Yeah..." Wanting to give Scully some sort of meaning, he added, "She's always looking out for you."

"I miss them both," she whispered.

"Yeah, me too."

The silence between them was filled with the chorus of waves crashing. Like their unspoken words, they tumbled with taut energy until they finally broke on the sand. Mulder wrapped his arms around her and brought them both gently down to lay on the blanket. He could see her mother's guilt plain as day and wished he could wash those fears away for her as effortlessly as she could put his mind at ease. Just looking at her, his troubles seemed to dissipate. Everything else could blur at the seams, fray and untangle, darken into that oblivion, and it would all be okay because Scully would be there.

"I don't know if I've ever told you this, Scully, but I always sleep better when you're near me."

"No, you haven't." She pursed her lips simperingly... "But I know."

He traced his thumb along the blush of her cheek and followed the line of her jaw like brushstrokes on a canvas. He soothed her worry with the repeated motion, watching the wrinkles of her forehead soften. He followed the ups and downs of her nose and cheekbones sculpted from the finest clay. He fell into the endless oceans in the depths of her eyes. She was like a journey in which he always got lost. An epic he would never tire of exploring. Like the old days back on the Vineyard, climbing and cycling and adventuring until the sun kissed the horizon and he was late home for dinner.

He chuckled: he was gazing again.

"Do you remember the last time we were by the sea?" he asked abruptly, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Because I do-- fondly."

Scully hummed, rolling onto her back to look up at the heavens. "The City of Angels. I seem to remember something about strawberries, champagne, and phone calls from bubble baths."

"I seem to remember a bit more than that..."

"There was also the minibar we raided," she offered with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"Before that, do you remember we took our shoes off and walked along the beach?" He sat up on one elbow, facing her. "The stars were out that night like tonight, and I remember thinking, loving you was the best thing I ever decided upon."

Scully turned to meet his gaze with a soft smile of wonderment.

"There was something I regret not doing last time and I want to make it right," he said and stood up, dusting himself off. He held out his hand for her, and she sat up, tilting her head, bemused.

He took a deep breath. "Would you do the honour of letting me have this dance?"

"Always," she smiled, stretching up to grasp his fingers just out of reach. He grabbed her hands and hoisted her up. Wrapping one arm around her waist, Mulder smiled as his hand found that familiar place to rest. Gently entwining his other hand with hers, he pulled her flush against his chest, the heat of her body a comforting blanket against the chill of the night.

Scully winced, hissing through clenched teeth at the press upon her own chest. He immediately relaxed his hold, sensing something was wrong.

"Sorry, my breasts have been a bit tender lately," she explained.

He nodded, allowing a gap between them. "Okay, stand on my feet," he instructed.

She gave him a questioning look.

"Trust me," he chuckled, and she stepped tentatively on top of his own bare feet. "Okay?"

"Yeah, I got it," she laughed, wobbling slightly to keep her balance. Mulder started stepping to an imaginary 3|4 beat, wiggling his toes as their dance took them across the sand. Scully hung closer to him as they waltzed, despite the ache, resting her ear to the soothing metronome of his heart beneath his chest. The da-dum that conducted them pulsed with a vibrancy of life that she had forgotten was possible. For the first time in a long time, Scully felt alive and truly living. She took in a deep breath of seaside air, tasting the tang of salt in the back of her throat. Burying her nose to where his sternum lay clothed beneath his t-shirt, she inhaled again, a deep breath in exchange for a giggle that slipped past her lips. Everything felt surreal and very real all at once.

"Forward, side, close. Back, side, close," he muttered under his breath repeatedly. It wasn't as graceful as he had envisioned it all those years ago, the weight Scully on his feet rendering it more of a charming clomp than the moonlit gentle sway he had hoped.

Her nose peaked upward followed by two bright eyes that held him in regard. "When did you learn to dance?" she asked.

"My mother used to bring us along to her ballroom classes. It wasn't the same as baseball, the thrill of standing in the batter's box, waiting to strike the ball. But I liked it."

His eyes shone with the far-off light of that precious time Before. Memories of walking down to the local village hall with his mother when he was younger danced with nostalgia like the flickering of a film reel in his mind's eye. He fondly remembered having to drag Samantha along, who'd rather stay at home and play Stratego; except their father was always away on business so they had to go.

Scully smiled up at him. "Do all your teaching stunts involve being pressed so close together?"

He gave an honest laugh. "Only when I'm teaching you. You think you got this now?"

"Back, side, close. Forward, side, close," she narrated, and he stopped to let her get off his feet.

"Now put your feet between mine, with one foot on the outside... No, the other one." A little grin worked its way into the corner of his mouth and he asked, "Ready?"

She nodded, following his lead as he slowly started to dance again. He took his time gently easing her into the lilting rhythm, allowing her to catch up with him and bracing her when she stumbled. Despite herself, Scully let out another light laugh, flowing with a newfound grace in his arms. Sighing, aware of herself, Scully laid her head against his chest again. "I bet all the girls must have loved you at Oxford."

She felt a low chuckle rumble through him.

"No?" She looked up in surprise.

"Not once they got to know me," he answered with an innocent shrug. "I was good at scaring them away... One way or another."

"I'm sure that isn't true. And anyway, wasn't Phoebe Green your girlfriend?"

He shook his head: of course she would remember. "Were you seriously jealous of her?"

She sucked in a telling breath. "No... I just didn't like how she sauntered in thinking she could use you," she said honestly, but in hindsight, it would be futile to refuse that seeing them dance more intimately yet than their waltz made her gut clench for other reasons.

Mulder squeezed her hand. "Scully, she couldn't even lift a finger to hold a candle to you."

"I didn't like seeing you hurt."

"Hey, it doesn't matter now. I'm here. You're here. I'm dancing with my beautiful wife," he smirked.

"You wish," she quipped with mirth, but the idea was a thrilling impossibility that made butterflies out of her belly.

"She is beautiful," he insisted and spun her out of hold.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

She folded back into his arms.

"I'm a lucky man to be gifted with such a sight."

She gazed upwards.

"Love is blind."

"The heart knows best," he whispered, leaning down, a hair's breadth from her face, hesitant and seeking permission.

Scully wasn't sure when they had stopped but she was aware that her toes were curling through the sand, grounding her whilst Mulder's lips beckoned her to fly. He was gentle, but with them, he persuaded her to dive a little deeper, fall a little harder, fly a little higher. When met with his pleading tongue, she took a leap of indulgence until the will for oxygen became too strong. Breaking from the kiss and her consuming haze, she smiled shyly. "Mulder... If you kiss me like that..."

"What?" he husked, forehead resting against hers.

"We'll have sand in places we don't particularly want."

"We have a blanket," he helpfully reminded her.

"Mulder!" she giggled.

He shook his head, rubbing his forehead against hers as he thought. Suddenly, he straightened with an idea; a mischievous grin taking over his countenance. "I want to get strawberries first."

A look of surprise lit her features. "Really?"

"Yeah, we can afford to splurge a little for strawberries."

Scully hummed in agreement; the thought of big, red, fresh, juicy strawberries whetting her appetite. She was suddenly met with the craving for cream as well and licked her lips. "I always knew you'd get me into trouble, Agent Mulder."

"As if you weren't capable of that yourself, Doctor Scully," he teased, and she rolled her eyes in good humour.

"I love you," she whispered for only him to hear, the weight of the words hanging in her voice. The ears of the sea and the stars were not privy to her words, not even God; they were the only two in their own world. Slowly, they swayed together in an embrace that was everything; warming each other from the darkness of the night; shielding each other from the darkness that followed them. Yet Scully allowed herself to worry about Mulder and, for the countless time that night, held him just a little closer.

#maybe there's hope #my fic #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #on the run #the x files #xf fanfic

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years ago

Text

Normal ~ A.L.

A/n: Ah yes, this is going to be fun.

Request: “...Alec lightwood x male reader. Maybe the reader is mundane and shows Alec what it’s like being human for a day and then Alec shows him what it’s like being a shadow hunter. And maybe the whole time Alec is like o my word I love this kid...” by anon

Word Count: 5100+ (this is why it took me so long CHRIST I’m sorry)

MASTERLIST

You know, the thing that kept Mundanes seeing into the world of the Shadowhunters was a funny thing. It was supposed to always work, blocking humans from seeing monsters and those that hunted monsters. The problem was, nothing was perfect. Everyone made mistakes. Everything glitched from time to time.

I guess you could call Y/n a glitch.

The thing that kept humans from seeing things they shouldn't? It didn't work for Y/n.

When Y/n had first been seen facing down a vampire, it had seemed a little odd. The woman the vamp was going after seemed miffed that some dude was cutting in on her date, and everyone was confused. When they had killed the thing and Y/n had thanked them afterward, they'd all assumed he might have been like Clary - unaware of his Shadowhunter background somehow. But he had assured them he was human, and had proved it. Thankfully, since the plan had been to use a rune on him and if they had, he would have absolutely died.

Y/n was just immune to the magic that should have kept him far out of the knowing of what was really going on in the shadows of his town. Which left him unable to do anything, other than gather information and share it when he could. Y/n had no magic and no way to fight when he had no training or run protections, but he did have a talent for tricking monsters with their one weakness. He was human, and they were hungry.

Long story short: Y/n was really good at being bait, and he didn't mind it either.

Alec minded it a lot.

The two boys had gotten close pretty quickly. Alec refused to admit it, but Y/n was pretty charming. He had a nice smile and a contagious laugh, and a sort of lightness about him that was incredibly refreshing. It wasn't that he was untouched by darkness, or that he was fresh and innocent and waiting to be destroyed, like they all were before their line of living had ruined them. Y/n had been aware of monsters all his life, and being surrounded by people who could not see what he could see had landed him in either very near death situations, or mental hospitals a few times before he'd learned how to lie. He'd even been medicated really heavily a few times, but when that had done nothing, Y/n had come to terms that there was something going on that other people couldn't see. He had been in this business for a very long. No, Y/n was just the kind of person that refused to lose that inner child. He was soft and strong, and could make anyone smile and any situation bearable.

The way he made life so much more beautiful drew Alec in so aggressively, the Lightwood boy lost his breath every time.

Y/n was good at getting along with everyone else too. He wasn't good at much other than writing, leaving him to connect with Clary because of the similar vibes of their childhood, as well as their mutual passion for art. He and Simon bonded over poetry as well. Izzy enjoyed having someone who could keep up with her flirting, without it meaning anything or leading to something neither of them wanted. Even Jace was enjoying Y/n's presence when he proved that despite his lack of an ability to fight monsters and the such, Y/n WAS well trained in self defense. The two sparred while Y/n cracked jokes and made Jace laugh. Yeah, the blonde and brooding Jace was actually LAUGHING.

Having Y/n around was very refreshing.

So they all missed him a lot when he wasn't around.

Y/n attended college to chase am Arts History degree, and worked two jobs to keep himself afloat. The day Alec got permission to let Y/n move into the Institute was a great day for everyone. Now he was around a lot more- especially because now that he didn't have to pay rent, he could quit one of his jobs. In his free time, Y/n spent cleaning gear and learning how to hone his lame cooking skills. He wasn't great, but he was better than Izzy and was usually the only one with the energy to try it at the end of the day. When Hodge... went rogue, Y/n took charge of keeping up the Garden and learning all he could about how this world worked so he could take care of things and keep everything running smoothly. This left him spending most of his time in the library, reading up on history books.

One day though, Y/n needed Alec's help. Tensions between the two boys had risen almost to over spilling, but every time Y/n thought they were going somewhere, Alec stepped back. Y/n respected the boy's hesitance and never pushed, but the dragging was getting to everyone else. Izzy especially, who wanted the coolest mundane ever to get with her brother.

That wasn't why Y/n was bothering Alec now though. "Hey can I clean the glowing weapons things, or like... will those kill me?"

Alec couldn't help slip a small smile when he heard Y/n's voice. He turned around to see the boy coming in, a huge book in his hand but a confused look on his face. "Please tell me you're not talking about Seraph Blades."

"Those are the ones," Y/n confirmed without hesitation.

Alec shifted, raising an eyebrow. "They're just... fire."

"Well yes," Y/n drawled, rolling his eyes. "But the tubes. I mean, when they deactivate there's still something there, right? Doesn't that get covered in blood and stuff? Won't it getting all icky mess with the magic? And I've never seen any of them dirty. So do you guys have to clean them, or can I?"

That was very confusing to Alec. "Okay hold on. Have you never seen us kill a demon before?"

Y/n got rather sheepish then. "In my defense, I usually get in the way if I help, so I run unless there's someone in immediate danger. The last time, when I tried to help that girl, I almost got her, myself, AND Jace killed.

Alec flinched at the memory. "Jace is an idiot. Him jumping in when he did was his own fault."

"Wouldn't have been necessary if I wasn't provoking a damn vampire," Y/n mumbled.

"That girl probably would have died if you hadn't. We couldn't have attacked him with her there without chancing hurting her, or exposing ourselves. You saved her." Alec was ready to argue this, far too used to Jace's tendency to see the worst in himself despite the fact that he was actively a hero.

Y/n had to relent. "Fine, whatever. So, the blade?"

"Demons don't bleed," Alec explained. "They... well, it depends on the demons actually. Some turn to dust, or explode into fire. Some just kind of fade away. No need to clean blood off our weapons."

Y/n nodded, but obviously had a follow up question, so Alec waited for him to ask it. "Doesn't the dust get on your clothes? Does the fire ever burn you? Perhaps I should pick up some medical skills as well in case you guys come home hurt. Might make me more useful."

Alec rolled his eyes this time. "If you're seriously stuck on the idea of running this place instead of going out there and working in an art museum like you told Clary is your dream job, I won't stop you. That's not my decision to make." Y/n blushed, but Alec pretended not to see it. "However, if you're going to be one of us there are things you have to understand." He hesitated. "I want you to follow us around me around sometime. I can show you what it's like to be a Shadowhunter. You can even come on a mission if you want, but I want you to stay FAR out of danger, do you understand?"

"Yes sir." Y/n was grinning, and between that and what he had said, Alec felt his chest heat up with a weird emotion he refused to address. "When do we start?"

A soft chuckle came from Alec then. "How about tomorrow? I'll wake you up bright and early, so be prepared."

Y/n nodded eagerly, already walking backward - presumably to return the book so he could head to bed. "Great! See you tomorrow, Alec!" He turned around and jogged away then.

Alec couldn't help himself but appreciate the view as Y/n retreated down the hall. He heard someone clear their throat and looked over to see Clary, whose smirk was so wide it wiped the smile off of Alec's face. He turned away from her and moved toward his own room. What had he gotten himself into?

When Alec got to Y/n's room that morning, he was expecting to have to wake the other boy up. Unfortunately for him, when he opened the door, Y/n was already awake. And getting dressed. He wore the long, dark pants a lot of the guys around here wore when they weren't in Mundane clothes. He did not, however, have a shirt on. "Oh, good morning Alec," Y/n greeted brightly.

Alec almost exploded right there. Y/n wasn’t especially muscly, but he was rather lean. Y/n did a lot of walking, running, and casual work outs every once in a while before meeting the Shadowhunters. He knew self defense after all, and liked that the occasional work out filled him with energy after a while, even if it tired him out at first. Since joining the Institute though, Jace had enforced a daily workout. Some days Y/n got even more done when the two boys sparred, or when he had to move things around for research (those books were a lot heavier than they looked) or rearranged his room again because he liked to have a new layout every once in a while. Y/n had become the extra pair of hands everyone was excited to have. He was strong enough to spot for a lot of the other Shadowhunters even, leaving him in that comfortable middle between ripped and soft. He had angles and lines, but plenty of soft edges too. He looked like he could pick Alec up and then cuddle him just as easily. It was a body type that looked very good on the boy, and seeing him shirtless did things to Alec that should not have been being done.

It was then that Alec realized Y/n was talking to him. "I'm sorry, what?"

Y/n laughed, shaking his head in amusement. He put a shirt on, leaving Alec wondering if the boy knew what had left Alec so distracted. "I asked you what was first on the agenda today."

"Have you done your morning workout today yet?" Y/n shook his head. "Then that's where we'll start." And they did. Alec pushed himself further usual, and he knew he was doing it to show off to Y/n, but he also knew a little part of him wanted to outshine Y/n too. The boy kept up pretty well, and Alec didn't want to have a Mundane do better than him. After, they got breakfast, parted to shower, and then rejoined again to head to the sparring ring.

"You guys do a lot of training here," Y/n realized aloud.

Thankfully Alec had caught it, because he was super distracted by the way Y/n's wet hair shone under the lighting of the Institute, and the way it made his eyes look brighter. He didn't need to get caught for staring again. "Yeah. It takes up time, but it also keeps us ready for any surprise attacks, and prepared for nighttime hunts." Y/n nodded but didn't say anything else as they reached the rings. Alec grabbed two long staffs, passing one to Y/n as they stepped up to spar. Y/n knew what to do - he did it often with Jace. Alec was sure he'd claim victory over the Mundane.

Which left him rather speechless when Y/n pinned him. They were both out of breath and Y/n loomed over Alec, his feet planted and knees trapping Alec as the end of Y/n's staff rested threateningly against Alec's throat. "You're dead," Y/n joked.

Alec looked at Y/n with new eyes. What was with this guy? Why did Alec have to try so much harder to end up on top? Mundanes were like Clary and Simon, before they'd been trained. Alec could still remember how long both of them had lost time and time again to even the newest and youngest Shadowhunters. How could Y/n win against Alec? "How are you so good at fighting? I thought your thing was writing stories."

Y/n moved back, letting Alec go. He offered a hand and Alec took it. He was once again knocked breathless when Y/n hauled Alec to his feet without seeming to even struggle. "I'm stronger than I look. And... when I was younger, I didn't have shadowhunters and parabatai to have my back. I had to learn how to defend myself. Whether it was running from monsters, or making sure I didn't get pummeled by bigger kids who called me crazy and laughed at me because of the stories I supposedly made up..." He shrugged.

That didn't settle well in Alec's stomach. "I don't think any of us know what it's like to live like that. Clary doesn't remember, and the rest of us grew up with each other. I... I'm sorry, that's terrible."

There was a second when Alec saw the heaviness that Y/n hid so well in the boy's shoulders. Suddenly Alec was stunned by how someone so burdened by pain and sorrow could still radiate so much light and joy and comfort. How did Alec only now know that Y/n was capable of winning against even a well trained Shadowhunter, if he was really trying? Why was it such a shock that someone who grew up with deformed nightmares roaming around, would be able to kick some ass and defend himself? Alec realized then that Y/n made everyone feel safe. Y/n didn't seem able to hurt anyone, even if he wanted to. It made Y/n even more amazing that he was capable of defending someone if he had to, but chose not to in favor of making people feel safe around him. I dare say it made Alec feel even more safe.

Y/n sighed, and the moment passed. He was smiling again and Alec felt his heart swell with a feeling that terrified the dark haired boy. A feeling that also made him feel... really great too. "So what's next on the agenda, Lightwood?" "Jace will have our goal for tonight. Come on." Alec lead the way as they both headed to where Jace was. Alec explained the situation, and with Y/n's assurance he'd be plenty safe, Jace agreed. Y/n had been around a lot, and Alec was right - if he was up keeping the place, he had to know what being a Shadowhunter was actually like. After that had been settled, the trio headed to track down Izzy and Clary for the mission tonight.

"First thing first, Y/n's joining us tonight. He won't be getting involved, and will only be tagging along for educational purposes so he can know what he's dealing with as he gets more involved with how this place work, as well as the people in it," Jace began. Izzy and Clary both nodded, no arguments to be heard. "Okay, now down to business." Long story short, there were two demons who had teamed up and they had to kill it. Usual stuff.

Since when had demons and murder become Y/n's normal? Yikes.

The kill went rather smoothly, just like it was supposed to. It was a nice change from all the odd things that had been rocking everyone's world since Clary, Simon, and Y/n had joined the team. Very good for teaching as well. Y/n stayed back as promised, taking notes mentally and internalizing it. He thought about his thought earlier on how murder and demonic beings had at some point gone from nightmare to reality. Normal, even. For Shadowhunters, there was no shift. They grew up and lived a life where monsters were more than nightmare and you learned to kill from a young age. Perhaps it was fair, since they were bad guys surviving off of killing humans, but still. Alec knew how to kill Y/n. He probably could, if it was required or just if he wanted to. He could do it and he would get away with it too. Shadowhunters leave no trace and no Nephalim was going to care about Y/n being dead.

As the dark thought started to rise, Y/n pushed it down. As much as he seemed a bundle of effortless happiness and light, even he had his moments. He was just better at keeping them in check.

Everyone came home and got ready for bed as Y/n made food. He finished up before anyone came to eat so he killed time by making everyone's plate and putting them on the counter. When he was still alone, he sat on the counter and let himself get lost in thought. Just as he was, Clary popped into the room. "That smells amazing."

Y/n smiled. "I hope it tastes as good as it smells then." They both chuckled as Clary grabbed her plate and began to leave. "Going so soon?"

She nodded. "I have this... it's sort of um..." she seemed to be struggling. "Drawing. Can I show you later?" It was a habit she'd gotten from Y/n, losing her words when she was excited. She had been a little like that before being a Shadowhunter, when it came to art. Y/n fueled it again and set off her fire. She was more into art than ever and Y/n loved to see it, even if it meant one less person at the dinner table.

Y/n had been trying to have family dinners, but most of the time his efforts dissolved. Rarely did he get everyone. Usually he only managed to wrangle a few, and sometimes he ate alone. When a Clary left, it wasn't long before Simon and Izzy meandered in, lost in conversation about something. Y/n wasn't totally listening, as they were obviously midconversation and Y/n was lost as to what they‘d said up until now. They each grabbed a plate and headed out. Y/n sighed and watched them, but still said nothing.

Jace came next. "What did you think about the fight tonight?"

Y/n jumped and then chuckled. Jace gave a sort of guilty look. The blonde tended to hide his emotions, but when it came to Y/n he was always sorry to disturb the boy. Y/n had just seemed very pensive - nearly sad - and Jace hated the expression on Y/n's face. He was too used to the others who were trained to notice other people in the room even if they were quiet.

Quickly composing himself again, Y/n responded. "It was... cool, I guess. You guys are incredibly talented and there's something aesthetic about watching demons vaporize. It gave me a lot to think about."

"Like what?" Have asked, eyebrow cocked.

For a second Y/n hesitated but then Jace doned a prying look and Y/n was a terrible liar so he gave in. "You guys don't know what it's like to be human." Jace's expression darkened and Y/n flinched. "I mean, you have this angel blood that puts you above everyone else. You slay demons and purify the world and handle the boosting power of runes that any other creature would be destroyed by. You know what it's like to be angel. Except maybe the flying." The joke lifted Jace's mood a little. "But you don't know what it's like to... I mean, you're half human. But I can't imagine any of you getting jobs or going to high school. Being vulnerable without the protection of your runes and the insane immunity they grant you. I mean- like earlier, I realized that Alec could one hundred percent kill me if he wanted to, and he would get away with it. No human would know, and no Nephilim would care so-"

"Clary, Izzy, and I would care." Jace seemed to have not meant to say it out loud. But he had and it stopped Y/n short.

He felt cared for and it made him uncomfortable. Jace could sense that. "Well that's... not the point." He blushed. "But thank you."

Jace nodded, then moved on to spare Y/n. The other boy obviously wasn't used to having people care about him. It made Jace remember that Y/n's life had been really hard. Y/n had spent almost all his life alone. Sometimes it was easy to forget with how kind and loving Y/n was. He was used to taking care of other people but being taken care of? Yikes. "Does it bother you?"

Y/n immediately shook his head. "Not at all. I don't feel in danger, at least. I trust all of you guys and know that none of you want to kill me. It does bother me though that you don't get to experience that normalcy. I mean does anyone here bake just for fun? Or have hobbies outside killing literal demons?" Jace went to speak but Y/n cut him off. "Clary doesn't count, she wasn't raised a Shadowhunter." Jace's mouth closed and Y/n sighed. "I just wish more... safe things for you guys. More fun and laughing and loving and less sneaking around in the shadows and killing. Thinking like that all the time... living a life where you only survive and hide and kill. I can't imagine it does good things for your mental health."

"I'm in perfect health," Jace reassured Y/n.

Y/n rolled his eyes. "No you're-" He stopped, shaking his head. He hesitated, perking up when an idea occurred to him. "What if I incorporated a little humanity into how we run things here? We can have like arts and crafts rooms and encourage people to utilize the library and the garden for things other than just necessities. I can enforce family dinners and we can congregate and have awkward family dinner discussions like normal people."

Jace smiled. "That sounds really nice actually."

That encouraged Y/n a lot. "Perfect, I'll start tomorrow."

"Start what?" Two sets of eyes turned to see Alec coming in the room. His eyes lingered on Jace, who seemed to be light on fire by the eye contact, as he was instantly on his feet, grabbing his plate, and heading out.

"Y/n can explain. He has a really great idea." He paused, smiling wider. "I'll see you at dinner tomorrow." Then he headed out, leaving behind a grinning Y/n. Alec snagged the last two plates, setting one by Y/n and the other on the counter next to him. He then pulled up a chair, turning it backward so the back of the chair was against his chest as he sat down, beginning to eat on the counter rather than the table to keep Y/n company. "What was that?"

Another idea hit Y/n then. "I'm going to bring some goddamn humanity to this Institute. You're all half human and you act like that's a bad thing or something! I'll start with a crafting room, and then using the garden and library for fun stuff instead of just what we need. We'll have a calendar with birthdays and celebrate each one with a proper little get together. AND, we're having family dinners from here on. Spread the word."

The authority in Y/n's tone took Alec off guard. "Will do." He found himself smiling a little. "I show you what it's like to be a Shadowhunter and you took from it that we need to be more human?"

Y/n mulled that over for a second, rather than letting it go as the joke Alec had intended it to be. "I don't want to erase your angel half. I know what you do is important, and that you guys save people and stuff. But even though you do good things for others, none of you do anything for yourselves. Self care isn't just staying in shape and getting food and sleep and healing yourselves when you get hurt. Do you have any hobbies other than fighting, Alec?" The Lightwood boy considered before conceding that Y/n had a point. "You showed me how to be a Shadowhunter. Now let me show you what it's like to be human." Alec's smile grew. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Y/n agreed.

The day started the same, with Y/n respecting that Alec still had a routine and also that said routine was one some people carried as well. The waking up early and doing a morning workout, more than the killing demons and keeping vampires, werewolves, and fairies in check, but still.

Next, Y/n pulled him over to his laptop where he was going to online school. As Y/n worked, he answered questions about high school and even middle school. The more he talked the more Alec's face twisted in a bitter expression, like he'd bit into a lemon. Y/n busted up laughing when he got to math and Alec moved away from the screen as if it had offended him. "Not as glamorous as kicking ass and taking names and saving lives and shit, but it's cool. I guess."

Alec shook his head. "Is this... necessary?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Y/n snorted. "Do you use math like this? Ever?" Alec shook his head no. "And you're far more productive than most people who graduate college- and debt free!"

There was a moment where Alec seemed speechless. When he spoke again, it was slow. "This is kind of nice though. Easier to.. handle." He eyed the math page again. "No, I take that back. This is much scarier."

Y/n laughed at that. "Less deadly though. I get it." Alec smiled at him. It was so small it practically wasn't there, but it was, and it was sweet.

After a while, Y/n put his homework away. "That's not due for a while. Having to balance the human world and the shadow world was difficult at first so one night I pulled an all nighter and got weeks ahead on homework. My teachers were a little miffed since thy hadn't taught me the material yet, but easy ones like English were easy to swallow. Just, read a book and write an essay. You know?" Alec did nod knowingly at that. "My point is, we've had enough of this and don't have to finish it for tonight, so now is a good time for a break." He hummed to himself, thinking. "Do you guys have a TV here?" Alec rose his eyebrows. "That's what I thought. Come on we're going to go to my place."

So they did.

Alec had never been to Y/n's apartment before. Y/n had been clearing it out slowly, but there were still some thing here. Things that he couldn't take with him to the institute. Things like the fridge and the big furniture and, yes, the TV. It wasn't that he couldn't fit his bed and couches in the Institute, it was just that it would make it official if he did, and things still seemed to be up in the air for him.

"It's nice." It was perfectly clean and bright. The curtains were drawn to let the sun in and the walls were painted a light baby blue. The whole place made Alec relax his body. He sat on the very comfy couch and practically melted. There was just a sort of ambiance here that gave Alec the impression nothing bad could ever happen here. Which went against logic and reason and experience and training... but I guess that programming wasn't enough to fight the way the couch dipping with Y/n's weight, next to Alec, felt like... safety personified.

The two watched a few movies Alec had never seen or even heard of. Halfway through the Lion King, Alec felt his body lean into Y/n's. Without missing a beat Y/n shifted his arm so Alec could lean into in more, even rest his head on the other man's chest. Every time Y/n moved or laughed or spoke Alec didn't just hear it. He felt it. It was amazing.

All too soon, the sun was down and it was nighttime. "Do you want to watch another one, or should you be heading to bed soon?"

Surprise overtook Alec when he realized what time it was. His body was completely undone and his heart rate had evened out. He'd never been this calm in his life. "I'm surprised Jace hasn't come hunting me down."

That made Y/n smile. "I told him the plan for today. Told him that I was commandeering you and if he showed up to steal you tonight I'd kick his ass personally. I may be a Mundane but that won't stop me from finding a way to knock the blonde out of his hair." A jerking laugh bubbled from Alec then at the mental image of Y/n doing such a thing. "Yeah," Y/n agreed, chuckling along. "Took some convincing to get them to all take the night off. Jace argued, but as much as saving people is important, taking care of yourselves is just as important. And after you showed me what you guys do every single day... Holy shit."

Weird feelings began to twist in Alec's stomach. He could lie very well, about a lot of things. He could lie so convincingly that Jace would back off, and Izzy would let it go. He could lie to his mother to meet her ever demanding expectations. Unfortunately, he could only lie to himself for so long until his realist side kicked in and demanded him to accept what was.

He was in love with Y/n.

Well, shit.

"What are you thinking about over there?"

Alec felt his stomach flip. Double shit.

"Just... uh." He flinched at his sudden awkwardness. Y/n frowned, noticing it since they were so close. "I just want to thank you. The way you've thrown yourself into our lives and way of living and have done your best to keep everything going and then improve upon it? It's amazing. You work really hard to make life better for us."

Y/n swallowed, his face relaxed but his eyes intense. There was something in those eyes that was begging to be seen and known, but Alec was too scared to acknowledge it. What if Y/n could see through him and wanted to just be friends? What if Y/n was trying to be polite? But if that was the case, wouldn't he have pushed Alec away? Why was he pulling him closer?

Then they were kissing and it was all because of Y/n and Alec didn't have any doubts anymore.

When they parted again, Alec's mind was racing and Y/n's voice was soft. "I'll always be here Alec. All I want to do is make your life better and easier and more pleasant. You deserve it."

This time Alec kissed Y/n, and it lasted much longer and was much more intense. When they parted for the second time, Alec whispered, "Will you move in for real? I want you around all the time. I want you close and safe and I don't want you to go anywhere else. I don't want you to have to."

Y/n smiled. "Anything for you."

Male reader tags: @sheepfather

#alec lightwood #male reader #shadown hunters #x reader #imagine #alec lightwood x reader #alec lightwood imagine #shadow hunters x reader #shadow hunters imagine

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wakaoujisenhime · 4 years ago

Note

My congratulations with 200 followers! Can I ask scenario about Akashi's girlfriend suddenly finds out about his second identity, but she isn't scared and she accepts him?

A/N: So, with this one, I wasn’t entirely sure which setting I should put it in. I was between her finding out when he first ‘transformed’ and discovering it when he reverted back to his Teiko self. In the end, I decided to pick something in between and something entirely different, so I hope you’ll like what I came up with. ( ꈍДꈍ )

Tags: Akashi x reader ✅ SFW ✅ fluff ✅ slight angst ✅

image/art source: Twitter (art by eijo_q)

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

A slight tint of red - Akashi x reader

You’ve been looking at these heterochromatic eyes for as long as you can remember—those cold and lonely pair of eyes that belonged to your beloved boyfriend, Akashi.

The captain of Japan’s most popular and most feared team was unrivaled in many aspects, and that trait made him a highly respected individual amongst his peers. Unfortunately, that respect also bore negative feelings such as fear, hatred, and jealousy that were the main reasons people decided to avoid his presence.

But you were different. Those rumors didn’t face you in any way; if anything, they motivated you to actually find out more about the man who earned himself countless titles.

The moment you two first looked into each other’s eyes, shivers went down your spine, and if your memory didn’t betray you, then he probably felt the same way. Back then, you felt like you couldn’t move for a slight moment, but thanks to your friends and his teammates, who brought you back to reality, the two of you snapped out of it quicker than you might have wanted.

It took you both quite a while to actually start a conversation since he wasn’t usually the type to initiate such things. At the same time, you, on the other hand, were either too shy or unsure whether you interpreted the short connection you guys had correctly or not. But when you finally succeeded, neither of you had to struggle and find a suiting topic; the conversation just started developing on its own. And after a few months during which you had several interactions with the red-haired young man, it became evident that you had fallen in love with him, so now came the question whether you should confess to him or not, when and how...

Much to your surprise, you had the support of many of his classmates and basketball team members. They repeatedly encouraged you, saying just how good the two of you got along and how his mood had improved when he was with you. Needless to say, that boosted your confidence to a certain degree and gave you the needed courage to begin your quest.

Unfortunately for you, your attempts didn’t differ much from how you normally treated and talked to him. Still, you were determined to continue giving it your best until he either realizes it or until you found the best time to confess.

But your plans weren’t including the most important chess piece in this story, namely Akashi.

While you were forging one plan after the other, you were completely unaware of how the red-haired young man had seen past your actions and was already aware of the feelings you harbored for him. He knew, but he chose to remain silent and wait until you felt prepared enough to tell him.

And then one day, you finally stood before him with your cheeks slightly flushed and your eyes wandering but never focusing on the person before you. You were an adorable sight for him to behold, but he didn’t want to uselessly torture you any further, so he decided to initiate the dialogue.

“Is everything alright (Y/N)..?”

The gentleness in his voice caught you off guard, but it also helped to get the ball rolling, and before you knew, your confession was already in full swing. Firstly, you began reassuring him that everything was alright, that he needn’t worry about you, and that the reason you called him was a positive one. After a short break, you then proceeded to reveal all the feelings you’ve been harboring for him...

When you were done, he remained silent for a short while and gave you his answer...an answer that surprised you.

“Then today marks our first day as an official couple.”

——

The first few months went by pretty well. Your boyfriend had even made sure to divide his time between his training and you equally. He even made a weekly weekend date customary for the two of you, additionally making sure that the place you went to or the activity you did never repeated itself.

But what is a relationship between two people if only one person does the entire work?

That’s what you asked him one day. Akashi was surprised, of course, but he quickly understood why you’d say that, so he decided to tone down a bit and allow you to plan some of the dates as well.

A good and loyal man whom you could call your boyfriend, who made sure you were treated like a queen and whose yellow and red eyes were always only focused on you and you alone.

Could your life get more perfect?

Or at least that’s what outsiders and bystanders would think...

You see, no matter how much Akashi tried to smile at you, there was always something bugging you about it.

At first, you decided to ignore it and thought that it was your imagination and that all he needed was a little time until he could tell you what haunted his mind, but the longer you waited, the gloomier his expression grew, and it worried you. Not only were you not used to him appearing that distanced at times, but what hurt you the most was the fact that he wasn’t even intending on sharing anything with you.

Instead of doubting his trust in you, a more direct approach was in order, so you decided to just ask him yourself; all you needed was an opportunity, and what worked better than everyone’s beloved test period?

Next to your weekly dates and your monthly horseback riding expeditions, the two of you also organized a small tutoring group where you or some of Rakuzan’s basketball members would seek Akashi’s help in topics they didn’t understand. Luckily they were not always up for studying more than they had to, so the two of you got at least some privacy from time to time. So when the exam period started, you prayed to whichever deity you believed in, to give the two of you some time together.

The moment your finger pushed the doorbell on your boyfriend’s extravagant front door, you expected to be greeted by one of his butlers, but instead were greeted by a warm embrace from your beloved.

“Hope you won’t mind that today is going to be just the two of us.”

“Oh no, not at all!”

You were overjoyed to hear this but tried to appear as calm as you could while Akashi brought you to the living room, where some papers were already splayed out on a table.

After you had taken a seat and placed the snacks you had brought with you next to the tray with some of your favorite beverages, the two of you discussed what subjects and problems you’ll be going through today. Since you truly needed some help with a few subjects, your plan to talk to him had to be postponed for a short while.

When the two of you were about to move on to the next pile of tasks, you looked at your boyfriend’s profile and began: “Hey Akashi...it’s not school-related, but I have a small question for you. Is that ok?”

You saw his red eye shift its attention to you as he nodded his head slightly, a small smile adorning his lips.

Here goes nothing...

“So, I’ve noticed that there are times during which you tend to look quite sad and troubled. At first, I thought that whatever it was, you just needed some time to process it yourself until you could tell me. Still, that plan backfired quite a bit, since your expression has been getting worse,” you stilled to let him process your line of thoughts first, and then you resumed, “I just hope that you know how much I care for you, and if I have given you the impression that I don’t, then let me apologize. Akashi, I truly care for you, more than you might think...and more than I sometimes show, so I would be really happy if you could at least entrust me with some of the thoughts that have occupied your mind.”

You took another break to look at the man next to you and immediately noticed how much his body had tensed up. Whatever you chose to say next was about to either provoke a change in your relationship or let it circle around the same iceberg as before. So you mustered all the courage within you, took his hand, squeezing it, and said: “I love you Akashi, but if we don’t talk this out now, I’m not sure if we’ll have another chance like this...”

Silence...

Whatever you just said had quite an impact on your boyfriend, more than you ever expected. His entire face went pale, and his eyes seemed unable to focus on you or your face anymore. You were worried that this topic might’ve been too big of a landmine for your fresh relationship, but there was no way for you to return anymore, so you had no choice but to go through with it.

Akashi sighed and stood up, his back turned to you. He looked so lonely that you couldn’t help but follow his lead and stand a few meters behind him, leaving your boyfriend enough free space but also maintaining a certain closeness, just in case he needed an embrace or anything of that sort.

Another short period of silence followed during which the red-haired young man looked out of his living room’s window and apparently tried to calm his nerves down for the upcoming talk.

“(Y/N), there’s something I’ve been...keeping from you for quite a while.”

I knew it...

It was no secret that you expected that to be the case, but you couldn’t help but be curious as to what that secret was, so in order to tame your curiosity and stop yourself from showering him with countless questions, you bit your lower lip. You already had a few hunches as to what that secret might or might not be, but you remained silent and waited for him to finally tell you what’s been on his mind for so long...

His lips were moving, his eyes were focused on one of the many random trees in his courtyard, his hands were trembling, and all you could do was stand there and listen...listen to the most unexpected confession.

“A...second personality, you say?”

Akashi nods, and even though he turns around, his eyes never meet yours; they just blankly stare at something behind you. Usually, you would’ve followed his view, but you already knew what those beautiful eyes of his were fixated on.

His childhood photos...

Even if his confession of having a second personality sounded quite far-fetched at first, now that the both of you were silent, you had some time to actually think it over, and much to your surprise, it made sense...to a certain degree, at least. His eye’s sudden change in color and the abrupt disappearance of his angelic smile from his middle school’s days were drastic developments in a brief span of time, judging by the intervals in which the photos were taken. When you first noticed this peculiarity, you thought that either something on a biological level or something bad in general had happened, so you had made up your mind to drop it for the time being. Who would’ve thought that you’d be getting an answer to that as well today?

“I-I’m sorry (Y/N)...if my story sounds too unbelievable or too unrealistic for you, then please feel free to label it as some kind of fairytale I came up with to put your mind at ease.“

You squinted your eyes, trying to comprehend just what kind of nonsense your boyfriend was coming up with, and before you could even think of an answer, your mouth was already open, throwing the first things that came to your mind at him.

“What if I choose to believe you, though? What would you do then Akashi? Would you push me away like all the other times, or would you keep on pretending that everything’s alright? Huh? Tell me...“

The young man was clearly taken aback by your direct questions, but he recovered quickly and turned his back to you, mumbling something about you not being able to grasp the true meaning behind his words and how you couldn’t handle his true self.

He must’ve thought that you weren’t going to hear his self-talk, but you did...and what you heard made you extremely mad. Pure rage clouded your judgment, and the next thing you knew was how Akashi’s back was pressed against the wall and how your hands were gripping his shirt’s collar.

“How dare you say something like that?! Do you really think that I’m that insensible and shallow?”

You continuously threw your feelings and thoughts at him, not noticing just how worked up you truly were. At one point, though, Akashi just couldn’t take it anymore and wrapped his arms around your trembling body, pulling it towards his chest where you could continue to cry. Now that you were enveloped in that oh so familiar warmth, you just couldn’t keep on screaming at him, so you just closed your eyes, held onto him, and tried stopping your tears from ruining his already crumpled shirt. While you were doing that, he placed his hand on top of your head and stroked it gently, calming you down even further.

“(Y/N)...I’m truly sorry, I never intended to doubt you; it’s just tha-“

“Don’t apologize Akashi...I understand”

He wanted to tell you just how scared he was of your reaction because you were one of the few people he trusted enough to tell this to, and all the others who saw, experienced, and even knew of his change ended up being either weirded out or too scared.

But you were different, and even if he knew that, he just couldn’t risk losing the light of his life, and that’s why he decided to keep it a secret from you, up until now. When he saw how mad you got for his sake, how sad it made you the moment you found out just how heavy this has weighed on his mind, it made him understand that even if you were scared somewhere deep down, you’d still look for a way to make him feel better and try your best to understand him.

That realization was all he needed as he gently planted a featherlight kiss on the top of your head and raised your chin so that you could look him directly into the eyes.

At that moment, you could’ve sworn that his iconic yellow eye had a slight tint of red in it.

I love you...

#knb scenarios #knb x reader #akashi x reader #akashi seijiro x reader #knb fluff #knb angst #━𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽'𝚂 𝙴𝙲𝙷𝙾

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writefightandflightclub · 5 years ago

Text

Eye of the beholder

Summary: Modern!Poe x (any gender) artist!reader. Poe sits as a nude life model for Reader’s art class, and they think he’s the most beautiful work of art they’ve ever seen.

Author’s note: 13/14 for my last follower celebration (getting there!), using the prompt “You have fanfiction eyes.”, provided by the lovely @wheresthewater. P.s. sorta headcanon the art tutor as Yoda don’t @ me.

Word count: 2.7k. And hey look I even did a moodboard! :D

Warnings: nudity, duh!

You can’t believe your eyes as he enters the room, entirely nude, his dick swinging. He is without doubt the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

Sculpted and yet somehow soft, muscles ripple under his skin as he takes up his position on the podium, in the centre of the circle of easels. You look over him as he settles in his pose- the soft curve of his belly, wide hips with pleasantly rounded thighs and ass. His broad hands. The sweep of those raven curls and the set of his strong nose, his chiselled jaw.

You feel like you’re in the presence of true art, transported back in time to when the likeness of gods were sculpted from marble. Except, you think the gods must have been created, verily, in his vision. You have never understood the feelings a muse might inspire, until now. You feel he should have sculptures dedicated to him. Sonnets written about him. You feel like your loins are writing sonnets, the longer you look, the words filtering out like ribbons which gather as a knot in the pit of you.

It’s not only how he looks -although you can’t deny your attraction is instant, a gulp bobbing down your throat as your fingers clench tight around the brush you hold in your good hand. It’s the air of him, at ease and confident, eyes falling warm upon the artists convened in the room. No hint of self-consciousness, only... comfort. Comfort in his body. Comfort with himself. You feel like he could make you feel that way too, make you step into the warmth of him and shrug your clothes to the floor. Step into him like he’s a painting; a mood, a feeling, a texture, mingling with him like paint and charcoal dust and sweeping lines of pencil merging on a canvas, creating art with your bodies.

He’s only just stepped into the room, but he is far from a blank canvas. He is art. His body is storied and he is speaking to you with it. You’d never had a body speak so loudly to you.

The pose he adopts is assured and practically kingly. You swear his eyes meet yours, ever so briefly, as he arranges himself, reclined sideward on a folded elbow, one knee raised to the sky, his top arm draped casually over the point of it. A white sheet is draped over part of his midsection, the fluid folds of it only highlighting the sturdiness of him, the hue of his smooth and tawny-bronze skin.

You swear he catches your eye as he settles there, a gulp bobbing down your throat as it does his. Your eyes fall across his face in return, stubble texturing his jaw like the rake of a pencil over roughened paper, veins in relief against his corded neck. His eyes are lit like undried umber, light pooling in them like drops of gleaming, watered paint. His curls are like sweeps of charcoal, as if created by someone running their fingers over canvas like one might run their fingers through his hair.

You don’t know where to look, at first, and yet, despite the beauty of him, of all of him, once you look into his eyes you can scarce look away.

You are grateful for the cool breeze drifting into the studio through the cracked, hatched window, and you shrug your cardigan away so the air can ground you. With all your thoughts of gods you are practically lifted from your feet.

For the next moments, you are oblivious to everything else, except his warm eyes and the cool air. Oblivious to the tutor’s instructions, to the ticking of the clock in the quiet room as your fellow artists studiously select their tools, oblivious to the blank canvas in front of you. It is only when you hear the brush of pastels, the whisk of brushes in jars of water, the crisp sound of mark-making on paper, that you realise you have... nothing. You look over your tools and you’re not sure how you could possibly rise to this challenge. How you could ever capture the sight before you.

It doesn’t help that you imagine he’s studying you too. Perhaps because you’re directly in front of him. Perhaps because you’re the only one in the room still staring at a blank piece of paper, yet to do anything. Never before have you felt so overwhelmed by inspiration that you feel thoroughly paralysed by it. You let out a huff of air in frustration, the sound a lot louder and more abrupt than you would have liked in the hushed studio.

You bristle like a misused brush, the fibres of you splayed out in all directions when the tutor softly pads over to you, whispering in his serene day-spa voice. “You don’t appear to have started. Are you having trouble?” Are you? You’ll say. How in the hell are you supposed to paint this man?

Even the whisper cuts through you like a knife through a citrus fruit, bitterness bleeding out from you as the tutor continues to single you out with precision.

“I’m... thinking.”, you defend, and you swear that amusement glints over the model’s burnt coffee eyes.

“You know, you’re always in your head. I’ve noticed this about you. You do great work, but you need to just... feel it.” The tutor is waving his arms now, in the way that one might express a mother penguin regurgitating food to its chicklets. “Let go. It’s an art class, not a thinking class.”

You deliver an undeserved death stare to the tutor as a titter snakes around the class, but his calm response only provokes you further. “Good. Feeling something? Even frustration? Use it. Get it down on paper.”

As irate as it made you, the advice worked. You stopped looking at the man in front of you. You started feeling him. You allowed yourself to get lost in it. It started to feel like a... a Force of some kind. Something coursing through you as you worked the paper, felt the textures beneath your fingers. Worked the shapes and light and divinity of him through your fingers. This didn’t call for brushes and pencil and careful marks. It called for touch. It called for art beneath your finger tips, the paint and charcoal dust and roughened paper smooth and harsh like him.

His eyes become increasingly intense as you work in a frenzy. Lost in the moment in a way the other artists in the room are not. In a way that you haven’t been in a long while.

You barely notice time passing, until the tutor stalks back over to you, curious to know what you’ve produced in your haze. He regards your canvas with a tilt of his head, looking earnestly between your creation and the model. You nibble on your lip and await the verdict, tension gathering in your shoulders.

“This is good. This is good. It’s very different to your other work, but...it’s inspired. I want to see more like this from you.”

You swell with pride, and the model pumps his eyebrows at you, as if in congratulations. You smile shyly back at him as the tutor declares the end of the session, swiftly handing your muse a robe to redress in before ushering him out towards the changing room.

You are the last one left in the studio as you take time to clean off the paint and mess on your arms, humming softly to yourself as you leisurely begin to stack paints away and drop scattered brushes into jars of turps. You smile softly to yourself as you realise that you finally feel... unblocked... You feel like you’ve shifted a dark part of you away, a light side filtering through, finally, like sunshine through a part in the clouds. You hadn’t painted like that since...

“Oh, I’m sorry”, your train of thought is glady interupted, as a voice as rich as burnt sienna sounds behind you. You turn, finding the model standing in the doorway. He is dressed now, of course, but he still appears to you like a god in modern-day clothing. His voice is so beautiful too that you wonder if you could paint the sound of it. “I left my wallet. Occupational hazard of taking my pants off in strange places.” You see him visibly cringe. “That came out weird. I can wait outside for half a mo, if ya wanna clear-up first.”

“No, you’re fine. Come in.”, you smile, unashamedly fluttering your eyelashes at him.

He bashfully nods a thank you to you and passes through the studio to seek his wallet out, returning with it in hand. “Got it!”, he announces.

“Good.”, you state, still floored every time you look at him, quite honestly.

“I’m Poe, by the way. Poe Dameron.”

You smile sweetly at him, and state your name, surprised you can manage to get words out at all. You’re usually so shy, but something about him makes you feel at ease. Maybe it’s because you’ve seen his junk. Don’t they say to imagine someone naked when you feel nervous?

Poe, as you now know him, points towards your still-standing easel. “I hope this isn’t a weird thing to ask. Do you mind if I see what you painted?”, he enquires softly, running a hand through his lustrous curls. “Please say if you’re not comfortable.”

You consider it for a moment, nibbling on your lip again, regarding him. There’s no judgment, only curiousity and warmth in his eyes, so you nod towards the easel. “Go for it.”

He smiles softly at you in gratitude and slots his hands into his pockets, sidling over towards you. He releases one hand to bristle over his stubble as his eyes pore over the canvas. Without thinking, his fingers dip towards the ridges of paint he finds there, and you grab his warm, broad hand with yours before he can do any damage. “Don’t touch it!”, you exclaim. “It’s still wet!”

He apologises for his momentary lapse in good sense and you look down at your hand wrapped around his, the veins and knuckles and callouses of him beneath your fingertips. He’s like sun on rough paper beneath your fingers. Like summer.

He makes no move to pull away. In fact, he turns in to you, his molten eyes on yours. There’s that gulp bobbing in your throat again. “What do you think?” you blurt, and you wonder why you’re suddenly so skilled at talking when you only wish he’d press those full, shapely lips on yours and shut you up.

He draws his brows together as you drop his hand and looks over the canvas again. “You’ve got talent, that’s for sure. I can barely draw a circle. It’s just...”, he shrugs a little. “Should I be offended that you only painted this part of me? Was the rest of my body not particularly inspiring?”

You look back over your work. You suppose it is strange, in a way, since he was sat in front of you in the nude. Strange that you have only painted his eyes. His intense, umber eyes are glowing there on your canvas, the shadows and the planes of his brows alongside the dancing of the light, and the soft brush of his lashes.

You press the back of your hands to your cheeks in an effort to cool the rising flush. “Oh. No, I mean, your body was plenty inspiring...”, you state, trying to keep your language somewhat objective. “It’s... hard to explain. It’s just. I mean, objectively speaking, you have such beautiful eyes. And..”, you continue nervously, sure you’ve already veered into highly subjective territory. “...I looked, and I couldn’t look away. When you looked back at me? The light was on you and there was just...”, When did your voice become so breathy? You can hardly keep speaking as you feel you need to pause for air.

“Just what?”, he encourages softly, his eyes appearing rapt with you.

“The way you looked at me... it was... something that I wanted to keep.”

His eyes study yours with vigour, as if he’s suddenly keenly aware of the effect they might have on you. “Objectively speakin’?” he probes, with a soft yet amused drawl.

“Of course.”, you state emphatically, even as you become lost again in the way he’s looking at you. You swear he’s... leaning in. Or maybe, yeah actually, that’s just you. How long have you been talking now? Twenty seconds?

“You have fanfiction eyes.”, you blurt, speaking the realisation freely and without filter the moment it wings its way into your head. Perhaps sent from the gods. You find yourself wishing that he could have just shut you up before you went and said that.

“I have what now?”, he asks in confusion, clearly trying to suppress a grin. “Fanfiction eyes?”

“Uh-huh. You know... dreamy eyes.” Wait, are you still talking? “The kinda eyes that you could write a 100,000 word long-read about? Or...”, you shuffle your boot nervously over the boards of the floor, sweeping them through charcoal dust. “...the kinda eyes someone might wanna look into over a drink, or dinner, for example? Maybe at Gino’s? Which is still open for one more hour before last orders?”. You don’t know where your uncustomary boldness has come from. But you dearly hope it pays off.

To your delight, Poe grins broadly. “You’re kind of a dork, aren’t you?” You might read it as teasing, but his tone is kind, his eyes sweeping over you with interest. You simply shrug and he lifts a thumb towards your cheek. “Adorable as it is, if we’re gonna go for dinner, can I get this paint off your face first? I dunno how you managed to use so much red but you might scare the other diners.”

You nod permission, and the pad of his thumb sweeps over you, the rest of his hand cupping your face. “Did you get it?”, you ask hopefully, voice quaking slightly. Legs quaking slightly.

How long have you been talking with him? A minute? You’d thought he was a god. Perhaps he is. The immortality might explain why you already feel you’ve known him forever. But at the same time, there’s something so aproachable, so vulnerable and entirely human about him.

“Honestly? I made it much worse.”, he admits, shaking his head softly in apology. “I wasn’t gonna tell you, but I don’t know yet if that’s the kinda prank you’d find funny.”

An easy laugh lilts out of you and you promise to be back with him momentarily, once you’ve cleaned-up in the washroom.

When you return, Poe is breathtaking all over again, perched on the artist’s stool in the waning light. He grips his phone in those warm hands of his, the light filtering from below and illuminating the planes of his face in an entirely new way. He smiles up at you in greeting when you re-enter, and you approach him wordlessly as you stoop to gather your cardigan and bag from the floor.

His eyes fall on you and he mouths a soft “wow” as you glide towards him, the moonlight over the planes of your face too. Poe is looking at you as if you’re art. You’re not ready for it, quite honestly. You are used to being the beholder, not the object of beauty. He smiles softly at you and it’s completely disarming, his smile feeling far more familiar than should be possible after such a short length of time.

“So,”, he starts giddily. “I Googled some stuff about fanfiction while you were in the washroom, and now I have a question for you.”

“Go on.”, you encourage the beautiful man.

“Are we gonna be a slow burn or porn without plot, do you think?” He knows he’s charming enough to get away with a question as cheeky as that. At least, he’s charming enough to take the gamble that he will.

You purse your lips and bat your eyes at him. “Right now? Clearly a one-shot with an ambiguous ending. Prospect of continuation will depend entirely on how you do at dinner.”. There’s flirtation in your tone, and Poe looks at you hungrily then.

There’s something in his eyes, yet again; something in the way he’s looking at you that you want to keep. But you don’t want to paint it. You want to create art with touch. You want to feel the textures and explore with your fingers. “But...”, you concede, returning Poe’s hungry stare. “We do have time to make-out before we head to the restaurant.”

With an eager flicker of a smile he leans in, and when he puts his hands and lips on you it is like merging. Like creating art on a blank canvas. Your bodies storied and speaking to one another, you paint intention with your fingertips and the brush of your lips.

THE END

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