#it comes highly recommended by one of my mutuals though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

earthnashes · 2 months ago

Text

SOOOOOOOO. Arcane season 2, huh? Now that a couple of days have passed for me to marinate I think I'm ready to share my thoughts on the season. This WILL contain spoilers though so if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend watching for yourself first!

So! Overall, as a standalone season I feel like there are things Arcane excelled at and things that have lost its way a bit. For starters and easily the best part of the show: it's visuals. I've heard some complaints about how much the show cost but like. Brother. When I think of super expensive shows, THIS is what I think it should look like. At no point did I question the budget because it's made abundantly clear every penny is used to best use it could possibly get. And it resulted in what I've been calling a modern greek statue: a marvel, an incredible tapestry of just about every art medium you can think of woven into something so beyond anything I've seen in animation I have a hard time finding the appropriate words to express exactly how much I'm taken by it. This is a clear example of what art IS man and jesus christ. It's mindblowing. I can't praise the show enough for that, like it's literally the best looking thing I've ever seen in media.

Same with the sound design and music, particularly in the battle scenes. Something about the energy behind the sounds, like the clacking of Vi's gloves as shes revving up for a punch, or the reverb of metal clashing, the sound of how blows connect. Even the little things, like the distinct difference between footsteps, or the glitch-like sound that spiders in the backround before shimmer or the arcane is utilized? Like CHEF'S KISS BRO. God almighty it tickles a part in my head.

Just the visuals and sound design is fuckin tasty bro. A solid 1000000000/10

So now Characters. Season 2 managed to take the existing characters and really built off of what was already there. In my opinion the characters, particularly the main players, received additional depth and evolution in a way that made sense in the long run, and the conclusions they reached in their arcs felt like a correct conclusion. However, it's how they got there and how fast they get there being one of my complaints.

For starters: the love triangle between Jinx, Vi, and Caitlyn. I didn't appreciate how, for the most part, it felt like it took a backseat in this season when it was one of the driving forces of season 1. It's not JUST them though: the relationships of every character kinda fell away to the wayside for the sake of getting through as much of the plot as possible, but we're on these three right now so:

-I feel like a PROPER recouncil between Vi and Jinx was sorely needed. There were hints to it, particularly in Act 2, but we were kinda left guessing and having to fill the majority of the gaps ourselves. One of Vi's driving factors as a character is her relationship with Jinx/Powder; her unable to accept that she's changed in her absence. Act 2 opened the door in allowing Vi to learn about Jinx as she is and come to terms that, even if she's changed, she's still her sister and there's a chance to bridge that gap. Vice versa to Jinx, particularly because of Isha's presence; I have to assume by becoming an older sister herself, she begins to get an understanding of Vi she previously lacked and that really could've been a stronger catalyst in her recounciling with her. Had the sisters actually got more on-screen time together and really let the hope between them breath, I feel like the ending would've had a much stronger impact.

-Cait/Vi, as much as I enjoy the pairing, felt a little too disjointed. Act 1 was the strongest showcase of their relationship; a sudden escalation driven by mutual grief and attraction and genuine care only to be torn apart immediately after because of Cait's blind rage. Cinema. Beautiful. But immediately after, we don't really see either character work off that much in my opinion. Vi does have a spiral that was very well shown, though I do wish we saw more of Pit Vi and her descent.

As far as Cait goes I would've preferred seeing her spiraling in her own way; with how the third episode of Act 1 ended, I felt like the show was gearing up to showcase how much she allows her hunt for vengeance cloud her mind and take over her life, to do things her mother would have not approved of. Like bro she was so SURE she wouldn't miss (immediately after missing every shot she took up to that point) that she was willing to potentially kill a child for it. Ain't no way she wasn't constantly frothing at the mouth for some time, wallowing in Vi's apparent "betrayal" and in the grief of her mother's death. I DO like how she is seen questioning her actions but it just feels like a tiny snapshot. Had they continued with showing her questioning what, exactly, the hell she's doing (while continuing to go on with her reign), then seeing not just Vi but also how her actions has widened the rift between Piltover and Zaun, her finally being able to break herself off would've felt more weighty.

"What are you shooting for, young Kiramman?" Grayson once asked. I can't help but feel like that line could have had some very strong carry-through into this season; not only giving a proper callback to Grayson as Cait's mentor(?) but also cement Cait's inner turmoil between blinded by revenge, but growing to dislike what she's turned into to get it.

And the sex scene. Particularly WHERE the sex scene occurred, immediately after Jinx heavily implied offing herself to "break the cycle". Vi isn't stupid. I felt like it was extremely clear what Jinx was alluding to, and it seemed like Vi understood that with how she asked "What are you gonna do?" She sounded terrified and desperate. She has SEEN Jinx be suicidal in this season first hand, was all but directly asked by Jinx to put her out of her misery herself. You're telling me she immediately bones the shit outta Cait right after Jinx scampers off and seems to forget it?? I dunno man. :/ I wouldn't remove the fuckfest, but in my opinion there were better places to put it.

And overall in terms of the characters as a whole, there was just too many gaps and too little time. Vander felt like he was underutilized, particularly his clear fight in trying to get a hold of his humanity; could've really used him to push the running theme of people can change, but they're still the same person at their very core.

Heimerdinger got shafted I feel like. He had such a strong impact in S1, only for his death to be... well. Forgotten.

Mel's storyline was way too fucking short. Love the powers she got but they ultimately felt unearned; I feel like we could've spent way more time on her learning to control it to some extent. Her whole shtick in being cunning and one step ahead of everyone (much like her mother) could've played a stronger part here too, particularly because I don't remember the Black Rose being explained much, so it would've been nice to see Mel put her strengths into play to find out for herself and give her a more active role in her ability to fight back.

Ambessa was anticlimactic and I didn't appreciate how she ultimately perished. I wanted her to die, don't get me wrong, but the war in general felt waaaaay too short and her death too easy. I appreciate they didn't go full evil with her, and made her an embodiment of Singe's quote of "doing horrendous things in the name of love", but it kinda felt like her initial plot of using hextech to fight the Black Rose (I could be wrong here but that is what it felt like she ultimately wanted) kinda got... forgotten?

Victor's progression is the only one that felt mostly natural in it's pacing. But again, with how unstoppable his robot pawns were, I felt like they really robbed the final battle of any significant weight to it; Zaun and Piltover, fighting as one against a common enemy. One of the biggest payoffs in the show... felt underwheming and, again, unearned.

And the new characters didn't really get much chance to do much of anything. Loris felt like an important parallel to Vander given how many times he was shown to look and sorta act like him. I felt like he had a bigger role to fill but just ended up bodied. Maddie, at least, had somethin interesting goin on but I feel like she could've been made more impactful in her betrayal.

Overall, a mid 5/10. It wasn't terrible, but it definitely needed more time to really flesh everything out.

And finally, the plot. I personally really enjoyed the overall plot and it's opposing themes to season 1. Whereas s1 felt like "love is undoing" and veered into tragedy, s2 felt like "love is healing" and veered into hope; the sisters learning to accept one another, Vi and Cait mending the rift between each other, Victor and Jayce finding their way back to one another. Isha giving Jinx purpose and a new perspective on life, Vander returning and, even if briefly, managing to regain his humanity for his daughters, the list goes on. It's such a beautiful contrast to season 1, but that is part of why I strongly feel like Arcane NEEDED one more season.

Season 2 was too focused on getting as much story out as possible that it didn't allow the characters themselves to push it forward, and it was weakened for it. Had there been three seasons, Act 1 and Act 2 could have been the entirety of season 2, and Act 3 could have been the whole of a season 3, where we get to see the total climax of everything that occurred. Given the rumors of there being a strong interest for an animated movie (and I have a theory that it might be to continue the story of Arcane in some way), that might help with some of the contingencies if it's true, but that's only if the movie actually comes to fruition.

As it currently stands, my biggest critique of Season 2 was switching focus on making the plot drive the story, when instead it really should've continued the trend from Season 1 in letting the characters drives the story forward.

_______

My meds is beginning to kick in and I'm getting drowsy from it so I'll leave it here for now! TLDR: Arcane Season 2 was mostly good. I have my fair bit of complaints and thoughts on how I'd personally structure everything, but a a whole, pretty good! It's one of those shows where I would personally recommend everyone watch from start to finish to at least experience it in its entirety yourself.

Season 2 Rating: 7.5/10

#ash talks #earth talks #arcane

113 notes · View notes

loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year ago

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 9)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 8, Part 10

summary: You both come to a realisation.

warnings: smut! f! masturbation, grinding, humping, fingering, (implied) recreational drug use, alcohol, dubcon (-ish! reader is drunk but the interaction is consensual, tagging just in case xx), teeny tiny bit of mutual pining. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: yuhh

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all that light lost in gaps

You're gone, in the morning.

…he should've expected it. Miguel stumbles out of sleep, groggy and disoriented. He finds himself reaching out for something in the half-light.

He finds himself reaching for you. And when you're not there, leaving a person sized gap at the crook of his arm, his stomach churns. He pretends it's not disappointment, or the sharp crack of yearning ; settling at his chest like a crowbar, and prying open his ribs. It's worry, he decides resolutely, a perfectly normal, healthy amount of worry. As your roommate; and nothing else, he keeps reminding himself; he's just worried about where you've rushed off to, especially after yesterday.

Senior year. He was assigned a bullshit paper in a Civics class – one he'd usually half-ass for an easy A. He'd wax poetic about morality – amorphous, vague platitudes about duty and societal expectations. By the end of the year, he had it down to a science: a couple thousand words remixed and plucked from lesser known philosophers, videos online, and overdue library books. Either he was getting too good at it, or his teacher was too stupid to notice; but regardless, he coasted through the class right up until graduation. His last paper, and he remembers it distinctly, was on the book of the same name; aptly titled What We Owe Each Other. A plodding, pluralistic read; of which he had only scanned through, anyways. Extra credit, anything to graduate early, and he'd had more than enough on his plate at the time.

And so, he wasn't expecting the B+ underlined and circled in red ink on the front page. It felt like his teacher had handed it back to him face down, slammed onto the desk like the thunderous crack of a whip. And he didn't need that A, strictly speaking. Yet, he had found himself staying over after class, crinkling that piece of paper in hand as he'd asked why.

She sighs. Miss Hunter's glasses slip down her nose, as they are prone to do.

"You're an outstanding student. I hear you're graduating early, and you're off somewhere prestigious in the fall. This is… definitely not a bad grade, and it's nothing, I promise you."

It doesn't work like that, for him. His teacher doesn't get it, but it will eat him up inside-out if he's not able to understand.

"Was it my referencing?" He fumbles with the strap of his bag.

"No. Not at all–"

"I did the extra reading…the article you mentioned in class, and–"

He's cut off by the scrape of a desk chair. Miss Hunter gets up to close the door, before settling on her desk.

Arms crossed, she seems tired. Worried, maybe, but it doesn't register with Miguel. The thought doesn't even cross his mind, that there are others with the capacity to worry about him.

"Technically, it's well written. As usual, Miguel." She gives him a weak smile. "It just… lacked heart."

His brows jump up. "...heart?"

"There's not really a narrative voice, here."

He taps at the paper on the desk, frustrated. "You didn't ask for a narrative voice, though. You didn't ask for… for heart. I read the book, I did the extra reading, and I wrote a report. That was the brief."

"Not quite." She says it gently, but it still sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. "The brief was vague, intentionally so. 'What Do We Owe Each Other? Discuss.' I gave examples, sure: excerpts from the book we touched on in class, articles, academic papers, etcetera. They were… suggestions."

"...suggestions." He's incredulous.

She nods. "You followed it to the letter, Miguel. You gave me a summary, with a few key links. Fully referenced, yes. Well-written, yes. But this feels like a sum of parts. It doesn't tell me anything about you; your perspective, your angle. Your voice."

He's biting back choice words. It sounds like bullshit to him, for lack of a better word. Flowery, hoity-toity BS; served up to him on a steaming platter. That's it?

Maybe it shows on his face, because she's asking, as delicately as possible,

"Is everything okay?"

Instinctually, he seizes up.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm good."

"I know you don't take this class as seriously because it's not an AP, or an elective, or maybe not as challenging as you need it to be. And that's okay, Miguel. I'm happy for you to use my class as a break from all the other stuff." She swallows thickly. "You're not from our usual feeder schools. The Academy is particularly rigorous. But considering your… situation, we can make exceptions. If there's anything I can do–"

"There isn't a 'situation'."

"Right. Of course, I'm sorry. But if you need a couple days off of school because of…" She pasues, saying the next part softly. "Because of the baby… I mean, you're already acing my class–"

"No." He says it firmly, eyes trained onto the wood grain peeking out from underneath piles of documents. He wants to ask how she knows, and how he's always the last to find out that rumours have spread, and–

"Miguel." Her voice cuts through dense fog. She repeats her previous statement. “If there's anything I can do–”

“If you want to help, you can give me that A.” It's bone dry, said with the kind of sarcasm he's grown accustomed to. He wears it over his shoulders, sometimes; draped to keep out biting cold, or unfamiliar warmth from a stranger - it all feels the same, now.

She gives him a rueful smile. “Need more than that, m'afraid.”

Heart. Voice. What We Owe Each Other – and he doesn't know why that phrase sticks in his throat. It's been drilled into him since childhood; family and community, helping each other out of the starting blocks; and beaten out of him during adolescence. The creaking and cracking of bones after each step, where out in the world it's a different matter entirely.

His mama has bad taste in men, and he finds himself picking up the pieces. Gabi is more sensitive than he'll ever admit, trying not to cry amongst broken plates and chicken-wire hidden in a bouquet of peonies: prickly words that cut and hack, and it's Miguel that wipes the tears from his brother's cheek. That devastatingly gentle sigh when he had told his mama what he had done - how he had fallen for a soft bed and even softer lips at the ripe age of 16 and a half - and Miguel carries that weight. What We Owe Each Other – and he's only ever fed entitled egos. Not his family, of course, but he's been burned. He's had more than his fair share of it.

He doesn't owe the world shit, he thinks.

He doesn't owe you shit.

It doesn't help that he's been stuck in place, grasping at cushion covers and a raggedy blanket. Trying not to drown in the heady scent of you, he's been dragging thick fingers over the fabric as if in a trance. You don't owe him anything, either. Nary an apology, an explanation; so much as a sorry spilling from pretty lips in that way where they quiver like a gentle flame.

He's touched them, felt them drag across his skin like the finest silk, and dropped to his knees in search of something you've never given him. It doesn't matter if you don't; kiss him , that is; the swirling, desperate sort that leaves him heaving and creaking and begging for more. He thinks he'd still scuff up the denim at his knees if you asked, regardless - he'd do anything , if it was for you.

It's not realistic to expect anything from you. You don't need to tell him where you've gone or why you've left so early. You don't need to, and yet he finds himself reaching for his phone.

Miguel sends a well placed message; deft fingers tapping away at the screen. Before he changes his mind, it's sent; and he's chewing his lip whilst waiting for a steady three dots. Lyla is slower than usual, but she comes through. She doesn't ask questions - because she knows him better than he knows himself - and gives him a thumbs up.

They'll call each other later, that much he's sure of, but for now he reads between the lines. Short bursts of text, like firecrackers flashing across a night sky, and only through nonsensical emojis and odd slang can they understand each other.

This part, he can do. And he'll do whatever he needs to, not what he owes.

~~~

You make it to Pam's just after it opens.

At 7 o'clock sharp, you've made the journey; in an empty subway car, spilling out onto the streets like treacle left in the neck of a bottle. It's not quite a squeeze, passing by only a handful of people, with nothing but a jacket thrown over last night's clothes. In a daze, you realise too late: it's Miguel's. A dusty, worn thing; brown leather crackling at the sleeves and heavy on your shoulders. It feels like a hug, and it feels like him : warm and stiff. It smells like him too, and you bury your nose in the collar on the subway, sleeves kissing your palm like his hand is in yours.

It's a feeling that takes you all the way to the doors: past the slats bolted shut and down a familiar alley. You push past them, sneakers on slick tiles, and give a weak smile to the woman that perks up from behind the counter, kicking away the mop and bucket.

"Hiya, welcome to Pam's! How can I–"

"Oh, God , no." You wave her off. "Take your time. I need a minute, if that's okay."

Settling on the barstool, you watch as the young woman smiles, picking up a rag and wiping at the counter. You sit in it, for a while.

Dregs drip in through the front. The bell at the top of the door chimes, tinny and cheerful in the relative gloom of a quiet morning.

It's cold , outside. Autumn, biting at your fingers and nose. Eventually you opt for a coffee, piping hot to stave off that chill. Bitter, the aftertaste lingers at the back of your throat. You find yourself picking at the chipped mug, chasing away that taste with fluffy pancakes. The combination doesn't feel quite the same – not after many a morning with your roommate.

You settle into the seat. You wrap that old jacket around you. You sip at tart coffee and pick at your nails. A quiet morning, one to yourself, one to keep hidden at the crook of your chest. Some semblance of peace , wrapped up in the spindles of a dandelion. That is to say; delicate and fleeting, whipped away by the breeze.

You've decided not to think too hard about it. That kind of thinking ends dangerously, you've realised: with long, hot nights spent tossing and turning. It ends with a head full of cotton, and a pounding at your chest. With blood, with tears, with a stranger in your bed. And so, you go for the cleaner option. The safer one, all things considered, that's less likely to end in a broken heart.

You float around for a while. Walking without a real destination, trying to ground yourself. Eventually, you end up home, opening the door to an empty apartment. There's no traces left of a night spent in Miguel's arms. Good, you think, slipping your shoes off at the door. It doesn't feel good , but if you say it enough times you just might believe it.

The cleaner option; the one with less gristle and bone; is a familiar one. You settle into a shower; steamy and soapy, taking your time to clean out the blood from under your fingernails. The grime, the dirt ; you watch it swirl into the drain, hands running across soft flesh. You try to do it like Jamie did, once upon a time. It doesn't feel right, and has you leaning onto the cool tile. The shower head sputters, a shaky pressure on your back but you lean into it and close your eyes. You rub a hand at the crook of your chest, and then down, down, down, circling your breast and then following the curve of hips to the apex of your legs. Tipping your head, letting the hot water stream through your hair and then your back; and you touch, feel , and you can almost taste him ; sweet and saccharine Miguel, at your lips.

With two fingers flat against your clit, you rub little circles at the nub, dipping into your hole for much needed wetness. Your other hand travels up soft skin, pads of your fingers grazing collarbone, and then they curl around your neck. With a little pressure, your thumb grazes your jaw. Like he does, except your hands aren't as deliciously rough or as large. You slip a finger in, and then two, water pounding your back and eyes screwed. You push past that initial tightness, searching for a little give. When it comes, cunt clenching around your fingers, just shy of that sweet spot as you press your clit with the heel of your palm; you're imagining it's your roommate. He'd wrap those thick forearms around you, press his cock to the crest of your back and touch you like you deserve.

You do it like Miguel would, reverent , touching you as if you were clay at a potter's wheel. In the hands of God herself, you cum; falling, falling, falling; tumbling down white water rapids and spit back up into the rushing water. You're panting, now, out of breath.

When you sink onto your bed, you realise it's not quite enough. Still in a fluffy robe, steam curls from your skin like clouds – ones that smell of cheap body wash and shampoo. Before you know it, you're reaching for your phone, sending two quick messages to a certain somebody.

[Sent: 15:32]

hey mig

[Sent: 15:32]

where did u go?

You don't expect a quick reply - he's never been much of a texter. But those three dots pop up in no time at all, much to your surprise.

[Received: 15:33]

Out.

[Received: 15:33]

Running errands.

It's succinct and to the point – of which you expect nothing else from Miguel. Your thumbs fly to the screen to reply but another message tugs the rug out from under your shaky legs.

[Received: 15:35]

Is everything okay?

[Sent: 15:35]

yeah

[Sent: 15:36]

all good

When that provides no response, you're left chewing on your lip, anxious. He's seen the message, he's read the message; but for some reason, several minutes go by and there's no response.

You're ready to give up and chalk it to your roommate's hot-and-cold nature, when your phone rings.

Immediately, you pick up.

" Don't believe you." His voice rings out, tinny, nestled amongst the covers.

"Hey, Mig." You settle down on the bed, putting him on speaker and placing it by your ears.

" Did you hear what I said?" His tone is deep and intense, making you shiver. It's not quite the same, of course, but you're reminded of nights spent with his lips tucked close the shell of your ear.

You swallow. "Yeah. I… I did."

" You sure? Because you suck at lying."

"Don't be an asshole."

" Think I get a free pass when you disappear for the whole day."

You roll your eyes. “You didn't call–”

“ Would you have answered?”

Ouch. He sounds frustrated, the quiet chatter of his background bathed in heavy silence. Silence thick with tension, and you almost choke on it.

He breaks it with a heavy sigh. “ You okay? ”

“No. Not really.”

“ Okay. ” He lets it sit for a while, before saying, “ I'll be home, soon. There's leftovers in the fridge, and you should eat, sweetheart. You want anything from the store? ”

His voice is so, so soft. It crackles like kindling on a fire: warmth that blooms and spreads to your chest. Like slipping off frozen gloves to thaw off in front of a heater, and he just makes you feel impossibly warm.

“Not really, thanks.” You mumble it, and hear a satisfied grunt from the other end. Before you change your mind, you say, “Sorry. M'sorry.”

Miguel gives a light chuckle and you think you can hear him smile, the kind you always chase after a stupid argument: one that tugs at the corners of his pretty lips.

“ You've got nothin' to be sorry about .”

He gives you a moment to feel the weight of his words, and ends the call. That heat at your chest blooms.

If Miguel O'Hara is the Sun, then maybe you don't mind being pulled into his orbit; bathing in steady light and warmth.

~~~

He comes home with flowers. A beautiful bouquet; delicate and balanced, featherlight wildflowers and brush, interspersed with sprays of blue and purple and pink. It's wonderfully dense, reminding you of the tangles of colour a child might decorate a picture with in wobbly crayon. Simply put, it's nothing short of a vision, and you notice how delicately he places it on the dining table.

With the rest of the grocery bags, Miguel clatters in, and you can't help but be curious. You're poking through the bags, sitting on the counter as he puts them away – after offering to help, of course, but he bats you away easily. Your bare legs bristle in the chill brought on by the window cracked open, and he just breezes past.

The cabinet opens with a thud , and your roommate busies himself with putting away food. Carefully, you watch the way the muscles of his back flexes this way and that - cut and lean under that thin sweater. He’s otherwise occupied, and so you take the opportunity to stare, playing with a loose string at the hem of silky shorts. And so, it makes you jump when your phone buzzes beside you. Innocuously, you glance at the notification, and your eyes go wide.

“Who’s that?” Miguel asks, voice light. With that freaky sixth sense of his, he doesn’t need to turn around to know, it seems.

“Lyla.” You murmur, reading the rest of the message.

“ ...And? ”

“Uh. Well…” Blinking, you can’t quite believe what she’s asking. “ Girl’s Night . I-I mean… she’s asking me to come with her for a Girl’s Night.”

“Really?” His tone is surprising, and you can hear how he beams by its lilting nature. Maybe he’s laughing at you, maybe he’s not, but you snap back regardless.

“ ... don’t act so surprised.”

“ You sound surprised.” He laughs.

“It’s different when I do it.” You say simply. “I just… I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even know we were close enough to–”

“Bullshit. You text her all the time.”

“A couple of times, Mig.” You correct him, trying to pin down a suitable response to give Lyla. You draw a blank. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to, or anything.”

He turns around, sleeves still rolled up. The look he gives makes you wither: one that could say about a million things. You think it means cut the crap , but he could just be constipated: you haven't quite mastered the art of reading Miguel O’Hara.

“Do you want to go?” He gets closer, hand flat on the counter next to your thigh.

You nod, and his hand creeps up and up.

Giving you a little smile, he shrugs. “Then go.”

It makes you shy. Bashful , even; and you’re wriggling as he squeezes the flesh. A hand on his forearm, and he’s close; so much so that all you can feel is the press of skin, and feel gentle breath fluttering past your cheek. You’re stuck underneath the gaze of his pretty lashes, and entranced at the way he licks his even prettier lips. A sudden thought seizes you - so heavy it makes your chest tight and leaden.

Oh. You want to kiss him.

In a moment, it’s gone. A broad palm nudges your thigh aside, and you’re shifting so he can reach the drawers just by your legs. You oblige, falling back into familiar routine.

Life moves on. Like Miguel said it would, and you find yourself entwined with the idea of time passing. Lying awake each night, picking out sand from underneath your fingernails, after clawing your way out of the hourglass. Steady, slow dregs; and it's tipped over each morning, restarting the clock.

The flowers disappear from the dining table. Miguel retreats into the folds and dark corners of your apartment; you see him less and less. Passing ships in the night, you seem to miss each other by a fraction of a second. All of a sudden he's busy , and all of a sudden you're swamped with work. You only see each other at night, looking out for the bits and pieces left as proof of life: sometimes he'll leave a hot flask out for you in the mornings, and you'll greet him with a cheesy soap in the evenings. If he's not leaving later and later after work, that is.

He looks tired, you note. Exhausted; prone to little yawns as you turn to him every now and then whilst watching on the couch. It's sweet, the way his frown has made way to a dopey smile, but it's frayed at the edges, tinged with something you can't quite place. You let him sleep that night, bringing pillows to lay his head on, and wrapping him up in that old blanket.

Girl's night creeps up on you. It shakes you by the shoulders when you collapse on the sofa after a long day – and you're rushing to get ready. There's no Miguel to make sly remarks or prod you into action, this time. You wonder what he'd say about what you're wearing; a leftover dress buried in boxes from your ex's apartment.

Short, tight, snug; it has you feeling glamorous – but you hope it doesn't look as fanciful as it feels. Too much; yet again, you're worried about being too much. Even though you're running a little late, you take the time to carefully apply makeup; something shiny on your lids, a dab of blush, and gloss slathered onto your lips. When you sling on little heels, and snatch a petite bag from the hooks near the door, there's barely enough time to catch that last glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Down and out you go, into a dusky night.

~~~

“I had to go through her manager– and wait, can you believe this girl has a fucking manager, now?” Lyla bats at MJ's shoulder, and the redhead laughs good-naturedly.

“It's not– she's exaggerating! My manager's just my mom, I swear.”

“It's a good thing, no?” You smile, taking a healthy swig of a brightly coloured cocktail.

“It means she is booked, and–” Lyla hiccups, raising an unsteady glass that threatens to tip. MJ straightens her elbow instinctually, before raising her own. “ – very busy .”

It's your turn to laugh, glass held high in the air. With a clink , there's a clash of crystal that's all but drowned out by the chatter in the upscale bar.

Somewhere fancy, courtesy of Lyla. One of those places that serves tiny portions in big, empty plates, a fusion of cultural food with white, upper class owners. No-doubt the result of summering somewhere in the ever-broad global South , Lyla had said slyly, under the lip of a menu.

There's powdered sugar on the rim of your flute. It dissolves on your tongue. You down the rest. Sickly sweet, and you wipe what drips onto your lips.

It has you checking your phone. Miguel hasn't called, not that you were expecting anything. Whilst Lyla and MJ talk, you scroll mindlessly through his chat; a smattering of one word answers. Missed calls. Unanswered messages.

" –what about you, babe?"

Your eyes snap back up to meet Lyla's, expectant.

"Uhhh…"

"Nevermind." Sharp eyes travel to your phone, and there's a flash of recognition. "Miggy said you're in school. He said you're gonna graduate early, this year."

"He said that?" You're confused. "I mean… I'm trying but it's not looking like that, right now."

She wags a finger, shaking her head like she's trying to remember something. "No, no, he seemed adamant. Said you're working hard, doing well."

"Doing better ." You correct her, shyly.

" Bullshit. " She says it the way Miguel does, and it makes you laugh. You see it now; he's the product of the people he loves. A kind of Frankenstein's monster, he's stitched together those bits and pieces; he's made himself beautiful. You wonder what piece of you he carries. If he even holds you that close to his chest.

"I bet you're doing amazing. " MJ finishes. Her smile is warm, and copper-coloured; it feels hazy and ambered in your little corner. "Better than me, anyways. I would rather die than go back to college."

"Back?" You ask.

"Oh, of course! You don't know." She giggles, leaning in like she's about to say something scandalous - the drink is clearly doing its job. Her next words are an exaggerated stage whisper. "I dropped out."

" Seriously? " You play along, with faux shock.

"...damn right she did." Lyla gives a drunken wave to a nearby waiter, asking for another glass of wine. Something expensive, she whispers, giving a deceptive smile.

"It just wasn't for me, I guess. I went because everyone around me was going, even Pete. Uhh, English Lit, or something. And it didn't… I–I mean it just wasn't–"

"It didn't click."

" Right!" She snaps her fingers. "It was too much. I didn't know what I was doing, I was 18, for God's sake. Think I stuck at it for a bit too long, honestly."

"...and the world didn't explode." You breathe.

MJ answers with a knowing nod. She chugs the rest of a crisp Mojito, raising the empty glass once more.

"To doing better ."

You're quick to follow. "To doing better."

Lyla frowns, looking for a glass that's tucked into the corner. The room must be spinning already, with the way she pats around for it. You nudge it towards her with an elbow, and she's raucous; crumpling into a fit of giggles.

One drink turns to two, two turns to three, and then four ; until you're ready to spill out onto the busy strip. When the waiter places a slip of paper into the centre, one with so many zeroes it makes your eyes bulge, you don't even have to pretend to reach for your wallet. Gleefully, Lyla picks up the bill, sliding a shiny Amex card onto the dish.

She's generous, you note, as she buys a bottle of wine to go when MJ picks up her bag. She's perceptive, too. You see it when MJ wrings her hands, still tipsy and stuttering in her heels as you pile onto the street. She's making apologies already - I've got an early start and need to see my May - but Lyla intercepts. There's the gentle clink of a bottle thrust into her hands, something expensive, and she kisses the apples of her cheeks before sending her off in a taxi.

Her own cheeks are ruddy, rosy with drink and she splits into a wide smile. The back of her hand comes up to your neck. Warm , she whispers, before linking arms with you like a schoolgirl off to do something they shouldn't.

Eventually, with shaky legs, you end up in a nightclub. She knows someone who knows someone, apparently, and you're ushered into a packed place just off 76th. Lights and pounding music, a flurry of limbs; you let the crowd take you in. If this is what it means to be a part of a whole; some writhing, heaving beast, to be more than your hand in someone else's and theirs in yours; then you could live here forever, you think. Forever, for the night, for the next ten minutes; you blink , and time passes.

You're having fun, you think. Letting the blood rush to your head, hips swaying to the music and you don't push away the quiet snap of a phone camera, nor it's red recording light. Dancing, singing, many seem to be pulled into orbit around you. This is how it works , pushed into an ebb and flow of people held together by broken lyrics and a thumping bassline. You let it wash over you, all-consuming, dragging yourself into murky depths.

You're in a booth, now, anchored by a dainty hand around your wrist. Pupils blown, she cups your face to inspect you, to figure out where you've gone. Someone's bought you a drink, there's a stranger's arm around your shoulders, but Lyla pushes them both away. Too much? It's a question, of which you shake your head firmly - lolling and with a distinct lack of fine motor skills - no. Not enough.

You blink. Bitter liquor hits your throat, and you chase the taste of somebody else's lips. A stranger, and even under the influence you know it doesn't feel right. Bile rises, and you're gone, clamping onto your stomach and trying not to hurl.

You blink. You're on the sidewalk, with a heavy head on someone's shoulder. The strap of your heels dig into your ankles and you fumble with it, trying to stop the road from spinning. Lyla holds you up, not much more up to task than you are.

A car pulls up, and at first you don't recognise it; entranced by shiny rims coming to a stop. You look up, still buried in Lyla's thick jacket; and you see it. You see him.

Miguel's wearing glasses. That's the first thing you notice, stumbling to your feet. Immediately, your face cracks into a dopey smile, leaning onto the lip of the open window. He gives you a once over, swallowing thickly, brows drawn.

Quiet chatter flys straight over your head. Lyla arguing, Miguel wagging a finger at her; but all you can see is him. It's like you've got blinkers on, tunnel vision making you focus on the curve of cheekbone, and the way his eyes scrunch up around black rims and glass.

You clamber into the backseat.

“Get in, Ly.”

The other woman seems resolute. “ M'not –”

“Did you take something?”

“Fuck you.” Flashing a middle finger, she wraps up her coat like a robe, walking away down the road.

He's adamant, driving up next to her. You keep your head on the glass where it's cool.

“Let me take you home. Please. ”

Frowning, she stops. When he leans over to open the passenger's side, she slips off her boots, and sidles in.

Their voices feel like a blur. You can barely register, only picking up half of the words hissed under their breath.

“... I called you, you can't give me a lecture…”

“...not fair, Lyla…. can't keep babysitting…”

“... fucking hypocrite… not the only one… I'm going through some shit…”

“...too far…. always taking it too…”

He drops her off outside of the apartment. From the backseat, you're sobering up; able to catch his heavy sigh as he watches her through the window. It's only when he sees her walk in does he turn to you, passing bottled water kept in the console.

“You want to come out to the front?”

You like the way he says it, for some reason. Any anger or frustration he had towards Lyla dissipates. He doesn't bring that into a quiet conversation with you.

He's too solemn, too serious, and so you clamber into the front over the console; limbs and legs everywhere, as obnoxiously as you can. A slight elbow to his chest, a hand clutching his shirt; you want to make him laugh. As you settle onto the seat, you see it: huffing dramatically, he gives you a small smile.

Miguel reverses back out onto the road.

You blink, and you're home. Legs still shaky, he helps you up the stairs, settling you onto the sofa. Car keys clink onto the dish by the door, and he slips off his coat – that brown one, your favourite, you think.

Fumbling with the strap of your heels, it must be too painful for him to watch as Miguel settles by your feet. His big, strong hands are surprisingly deft when he undoes the dainty buckle.

“Are you mad at me?” Meekishly, you watch and he shakes his head, not making eye-contact. Maybe it's the alcohol, but you're staring; looking for that light in his eyes amongst the dark room.

Now, he looks up. “What?”

“M'just looking.” You say, chewing the inside of your cheek as one shoe slips off. “ I'm not allowed to look?”

The other one comes off, and he hisses when he spots a little cut where the strap dug into your ankle. He can't help it, rolling it gently in his hands, trying to ease the pain with a massage.

“You wear glasses.” You say it softly, more to yourself than to anyone else. Giggling now, you cradle his face and he sits up. “I didn't know that.”

“ That's not – I've always worn glasses. You're just not paying attention.” He shrugs lazily, but he's smiling.

“Not true , Mig. I would've noticed.”

“You're drunk–”

“When it's you, I always pay attention.” Absent-mindedly, your hand curls into his hair. He keens . “Like… your hair's getting longer.”

Gently, he shakes out of your grip, getting up. “I know, I know. I need a haircut.”

“I like it.” Starry-eyed, you look up at him. “You're so pretty, Mig.”

It makes him heave. Still tipsy, your legs spread ever so slightly, hand taking his and pulling him closer. Placing his hand on your thigh, you let it trace up, up, up, catching at the hem of your short dress.

He practically caves in, collapsing next to you on the couch.

“You should–” His eyes are glassy as you ease yourself onto his lap. “ F-Fuck . You should go to bed, sweetheart.”

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you roll your hips, watching as he groans wantonly.

“But I'm not tired.” His hand ends up on your waist, applying just the right amount of pressure. Underneath, you can feel him stir, increasingly hard under loose sweats. “And you haven't touched me in weeks. ”

You're exaggerating, but it goes to his head anyway. He buries his head into the crook of your shoulder, whispering into the bare skin.

“I know, I know…”

“Just the tip, Miguel.” You're grinding your clit onto him, pussy barely covered by a thin thong. Whispered into the shell of his ear, you're a siren, honeyed words dangerously close to breaking him down. “Just the tip, and I promise , I'll let it go. Please , baby.”

Your dress rides up, and his hands come down to palm at your ass.

“ Please…” You're pleading, lips on his neck as he squeezes, forcing you down to hump directly over his cock.

“Oh, shit.” His hips jump once, twice; and then he stills, hands at your hips and ass to stop you.

Desperate, you whine, trying to fight against it. He doesn't let up, hand cradling your chin so you can look him in the eye.

“ Bed .” He says, shakily. “Not like this.”

He slips you off, noticeably adjusting his pants. Legs spread wide, head tipped back as he sighs; he looks delicious , and you're fighting off the urge to let him take you right there and then.

You stumble through the little hallway, pushing past some doors. Something clatters into your thigh, and you hear a dull thud as another thing falls to the floor. Frustrated, you strip down to your underwear, something light and lacy and it leaves very little to the imagination.

There's a bed, and you collapse on it; swimming in the silky sheets. It smells like him - musky and oaky and gentle - and you think you must be dreaming already. And then, you sit up, realising too late - this isn't your room.

Miguel wasn't too far off, hearing the thumping and clattering; hesitant as he opens the door. You're wrapped up like a present, spilling out of lingerie on his bed. He swallows, turning away to dig into his wardrobe, intending to pull out a baggy shirt for you.

“ Miguel .” You croak, but he ignores the want in your voice, so heavy it goes straight to his cock. “Miguel, please. ”

All his shirts blend together. He can't concentrate.

“Do you think I don't want it? Because I do, fuck, I need it. So bad, baby, please.” Your body heaves with a half sob.

Heart splintering, he turns. Finally, you meet his eye. You spread your legs.

“ Here. Right here .” You tap your clothed cunt with shaky fingers, pulling your thong to the side. His eyes drink it up, the way you glisten when your cunt eats up the fabric. You know he's watching, and you take advantage of it, circling your clit with the pads of two fingers. “Like this . When I touch myself, I think of you… d-did you know that?”

Swallowing roughly, he can't take his eyes off of you.

“What… What else?” He croaks.

“I think of your tongue, a-at my pussy. And your fingers… God. ” You slip a finger in, and he watches as your cunt clenches around it; gushing and sloppy. “Your l-lips. Meant it, before. When I said you were pretty. Want to sit on that pretty face and watch you melt– oh-h- fuck- ”

He wants to lick it up, all that slick that sluices from your hole. His mouth waters, just thinking about it.

“Put another one in, for me.” He says it low, sinking to his knees to watch you fuck yourself.

Nodding, you oblige.

“Does it feel good?”

“ Yes. ” You don't hesitate.

“Can you fit another one? Want to see how good she looks when she comes, sweetheart.”

Three fingers in, now, and he slides your thong a little further aside; reaching up to press his thumb to your clit. Light streams in from blinds cracked open and highlights your thighs perfectly. Nevertheless, he adjusts his glasses to make sure he doesn't miss anything.

The twitch of your leg, the way your hand cramps up, the way your lips curl into a delicious O - he sees it all, commits it to memory.

“ Faster , please.”

“ Doesn't –” You're frustrated, clearly chasing something that refuses to surface. “Not the same. Can't fucking reach. ”

He titters, nipping at your thighs and soothing the bites with the flat of his tongue.

“Poor baby. Will you let me help?”

Fervently, you nod, slipping out your fingers as he takes off his glasses. They're discarded, too foggy to be useful right now.

“Did I tell you to take them out?” He sighs and gestures for your hand. Wrapping his lips around them he sucks them clean, humming lightly. He pats your clit with a wet slap, content. “Put two fingers in, sweetheart.”

Doing as he says, your head feels full - cotton wool and bubble wrap, only able to focus on the pleasure building behind your clit. And when he slots two fingers in next to yours , it rips out a gravelly moan.

“ Here? ” He says dragging himself deeper, curling his fingers up. “Or is it… here? ”

You groan, limp against his hand as you feel impossibly full. It reminds you of the stretch of his cock; creaming around the base of his two fingers and yours. That wonderful curl as he pumps himself in and out, cupping your hand in the process to make sure you match his pace. He can feel your walls spasm around him, impossibly soft and velveteen.

“Can't say no to you,” His eyes are low, grunting as he palms himself roughly. “Even though… fuck … even though I should.”

It's wet, the slap slap slap of skin against skin echoing in his room. Miguel sits up, pressing his lips to your neck, and you take the opportunity to slip your other hand into his sweats. You start pumping, in time with his ministrations, eyes blown as you swipe your thumb over his weeping slit.

You know he likes it rough, and you jerk him into your palm; fast and hard and you watch as he matches your pace. Even now, you're competing, trying to catch the him up; to see who can make the other cum first.

You push back on his fingers, hips slotting against his, whispering nonsense into his neck. You're too fucked out to care; confessions you never thought would see the light of day. All the little things you like about him, things he says, things he does; and you don't even register the ochred flush smattered along the ridge of cheekbone.

He spills into your hand, and you're quick to follow; cumming around him as his fingers stutter in and out. It feels good , dangerously so, and has you pressing shaky kisses around his mouth, and nipping at his bottom lip.

He stills, but you're greedy, aching for more. You want him in you; seating his thick cock deep inside, painting your walls with hot cum, and pushing it back in with deft fingers. Every part of you is on fire, barely satiated by your heated foray.

You tip back onto the bed, and he joins you; caging you in with thick forearms, looking at you like you've stolen all the stars in the sky. That feeling , again, slams into your chest like a bullet. Messy hair, ruddy cheeks, hand gently tracing your jaw; he looks gone, and oh so soft. You want to kiss him ; and it's a thought that sticks, embedding itself somewhere you can't reach to dig it out.

“ Miguel .” You whisper, enough alcohol at the edges of your mind to stop thinking and spill your guts to him, unfiltered. “Are you sleeping with someone else?”

His eyes flit over your face before answering and he shakes his head.

“No. No. Just you. Only you.”

“ Don't believe you .” But you want to. So, so desperately. “Promise me?”

“I promise, sweetheart.” He swallows. “Are you?”

“No. Don't think I could if I tried.” It comes out watery, stuck at the back of your throat.

He just looks, for a moment, cradling the back of your head.

“I want to kiss you.” It spills out from your lips.

“I know.”

“Then why won't you kiss me?”

“Not a good idea.” He strains, kissing your forehead, and then each cheek. Hesitating, he places a gentle peck to your chin. “Ask me tomorrow.”

He says it simply, too easily; and it makes you want to sob. When Miguel slips away, and you hear the sound of a light turned on in the bathroom, you can't move. Catatonic; you blink, and he's cleaned you up, and slipped a shirt over your shoulders. Laying back in his bed, you watch as he lingers by the doorway, shrouded in shadow.

Goodnight. Y ou think you say it out loud, but it echoes in your head.

He says back, but not really. Instead, he leaves that goodnight hanging by the doorway like an old coat, and you wrap it over your shoulders.

It keeps you a little warmer through the night.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #angst #heavy angst #mutual pining

866 notes · View notes

level2janitor · 1 year ago

Text

Introduction to the OSR

what's an OSR? it's a game that's kinda like old-school D&D. or is old-school D&D. or is compatible with old-school D&D. an OSR game generally has some or all of the following principles:

low character power with highly lethal combat. in old-school D&D a 1st-level fighter has d8 hit points and a longsword does d8 damage, and you die at 0HP. this is not to ensure characters die all the time but to emphasize the next bullet point:

emphasis on creative problem solving. most situations cannot be solved by straightforward use of your abilities (such as charging into every situation with swords drawn, if a fighter), so the game tests lateral, outside-the-box thinking.

emphasis on diegetic progression. spells are found, not obtained automatically on level-up. you get XP by finding gold more than killing monsters. most of your cool abilities come from magic items. making alliances & hiring followers is encouraged.

focus on managing inventory, resources, risk, and time. the players are constantly faced with meaningful decisions; this is the heart of the game.

very sandbox-oriented. the focus on creative problem solving means the game must be accommodating to players taking a course of action the GM didn't plan for. use lots of random tables to generate emergent story. some elements of new simulationism.

high tactical transparency, i.e., the optimal course of action is rarely system-specific, and ideally very possible for a new player to intuit.

usually semi-compatible with old D&D, but not always. usually rules-lite, but not always.

what does the OSR mostly NOT do?

focus on character builds. these change the focus too much to be on the rules than the fiction, can create situations where stuff everyone should be able to do is an ability locked to one class, and impede tactical transparency.

resolve everything with a die roll. combat uses dice to be scary, unpredictable and most importantly not your default course of action. everything else should bring up dice rarely - dice are your plan B when your plan A fails. the best plans need no dice.

use linear storytelling or put players into a writer/GM role. linear storytelling gets in the way of the decision-making so core to the playstyle; letting players write details into the setting is mutually exclusive with them discovering it.

rules for everything. 400 pages of crunch is worse at simulating a believable world than the GM and players' shared understanding. OSR games rely constantly on GM ruling.

mostly still applies to all the above. making your system a "pure" OSR game comes second to doing what's best for your game.

System recommendations

old D&D or a retroclone

old-school D&D - or old school essentials or basic fantasy or swords & wizardry, which are old D&D's mechanics repackaged with quality-of-life tweaks (and the upside of not giving WOTC your money) - are usually the go-to when recommending someone's first OSR game. they're actually not my first pick, though!

PROS:

very complete, with more robust rules than a lot of the lighter games on this list.

100% compatibility: most OSR adventures are statted for old school essentials. converting them to other OSR systems is usually simple, but not 1-for-1.

easier to find games for. anyone interested in the OSR space knows what old school essentials is.

CONS:

jank. these games largely still have weird saves, level limits for non-humans, some still have descending AC, etc etc. it's not that bad but it is there

i hate thief skills. lots of essential dungeoneering actions are locked to the thief class as abilities, with abysmally low success chances. this is stuff i prefer being handled without a roll. thieves in this system suck and make everyone else worse at dungeon crawling by existing.

there's just lots of really cool shit in other systems i'm about to go into that you just don't get here

Knave 1e and its various hacks

this is a 7-page super-lightweight system that boils everything down to just the essentials.

rolling a character takes like 5 minutes. roll stats, roll gear, roll traits, go. done. it's great.

characters are defined entirely by stats and gear, no classes. wanna be a fighter, have high strength and carry a big sword and armor. wanna be a wizard, have high intelligence and fill your inventory with spells. item slots are elegant and pretty limited.

initiative is instant: roll d6. 1-3, monsters go first. 4-6, PCs go first. swingy, but god it is so smooth and shaves like the most boring 5 minutes off of every combat

monsters are so very elegant. old D&D gives monsters a "hit dice" rating to determine their HP, e.g. a 3HD monster rolls 3d8 for hit points. knave takes this number (HD) and uses it for attack rolls and saves (aside from exceptionally bad/good saves), so a knave statblock looks something like this.

spells are all one or two sentences long & extremely easy to remember.

7 pages is so light. i have the system basically memorized.

DOWNSIDES: there's no dungeon crawling rules (standard for meatier OSR games & something i consider essential) and no real bestiary, though the second point isn't a huge deal cause they're so easy to make. it also kinda assumes you already know how to run OSR games, so there's very little real advice or guidance.

KNAVE HACKS

knave 1e is in creative commons & comes with an editable word doc for you to publish with modifications, so there's a ton of variants (there was a spreadsheet of them somewhere, but i can't find it).

Grave is a favorite - i'm two years into a grave campaign and it's fantastic. it's a dark-souls-y version of knave with some really elegant innovations.

you have a set number of deaths before you for-reals die, as every character plays an undead as is dark souls tradition. makes it good for OSR beginners! being able to tell when you're close to your final death is really good - it lets you emotionally prepare for losing your character & raises the stakes more the more you die. (though honestly you should probably cut the number of extra deaths in half, it's super generous)

XP and gold are combined into one resource, souls. legendary creatures drop big souls you can make into magic items. this has ended up being the coolest thing in my current campaign. my players love finding powerful souls to make into magic items it's so fun

uses preset packages of stats/gear instead of knave's rolled ones, filling the role of more traditional character classes. has the wonderful side effect of not making you get stuck with low stats cause you rolled bad one time.

you have stamina equal to your empty item slots. you spend stamina on spells if you're a caster, or free maneuvers (on top of your attack at no action cost) if you're not. it's super elegant.

there's 3 classes of spells: wizardry for intelligence, holy magic for wisdom, and witch stuff for charisma. nice and intuitive.

there's a page of 50 magic items each a couple sentences long. this PDF is worth it just for the magic items.

DOWNSIDE: see the downsides for knave 1e. all still apply.

i enjoyed grave so much i made a variant of it with the dark souls bits removed (and some dungeon crawl rules added!) to use for my standard fantasy campaigns.

Knave 2e

sadly knave 2e is not purchasable yet (i backed it on kickstarter so i have access, though). but when it comes out i highly recommend it.

much larger and denser than knave 1e. it finally has dungeon crawling rules, it has GM and player guidance, everything is refined and the layout is so so nice and readable.

combat is a bit more interesting than 1e. you can break your weapon against an enemy to deal max damage. you get a free maneuver on high attack rolls.

there's rules for stuff like alchemy, warfare, building a base. it all kicks ass.

there are so many goddamn tables. i rifle through it anytime i need inspiration.

DOWNSIDES: some of the new rules are a little untested & wonky. introducing randomness into how often your rations spoil or your lights go out can cause issues.

Mausritter

you play tiny little mice! in a world full of big dangerous things that want to eat mice. cat = dragon. you get it. what more could you want

the mouse thing is just super intuitive. you get the dynamic between you and the big scary lethal world. fantastic OSR game to introduce kids

nice and robust ruleset; nothing feels missing

tons of super nice GM stuff! faction rules, tools for rolling up hexcrawls and dungeons, plenty of tables

super clean readable layout. font isn't too small to avoid being intimidating. guidance is really nice and clear.

combat is autohit. super fast & lethal.

100% free

look mausritter is just. good. i wanna run it so bad someday

Worlds Without Number

sort of a middle ground between OSR stuff and 5e. paid version here free version here

lots of classes, at least in the paid version. the free version comes with just the warrior, expert and mage. there's feats and more of a focus on builds than most OSR games. if you like more mechanical build variety than a typical OSR game, this is a great game for you!

extremely good multiclassing. y'know how in most games if you just mash together two classes you think are cool you'll end up with a total mess? not here! every combo is viable and works fine! easily the best multiclassing of any game i've touched

an absurd amount of GM stuff and tables. easily more than any of the other stuff i've praised for also having them. but personally i haven't dug into them as much, so i can't really comment on them

skills the way modern D&D has them. you roll dice and try to beat a target number. i don't tend to like rolled skills, but most people do, so if that's your thing WWN has them

DOWNSIDES

the layout is terrible. everything is a huge wall of text with very little use of bold text or bullet points to draw attention to the important bits. the table of contents has like 15 things in it for a 400-page book! i couldn't find any of the paid-version-exclusive classes for like a month after i bought it! looking up rules is a nightmare.

the way the default setting handles "evil races" is like an exaggerated parody of all the problematic aspects of how D&D handles it. like, it wants so bad for you to have an excuse to genocide sentient free-willed people. but at least the default setting is easy to chuck in the trash

Dungeon Crawl Classics

the goal of this system is to take all of the crazy gonzo moments people remember playing old-school D&D in their childhood and turn all of that up to 11 while cutting the stuff that doesn't add to that. i think a lot of its innovations have ended up kind of standard in newer OSR stuff (like fighters getting maneuvers with their attacks), but it still has more to offer.

the funnel: you start the game with four randomly rolled dipshit peasants that you then throw into a meatgrinder to get horribly killed. you pick one of the survivors to be your 1st-level character.

maneuvers: fighters roll an extra die with each attack that gets bigger as you level. if it's a 3 or higher, you get to do a cool thing on top of your attack. pretty standard for OSR games, but this game popularized it!

crit tables: fighters also get more crits and nastier crits as they level. every crit, you roll on the crit table. maybe you chop off a dude's arm. maybe you just knock them over. maybe you shatter their shield. it's very cool

spell tables: i don't really like roll-to-cast mechanics, generally. but DCC goes so all-in on roll-to-cast that it still looks fun as hell to watch. you cast a fireball and maybe it goes how you want. or maybe you explode, or you nuke everything in a half-mile radius, or from now on you permanently ignite flammable materials you touch, or whatever. casters just have to put up with turning into a weird mutated mess across a campaign

there's no dungeon crawl rules, no encumbrance - this game is all about the big over-the-top wacky shit, and is not really interested in the more down-to-earth number crunching. it's more in the you-die-hilariously-all-the-time area of OSR than the you-avoid-death-through-clever-play area. not really my thing but the system knows exactly what it wants to be and i respect it

iron halberd

this one is mine! as the author i'm not qualified to tell you what isn't good about my system, so just assume it's worse than i make it sound, but here's a bunch of the selling points

semi-random character creation where you flip back and forth between rolling dice and getting your own input. roll stats, pick ancestry. pick starting gear kit, roll different dice based on which kit you picked. etc etc. stats are random but all equally viable (no rolling incredibly low or high stats). every time i run this game the character creation is a hit. seriously go roll up a character it'll sell you on the whole thing

you start out a lot stronger than a standard OSR character but grow way more slowly. i don't like 4th-level characters being 4 times as strong as 1st-level ones; HP never gets that high. emphasis is more on diegetic progression instead.

way too many subsystems for alchemy, crafting, strongholds, warfare, renown, rituals, likes 9 pages of magic items, a whole subsystem for becoming a cleric mid-campaign. i couldn't help myself i love this shit

in my current campaign we had a player permanently sacrifice some max HP to become a necromancer after deliberating on whether that's a good idea for like thirty seconds, which instantly made me think my necromancy system is a success

also free

Adventure recommendations

(in rough order of size)

Moonhill Garden (by Emiel Boven): look at this. look at it! this is like the best template for a little dungeon in an OSR game. all of the little factions are tied together. this would be a great oneshot to introduce people to an OSR system with.

A gathering of blades (by Ben Milton): a system-neutral, one-page sandbox. i ran this for an iron halberd game and it went super well. lasted like 7 sessions. highly recommend.

The Waking of Willowby Hall (by Ben Milton): a single dungeon with a million things going on. it's super chaotic with half a dozen different factions crashing into each other and a big angry goose. highly recommend, especially for kids

The Black Wyrm of Brandonsford (by Chance Dudinack): small sandbox with a fun fairytale vibe and a very fleshed-out little town. and a big nasty dragon.

Evils of Illmire (by Zack Wolf): this is a very dense, entire campaign's worth of hexcrawl in a very compact package for like $5. it doesn't do anything particularly new, but the value-for-money is absurd and it's a really good template for how to do a sandbox if you're used to 5e adventures

Ask me anything!

if anything here is unclear or intrigues you, send me asks! i love helping people get into OSR games. i'll link frequently asked questions here if i get any.

#osr #nsr #ttrpg #d&d #iron halberd #knave #worlds without number #dungeon crawl classics #mausritter #l2j archive

595 notes · View notes

jeonstellate · 1 year ago

Text

forever by my side

mingyu still honors the love signified by his ring, even after all this time.

๑彡 kim mingyu x gender neutral!reader

๑彡 divorced!au/ex-husband!au, post-break up!au — fluff(?), angst(?)

๑彡 paragraph format — 0.8K words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 title is taken from zack tabudlo’s by my side (ft. tiara andini).

๑彡 thank you sm for the overwhelming love for my future in your eyes! please accept this as a thank you gift :]

๑彡 this is connected to that fic, a prequel of sorts, but can also be read as a standalone. (i highly recommend reading that, too, though.)

Kim Mingyu is a man of confidence.

He exudes confidence, regardless of what he does. It’s a natural part of his aura — something that he can never control at will.

It comes in handy for his line of work, which often requires him to socialize and impress others. Occasionally, though, it also needs him to give presentations in front of large crowds.

As his audience continues to stare at him, with a mix of glossed eyes and awestruck expressions, Mingyu begins to appreciate his inborn confidence a little bit more.

He’s an extrovert. He does well with crowds. He’s comfortable striking up conversations with complete strangers. He’s talkative and spontaneous and outgoing, amongst other things.

And with his confidence, Mingyu can command a room with ease.

Yet, still, it doesn’t necessarily mean he enjoys public speaking — especially if the crowd he’s addressing is full of college students who are currently everywhere, just not in the classroom.

He can hardly blame them. He has been in their shoes before. He knows what it feels like to listen to professors and guest lecturers drag on when he rather spend his time elsewhere.

"Well then, if you guys thought of more questions later," he began his wrap-up speech, "feel free to email me. Thank you—"

A flurry of moment on his right caught his attention, effectively halting his speech. However, the cause of it is gone by the second he turns.

The only evidence he has that he didn’t hallucinate the entire thing is the murmuring that suddenly engulfs the room. And the small folded piece of paper on his right that seems to appear out of the blue.

Mingyu reaches for the paper and looks around the room. He immediately notices the students’ renewed interest in him. Or perhaps — most likely — they are just interested in how he responses to the note.

He looks down as he opens the paper.

Mister, do you have a significant other?

He chuckles soundlessly. Not because of how off-topic it is from the presentation he just gave, but because it is apparently enough to bring you forth in his mind.

After all, you are his other half. Someone he met and fell in love with within the walls of your college campus. Someone he put great effort to deserve the heart of.

The only one he could see sharing a future with. The only one he went down on one knee for and waited for at the end of the aisle.

The only one he loves with his soul. The only one he respects and cherishes to an unfathomable extent.

Mingyu gives a shy smile to the sea of students before raising his hand, palm facing inward. He lets the gold band around his ring finger shine under the spotlights aimed at him.

Their collective disappointment is loud.

Mingyu finds their reaction amusing. He has watched countless people react to his marital status over the years. Those who appear dismayed, he notes, often try their best to hide it, albeit unsuccessfully. As a matter of fact, this is the first time anyone has ever showed disdain so openly — a whole group, too, no less.

He can’t stop the soundless chuckle that escaped. He has always been proud of his marriage. He boasts about it — and you — every chance that he gets. It’s something that always brings a smile to his face. Something that he never gets tired of.

Even after the divorce.

The end of your marriage had been a mutual decision. You both agreed that it was the best action to take, before anything escalated to something unbecoming. And, at the time, it was the best decision to take.

The end of your marriage didn’t signify the end of his love for you, though. That’s why, even years after the court made your divorce official, his wedding ring stayed on his finger.

Mingyu may have failed to keep you by his side, but he absolutely has no plans to rid himself of the only physical reminder of your marriage.

Mingyu may have lost his rights to claim you as his spouse; but at least in front of strangers, he can still pretend that the gold around his finger is more than a remembrance.

"How are you going to find a replacement for your wedding ring if you keep letting people think you’re still married?" Minghao wonders when he meets up with him after his presentation.

Ironically enough, his longtime friend personifies the reality that his façade only works with strangers. Those who don’t know what happened. Nor can read him like an open book. Nor notice the hint of sadness in his eyes.

Mingyu simply shrugs at that, "Bold of you to assume I want a replacement in the first place."

(After all, his wedding ring isn’t just a conversational piece. It’s also his lifeline . . . something he can’t bear to lose, especially when he already lost you.)

#kim mingyu x reader #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #kim mingyu imagines #mingyu imagines #seventeen imagines #kim mingyu scenarios #mingyu scenarios #seventeen scenarios #kim mingyu oneshots #mingyu oneshots #seventeen oneshots #ex-husband!au #post-break up!au #kim mingyu #mingyu #seventeen

177 notes · View notes

eleni-cherie · 4 months ago

Text

agents at first sight ✨ || bts • ksj [ONE-SHOT]

"you're Squirtle?"

"you're Charmander?"

about two interpol agents falling at first sight, literally, thanks to a master thief on the run.

[one-shot in 'the thieves collection' series - can be read independently!!]

»»»

— word count: 5.1k

— genre: interpol agent au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, sexual tensiON, slowburning, mutual pining, strangers to lover s2l

— song recommendations/inspirations:

the last shadow puppets - the element of surprise

solar - honey

frank sinatra - strangers in the night

keri hilson - i like

»»»

IDEA/STORY/CHARACTERS BASED ON MY PREVIOUS STORIES: "A THIEF'S ORIGIN" , "AMONG THIEVES" AND "A THIEF'S END".

this one-shot aims to give the backstory of how seokjin and yongsun met, as mentioned in the other parts of the series.

if you want the full context and also know what happens with with them afterwards, check out the other stories as well!

PROTAGONISTS:

KIM SEOKJIN AS HIMSELF; LEADER OF THE ROBBERY DEPARTMENT / "CHARMANDER"

KIM YONGSUN AS HERSELF; AGENT IN THE ORGANISED CRIME DEPARTMENT / "SQUIRTLE"

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

NOT FREE FROM LINGUISTIC ERRORS - ENGLISH IS NOT MY NATIVE LANGUAGE.

DON’T BE A GHOST READER. LIKE, COMMENT & SHARE THIS STORY IF YOU LIKE IT :))

DEDICATED TO EVERYONE WHO’S READING THIS FANFIC!

CHECK OUT MY OTHER BTS STORIES AS WELL: HERE

-Elenixx

»»»

[set after the final chapter of the main story but before its epilogue]

Straits of Singapore, 30km off Singapore

"Sir, are you sure he'll show up tonight? It's been hours and still no sign from Park, Kim or Min."

Seokjin studied the piece of paper between his fingers. It was crinkled from having been stored in his jacket all evening.

A dry laugh left his lips then. "Don't worry, Blake," he said into the radio, "When Park Jimin says he's showing up, he will."

"Roger."

A muffled chuckle was heard beside him as he put the device down and he glanced at Hoseok resting his folded arms on the desk. "But only if you cracked his riddle correctly," his former team mate and friend pointed out with a raised brow, "I mean, you sure about time and place?"

"Pretty sure, yes. He sent that with a postmark from Singapore," the leader of the robbery department nodded and held the paper out for him. Hoseok grabbed it with curiosity, reading over the scribbled note with a hum.

'Meet me at the deck with no cards,

when the sun comes home.

Don't forget to wear a bow tie!

I'll bring the bow, not the arrows though.

See ya!'

"'Deck', 'bow' and the 'see', which is a homophone of 'sea' - it all hints to a ship. And this cruise ship with a bunch of loaded people is the only kind our thieves would be interested in."

"Yeah, I see - no pun intended," the leader of the organised crime department said and slid the note back, "And 'when the sun comes home' means when it's the closest to earth, which was today. Summer solstice."

"Exactly."

"Okay, fine," Hoseok sat back and let his eyes wander around the security room. Eventually adding with a sigh, "But I'm still bummed he had to pick the same time and place my team's got to perform an undercover operation at. Too many cooks spoil the broth, you know. There're so many other places or dates."

"You forget the CEO's wife owns this highly valuable black pearl. I bet everything I have that this is what they're after."

"Probably."

"The better question is, why does that mob boss you're after have to attend the same party."

"What do you think.." Hoseok propped his jaw on the palm of his hand, a sarcastic smirk playing on his lips. "He's acquaintance with Lee, that CEO."

A short laugh left Seokjin's lips and he averted his gaze from the security screens. "Of course, criminals and CEOs are not that different from each other after all."

His younger colleague showed his agreement with an amused chuckle when his radio transmitter beeped.

"Sunflora here, what do you have for me Squirtle?" he answered, causing Seokjin's brows to furrow.

'Squirtle' and 'Sunflora' were the names of Pokémons after all. So he gave Hoseok a wondering look which the latter only dismissed by waving his hand.

"Purugly is heading to the restrooms. S-should I follow?"

'Purugly'. Another Pokémon.

"No, but keep an eye on him nonetheless and wait in a good distance. If he doesn't come out in five, report."

"Understood."

He put the device back down, meeting Seokjin's questioning face. "So?"

"What?"

"You got Pokémon codenames? Never knew you were so into it."

Hoseok shook his head though. "Wasn't my idea," he explained with a laugh under his breath, "Squirtle is her favourite one and she claims she looks like it, that's why she always uses it. So I thought why not using these names for all of us? Makes the whole undercover thing a bit more fun."

"Huh, that's clever. I should do that, too, from now on." The older agent paused but only for dramatic effects as he added with a sigh, "Disappointed I didn't come up with that myself."

"Be my guest. Have you any in mind already?"

"Charmander, of course!" he exclaimed full of enthusiasm and picked his own radio device. "Blake, Jeon? From now on only call me 'Charmander' over the radio. Got it?"

Jungkook's chuckle was heard on the other line. He was rather amused than irritated, but even Skylar wasn't questioning her supervisor's quirks anymore. Both replying with: "Roger that, Charmander."

"You really do with them whatever you want, huh?" Hoseok wondered with a laugh while scanning over the security screens from the ballroom where the birthday party happened.

Considering they were on a cruise ship, it was impressive how grand it was. Opulent decorations like crystal chandeliers hanging above the heads of guests, adding to the ambiance of the ballroom. People dressed in their most expensive and fashionable gowns and suits while enjoying conversations and litres of flowing champagne and wine.

Seokjin only shrugged with a smile. "The kids are alright and they're able to see a joke. But I do sometimes miss you and Namjoonie. Remember when we first started out together?"

Hoseok huffed out a laugh, reminiscing the past when the three of them started out in the robbery department together. "Don't remind me, I'm glad I don't have to deal with the shenanigans of these thieves anymore." He patted Seokjin's shoulder than. "But it was surely fun with you guys, I miss that, too."

He was about to add more when his transmitter beeped once again, interrupting his train of thoughts.

"Squirtle here, he hasn't come out yet."

With a groan, Hoseok's face hardened and he got closer to the screens. His eyes narrowing as he switched through the cameras. It always astonished and in some way also scared Seokjin how he could go from cheery to professional within a second.

"Squirtle, you hear me?"

"Yes, Sunflora."

"There hasn't been any records of him leaving through the other side of the corridor. Are you sure he hasn't returned to the party?"

"Positive. Is there a different way out?"

Seokjin's eyes widened at this and he grabbed the blueprint they'd got from security, eyes searching for any possible vents or openings. He gestured to Hoseok to pass him the radio over.

"Here's Charmander. According to -"

"Sorry, who's there?"

Remembering he'd literally only just come up with his new codename and had never directly spoken with this 'Squirtle' before, he laughed a little embarrassed to himself. "Sorry, agent Kim from the robbery department here," he spoke firmly, "The blueprint doesn't show any other means of escape, unless he decided to swim back to shore. So he must be still in there. Wait another five."

"Okay, got it."

"Is that Squirtle good?" he questioned his friend while sinking back into his seat, observing the monitors.

"She's my best agent actually," Hoseok answered truthfully, "You should've seen her shooting her way through and bending a whole gang boss to his knees. It was beautiful."

The older agent whistled lowly, quite impressed by the thought of that. Or at least how he imagined it. "Sounds like a feisty one."

"Depends. She's surely a lively person, but once you get to know her, she's an easy-going homebody. Similar to you."

A scoff passed Seokjin's lips, pretending being offended by his words. "So you wanna say I'm not unique?"

"Well, I wouldn't subscribe to that," Hoseok said with a teasing grin, "Both of you also get upset in the same hilarious way actually."

"Ouch, that hurts my pride you know."

The two shared a laugh when a sudden commotion on the monitors caught their attention. The guests seemed to be agitated and scattering around the area.

"Jeon, Blake, what's going on there?"

"The black pearl, it fell from Mrs Lee's brooch."

"There's multiple pearls on the floor now! It created a turmoil."

"I can imagine," Seokjin muttered before speaking louder into the radio, "Keep your eyes closely to the guests. Surely that's a distraction by Jimin and the like."

"Of course."

He stood up then, sliding on his black suit jacket. "I'm heading out for support. See, told you he'd show up."

"You need my help? I could tell my agents -"

"Nah, don't worry. I'm sure you guys have your hands full with this commotion, too."

"Sunflora?" Indeed, Hoseok's own agent tried getting in touch with him. And he gave Seokjin a thumbs up, wishing him good luck as he headed out, before grabbing his radio device then.

"Sunflora here."

"I spotted Purugly. He's rushing out with a group of people due to some uproar, I'm following him."

"Roger, Squirtle. Be careful in the chaos, it's a distraction from the thieves. The robbery team will handle it though. You focus on our guy."

"Got it."

»»»

Seokjin squeezed through the noisy and fidgety mass, people hunching and picking up any black pearls they could find - or at least the fake ones Jimin had spread around to cause this uproar.

It was impossible to draw his gun with so many civilians around, so he just continued with careful steps and sharp eyes. Soon spotting something that rose enough suspicion in him to follow it. A rather calm man was galantly making his way among the rambling crowd.

The main reason this man rose his suspicion was rather intuitive though. He recognised him being one of the bodyguards close to the Lee's, he'd stood beside them all evening. Of course his agents had already checked all stuff members for possible disguised criminals before boarding the ship, but they hadn't been observing them nonstop ever since. And this bodyguard now was clearl heading to the exit instead of being on the other side of the ballroom with his boss who was panicked and shouting at his men to find his wife's pearl.

With a confident smirk, he neared the man until he was close enough to grab him by the shoulder. "And I thought you'd never make your appearance, Park Jimin. You had me waiting for quite some time," he sighed in fake-annoyance.

The man visibly flinched at Seokjin's words, glancing over his shoulder then with a lopsided grin.

"Sorry, pops! Got a date with a pearl!"

He abruptly crouched, disappearing from his sight and Seokjin spotted him a few seconds later further away. He'd got rid of his disguise by now and promptly continued his way among the people. But Seokjin wouldn't let Jimin throw him off so easily.

He was close on his heels and Jimin could feel it. His eyes quickly scanning the area for any possible distraction when seeing the interpol agent almost having reached him again. But then he realised that he was literally in the middle of possible distractions and smirked as soon as he spotted a suitable one.

As he continued pushing threw the mass of people, he grabbed someone's wrist and abruptly tucked the person backwards. Right in front of Seokjin, blocking his way. It was a young woman with dyed dirty-blond hair and in the pushing and shoving, stumbled and fell against the agent's chest who caught her out of reflex.

"My apologies, miss, but -" Seokjin was about to politely shove her away when their eyes met. And any further words got stuck in his throat instead.

He swallowed hard. She was the most mesmerizing woman he'd ever seen in his life.

Full cheeks, cute nose, pillowy lips and soft brown eyes which were staring back at him intensely, placed so perfectly that it completely disarmed him and took his breath away.

For a moment he wasn't in the middle of the ballroom anymore, he was in the abyss of her wondering orbs.

The woman seemed just as stunned, her expression mirroring his.

However, soon he was washed back to the shore of reality and his memory returned, recalling his initial task of chasing after Jimin.

"S-sorry."

The woman's eyes turned into a dazed scowl, as if she herself had just snapped back into reality and wouldn't recognise the place she found herself in. She stepped back, at least as much as she could in the crowded space, his hands sliding off from the warm skin of her arms. And without a single word, she simply turned and disappeared back into the sea of people. Like a siren who had lured him into her world only to release him again after growing bored.

Someone in his work field and position shouldn't get that easily distracted and usually he didn't. But something in this mysterious woman completely enchanted him and it was more than unfortunate they had to meet under such circumstances.

Perhaps, in a different profession, in a different life, he could've met her differently. Could've spoken to her more.

By the look in her almond eyes, she might've felt the same sugar-rush shooting through her chest. But it didn't matter anyway, he wouldn't see her again. And he had to focus on more important things right now.

He began running through the now less dense becoming crowd, out of the ballroom. The double doors closed behind him with a dull sound, drowning out the jarring voices from inside. The corridor was long and he'd seen Jimin running towards it so it was his best shot right now.

Eventually reaching outside the deck, he was met with the strong night wind of the open sea tousling his dark waves. It was sparsely lit, only a simple lamp every few metres illuminating the broad area. And there at its end, on the very edge, he found the masterthief standing and laughing as soon as he noticed Seokjin nearing him. As if he'd been waiting for him all along.

"Oh damn, didn't expect you back so soon. Really thought I made a good choice there, could swear she'd be your type."

The agent laughed under his breath, biting down his lip. It wasn't surprising to him anymore, knowing his opponent well enough in all those years to know his little mind games. So he chose to ignore his comment, not giving him the satisfaction of a retort. Although Jimin already knew the truth by the brief look that passed Seokjin's eyes.

"Hands up," the agent said instead with a confident smirk, now able to draw his gun, "Unless you wanna fall into the cold sea."

The thief, however, only met him with an unfazed glance. His arms slowly going up before one of his hands turned, revealing something between his fingers. And under the light of the full moon he could see it sparkling dark. The black pearl.

Seokjin could tell it was the real one.

"Hm, maybe I'll do just that. You know, return the pearl to its natural habitat on the way, too. Thanks for the great idea, pops!" His lips curled further into a beaming grin and before Seokjin could react, Jimin let himself fall backwards.

Perplexed, the agent rushed to the railing. The harsh wind hitting his face as he looked over it, making out the outlines of a motorboat in the darkness. Diverging from the ship and driving towards the coast.

"Dammit." He sighed and hit the cold metal of the railing, letting it echo get swallowed by the waves. With a dragged sigh, he couldn't help but laugh shortly before pulling out his radio device.

"Jungkook, Skylar?"

Jungkook was faster to answer this time."Yes, sir?"

"Find a radio unit and alert coastguards and agents on the mainland to keep an eye on a motorboat coming from our direction."

"I assume it's about our thieves?"

"Correct, Jeon."

"Roger, I'm on my way."

Returning inside, he caught sight of security guards and staff members who had managed taking back control over the situation and calmed people down.

He came across one of the other agents of Hoseok's team and asked him where his supervisor was. The agent told him in the manager's office with their suspect and Seokjin thanked him before making his way there. As he passed by with hasty steps, walking to the other end where another door led to the offices and security room, he spotted the CEO and his distraught wife being questioned by Skylar in a corner.

Soon he reached a cherrywood door, giving it a few knocks and watching it open at the third knock, revealing his friend behind it. And Hoseok stepped out.

"Heard you got your man, that must be him I assume?" he motioned to the handcuffed guy at the armchair behind Hoseok's shoulders.

Hoseok grinned. "Yup, our 'Purugly' aka Mr San Shinjuk. Isn't that right?"

The criminal kept an desinterested and bored expression, unimpressed by his enthusiasm. "You got nothing on me anyway."

"I wouldn't call a wad of 100,000 won notes and exposing documents, nothing," Hoseok countered with a raised brow, making the man scoff and grow back quiet. Making Hoseok grin widen before joining Seokjin outside in the corridor, closing the door behind him.

"What happened with Park?"

Seokjin only let out a dry laugh. "Well, let's say at least you got your guy.."

Hoseok's eyes widened. "You mean he -"

"Yeah, yeah," Seokjin ran his fingers through his hair, "They got away again."

"Well, next time then."

"Of course next time!"

"I gotta say though. Thanks to the little panic he created, San couldn't complete his restroom deal," Hoseok chuckled.

The irony that his friend was thankful to his nemesis wasn't missed on him. "So that's what took him so long in there.."

"Exactly."

"But I surely won't thank Jimin," Seokjin huffed then, "Would only get into his already big head."

"Sir!"

The yell coming from the end of the corridor, cut their laughing off. The person audibly churned up as they came closer.

"Sir, I'm sorry I lost San. Someone pushed me and there was an idiot blocking my way. Otherwi-"

"Don't worry, Kim," Hoseok interrupted her with a reassuring smile, "You did a good job. We got him."

The woman sighed in relief and her tense shoulders relaxed. A weight seemingly being lifted from her shoulders. "I'm glad, I was worried we wasted our chance."

She was about to leave again when her eyes landed on the person beside her supervisor

Seokjin had turned around to see who Hoseok was talking to behind his back.

And both grew stiff.

There she was, the woman with the full cheeks and dazzling eyes. Her waves pushed to one side, cascading down her shoulder softly as silk. Their bright shade contrasting the black fabric of her tight dress. Now without endless people surrounding them, he had a clearer view on her, seeing it reached only half her thighs, leaving a handwidth of skin between its hem and her overknee boots who added height to her rather petite physique. And he noticed the grip of a 9mm peaking out from one of them.

He watched her burgundy lips part then in shock, unable to avert her eyes from him either.

"The idiot," she eventually breathed, causing the sudden tension to dissolve abrubtly. And Seokjin scoffed amused. "Excuse me?"

She dismissed his question and instead glanced at Hoseok behind him. Only earning a confused glance back. "You two know each other?"

"This is the idiot who blocked my way!"

"Hey, wait a sec, I didn't do it on purpose!" Seokjin quickly defended himself, "Jimin pushed you onto me, so if someone blocked anyone's way it was you blocking mine."

Flustered at the unknown to her details on the incident, she folded her arms and looked away. "That- that wasn't my intention," she mumbled then with a small embarrassed huff.

The taller man sighed and mimicked her in a less serious manner. "Neither mine."

"Well," Hoseok began then in an attempt to change topics, "Agent Kim, how about you let me introduce you to the other agent Kim then?"

She frowned, looking Seokjin up and down. "You're an agent?"

He ignored her judging glare and flashed her a charming smile instead. In a way, he found her even more intriguing now than before. "Nice to meet you. And you are?"

Hoseok nudged his arm as he stepped beside him. "She's the one you talked to earlier. Agent Kim Yongsun."

"You-" His eyes grew, facing her again with a stunned expression. "You're 'Squirtle'?"

Yongsun unintentionally backed off, equally astonished. "You are 'Charmander'?"

This was the guy who also used Pokémon codenames like her? No way.

»»»

"Hey."

Yongsun averted her gaze from the waves beneath her, the wind brushing rather harshly against her bare skin. The ship was heading back to the harbour, all guests having been gathered back inside until arrival and she used the short length of time to enjoy the city lights in the distance sparkling like watercolour on its dark surface.

"H-hey."

She straightened herself when seeing Seokjin approaching her on the deck. He emerged from under the sparsely lit canopy with a timid smile on his lips. His dark brown hair pushed back by now, his forehead peaking behind a few loose strands. His tall figure came to an halt beside her then and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket that was casually left unbuttoned.

"I didn't think I'd find anyone here. You alright?"

"Yeah."

Oh, he did look like a deity – exuding the perfect balance of authority and charm.

Her breath hitched and she managed to give him a nod along with a hum through her folded lips. Focusing back at the crashing waves underneath.

Truth was, she was uncertain of how to face him again after the previous hour and perhaps also tried avoiding him by staying out there. After all, she'd called a department leader an idiot. It didn't matter that she'd found out - after asking around her team mates - that he was actually a year, almost two, younger than her. In the agency, he remained a senior agent to her.

Sure, she hadn't been aware of who he was in that moment and he'd also seemed taking the whole story with humour. Yet, she couldn't help feeling awkward and mortified in his vicinity. She couldn't even look him straight in the eyes anymore. Even if it didn't cause her trouble at work, it still remained an embarrassing memory and she felt her face heat up.

"Sorry again for earlier," she mumbled while grabbing onto the metal pole of the railing, in search for the right approach, "For.. for blocking your way and.. and also calling you an idiot."

He hummed and contemplated for a moment by tapping his finger against his chin. "Hm, thinking about it now.. I should probably get compensation for personal suffering. That 'idiot' really hurt, you know," he deadpanned, earning a quiet gasp from Yongsun.

She faced him with wide eyes, ready to argue when instead she met his amused grin. He was only joking. She relaxed and tucked away some streaks of hair the wind had swept in front of her eyes.

"You totally should," she laughed softly then.

"You wouldn't mind paying me compensation?"

"Who says that I'd be the one paying?"

"You were the one making me suffer after all," he countered.

She could only laugh out at his teasing smirk. "But wasn't it all the thief's fault in the end?"

"Hey, he wasn't the one calling me an idiot," he countered with raised brows. The fake upsetness on his face made her laugh even more. It was a loud, squeaky laugh and her eyes disappeared.

He smiled. She was cute and not intimidating at all. Hoseok had been right.

The friendly banter had calmed her previous nervousness. It was easy to get along with him which shouldn't be surprising considering he was friends with Hoseok, one of the nicest persons she knew.

But she remained firm in her stance. Arms folding in front of her chest then. "He was the one pushing me to you, though, so it's his fault really," she said. An almost cartoonish grin on her painted lips.

Much to her surprise, however, Seokjin's demeanor visibly softened at this. Eyes flickering over her round face before settling back to the illuminated skyline of Singapore. "Ah, but I don't mind that part so I can't hold it against him."

Her brows furrowed, feeling like she'd lost the thread. "Why not? I thought it prevented you from catching him."

He simply shrugged his broad shoulders. "I got to meet you this way, didn't I? So it wasn't all too bad."

The night was rather brisk out there on the open sea and yet Yongsun felt like standing at 32°C in the midday sun.

He was most definitely flirting with her, even if it was in a smooth subtle way. And the worst part was that she didn't mind.

Still, she decided not to make a big deal over a hot flush because literally anyone, even furniture, would get butterflies with this guy.

His eyes left the lights in the distance then, a timid smile dancing on his lips. "Sorry, was that inappropriate?" he asked bashfully considering her silence, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

She hadn't noticed how flustered she'd been and swallowed, clearing her throat when finding her composure again. "I'll let it slide," she said with as much nonchalance as she could fake in that moment, glancing briefly at him and noticing his blushing ears, "But only because we're in different departments and I won't have to fear favouritism."

"That's true. Although your teamlead is one of my best friends, so who knows.."

"Well, I'll trust that he won't do any."

He laughed lightly. "True, he wouldn't."

"You should be extra nice to the thief next time," she continued then, "You know, to thank him."

"Not that bad of an idea actually. I could crack less jokes when arresting him."

Propping her jaw on the palm of her hand, she glanced at him amused, the distant lights dancing in her eyes. And when she smiled in a way her teeth peeked a little through her lips, he could swear that he died, just a little bit, when she looked at him like that. Like he was the only man in the world. "You're a funny guy, aren't you?"

He breathed. "I try to at least."

Her gentle eyes wandered down to the sea again. The harbour shining clearer now as they drew closer. "You know," she spoke up, mischieviousness returning to her features, "I'm only apologising for the 'idiot', nothing more."

His brows knitted together. "Didn't you also apologise for blocking my way through?"

"Hm, I take it back since you said you didn't mind that."

Humming, he folded his hands and propped his elbows onto the railing. Neither one was a big deal for him and he'd found it rather funny how flustered she'd been once Hoseok had told her who he was. But he couldn't help it, he enjoyed teasing her over it.

"Mh, fair enough. I still forgive you for both though."

"Maybe I should've called you something worse then. Like douchebag or jerk," she mused with an arched brow only for her laugh to die down as soon as Seokjin leaned in. Narrowing the gap between them.

All of her pretend-confidence fell apart at the sudden proximity of their faces. Heaving a shaky breath, her eyes flickered to his plump lips which he noticed. And it took everything in him not to close the gap completely.

"You can call me whatever you like." His voice was deep and feathery, brushing over her flushed cheeks like a whisper only for her to hear. "But obviously not during work," he added with a laugh as he retreated, "That'd appear highly unprofessional. For both of us."

Taken aback, Yongsun watched him walking away, heading back inside without even giving her time to properly ponder over his words and their meaning.

"Wait!" She turned around abruptly. There was a lovely innocence in her round eyes. "What do you mean?"

Seokjin, however, only shrugged with an ambiguous smile. "Who knows." He opened the door then but before entering, he paused and faced her again. "You should also come inside. As beautiful as this dress is on you, it won't prevent you from catching a cold."

She frowned and looked down on her short dress. Only then she sensed the cool breeze surrounding them again. In all the time he'd been around she'd completely forgotten about the chillness out there.

"Uh, yeah. In a minute," she said, feeling her cheeks blushing over his, once again, subtle way of complimenting her.

He gave her a nod and disappeared through the door. Leaving Yongsun back on the dim-lit deck.

She couldn't quite figure out if the beauty of his lips was more their softness or their association with the words he spoke.

Scrunching her nose, she folded her arms on the railing, letting the wind gently tousle her blond waves. It was a pity that she began shivering now considering the beautiful view. Perhaps she should indeed get back inside before catching a cold, despite the urge to clear her mind even more after that anew intense accounter with him.

And she wondered, was it alright flirting with him like that? He might not even be in her department, but he was still another agent. And a higher-ranked one, too. Then again, he had done most of the work, really. She'd simply played along.

Shaking her head, a dry laugh left her tinted lips.

Either way, it wasn't like this would lead anywhere. They worked at different departments, on differents floors. Their paths most likely wouldn't cross again unless another joint operation happened.

And for some reason that realisation filled her with disappointment.

She wasn't usually the type of woman to feel easily attracted to men or even cared enough to give a second thought to them. But his kind eyes and enticing face did sparkle something in her. And the fact his male ego didn't seem hurt but rather took her earlier blunder with humour, was definitely a bonus point. Besides, he generally didn't seem to take himself too serious either. Both fatally opposite traits in most other men.

Yongsun was so lost in her thoughts, she didn't pay attention to the sound of the door opening again and someone stepping out. Only when fabric met her skin, wrapping around her shoulders and back, she realised she wasn't alone anymore and was ready to draw her gun when a soft laugh was heard.

"What a scaredy-cat," Seokjin teased and her eyes widened when seeing him standing there in nothing but his black button-up shirt. Her glance fell and she realised his suit jacket was drapped over her, instinctively grabbing its collar. She about to reject his offer, when meeting his warm smile.

"Thought it's better than nothing."

"T-thanks."

He gave her nod and turned around, returning to the door when he glanced at her over the shoulder. "You can return it next time we meet. I'll make sure it's soon, this is my favourite suit after all." And Yongsun's eyes widened when seeing a wink follow his words before he returned inside.

Stunned, her thoughts raced and tripped over each other.

They'd eventually meet again. Soon.

Her fingers unconsciously curled more, tightening their grip on the suit jacket.

She only hoped he was sincere. After all, she could tell he wasn't the kind of man a woman got a simple crush on. He was the kind of man you fell hard for, and the thought of that terrified her. She didn't want to fall hard for anyone at all, especially not a superior agent or someone who might not mean any of his words.

But she had always been a curious cat. And Seokjin definitely triggered her curiosity.

With a small huff, she slid her arms into the jacket. It was still warm from his body and it made her shudder. Burying her hands deep into its pockets.

Great, she thought.

Now she had a crush on her supervisor's best friend.

THE END

»»»

if you wanna know what happens to jin x yong, check out the other stories for more context and info!

💜check out the whole "thieves collection" series or my main bts masterlist for other members' stories in this universe or in general💜

Don't forget to like, reblog & leave feedback!♡ It motivates me to keep writing :)

43 notes · View notes

rederiswrites · 3 days ago

Note

What resources would you recommend for someone new to vegetable gardening? I'm in Zone 6 surrounded by Zone 5, and my initial web searching is overwhelming. I have a north-facing porch and I'm sure my dad will let me plant in his yard, though I might be fighting with the dahlia and lily bulbs that are already there.

Also, do you have any arguments I can make to my apt complex about why we should have a community garden?

Oh man this is always such a hard question, tbh, because there's so MUCH? You know? And I've been reading about this and studying it for like...since I was a teenager? But let's see.

First, the dahlias and lilies shouldn't be too aggressive, so there's that. And a north-facing porch won't give you much by way of tomatoes and peppers in your zone, but you can get loads of greens and herbs! Might be fun to maximize space with one of those super cool planting towers I've never had any excuse to get!

Over on Youtube Kevin Espiritu of Epic Gardening is really great. He's both very approachable and very rigorous about evidence based practice. Also fun and cute, so there's that. There are a lot of other gardening channels that come highly recommended but which I don't have any direct experience with. Hopefully someone else will jump in with more recs!

I just went and looked at my gardening bookshelf, and I'll be totally real with you, I remember reading most of them, and some of them made an impression on me, but none of them stand out as The Beginner Book. Like, Eliot Coleman's books are great for learning about season extension--which in your climate my well be something you want to learn about early on--but they're not specifically for beginners. Carol Deppe's The Resilient Gardener is a great book I should probably re-read, but it's specifically about gardening under adverse circumstances. Which, now that I say it, is also immediately relevant to a lot of people. Sigh. Anyway.

Oh I guess I am almost literally contractually obligated to prop for Master Gardeners and the Extension Service, which put out excellent, science-based regional information, such as when to start various plants in your area and how to address noxious weeds you're likely to encounter.

But to be honest I feel like I'm shit at answering this question!! So I am begging my many other gardening mutuals and followers to add their favorite resources, please!

#gardening

20 notes · View notes

ambiguous-avery · 18 days ago

Text

Chasing Shadows, Part 4

Dean Winchester x OC fem!Touched!Reader/You | WC: 6927

Summary: She’s never been afraid of the dark, not really. She’s more concerned about getting lost in it. He’s haunted by every dark deed he’s ever done. It’s constantly nipping at his heels like a hell hound. He’s her light in the dark, and she’s the one bit of darkness he’s willing to embrace.

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical violence, eventual romance, eventual smut, fluff and angst, POV alternating (sometimes a little all over the place), mutual pining, no beta we die like men

Disclaimer: The base concept of Touched comes from @aylacavebear and is used with permission. I’ve taken creative liberties with it.

A/N: I think this is the longest I have ever committed to a single story before in my life, and I am so excited to have others along this journey with me. I feel like in my short time here on Tumblr, I’ve learned so much more about writing and how to string words together in ways that people seem to enjoy. I think it’s safe to say that I have drawn a lot of inspiration from @godmadeaterribleerror for this part. If you haven’t read her work, I highly, highly recommend her. She is an amazing writer. Chasing Shadows Series Masterlist

You couldn’t remember the last time you had shared a bed with someone. So when you woke up with a heavy weight over you and warmth at your back, it was almost jarring. Almost. You stopped yourself from immediately pulling away and instead tried to will yourself to relax. Dean’s arm pinned you against him, your back pressed against his chest. After the initial wave over surprise had ebbed away, it was easier to melt against him, reveling in the closeness of another person. Life had been too hectic as of late, so finding a significant other hadn’t been high on your list of priorities. The right guy had never come along, and if his company wasn’t better than the peace and quiet you had in your own solitude, then there was no reason to keep him around. It didn’t quell the little rat of loneliness that gnawed at the edges of your self-esteem, though.

This though? The lonely rat was loving this.

Your eyes slid shut again, comfortable in the moment despite the spring digging into your side and the lump in the pillow that sat in just the wrong spot. You must’ve dozed off because when you came to again, Dean’s warmth was gone. Rolling into the spot where he had been, it was mostly cold. You frowned before sitting up and looking over at the other bed. Sam was gone, and the thought that you had been left behind roared to the forefront of your mind. You stumbled out of bed, nearly falling flat on your face when your foot got tangled in one of the blankets, and rushed to the window. Relief washed over you as you spotted the Impala still parked just outside of the room. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and physically felt the tension in the air lift.

A door squeaked on its hinges behind you, and you turned to find Dean stepping out from the bathroom, still fumbling with the buckle of his belt. You didn’t even try averting your gaze from watching the way his nimble fingers worked the leather through the metal.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” You heard the grin in his voice before you begrudgingly lifted your eyes to look at his face. “You get a bit cold last night?” he asked. When you tilted your head in question, he continued, “‘Cause you were all over me like I was your personal heater.” You weren’t sure how it was possible, but his smile seemed brighter than usual. And were those dimples? How had you missed those before? You blushed.

“Hey, I’m pretty sure that you were the one wrapped around me like some kind of octopus when I woke up this morning,” came your indignant response, although there was no real heat behind it. He laughed and walked towards the bed, briefly stopping to scoop up your keys from the floor. The light on them was flashing, and he clicked it off.

“Hey, I never said I was complaining. Pretty girl in my bed wants to cuddle? How could I say no?” You smiled. Ever the charmer, huh? You couldn’t say that you hated it, although it would likely get old sooner rather than later. Or maybe not. You couldn’t say for sure.

You gathered up some clothes from your suitcase you had pushed into the corner of the room and slipped into the bathroom to change. When you came out, Dean was seated on the edge of the bed the two of you had shared, your keys set on the bedside table right next to the obsidian pendant you had purchased. He picked it up.

“So, this is the kind of thing you like, huh?” he asked, turning the stone in his hands. A twinge of something you couldn’t name shot through you, and the urge to walk over and snatch it from him had you marching over to him before you caught yourself part way there and stopped. To try and save face, you held out your hand expectantly, waiting for him to hand it over rather than taking it from him.

“I dunno; I just kinda thought it was cool. And at five bucks, I figured it couldn’t hurt to pick it up.” That was the understatement of the year, but how were you supposed to tell him that something as simple as holding the pendant made you feel complete? That there had been a perfect crescent shaped hole in your very existence that you didn’t know you had until you wore the stone? That sounded like a good way to get Dean to turn around and drop you back at your house with no further questions. He dropped the necklace into your hand, and your fingers wrapped around it. The stone, despite having sat on the table the entire night, was warm, as though you had been wearing it the entire time. You moved to pull the necklace over your head but paused.

When you had done that last night, you had been whisked off to the Void without meaning to, and you weren’t sure you wanted a repeat of that visit. At least, you didn’t think you wanted a repeat. What exactly had happened was still hazy in your mind. You vaguely remembered someone or something there with you which was a first. It had spoken to you, and the words it had said were on the tip of your tongue but they wouldn’t fully form. You knew that when you Walked, your whole body went to the Void, leaving no physical form behind until you re-emerged. Dean hadn’t mentioned anything about you disappearing into the shadows which made you think that your trip to the Void had only been mental. If you had actually gone there.

Sam and Dean had mentioned a spirit attached to an item, and you could put two and two together. Could there be a spirit attached to the necklace? Part of you wanted to bring it up to Dean. But another, much louder, part of you vehemently argued against the idea. If there was something bad about the necklace, then the brothers would likely take it and destroy it, and the thought of that did not sit well with you. You would just add it to your list of things to research when you got access to their library.

You tugged the necklace on and tucked it beneath your shirt, thankful when there were no impromptu trips to the Void. You and Dean slipped into idle small talk, and you realized that this was the first ‘normal’ conversation you had had with Dean since meeting him two days prior. The last 48 hours had been packed with so many new experiences that it left you reeling when you really thought about it. You had met this man two days ago, and you were already road-tripping with him and his brother. And you thought people in romcoms moved fast... Dean only gave surface answers to your ‘get to know you’ questions, telling you that hunting was a ‘family business’, and he and his brother had been at this for several years. Before you could delve into anything too deep, Sam came back into the room, a brown paper bag in his arms.

“Got some breakfast.”

When you had been promised a library of information about supernatural creatures, your mind had jumped to the mental image of floor-to-ceiling shelves with books packed all along them in a room tucked away in a large Disney-esque mansion. This wasn’t what you had pictured. The library was no less cozy or comfortable looking, though, and even though you didn’t have your Disney princess amount of books, you were certain that there was enough information in the room to keep you busy for a long while.

Their homebase – the bunker, they called it – was a large, cold-war era industrial-looking complex with winding hallways and all sorts of older looking furnishings. Sam motioned down one of the hallways with doors lining the sides.

“Take your pick,” he said. “Dean’s in 11, and I’m in 21. But all the others are vacant. They’re all identical, but you’re welcome to look through them.” You still peeked into each one of the rooms, not because you doubted what Sam said, but rather because you were curious to explore. Like he had promised, each of them had the same bed, desk, and bedside table in them, with the only variation being where they were in relation to the door. After a short deliberation, you settled on room 16, placing yourself comfortably between their rooms, at least numerically. In practice, the bunker’s layout wasn’t quite as straightforward, and your room physically was closer to Dean’s. But only by a bit. You tossed your suitcase onto the bed, figuring that you would have plenty of time later to unpack before you left and met back up with the brothers.

Dean took it upon himself to give you the grand tour, and you were thankful for it because you were likely going to get very lost in the identical hallways and various doors and rooms. The bunker seemed to have everything. A gun range, a garage full of old cars – was that a 1967 Ford Mustang Fastback? – a kitchen, and the “war room” as Dean called it. Hell, there was even a hidden dungeon with a single chair in it. Dean seemed quite keen on you stepping into the weird symbol drawn onto the ground before moving onto the next room. By the time you made it back to the library, Sam had piled a few books onto one of the tables.

“There’s no rush, but I pulled the books I could think of that had to do with shadow creatures, night creatures, and things that are generally associated with the dark.” He sounded like a kid in a candy store, almost immediately diving into the way the library was sorted when you matched his enthusiasm. Somewhere within these walls had to be the answer you were looking for. It was just going to take some digging. You cracked open the first book. The text was tiny with near illegible handwriting in the margins. You frowned. Correction: this was going to take a lot of digging.

The first week at the bunker took some getting used to. It was clear that the boys weren’t used to having someone of feminine persuasion living in their shared space, at least not Dean. Sam had shared an apartment with a girlfriend of his years ago, although he seemed reluctant to talk about it beyond that. You had walked in on several of Dean’s late night fridge raids when he was clad only in his boxers, and his flushed cheeks and uncharacteristic sheepishness told you that he hadn’t meant for you to see him like that. You learned that Sam had a habit of going on morning runs, and, figuring that you didn’t have anything better to do now that you didn’t have a job, you asked if you could join him.

That had turned out to be another mistake.

Sam had long legs which meant that every one of his strides equaled about two of yours. And he had the benefit of having done this for who knows how long before you came to the bunker. After the first day, you had decided that you were going to give yourself a break and take it easy on the research. You would’ve told Sam that you probably weren’t going to join him for any more runs except that he seemed so genuinely happy to have a running buddy. You didn’t have it in you to take that away from him, so you resigned yourself to a new morning routine. Mercifully, Sam slowed down a bit in the following days.

Getting to know the brothers was fun in its own right. They each had their own quirks, of course, but the more time you spent with them, the more you saw the similarities they shared. Sam was the booksmart one, and Dean was more hands on. Between long bouts of research in the library with Sam – occasionally Dean joined in the research too – you spent quite a bit of time with Dean. Sometimes he would teach you things about guns at the range. He would take up a spot right behind you, leaned in close and chest pressed against your back as he would nudge your foot into the right spot for balance. His hands would sit over top of yours, and he would help you aim with the iron sights. Other times, you would sit with Dean in the garage while he worked on the Impala – you learned her name was Baby – and listen to music. It consisted almost entirely of just classic rock. You had heard almost all of the songs he played, but you couldn’t always name them.

“This one’s easy. It’s Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song,” you said as the familiar guitar riff played through the speaker.

“Thank god you know Led Zeppelin. I think I would’ve had to kick you out if you didn’t,” he said, glancing over at you as he wiped his greasy hands on a rag.

“Oh please, you wouldn’t do that. I’m way too cute to be kicked out of here.” You stuck your tongue out at him playfully as he shook his head, a light smile playing on his lips. He went back to what he was doing, tossing the rag to the side while he ducked back under Baby’s open hood. He was sweaty and greasy, but you found that it was kind of endearing. He put a lot of effort into making sure Baby was well taken care of. You wondered if he was like that with women he cared about. You could definitely see it in the way he seemed to watch over Sam like a hawk. After a bit, the song changed to another familiar tune you had definitely heard before.

“Okay, what’s this one?” he asked, continuing your guys’ game. You listened closely, knitting your brows together in thought as a piano started playing. You knew it. The song title was rattling around somewhere in the back of your mind, but you couldn’t quite pull it. As the song dipped into the hook, you perked up.

“Ooh, it’s, uh,” you snapped your fingers. It was right there on the tip of your tongue. “It’s the car part cryptid song!” you blurted out. Dean stopped what he was doing, dip stick only half pulled out, and turned to look at you, his expression more confused than you had ever seen him before.

“Car part cryptid?” he repeated slowly, looking at you like you had just grown a second head.

“Yeah! Baba O’Riley!” You grinned triumphantly as the song name rolled off your tongue. Dean’s confusion didn’t waver. Your grin faltered. “Y-you know... Baba like a baba yaga and O’Riley like the auto parts store?” As your explanation sank in, Dean simply sighed and shook his head again, all dimples.

“Why does that make so much sense?” he asked, chuckling to himself as he returned to his work. “Car part cryptid...” you heard him mumble under his breath.

You and Dean had circled each other the entire time you adjusted to living at the bunker, exchanging flirty remarks and quips here and there, but it never seemed to go any further. Neither of you brought up sharing the bed in the motel, and there hadn’t been any offers of a repeat from either party. The initial lust and attraction hadn’t faded, at least not from you. Rather it had been tempered into something more solid. More tangible. Something that could’ve served as a foundation for an actual friendship that was more than just sex. Maybe even a relationship, if that was in the cards. You weren’t going to hold your breath for it. A friendship would be enough. If that’s all he wanted to offer, it was all you would take.

In the middle of the third week of your stay at the bunker, Sam had called Dean into the War Room, stating that he had found a case several hours north in Nebraska. Just like the ghost in the small town you had stopped at on the way here, you were relegated to stay at the bunker where it was safe.

“But I’ve been learning so many different things! It’s not like last time,” you had argued.

“We’re teaching you these things so you know how to keep yourself safe. Not so you can join in on the fray. Leave the monsters to us, sweetheart,” Dean had said. You pouted, but he didn’t budge on his decision. As you watched the Impala rumble out of the garage, you decided that your new goal – how many did you have now? – was to become competent enough to join them on a hunt.

Your search for an answer about yourself had hit dead end after dead end. None of the books Sam had set out had anything remotely close to what you potentially were. Anything that had shadow walking abilities didn’t also have the ability to heal and vice versa. It was frustrating, constantly beating your head against a wall with nothing to show for it. You tossed the book you had onto the table and pushed your chair away from it, the legs scraping against the bunker’s wooden flooring. You were getting nowhere. You blew out an exasperated breath, your fingers unconsciously finding the crescent moon pendant you wore. You had made no headway on finding answers, and the strange experience you had had when leaving the pawn shop was little more than a whisper of a memory. You were ready to go crazy if you spent another hour staring at a book.

It was time for something different.

The boys had been gone for the entire rest of the week and part way into the next, and with each passing day, it had gotten harder and harder to focus on keeping your mind occupied. Their safety was a constant concern, and you spent more than a couple nights laying awake in your bed imagining horrible scenarios involving whatever creature you had read about most recently. They had been courteous enough to send you a text or two each day, updating you that they were still alive and that they’d be back as soon as the hunt was over, but it was incredibly lonely and quiet in the bunker without them. You had even begun missing morning runs with Sam. You had tried keeping the routine a couple of times, but without someone to hold you accountable, there was no motivation to get up early and run.

Instead, you had spent the better part of the week getting a much better grasp on the limitations of your shadow walking. You had replaced the battery in your light on your keys several times, and the more you Walked, the more confident you became with it. Previously, it had been like jumping into a pool with both feet every time you Stepped into the void. But as you practiced, it became more like a gentle wade into the shadows. You found that you could move through the bunker in the shadows the same way you could in your home, but you were unable to cross the bunker’s threshold in the shadows. With your light flashing just beyond the open door to the bunker, you had tried moving into it but found yourself stopped by some sort of invisible barrier. Concerned that you might have locked yourself out of the safe house, you exited the shadows and were relieved to find that you could still physically enter without issue. Sam had told you that the bunker was warded from just about everything, and no creature or entity could enter through supernatural means. Apparently, that included your Shadow Walking.

There were all sorts of different weapons in the bunker, and you had tested just about everything with a sharp edge, thinking that if you could find something you couldn’t heal from, then that might help in narrowing down what you were. The search hadn’t proved fruitful though. You tried a few different knives you found, one of the axes in the library, and even went so far as to try a couple of the paring knives in the kitchen. None of them left a lasting mark, and you cursed having put yourself through the pain for nothing. When you read the same sentence for the fourth time and still didn’t comprehend the words, it was your sign that you needed to put the book down and call it a day on the research. Another day with no progress. You were way past just being sick of it. You needed something that was mind-numbing in a different way.

It was a short trek back to your room, and you popped in one of the DVDs Dean had insisted that you needed to watch. Westerns had never been your go-to genre, but Dean liked them. You couldn’t really say you had ever given them a fair chance, so you owed it to yourself to at least give it a try. You dozed off within the first twenty minutes of the movie. Your phone’s ping woke you, and the clock on it read 9:43pm.

Not dead, on our way back. ETA 2 hours

Sam’s text was a relief to see. You were about ready to go stir crazy if you had to spend another day completely alone in the bunker. You had grown so used to having them around that their absence almost felt like you were missing a limb. You took a quick wake-up shower and were already in the garage when the Impala rolled in. Your excitement over seeing them was cut short when they stepped out of the car. Dean’s jacket was half shredded, and he had several cuts across his face, chest, and arms, and it looked like one eye was swollen shut. Sam had a busted lip and walked with a limp. Your eyes dropped down to a blood stained bandage wrapped just below his knee.

“Oh my god, what happened?” Dean tucked himself under Sam’s arm on his good side and helped support him.

“Rough night,” Dean said. You thought he might have been trying for his signature smile that always made your stomach flutter, but it was tainted by a grimace as they progressed further into the bunker.

“I’ll meet you guys in the infirmary,” you said, darting to the kitchen and grabbing a bowl. As you stepped into the infirmary, your jaw practically hit the floor. Dean had his back to you as he helped Sam up onto the blue medical bed. “You drove all the way back here with that?” There were claw marks that dragged from his shoulder blade across his back and disappeared below the waistband of his jeans.

“It’s not as bad as it looks. You fix up Sammy, and I’ll have him stitch me back together,” Dean’s tone was nonchalant, but you had picked up over the weeks that Dean didn’t like to let on whenever he was hurting. This was likely no different.

“Oh no you don’t. Neither of you are leaving this room until I’m done with you.” And it was your turn to put your foot down. You had read through a medical textbook on and off during your research time, learning how to properly identify and dress wounds. Initially, you had questioned Sam why you would ever need that knowledge if you could just bleed into whatever wound he or Dean had and solve the issue. Sam had insisted it was good knowledge to have regardless of super healing abilities, and you had to admit that you were starting to understand why.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean affirmed, surprising you with his compliance.

You held your hand over the glass bowl, blood dripping down your fingers as you squeezed and pushed more blood out of the wound before it closed up. You cleaned Sam’s leg wound with a damp cloth and rubbing alcohol before dipping your thumb in the bowl and swiping your blood over the deep gash that had torn through his calf. He grunted through gritted teeth as you repeated it twice more, each pass encouraging the skin and muscle to knit back together. After the fourth time, the wound had disappeared, leaving fresh, slightly pink skin in its wake.

“Do you want...?” you motioned to Sam’s busted lip, and he shook his head.

“I’m good. Thank you.” He tested his leg, bending and unbending it a couple of times. When he was confident about it, he got off the medical bed, tentatively placing his weight on his leg. “Still sore,” he reported, “but way better than it was. Thank you, again.” You nodded before turning to Dean who seemed transfixed by watching you mend Sam with ease.

“Alright, you’re up next, you big, bad hunter.”

“Oh, I’m good,” he waved you off with a hand. “You don’t gotta bleed for me, sweetheart.”

“Nu-uh. I said you’re not leaving, and I meant it. Get on the bed or so help me God I will strap you to it.”

“Ooh, kinky.” He quirked his eyebrows up suggestively, and you pinched the bridge of your nose. Sam excused himself from the room with a quiet,

“I’m just gonna let you two be.”

“Just get up there,” you ordered, pointing at the bed. “Sam, can you grab a bag of frozen peas?” you called after him, still hearing his retreating footsteps. He made a vague affirmative noise somewhere down the hall.

Dean relented and seated himself on the bed. You looked him over, mentally cataloging his injuries.

“I think it would be better if you took off what’s left of your jacket and shirt for this,” you said softly. Blood soaked both garments, and they were likely going out with the trash in the upcoming week. There wasn’t much of a chance to save them.

“First demanding that I get on the bed, and now you’re telling me to strip? Careful, sweetheart. Keep this up and I might think you’re into me.” Despite his teasing, Dean moved to obey. When he tossed his shirt and jacket onto the bed, your strictly medical gaze slipped. Even bloodied and cut up, Dean looked good. Hunting clearly kept him in shape, and while you had felt his body pressed against yours before, it felt like a completely different ball game seeing him like this.

If Dean caught you staring, he didn’t say anything. You grabbed a new cloth and dipped it in the warm water you had prepared, setting about cleaning each one of the cuts across his skin. There was a tattoo over his left pec, and you were pretty sure you had seen the symbol in one of the books you read through. Which one exactly eluded you at the moment, though. Sam returned with the bag of peas partway through you cleaning the blood from the wounds on Dean’s back, and Dean pressed the bag against his swollen eye. Sam said a quiet good night, and you paused in your treatment of Dean to give Sam a hug.

“Maybe let’s skip tomorrow’s morning run?” you said, looking up at him. He smiled, briefly squeezing you back.

“Yeah, I think I can afford to take a day off.”

You methodically worked your way up Dean’s arms, painting blood over each and every individual cut and wiping away the excess with another clean cloth. Your fingers trailed over his cuts for medical purposes and ran over the veins of his forearm for more selfish desires. It was oddly intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. When you had helped him with his wounds from the vampire, you had seen him shirtless then as well. But this time, Sam wasn’t there as a sort of buffer, and there was more for you to mend. You could feel Dean watching you work, and you tried not to squirm under the weight of it. Could he see through you? It felt like he could. Felt like he could see the way your heart skipped a beat when he looked at you or the way your fingers dragged against his skin longer than they needed to. When you moved to his back, you were thankful for the weight of his heavy gaze lifting. When you brushed your thumb along the first deep cut on his back, Dean sucked in a sharp breath. You immediately pulled your hand back, fearing that you might have hurt him, but he urged you to continue with a soft,

“Sorry, I’m good.” You took your time with each laceration, starting with the top one and working your way down with care. Up close, you could see that there were freckles dotted across his back, and you endeavored to memorize all of them. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and your fingers lingered on him for seconds longer, not willing to let the moment be over so quickly. When you reached the lowest wound, the one that dipped beneath his waistband, you hesitated.

“This last one goes a little lower,” you said. Dean looked at you over his shoulder.

“Is this you telling me that I need to lose my pants too?”

You had managed to tamp down your embarrassment up until this point in the name of stitching Dean up. However, his comment broke through the paper thin wall you had put up, and you jerked your hand away from him.

“Wha- no, you d- that’snotwhatImeant!” Despite your floundering, you heard the distinct sound of metal clinking as Dean made quick work of his belt. To your relief, though, rather than discarding his pants entirely, he slid the back of them down enough to reveal the last bit of the claw mark that ended just above the cleft of his ass. You swallowed and took a steadying breath as you worked on the last wound. As your fingers dragged along the length of it, your blood working its magic and encouraging the skin to repair itself, you couldn’t help but notice two dimples that mirrored each other on his lower back. They were subtle, but as your fingers ghosted over them, you felt the slight dip of them. They were adorable.

And now you were always going to think about Dean Winchester’s lower back dimples when he smiled.

“Okay, I think that’s the worst of it. Did you want me to get the ones on your face?” You stepped around the bed to face him and impressed yourself with your ability to string together a coherent sentence with thoughts of his well toned back dancing in your mind. Dean set the bag of peas on the bed next to him. The swelling of his eye seemed to have gone down some, but it would likely take another day or so before it was fully back to normal. You weren’t sure if your healing abilities extended to swelling like that, and if they did, you didn’t have the faintest idea of how you would apply your blood to it.

“Nah, you’ve done more than enough, sweetheart. Thank you,” he said your name earnestly. There was a warmth in his voice that you hadn’t heard before, and it spread through you, enveloping you like a blanket. You clung to it.

“Of course, Dean. Anytime.” And you meant it. Wounds were something you could fix, and you were more than willing to help either brother if it was within your skillset. There was a beat of silence between you. “Anyway, it’s late, and I’m sure you’re exhausted. You should get some rest.” You set about discarding the cotton balls and gauze you had used.

“What, Sam gets a good night hug, and I don’t?” You met his gaze, and there was a curious half-smile tugging one side of his lips upwards, though it wasn’t enough for the small divet in his cheek to show. It almost seemed bashful in nature.

You wiped your hand on the cloth you held before moving to stand in front of him, right between his slightly parted legs. You didn’t miss the way both ends of his belt rested against his thighs or his unzipped fly or the dark color of his boxers peeking out from beneath the denim. You’d stay here forever if he asked it of you. Had you missed your chance with him? Did you even have a chance in the first place? Flirty Dean seemed to be a default setting, if the way he interacted with the cashier at the corner store was anything to go off of. He probably had women falling for him left and right, and you were just another casualty. Dean pulled you into his arms and out of your thoughts, and instinctively, you returned the hug, soaking in his heat and closeness. This would be enough for you. You felt him take a breath in like he was going to say something, but he hesitated and instead you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head.

“Good night, Dean. Welcome back.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

Dean groaned as he rolled his shoulder, trying to loosen the uncomfortable tightness there. He kicked the door to the shower room closed behind him before stripping down and stepping under the hot spray. It felt good to be back. The motel showers couldn’t compare to the bunker’s, and returning to the motel room that didn’t have you there had sparked a strange feeling of disappointment in him that he wasn’t prepared to face. Nevermind that he had foregone staying a final night in the town before driving back to the bunker. He hadn’t admitted to Sam that he had been chomping at the bit to get back to the bunker. To you. And watching you take care of Sam without a second thought did things to him long before your hands had even touched him. When that had happened, he wasn’t expecting just how tender you would be with him. He was used to Sam’s terse “suck it up”s and “you’ve had worse; this is nothing”s. You hadn’t said any of that. You had taken care of him. Hell, you bled for him and Sam. Again. And he hadn’t needed to ask. Not that he ever would have. He didn’t want to ask anything of you because everything he wanted felt like it was more than you would be willing to give.

But he already had asked.

You had momentarily stopped focusing on him to give Sam a hug before he turned in for the night, but when you were done patching him back together, you had been so ready to dismiss him without so much as a pat on the back. The fact that he had to ask for a hug when you had freely given one to Sam? That stung a bit. More than a bit. How sad was that? A girl showed him a little bit of kindness, and he was jealous that he had to ask for a hug. But he hadn’t been ready to give up that modicum of physical touch you had given him.

And he had almost slipped up a second time in the next breath. Almost asked you to stay with him for the night. Almost asked for too much. Instead, he tucked it all into a neat little gift and left it with you in a kiss. If there were a god out there that gave a shit about him, then maybe they’d whisper to you in your sleep and you would deign to give him another one of your brilliant, unburdened smiles or touch him again with hands that were soft and untainted by the horrors of the world.

Dean swore he could still feel the echoes of your touch on his skin. Did you know? Did it feel the same when your wounds sealed up? Did your skin tingle with a soothing warmth as a cut stitched back together the same way his had? Did you feel the same rush that shot through him whenever you dragged a finger over him, leaving nothing short of a miracle behind with every touch? He doubted it. If he understood it right, you had grown up with your healing ability which meant it was as natural as breathing was for you. What would you do when you had your answer? A hunter’s life wasn’t for you. You deserved a normal, safe life with a partner and kids if that was what you wanted. Surely once you had your answer, you would leave. Once your curiosity was sated, there wouldn’t be any other reason for you to stay. So he would just have to cherish however much time he had left with you.

When Dean stepped out of the shower and pulled on a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants, he spotted a familiar looking stone sitting on the counter. He picked it up, running his thumb run over the smooth suface of the crescent. It was warm in his hand, likely from the heat of the steam from his shower, and as he turned it over in his palm, it thrummed against his skin. His immediate instinct was to throw it against the opposite wall. In his experience, nothing good ever came from an object that did something when it was picked up. Against his better judgement, though, he didn’t. You had had the necklace for weeks, and there hadn’t been any strange occurrences or any change in your demeanor that set off alarm bells in his head. It didn’t rule out the possibility of something playing the long game, but Dean had seen the way you kept it close like a security blanket. He couldn’t justify destroying it on little more than a wild assumption.

He gathered up his belongings and dropped them off in his room before continuing down the hall to the closed door marked ‘16.’ He knocked, waited for a few moments, then knocked again. You didn’t answer, and he should’ve just left it at that. He should’ve been happy with all the attention and care you had already given him tonight. But he was selfish and weak. So he didn’t do what he should have done.

Dean quietly pushed the door to your room open, thankful when the hinges were silent and didn’t betray his entrance. He spotted your flashing keys on the bedside table, and he couldn’t stop from smiling as he realized that he hadn’t had a chance to show you what he had picked up while on the hunt. He was certain that you’d smile when you saw it. Sam hadn’t let him live it down when he saw it attached to Baby’s keys. You were laying on your side, facing the door, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder just how you managed to sleep with flashing lights in your face. It was probably another thing you had just done for as long as you remembered. At least after you had gotten lost the first time.

He couldn’t help himself. Dean stared at your sleeping form, mesmerized by the way the shadows created by your light danced across your face. It was as though they had a mind of their own and seemed to fall in just the right way to accentuate your features. Your expression was so peaceful as you slept. Not an ounce of a hunter’s instinct keeping you with a foot in the waking world in case something happened. He wanted to keep it that way. If he had it his way, you would never lose sleep worrying about being attacked in the middle of the night. He had made a promise to keep you safe, and he intended to keep it.

Dean pulled your necklace from the pocket of his pants and froze on the spot when he saw it. The pendant gave off a soft glow. It wasn’t bright or vibrant, though. It was more akin to a black light. The glow was dark, almost purple in appearance. Had it been doing that when he found it in the showers? A sense of unease crept into the back of his mind as he moved to hold the necklace by the braided leather cord rather than the pendant itself just in case. As it dangled from his fingers, he eyed it carefully, half expecting something more to happen. He sprinted back to his room, grabbing for the gun beneath his pillow, and when he looked back at the crescent moon, the glowing had stopped. Just to be doubly sure, he turned off the light in his room.

Still no glow.

He took slow, deep breaths as he eyed the necklace, waiting for something – anything – to happen. Nothing did. He walked back towards your room, watching all the while. When he crossed the threshold of your room, the glow was back. And when he dared to stand beside your bed, the glow was at its brightest. He needed Castiel to give him answers because Dean couldn’t in good conscience let you keep wearing it without knowing what it was doing. He muttered a quiet apology before leaving and closing the door behind him, the leather cord of the necklace wrapped around his hand.

---

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Taglist: @wendichester @jacxx2

Want to join the taglist? Ask away!

Part 3 --- Part 5

#No use of Y/N #canon-typical violence #eventual romance #eventual smut #fluff and angst #no beta we die like men #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural x reader #reader insert #X reader #jensen ackles characters #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic series #chasing shadows

19 notes · View notes

okay-babe · 11 months ago

Note

Hiya Dot! Sorry for the random ask but I am so in love with your writing that it single-handedly got me into this accursed fandom, and now I'm wondering where to start with other authors. Do you happen to have any fic or author recs??

Hi there, anon! I'm so glad you asked because I definitely have some author/fic recs that I'm more than happy to share with you/anyone else who comes across this post!

Before we begin though, shout out to all of the people I mention below! I hope none of you mind being tagged/linked but let me know if you do and I'll remove everything asap :)

1. Starting off strong, we have the amazing @jyoongim! She's been my mutual since I think like day one or two of me creating this account, and I honestly cannot think of anyone more kind or welcoming. Plus, their writing is amazing! Like genuinely so good, I cannot recommend her highly enough. 2. Also, if you're into smut, I am always utterly baffled at the quality of @hazelfoureyes' work. Like, as someone on the ace spectrum, I can say very firmly that sometimes, I don't want to read smut, but even so, I will always read a new post from Hazel when I see it because they're just so well written that I simply cannot wait lol. Plus, their sense of humor is just *chef's kiss*. Love them, truly. (Note: I used they/them here because I don't know Hazel's pronouns, but if anyone does and they aren't gn feel free to let me know and I'll edit this post asap) 3. Additionally, if you like headcannon style writing @a-hazbin-reader is incredible. I've spent actual hours on her page just reading through some of the absolute art she posts there, and it is always a treat. Plus her interactions with her readers are usually either hilarious or incredibly sweet/kind, so it's a good time all around.

As for story/specific fic recommendations, I do have a few of those too!

1. The Deer Dolly series by @ohproserpine (Genuinely incredible writing and a killer story line). 2. You & Me for the worst eternity to come by Notafraidtosimp on AO3 (Definitely not your typical x reader series, but I love everything about it and would never forgive myself if I didn't use this opportunity to share it with everyone). 3. The Partners in Death... and Life series by @safination (This might just be my favorite Alastor series I have ever read, the writing is incredible and I simply cannot recommend it highly enough). 4. Even Death Can Never Part Us by JuliaRobHURTS on AO3 (This is an amazing ongoing long-fic that makes me gasp audibly every time I see that there's been an update. The way the characters are written is utter perfection every time).

I definitely forgot some amazing fics/authors here in my haste to get this posted before class, so everyone should feel more than welcome to comment some other recs if they want to! <3

#.talks #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #.recs

83 notes · View notes

shitouttabuck · 1 year ago

Note

Do you have any buddie fic recommendations for me? Sweet fluffy smutty idc I need something good 🥺

hiya! these are some of my faves off the top of my head and you’ve probably read most of them and if you’re like. nina. these are eighty percent fics by your mutuals. well i BECAME pals with them by adoring their writing and bullying my way into their lives about it <3

stitch my soul 30.5k by @onward--upward (soulmates au that genuinely changed my whole life i think about it daily—fair warning it’s a little heartachey, but in the best way)

it’s nice to have a friend 6.4k by @colonoscopys (a little domesticity i love this with my whole heart it’s so soft and sweet)

drench yourself in words unspoken 26k by @eddiediazes (everything is the same except eddie secretly writes romance novels and i reread this like once a month it makes me so happy)

the side effects of eating too many clementines 3k by @forthewolves (idk what to even say, no one writes love like amanda writes love, it’s a bigger-than-your-chest kind of feeling)

(this kiss is) something i can't resist 7.9k by @clusterbuck (family curse where eddie has to kiss his true love in one year or he’ll die, i laughed so much, EXACTLY the kind of romcom shit with a side of ridiculous i adore)

growing sideways 3k by @housewifebuck (extremely evan buck buckley is christopher diaz’s parent and you WILL cry about it)

left your mark on this heart 5.8k by @anxieteandbiscuits (buck thinks he has post-lightning heart complications but he’s just That stupid in love)

slip like freudian 4.4k by @jeeyuns (eddie diaz gets jinxed and is Extremely entertaining about it)

sundae kind of love 18k by @rewritetheending (okay this was the first morgan fic i ever read—and maybe one of the First buddie fics i read actually—and i think about the pier scene all the time! au where buck works at an ice cream shop by the beach)

maybe fall in love 1.8k by @try-set-me-on-fire (brick’s writing is just. unfailingly gorgeous but also 8 out of 10 times the most devastating thing you’ll ever read so this is a sweet, minimal emotional damage first kiss one???)

there’s always been a rainbow hangin’ over your head 8.7k by @alyxmastershipper (just the heartwarmingest of coming outs feat. the mug of my dreams. so so soft)

i think it’s my body wanting it the most by @transboybuckley (post-date that they’re not sure is a date, this is under a thousand words and i could not stop beaming i come back to it all the damn time)

you shaped this heart of mine 5k by justhockey (i haven’t reread this because it was such an enormous ache—in a good way—when i read it the first time, but god. god i love it so much. domestic sickfic)

i’ll scrawl it on every wall i see 29k by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (loosely a you’ve got mail au???? which is simply my favourite romcom in the whole world. this is so fucking funny as is everything they write and i adore it)

there ain’t language for the things i feel 1.8k by calvingseason (eddie buys buck a plant at the farmers market it is. so unbelievably soft)

i’ve almost certainly forgotten a bunch of faves so let me trawl through my bookmarks later and round some more up!!!!! highly rec ALL of these guys’ fics though SOME OF YOU are hell bent on breaking my heart these days and anon asked for “sweet. fluffy. smutty” and not hole-in-chest-in-shape-of-author's-fist, so

#ask #anon #fic rec #so much new fic to read but so many golden faves i wanna REREAD..... waugh

156 notes · View notes

notsoattractivearenti · 1 year ago

Text

Goodbye, Summer (Christian Pulisic x Reader)

Song Inspo: Summer Love - One Direction (listening to the song while reading is highly recommended!)

WC: 2.7K

Warnings: cursing, angst

A/N: after a few months i finally finished this fic!!! this is my first christian angst it felt kinda strange to write one for him lol and just so y'all know i haven't been able to write angst with a happy ending so, be aware. and the start of the ‘summer love’ is a lot different than usual hopefully not too weird for your liking tho. also this wasn't proofread, sorry if this turns out to be shit. anw hope you guys enjoy and i’d love to hear your thoughts thru ask/reply/reblog 💗 apologies for any grammatical errors! feedbacks are highly appreciated 🤍

–

“Cause you were mine for the summer

Now we know it's nearly over

Feels like snow in September

But I always will remember”

—

Summer has come to an end. Well, technically summer hasn’t ended yet – but Christian had to move to Italy and this move wasn’t exactly planned but quite expected – so yeah, to me, summer is about to end. And the moment Christian hops on the plane, there goes my summer of love. It was fun while it lasted – though I wish it would never end.

Christian told me he was leaving just a few days prior. He had been back to the States two days after the end of the Premier League season and ever since we had been spending the summer together. I knew this was coming as we agreed we would only be together for the summer but I didn’t think it would be this hard.

—

I met him through a mutual friend last year when he was briefly in Florida to visit his family and friends for Christmas. I still had a boyfriend at the time – even though my relationship ended the very next day, it was already broken to begin with – so we became strictly friends and I had no intentions on dating him. Jokes on me, because I had caught feelings for him but I was so wounded by the heartbreak I wasn’t even aware of it. He did catch feelings too, though he thought I needed time to process the breakup so confessing his feelings wouldn’t be appropriate.

I didn’t want a serious relationship for a while – or so I thought – therefore I didn’t even think of dating since my last one. Christian and I would sometimes text each other, but it wasn’t a constant thing. We hadn’t really seen each other in person since because of the distance, but I watched every match he played and usually texted him to give my support before the match.

One night within the second week of May, he told me by text that he was going back to Florida for summer break and looking forward to spending the rest of the summer with me. I thought to myself: why would he spend his short break with me? I responded to him by asking why just me and not his friends and family, hoping he would say something funny and odd like he always does and instead he said something I didn’t see coming.

“Because I like you and I want to be with you.”

My heart stopped the second I saw that text. Christian… Likes me? My goodness, what an oblivious idiot I had been. I was deeply wounded by my past I didn’t see what was going on in front of me the whole time. I didn’t know what else to say and I accidentally left his text on read that night.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“I’ve freaked you out haven’t I? Fuck I’m sorry!!!”

Oh shit. I woke up to those unread messages from Christian – I just remembered I hadn’t texted him back last night. I immediately tried to reply but as my thumbs touched the screen to type, no words came to mind. I honestly didn’t know how to react, if I tell him I’m not looking for a relationship would it hurt him?

“I…”

“Christian…”

“If you want a relationship, I don’t know if I’m the right person for you…”

I locked my phone screen right after I sent those messages. I hoped I wasn’t being too harsh to him, but being put in this position was so overwhelming and I didn’t know what else to say. I just… I wasn’t ready. And I couldn’t tell when I would be. Not to mention he lives thousands of miles away from me and I didn’t think I could handle the distance.

An hour later, I finally heard back from Christian.

“I get it and I respect that.”

“What if we just… Be together for the summer?”

“We don’t have to think about what’s gonna happen after. Just be in the moment… You and me.”

I gave that idea of his a thought – a not-so-long thought because I was assuming I didn’t have enough time. I’d admit, while I found it interesting, I couldn’t help but wonder: would it be worth it? Would someone get hurt at the end?

Before the day ended, I finally made up my mind.

“Okay. I’m in…”

“But just for the summer.”

“And only if nobody is gonna get hurt.”

—

When he arrived, I was the one who picked him up at the airport. We absolutely spent our summer together everyday – there wasn’t a day that went by without him by my side and vice versa. He invited me to spend some time with his family and friends on their boats, and I had him spending time with mine on either the beach or my family’s home.

We were well aware we only had each other for the summer, thus we made sure every moment counts no matter how little or big it might be. We knew once this summer ends it also marks the end of our time together and go back to live our own separate lives. I didn’t want to think about what will happen next – I just want to live in the moment.

The more I spend my time with him, the stronger my feelings grow. It’s been messing up my mind, but I couldn’t let it ruin my summer. This was the best summer I’ve ever had in a long time, and I would not take it for granted. The memories we were creating throughout will forever live on in my head.

—

In the middle of our “summer of love”, Christian came to an agreement with AC Milan, and by that his time in Chelsea had come to an end and he had to relocate to Italy. And the club wanted him to join them for preseason, meaning his summer break had to be cut off sooner than he planned.

When he broke the news, I was stunned – not that I wasn’t happy about his move to Milan, I just needed time to process it. I also wasn’t ready for our summer to be over, but the circumstances forced us to cut our time short. It was pretty saddening for us that we unfortunately had to burst our little bubble.

“So… That’s it for us then?” I carefully asked.

“Let’s just not talk about it.” He refused.

I didn’t want to cause a fight at the time, so I agreed to let it go.

The entire time, I felt like I had to walk on eggshells around him. But eventually I couldn’t do that forever. You can't escape the reality no matter how much you want to.

—

Christian was packing his bags as he had a flight to catch the next morning. Yes, I couldn’t emphasize enough that we know our whatever-you-called-ship is coming to an end. In every hello there is a goodbye, right? But why does this feel so hard?

We have tried really hard not to mention anything about the fact that our summer love will be over soon but it is an inevitable topic. There is no way we can escape the conversation, especially on our very last day together. And I have to be the one to bring this up because Christian clearly didn’t want to – he might be the one who suggested the idea, but he is the one who is more in denial.

“Chris, you know we both have to say something, don’t you?” I tried to start the conversation.

“Can we not? Please.” He whimpered.

“We have to.” I insisted.

He kept packing in silence, not wanting to talk about the painful reality. I was sitting on the corner of his bed while he was standing across from me, avoiding eye contact since I started talking. He was looking down all the time – organizing his belongings – and not once he took even a little glance at me. I looked closely at his face, paying attention to every little detail I could. His face was red, eyes were puffy and watery, lips were tight – it was obvious to me he was trying so hard not to cry.

“So are you just going to freeze me out the entire time or?” Still no answer from him.

I went and sat a lot closer to him and he tried to look away.

“Stop it, please! At least just look at my fucking eyes if you don’t want to fucking speak!”

And suddenly I saw tears running down on his face. He couldn’t hold them back anymore – his heart was completely shattered and it was obvious he was nowhere near ready to face the harsh reality.

“Chris… Listen…”

“Why can’t you change your mind?”

He asked a question that got me startled.

“What is it about me and the time that we had that made you certain you still don’t want a relationship?” His voice was trembling.

It took me a while to even say one fucking word to him. I felt like the worst person on earth for breaking the sweetest man’s heart. And to be honest, I broke my own heart too – and I was really trying my hardest to conceal it from him.

“Chris, you were the one who said, and I quote, “just be together for the summer”! I was being so clear I didn’t want a relationship yet you still offered me that. There’s nothing wrong with you, it’s just… I’m not ready. And I don’t know when I will be again.” I desperately tried to explain myself to him but I seemed to upset him even more.

“Yeah, right.” He shook his head and smacked his lips. “Whatever you say.”

I sighed.

“Chris… Please, why won’t you believe me?” I asked him quietly.

“I don’t buy your bullshit anymore.” He replied coldly, while wiping his tears.

Now done packing, he grabbed the car keys and put most of his belongings in the trunk.

I still wanted to have more conversation – about us, specifically – but after he was done with his stuff, he refused.

“I’m tired and I have an early flight to catch tomorrow. I think I should just go to sleep right now.” He said as he walked into his room.

“Yeah, of course...” I responded.

I tried to softly grab his hand but he swung his arm further away from me.

“See you tomorrow, Chris. Goo-”

He slammed the door on my face before I got to tell him goodnight. At the moment, I thought to myself: oh no, he really hates me.

—

The next morning I drove Christian to the airport. He was going to Milan with his dad and he was meeting him at the airport. On the way there, we didn’t really talk much. There was so much silence – and somehow it made everything even more painful.

I couldn’t handle the tension any longer, so I tried to break the ice.

“Hey, thank you for spending the summer with me. It was the best I’ve ever had.”

He only nodded.

“Umm, I’m sorry this only lasted for a short while...”

He looked down, he sniffed and rubbed his nose and sighed.

“Well, have fun in Milan! You needed a fresh start and you’re about to get one… Christian, I am proud of you.”

I tried to be supportive and not say anything that could be perceived as “something wrong” because I knew he was in a fragile state at the moment, though it seemed like he wasn’t going to respond the way I hoped he would. I was genuinely proud of him by the way – always have and always will.

He looked up but still avoiding eye contact, let out a slight smile and chuckled a little bit.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“And uh… Maybe you’d forget about me with all the girls you’re going to meet there...”

I immediately regretted what I just said. Shit. What the fuck did I just say?

He finally looked directly into my eyes – a look full of disbelief and disappointment. There was a moment of silence between us. This time, I was the one who couldn’t see him in the eyes.

“Chris, I’m so, so sorry I didn’t m-”

“How could you say that, Y/N?” He cut me off before I finished talking, by the tone of his voice I could tell he was mad at me.

I froze for a minute. I knew I had fucked up but I never thought it would be so much worse – at the moment I was really, really fucking shit up.

“Do you think my feelings for you aren't real enough so other girls can easily make it go away? Do you really think I can forget you just like that? Are you implying that what we had all summer will not stick in your memories?”

“Wha- no, Chris, that’s not what I mean!”

What a mess I had made... And before I knew it, tears started to fill my eyes.

“Well to me it sounded like that. I’m appalled to know you don’t see whatever we were as something real and meaningful. Maybe it was a mistake to even ask you to give us a chance in the first place.” He sounded like he was truly aching and filled with regrets.

I glanced at him for a bit and I saw him biting his lip and his face was already all red. I never wanted our goodbye to be this heartbreaking but well… In this situation it’s bound to happen, isn’t it? Because I didn’t want to escalate our situation any further, I decided to shut my mouth and stop talking altogether. I was aware that whatever I said might hurt him deeper. Fuck, why can’t things be easier?

—

After what felt like a very long ride, we finally got to the airport. We met Christian’s dad, Mark, at the front gate as I helped Christian with his belongings. Mark greeted me and gave me a hug.

“Hey, Y/N! Thanks for dropping Christian off, if only you could come with us to Italy!” Mark excitedly thanked me, not knowing what happened between Christian and I.

I shook my head and slightly laughed to cover my discomfort. Then I saw Christian looking at his watch, and whispered to his dad: “let’s go.”

I took it as my cue to leave, so I said my farewell to both of them.

“Well, have a safe flight, Mr. Pulisic.” I smiled and nodded at Mark.

Then I turned to Christian. He was still visibly upset – I didn’t have the heart to say anything, really. I had caused him a lot of pain, and I was afraid to open my mouth. But at the moment I knew I had to, since I didn’t know if we would ever see each other again.

“You too, Chris. Good luck over there.” I softly tapped his arm.

I waved at them and was ready to walk away when I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I turned around and it was Christian. He pulled me in for a hug – a very, very tight hug, like he wouldn’t let me go. He rested his head on my shoulder and I rubbed his back the whole time. It was a long hug – probably the longest ever for both of us – and we could no longer keep our overflowing emotions inside anymore.

“I’m sorry…” I whimpered.

“I know.” He whispered.

He stroked my head and kissed me in the forehead. His lips stayed there for a while.

“Y/N, I have to go...”

It was the hardest thing to do but I pulled away from the hug. Before he went inside, he took my hands and looked me in the eyes.

“Y/N, you will always be my greatest summer love… I will never forget you.” He said under his breath.

And the moment he walked through the gate, that was the last time I saw him in person. What we had might be short, but I will forever be thankful Christian made my summer unforgettable.

—

“You were my summer love

You always will be my summer love”

–

taglist: @pulisicsgirl @neverinadream @swimmingismywholelife @chilwellspulisic @bracedes @lovelynikol16 @thoseboysinblue @lizzypotter14 @masonsrem @landoslover

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic x y/n #christian pulisic fic #christian pulisic fanfic #christian pulisic imagines #christian pulisic angst #footballer fic #footballer fanfic #footballer imagines #footballer angst

164 notes · View notes