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pallasperilous · 4 years ago

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Funny Bone

The other day Supernatural9917 threw out this meme as a cracky Halloween Dean/Cas prompt and I was SO MAD, because I then had to write it:

And so here it is. Goddammit.

Funny Bone

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761150 Words: 4930 Castiel/Dean Winchester Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Skeletons, Bad Pick-Up Lines, No Angels AU, Men of Letters Bunker, Mild Gore Mature (mentions of lewd acts, canon-typical violence, and some truly horrible pickup lines)

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland. It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

Discovering the bunker in the first place was a helluva surprise. The whole facility is legitimately batshit; Dead Guys of Letters knew how to live (and, apparently, die. All at once.).

But after plowing through a dozen rooms worth of priceless treasures and crusty boobytraps, even Sam was looking kinda full up on shock and awe.

“We can hit the basement tomorrow,” he said. There was a big smudge of dust across his nose and some cobwebs in his hair.

“Nuh uh,” Dean answered, kicking the door shut with the toe of his boot. “If there’s shit still kicking down there, we gotta clean it out before it cleans us out. It’s that or we’re sleepin’ in the car.”

“Ugh,” Sam said, as if twenty minutes ago he hadn’t been losing his mind over a rare book about werewolf hemorrhoids.

So discovering that the basement included a no-shit actual dungeon felt more like an unanticipated bonus, and stumbling across a skeleton while exploring it barely even registered. Skeletons and dungeons! They go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong.

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor, inside a big circle of greasy black ash. It looked a little mildewy in in places. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland.

It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

“Welp,” Dean had said, holstering his gun and wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’re all clear. Let’s head back upstairs, salt the shit out of everything, and then we can pick up some groceries.”

“Do I get to buy a vegetable that doesn’t fit in a bun, or are we still in the refractory period?” Sam snarked from the corridor.

“I don’t see you cookin’, “ Dean started, shuffling back towards the hall, and that’s when the skeleton butted in.

“Are those astronaut pants?” it asked. “Because your ass is outta this world!”

Dean absolutely did not scream, but it’s possible there was a yelp.

He almost unloaded a clip into it – unclear what that would’ve possibly done, but it’s good to start with the simple, available solutions. Next he nabbed the lighter fluid off of Sam and dumped out half a pound of kosher salt as a chaser and set the fucker alight.

This does not have the intended effect.

“Baby, I’d like to put my meat on your grill,” the skeleton says, greenish flames dancing between its ribs, “because you’re hot, and I’m smokin’.” Then it sits up a little, just enough to shoot Dean some finger guns.

“What the fuck,” Dean says.

Sam makes a little evaluatory noise. “Sexually harassed by a skeleton,” he chuckles. “I think that’s a new one. Even for you. Is that a new one? I know a lot of strange shit went down in Purgatory.”

The skeleton perks up even more at that, grungy eye sockets sweeping up and down Dean’s body. “Are you a time traveler?” it asks. (Maybe he asks, because the voice is pretty deep and dude-ish, although possibly just on account of its vocal cords being leather shoelaces.)

“Wh…no, I’m not a time traveler,” Dean fibs. He’s more of a time trafficking victim, anyway. “Oh, wait, god,” he says. “Please don’t tell me you’re asking that because –“

“– I can see you in my future,” the skeleton finishes, eagerly, and Dean really wishes this thing had eyebrows so he could tell if they’re waggling.

“Yeah, okay. That’s enough for today,” Dean groans. “I need a drink.” He starts to back out of the room as a pre-emptive strike against Bones commenting on how he hates to see Dean leave, but loves to watch him go. Dean’s working on stumbling back again Sam’s left shoe when the skeleton pipes up one last time, this time with a husky, anxious edge.

“I realize that Purgatory isn’t accessible through a simple chronological shift,” it says, teeth chattering. “But it does require travel between modalities, and if you’re capable of that, I would very much like to speak with you again.”

Dean and Sam’s heads slowly swivel back towards the skeleton, like two little pizzas on the same Lazy Susan.

An hour later, they’re still in the dungeon, working on dousing the skeleton with every possible anti-bad-stuff solution they’ve got, just in case he’s a vampire skeleton or a ghoul skeleton or a witch skeleton or maybe just a wendigo that’s incredibly bad at its job. In between progress reports, he’s still hitting on Dean.

“Dude, don’t you have an off switch somewhere?” Dean asks him.

“Well, Dean, you certainly make me feel like a light switch,–“

“– because you turn me on,” all three of them say in unison.

The skeleton looks a little embarrassed, which is kind of impressive when you think about it. “You’ve…heard that one before?” he asks.

“I spend a lot of time in bars,” Dean deadpans. “Okay, sage is a no-go.”

Sam strikes a line off on the clipboard he found upstairs. “Is this part of a curse or something?” he asks, glancing up at Bones. “Like on top of being a sentient skeleton, you can only speak in horrible pickup lines?”

The skeleton shakes his head, which produces a sound Dean recognizes from his kneecaps on cold mornings. “No, the spellwork allows me to speak freely on most subjects; except who I am, or how to free me. But it’s helpful to use language modern humans can easily understand.”

“Huh. Well, in a way, it is Dean’s native tongue,” Sam says, smirking.

“You shut your face,” Dean hisses.

“When I first saw you, I lost my tongue. Can I try yours on for size?” Bones asks Dean.

“Buddy, I don’t know where you get your information from, but nobody actually talks that way,” Dean tells him. “Nobody sober, anyway. Who isn’t a virgin.”

The skeleton slumps. “I learned from my last visitor. He tried to release me on several occasions, but he either died or abandoned the project.”

Dean arches a brow. “The project being…you?”

“I would be very valuable under the right circumstances.” The skeleton shrugs and casually holds out an arm for Dean to scrape at with the demon blade. “He gave me lessons in modern vernacular as a way to pass our time together.”

“Sounds like a peach,” Dean says, before he can catch himself. “If you have a peach-related pickup line in there, man, you’d better just sit on it.”

“That’s what-“

“I will smash you with a hammer,” Dean barks.

The skeleton relents, but with obvious reluctance.

They call it quits before Kansas rolls up the sidewalk for the night and leaves them stranded with nothing but two Clif bars and a gross of septuagenarian cans of franks ’n beans. Bones shifts nervously when Dean leaves – “Which is better, pancakes or waffles?” he asks.

“Pancakes,” Dean says, with a sense of grim duty.

“Because I’d like to know what you’re making me for breakfast,” says Bones, his voice trailing off as Dean books it down the stony corridor.

By lunch the next day (bologna sandwiches, so sue him, he’ll make something good later) they’re pretty sure that Bones doesn’t pose any known, immediate threat – other than to Dean’s sanity – so they switch gears to springing him. Maybe he will be worth something, or maybe he’ll crumble into dust and Be Free, or maybe he’ll just stop being chained to the basement wall, in which case he can become their skeleton butler or something.

There are weird runes on the ankle cuff, so Sam snaps some quick photos and heads upstairs to feel up the library. This leaves Dean in the basement with Bones, some good old-fashioned power tools, and Bones’s ex-suitor’s gross sense of humor.

“You know I can understand you just fine when you’re talking normally,” Dean says. “You’re just reciting some prehistoric shit that idiots say to girls to get a pity-laugh, hoping it leads to a pity-fuck.”

“What’s a pity-fuck?” Bones asks, all mildewy innocence. Dean’s pretty sure the grunge in his eyeball sockets is dried eyeball.

“Pretty much what it says on the tin, my guy,” Dean answers, and reaches for the acetylene torch.

“Enochian,” Sam says, when Dean surfaces for another sandwich and possibly a beer. He’s really disappointed about the torch.

“Gesundheit?” Dean replies, around a mouthful of bologna. Like everything else here, the kitchen is pretty schwa, although the inside of the fridge required three exorcisms and half a jug of bleach.

Sam paws around the smelly old book in a way that makes Dean feel sorry for the girls Sam dated in high school. “The symbols on the cuff. I think they’re Enochian. It’s a fake celestial language made up by some sixteenth century con artists.”

Dean coughs up a bit of Wonder Bread. “I respect the hustle, but what’s it doing on an ankle cuff in a dungeon younger than Mickey Mouse?”

Sam frowns. “Well, it could be for show. But just because some nutbars made it up doesn’t mean it’s totally powerless. Maybe it does have some kind of…heavenly mojo.”

“Liwl probbem,” Dean observes, finishing off his sandwich. “Def nuh heggen.”

“Huh?”

Dean takes a swallow of beer. “I said: there’s no heaven.”

Sam shrugs. “We didn’t think there was a Purgatory, either.”

“Okay, but if we find out angels are real,” Dean snorts, “then Bones can fuck me in the ass.”

Sam reports his findings to Bones, who sits placidly on the back of his pelvis, carpals splayed out on his kneecaps. What’s even holding him together? Dean can see what’s left of his ligaments, but they look like petrified gas station jerky.

“Do you know what they mean?” Sam asks him, pointing at the sigils.

Bones’s jaw creaks open a little, then closes again, and then he shakes his skull (something rattles inside.) Finally he makes a little frustrated noise and replies – “Baby, are you a book? Because I’d like to check you out.”

“Hey!” says Dean. “Keep it in your pants, man, I’m right here.”

Sam squints. “I think…Dean, I think he’s trying to tell us something, but the spell on him means he can’t say it directly.”

Bones clenches his fists, releases them, clenches them again.

“Yeah. Keep him talking. Let’s see how close he can get.”

Clack clack clack.

“Uh,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Do I need to, like. Give you some kinda opening?” he asks Bones.

“Sweetheart, I’d like nothing better,” Bones answers, then clacks his knuckles on his brow with exasperation.

“Sorry, Christ. Hit me with your best shot, buddy. Dealer’s choice.”

Bones clears his…ghost throat? and tries: “Tell me, Dean…did it hurt?”

Dean blinks. “When I…fell from heaven?”

Sam claps his hands. “Fucking knew it. It is Enochian, and it does have something to do with this. I think he wants me to check the library for another book. Maybe there’s one misshelved or something that I can actually use to translate. Or I can Google around, maybe there’s a subreddit.”

Dean’s pretty sure Bones has never heard of a Google or a subreddit (for that matter, does Dean actually know what a subreddit is?), but it seems like there’s a glimmer of hope deep in those scum-holes.

Sam gets translations for a few of the words – “obedience” and something he’s fifty percent sure means “millstone” – but the rest is still gobbledygook, and he hasn’t come down with another update in hours. The dungeon is pretty roomy, but it’s not like there’s a foosball table or a cable TV pickup down there, so Dean and Bones wind up lying on the cold-ass ground, staring up into the dark reaches of the ceiling together and, like. Chatting.

Occasionally Bones goes quiet and Dean glances over at him. He really could just be a totally normal, completely dead dungeon skeleton. A good power washing and the right mounting hardware and he’d be ready for a high school biology classroom.

“So if these runes are a celestial thing, does that mean you’re some kinda demonic...thing?” Dean asks. “Cause I gotta say, you’re a much less of a douche than the demons I’ve met.” He snorts. “I know you probably can’t say.”

Bones sighs (how? With what lungs?). “The last person who tried to free me was a demon.” He shifts a little, maybe surprised that he can say this out loud. “It had been so long since somebody had spoken to me…I’m afraid I came close to actually enjoying his company. But he was no better than his kind usually are.”

“Don’t suppose you caught his name? Maybe Sam or me killed him for you already.”

“He called himself—no, I can’t say it.” He makes a sound resembling a harumph.

Then his skull creaks over to look at Dean. “Does your name start with ‘C’?” he says, very deliberately.

Dean is momentarily puzzled, but he works it out by the time Bones wincingly adds “…because I’ve got a D that wants to come behind you.”

There aren’t too many demons under the “C” tab in Dean’s blood-stained mental rolodex, and when he says the name out loud, Bones makes a sound like an entire set of dominos being thrown down a spiral staircase.

Crowley is pretty pissed, which is fun.

It’s nice that the dungeon floor already has a perfect trap on the floor; they don’t even have to hit up Ace Hardware for paint. A damp shop cloth and a little nail polish (Wet ’n Wild in “Red Red,” don’t leave home without it) brings it right up to working order.

“Why does it smell like a nail salon fucked a bloody wine cellar?” Crowley says, after he’s settled down a bit. He manifested right in the creepy torture chair (in the shackles, even! What service!) and he made some escape attempts followed by angry noises about rust stains. Now he’s recovered his dignity and has kicked back a bit, legs crossed, fingers steepled, oozing maximum levels of 2 cool 4 school.

“How do you know what a nail salon smells like?” Dean retorts.

“I get a monthly mani-pedi. There’s no shame in a little self-care, boys.” Crowley’s eyes trickle down to their feet. “Imagine what fungal horrors those work boots must conceal.” Then he squints, and looks up, finally taking in the whole room. “Could swear I’ve been here before. Little upscale for you, isn’t it? Did we splurge for a vacation rental?”

“Crowley, why don’t we roleplay Titanic?” Bones growls from the wall behind him, and Crowley’s face goes slack. “I’ll be the iceberg, and you can go down.”

Crowley swallows and slowly twists back, as far as the shackles let him. “Feathers, is that you? Well, as I live and breathe.”

“You do neither,” says Bones, with so much gravelly contempt that Dean suppresses a little shiver.

“Oh, I still breathe now and then, when the mood takes me. I’m a sentimentalist.” Crowley cranes his neck a little harder and squints into the dim. “Goodness, you’ve dropped some weight since we last spoke, haven’t you. Finally let go of all that pesky soft tissue?”

Bones tilts forward and kind of clatters onto hands and knees, then tipsily begins to rise up to standing. Dean’s a little concerned he’s gonna topple right over and they’re gonna spend the next two hours collecting him in a basket, but when he moves to help out, Bones waves him off. After a couple false starts he makes it up onto his feet bones and then shuffles out to the end of his chain, right under one of the overhead lights. He’s still a good couple feet off from Crowley, but Crowley looks like he wouldn’t mind a few extra acres.

Bones sways a little bit, just enough for Crowley to wince. “You didn’t come back.”

“I got busy.”

Sam shifts impatiently. “What is he?” he snaps, gesturing at Bones.

“Exceedingly dull,” Crowley says. “I should’ve guessed you were friends.”

Dean uncorks a fresh bottle of holy water.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Crowley amends, quickly. “And even if you did, you wouldn’t know what to do with him. It’d be like giving a laptop to a pair of howler monkeys.”

Dean puts his thumb over the mouth of the water bottle and holds it over Crowley’s head. “Try me.”

Crowley scoffs, rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he is, since he’s useless as long as he’s chained up. And I wouldn’t have left him down here if I had a single clue how to smuggle him out. I haven’t even been in here since the Bay of Pigs; I’d worked a loophole in one of the defense spells here that let me in. When it broke down, I lost my exploit. Wasn’t worth the bother after that.”

Dean slides his thumb a millimeter north of a perfect seal, and a fat drop of water busts its ass open on Crowley’s forehead and sends up a thin line of steam. “Good thing I’ve got a limitless supply of bother,” Dean notes. “Sam, we still got those syringes in the trunk?”

Crowley snarls. “Go ahead and melt me like the cartoon shoe in Roger Rabbit, it’s not going magically make me come up with a solution.”

Bones grunts and rattles his leg chain. “Do you speak Spanish, Crowley? Because you look like the Juan for me.”

“Did I teach you that one? You absolute xylophone.” Crowley glances back at Dean. “Do your worst, Squirrel, I deserve it.”

Sam frowns. “He uses the lines to get around the spell’s speech restrictions. This is something about speaking languages…were you able translate the Enochian symbols on his cuff?”

Crowley blinks. “What symbols?”

After a whole lot of faffing around with mirrors and terrible cellphone photography, they confirm that Crowley can’t see the symbols at all.

“More demon-proofing. Clever little buggers, those Men of Letters,” Crowley sighs. “A real shame they were peeled and eaten like bananas.”

Finally Sam just hunkers down with a pencil and pad to transcribe the entire ankle cuff, and Dean awkwardly holds up Bones’s ankle, like he’s being sized for a glass slipper. When they shove the results in Crowley’s face, Dean watches his eyes dart along the words.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, boys. Along with the usual wankery, there are instructions on how to release the cuff. I can translate it,” he finally says, with an unusually low inflection of bullshit, “but I’ll thank you to release me, first.”

Dean is flummoxed. “What, you’re not gonna haggle for a cut of the profits or anything?”

“Activating the release mechanism will free him completely, and restore his…restore him. I’d rather be at a safe distance.” He glances back at Bones, looming in the shadows. “A continent or three should do the trick.”

“If it doesn’t work–“

“I’d be more worried about what happens if it does,” Crowley sighs. “But feel free to summon me back for tea and sympathy. Here, I’ll even give you my number. But please, no personal photography. I pity you enough as it is.”

Crowley finally smokes out, and Dean has a beer to celebrate while Sam looks over the list of what they need and Bones clatters his fingertips like castanets. The ingredients are (as always) larded with shit that’s exotic and expensive; Sam is looking crestfallen at some of the items. “I’ve heard of all of this, but I’ve only seen maybe half of it for sale anywhere.”

“Baby, are you a yard sale? Because you’ve got some serious junk in that trunk,” Bones monotones. He’s back to lying on the floor.

At least it’s getting easier to translate this shit. “They’ve got all the ingredients here somewhere,” Dean says. Sam looks skeptical. “C’mon, Sam, no way these dudes would use a lock when they didn’t have the key.”

The ensuing scavenger hunt takes a few pints of elbow grease, but at least by the end they’re both familiar with the Bunker’s floor plan, document filing system, and inventory records. They find virtually everything in-house, though they do end up driving to the nearest farm stand for some hen’s eggs and rosemary (and heirloom tomatoes, because they look bomb).

Dean christens – or maybe exorcises – the kitchen range with some red meat, and they fuel up with burgers before taking the plunge. Dean’s still licking the ketchup off his fingers when Bones pipes up one last time. “Can I ask you something?” he says.

Dean and Sam brace for impact.

Bones sighs. “That’s not the start of a pickup line. I genuinely have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you so intent on freeing me? You could have just left me down here. I’m not a threat this way. You only have Crowley’s word that you might profit - or suffer - from my release.”

Sam gives Dean a look; it’s the look that says I sure hope you have an answer, because I think this entire thing has been dumb as shit and half as necessary. It’s a look Sam uses pretty regularly.

“Uh. It’s the right thing to do? As far as I can tell, you haven’t hurt anybody or done anything else to deserve being down here. We went through all those records upstairs, and there’s no note that says ‘by the way, that skeleton downstairs eats babies for breakfast.’ This place is cool, but the dudes who built it were obviously shady as fuck.”

“I see.” Bones sounds a little disappointed.

Sam fake-coughs into his hand, and Dean sets down his paper napkin. “Also, you seem cool. Like, you’re easy to hang out with. Other than the stinky one-liners, and we’re gonna wean you off of those.”

Bones straightens himself out a little. “Thank you, Dean. You know, on a scale of one to ten, I’d rate you a nine.”

“Okay, okay. Why not a ten?”

Bones sets his chin on his knuckle bones with a tidy little clack. “Because I’m the one you’re missing.”

Dean groans, but he thinks the guy might be smiling, somewhere behind that skeletal grin.

By hour two, Sam’s pretty tuckered out from pulverizing a billion and three mummified dove livers while reciting nonsense syllables, and Dean’s right arm is about to fall off from holding up this giant silver swizzle stick that’s either a really weird short sword or a decorative javelin, but Bones has never looked perkier. He’s lying on a nice white bedsheet and looking fresh as a recently exhumed daisy.

“Okay,” Sam rasps. “Light the candle and we should be good to go. Any last words, Bones?”

“Are either of you religious?” He crosses his arm bones over each other.

“Fuck no,” Dean answers, before Sam gets a chance to launch into it.

Bones shakes his skull fondly. “You should reconsider. Because you’re the answer to my prayers.”

Dean makes a gagging noise and lights the candle.

What happens next (well, after the cuff pops open) is some of the freakiest shit that Dean has ever seen, and his Freaky CV is pretty fucking impressive, thanks. Bones tells them to avert their eyes, “just in case”, but he takes a peek between his fingers anyway, because he’s an idiot.

For a second Bones is just lying there, and Dean has a second of real disappointment that maybe he’s Moved On Past The Veil or something, but then he starts…foaming. It starts out kind of uniform and colorless, but then it really picks up speed and volume and starts to separate into swaths of distinct and horrible colors and textures. He closes his eyes again for a second to give his stomach a chance to reboot, and when he looks again the foam is gone, and instead there’s a whole lot of angry jelly trying to form into organs.

Just as the jelly is really getting its shit together and looking more like lungs and intestines and stuff, the heart-jelly pulses once and sends out a fistful of big squishy vines…veins? and a fat white worm of nerve scrambles down the spinal column and starts putting out franchises. This is followed by some disturbingly tasty-looking red sheets of muscle that swiftly sheathe over all the whole scene, and then the muscles start sweating out fat and cartilage and this is the point where Dean decides that looking away is actually definitely one hundred percent for the best. Even then, the sounds are tough to handle.

Kinda wild: he’s seen people taken apart, but watching one get put back together is somehow gnarlier. Well, if this guy is even a person. It’s a human skeleton, sure, but god knows even Mickey Rourke has one under there.

Finally everything seems to have quieted down.

“How you doin’ over there, Bones?” Dean asks, and dares to take a peek.

Bones is crouched down in front of them, fists balled up in the bedsheets (it’s a relief that the bedsheets didn’t get accidentally sucked into the muscle layer or something, like one of those surgeons who leaves a sponge behind). Dean sees white guy skin and some dark messy hair and gets the gist of a decent build.

The face slowly cranes upwards, and Dean is really truly ready for anything here; tusks, fangs, Klingon forehead ridges, gingivitis. Instead he gets a faceful of hot math teacher. Bones’s eyes are still closed, but he’s frowning like he’s mentally reviewing his strategy to explain the quadratic equation to a roomful of horny teens.

He slowly rises to standing (yikes! Naked! Dean is a Moderately Bad Man, so he glances, but just long enough to register “nice), uncurling slowly and carefully.

Then he’s all the way up. Bones squares his shoulders and straightens the last kink in his spine, and the frown resolves. Dean’s about to say something, when his eyes snap open, and this cold white light absolutely blasts out of them, and fuck, Crowley wasn’t kidding: this guy is definitely A Thing. The whole room flattens and distorts in the light. Shadows race up the walls like they’re looking for a way out, then snap together into the shape of enormous ragged wings, stretching thirty feet higher than the actual ceiling clearance.

Then the light dies down; the wings fade into regular-grade shadows. Instead of a terrifying unearthly avatar of Oh Shit, Dean’s looking at a buck naked thirty-something math teacher. Who happens to be an unearthly avatar of Oh Shit. And has nice eyes.

“My name is Castiel, angel of the Lord, Seraph of the First Shield,” the avatar says, in a piss-shakingly resonant version of Bones’s voice.

Then: “Do you speak English, Dean?”

“Yes?” Dean fumbles.

“So do I,” says Castiel, and smiles.

Then he makes finger-guns.

Castiel sticks around for a grand total of five minutes before he’s suddenly gone again, because angels are (a) real and they can (b) teleport? at (c) any moment because (d) fuck you, then he reappears six hours later (clothed) standing over Dean’s bed, having apparently forgotten that humans like to sleep; this time Dean does shoot him, but luckily he doesn’t seem to take it personally.

“I located Crowley,” Bo- Castiel says. The silver sword-javelin thing is sitting on the kitchen counter in front of him; apparently it’s an Angel Blade and it lives in Castiel’s coat sleeve and can vaporize demons. It doesn’t look like it has any Crowley on it, but maybe it’s self-cleaning.

“Did you kill him?” Dean asks, now that he’s semi-coherent and wrapped around a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

“Not this time,” Cas answers. “He did help, after all.”

“Sure,” says Dean.

“You don’t need to let me fuck you in the ass, either,” Castiel says, and Dean honks some coffee up the back of his nose.

“Oh,” he gasps. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. Didn’t realize you could hear that convo all the way down there.”

“Angels have excellent hearing. Mine wasn’t impacted by the spell.”

Dean can think of at least three very private moments Castiel almost definitely could hear every instant of, and longs for death. Or maybe not, since apparently this guy lives in Heaven and could hear him there, too. “Great. Good to know. Noted.”

“But…” Castiel looks wistful.

“What?” Dean nudges him. Dean Winchester: angel nudger.

Castiel frowns. “If I said…” he stops himself. “This is…what I want to say is very irregular, at least between angels and humans.”

“Jesus christ on a goddamn pogo stick, man. It’s three in the morning, some of us have a circadian rhythm and a limited lifespan. Say whatever it is you gotta say.”

Castiel looks up and drowns Dean in his swimming pool eyes, which Dean has learned belong to a radio ad salesman in Illinois, who Castiel possessed a few years back before jumping several decades into the past to run some errands and getting rope-a-doped by the Men of Letters and then warehoused in their basement; after they all spontaneously bought the farm, he just slowly ran out of the power reserves needed to keep his vessel from turning to mush and hey presto, talking skeleton.

Classic story, really.

“If I said you had a beautiful body, Dean,” Castiel says, solemnly, “Would you hold it against m-“

Dean doesn’t let him finish. {AO3 version}

#spn fanfic #destiel #deancas #profoundnet #prompt fic

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starkatana · 4 years ago

Text

Safehouse

Jason Todd x Female Reader

Red Hood x Female Reader

Summary:

Red Hood gets injured and calls you for your help. Very fluffy and sweet.

I needed fluffy and sweet after working on this angsty story.

Warning: Light swearing, mentions of marijuana

Before Reading:

Your hero name is: Black Cat

Imagine your suit to look a lot like Selina’s (Catwoman’s suit)

Since his return your relationship with Jason has been tense. You still have feelings for each other and this is your first interaction together not ending in a yelling match.

At this point in the story you two are 22/23; while at prom you were both 18 - seniors in high school about to graduate.

Thanks! And shout-out!

The prom section is inspired by this post by @geekandnerdworld

I used a prompt from this post by @writing-ideas-inc

Author’s Note:

So, here begins my various one-shots of Jason Todd/Red Hood x Reader//y/n AKA my current obsession. I may compile all of them into chronological order once everything is done. I just really wanted to write and post something. I just have too many WIP’s right now that I need to focus on.

Sorry if it's a little out of character, this is just based on my knowledge that Tumblr has given me.

Enjoy! ~<3

You received an SOS from Jason with his location. You haven’t heard from Jason in a while, but you weren’t going to ignore an SOS from him. Quickly getting dressed as Black Cat, you rush to this location. The coordinates lead you to his old orphanage; you had been here a few times before with Jason. Volunteering to hang out, teach, and play with the kids.

You parked your bike out front and carefully climbed the fence. The orphanage was warm and inviting. The upper levels of the building were dark, it was nighttime and you knew that’s where the kids slept. The downstairs, the main entrance light was on along with the outside lights. You creep up quietly to the front door and saw a note in Jason’s writing that said: ‘Back door.’

You follow your instructions and go to the back. You knock on what you remember to be the kitchen door and the friendly face of the orphanage care-taker answered.

“Black Cat.” She opened the door wider for you, “Come in.”

You nod and stepping in Jason, as Red Hood, was sitting on a chair in the kitchen.

“Cat.” Jason looked over at you, “You came.”

“Of course I came.” You walk over to him as she closes the door behind you. “Are you okay?” You ask as you instinctively begin to look over Jason’s wounds. Nothing stitches wouldn’t be able to handle. Maybe some bruising, but nothing too crazy.

“I’m fine.” He winced, “I need some help getting home. Miss wouldn’t let me leave unless someone went with me.”

She sighs. “You can stay here Ja-” the orphanage caretaker stops herself, “Red Hood.”

“No, it’s okay.” He gets up and you instinctively go to reach for him in case he falls over. “I’ll be back to get to the bottom of things, but right now, I’m going home.”

She sighs, “You heroes and your secrets. Be safe out there.”

“Always am.” He makes his way to the door, “C’mon Cat.”

You nod and follow him out, once the door shuts behind you two, he winces over.

“Jay.” You help him up.

“I’m okay.”

“C’mon, let me carry you.”

He agrees and they continue to walk.

“Thank you.”

You don’t respond knowing how much it probably took him to say that. You only smile to yourself and walk over to his motorcycle.

“I have someplace we can go to close-by that’ll be safe.”

“Okay. I’ll drive you just give me directions.”

He agrees. Getting on his bike, you put your bike in automatic drive and send it back to the Batcave knowing that Bruce’s tracking device was still set up on it. Jason gives you the key for his bike and you start it up as he sits up behind you on the bike.

“You good?” you ask.

“Better.”

Arriving at the safe house, you almost missed it because the safehouse was a flower shop. It was four stories, the fourth being a large greenhouse looking level.

“Are we at the right place?”

“Yeah.”

Jason unlocked the garage and pushed up the door, as you pushed the bike in. Inside there are a variety of flowers and arrangements. Jason led you upstairs to the third floor. He unlocks the door and gestures after you.

Walking in, it was a very open space with beautiful red brick walls and black framed windows. The apartment, if you want to call it that, had an open floor plan where the living room, dining space, and kitchen flowed into each other. It was nicely decorated with a variety of houseplants hanging around. There was a little section that dipped down with a couple of stairs and above you was a glass-paneled roof with black trim.

“How is this a safehouse?” you ask him still looking up, “There’s an entire section where the roof is glass.”

“I just said it was safe, not a safehouse.”

“I suppose. This looks like it could be one of Ivy’s lairs.”

He shrugs, “you could say that.”

“Is it?”

“I mean, making money by selling some sweet kush isn’t a bad side job.”

You let out a light chuckle, “I guess not.” You look up and around, the sky had cleared and the stars were out.

“It’s bulletproof glass.”

“I wasn’t concerned about the glass and getting caught. I was just looking at the sky.”

He nods and looks up with you, “Can I be frank?”

“No.” you shift your eyes to look at him without moving your head, “I’d like you to be Jason.”

You could practically feel him roll his eyes at you under the sliver of moonlight. “Glad to know your jokes are still terrible.”

You move your head to face him with a smile you haven’t worn in a long time, “What’s going on?”

“To be honest, when Ivy first offered me the place and I saw this brick wall and the large window roof, I could only think of you and I hoped that I’d have another chance to look at the stars with you.”

You purse your lips. That was really cute. “I don’t understand. What about Artemis?”

“You caught me. You were right, I was only with her to hurt you and make you jealous. She knew. You knew. I was only kidding myself. She broke up with me, if we were even dating, told me to quit being a little bitch and to give up my pride and go back to you.”

You don’t respond. “Where's the first aid supplies?” you ask changing the conversation.

“Bathroom.”

You nod. “You try to get out of that suit. I’ll be right back.”

Jason let out a hiss of air.

“You okay?” you ask pulling on the stitch to tighten it.

“Yeah. It just stings like a son of a bitch.”

“Always does. Okay. Take a breath and let it out slowly.

Jason listens and at the time he exhales, you make another stitch, followed by a knot. “Alright, you’re done.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” You say, “Let’s get some rest.”

“Yeah. You can have the bed.” Jason offered, “There’s only one here.”

“Does it have this view?” you gesture to the window ceiling.

“No.” he gives you a half-smile, “I can get the bed out here for you.”

“Not with the new stitches I just put in. Thanks, Jaybird, but the couch is fine for me.”

There’s a noticeable pause between you two.

“I haven’t heard that in a while.”

“Hm?”

“Jaybird, I miss it. It’s either Red or Jason now. I feel like people only call me Jaybird when they aren’t mad at me.”

It had been a while since you called him by his nickname. He was right though. Since he’s been back, you’ve been upset and always called him Jason or dickhead. In your alter egos, you either call him Red, Hood, or Red Hood. Yet, you haven’t had a real conversation with Jason in a while.

“Well, it’s been a while since we’ve had a civil conversation.”

“Yeah... why did you answer my call?”

You pause. He was right. You had no reason to answer his call. You didn’t need to answer anything. He’s been a major dick since he’s been back and you two haven’t had any positive contact. Yet all you could answer, “Why wouldn’t I?”

He pauses.

“Here’s a question for you, why call me?”

There’s another pause.

“Do you want something to sleep in? I have some spare T-shirts in the bedroom and some shorts you could tie at the waist to fit you.”

You give up the conversation. “Please.”

He leads you to the bedroom. The room screamed Jason Todd, it wasn’t a mess but it wasn’t neat either. There were a variety of books, a closed laptop, spare Red Hood helmets, and a domino mask or two.

“Here.” He gives you a clean shirt and a pair of shorts.

“Thanks.” There was a tense air between you two. You wondered if he could feel it too. There was so much to say and it just didn’t feel like the right time to say it all. “Good night, Jay.”

“Y/n,” you look at him expectantly. You weren’t sure what you wanted him to say, but you stopped to listen. “Good night.”

You smile at him and show yourself out of the bedroom. Going to close the door behind you, you take one more lingering look at Jason, who makes eye contact with you giving you a sad look. You turn away and click the door shut behind you.

After changing into his T-shirt, you don’t put on the pants, his waist was just too big for you. You go lay down on the couch. This was what Jason smelled like, it was a comforting, familiar smell. You missed it a lot. You brought it over your face, this was Jason and he was real. You stared at the stars in the sky and remembered the first time you two went star gazing, it was prom night.

You and Jason had just left the prom, went out to eat at your favorite diner, and went back to Wayne Manor. An overall perfect night. You two stayed dressed in your formal wear and made hot chocolate in the kitchen. Not wanting to call it a night just yet, you two laid on the manor’s roof watching the stars.

You two were laughing and giving each other shit.

Jason sighs and lays down next to you, “Y’know, I’ve never had a real friend before.”

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes.

“It's true!”

“Okay.” You mock, “Let me just call Roy.”

“Oooh nooo, what's Mister Bow and Arrow, what’s he gonna do?”

“Dump your ass so you definitely won’t have a ‘real friend’.”

“Then my point still stands:” you could hear the cheekiness in his voice, “I have never had a real friend.”

“Well, I am your friend, Jaybird.” You say turning your head to look at him.

Jason looks over at you with a big smile on his face.

“What?”

“I’ve also never had a girlfriend...”

You roll your eyes and shake your head looking away from him and back towards the starry sky. He’s quiet and in your peripheral vision, you could see that he was still staring at you.

“Y/n,” his fingers gently brushed against yours. Not grabbing your hand just being close. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

You look back over at Jason and swallowed hard. He was being serious. His blue eyes glimmered under the light of the moon. He had on a soft smile that he only shares with you. The time that you two spent together training, going on patrols, dancing, school, laughing, mischief-making, the short amount of time you knew Jason you couldn’t imagine your future without him.

You gently move your hand and lock your fingers with his. “Yes.”

He smiles and lifts your hand to his lips kissing the back of it. Letting his lips linger over your hand as his soft breaths tickled your skin as you stared into each other’s eyes. You never wanted this moment to end.

You hear a door click open. You sit up and Jason is walking into the main area.

“Sorry.” He says, “I was just grabbing some water.”

“No worries.”

“Can you sleep?”

“No.”

“Want some hot cocoa and watch the stars?”

“Yes.”

Jason made you some hot chocolate and took a seat on the ground while you laid on the couch. Getting into a conversation about the year. You explained to him what you tried to do, fighting through waves Joker’s men to get to him. How you wanted Joker to suffer for killing Jason. Then explaining that you were lucky when the other bat fam members showed up to save your ass.

“Then Dick went after Joker and manage to successfully beat him up. Bruce had to step in to stop him before they put Joker back in Arkham.”

“Again? When is he going to get that’ll never work?” Jason rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. We didn’t get much of a say, I was in the infirmary and the girls kidnapped me to NYC before Bruce could say anything.”

Jason was quiet before he said, “You and Dick are the only two in this family that I fucking respect. Trying to kill Joker like that. Badass. Thank you.”

You smile and finish your cocoa. He didn’t even know the half of it. “Your turn. Where were you? What did you do? What happened while you were away?”

“Recover.” he shrugged, “I was going through rehabilitation. Physical therapy. I sat around in the Lazarus Pit,” he gestured to his white tuff in front. “That’s where this came from. Don’t know why we just didn’t do that sooner.”

“And here I thought I’d never see you again. You were suffering all by yourself.”

“There was one more thing,” Jason turns around to face you, “Bruce thought it’d be a great idea to give me the letters you wrote me. I don’t know why, but I got your letters. So, I wasn’t completely alone. It was when Peter came into the picture when,” He said the next part slowly, “I…got…jealous.”

“Wait? All of them?”

“I’m assuming. He gave me a lot.”

“Oh my god!” You sat up on the couch, “I wrote so much in those.” you covered your face from embarrassment. “I didn’t think anyone was going to read them!”

“Hey.” Jason got on the couch with you and gently grabbed your hands to uncover your face, “They gave me hope that I’d see you again. Your letters made me feel like I wasn’t so alone.”

“And now I’m mad!” you took his hands back and pointed a finger in his face, “You had all of my letters! You had an idea of how I felt while you were gone! And you still pulled all that shit, Jason Peter Todd!”

“Yeah,” he held his hand up in defense, “I’m sorry. It was dumb and stupid.”

“You’re dumb and stupid.” You gently shove him away.

“I mean you’re right.”

“Stop. I don’t mean that.”

He smiles, “I think after all the shit I pulled, you can be mean to me.”

“I don’t want to be,” you sigh leaning against your arm propped up on the back of the couch, looking at him “I’m tired of fighting.”

“Me too.” He begins, “This was nice. Thank you.”

You nod and he matches your body language. Sitting in the silence of each other. It didn’t feel odd, it didn’t feel the same, it felt new. Like a door had opened where you could both move forward.

“And so you know this still stands. Reading all your letters, talking tonight again, even after me being a dick to you. I’ve never given much thought to others’ hopes and dreams, but when you talk about yours, I want them all to come true. I only want you to be happy.”

You smile and for the first time, you touch his arm gently in a manner of love and affection.

“Y/n,” he says with his hand over yours.

“Jaybird.”

“Please don’t give up on me.”

120 notes · View notes

insfiringyou · 4 years ago

Text

BTS - Playing House (Suga x Jeong-sun) & (J-Hope x Nana)

Contains: Fluff. Soft smut. Bickering. Double date. Mentions of V x Cassandra.

Set a week after ‘An Overnight Stay’ for Suga and Jeong-sun, and a few months after ‘Home Again’ for J-Hope and Nana. Jeong-sun invites Hoseok and Nana over for dinner, determined to prove herself in the kitchen.

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & our full masterlist of fanart and fanfictions can be found here

If you wish to follow all member’s storylines in chronological order from the beginning, you can find them listed here.

Rated content below the cut

PART ONE

Yoongi looked up from his laptop, the movement from behind the cooker catching his eye as Jeong-sun held out a tupperware container. The mushy food-stuff inside was indiscernible at his distance.

“Does this look like 12 ounces?” She directed the question at him but glanced at the contents from the corner of her eye with a wary, mistrustful look. Yoongi thought it likely she was baffled by the unfamiliar scent of the blended mixture of exotic vegetables, uncertain as to whether it would make a tasty, or at the very least edible, meal.

“There are scales in the cupboard.” He easily shrugged, looking back down at the spreadsheet on the screen with a sense of haste. He had been working on the document for most of the afternoon before a spontaneous phone call had called him away. A quick glance at the time in the bottom hand corner alerted him to the fact he only had a few more hours before the final calculations had to be submitted. While the thought had been at the back of his mind for the past few weeks, he had lost track of the deadline; usually accustomed to such matters being dealt with behind the scenes by the various accountants who worked for the company. He knew he was still within the terms of his contract that he and the other members had signed several years before, but the fact he had not produced anything new for BigHit since enlisting played on his mind. It felt right that he should finally take responsibility for his own finances.

He heard her sigh, along with the heavy sound of a knife being dropped on the chopping board. “I tried them. It only shows Metric units. The recipe’s in Imperial.” She complained, eyeing the illuminated screen on her phone which she had set to the website in question. The various pictures which accompanied the text promised a colourful end result which, frustratingly, bore little resemblance to the mixture resting at the bottom of the saucepan.

He scoffed, lips twisting. “Who uses Imperial?”

“Whoever wrote the recipe.” She quickly retorted. He could practically sense the eye-roll in her reply and couldn't help distracting himself once more by taking a glance in her direction, looking up just in time to see her dump the contents of the tupperware into the saucepan to join the assortment of vegetables she had peeled and cut earlier in the afternoon.

“It’ll do…” She murmured, making him snicker as he minimised the grids and numbers on screen to open up a web browser, his mind already drawn from the task at hand by another, nagging question.

Jeong-sun bent beneath the counter to search through the assortment of herbs and spices on the rack below.

“Liberia…” He said suddenly and she looked up, peering above the table.

“What?” She asked with a frown.

He read out loud. “Liberia uses the Imperial system. And the US.” Scrolling across the webpage, he pressed his fingers tightly to his lips. “Myanmar too...” He finished, satisfied.

She smirked sarcastically. “That’s good to know.” He watched her dip down once more and continued to read, engrossed in the fact file he had come across.

“Are there many vegans in Liberia?” Her voice was slightly muffled as she peered deeper into the cupboard, swinging the rotating holder lightly and scanning the peeled labels on the glass containers.

“I’m not sure.” He mumbled.

The loud, grating sound of jars being rearranged filled the kitchen as she rummaged through the cabinet. “You were on the phone a while…” She called, raising her voice to be heard above the clattering of glass. “Is everything okay?”

He sensed little more than mild curiosity in her tone, knowing she hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on the long conversation in the hallway shortly before, but unable to help it. He had left the kitchen door open, unaware when he answered the phone that he would be gone so long. “Jungkook called.” He murmured vacantly, eyes narrowing behind his spectacles as he scrolled down the page, reading rapidly. “Taehyung got in touch…”

“How is he?” Jeong-sun popped up her head, a jar of paprika clutched successfully in her hand.

“Still in service.” Yoongi replied a little detachedly. “He’s going to be a father.”

His casual, indifferent tone helped mask the meaning of his words and it took a moment for them to take hold and Jeong-sun poured the paprika into the pan for a few moments before she realised what he had said.

“Oh?” She tried to read Yoongi’s expression from behind the laptop in order to gage his feelings about this piece of news but instead found nothing but his eyes scanning the screen. “Is it -” She paused, wondering how to phrase it delicately. While Yoongi had known the younger man for years, he spoke of his friend’s personal life very little. Regardless of this, a memory flashed through her mind. “The mother...is she the woman from the play?”

“Cassandra.” He confirmed.

“With the boobs?”

Their eyes met and he let out a breathy laugh, a smile breaking on his lips. “That’s her.” He nodded. Having not thought of that night in years, her words brought it back to him in perfect detail. The other boys had been distracted by the spectacle on stage as the actress shrugged off her robe but he recalled not being surprised. A part of him expected no less from the woman who had stolen Taehyung’s heart; with her exotic, tragic-stricken name and musical accent.

“Oh.” Jeong-sun repeated, unsure what to say; not knowing either person enough to form an opinion. “Good for them I guess.”

Yoongi gazed at her, his expression softening at her casual, awkward shrug. He realised his initial reaction to Jungkook spilling the news had been quite cynical, wondering whether the younger man was ready for it; if it wasn’t an act of carelessness on his part. The fact of the pregnancy being accidental hung in the air as the maknae spoke frantically down the line, along with the recollection told by Hoseok months before that the couple had broken up before Taehyung’s enlistment.

The whole situation felt like a disaster waiting to happen, and while he hid this belief from Jungkook, he had needed to take a moment after hanging up the phone to collect his thoughts. Looking at Jeong-sun now, he suddenly felt a pang of guilt at having judged the situation too harshly; he didn’t know what kind of parents Taehyung and Cassandra would make, and either way he realised, it was none of his business. He mused for a moment, eyes flicking downwards in a sheepish smile. “Yeah, good for them.” He agreed softly.

Jeong-sun had already turned to the back wall, reaching for a long, slender plastic bottle set back on the top shelf and, with a huff, stood on her tiptoes to retrieve it, her fingertips skimming the bottle a few times uselessly before she finally caught hold of its slender neck. “Is olive oil vegan?” She blew a stray strand of hair from her face noisily and peered at the green-hued liquid. “The recipe said rapeseed, but I couldn’t find any…”

“I think so.” He muttered, watching her measure a couple of spoonfuls and adding it to the ingredients. Her face was a little flushed and he couldn’t help but chime in. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You sound it…” He quipped.

“I’m sure I can cook a …” Bending over the counter, she squinted at her phone screen. “Vegan Jam...ba...laya…” She read the title slowly, struggling with the syllables. “...With okra and creole seasoning, just fine by myself thank you.” Straightening up, her hands moved to the curves of her hips in a defiant stance.

“I’m sure you can…I don’t mind helping.” He pressed softly.

She picked up a wooden spoon to stir the mixture. “I offered to cook for them.” She argued lightly. “I’m just borrowing your apartment. My oven broke.”

“Again?”

She sighed. “The fuse blew. I just haven’t gotten around to replacing the wiring.”

“You should get a switchboard.”

She glanced at him, unimpressed. “You try asking my landlord...How do you turn this ring on…”

“Top right.”

“Thanks…” Twisting the dial, she leaned casually against the countertop, waiting for the electric hob to heat up to temperature. “When did they go vegan?” She asked, a soft expression playing on her features as she watched him read. He seemed preoccupied when he spoke.

“I think it’s a new year’s resolution thing. It was his idea.”

Tapping the cooker lightly, she felt along the ring. “This isn’t working…”

“Maybe we should go vegan…” He suddenly teased.

“Fuck off.” She scoffed, matching his smile as he took off his glasses and folded them neatly on the table beside him; both falling into a comfortable silence. Realising he wasn’t going to reply, Jeong-sun busied herself, scooping up the used utensils and placing them on the shelves in the dishwasher.

Eventually he spoke. “They have the second largest shipping industry in the world…”

“Who?” She spun around, voice curious.

“Liberia.” Leaning forward, he began to recite. “Accounting for eleven percent of ships worldwide.”

Jeong-sun raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you doing your tax returns?”

“I might need you to look them over.” He admitted a little guiltily, eyes following as she plodded over to the cooker.

“That’s optimistic of you.” She said dryly, lips curling.

“You’re better with money than I am.” He said sincerely, glancing down to once again open the Excel spreadsheet. His eyebrows furrowed as he went back over the numbers, concentration not long fixed before a loud cry broke his trail of thought.

“Ah! Fuck!”

His stomach churned unpleasantly and he was on his feet before he had time to think. It was immediately obvious what had happened and he reached for her hand carefully, inspecting the burn. “Put it under the cold tap…” He murmured, guiding her easily towards the sink and turning on the faucet. “I meant to tell you the hob heats up quickly…”

“I just caught the edge..” She protested, sensing the hurt in his voice and twisting her palm to reassure him the damage wasn’t bad. The pink-coloured streak stood out against her otherwise pale skin; the cold stream turning her other digits white as he held her wrist steady. Both fell quiet as they waited for the burn to cool, a shared memory lingering silently between them as they remembered their roles being reversed; her guiding his hand under the tap carefully as a trickle of claret ran between their palms.

“I guess I’m not so good at this whole ‘playing house’ thing.” She admitted with a sigh, cheeks stained pink as she cast a sly glance towards the offending hob. “I’d make a terrible wife.”

He twisted the faucet, chest aching at her words and he gently released her from his grasp. “I don’t expect you to ‘play house’.” He said quietly.

Their eyes met and she edged closer, touching his forearm delicately as she whispered. “I know you don’t.” Her gaze dropped to her covered feet, self-conscious as she toyed with what she was trying to say. “After it being just us for so long…” She trailed off.

“It’s strange for me too.” He confessed softly, eyes drawn to where her hands met his skin and watching her move along his arms, comforted by his solid presence.

Worrying he would misunderstand, she backtracked. “Not in a bad way…”

“No.” He agreed. “Just new.”

She continued to caress him delicately, the pads of her fingers trailing along the grooves and tendons in his wrists.

“You know he’s going to talk your ear off…” He eventually murmured, casually changing the topic.

“Hoseok?” Her face perked up.

“He really likes you.” Yoongi confessed with a smile, making her grin in reply as he looked down at her hand. “Do you want it wrapping?”

Flipping it over, she shook her head. “It’s not that bad...I’m just wondering if I should quickly go home and get changed.”

“Why?” His eyes flickered briefly over her body, noting the tight, figure-hugging fit of her jeans and the hint of cleavage beneath the frill of her organza shirt. While not particularly dressy, he didn’t see anything wrong with what she was wearing and sensed she was trying to distract herself. “You look fine…”

Bridging the gap between them, he captured her lips, tilting his head slowly as she sank into the kiss, clearly relieved by his gesture. Although they kissed when she arrived, the space of several hours suddenly felt like an eternity; their separate activities in the kitchen seemed a waste of time when they could have spent it like this; pressed together; their bodies flush and lips entwined. She felt his tongue move against hers and sighed gently into his mouth, feeling breathless as he slid his hands down her hips to the round flesh of her backside which he squeezed beneath his digits, kneading her flesh through the denim before spanking her once, lightly, on the right cheek in a surprising move which made her moan against him, the space between her thighs growing warm and tingly. It wasn’t enough, and she cursed the fact they would have to part soon, their bodies inevitably separating in order to finish the meal she was preparing and, much later, that she would have to return home and go to work. As though sensing her thoughts he slowly pulled away, pecking her in a final, lingering kiss; knowing that their guests would be arriving shortly.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather look over my tax returns than cook?” He uttered, mouth soft against her lips.

She closed her eyes briefly in reply, his offer undeniably tempting but not completely masking the nagging feeling that she should be the one to cook. “I promised…” She protested unconvincingly.

“I won’t tell.” He whispered, a small grin tugging at his lips.

With a relieved sigh she gave in, unable to stop herself from drawing him into another sinking kiss. “I love you.”

***

The murmur of voices caught their attention before they even heard the doorbell ring; the owners clearly trying to keep quiet on the front stoop in order not to disturb the neighbours but failing massively. Yoongi looked up from the bubbling saucepan and lowered the heat to simmer as he met Jeong-sun’s gaze with a shared grin. She clicked the send icon on the screen, finishing the final piece of paperwork and closing the laptop with a soft clink. It had been years since she had solved calculations any more complex than her own household bills, and the feeling was strangely satisfying, as well as the knowledge that her admittedly rather dry expertise with numbers was finally coming in useful to someone other than herself.

“That’ll be them.” He joked, setting down the wooden spoon and joining her side as she led the way to the front door. The scent which filled the apartment could not quite be described as appetizing, but he had followed the recipe closely, only substituting what he could not find in his cupboards with similar ingredients.

Jeong-sun stepped aside to allow Yoongi to reach for the door handle, and the volume of Hoseok’s greeting made her jump in surprise.

“Hyung!” The open door shielded the younger man from view, but the sight of her boyfriend being pulled from the hallway into a presumably a tight embrace made her smile. A second later, she lept back once more, letting out a little squeal of shock as a slender, mottled-patterned Greyhound shot through the open doorway, his blue lead trailing uselessly behind as he raced down the hall, towards the empty guest room.

“Seulgi...no!”

Jeong-sun heard Nana cry after the dog moments before the tall, angular woman came into view, rushing blindly past Jeong-sun in an effort to recapture the lead which had evidently slipped from her grasp.

“There he goes…” Hoseok murmured good-humouredly, whistling under his breath and stepping into the hall. He soon noted the woman’s presence. “Hi Jeong-sun!” He grinned, wrapping his arms around her before she had time to process what was happening.

Yoongi followed the brown and grey shape with just as much confusion as his girlfriend, watching as Nana managed to corner him at the end of the corridor and bent down to pick up his lead, her beaded dress skimming the floor with a jingling sound before she straightened up and slipped it from his neck.

“I hope you don’t mind…” The older woman fussed, breathlessly gesturing to the extra guest as she led the dog back towards the group. Her chest was stained pink above the straight bust of her strappy dress; a long 20s style number in Morrocan blue which came to the tops of her bare ankles. “I should have called before...it just happened at the last minute…”

“Her neighbour was taken to the hospital, and someone needed to look after the dog.” Hoseok explained, a little more eloquently.

A worried frown played on Nana’s face as she turned to Jeong-sun. “I hope you’re not allergic.”

“It’s fine.” She waved, still getting over her initial startle but realising that the dog had once more disappeared from view. “Where’s he gone…” She murmured a little anxiously.

Hoseok seemed preoccupied with something perched on the floor outside and returned a moment later clutching a heavy-looking plant pot. “We brought you this.” He held the object at arm’s length while Jeong-sun and Nana looked around nervously. “I hope you like orchids.”

Taking the pot from his hands, Yoongi smirked. “I keep killing them.” He muttered dryly.

Nana faced the other woman and her spiraled hair bounced energetically against her shoulders. “I think he’s in the bathroom.”

Jeong-sun sauntered after her as she lept down the hall, murmuring under her breath. “As long as he doesn’t drink the toilet water...” Seeing that Nana had once more secured the Greyhound with its tattered looking leesh, she turned towards the kitchen, a little flustered as she switched off the hob and looked around the space. “Yoongi?” She called. “Do you have a bowl the dog can use…?”

“Under the sink.” He instructed from the hallway and she bent down, rummaging noisily through the various cleaning products and spare pans before she found a small steel bowl towards the back.

“Got it!” She shouted, giving it a quick rinse under the tap before filling it with fresh water and placing it carefully by the doorway. The dog sprinted into the room at the sound, sensing refreshment, and quickly lapped at the liquid, followed by Nana who brushed a ringlet flusteredly from her perspiring forehead. She glanced apologetically at the other woman, noticing that she did not seem as keen on animals as herself and Hoseok, but relieved to see she did not appear angry at having an additional visitor. Jeong-sun wandered past to find Yoongi in the hall, unsurprised to see Hoseok conversing with him eagerly by the open doorway as though they had not seen each other in months.

“Did you finally meet him?” The younger man, seemingly unaware of the woman’s presence spoke in the hushed tones of someone trying to keep a secret but too excited to whisper. Yoongi nodded but his back was turned, obscuring his expression.

“How was it?” Hoseok asked eagerly, though his grin quickly faded when he spotted Jeong-sun by the kitchen and realised he had been caught out. Yoongi followed his friend’s gaze, meeting her eye across the hall and giving a tiny, knowing smile, telling her all she needed to know.

PART TWO

“Woo…” Hoseok let out a long breath of air as he reclined back in his hair, chest and stomach puffed out as he stretched. Nana eyed his empty plate as she reluctantly put down her cutlery, too full to finish the hearty helping in front of her.

Seulgi, who at the start of the meal had been banished into the hall, had somehow found his way back into the room and while his temporary owners had initially protested, was soon forgotten as a third bottle of wine was opened. Yoongi stroked his ears soothingly from under the table, picking at the plate of store-bought ciabattas which accompanied their main course without much appetite and occasionally, when the others weren’t looking, dropping the crusts onto the floor where the dog snatched them up eagerly.

“That was really good Jeong-sun…” Nana proclaimed as she chewed her final mouthful, making a point of rubbing her stomach.

Her boyfriend leaned forward, echoing the sentiment. “Really good!” He beamed, an empty plate a sign of sincerity.

“I really couldn’t eat another bite…” Nana continued, reaching for her glass of red to clear her throat.

“Not another bite.” Hoseok agreed cheerfully, seeming to forget in his apparent tipsiness that he had already finished his serving. His cheeks were rosy, forehead perspiring a little under the warm kitchen bulb, and he reached for the wine bottle to pour another drink for himself.

Jeong-sun bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a laugh as her eyes moved from the woman to the man beside her, their almost-innocent lack of self-awareness enviable.

“They’re right...it’s really good Jeong-sun…” Yoongi murmured, his expression straight but eyes swimming playfully. “How long did it take you?”

A toothy grin crept onto her lips and, with the other pair preoccupied, she reached under the table to slap his wrist lightly, chest filling with warmth as he matched her flirtatious smirk. “Shut up…” She whispered, heart thudding madly as she felt his long, slender fingers wrap around her own; their bodies still for a moment as a shared, static sensation played between them.

“You know, he’s probably going to have to come and live with us…” Hoseok sighed, suddenly breaking the silence. Jeong-sun and Yoongi instinctively moved apart to look across the table, seeing at once the younger man was addressing his girlfriend who appeared about ready to fall asleep. Her curls were dangling a little listlessly across her bare shoulders, the thin, flimsy straps of her dress having slipped from place.

“Who?” She yawned; the drink having clearly gone to her head.

“Seulgi.” He replied, matter of factly. Nana glanced beneath tired, droopy eyelids.

“He’s not our dog…” She feebly protested, unable to help noticing the way the man beside her had sat up energetically as an idea clearly played through his mind.

“He could be…”

Jeong-sun watched this exchange with a mixture of amusement and awkwardness, the conversation having taken an peculiar turn which looked to be heading into a half-hearted argument.

“Don’t be silly…” Nana sighed, bending her arms at the below to finger her shoulders, adjusting the straps which she belatedly realised had come askew.

Hoseok laughed lightly, his cheer not dampened by the mild insult. “Why not?” He asked, clearly not seeing any flaw in his plan. “Your neighbour might not be able to walk when she comes out of the hospital...it’s not the first time she has fallen over...we’d be doing her a favour.”

“Oh Hoseok!” She exclaimed with a loud huff, hands banging on the table. “What a horrible thing to say!”

“I’m just being realistic…” He quibbled. “She’s really old!... And Greyhounds need a lot of exercise…”

Despite their melodramatic tones, Jeong-sun couldn’t help but shift in her chair, looking to Yoongi for guidance on how to react, but surprised to see him sipping his glass casually, unphased by the rising volume of the couple opposite. She realised the spectacle was not new to him and felt a pang of shock when she remembered how long he had been familiar with them and their antics; that while Nana was a near-stranger to her, Yoongi had known her for years during their time apart. The revelation was odd; sitting beside him now, it felt strange that over three years had passed where they had not been in each other’s lives. She found herself reaching for the bottle of red, pouring herself the third glass of the evening.

“And what will you do when you have to go back to work?” Nana challenged, breaking Jeong-sun’s trail of thought.

“Ohhh…” Hoseok uttered, vocalising his thoughts out loud. “That’s a while yet…”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath Nana…” Yoongi chirped in, not unkindly.

The older woman looked at him, disappointed in his casual taking of Hoseok’s side. “Do you agree with this Jeong-sun?” She challenged, eyes darting in her direction with an exasperated smile playing on her lips.

The other woman shrugged, unable to help her lips from curling at the corner. “If you don’t take him...it looks like Yoongi will…”

Half-way through the dinner she had felt the dog brush her thigh, his tall but slender body almost bumping the underside of the table as he squeezed himself between her and Yoongi, clearly comforted by their presence, before finally settling down and falling into a light sleep. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out which of them he liked the most.

“See?” Hoseok held out his palm, gesturing to Jeong-sun before turning to his girlfriend.

Nana sighed slowly, clearly giving up. “We’ll talk about it later…”

A short and relieved silence fell over the room; the first proper moment of calm of the evening, and Yoongi got to his feet, carefully pulling back the chair to allow Seulgi to escape.

“We’d better get going soon...it’s a school night.” Nana murmured, wiping her eyes and smudging her eyeliner in the process.

“It’s okay, we’ll be off to bed soon.” Yoongi agreed quietly as he began to collect the plates, piling them neatly in the centre of the table.

Hoseok and Nana moved back, giving him room as they followed the dog into the hallway; happy to see that even he had grown tired in all the excitement of the evening and had begun to plod along lethargically.

Hoseok suddenly turned back to the other couple from the doorway, grinning as though he had only just remembered. “We have some big news…”

“Oh?” Yoongi’s interested, but calm tone told Jeong-sun that whatever the other man was about to reveal, it probably wasn’t as earth shattering as the description implied.

Nana nodded from beside him as she reached down to slip the loosely fitted leash around the dog’s long, slender neck. “We’re moving in together.” She said, her matching smile signalling the argument from before was already forgotten.

“When?”

“At the end of the school year...once Nana had sorted her belongings…”

“I need to figure out what I might need to keep...for the year group coming up.” She explained gingerly, already thinking of the mammoth task it would be to sort the trash from the treasure and knowing she would be unable to let go of as much as she should.

“That’s great.” Jeong-sun joined them as they headed towards the front door, bringing her palm to her mouth to stifle a long, drawn-out yawn.

“It looks like you’re ready for bed too!” Hoseok smiled, hand skimming Seulgi’s fur fondly as the group clustered at the end of the hall.

“Long day…” She murmured in reply.

“I’ll bet!” He waved goodbye as they spilled into the night, the cold evening air filtering through the doorway and into the apartment.

“Thanks again for the meal Jeong-sun.” Nana smiled.

“It was better than a restaurant!” Hoseok retorted as they took off down the street, clearly meaning to cut across the park in order to get home. The dog, rejuvenated at the prospect of an extra walk, bounded happily in front of them. The trio seemed perfectly matched; their long, spindly limbs breaking ground quickly as they disappeared around a corner.

Yoongi closed the door behind himself and turned to face Jeong-sun who was rubbing her hands quickly together to warm against the draft which had crept in. Her cheeks were rosy beneath a light layer of foundation, eyes gleaming with mirth as she leaned casually against the wall and tucked her hands behind her back.

“They really liked your cooking…” She simpered, enjoying the silence which followed and the comfortable tension which rested in the air as he attached the safety chain, his movements slow and deliberate as it rattled into place. When he looked back, she was already walking into the living room, ignoring the mess on the dining table in favour of heading towards the couch in the far corner. He followed wordlessly, watching her slump heavily against the cushions to lay outstretched across the length. He stayed where he was at the foot of the chair, waiting for her to speak; to tell him what she wanted. While it had been nice to have guests, he suspected that like him, she had been waiting for them to leave. The memory of the heated kiss shared in the kitchen burned in his mind throughout the meal, leaving him restless and fervent.

“Take them off…” She murmured, not needing to elaborate as he inched forward and reached for the waist of her tightly fitted jeans. The buckle unclasped easily, dragging her hips upwards as he clutched the fabric and worked them down her legs. She was utterly still, limbs heavier than usual in her drained state, but he handled her body with ease, slipping the jeans across her knees and around her feet as she watched him carefully. Discarding them on the floor, he moved his right hand to the fleshy part of her lower calf which he rubbed tenderly, admiring her body below him as she rested her socked feet against the armrest to allow better access to her soft flesh. “These too…” She lightly fingered the burgundy trim of her panties, running along the tight band which rested across her pelvic bone, before they too were moved away, digging his knuckles gently into her flesh as he hooked them beneath the elastic, drawing them down. Under other circumstances she might have felt a moment of coyness as she was exposed, his standing position allowing full view of her lower body, but instead found herself unable to pull her eyes from him; the look on his face as his dark eyes shifted across her said it all, and she parted her mouth weakly.

“I’m too tired to fuck…” She admitted breathlessly, feeling regretful.

A shy grin crept onto his lips and he inched forward, smoothing his palm along her bare thigh and up her torso as he nestled between her thighs which she gladly parted for him, covering her body with his own. “Me too…” He smiled easily; breath warm and gentle against her skin before kissing her with open lips. She met his mouth zealously as he ran his fingertips through her hair, brushing her cheek softly before pulling away. Her lips were parted; full and red, and she took his hand in hers, slipping it slowly between her thighs.

He was still for a moment but her expression encouraged him, and he stroked through her folds with two digits, brushing his moist fingertips over her swelling clitoris. She moaned softly, guiding for a moment before allowing him to take over, his thumb running over the coarse curls of her pubic hair as he slowly caressed her, trapping the hooded skin above her clit gently between two fingers and teasing her sensually while he watched her expression tenderly. She closed her eyes, moistening her dried lips with her tongue, and his heart thudded in response. Moving closer, he trailed his lips along her cheeks and nose, welcoming her warm, shallow breath against him.

“Does this feel good?” He whispered against the corner of her mouth, listening to her sigh in response.

“Yes…” He felt her eyes open against him and he pulled away to look at her. “I love you…” She murmured, voice cracking.

His mouth trembled in reply, only stilling when she arched her back to kiss it closed as she welcomed the weight of his body; embracing him, pulling him closer. He touched his cool cheek to hers, eventually slowing against her when he sensed from her quieting moans that she was too tired to reach her high.

Reaching around his back, her fingertips splayed across his covered shoulder blades, holding him soothingly. He felt her lips against his temple and knew she was wanting to speak; to let go of the tension she had been holding onto all evening since he had roamed his hands across her body in the kitchen, prior to Hoseok’s arrival. Stoking a damp strand of hair away from her forehead, he moved onto his side to rest against the back-cushions of the sofa.

“What is it?” He whispered, meeting her gaze; smoothing her cheekbone tenderly with his thumb.

She was silent for a long time; her chest feeling as though it might burst as he waited patiently, appreciating her features; how beautiful she was.

“I could be with you forever, and it wouldn’t be long enough…” She murmured, eyebrows furrowed as the words took hold, affecting them both. He felt her confession in every limb; his heart seeming to simultaneously swell and sink as he realised that he too felt that way.

He blinked, eyes stinging as his mouth opened silently, trying to find the right words but failing. Instead, he nodded, fingertips quivering against her cheek. He thought she might be able to feel his heartbeat in them.

“I know…”

Jeong-sun was silent, unable to talk; there was nothing stronger she could answer in reply. Instead, she reached for his hand, taking it gently in hers and placing it flat against her chest, under the trim of her shirt to rest between her breasts. She closed her eyes slowly and nestled into him, palm trapped between their bodies and pressing into his own. Finally, her heartbeat slowed against his digits as she drifted into sleep, her light snores comforting against his collar. He watched her for a while, knowing he would awake aching in the morning from having foregone the softness of his bed but not giving it a second thought. As he pressed his lips gently to her hair, wrapping one arm gently around her, he was careful not to disturb her slumber.

***

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elecman108 · 4 years ago

Photo

Man, I forgot to post 90% of my art here for the past while. I’m gonna do an art dump in this post under the cut. Enjoy the bonk emoji if you don’t click the read more, and man am I dumb and forgetful lmao.

Includes: OCs getting names, a Sonic impression, a D&D map, homosexual energies, a sheep floating in the astral sea, a birthday drawing I already posted, Hex Maniac Ender, D&D Characters, D&D Characters as Miis in Miitopia, Little Hater Axel, local Demon in the consciousness of my D&D character yelling at him, illegal plants, a necromancer being cute, an actual event that happened in a D&D game two days ago, and Mermay drawing.

That’s everything in here as a TL;DR, I guess. Enjoy your day!

I’m gonna try and sort of have them in chronological order, oldest first, but I may end up putting them in the wrong order. If I do... Whoops, I guess?

[04/14/21] - This isn’t really new art, but I started to work on giving the four OCs of mine without a full name full names... I have not finished this bit, though. So Hunter and Akira have full names, and Warlock and Assassin only have temporary names. This may end up like Seven where I put in their names as a temporary name (7th OC I’d made at that time) and it just kind of... sticks. Lmao.

[04/20/21] - Alone on a Friday Night? God, you’re pathetic. I didn’t colour this one because it was a half-attempt at a meme image I still like it, though, so I might end up colouring it. It’s gonna appear again whenever I do my “unfinished drawings art dump” at some point probably in... June? I know I said I’d post them last month but forget it, lmao, it’ll happen eventually.

[04/20/21] - A D&D Map! This was to help me visualize the layout of my D&D character’s ship he used to be on. Also for my DM if they ever put us aboard the ship. The little fella in the corner is just there to vibe. This map is made of free to use assets from This Website, so while I’m gonna say DONT USE MY MAP WITHOUT PERMISSION, feel free to make your own!

[04/26/21] - Lesbian Day of Visibility drawing of yours truly, the disapointment! That’s... really all I have to say about this, honestly. It was just for that one day and that was it, lmao. I mean, I accidentally lined it in dark pink, so.. .That’s different, I guess?

[04/30/21] - Do Astral Seas dream of Ensorcled Sheep? Does the City know what Sheepleb is going to do? What crimes he may commit? Who knows! This was fan art of Critical Role ep. 134 if I remember correctly, right at the end when they jumped into the portal into the astral sea and Caleb was a sheep. Using my knowledge of the German language, I knew the word for “shit”, and had to use it.

[05/07/21] - This was already posted, but it’s going in here to dilinuate that it was drawn at this point. Also, aside from playing Miitopia, this is all I have to show for myself until the 12th.

[05/12/21] - Hex Maniac Ender challenges you to a Pokemon Battle! WIll you win against my team? My sis, who loves fairy types, pointed out to me that there’s a fairy girl and hex maniac duo, so I’d be the hex maniac. I spent... Over a week drawing this, because I basically had to redraw the Hex Maniac art from scratch in a higher quality size, and then draw myself over it. So... You can excuse the low-effort background for once. It was basically this, and then my birthday doodle from May 1st to May 12th, and then I took a break to draw up several D&D characters quickly for fullbody references.

[05/12/21] - Remember this art I made several months ago? I finally added my other two completed characters! I have three more named but without character sheet D&D characters, so for now this is just Kara, Axel, Golden Shadow, Kau, Cecillia, and Miri. Kress, Tempest, and Melia will have to wait until I make character sheets for them to be posted, and... For when I probably make more D&D characters. I have at least 9 additional, incomplete character ideas floating around, so... I’m never gonna be done this art, huh?

[05/12/21] - Speaking of D&D characters, did you know I’ve been making them as Miis in Miitopia? So here is their finished full body art next to their Miitopia self! Some of them look a little off (Golden Shadow, Cecillia) because of limitations of the editor and shading issues, some of them look a little off (Kau, Kress) because this is a human face canvas that I’m using to make a non-human face, and some of them (Melia, Axel) look REALLY GOOD. Common traits among my D&D characters include green eyes and tall. You wanna know why? Because I am tall and... despite having red eyes, I do have green eyes under the coloured contacts.

[05/15/21] - More D&D stuff! This is based around my D&D group’s current Rime of the Frostmaiden campaign where our Goliath Fighter, Nioh, ends up getting a little bit of hate for being cocky, and our little (well over 6′) hater, Axel, is just a man full of irritation. These are the tallest two characters of the group at the moment. Someone send help. Nioh belongs to one of the other D&D players, Axel (and his stupid additude) belongs to me.

[05/15/21] - This is what me playing D&D feels like. Me, the demon entity trapped inside the head of my D&D character, yelling at them to do things while the dice decide that they’re gonna get bopped a hundred times by a yeti and somehow still survive. This is also a reference to our first or second game where I just ran off like sixty feet to one side of the battle map to fight a Crag Cat and was just in Gay Baby Jail until like two turns later when I could run back to the others. I also drew him not in his winter gear even though this is a bit from when we were atop Kelvin’s Carin in an icy cave, so maybe that’s why he’s at low HP.

[05/15/21] - Melia has good gardening tips, such as Use A Mars Mii Trap To Hide A Body Because They Are Endangered And It Is Illegal To Dig Them Up. I love her a lot, because she’s the youngest of four, all four sisters based around the different seasons. She’s based around Autumn, so she’s all orange and yellow and brown and is so cute. Also she’s Chaotic Neutral, as if she didn’t need to be mildly more threatening.

[05/15/21] - Cecillia is my Tiefling gal who lived in a very northern town plagued by cold weather and snow, and Axel is my Pirate guy who spent most of his time further south on the high seas and warmer weather. So, naturally... I’ll use the guy more acclimatized to the hotter weather in the campaign where we spend 99% of it in the snow. She uses Tarot Cards as her spell focus, and I decided to sneak my other D&D characters onto her Tarot cards so naturally, Axel is The Hanged Man, given his backstory and personality. She’s a very cheerful and friendly Tiefling Necromancer of the Hexblade, so she’d for sure take care of those around her to ensure their success. Especially if they’re on her Tarot Cards, and their spirit comes to her aid when she asks for them.

[05/16/21] - Content Warning; Ryma thinks too much into local stupid moron’s lack of knowing how to answer a question and thinks too much into the reputation of Pirates. Poor Axel, man doesn’t know how to socialize with people who aren’t pirates and is used to being hostile towards everyone, so when he’s asked a question that his answer to is “uhh... no?”, he panics and ends up making a mistake that leads him to think that Ryma can read his mind. Ryma belongs to another of the D&D players. I guess me drawing all those spicy Cow Costumed OCs earlier just brought me to drawing Axel being a bottom in this, huh?

[05/16/21] - It’s Mermay, which means more OC drawings! Here’s Theo after drinking some potion that turned him into a mermaid, and Seven, tiredly, collecting his stupid boyfriend so that Lailah can fix the fact he’s turned into a mermaid. Mer!Theo is based around his sword’s colours of indigo-purple with red accents, which looks a little weird since Theo is the Blue one of the group, but... it looks cool, I guess. Seven’s just the same outfit as always, just no gloves this time.

And that’s it for the art dump! This was, frankly, MASSIVE. I’ll try and remember to upload both on Twitter and Tumblr at the same time, but... Ah... I have been drawing a fair bit. Just mostly sketches and linework that I haven’t finished and may not actually finish. If they’re not completed, I’ll dump them all into something at the end of the month or whatever. Maybe you’ll get the old sketch of the Axel face in panel 3 because in the sketch phase it was an Ahegao face, in the clean sketch it was a lip bite, and in the linework and final it’s just horny face. lmao.

Top ten things I have to remember for drawing: AXEL HAS A SCAR AND GREEN EYES. I remember his eye colour now, but if you look at his fullbody ref, he’s got brown eyes. And, naturally, I keep forgetting to put in his scar. He has more, but most of them are located in areas covered by his clothes. So if I ever draw him shirtless I guess I’ll have to place them somewhere.

Also maybe finish the reference sheets I have left to finish so I can post more of them, since I have two “Pets” completed (Roko and Mona’s nameless pet), but I have to do up Hunter, Warlock, Assassin, Akira, Myuut, and Stella. I’m betting when I do complete two more, it’ll be Hunter and Akira. Those two are the most fun to draw, at least.

#the disappointment speaks #drawings by me #OCs #D&D #art dump #Miitopia #of all of these drawings I gotta say the most cursed is censored bottom!Axel and the most blessed is Cecillia's lap nap #I drew a lot of D&D stuff lately! Most of my OC stuff has stayed in the sketch stage so #I guess that says something about what I've been prioritizing in my drawings?#Also that drawing a twunk as a twink is incredibly funny and cursed. love my pirate boy

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theexecutionerssong · 4 years ago

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Okay Gaëlle, i hate to do this but I have to. What are your favorite episodes of Supernatural throughout the seasons 1-15🤔 shit you can even tell me why, i would very much enjoy to hear it. Because I am not ready to let this damn show go, so I’ve been watching videos/talking about different episodes all day long.

On are you kidding me sdfghjk i could make you a top 100 but I’ll try to keep it under... 40, in chronological order it is because do NOT ask me to pick my favorites among favorites. And if I start to tell you why, we’ll still be here in a week, so you can draw conclusions from the quotes ^^

2x20 What Is and What Should Never Be: Our happiness for all those people's lives, no contest. Right? But why? Why is it my job to save these people? Why do I have to be some kind of hero? What about us, huh? What, Mom's not supposed to live her life, Sammy's not supposed to get married? Why do we have to sacrifice everything, Dad?

3x10 Dream a Little Dream of Me: Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument. Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?

My father was an obsessed bastard! All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He- He's the one who let Mom die. Who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!

4x01 Lazarus Rising: You don't think you deserve to be saved

4x03 In the Beginning: On November 2nd, 1983, don't get out of bed. No matter what you hear, or what you see. Promise me you won't get out of bed.

4x16 On the Head of a Pin: For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.

4x20 The Rapture: I wanna make sure you understand. You won't die or age. If this last year was painful for you, picture a hundred, a thousand more like it. - It doesn't matter. You take me. Just take me.

4x22 Lucifer Rising: You're not in this story. - Yeah, well... We're making it up as we go.

5x04 The End: What happened to you? - Life

5x10 Abandon All Hope...: Mom... This might literally be your last chance to treat me like an adult. Might wanna take it?

5x13 The Song Remains the same: It's okay, baby. It's all okay. Angels are watching over you.

6x15 The French Mistake: honestly how iconic, doesn’t need quotes

6x20 The Man Who Would Be King: It sounds so simple when you say it like that. Where were you when I needed to hear it? - I was there. Where were you?

7x04 Defending Your Life: Hunters are never kids. I never was.

7x17 The Born Again Identity: You’re not a machine, Dean.

8x01 We Need to Talk about Kevin: It was bloody, messy. 31 flavors of bottom dwelling nasties. Hell, most days felt like 360 degree combat. But there was something about being there... it felt pure.

8x07 A Little Slice of Kevin: You can’t save everyone, my friend. Though you try.

8x17 Goodbye Stranger: We need you. I need you.

8x23 Sacrifice: Where do I start to even look for forgiveness?

9x06 Heaven Can Wait: Nobody told you. Nobody explained. You're just… shoved out kicking and screaming into this human life, without any idea why any of it feels the way it feels, or why this confusion, which feels like it's… a hair's breadth from terror or pain. You know, just when you think you do understand, it'll turn out you're wrong. You didn't understand anything at all.

9x11 First Born: no proper quotes but it introduced Cain so that’s that.

9x22 Stairway to Heaven: his true weakness is revealed. He's in love... with humanity.

9x23 Do You Believe in Miracle: I'm proud of us.

10x05 Fan Fiction: Supernatural has everything. Life, death, resurrection, redemption -- but above all, family. All set to music you can really tap your toe to. It isn't some meandering piece of genre dreck, it's... epic.

10x14 The Executioner’s Song (what a surprise): First, first you'd kill Crowley -- there'd be some strange mixed feelings on that one, but you'd have your reason, get it done, no remorse. And then you'd kill the angel Castiel, now that one, that I suspect would hurt something awful. And then! Then would come the murder you'd never survive, the one that would finally turn you into as a much of a savage as it did me... Your brother, Sam. The only thing standing between you and that destiny is this Blade. You're welcome my son.

10x22 The Prisoner: When you finally turn, and you will turn... Sam, and everyone you know, everyone you love... they could be long dead. Everyone except me. I'm the one who will have to watch you murder the world.

11x04 Baby: because it was GENIUS

11x20 Don’t Call me Shurley: Fare Thee Well

12x10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets: Do it. You blast me away, you'll blast away every angel in the room. I'll survive. Castiel, on the other hand, he's hurt. He might live or he might just end up a bloody smear on the wall. Roll the dice... Yeah. That's what I thought.

12x12 Stuck in the Middle (With You): No, you listen to me. You... Look, thank you. Thank you. Knowing you, it... it's been the best part of my life. And the things that... the things we've shared together, they have changed me. You're my family. I love you. I love all of you.

12x19 The Future: It's a gift. You keep those.

13x10 Wayward Sisters: all of it and it’s a damn shame the spin off wasn’t picked off

14x13 Lebanon: I guess that I had hoped, eventually, you would... get yourself a normal life, a peaceful life, a family. - I have a family.

15x03 The Rupture: (just because i’m an angst hoe) You used to trust me, give me the benefit of the doubt. Now you can barely look at me. My powers are failing, and -- and I've tried to talk to you, over and over, and you just don't want to hear it. You don't care. I'm... dead to you.

15x09 The Trap: You don't have to say it. I heard your prayer.

15x17 Unity: My entire life, you've protected me-- from Dad, from Lucifer, from everything. I didn't always like it, you know, but... it's the one thing in the whole world that I could always count on. It's the only thing I've ever known that was true.

15x18 Despair: I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I wondered what it could be? What my true happiness could even look like. I never found an answer because the one thing I want... It's something I know I can't have. But I think I know... I think I know now. Happiness isn't in the having, it's in just being. It's in just saying it. I know. I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive, and you're angry, and you're broken. You're “daddy's blunt instrument.” And you think that hate and anger, that's... That's what drives you, that's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you see it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell... Knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack... I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean. - Why does this sound like a goodbye? - Because it is. I love you.

#thank you anon i'm now an absolute mess #80% of these were written by the same 4 people sdfghjk #i should have done a top 5 per season it would have been easier #spn #gaelle parle #Anonymous

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itsclydebitches · 5 years ago

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Re the BTD recap: "the prose is still incredibly messy in places" "To be frank, it’s not that I think this is all particularly good… just not particularly bad either." If it's not too much trouble, can I get some concrete examples for why? I feel like I often don't notice this sort of thing, so I want to know what I'm missing. Might help me to be a better writer.

Challenging request, anon! :D I feel like I need a few disclaimers here:

The book is serviceable. It’s just not going to be winning any awards. Talking about how the prose and dialogue can be better isn’t meant to translate to, “This is the worst thing ever written.” Because it’s not.

This is very much a pot calling the kettle black situation. Anyone here has the capability of hopping onto AO3, finding a horribly written passage of my own, and shaking it in my virtual face. So this is likewise not intended to be me standing atop a pedestal going, “Anyone - myself included - could do better.” I often can’t do better because writing is hard.

I’m not a creative writing instructor, thus it’s often difficult for me to articulate why I think a piece of literature doesn’t read well. If you’ve ever, say, come out of a movie with a strong sense of it not being “good” but can’t easily explain why it failed? It’s similar to that. By consuming lots of media we get a sense of “quality” over “badly written” that then informs our reactions to new texts, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to boil that response down to, “See here on page 3? They shouldn’t have done this. Fix that and it’s ‘good’ now.”

Nevertheless, let’s try. I’ll take a passage from the prologue where Sun is facing off against these “goons”

Two glowing clones of Sun flared into existence, one facing Pink and the second squaring off against Green. That left Brown—whom he figured was both the leader of the group and the most dangerous. Why? Because he was hiding the most.

Brown slashed a hand toward Sun. “Take him.”

“Which one?” Green asked.

“The real one,” Pink said. “These are just flashy illusions.”

Sun directed one of his clones to punch Pink in the face.

She blinked and looked more annoyed than hurt.

“That’s no illusion!” Green reached for clone Two.

Sun’s clones were physical manifestations of his Aura, every bit as capable of inflicting damage as he was. But it could be difficult to control them, especially while he was fighting. They were better suited to giving him the element of surprise, extra pairs of hands, or emergency backup when he needed it.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t sustain them long, and they couldn’t take much damage, as they drew Aura from Sun himself. If he kept them going too long, or tried to create too many clones, it usually weakened the Aura shield protecting him. But he’d improved a lot with training, and his Semblance was a lot stronger than it used to be.

Sun whipped out his gunchucks, Ruyi Bang and Jingu Bang, spinning them as he and Brown circled each other slowly. At the same time, Sun was fighting Pink and Green through his clones. Pink was some kind of boxer, dancing around and jabbing with her fists, which One was managing to block. Meanwhile, Green was trying to grab Two and wrestle him to the ground.

Brown had some kind of martial arts training similar to Sun’s—but he wasn’t nearly as good. Sun leaned back as Brown did a high roundhouse kick; he felt a breeze as his opponent’s booted foot swept past his nose with a lot of power behind it. Sun flicked his right gunchuck to loop it around Brown’s ankle and pulled him out of his stance, hitting him with the closed gunchuck in his left hand. The man took the full blow, but it didn’t even faze him.

Now let’s break down some of the reasons why this passage doesn’t work for me. I’ll work chronologically.

As mentioned in the recap, it’s rather awkward for a PoV character to ask and answer their own questions. Especially when they’re not presented as literal thoughts. The “Why? Because...” takes me right out of the story. It suddenly sounds like I’m attending a lecture or reading an article. Sun believes X. Why does he believe this? Because of Y evidence.

The dialogue is clunky. This problem is admittedly more obvious at other points, but there are a lot of moments where it doesn’t feel like this is a natural thing someone would think or say. Which again, is really hard to write. How people speak is quite different from how we think they speak and finding a balance between that (eliminating most pauses like “um” or “like” that would be too frustrating to read, giving characters more flowery language to serve the story’s goals even if it’s not realistic, etc.) is hard to nail. Here, Sun is often thinking things that don’t sound l like an actual thought in a panicked teen’s head.

Oh crap, Sun thought. I’m losing. How am I actually losing?

It just sounds like exposition. The reader needs to know that Sun is losing! So Sun will tell them that.

The villains, so far, are a bit too cartoony for me.

“You got lucky, monkeyboy,” Green said as he walked off, his companions following him through the cloud of foul vapor. “This time.”

Which is admittedly a matter of taste and does have some justification given RWBY’s early writing (think Roman). Still, it’s hard to take lines like this seriously, especially when we just had the group making fun of Velvet for cheesy quips. But the villain’s quips are supposed to read as daunting?

Connected to Sun’s thought above, there is a lot of telling rather than showing throughout. For example: “She blinked and looked more annoyed than hurt.” There are ways of showing the reader that Pink is annoyed (indeed, just leaving it at “She blinked” would have gotten the point across) rather than resorting to, “She looked ___”. Another good example would be “ Sun leaned back as Brown did a high roundhouse kick; he felt a breeze as his opponent’s booted foot swept past his nose with a lot of power behind it.” You don’t need to reassure the reader that there was “a lot of power behind it.” The action itself - feeling a breeze, his boot passing close to his nose - conveys that on its own.

To be clear, telling isn’t something you can’t ever do (break those writing rules!!) especially when sometimes you just want to be clear/convey something succinctly, but it is something to keep in mind. It’s another balancing act. Too much telling and the reader feels like they’re just being told a list of things to believe. Too much showing and it feels like the writer is trying too hard to make everything detailed, exciting, etc. Still, a good writer is going to be able to convey everything (Sun losing a fight, annoyance, a powerful kick) without feeling the need to remind the reader of things every few lines, “This is what’s happening. Don’t get confused!”

After the fight starts we immediately get a two paragraph info-dump about Sun’s semblance. How it works, what his limitations are, and what that means for this fight. Again, show that! We’ve just started an action sequence. The fight is underway. The reader doesn’t want to get pulled out of the action for another lecture. Rather than hitting pause on the fun stuff to explain things, create scenarios where these details become relevant and can be shown to the reader. Right now we don’t care what Sun’s limitations are unless those limitations become important.

We get another announcement in the form of “[Brown] wasn’t nearly as good [as Sun]” instead of (again) showing us that. Indeed, as I mention in the recap all the action that comes next contradicts this. So where did this assertion come from? If Sun knows that Brown uses a martial arts style similar to his then theoretically they’ve been fighting for at least a few seconds... but the reader doesn’t get to see that. Meyers was too busy telling us about Sun’s semblance.

Finally, there are pockets of Meyer’s writing that are all roughly the same. Meaning, sentences have little variety to them. This isn’t a consistent problem (and it’s certainly not the worst example I’ve seen of this) but on the whole he could use a more engaging flow to his work, both in terms of sentence length and balance among actions, dialogue, descriptions, and thoughts. Otherwise you get prose that reads, “This happened. Then this happened. This happened next. See the length? It’s all the same. Very little changes. And the reader gets bored.” Again, not a consistent problem, but one he should keep working on.

There are a number of other, smaller issues that are beginning to pop up. Such as the in parentheses pronunciation of the teams’ names, or the overuse of “he sent” whenever Fox communicates telepathically. In contrast, there are things about the writing that I’ve enjoyed. There are moments of dialogue - such as Fox’s joke in Chapter One, or how Sun’s instructions to “find Shade” literally refer to the school but also remind the reader that shade, in such a hot environment, is crucial - that I think are worth pointing to and going, “Yeah. That was a nice touch.” Overall though? It’s that, “I just came out of a bad movie” feeling. There’s too much clunkiness throughout. The writing often lacks variety or feels absurd. I’m taken out of the story more often than I fall into it. Is it the worst thing I’ve ever read? Far from it, but fans aren’t wrong when they say things like, “I’ve read better fic than this professional story.”

#rwby #rwde #mymetas #Anonymous

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plushpixels · 5 years ago

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Hey love, may I ask if you make your own story poses? If so, would you consider put some for download or giving good tips/advice to make nice story poses? Thank you so much in advance ❤️

Heyy! Thank you so much for your interest :3

I do make poses for my story, but I also use a lot of poses by other creators if they fit my needs :3 However I tend to envision my scenes pretty detailed, so it can be hard to find a pose required - then I make them.

I was actually seriously thinking about making random story poses dumps, but I wasn’t sure if someone needs them, cause they sometimes are quite specific, and I’m glad you asked! As soon as I’ll have some of them fixed I’ll make a pack :3

As for the tips - I’m not a big profi in posemaking, and am learning on the go, but I can recommend @simmerberlin ‘s tutorials on posemaking, there are a lot of cool tips there! Here’s a link to the first one, there 2 more, please search her blog, ok?)

As for my personal tips, I was making some poses just today so I wrote down some thoughts for you;

• If you’re making a scene with multiple charactes interacting, pose them in 1 blender file, so you can adjust their directions/looks/dynamics, and then spread them to different files how you need them. If I don’t do it, I very often end up with sims looking in whatever directions instead at each other, while I was thinking it was all on point x)

• Pay attention to the hands as much as you do to the facial expressions; hands are huge part of us convesing, they speak almost as much as the face does, you can tell so much by just …well, let’s call it “hands expression”. On the contrary, stiff hands just kill the whole dynamic for me ;-; I love @ratboysims poses for exaple, their hands are alive, that’s the secret ingredient xP

• Imagine the scene and feelings your sims have during it beforehand. Then spread it to steps - I start with the very first panel I imagined and go chronologically, it’s easier for me to track how their emotions change through the scene, and I know exactly what I need to do for the next pose then;

• If you’re making poses for dialogue you’re gonna end up with a lot of bouncing in between sims’ faces in pretty much same poses. I usually make one back up pose in this case (for like every second frame), with slightly different facial expression or hands/arms placement, just so I don’t end up with posting same poses over and over again. Tweaking face or arms ever so slightly while the rest of the body stays unchanged doesn’t take time at all, and you end up with livelier post :P

• Double check and save everything/make back ups. This is…basic rule of every creative work. If you like how your pose looks right now but you wonder if a little bit of change will make it better, save the file under different name, change what you wanted to change - and if you don’t like what you got, going back is easy-peasy x3

• Think of what angle you will use to make this screenshot and make sure your pose looks good under it before you went in game, dressed everyone, posed everyone, waited for the perfect lights and ended up not being able to get a good shot ;-; Also, make sure it looks fine from other angles too, just in case you will need them ;

• Use the mirror and check how your muscles move when you’re trying to take the pose you’re making. What’s moving? What stays still? What tilts? What you can do to make it look more lively? Maybe you could lift your chin a little, or bow your eyebrow, or bring your hands to your face. Like…what you’d act like if camera wasn’t looking at you, cause we’re not robots, our bodies constantly move, noone is strictly funcional, we scratch noses, rub temples, play with our feet and so on. It’s my personal tick, honestly, but if you’re making a pose why not make it a little more life-like x)

And that’s it, as you can see my tips are mostly ummm about the contents of the pose, let’s call it that, but this is also what I’m all about :3

Hope It helps you! And simmerberlins tutorials are a must, check them if you want to make poses))

#replies

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imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 6 years ago

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5,000 Followers Celebration!

When I started this blog four years ago, I had no idea I would come this far. I’m so grateful for all of the love and support that you all have given me these past few years and to thank you I want to do something special, so here we go . . .

(Celebration will start June 1st!)

Three-Part Follower Celebration:

1. There is currently a poll going on here, where you can vote for what musical I am going to base the fics for this celebration off of. There are six options: Heathers, Anastasia, The Cher Show, SIX, Mamma Mia! and an ‘other’ option where you can fill in your own choice! You can vote up to five times and I will close the poll on May 15th, to give me plenty of time to decide what character for which song! (I’ll take the most popular characters from my fandom list, but if you want to see someone specific let me know!)

2. Ships! I haven’t done ships in soooo long, so the first half of June (1-15th) I will do five ships a day! So, on those days, I will go in chronological order, and answer the first five asks that have: everything I need to know about you to make sure I give you a good ship (personality, physical traits, whatever you feel comfortable sharing!) and the fandom(s) you wish to be shipped in. I’ll give a little information about why I think you would be paired best with whichever character I chose, too!

3. Headcanon dump! So for the second half of June (16-30), I will answer a ton of headcanons as they come! I will try to post once a day, but there will be no limit on how many you can send in, so they will probably extend past June. Starting June 1st, you can start sending your headcanon requests in and I will start answering them on the 16th!

As always, send in requests as they come. I am still dedicated to getting my rewrite of Return to Me finished before The Rise of Skywalker comes out, so I am devoting a lot more energy to that than my requests, but I want to give back to you all! I will try to post more regularly these upcoming months, so please keep sending in fun stuff! I am so so grateful for all of your likes and reblogs and follows and comments and requests and hopefully I can make you guys as happy as you make me! If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask! Love you all and I’m looking forward to next month!

#i'm like three followers away but hopefully I will be there by june lol #tell your friends!!!#I'm excited for this #i hope you are too!#molly talks #5000 celebration

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smolfangirl · 6 years ago

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A little fresa wedding II

Hello hello I am leaving this here so @miris-xo is too busy to murder my duck :D Though I also have to thank her, for bearing with me during my “I hate everything about this part” phase, my endless messages of possible wedding dresses and all the other things I put you through. Without you, this wedding truly wouldn’t happen! And I could still look at Rugge in a bathrobe...

Special Thanks go out to @lightwoods5ever for being the exact beta reader that I needed in that moment, I love you more than I love koalas ♥

And surprise, surprise, the same procedure as every year post: @ac-ars and @sky-girls used the name Rory first. I used my own brain to end up with this name (also because of my roommate who is obsessed with Gilmore Girls and keeps trying to talk me into watching it), which is why I didn’t give them any credit.

Word count: 2.7k

///

Pt. III - Getting ready

Since she woke up from her nap after breakfast, Aurora loves to play with the buttons of Matteo’s shirt. Her baby fingers constantly reach out for them, tossing on them, while he holds her in his lap.

Opposite to them, Gastón leans against the window frame, where he checks the view and throws a glance at his watch every few seconds. “The photographer is late,” he states, clearly annoyed.

“Will you relax?” Matteo asks, bouncing his daughter on one leg now, laughing along with her. “It’s been five minutes, there’s still plenty of time.”

“I should relax, that’s priceless,” he mutters under his breath. It’s been going on like this all morning – given his behavior, it’d be easy to think Gastón was the one who got married today, not Matteo. “I am relaxed,” his best friend continues, “but shouldn’t you be nervous? Just a little? Or did you spend all of that on your proposal?”

“Haha, had a clown for breakfast again?”

Gastón has a point though. Back when Matteo planned to ask Luna the big question, he had no chill whatsoever. Zero chill, really. It was a miracle to him how his best friend endured all the second-guessing and doubting and overthinking over every single tiny little detail. While Gastón listened to all his whining, he never complained. Too much.

“No, I mean it,” his best man now says. “Aren’t you afraid she changes her mind and dumps you at the altar?”

Matteo chuckles, then shrugs. “Nope, not really. She loves me too much,” he explains, copying the grimace Rory pulls at him before he snickers at her frown. “The only thing I’m afraid of is this little one here. Hm, Lily Aurora, don’t cause daddy any trouble today.” Lifting her so she can gawk back into his eyes, he puts on his most serious expression. “Will you promise?”

Her answer is to spit all over his shirt.

“Nice,” Gastón comments, although his laugh cuts off half the word.

A sigh hushes over Matteo’s lips while he gets up to clean what’s left to save in the bathroom. “At least it’s not the shirt Luna has to see me in.”

///

Of course, his daughter holds her own opinions on acting well-behaved even after ruining his favorite sleeping shirt.

He’s not done yet scrubbing her spit out of his shirt when her high-pitched voice cuts through the silence, abruptly ending it. With curses muttered under his breath, Matteo runs back into the room, where he finds Gastón cooing over his goddaughter.

“Don’t bother,” Matteo tries to tell him over the screams and cries while he strokes the back of his little girl. “When she screams like this, she’s hungry, so the only thing we can do is get her to…”

Knock knock.

“Matteo? Gastón? Can I come in?”

“Luna,” he finishes. By then, Gastón already jumps at him and covers his eyes with his hands, effectively taking his vision. “What the…”

“You can come in!”

The door opens. Frantic breaths panted into the air. The sound of a long skirt brushing over the floor. Little footsteps, as if Luna wore no shoes.

Just the possibility of her wearing her dress already makes his heart skip a beat. Not a single hint at how it looks has passed her lips in the last months, not that he doubts it will be anything but breathtaking. Maybe she’ll go with a glamorous look close to the ones she pulls off for the red carpet every single time, or maybe she’ll look like the princesa from his songs – either way, Matteo isn’t sure how he will be able to keep the tears away when he finally sees her.

“Let me get her,” he hears Luna saying, and perhaps it’s a good thing Gastón sticks his sweaty palms on his face. In her arms, their daughter already calms down, or at least enough for his best friend to scold the bride. “You could’ve ruined the whole surprise, moon girl! Why didn’t you send Nina over? Or one of the bridesmaids?”

“She’s getting her hair done right now, I thought it’d be faster this way.”

During the short silence that ensues, Matteo wonders if his best friend is shaking his head in disapproval. He feels stupid, too impatient to sneak a glance at his soon-to-be wife, but unable to see anything except darkness.

And he didn’t even get a chance to put his shirt back on.

“You do look beautiful, though.”

Matteo groans. “Just shut up, Gastón.”

Before he can reply, a small hand suddenly rests on his shoulder for support, and soft lips press a kiss on his cheek. “See you later, chico fresa.” Then, the door closes, and Rory’s whines fade and fade.

Sighing, Gastón releases Matteo out of his grip and lets himself fall on the bed. “You two will make me lose my sanity today.”

///

She wrote the note for him early in the morning.

When she woke up and Nina left to pick up breakfast, the sun still stood low enough to hit her directly through the window, dancing over her face. Her maid of honor told her to get ready for plates of croissants and scrambled eggs and whatever else she desired, but Luna already knew she’d only nibble on some toast.

Grabbing a piece of heavy paper from the drawer of the hotel desk, she sat down on the antiqued chair, thoughts lost in memories of last night. Sneaking outside with him, hand in hand. Watching the stars, too happy to find a single thing to ask them for. Soaking in his warmth, hearing his every breath in the quiet night…

She’d write a whole essay based on these moments alone, but she had to keep it short and sweet in order to slip it under his door in time.

What Luna didn’t expect was to receive a gift in return.

The photographer just walked in as she hands her a little box, almost like the one from his proposal. “The groom asked me to give this to you,” she explains in a whisper. The smile sticks to her face before Luna even opens it.

There’s no ring inside.

Instead, it reveals a strawberry USB stick and a note telling her to play it. She can’t get to the radio station fast enough.

///

The first song surprises her.

He isn't singing. Nothing but a piano tune fills the air, a melody she never heard before. Warm and light, she's sure it's a love song for his next album. It's not even the first demo of him that she listens to, but it messes with her heartbeat too much and brings tears to her eyes. For the first time today, she’s grateful for the waterproof make-up. Her bridesmaids watch her wipe back the teardrops, and Baby Aurora pats her hands completely out of rhythm, smiling. When Luna presses swift kisses on her daughter’s cheek, it turns into a happy giggle.

She plays the demo a second time, still unsure whether to smile or sob.

While the song starts again, Luna closes her eyes. Feels. Feels her chest tighten, and goosebumps running all over her body, down her arms, even to her legs.

Matteo hasn’t been much in the studio lately.

More than once did he mutter in helpless frustration how he much he missed those hours between microphones, guitars and scrambled notebooks, more than once did he convince her he had absolutely no time to fit a studio session in between preparing the wedding and spending time with his chica fresa.

She wonders how he managed to record just a sample like this, or when he composed it.

On second thought, however, it doesn’t matter much. What matters is his gift, the effort he put into making her smile, into soothing her jittery nerves on this day.

When the song fades out, familiar tracks follow it. Half of them are from her favorite relaxing playlist – they help her to take a deep breath and enjoy being treated like a princess. The other half, however… He made a chronology of their relationship, told by songs he wrote for her throughout their lives, from the very first one to the one from his last album that she played for two weeks straight.

Those help a little less with calming down.

///

She gasps when she sees herself in the mirror for the first time.

Simple as it may be, her wedding dress fits her perfectly. The lace top clings softly to her body, while the skirt flows towards the ground like a waterfall, swaying when she whirls around. Her hair falls in curves down her back, the veil held in place by her braid crown. She told her make-up artist to go for something light, but when she sees the carefully placed shimmer highlighting her eyes, Luna can’t help but to feel like a princess. A fairy princess.

If she ever worried her look might not be stunning enough for Matteo, there’s not a single doubt lingering in the back of her mind anymore.

Turning around to her daughter, Luna smiles. “Do you think mommy looks pretty for your daddy?” Aurora sits on the floor, fingers wrapped around an old make-up brush, a focused frown on her face. So far, her little one followed her every movement instead of paying attention to the toys around her, even when the brush left a lasting impression, apparently. Luna hopes Rory will feel exhausted enough from the morning to sleep through the whole ceremony.

In this moment, however, her daughter stares back at her out of those intense brown eyes, taking everything in.

“Do you think daddy might cry?” Luna caresses her little cheeks, before she gently tickles her belly. Rory giggles.

There might be a happy tear in the corner of Luna’s eyes.

“I think Gastón made a bet with Ramiro over his reaction to the dress,” Nina chimes in from the chair by the window. The hairdresser is pinning the last strands of her hair into their designated space, and Luna’s bridesmaids snap some pictures of the process.

“Do you know what they bet for?”

Nina shakes her head, then quickly apologizes to the young woman finishing her hairstyle. “No, I thought it’d be better if I didn’t ask. If he loses we’ll find out soon enough.”

The photographer asks Luna to stand in front of the door for a few photos. She smiles for the camera and tries to keep her hands from shaking. “We’ll know anyway, one is too much of a sore loser and the other one too happy over being right about Matteo”, Luna jokes. But her laugh sounds nervous suddenly.

Her gaze hurries to the clock on her bedside table. There’s plenty of time left, contrary to all the haunting stories of hectic mornings and messed-up schedules she heard before. For all the anxiety and stress Luna expected, the hours before her wedding went surprisingly smooth.

Maybe too smooth?

Luna shakes her head. No, she won’t fret over a problem that isn’t one, she won’t freak out. Not everything had been perfect, anyway. Her chica fresa almost terrorized the whole house until she picked her up, the complaint from Gastón included. (Seeing Matteo shirtless made it worth it, though.) The photographer hadn’t been here quite on time. Shoes got mixed up, one even going missing, until Yam found it had been kicked underneath the bed.

No, it hadn’t been picture-perfect, but everything is still okay. Those incidents are meaningless, and Miranda is there to handle everything else. Luna will probably have forgotten about this moment of second-guessing by the evening and it won’t matter the same way it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is Rosecliff, is walking down the aisle to Matteo. Matteo.

Thinking of the promise she’ll make to him, of the beautiful unity they’ll build makes her feel like an over-excited teenager again.

And she loves it. (Him.)

///

Pt. IV - First look

The moment the wedding march begins to play, Matteo thinks there’s a real chance of him fainting. A smile covers his face, he can sense it tugging on his lips until his cheeks hurt, but the anxiety still bites into his bones, takes over his whole body.

His heart races in his chest, speeding up, faster and faster.

His legs feel weaker by the second.

His head is empty. Completely blank, a haunted house in a body full of emotions.

There’s so much happening inside him in every moment, he doesn’t know how to focus on anything happening around him.

Except when Luna appears in his vision, walking down the aisle.

Towards him.

Tears. They drown his eyes before he even fully sees her.

She’s beautiful, of course she is. His princesa, his moon, his sun. His everything. Endless dresses have graced her body, but this masterpiece becomes Matteo’s favorite one in an instant. It wears her name in the delicate movements of the skirt, in the simple yet elegant top, in the way it makes her look like she’s floating above the ground.

Every step towards him takes an eternity. Every second in which she smiles at him without being by his side makes him want to hurry to her. The only reason why he doesn’t is because his body is frozen on his feet.

Tears, and a hundred more in line, and he lets them.

Matteo imagined this moment often. Laying eyes on her in a gorgeous dress, thinking how she’ll soon be his wife. Thinking of the life they spent together already, the life they’d build from now on. He imagined it when he was barely 20 years old, struggling to fall asleep in the darkness of his room without her by his side. He imagined it with a bitter taste on his lips when they took a break and tried to figure out their careers instead of their relationship. And he imagined it while he planned his proposal, when it was the only picture in his head able to calm him down and tear his thinned nerves at the same time.

With so many scenarios for this unique moment of his life, he’s surprised that none of them live up to reality.

Nothing comes to his mind. No memories, no words, no pictures of their future, nothing but a hurricane of emotions crashing down on him.

He wouldn’t want it any other way.

Luna reaches him. In his peripheral vision, her dad holds her hand and offers it to him, although Matteo is too charmed, hexed, starstruck by his bride to divert his attention from her. Her eyes brighten up at his touch, green and warm and filled with a love that burns every doubt or insecurity he ever had about their relationship.

“You are the most beautiful woman in this whole universe,” he whispers. With a chuckle, she presses a kiss on his hand. “So, you’re saying our daughter isn’t the most beautiful?” He follows her gaze towards their little chica fresa, sleeping in her stroller as if this wasn’t one of the most important days in the life of her parents.

Matteo grins. “Of course not.”

The officiant clears his throat. Matteo’s hand intertwines with Luna’s, and with one last smile to each other, they face the man about to marry them. “Dear friends and family, today we have gathered to celebrate the union off…”

A strange noise cuts through his voice. Loud, and rattling. The officiant falls silent, frowns. In the following seconds, Matteo can hear his own heartbeat. Nothing was supposed to go wrong today, absolutely nothing and yet they didn’t even make it past the formal opening of the ceremony. Shit.

The noise comes back. From behind him, familiar, like the taste of a missing word on the tip of his tongue. But he heard it before, he knows that much.

Luna did, too.

A third time. A snore. And another one.

Slowly, they take another glance at their daughter. Resting her head on the side, with eyes closed and relaxed, she looks too innocent to produce this kind of eruption. But she snores again, and there’s no doubt, their little one is the sound hazard for their own wedding.

Gastón bursts into laughter. Waves and waves of hysterical giggles break out of him, and every attempt to calm down fails before it even begins. Soon, Luna grins sheepishly as well, along with the rest of the wedding party.

In the end, the ceremony starts ten minutes later than planned. Rory notices none of that.

#soy luna #lutteo #my sl fanfiction #a little fresa story #there are so many references in this one #one to a German New Year's Eve tradition #one to another au idea of mine #one scene was straight up a silly joke I came up with but Miri insisted on it #kinda #anyway wow things are getting real here

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permian-tropos · 6 years ago

Text

Aftermath: Alternate End (part 15/31)

chronological fic posts

read it on AO3

15. “I thought you had forgotten.”

Rae spends the night in a large but primitive hospice room, with rounded earthen walls and narrowing ceiling flue over a central firepit. Her mind is half-present for every sting of pain as she’s put on a scratchy cot and has ointments smeared over burns on her chest and legs. It becomes a sort of torture, that she can’t fight back against. Then it dulls to an annoyance, and then she’s left alone for a while, and she misses the attention. When she returns to full consciousness, it is less like a light turning on, and instead an arduous process of gathering the energy and nerve to think clearly. An unglamorous behind-the-scenes look at all the restorative processes meant to be subconscious during sleep. This time, she has to direct everything herself.

An anchorite with an eye patch approaches as Rae tries to sit up, and offers her a cup of pungent liquid.

“In your condition, this is better for the dehydration than water,” the woman tells her. “It will settle your stomach.”

It’s warm, but not hot, and has a savory taste mixed with sweetness. Not bad at first, but a bit grainy and cloying, the familiar aftertaste of medicine. She’d much rather have water, but she only thinks about her preferences after she gulps enough liquid down to quench the urgency of her thirst.

Though, once the liquid is inside her, her body can pull the water out, and she perceives this process, as much as she perceives the chemicals relaxing the muscles that might spasm and push everything up. It is an intriguing effect. She remembers being forced to inhale a mist through a leather mask, while her burned skin was exposed. The drug hadn’t dulled any pain, but it kept her from moving.

She puppets her throat and tongue and lips to speak. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. Is Brentin…? The man I was with.”

The woman gestures to another bed on the other side of the firepit. Two other dark-robed monks are standing by it, seemingly reciting chants. Their faces are hidden by hoods, but one of them is very short, and their voice has a higher pitch. A child?

“He is recovering, too. Give him time. Unlike you, he needed surgery.”

Rae pulls a memory out of her mental file. The ground exploding underneath Brentin as he scrambled out of the cave entrance. “On his feet?” The woman nods. Rae explains, “We took a risk with a plume escaping Niima. Not a friend of yours, I’ve heard.”

The woman purses her lips and nods. Her features may be more lined by sun exposure than Rae’s, but otherwise seems close to her own age. “You know Jakku well for an outsider.”

“You don’t have to be here long to learn to watch your step. But…” Rae peers at the woman accusingly. “How do you know I’m an outsider? Last night, was it you who said— I must be new to Jakku?”

The anchorite returns to the central fire and refills the cup of medicinal tea from a cauldron suspended over low coals. She brings it back while restraining a beatific smile. “The Eremite foretold your arrival. An outsider would arrive on this world seeking truth and redemption. After weeks of fruitless wandering, you would come to us at last for aid.”

“Oh,” Rae says, cheeks growing hot. “It seems I’ve stumbled into a prophesy. I’m very flattered.” She accepts the cup and mulls over her opinion on this. She was scornful of Niima’s god complex, so she can’t embrace this wholeheartedly. But then she’d also like to rub it in that worm’s face, just a bit.

Rae Sloane has never been a figure of myth. She is sure she disapproves of the idea. But it would be better to go along with it, just for the sake of convenience? To keep her newfound allies?

“Is the Eremite,” she finally asks, “that man in the shrine?” From the way people invoked the name on this planet, Rae assumed he was a character from ancient legends. It could have been why she thought him a statue at first.

“Essentially. That is his avatar.”

“Right.” Rae swings her legs around to the side of the cot and starts to stand. “I’ll be talking to him eventually, I expect. No time like the present?” Jakku, aside from its thrilling habit of venting steam from cracks in the ground, has been so dreary and dull. Everything is waiting, slipping into a stupor while time eats passing hours, while gnats gather to drink your sweat. Rae is done with that.

The anchorite shoos her back down into bed with reproachful hand gestures. “Oh, no, please, don’t waste your energy. It really would be like talking to a statue. I can lead you to pray before him later, if you wish.”

Rae tries to squash her frustration. She knows she shouldn’t get on the wrong side of another living god, even if she is tired of living gods and their antics.

“The Eremite’s vessel is wracked by agony,” the woman explains. “He proves his worthiness by completely controlling his body, and he only allows himself movement for a single hour each day.”

“Well, who am I to tell him how to live?” Rae mutters, settling back into bed. Of course there’d be waiting involved, in anything quintessentially Jakkuvian. Particularly their religions. Niima forced her and Brentin to wait for hours, bound and blindfolded, feigning submission, until they were almost too stiff to stand. This seems like the same, just inverted.

“Suffering can sharpen your senses, can’t it? You may become aware of your body as a machine, a ship you captain. The Eremite senses beyond himself, seeing far across the world through the vibrations in the ground.”

“With the Force?” Rae asks impatiently. This could be what she’s been looking for. Especially since the ramblings about suffering and self-mastery remind her of the twisted sermons of the Emperor’s advisor, Yupe Tashu, who spurred her on this quest.

Tashu was the one who gave her the name of this planet. Called it the inscription of the Emperor’s Will.

The woman doesn’t respond, and instead stares across the room, her jaw starting to drop.

The other anchorites clam up as well, and the child grips their adult minder’s hand.

The man framed by the door wears the same dark, plain robes as the others. All that marks him as special are the carved bone crutches under his arms, and the stunned reverence from the others.

Rae recognizes that trembling gait, though she doesn’t need to, to guess who he is.

The Eremite takes the steps leading inside slowly, reminding Rae of how she dragged herself up the hill to reach the habit house. Even the placement of each crutch is laborious.

No one moves to help the man; in fact, the anchorites withdraw, the one-eyed woman in particular, whose mouth flattens into a line and whose posture becomes stiff, almost strict.

Perhaps the man is too holy to touch. Rae thinks it won’t add to his holiness if he falls flat on his face, which his wavering frame threatens with every step. What is visible of his features under the hood shows how much effort it takes him to walk. He breathes harshly through his nose, his teeth worry his lower lip as he makes calculations for each movement.

It is clear what he came here for. He approaches Rae’s bedside. She apprehends him warily, again feeling too flattered by the special attention.

The easiest approach would be to play dumb, pretend she knows nothing of their ways. Pretend she hadn’t just been lectured about him by one of his followers. “Ah…” Rae straightens up. “Were you the one who found us? Last night?”

“I am,” the man whispers.

“Would you like to sit?” She indicates the end of her bed.

The Eremite nods and lowers himself down, holding the crutches together and leaning his brow against them. His hands, as Rae noticed before, are deeply veined and wrinkled.

The one-eyed woman clicks her tongue to her teeth in disapproval. Was that for me, Rae wonders, or for the Eremite? But she still can be smug. You wanted me to pray to him, but here he is, paying respects to me.

She much prefers this audience with a god to her ordeal with Niima.

But when the man pushes back his hood, Rae is overwhelmed in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

He isn’t an old man, though his face is deeply marred by lines and veins, the way his hands are. They aren’t the natural marks of age. His skin is tight where it should be loose, clinging to his skull. If the effect were more severe he would look mummified. His hair has gray roots at his temples, but much of it is dark. And his eyes, glancing up at her, are keen, black as the eyes of the mice that Rae and Brentin had to keep dumping out of their packs and boots in the morning after pitching a tent. They were bold little creatures, not meek like their counterparts on other worlds.

And amid all that, there is something… “I feel like I’ve met you before,” Rae says, impressed by her own honesty.

The Eremite is impressed as well. His eyes open wider, and he raises his chin to regard her more openly. “You have,” he says. The voice rings familiar, too. “I thought you had forgotten.”

She claws through her memories, trying to place him, and comes back empty-handed. “Apparently… yes. Yes, I have.”

“Then… don’t let it trouble you. Let us meet again.” He taps his thumb absently against the bone crutch handles, before leaning them against the bedpost. “It is a good meeting.”

Rae considers this. It wasn’t a particularly dignified one for her, though it puts her in his debt. “An eventful one,” she concedes. “Rae Sloane. Formerly Admiral Sloane, of the Galactic Empire.” She extends her hand, then finds it too bare and vulnerable hovering in the space between them.

The Eremite clasps it before she can withdraw. His palms are cold and clammy. Slight tremors in his thin fingers remind Rae of the warning vibrations she learned to detect before what the locals called a plume, where steam unexpectedly jetted up like a tripped land mine.

Rae forces herself to relax. Her anxiety must be from the strangeness of it all.

The man’s grip is gentle, giving a reassuring squeeze. “It is a pleasure, Formerly Admiral Sloane.”

Rae scans the room. The woman with the eye patch has migrated over to join the pair by Brentin’s cot. She has her hand on the child’s hooded head, pushing it down in a deferential bow, while exchanging furtive, meaningful glances with her fellow adult.

“And you are the Eremite,” Rae prompts.

The Eremite nods, and casts his eyes down. “Ah. Well. I cannot stay. My visit has been most unusual.”

“Back to being a statue?” Rae checks the anchorites, notes the woman’s pinched expression, and places her other hand over the Eremite’s. “Shall I speak with you again, later?”

“I insist,” he says, and leans closer. “So I might hear what brought you to Jakku. I hope it is a good story.”

He has noticed her glance across the room, and the corner of his mouth quirks up. They share a moment, an odd spark of intimate understanding. Co-conspirators against stodgy traditionalism, despite how peculiar it is in context. Rae is momentarily entranced. She doesn’t want to mis-categorize her feelings, but does she find him attractive? She admits he would not be conventionally so, to a human. His disfigurement transforms him, almost strips him of his species.

So this is what half a year in a New Republic prison has done to her. She’s been addled by their hedonism and open-mindedness.

“If that’s how I can repay your hospitality…” she offers.

“It would be a fine payment.” The Eremite takes his crutches in hand and rises from her bed. This time, he finds his balance a bit more easily. As soon as there’s enough space, the anchorite woman moves to stand between him and Rae’s bed.

Rae, sure this conversation has broken several taboos, hides a smirk. It might be ungrateful, given the anchorites’ charity, but she deserves to get her way after everything she has suffered. After everything she has had to sacrifice.

This is the galaxy smiling on me, she thinks. This is redemption.

#my post #my fic #gallirae fictober #look im just saying #if sloane is like ''hm i'd hit that'' when rax is actively conspicuously evil #if he's a friendly mysterious object of worship #and flirting with him is a big power move #she might go for it

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