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vacantgodling · 1 year ago

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hanzo

you’ve asked about the behemoth you’ve unlocked the gates—

Sexuality Headcanon: gay gay homosexual gay. i think hanzo’s sexuality in my mind teeters from him being so casual about it that you’d think he’s always known (imo he has) or it’s a source of a lot of grief because of the expectations of the head of the clan to bear children (imo it is).

so, to me, he knows he likes men, and he’s too straightforward to deny it, and in his time wandering he’s sought out quickies with men, but i also think it’s a source of stress and shame for him. esp if you get into any of my transzo headcanons the territory gets even messier. but at the same time i can see him being divorced from the desires of the clan as he gets older. like once he gets to 35 he’s kind of like i mean, fuck it—it’s already been some time and i want what i want so it is what it is. i seriously think trauma+his personality make him struggle in developing like actual close relationships in general let alone romantic ones but he is gay and he wants to be with a dude romantically to Me.

Gender Headcanon: tbh i headcanon transzo more often than ciszo but i do tend to write ciszo more often it’s weird lol. but i think it would be an interesting angle to explore if the clan kind of influenced him to be a man and unpacking his struggles with that but ultimately deciding that he’s a man on his own terms but that’s brain rot thoughts for three am—

A ship I have with said character: the only hanzo ship i have and ever will have is with cassidy. otp for life.

i think a lot of the reason i don’t ship hanzo with other characters (largest contender could be bap but i think he and genji or niran work better) is just realistically because when i put their stories and traumas side by side they have the most opportunity to really gain something out of being with one another. what they gain is understanding: someone who gets them on their roughest days, who can talk them down from a panic attack, who they can share a look with and just understand. the chemistry is there physically (see the “pretty handy with that bow” & “good looks are not enough” voicelines which STILL drive me insane by the way — and yes i know hanzo says the good looks are not enough kill line to several people HOWEVER it confirms that he’s only into men for me because he’s ONLY ever said that line to men. i think he only says it to cassidy, reinhardt, and baptiste that i’ve heard? usually when i play hanzo it is a CLUSTERFUCK and i’m SWEATING so there may be more that i’ve missed but he only says it to men confirmed. That and his va being gay is definitely 👀 but that’s a whole other convo).

they would never let the other one get away with their shit, but at the same time they like to pretend their loners when they desperately crave to be understood and have someone to lean on. i think when it comes down to it baptiste is almost TOO adjusted. he and han are similar in that they’ve done things in their past they’re not proud of, but baptiste isn’t running from it; he’s actively trying to make a difference and make it better and in many ways i don’t think hanzo is there yet, and more than likely he’d probably compare himself to bap and feel like he’s not good enough to even stand by him as a friend or coworker let alone romantic interest. similarly COULD be said about cass but there’s something about him that’s extremely disarming to hanzo i feel like.

i could wax poetics about their relationship for deadass fucking hours however i am going to move on before this becomes an entire dissertation.

A BROTP I have with said character: the one that appears in cage is hana and hanzo! i think their friendship is cute, helpful, elder brother/uncle with younger sister/niece energy. basically everything kiriko will never be LMAO. a lot of the reason i do care about this friendship so much kind of stems from my own headcanons about hana and her story which are entirely deviated from canon and WILL make an appearance in cage later on. but i think the two of them are more alike than it would initially seem—hana’s just better adjusted and more outgoing than hanzo. and every fic i’ve ever read that has them as friends has made me emo.

A NOTP I have with said character: hanzo with anyone who isn’t cassidy LMAO.

if i am serious though, hanzo and akande? like bro i understand enemies to lovers and corruption arc are popular ship tropes but i want hanzo to be well fed, well fucked, safe and happy and with akande that would not happen lmao. i don’t think he has the delicacy and tact to manage to break through han’s barriers and to love him genuinely or tender and i think hanzo (clearly) has trauma around authority so akande trying to take the lead in their relationship would be so fucking rough. like it’s toxic and while toxic relationships can be fun to write it ain’t fun for me because hanzo’s the love of my life and i want the best for him 😭

A random headcanon: HANZO IS INTO VISUAL KEI AND I WILL DIE ON THIS FUCKING HILL FUCK BLIZZARD FOR GIVING KIRIKO THAT VKEI SKIN ITS BOTH BAD AND HAN DESERVES IT MORE FUCK YALL SO MUCH. you mean to tell me that this broody angsty s.o.b wouldn’t be into the gazette?? buck tick????? x japan??? dir en grey???? kill yourself like i’m biting and maiming. i think he’d be more into the grungier and darker groups tbh like more of a dir en grey fan bc of their lyricism and imagery… and it’s also lowkey one of the (many) reasons why cage is named cage. cuz cage is a dir en grey song lmao.

General Opinion over said character: he’s the love of my life. like i have never connected with nor been as obsessed with than hanzo and i’m going to go to my grave loving this man. seriously considering getting a shimada clan tattoo just bc i love hanzo so fucking much (i’m just broke) and he consumes my thoughts just as much as hya lmao.

#ff: cage #about renjamin

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jedidryad · 2 years ago

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So much of part 2 centres on Mara’s work to figure out whether becoming a Jedi is right for her (spoiler alert: it doesn’t seem to be at the moment). Her week at the academy gets off to a rough start...and middle... and end really - although nowhere near as rough as that of some of Luke’s other students. One bright spot though is that she makes a couple of new friends, even if they don’t seem like it right away. Here is a snippet of her introduction to Corran Horn. Dialogue is from I, Jedi

I found myself facing down a green eyed man whose blond hair didn’t quite seem right. In fact everything about him seemed a little off, and oddly familiar.

Luke had called him Kieran and had given him my name which left me feeling more vulnerable than I thought it would because I had the feeling he knew more about me now than I did him.

I scrutinized him for a moment, trying to place him. No, his name was not Kieran and he was no fresh faced youngling student. My scrutiny quickly turned into a rather rude stare as he held firm. Who was this? Did Luke know he was here under a false identity, or was he being played?

“Have we met before?” I offered the words as pretense for my prolonged silence, but I was fairly certain this guy knew better. This was why I hated Jedi.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Oh he knew.

“Odd. I don’t usually forget a face.”

He didn’t flinch.

“And I think I would remember you.”

I felt my right eyebrow lift of its own accord. Who the kriff was this?

He turned away as though the conversation was over and I fought back a rush of anger. Whoever this guy was, I wasn’t about to back down. This academy thing was clearly already taking a toll on Skywalker. The last thing he needed was some Force strong imposter working an agenda.

“Kieran” was holding forth about the variety of rooms and options for me as I tried to see if I could get a read on him. I didn’t get much before I met a very deliberate shield. It was effective, if not particularly subtle.

All I really got out of him was a pointless confession that he’d picked a room among the old rebel pilots’ quarters back when this was a rebel base. Still, knowing that provided me an opportunity to make it clear I didn’t trust him as I smiled and told him I’d choose a room there too, in order to keep an eye on him.

I emphasized my intentions as we walked over to the residential section in question. Our positioning looked casual but I doubted anyone on this moon would be tricked by that. We made pleasantries until my companion made his move and tricked me into saying something about the Empire so he could accuse me of Imperial loyalties. I supposed I should have seen that coming.

On the up side, that meant I didn’t have to play nice anymore. The carefully casual walk was at an end.

“You said we’d not met,” I opened, settling comfortably into a combat stance, “but you clearly have a problem with me. Shall we settle it now?”

The smile he graced me with then was the most Corellian thing I’d ever seen. It made his face remarkably punchable. For a moment, I relished the possibility, but I never got to find out what he was going to do. Abruptly, he blinked and shook his head a little as if to clear it. I then watched him take a deep breath that looked like it had come straight out of a Luke Skywalker training session.

He apologized with a thoroughness that was remarkable in my life at the time, especially coming from someone who had clearly been planning to pin all the evils of the Empire on me seconds before.

He offered a hand and introduced himself as Corran Horn. And that name fit him like a skinsuit. It also explained why he seemed familiar. This was Mirax’s husband: the Rogue Squadron pilot who had turned down Luke’s training offer in order to stay with her and practice his Force skills in the bedroom. I bit back an inappropriate grin as I recalled her waxing poetic about her husband’s lightsaber and leaving no doubt whatsoever what she actually meant.

I missed her.

As I took Horn’s offered hand, I wondered if he knew his wife regaled her smuggler friends with stories about their marathon lovemaking sessions. Considering what I knew about Rogue Squadron, I doubted it would bother him in the least if he did.

#epic!bio #part 2 coming soon #WIP #mara jade #corran horn #i jedi #jedi academy

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daddydindjarin · 2 years ago

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I posted 1,474 times in 2022

That's 1,279 more posts than 2021!

203 posts created (14%)

1,271 posts reblogged (86%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@the-ginger-hedge-witch

@lowlights

@mandosmistress

@thewayofthemandalorian

@outercrasis

I tagged 1,244 of my posts in 2022

Only 16% of my posts had no tags

#q - 328 posts

#pedro pascal - 212 posts

#the mandalorian - 191 posts

#din djarin - 183 posts

#star wars - 108 posts

#pp stuff - 87 posts

#tbobf - 80 posts

#comment reblog - 64 posts

#moon knight - 63 posts

#tbobf spoilers - 62 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#i will never get over him stalking out the cantina shooting and then throwing his blaster into the other hand and not missing a beat?????

My Top Posts in 2022:

Just Looking

Summary: Waking up before Jack in an anomaly in itself, and you use the time you have to your advantage.

Rating: Explicit 18+. Mentions and descriptions of sex.

Word Count: 1353

A/N: This started out as a way for me to gush about how beautiful Pedrito is, and then suddenly got away from me. So here's 1300 words waxing poetic about Pedro Pascal. Huge huge shout out to @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @mandoblowmybackout for reading over this, and the Discord Besties for encouraging me!

It wasn’t typical that you woke up before Jack.

He had an internal clock in his system that demanded he rise with the sun, long before you even thought of getting out of bed. Years of military service and then his time spent with the Statesmen didn’t afford him hours of uninterrupted rest. When you woke up and rolled over to face him, you were surprised to see him still sleeping.

You took the rare opportunity to study his features in a way you had tried- and failed- to do before. Usually when he caught you staring, he’d give you a wink and pull you in for a kiss, always deflecting your compliments and wonderment of his beauty back at you. Maybe he was bad with compliments.

You had a feeling there was something deeper to it.

It took everything not to trace his features with your fingers, instead drinking him in with your eyes. He would wake up if you touched him, so you just spent your time looking.

It was an understatement to simply say that he was beautiful. His tan skin showed slight signs of aging, making him look more distinguished as the years paved onward. The crow’s feet next to his deep brown eyes were one of your favorite things, a testament to years spent smiling and laughing, even when you knew the hardship he had faced. They were framed by long, dark lashes that he could look up at you through when he particularly wanted something. His aquiline nose was prominent on his face, the tip slightly crooked (“From a bad break when I was a younger man, darlin’,” he had said when you asked about it). He blushes every time you place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose, his high cheekbones flushing pink all the way to his ears.

His thick mustache twitched in his sleep, and you held back a giggle as he wiggled his nose like a rabbit. You never thought you’d be attracted to a clean cut man with only a mustache (and maybe a little scruff along his jaw), but here you were, laughing when he purposefully tickled your neck with the coarse hair. You loved the way it felt when you kissed his plump lips, and your eyes tracked down to the object of your thoughts.

It wasn’t fair that he has such pretty lips. You could spend hours looking at specifically his mouth. They were perfectly shaped with a deep cupid’s bow nestled in between the gentle slopes of the twin arches. It was typically hidden by his mustache, but you knew it was there, a little crevice that was perfect for collecting your kisses. His bottom lip was your favorite, the small line dividing his lip making it plumper, and definitely more kissable. It perfected his pout, working in tandem with those eyes of his to portray a proverbial puppy dog.

His face rounded out with a strong, angled jaw, sharp enough to be noticeable, but smooth when he rested in in the crook of your neck as he hugged you from behind. You followed the line of his neck past his Adam’s Apple, down to his collar bones and broad shoulders. It always amazed you just how large Jack was. He filled a room wherever he went, whether with his large frame, or even larger personality. He used it to his advantage, putting his large frame between you and any perceived danger, regardless of the harm that could come to him. He used long and strong arms to wrap you in a firm embrace, and it made you feel as if nothing could touch you, if Jack Daniels has anything to say about it.

He inhaled sharply, a sign that he was beginning to wake up. You had precious limited time to finish your study of him, and you glanced to his rising and falling chest. His pectorals were firm, and your favorite place to set your hands when you rode him, the steady beat of his heart pounding away under your palm and helping to ground you as he fucked up into your heat. There was sparse hair across his chest, and you followed the trail down, laughing quietly to yourself as you noticed that he had kicked the covers off. It was a common complaint from him that he got too hot when he slept, and it made sense, as he was your personal furnace at all times.

The hair left a neat line down the center of his stomach, and it was admittedly your favorite part of him. You could spend hours lavishing your affection on this man’s stomach. When he was younger, he had noticeable abs, a six pack you’re sure people would salivate over. But his stomach had softened with age, still solid with unbridled strength, but there was a slight swell from good food and good drinks, and it gave you a soft place to rest your head on. There were plenty of nights that you had placed gentle kisses across his stomach on your path to where he was straining for you, curved upwards and the anticipation making him leak precum on his stomach, a treat that you happily licked away, relishing in his soft moans.

The hair grew thicker and coarser the lower your gaze traveled forming a tidy patch at the base of his cock. He was hard in the morning, and it wasn’t atypical to wake to him thrusting gently against you, pulling you from your slumber on the verge of an orgasm, his chin resting again in the crook of your shoulder whispering absolute filth in your ear.

And his cock had the ability to take the words away from you, without him even trying to. But he wasn’t putting the moves on you now, and you sighed dreamily, because just like the rest of his body, his length was just pretty. Thick and long, Jack Daniels knew exactly how well-endowed he was. The swagger he walked with wasn’t just for show, as if the tight jeans he wore had ever left any room for doubt. He was steel wrapped in velvet, and he was able to make you forget everything but his dick when he was inside you. He said his favorite place to be was inside you, and from the hours he spent just letting you warm his cock, not moving, and driving you absolutely crazy, you could believe him. He would have you close to sobbing for some kind of stimulation, and would just smile, brushing your hair back from your face, “Come on now, pretty baby, you can do better than that. You gotta tell ol’ Jack just what you want.”

Jack sighed again, stretching his arms out above his head, and you knew you were out of time. You glanced at his strong thighs as he fidgeted awake, and you swallowed down a groan watching the thick muscles contract in his legs, knowing those same thighs are multitalented. They carry the broad man around the world and have carried you to oblivion in the cab of his truck many times. They are beautiful as the rest of him, and you long to scratch up his thighs gently with your nails until he groaned, but as you glanced back up to his face, he was blinking his eyes open against the bright light of the morning.

“Baby,” he rumbled, his voice thick with sleep. He only had one eye open now, his brows furrowed and making the line between his brows prominent. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long,” you whispered back, leaning up to feather a kiss against the line, huffing a laugh as you soothed it away. You pressed more kissing across his temple and cheeks, laughing fully as he pulled you to him, growling into the column of your throat and nipping gently at the sensitive skin there.

“I may have to start sleeping in more if this is what I wake up to. Now, come here and let me give you a good morning kiss.”

202 notes - Posted July 27, 2022

Happy Star Wars Celebration Day!

This took me an insane amount of time, but I’m so so happy with how it turned out look at my stitches y’all

20 hours in Procreate

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Art Tag: @djarinsbeskar @asta-lily @clints-lucky-arrow @readsalot73 @momc95 @dinandgone @radiowallet @grimmchimms @beskarprincessjenny @chaoticgeminate @mswarriorbabe80 @dins-cyare @lovesbiggerthanpride @heartsofbeskar @krissology @javierpinme @heavenseed76

203 notes - Posted May 28, 2022

“You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you. That's where I'll be waiting.”

32.5 hours in Procreate

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Art Tag: @djarinsbeskar @asta-lily @clints-lucky-arrow @readsalot73 @momc95 @dinandgone @radiowallet @grimmchimms @beskarprincessjenny @chaoticgeminate @mswarriorbabe80 @lovesbiggerthanpride @trickstersp8 @the-ginger-hedge-witch @thevoiceinyourheadx @djarinsimp @againstacecilia @heartsofbeskar @krissology @javierpinme @heavenseed76

207 notes - Posted October 4, 2022

Slow Hands

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader. Wordcount: 1390 Rating: T (for now) Warnings: None Summary: The heat on Tattooine is unbearable, but what makes it worse is that the only clothes you have available are all for space travel, which means too hot for this desert planet. Mando is more affected than you’d expect. A/N: This is Part 1 of 2 I think, and honestly just pure self-indulgence from a dream of Mando’s fingers tapping on a table.

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You huffed, digging through yet another crate in the cargo hold of the Razor Crest, sweat dripping down your neck to convalesce in the center of your back and along your chest.

Kriff but it was hot on this maker-forsaken planet. Tatooine wasn’t exactly high on your list of favorable planets, the twin suns doing nothing to cool the planet, leaving respite from the overbearing heat almost non-existent.

It didn’t help that you had been in space for so long- and on icier planets when not- that you had packed away your lighter clothes, instead sticking to the thick sweaters and Mando’s stolen duraweave shirt that be assumed had been beyond repair. He underestimated your tenacity and skill with a needle.

“Okay, I know you’re in one of these crates,” you mumbled to your missing clothing absently before straightening, your hands on your hips. You bit your lip, counting the crates left and groaning.

It was too hot for this, but you wouldn’t be able to cool down until you found those clothes. You staggered back to your corner of the bay, flipping down into your…”nest” as Mando so eloquently called it. It was a simple pallet stacked with blankets and pillows to cushion the hard floor. It was cozy.

You shucked your over shirt off, immediately sighing in relief. You couldn’t just walk around in your under clothes but-

Scratch scratch scratch.

You grinned, sitting up as the little gremlin toddled his way over to you.

“Why, hello there, Bean! Did you enjoy your nap?”

You had no idea how he managed to get out of his little cradle, but you know it’s pointless to question these things at this point. You had already stripped him from the baggy robe he wore, leaving his tiny body in a one piece suit that just made him more adorable that you thought possible.

He blinked slowly at you, still waking up, and reached his clawed hands for you. You happily picked him up, running a finger along his overly large ears. “Tell me, why would you want to leave your temperature controlled carrier to be out in this heat? Huh?”

He babbled in his little language, and you grinned, nodding along to his words as if it was the most serious thing in the world.

“We need to wait for your Papa to get back so I can make him help me look through these crates because I am apparently not nearly as content as you are with this heat.”

As if waiting for his cue, Mando’s heavy boots trudged up the open ramp, and the Child immediately squealed, more awake now that his favorite person was back.

“Okay, okay! Wait till he’s had a chance to come inside,” you laughed, letting him go once Mando started setting his multitude of weapons down across the table where you ate your meals, preparing them for cleaning.

You stood up, brushing sweaty hands along your leggings, and moved closer to where Mando had sat down, smiling as the Child tried his damnedest to climb up Mando’s boots.

Watching as Mando started his routine of cleaning his assortment of weapons, you reached into one of the lockers to hand him more oil, having noted earlier that his current supply was running low. As you set it on the table, he paused to look up at you, and then held your gaze.

As the seconds ticked by without breaking the contact, you cocked an eyebrow at him. “Everything okay, Mando?”

You knew you couldn’t see his eyes, but as his helmet dipped slightly, it was impossible not to feel like his eyes were on your very exposed chest. Heat rose up your neck, and you could feel your ears start to pinken, suddenly self-conscious about being in only your breast band and leggings.

“Oh,” you began, wringing your fingers nervously together. “About this, I can’t find my light clothing, and it’s just really hot. So I stripped down to this to avoid heat stroke.”

He didn’t say anything, but you noticed his hand clench slightly on his thigh, and while you hoped you hadn’t offended him, now your thoughts were heading in another, less innocent direction.

“It’s fine,” he finally said, still looking at you. “I’m not sure where they are either, but I’ll help you look in a moment.”

“Thank you,” you replied, sitting across from him and picking up the child before he could get Mando’s oil rag in his mouth. “I don’t know how you’re not dying under all those layers.”

“It’s not as bad as you’d think. The beskar reflects a lot of the heat.”

“Maybe I should invest in some for myself,” you joked, tickling the Child’s stomach. “Or you could always let me wear yours when you’re not using it.”

A chuckle left the broad, shining Mandalorian, and you grinned back at him, thankful for the camaraderie between you.

“Alright kid, let’s get you something to eat before you down Mando’s rag and leave him with grimy blasters,” you said, standing up and taking him to the galley, not noticing how Mando’s gaze tracked you the entire way.

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227 notes - Posted January 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Temptations

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader (if you squint) Wordcount: 859 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Jerking off and smut, fantasizing if you wanna count that as a warning. Summary: Din comes home after a long hunt and even though he’s tired, seeing you lights a fire under him. A/N: Sooooo apparently I’m writing now! @asta-lily and @djarinsbeskar are 100% responsible for this filth, and they should be held accountable. Let me know what you think!

Tired didn’t begin to describe how Din felt.

Three days. He was only supposed to be gone for three days, tracking his bounty through this city and returning with a nice tidy sum of credits lining his pockets. But here he was, a week and half later, trudging up the ramp of the Crest, bone weary and ready for sleep.

It was quiet on the ship, which was to be expected given the hour, and he was equal parts thankful that he had you around to watch the Child, and -more surprisingly- more than a little disappointed that you didn’t appear to be awake to greet him.

He set the security protocols into place and decided to leave the planet tomorrow. If he left the atmosphere now, the turbulence would definitely wake you, as he’s grown to learn that you were a light sleeper, and he knew you had to be tired after two weeks alone with the Child.

Moving through the ship silently, he noted that you kept everything tidy- no easy task with the kid around- and as he made his way towards the refresher, he noticed a covered bowl with a piece of paper propped up on top of it. He moved closer to inspect it, and couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face.

Mando-

You said you’d be coming home sometime tonight, and I don’t want you going to bed without eating, especially since you probably haven’t eaten in at least two days. It’s Bantha stew, just reheat it. This is the last bowl because your kid is a glutton, so enjoy it while you can!

He gently traced your name signed at the bottom, and turned, looking towards the corner of the cargo bay that you had declared for yourself. Your “night light” was still on, and without thinking, he found himself checking on you, hoping you would be awake. To thank you for the meal.

That was all. A thank you. Of course.

He pulled back your privacy curtain slowly, and felt his mouth go dry the second saw your sleeping form. You looked peaceful sleeping on your stomach as you always did, but you had managed to kick all the covers away from your body, and you slept only in a shirt.

His shirt.

What should have been too big on you, had crept up your body, showing off your thighs and the beginnings of your underwear, and he dropped the curtain quickly, embarrassed and….

When had you even taken his shirt, he wondered, begging the tightness in his pants to subside. It was wrong to think of you like that, wrong to imagine you coming to him wearing his shirt, only his shirt, smiling at him with the smile you don’t give anyone else-

He quickly left your corner and barricaded himself in the refresher, leaning against the door and breathing heavily. His cock strained against his his flight suit, and no matter how many flight plans he tried calculating in his head, he could only think of your lips, of your scent, how warm and soft you would be, asking him to take care of you.

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358 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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curlynerd · 3 years ago

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You're Bacon Me Crazy Word Count: 2K Rating: T Summary: "I can like more than one kind of burger, you know!" Or, Dean comes out through complicated burger metaphors. Notes: humor, canon-adjacent, coming out, established Destiel, #pray4Sam

Also read on AO3!

"You're really having two burgers, Dean?" Sam asks in his most smug, most obnoxious "I’m eating kale for lunch" voice. Dean really hates that voice.

Dean straightens his back and spreads his hands out, like the two wrapped burgers, the extra large fries, and the soda with two straws are a majestic bounty. “I’m a growing boy, Sammy."

“Uh-huh,” Sam deadpans. He lifts the takeout lid of his salad and starts carefully drizzling the vinaigrette cup over his bed of leafy greens and grilled chicken. “And you’re definitely not going to bully Cas into splitting them with you? You know he doesn’t need to eat.”

Something tight and anxious curls in Dean’s chest. “No!” he blurts out, realizing a second too late that it’s normal for him to share his food with Cas. Just because he’s been doing it more now that he and Cas are finally together does not mean that it’s weird now.

In response to Dean’s defensiveness, Sam raises a self-righteous eyebrow in sync with his salad-laden fork. “Can he even really taste them? I thought he didn’t like food in angel mode.”

Dean swallows down a multitude of answers. He likes sharing the experience with Cas anyway. He thinks the way his face scrunches up at the molecules is cute. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside that an angel -- his angel -- is willing to put up with something so silly and mundane and human as taste-testing different burgers.

He really, really needs to tell Sam the truth about him and Cas. Hell, he’s been trying to for months! But every time the perfect opportunity presents itself, he turns into a fuckin’ coward.

And today definitely is another perfect moment. The conversation has naturally turned to Cas. They’re sitting at a picnic table at the park, with nobody around to overhear Dean spill his guts in the most agonizing and uncomfortable way possible. They’re working a case, so immediately after the conversation Dean can bury himself in research and hunting and not have to deal with Sam’s big, obnoxious “let’s make a huge deal out of this!” puppy dog eyes. And Cas isn’t even here right now to make things more awkward. He’s still checking out the victim at the coroner's office across the street.

Dean tries not to think about what a big baby he’s being by ignoring this golden opportunity. “He just tastes stuff different as an angel. He’s learning how to pick out the nuance.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Because there’s so much nuance to ‘extra cheese�� or ‘hold the tomato.’”

“Oh like you’d know, Mr. Tofu Burger.”

“You’d eat a burger off the floor. Are you really trying to convince me you care about what kind of burger it is?”

Dean huffs and levels an indignant glare at his brother. “I absolutely have a favorite burger.”

“Then why’d you get two different kinds?”

"I can like more than one kind of burger, you know!"

Sam snorts. "That's just an excuse to eat more burgers." He spears a forkful of tomato and spinach with a smug little twinkle in his eye.

"It's so not," Dean insists. He gestures at the two wrapped foil rounds in front of him. “These are two unique burgers that both have their own delicious qualities.”

“Really?” Sam’s expression is so pompous Dean kind of wants to throw a french fry at it. Except that would be a waste of a perfectly good fry.

“Yes ‘really.’ Look--” Dean carefully unwraps his first burger. “This is a pickle burger. And not just any ol’ pickle burger. The best, most amazing, and -- dare I say it? -- sexiest pickle burger in the entire continental US.” He smirks as Sam rolls his eyes. “Now I can tell by that condescending look in your eye, you’re wondering, ‘What the hell is so special about a pickle burger? It’s just pickles!’ But that’s where you’re wrong.” Dean lifts the top bun and points down to the burger, looking almost gleeful at all its toppings. “Fried pickles, pickled red onions, relish…Sour and sweet and crunchy, the perfect compliment to a juicy, meaty burger. And one this big? You’ve gotta have a little something special to handle all this meat.” Sam tilts his head, his mouth twitching like Dean said something embarrassing. Was it waxing poetic about vegetables? Probably. Dean chooses to ignore it.

“Ya know,” he continues, “for the longest time I didn’t think I’d like a pickle burger. For years I’d be at diners and think, ‘...maybe? I dunno. Probably not for me.’” Dean pulls his mouth down into a thoughtful frown and bobs his head to mimic his past thoughts. “And then...I’m not sure, I just figured, why not at least try it? All those burgers I’ve had all over the country; I could at least give it a whirl. And it. Was. Awesome!” Dean gently places the bun back on his burger and gives it a little affectionate pat. “Now I can’t get enough of ‘em.”

Sam's expression does a complicated dance that Dean can't even begin to follow. But it suddenly clears into a look of dawning realization, followed quickly by horrified guilt, before it clamps down entirely.

Weird.

"Well...I can't fault someone for enjoying a good pickle burger," Sam says slowly. He doesn't meet Dean's eye, keeping his gaze down as he delicately stabs at his salad with his fork. He frowns at the cucumber slice he spears and carefully dislodges it from the prongs. "Especially if they really like, uh, pickles?" Sam cringes a little down at his greens. Dean can't blame him. It's a sad looking salad.

"Exactly!" Dean gestures down at the burger. "I'm a meat man and a pickle guy." Sam looks up toward the sky and then down toward the ground below with a sort of pleading desperation. "This is a great burger for me. And don't even get me started on the sauce--"

"Okay!" Sam's voice pitches up several octaves. Dean frowns at him, but before he can ask, Sam takes a deep breath and plasters a warm, understanding smile across his face. "You know what? You're right, Dean. After all this time. All those, uh...burgers. I'm glad you've figured out which one you like best."

"Well, not quite. I mean, this one…" Dean carefully unwraps the second burger. "Is there anything sexier than a breakfast burger?" He practically beams down at the golden-brown bun, the fringes of fried egg drooping over the side, crisp bacon peeking out from under the patty.

"I...I don't know?" Sam has the same terrified expression as when Dean drags him onto ramshackle roller coasters at crappy county fairs. God, he's such a baby about cholesterol.

“Yeah. C’mon, you know they’re great!” Dean says cavalierly, because he’s not going to miss a chance to gloat about the awesome food Sam misses out on with all his salads. “Bacon is, you know, bacon! It’s the best tasting thing in the world! Salty, greasy, crunchy…”

Sam’s brow furrows so deeply it’s like it’s mining for coal, his unfocused eyes searching the empty space between them like he’s trying to figure out the deep, dark mystery of bacon.

Dean rolls his eyes. Of course he wouldn’t understand. The dude eats low sodium turkey bacon. "I know you haven't had good, real bacon in ages--" Sam looks offended. Then confused. Then offended again. "--but trust me, man. It's awesome. When ya got bacon in your burger, it automatically makes the burger a hundred times better. Can’t get enough of it!” Sam groans like he's in pain.

Dean grins and keeps going. “And you’ve gotta admit, a fried egg is a thing of beauty. Give me a good silky, drippy egg all over my burger and I’m a happy guy.” Sam’s nose scrunches up into abject horror. “You get that gorgeous, soft yolk oozing everywhere...It’s creamy and delicious and unctuous and--”

“Dean!” Sam shrieks. He lets his fork fall into his bowl and covers his face with both his hands. His voice is muffled, but it’s definitely a tormented whine. “I know this is a tough topic for you, but can you please just say you’re bi and never use words like ‘unctuous’ again? I’m begging you!”

Dean freezes. “Wh-What?” Did Sam really--? He--? How does he know?!

Sam pops up from his elbows, dragging both hands through his hair as he frees his face from hiding. “I get it, dude. Okay? I get it. I mean...I don’t get it.” He glances down at the two burgers with a perturbed look and holds up his hands in surrender. “But I get it.”

Dean stares at him. “Get what?” he demands. His heart is pounding fast. Bi. Sam knows he’s bi. When did he figure it out?! Why’s he bringing it up now?!

Sam fixes him with a flat look. “The burgers? The...God...bacon sex metaphor? The pickle guy thing? I get it. Please. Please stop talking about eggs like that. I’ll never eat an omelette again!”

Sex metaphors? Pickle guy?! Dean takes a moment to think and...yeah. Yup. He really did say “I’m a pickle guy,” out loud. Wow.

Maybe he should just...roll with it?

Because otherwise Sam is definitely going to mock him for that for the rest of his life, and honestly, coming out is the much better option.

“You got me,” Dean says with a small laugh. He spreads his arms out with a bit of a flourish, and it’s a relief to say it. It feels good. “What can I say? I like all kinds of burgers. And hotdogs. Tacos. Kielbasa...”

“Please stop,” Sam groans, rubbing at his eyes with his hand.

Oh yeah, this is definitely the better option. Dean fell ass-backwards into a conversation he’s been dreading for months, and the only person feeling awkward and miserable here is Sam!

Really it’s a win-win.

Dean grins from ear to ear as he relishes Sam’s mortification. “Hey now, I thought you were supportive! What happened to ‘I’m happy for you and your burgers?’”

“I am happy for you, I just wish this wasn’t happening over lunch…” Sam whines as he drops his hands on the table.

“What’s Sam happy about?” Cas asks, startling the both of them by approaching their picnic table. His eyes are earnest and sincerely curious, which only causes Sam to send a miserable, pleading look his way while shaking his head.

“Sam thinks pickles are gay,” Dean says to Cas with the same sort of smug glee of the teacher’s pet tattling about note passing in class.

Cas scrunches his face in confusion as he sits down beside Dean. “Sam, that’s...nonsensical.”

“That’s what I said!” Dean lies, because the way Sam’s eyebrow is twitching right now is too damn funny. “Wait til you hear what he thinks about bacon.”

Sam drops his face into his hands again. “This is the worst day of my life,” he groans as he massages his temples with his fingers.

Cas furrows his brow at him. “You’ve been to Hell.”

“And I’m still there, apparently!” Sam flings his hand up in exasperation. Cas quietly takes a sip of Dean’s drink, which for some reason just pisses Sam off more.

“You know, you could have just been normal about this. No weird, gross food metaphors. Just--” Sam drops his voice several octaves and bobs his head in a deliberately annoying parody of Dean. “--‘Hey Sam, by the way, I’m bi and totally in love with Cas, no big deal,’ or whatever.”

Dean goes still while Cas tilts his head at the two of them.. “Who says I’m in love with Cas?” Wait. Is that obvious too? Shit, well, looks like he gets to rip two bandaids off today. Thank God for the hilarious panic on Sam's face, because otherwise Dean would be the one freaking out here.

Sam’s eyes go huge, all color draining out of his face. “Oh shit. I didn’t-- I’m sorry, I--”

Dean can only manage to maintain the ruse for a few seconds before he bursts out laughing. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. Where have you been, man? Cas and I have been together for ages. I thought you were the smart one!”

Sam looks like he wants to leap across the picnic table and strangle Dean.

With a glare so sour it could peel paint, Sam snatches Dean’s extra large order of french fries and storms off toward the car to sulk. About three paces away, he stops, turns around, and levels a stern finger at Dean alongside his scowl. “For the record. I’m proud of you. And I’m honored you chose to trust me with this information,” he hisses in a frustrated huff before he spins on his heel and marches away.

Dean wipes a tear from his eye, still chuckling under his breath. Cas stares after Sam in concern.

“Why is he so mad?”

Dean shrugs off the question as he slides the pickle burger in front of Cas and nudges him with his elbow to try it. “Hell if I know. If you ask me, dude needs to have a burger every once in awhile.”

#destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #supernatural #spn #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #katie writes things #this is either the best thing I've written or the worst thing I've ever written. possibly both #I'm very sorry for making you read the bit about the fried egg

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sunkensubtext · 3 years ago

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hello it's 12:23PM and I've been awake since yesterday but I just finished penchant and I wanted to let you know that your writing has been living in a corner of my mind rent free for several weeks now. your blend of comedy and emotional impact is superb and I never thought I would enjoy a piece of writing about a trip to ohio so much. apologies if this is approaching incoherence and thank you for your service goodnight

AAAA this is so kind (and completely coherent, no worries!! Lmao)

I'm so happy to hear you're enjoying my fics so far!!! I never expected anyone to really like a piece about a trip to Ohio either, to be honest, & I'm thrilled to know people are still actively reading it 😭🥺💞

(My one regret is that I missed the opportunity to have Aizawa experience eating at a Waffle House for the first time. I feel like it would have been an out of body experience for the poor dude.)

ANYWAY, this ask absolutely made my day!! As a thanks, here's a snippet from the end of the original 'getting together' scene that didn't actually make it into Ledges because I had gotten stuck and decided to rewrite it entirely.

& this was originally, too, when I had planned to bump the rating to an E, but then I decided to make it soft instead of horny. Part of me is still torn on whether or not that was the right decision for these knuckleheads, but that's just how it goes~

Shouta stares for a moment, eyes sweeping over Hizashi's face a few times, pupils still blown. He's speechless, Hizashi realizes, and he can't help the slight smirk that makes its way onto his face.

"Shut up," Shouta mumbles, hand coming up from where it was hanging loosely at his side to cup the back of Hizashi's neck, drawing him into another kiss. It's slow this time, much less desperate than before, and Hizashi hums contentedly, bringing a hand up to touch Shouta's face. He grins at the feeling of faint stubble he against his fingers. Shouta pulls back too soon, eyes still closed, the ghost of a smile lighting up his features.

Hizashi thinks that Shouta here, a smile on his face and standing as a dark contrast to the wildflower backdrop of the suite is probably the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He has the urge to tell him so, to let loose and tell Shouta everything he's ever stifled, to wax poetic about him until his voice gives out, but Shouta speaks first.

"I think," he breathes, and Hizashi feels the words against his lips, "that we should have done this a long time ago."

"And I think," Hizashi quips, smirking, "that we've got more than enough time to make up for it, if that's the route you'd like to take."

Hearing the startled breath that Shouta hisses out through his nose is well worth the brief absence of his mouth on Hizashi's, he thinks; but then suddenly they're kissing again and Hizashi's torn at which is more satisfying.

But of course, of course, a loud knock at the door tears him violently out of his thoughts and crashing back into reality.

Shouta blinks, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, and huffs in displeasure.

"We can ignore it," Hizashi offers, pressing his mouth against the side of Shouta's exposed neck. Shouta hums contemplatively, tilting his head to the side to give Hizashi better access.

"She has a key," he replies. "She'll just come in anyway."

"Not if we barricade the door." Hizashi laughs against his throat. "Better yet, not if she hears the noises I'm about to wrench out of you."

"You're the worst," Shouta mutters, and Hizashi can't tell if he sounds more amused or exasperated. He seems to genuinely think about it for a second, though, and Hizashi laughs again when he sees him glance over at a heavy oak bookcase slotted against the wall.

"Alright, alright," Hizashi snickers, stepping away and putting his hands up in mock surrender. "Building a functional barricade would be a bit of a mood killer anyway, all things considered."

He's lying. He knows it, Shouta probably knows it, and the bookcase definitely knows it.

"I'll tell you what, though," he continues. "Because I like you so much, I'll handle answering the door. You just hang out over here and keep looking...exactly like that, actually. If you could."

He punctuates the statement with an overexaggerated wink. Shouta rolls his eyes, but he's betrayed by the way the corner of his mouth twitches upward at the admission. He quickly shakes some of his hair into his face to hide the expression, an old quirk that Hizashi isn't even sure he's aware of, and Hizashi allows himself to stare fondly for another few moments before the third knock comes and breaks him from his trance.

#i am so so sick and this was wonderful to wake up to this morning #thanks!!!#(& you even gave me an excuse to put this unpublished bit out there!! how kind 🥺)#ajdjrjfkdlrl i have so many scattered pieces of fics that i've tossed into the void to rot lmaoooo #(the void is my google docs page)#my fic #ask #orewing

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years ago

Text

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 13, second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Distractions)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

This Fucking Turtle

The rock that Wei Wuxian and Wen Chao are standing on starts to move, because of course it does. It’s a tortoise shell, sort of. There are some problems with this ostensible tortoise.

First, Murder Turtle a tortoise is technically a turtle don't @ me doesn't look anything like a turtle. I try really hard not to project my western mythologies onto Chinese works, but god dang this thing looks like the Loch Ness monster.

Second, its shell wobbles a bit, but there's no indication that the creature can move around the cave until much later. During an extended fight with several tasty cultivators, it stays put and just moves its head around.

The immobility problem aside, it's not a terrible monster. After the hell dog, I'm relieved to have a normal CGI beastie where some things are done really pretty well. Its eyes and skin are particularly good.

What's not good are the teeth. When Murder Turtle closes its mouth, its long pointy upper teeth have nowhere to go, so they pierce its lower jaw and just sink in there. No wonder it's pissed off.

Its relationship with its shell is...well, let's save that for the next episode.

Irons in the Fire

Meanwhile, Wang Lingjiao (Wen Chao's girlfriend) decides she's in the mood for barbequed MianMian, so she grabs a hot iron to burn her face.

Wei Wuxian to the rescue! He shoots three arrows at once and hits all three of his targets, in a move that he'll repeat with even more arrows at a later date.

Wang Lingjiao decides to throw the iron at MianMian, who decides not to duck, while Wei Wuxian leaps into the path of the iron and gets deeply burned on the chest through his clothing. This is absolutely definitely how time, things flying through the air, and branding irons work.

(more after the cut)

Jiang Cheng and Wen Zhuliu start fighting again. These two can't quit each other, almost like they have a date with destiny in their future. Jiang Cheng shows off his purple bloomers while he and Wen Zhuliu try to outspin each other.

Camera operator: Why you gotta take it out on me?

Wen It’s Time To Say Goodbye

The Wens decide to dip, heading up the rock face and cutting the ropes behind them, which would be super inconvenient if several of the cultivators didn't know how to literally fly.

But they also put a bunch of rocks in the hole, while Wen Qing begs them not to do it.

Down at the bottom of the cave, everyone sits and chats, while Murder Turtle wishes it had legs so it could chase them. Oh wait, it does have legs, it just isn't ready to get out of the bath yet

Call the Waaambulance

MianMian is crying over all the nonsense the writers have put her through in this episode, and Wei Wuxian tries to cheer her up by talking to her like she's a toddler. On the plus side, he'll be a great dad for a toddler one day.

Jin Zixuan: I'm used to women crying around me, is that not typical?

Lan Wangji has got no time for cheering up crying girls, and starts heading back to the turtle bath, because he has figured out how they can escape.

He and Wei Wuxian show off their mind reading abilities, where Lan Wangji explains absolutely nothing and Wei Wuxian perfectly understands him. See also: “Fortunately.”

Rather than try to swim for it, the other cultivators want to hang around and wait to be rescued, or just generally feel like staying put and whining.

Wei Wuxian takes charge through sheer force of personality, and makes Jiang Cheng go find the way out while he himself distracts Murder Turtle with fire.

Wei Wuxian can make talismans without 1. ink 2. a brush or 3. paper. He just needs his flesh and his unusually sharp incisors. He's so far ahead of everyone around him; how is a dude this talented ever going to be anyone's right hand man? He’s already on track to creating a new talisman-based school of cultivation, even if he never gets around to the whole necromancy thing.

Swimming in the Pool, Swimming is Cool

The main group of cultivators go swimming while Wei Wuxian lights fires to keep the tortoise's attention. For some reason he just stands there when it's about to eat him...maybe he's mesmerized? Lan Wangji flings him out of harm’s way and gets his already-busted leg chomped on.

Wei Wuxian pulls Lan Wangji to safety and tells the other cultivators to get going. Jiang Cheng doesn't want to, but Jin Zixuan convinces him.

For fans of homoerotic screen caps, this episode is a gold mine.

Murder turtle suddenly remembers he has legs, but Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji instantly find a room he can’t fit into, so they’re okay for the night.

Owie Owie Owie

Now we have an extended hurt/comfort session with our wounded heroes. Lan Wangji is bleeding, so Wei Wuxian...puts a splint made of sticks directly onto his unbandaged lacerations, and ties it with his pristine headband, which will remain pristine. Then he puts medicine on the lacerations.

This seems like a situation where the script said "broken leg" and the makeup department said "MOAR BLOOD" and nobody changed the direction to the actors. In any case, the sticks seem to help and bandages are not mentioned.

What is mentioned, of course, is the dreaded stale blood, which plagues many a c-drama hero, and has to be driven out through strong emotion. This is totally how the human circulatory system works. To be fair, there is probably a perfectly reasonable underlying concept in Chinese medicine that has been exaggerated for dramatic effect, so that every possible ailment or injury results in vomiting blood, sometimes sexily.

Wei Wuxian clears up the blood problem super quickly by offering to show Lan Wangji his dick, not to put too fine a point on it. Alas, he retracts the offer once the crisis has passed.

Once they settle down, Lan Wangji takes the opportunity to put some medicine on Wei Wuxian's burned tit, and to chide him for letting himself get injured. It's like he doesn't even know him.

Wei Wuxian: I had no choice, because I am psychologically driven to sacrifice myself for other people at every opportunity. Get used to it, cupcake.

Wei Wuxian points out that MianMian is pretty and that it would be bad for her to have a mark on her face. Lan Wangji points out, not quite in so many words, that Wei Wuxian is pretty and now HE has a permanent mark. Before Lan Wangji ever got to see his bare chest, too.

Wei Wuxian says it's cool for men to have marks on their bodies. Preferably hickeys and rope burns, but scars are okay too.

Lan Wangji: you're going to love my future body mods, then.

Then Wei Wuxian waxes poetic about having a pretty girl remember your heroism, and Lan Wangji gets jealous and cranky. Wei Wuxian misinterprets this, but not unreasonably, considering that Lan Wangji was putting his own body between MianMian and harm not all that long ago.

After some extended eye fucking followed by laughing and saying "no homo" for the censors, the conversation moves to a more serious place.

Wei Wuxian engages in a little WangXian meta analysis, noting that Lan Wangji can tease him now, and is talking to him slightly more. Falling for a high-spirited, popular extrovert has been hard on Lan Wangji, but Wei Wuxian is also struggling with falling for a nearly-silent, crushingly-shy introvert. Wei Wuxian really does find Lan Wangji boring on one level, at the same time as finding him utterly compelling on other levels.

Wei Wuxian starts to say something about the Lans and stops himself with this charming gesture. I've seen it here and there in c-dramas and I assume it's a thing in China. It's a perfect way for a hyperactive talker to say "I'm shutting up now" without using even more words to say it.

Lan Wangji finally, FINALLY tells Wei Wuxian - briefly - what happened to his home. Wei Wuxian, in one of those moments of empathy that they have more and more often as time goes on, asks about his loved ones, and forgoes any other questions.

Lan Wangji tells him that Lan Qiren is seriously injured and Lan Xichen is missing. Wei Wuxian is extremely concerned about one of these people.

When Lan Wangji falls asleep at 9pm on the button, Wei Wuxian tenderly covers him in his own robe, offering physical comfort in place of the emotional comfort Lan Wangji won’t let anybody give him.

Then Wei Wuxian gazes at him like a lovestruck dope, before settling down beside him for the night.

Soundtrack: Peter Gabriel, I Go Swimming

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #the untamed spoilers

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barricadebops · 3 years ago

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For the prompts post, if it's possible to choose two, how about Fluff number 3 and Misc number 4 for Enjoltaire? And if not, you can choose the one you want. Also, your writing is amazing ❤

"Have you seen my hoodie?" "Nooooo..." "You're wearing it, aren't you?"/"Sharing is caring, now give me the hoodie!"

I split up the first prompt part in different places, I hope that's okay?

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

It started on a stormy day, hard rain and thunder crashing down upon the pavement, battering down on houses, the crack of lightning as if a whip across the sky, like Zeus's masterbolt, like how Grantaire had told him about, the--

Well, this much description was hardly necessary, really. But Enjolras supposed the thought was influenced by the constant poetic Jehan is constantly waxing. Forgive him for taking the time to listen to his friends.

But, for simplicity's sake, it started on a rainy day.

In foresight, it perhaps would have served better if Enjolras told Grantaire it would be raining on the day that he suggested they go out for a picnic, but the sparkle in his eyes had been too bright for Enjolras to break it to him. Besides, the weather forecast he listened to was wrong half the time (and honestly now that he considers it, he really should change which weather station he listens to.)

Unfortunately, this one time, the weather forecast had been correct, and right as they finished laying a blanket to sit upon, the first drops of rain that Enjolras had tried hard to ignore morphed into a battering of rain as the sky suddenly gave way to grey and thunder rumbled the ground.

From there it was a mad dash to the car, but even the little time spent in the car had them both soaked to the bone.

So much for a picnic.

And yet, as they got back to Grantaire's place and stumbled through the doorframe into his apartment, Grantaire was laughing brightly as the sun that they had hoped to see that day, and Enjolras simply couldn't find it in himself to be upset when hearing such a delightful sound. In the past, he had heard Grantaire chuckle bitterly or let out bursts of drunk laughs not appropriate for the moment, but this was one that warmed him from his chest down to the tips of his toes despite the chill of the rain soaking through to his skin.

Courfeyrac would likely say Enjolras' affections are blinding him. And they were, considering Grantaire's laughs were loud and gruff, hardly the stuff of dreamy sighs, but one in love remains impervious to such truths. Something Marius would likely say, but hey doesn't mean it's wrong. That Marius is a good fellow, Enjolras wondered if he can perhaps persuade Courfeyrac to bring him back to the Musain.

But at the current moment, he had just returned from a steaming shower and grimaced a little as he stared at the clothes a little. They would all dangle off of his lither, shorter form as compared to Grantaire's; it wasn't as if he wasn't used to it. Most of the clothes he's ever had to borrow in the past have been considerably bigger than him, but it was always just the slightest bit a hassle to have to roll up the sleeves and the legs of the pants so he doesn't go tripping and falling and breaking an arm (that last comment is a true story--just ask Combeferre. Or maybe not. He burned that pair of pants after he was distraught about Enjolras sustaining an injury from it. Courfeyrac was delighted. Not from Enjolras injuring himself of course, from the whole burning thing. It rather reminded him of that time he burned one of Charles de Gaulle's speeches in the fireplace.)

Whatever the case, he did have to roll up the sweatpants, but the shirt was short sleeved and fine, if but a bit baggy on himself.

But it was the hoodie that made things a lot better.

In truth, it wasn't even in the folded pile of clothes Grantaire gave him. It sat on the rack of clothing, but Grantaire never minded when he borrowed clothes, and how could he resist. It was his favourite. He never actually had the opportunity to wear it himself, of course, but he had seen it on Grantaire a number of times, and he allowed himself one indulgent inhale of its forest green fabric before he slipped it on and nearly laughed at the proportion of the hoodie to himself--it nearly reached knees, but if anything, he saw it as a good thing. The day was chilly, and the hoodie was warm and soft. Yes, this was definitely his favourite.

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

"Did you trip and break your arm again?" he heard Grantaire ask as he reentered the living room. He was searching through his collection of DVDs on the carpet, but at the sound of Enjolras going "Very funny," he looked up, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment and his mouth opening for a few seconds before closing. "That's my hoodie."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Grantaire all of these clothes are yours."

Grantaire blinked. "Wait. Yes. Yes they are."

He laughed before plopping himself down beside him on the carpet, leaning against the back of the sofa until Grantaire draped an arm around his shoulders and drew him to lean against his broad chest.

"And where did you find the hoodie, huh?" he heard him mumble into his hair.

He hummed. "Your shelf."

"And who gave you permission?"

He froze. "Oh. I'm sorry, I thought you would be okay with it, I can give it back--" he moved to take the hoodie off, but the arm around his shoulders tightened.

"I was joking, Enjolras, I don't need you to take it off, God, I'm not a brute." He felt himself moved to lean more comfortably against Grantaire. "Besides, it looks nice on you."

He rolled his eyes. "You once said I would look good in a potato sack, but I'll chalk it up to you being drunk."

"Being drunk is exactly how you get every truth out--"

"Grantaire," he sighed exasperatedly, but not without a smile. He burrowed in deeper and contented himself to relishing in the warmth provided by both the hoodie and Grantaire himself, Grantaire's breath ruffling his hair.

As he sat there, watching Grantaire sift through all sorts of movies, he couldn't help but agree.

Yes. Yes, the hoodie did look good on him.

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

Grantaire was almost done packing, and as always, just like everyone else, he was scrambling around the apartment, throwing things into his bag that he thought of last minute.

He watched Grantaire threw open his closet for the fifteenth time in the last five minutes and silently wondered what he was searching for. Enjolras kicked his legs off from where they hung, too short to reach the ground where he sat on a high chair.

"Have you seen my hoodie?" he asked at last, reemerging from the depths of his closet.

Enjolras snorted. "You're going to have to be more specific than that. You own quite a few hoodies."

Grantaire ran a hand through his curls. "The dark green one."

Enjolras pursed his lips and hoped his admission of guilt didn't show in his eyes as he thinks about the aforementioned hoodie sitting back in his closet, hidden away from the prying eyes of Courfeyrac--something to hold onto before Grantaire leaves for four months on his art tour. "Um. Noooo..."

The way he trails off, however, is definitely enough to rouse the suspicions of anyone who has even the slightest bit of sense to know when something's off. And for a second, Enjolras thinks that Grantaire, clever as he is, has detected it too, for there's a strange look in his eyes when he stares at Enjolras, but ultimately, he shakes off whatever it was he was thinking about, shrugs, and says "okay," and heads back to packing frantically.

He doesn't resume looking for the hoodie, though.

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

It had been a few weeks, and they're no stranger to Skyping. With Grantaire's art having recently grown ever more popular, he's left before on tours and exhibitions.

He's never left for quite so long, however, and though they don't yet live together, Enjolras still misses his presence in Paris.

And it was time, eventually, that led to his slip.

For all his Skype convos with Grantaire, had had never once donned the hoodie that he now wore freely around the apartment, regardless of Courfeyrac's teasing and Combeferre's insistence that he would only end up giving himself a heat stroke. It was especially important that he wear it on those days when he felt especially lonely, when Combeferre had an extra long shift at the hospital, and Courfeyrac was made to stay longer on accounts that a lawyer had to "make their way up through hard work when they first start off" and Grantaire was miles away in Croatia and all Enjolras is left at home with is a stack of papers to mark and a wish that someone was there to maybe hold him and make him feel not quite so empty inside.

So the hoodie was of vital importance. But it never came on during their Skype sessions. Grantaire could never know. What would he say when he saw that Enjolras had lied to him that day, that he actually did know where the hoodie was, and that he took it? He could never know.

And Enjolras had been so careful. He thought he was doing well. But on this particular night he came home exhausted after a lengthy and quite frankly irritating meeting with the principle on advocating for more funding to the school's arts programs, and he was simply much too tired to realize that when he changed at home, he threw on the hoodie and sat in front of the screen, waiting, as always, for the call to come through.

And there it was, there was that face he had missed so dearly, with a grin that seemed to lift even the smallest bit of exhaustion from his shoulders and let him breathe a little easier, a grin that softened into something gentler at the sight of the way Enjolras seemed so tired this night.

At first, the conversation was as it always was; moments to share, repeated I miss yous, and of course, the bickering that stemmed from concern. Enjolras let his guard down. He hadn't been paying enough attention. Not, until, Grantaire had started again--

"By the way," Grantaire said abruptly. "I never did find my hoodie. And that one you have on right now looks kind of familiar, don't you-- shit Enj, are you okay?"

He asked because Enjolras had toppled off the chair quite unceremoniously in his haste to get off screen. The hoodie! He looked down in horror at what he was wearing. Of course Grantaire recognized it, that was his hoodie! The one Enjolras hid from him before he left!

"Enj?" he heard from the laptop screen.

Well how would he face him now?

"Enj, are you okay? I'm kind of getting worried here."

Well there was nothing to do now. Throwing off the hoodie would only cause more suspicion. So with a red face, he made his way back up on his chair and muttered, "I'm fine."

Grantaire looked flabbergasted. "What's wrong?"

He let his eyes flit briefly into his. "Nothing."

"Is this about the hoodie?" Grantaire asked, amused.

He bit his cheek.

"You're wearing it, aren't you?" he heard him say, voice smug.

He buried his head in his hands. "Yes."

Grantaire's laugh, loud and bold, rang through the screen, and Enjolras was quite confused to say the least. Why wasn't he pissed? "I fucking knew I didn't just lose it. Joly gave me hell when he heard I left without it, told me I was always losing stuff--"

"Aren't you mad?" he blurted out. Grantaire's face turned confused for a moment before he let out another burst of laughter.

"Why the fuck would I be mad?"

He waved his hands in a frenzy. "Because I took your hoodie! Because I lied to you when you asked me where your hoodie was! Now you're stuck without a hoodie in Zagreb--"

"Zagreb's pretty warm actually--"

"And you were left wondering all this time where it was when I knew all along! Why aren't you pissed?"

Grantaire looked both amused and bemused. "It's really not that big a deal, you know. Although, I mean you don't have to steal it, you could just ask to borrow it. Or to keep it if you're so fond of it."

He bit his lip. He still felt guilty. "Still..."

Through the screen, his boyfriend squinted and shook his head gingerly. "You're overthinking things again, Enj. I'm not mad just because you took a hoodie, though I'll admit it would be nice if you just asked next time. I think everyone knows I wouldn't say no to you for something like this." He paused for a second before cracking a grin. "Besides, I already knew the hoodie was with you before this. Courfeyrac sent me a picture of you sleeping in it."

Enjolras hoped the thought of his plan to eat all of Courfeyrac's baking chocolate chips in front of him while he stood helplesssly as revenge for this wasn't showing too clearly on his face. Which he probably didn't have to worry about considering even he could feel how heated and red his cheeks had blazed.

"Sorry," he muttered again with embarassment.

Grantaire quirked an eyebrow. "I just told you I'm not mad." His voice softened, "Besides, like I said before--it looks good on you." This last part, this at least, was able to wring a genuine smile from Enjolras.

He pulled the hoodie tighter around himself. "I miss you," he admitted softly.

Grantaire gave him a gentle smile. "I know, Enj. I miss you too."

They remained silent for a minute, soakihg up the bit of presence online meets allowee before Enjolras cleared his throat and asked, "So what are you wearing overtop at the hotels if not your hoodie?"

"Hm? Oh I bought a new hoodie. From a store when I was in Madrid."

A new hoodie he says? That detail... Well... it was quite interesting to Enjolras...

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

When Grantaire finally came back, after months of touring, Enjolras vowed to spend the entire night and then well into the next day, in his arms.

And he did. He allowed himself to burrow deep in his chest and take a greedy inhale of his clothing, lingering with his scent, and drift off to sleep peacefully, satisfied after having his fill of the news of the success of Grantaire's art.

It was the next day, that his mind cleared a little enough of the excitement and euphoria that had clouded it the previous day, enough for him now to be able to realize that he'd never seen the cloth that Grantaire now donned, where Enjolras was now watching him put away the last of his dishes in the sink from where he was sitting on the table. He beckoned him closer, Grantaire coming to stand in front of him, lightly skimming his fingers over Enjolras' hips.

"What's this?" he asked as he tugged a bit at the cloth of the new black hoodie Grantaire wore.

"It's just the new hoodie I bought."

He pondered for a minute. "Have you worn it yet?"

Grantaire frowned. "Well, yeah, when I was back at the hotels and done for the day I--"

"I want it."

Grantaire blinked. "What--"

"I want it. Your hoodie. I want it."

With a laugh, Grantaire shook his head. "You already stole one of my hoodies, Enj, this--"

"I want this one too."

Grantaire stared at him in amused disbelief. "Are you going to steal all my clothes?"

"Yes."

Raising an eyebrow, Grantaire smirked and said, "You can't have this one."

So, really, he brought it on himself when Enjolras climbed a chair and launched hinself through the air at him.

"What the fuck!"

They both crashed to the ground as Enjolras landed atop him and tugged at the cloth. "Sharing is caring, now give me the hoodie!"

"Enj, holy shit--"

They went rolling on the carpeted floor until Enjolras managed to rip the hoodie out of Grantaire's hands, jumping up and throwing it on himself.

On the ground, Grantaire groaned.

Enjolras pursed his lips. "I thank you for your valuable contribution," he said seriously, before cracking the smile he had been trying so hard to hold back.

Grantaire huffed. "Well, you stole my old hoodie. You stole my new hoodie--"

"That's because they smell like you!" Enjolras interjected distressedly, unable to figure out why Grantaire wasn't aware of this.

"--Do you think maybe you could at least give me a hand?"

Rolling up the dangling sleeves, he reached a hand to clasp Grantaire's own and made to tug, only to feel himself tugged down atop Grantaire's broad chest. He yelped as he fell, Grantaire laughing as he wrapped arms around his waist, holding him close.

This time, Enjolras huffed. "What's this for?"

Grantaire hummed. "Payment. If you're going to take my hoodies, you're going to pay for them."

He raised an eyebrow. "In injuries?"

He got an eyeroll in return. "In cuddles."

"Well don't you think that would maybe be a better idea if we weren't on the ground?"

"Yes, but consider this: I'm too comfortable to get up."

Enjolras huffed once more, but burrowed further into Grantaire's chest anyways.

All in all, not a terrible price to pay.

#I hope this was okay anon I'm sorry it took such an absurd amount of time to get done #in which there are gratuitous references to Enjolras being short and stealing Grantaire's clothes #les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #ExR #les mis fic #annie writes stories #annie's answers #enjoltaire fic

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gendercraft · 3 years ago

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When I Fell Overboard [Chapter Five: Bad Habits]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: Sebastian struggles with his relationship with Maru as she strives to get close to him. Meanwhile, he and Elliott get closer and closer.

Trigger warnings: Panic attacks, fighting, snapping, potentially unsympathetic Robin, crying, food mention, let me know if I missed anything please

Elliott’s eyes were the colour of honey. When he breathed, slow and relaxed, his chest rose and fell, gently, very gently. Everything about Elliott was gentle, from the hand running through Sebastian’s hair to the smile gracing his lips. It made Sebastian feel like he was floating.

“Do you want to practice more?” Sebastian asked quietly, his voice a little raspy.

“No.” Elliott pulled Sebastian closer. “No, I don’t want to move.”

Sebastian smiled and buried his face in Elliott’s shoulder. His cabin was the one place things really quieted down, his anxiety really calmed. Sometimes, when he started to have an attack, or when a stray thought felt like it was physically attacking him, he would cringe or dig his nails into his palms, and Elliott would pull him out of his shell and count with him, or distract him, or remind him that everything was okay and he was okay. That he made mistakes but that didn’t mean he was a bad person.

Elliott always knew what to say.

And on days when Elliott’s motivation had left him, when no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t write more than a few sentences, each word like pulling teeth, Sebastian was there to tug him away and lay down with him. Elliott would read, and Sebastian would listen, and they would fall asleep together. Part of Sebastian wished he could spend all his time in Elliott’s cabin.

“I’m hungry,” he mumbled, but didn’t move.

Elliott chuckled. “Are you wanting dinner, or a snack? We have more pomegranates.”

“Too much work. What else?”

Elliott rested a hand on Sebastian’s stomach. “What exactly have you eaten today?”

“Uh.” Sebastian blinked. He tried to remember back to before he escaped to Elliott’s cabin. “Some crackers, I think? I don’t know, I was working.”

Elliott sat up, and Sebastian pouted. “What about soup? How are you with spicy foods?”

Sebastian sat up as well, running his fingers through his hair to get out the knots. “I mean, it’s not my favourite, but I like some spicy foods. Why?”

“Have you ever had tom kha soup?”

He shook his head as Elliott wandered into the kitchen. Sebastian followed, dressed in his long t-shirt and a pair of Elliott’s sweatpants—his jeans were too uncomfortable to cuddle in.

“It’s my favourite,” Elliott said, pulling onions and garlic out of the cupboard. “You’ll try it? No food allergies, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll try it. No food allergies.”

“Intolerances?”

“El, I’ll eat anything. Why, do you have food allergies?”

He smiled. “Elliwyn has a lot. You’ve gotta be careful, you know.”

Sebastian rolled up his sleeves, revealing pink and red patches of eczema on his arm. “What can I help with?”

“Can you get the—” Elliott stopped.

He frowned and stepped forward, carefully taking one of Sebastian’s hands. Sebastian paled as Elliott ran one finger along a patch of rough skin.

“Are you hurt?”

“N-no,” he managed. “No. Not really. It’s just my eczema.”

“I had no idea it could be this bad,” he confessed. “This looks painful.”

Sebastian forced a dry smile. “You have no idea. But it’s fine right now. I mean, it’s never great, but it’s, I don’t know, it’s fine. I can help with dinner—”

Elliott brought Sebastian’s hands up and kissed his cracked knuckles. Sebastian was going to die. Did he seriously just fucking do that? Holy shit. The floor had fallen from under him and his heart had stopped and wow, he was kissing his wrist now, too, despite the littering of scabs and open skin.

“That’s better,” Sebastian choked out, and Elliott laughed.

“Good. Can you get the coconut oil?”

Sebastian got a hold of himself as they cooked one of Elliott’s favourite recipes. Sebastian took it seriously, brows drawn as he focused on chopping vegetables, measuring spices. Elliott chuckled as he watched.

“You can relax, you know. You’re not being graded.”

“I don’t want to ruin it.”

“I doubt you would. I’m right here to guide you.”

They sat in the bed to eat, leaning against each other.

“This is good,” Sebastian mumbled. “I can see why it’s one of your favourites.”

“Isn’t it? You did a phenomenal job, Sebastian.”

He blushed.

“Do you want to spend the night?”

Sebastian choked on his soup. “What?” He spluttered.

He chuckled. “I mean, you’ve been staying so late as it is, I figured you might want to get some rest before taking the long hike back.”

Sebastian’s heart raced. Did that mean something? Was Elliott… hinting at something? Sebastian gripped his bowl. He couldn’t tell if they were flirting or if that’s just how Elliott acted, and he was leaning towards that just being how he acted. Elliott was a very romantic person, and very complimentary—any time they walked through town together and he spoke with Leah or Evelyn or Pierre, he was like sunshine. But just because he waxed poetic about Evelyn’s eyes didn’t mean he was flirting with her.

Besides, he found it very hard to believe some nights that anyone could be interested in him. He was overdramatic, and edgy, and boring, and his skin promised he’d never be handsome. Elliott had called him handsome once, but Sebastian had thought it through and determined he was just being nice, or he didn’t know about Sebastian’s skin yet.

“I want to,” he admitted, “but…”

“Your mom?”

He nodded. “She likes it when I warn her ahead of time. And I know, I know. I’m an adult. It’s just… things have been strained right now. I don’t want to push it.”

Elliott rested a hand at the back of Sebastian’s head. “I understand. Another time?”

He smiled. “Sure. Another time.”

“Wish I could see that more often.” He took another bite of soup, then grinned. “You have a lovely smile.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “I do not.”

“You do. Like I said, I wish I could see it more. You’re so… tortured.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I have depression, I am not tortured.”

“You torture yourself. I help sometimes, but I wish there were more I could do.”

Sebastian hesitated, then reached out and took his hand. He ran his thumb over the soft skin. “You do enough. I’m… really glad we started talking.”

“I am, too.”

They finished eating, and before Sebastian left, Elliott drew him in until Sebastian rested against his chest, breathing deeply and slow. Elliott cupped his face with a smile.

“I’ll see you soon.”

On the walk home, Sebastian couldn’t help but smile. Elliott always made him forget about his problems. Which is why he didn’t expect the intervention when he got home.

Mom, Maru, and Demetrius sat on the couch as he stopped at the top of the stairs. He looked into the sitting room.

“Do you… need something?”

“We should talk,” Mom said.

Demetrius patted the ottoman, sat across from the three of them on the couch. “Come sit.”

Sebastian was numb as he walked into the living room. He sat on the ottoman. “What is it?”

Robin and Demetrius glanced at each other, then turned to Sebastian.

“Why do you two think you’re fighting so much?” Demetrius asked.

Sebastian blinked. “I don’t… uh… I don’t really know, uh… haven’t we…?”

“We haven’t been fighting as much as usual.” Maru crossed her arms over her chest. “But we’ve still been fighting. And I think,” she met Sebastian’s eyes, “there’s too much pressure put on us.”

Sebastian straightened up with a frown. Is she taking my side?

“Sebastian,” Demetrius sighed, “what kind of pressure are you putting on her?”

His heart sank. He snapped his gaze to his step dad, flinching back.

“That’s not what I said!” Maru laughed.

“What else could it be?” Robin asked nervously. She glanced between Sebastian and Maru. “Sebastian, you’re… you’re stressing out the entire household. We need to fix this.”

He gripped the hem of his hoodie, pulling and twisting it around his fists. He might cry. He wasn’t going to, he would be able to push it back and hold it in, but the danger was there, the heat behind his eyes, the constricting of his chest.

Why is everything my fault?

“Maybe we should… untangle… the fights you’ve had recently,” she suggested. “We can start with the truck.”

“Okay,” Sebastian managed. “What about the truck?”

“You were pretty upset when I gave it to Maru—”

“Because you promised me!”

He flinched. Fuck. He was going to pay for that—they certainly wouldn’t listen to him now.

“Well, Sebastian—” Maru sighed. “Sometimes things get in the way. I might get a promotion because I got the truck, it’s simply not as important as a concert.”

Sebastian grit his teeth. But you always get what you want.

“Besides,” Demetrius said, “it’s Robin’s truck. At the end of the day, the decision she makes is final.”

“Why’d you change your mind?” Sebastian asked desperately. “I asked you weeks in advance—”

“You were acting like a brat.” She frowned and clasped her hands. “She needed it for a job opportunity and I was sick of the fighting, so I made a decision.”

Sebastian threw his hands in the air and Maru lurched forward, grabbing his arm. “It’s not a big deal.” She met his eyes, face serious. “It was just a truck. That’s not the problem here.” She stared at him intently.

What is she trying to tell me?

“That’s not the problem here,” she repeated.

“What about your… job,” Demetrius said, and Maru sighed.

Sebastian slumped. Here we go again. “What about it?”

“Well, no one really gets… what it is,” Mom said. “We would all feel a bit more comfortable if you got a real job, maybe you can work at the clinic! Or I know Gus is always hiring, JojaMart—”

“JojaMart?” Sebastian blanched. “You’d rather me work for JojaCorp than freelance?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Maru mumbled.

“Okay,” Demetrius sighed, “maybe not JojaMart, but the saloon or the clinic would surely be a good fit.”

“For who?” Sebastian stared between them in horror. “Do you even know me?”

“Yes, Sebastian, we do,” Mom snapped. She shook her head. “It wouldn’t kill you to have an excuse to leave the house every once in a while.”

“Maybe it would!” Sebastian leaned back. “You know how bad my anxiety is, I can barely eat at the Stardrop without- without-”

“And how are you supposed to live your life like that?” Demetrius quirked an eyebrow. “You need to have real life skills, not just what you can do on the computer.”

“Throwing me in the deep end won’t solve anything!”

Maru sat back with a sigh, crossing her arms. “This clearly isn’t helping.”

“Fine,” Demetrius said. “What about your sleep schedule?”

Sebastian grit his teeth. “What about my sleep schedule?”

“It’s completely unhealthy. You sleep all day, Yoba knows what you do at night—”

“I work at night!” He stood and took a few steps back, looking between them all with wide eyes.

Mom raised an eyebrow. “With all those distractions? Really?”

“Yes, really. And I only sleep six hours a night!”

“A ‘night?’ That’s not accurate.” Demetrius chuckled.

“This isn’t solving anything,” he mumbled, and turned to go to his room.

“Wait! Sebby, before you leave.”

He glanced over his shoulder. She was looking at Demetrius nervously, worrying her lip between her teeth.

“There’s one more thing we need to talk to you about,” Demetrius said.

He flicked his hood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, stood by the staircase down to his room. “What?”

“Elliott.” Mom smiled nervously. “You’ve been spending… quite a lot of time with him.”

No.

No no no no no. His parents were not homophobic. Right? There was no way.

“We’re worried,” Demetrius said. “You haven’t gotten him smoking, have you?”

Sebastian blinked. “What?”

“I noticed his ear is pierced,” Mom said. “Was that you?”

Sebastian shook his head in bewilderment. Elliott has an ear piercing? “No! I haven’t done that since high school!”

“He’s a very nice man. We don’t need you rubbing off your bad habits on him, okay?”

His heart cracked in half. Its shattered remnants fell to his stomach, stabbing through his abdomen. “What?” He asked softly.

“Everything we just talked about,” Demetrius said. “It’s already causing problems between you and Maru. You wouldn’t want to ruin that young man’s future, would you?”

“His future as a self employed writer?” Sebastian asked dryly, and the pain in his stomach lurched to a peak. I can’t believe I just threw Elliott under the bus.

Elliott was such a good writer. He was nearing completion in that short story he was writing, and he gave Sebastian snippets sometimes. It was good. Needed some refinement maybe, but it was good. And he was so… ambitious. There was no doubt in Sebastian’s mind that Elliott could make it. And here he was, smashing his dreams to pieces.

“He has consistent income,” Mom said. “He’s doing well for himself.”

“Sebastian obviously has consistent income.” Maru rolled her eyes and stood, brushing down her overalls. “He buys his own groceries and offers to pay for a piece of the bills every month. It’s not his fault you won’t let him.” She stopped next to him. “You’re right. This isn’t solving anything. I’m going to my room.”

Sebastian watched her leave, stunned. Her door shut.

“Well, Elliott’s… He’s not…” Mom struggled. She looked to Demetrius for help.

“He hasn’t ruined his body, for one.” Demetrius gestured to him, and Sebastian wanted to hide.

He liked his hair. He liked his tattoos. He loved his piercings. So why was he so ashamed?

“Something has to change, Sebastian, we can’t go on like this,” Demetrius said.

“Something.” He laughed wetly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He stared at the ground. “Right. I guess I’ll work on that.”

He turned to the stairs, and waited. Waited for a That’s not what we meant or a We love you just how you are or a I’m sorry.

“Thank you,” Mom said quietly.

He stalked down the stairs. His door clicked closed softly, his phone cold in his hands.

“What a lovely surprise!” Elliott grinned through the phone. “I was just packing up dinner and thinking of you. Do you want me to bring you some of the leftovers?”

Despite himself, Sebastian smiled. He sat at the edge of his bed. “No,” he mumbled. “No, I’m okay.”

“What’s wrong, stormcloud?”

“I… have to ask you something.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Am I… do I…” He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, you fucking idiot. “I don’t…”

“Sebastian,” he said softly. “What is it, darling?”

“I’m not, like, rubbing off on you weird or anything, right?”

Pause.

Then he laughed. “I’m sorry?”

Sebastian grinded his teeth. “I’m serious. You know, my… bad habits.”

“Well, I don’t smoke, and I don’t put myself down every three seconds. Am I supposed to notice more?”

“Don’t be obtuse.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you mean, my love.”

He laid back in bed, drawing in a shuddering breath. “You know, my… my piercings.”

“Your piercings? What about them?”

“Did you get an ear piercing?”

“Oh, you noticed? How kind! Yes, it stung like a bitch, but I was younger so my pain tolerance wasn’t-”

“It’s not new?”

Pause. He laughed. “No, love. I’ve had it about five years. What is this about? Did Caroline catch you again?”

“Not Caroline,” he mumbled, and quickly ran through everything that had happened.

“Oh, darling…” He sighed. “I am so, so, so sorry they did that to you. You didn’t deserve that. I can promise, there is nothing wrong with how you are and what you do. I mean, I’m not thrilled about the smoking but… No. They’re wrong. Please don’t listen to them, my love.”

Sebastian wiped his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“I promise. Do you want to come back? Offer still stands.”

“I don’t want to risk getting caught by them again. I can’t very well escape out a window.”

He laughed. “No, you can’t. I can always come to you.”

“I don’t want them to catch you, either.”

“How can I help, darling?”

Sebastian worried his lip ring between his teeth. “Uh… can you read to me?”

“Of course! What would you like me to read?”

“I don’t know,” he rolled onto his stomach, “we finished the short story collection. I’m too tired to start a novel.”

“Well… I did finish what I was working on. It hasn’t been critiqued yet, but—”

“Read it.” Sebastian settled with his earbuds and pillow, humming. “I want to hear.”

“Okay,” Elliott said softly. “Okay, one sec. Ah! Got it. Okay. Ready? ‘Every day Penelope carried a metric ton of bricks around in her stomach…’”

#elliott sdv #sebastian sdv #elliott/sebastian #stardew valley #sdv

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96harmony96 · 3 years ago

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Chapter 1

I loved New York with the kind of mad passion I reserved for only one other thing in my life. The city was a microcosm of new world opportunities and old world traditions. Conservatives rubbed shoulders with bohemians. Oddities coexisted with priceless rarities. The pulsing energy of the city fueled international business bloodlines and drew people from all over the world.

And the embodiment of all that vibrancy, driving ambition, and world-renowned power had just screwed me to two toe-curlingly awesome orgasms.

As I padded over to her massive walk-in closet, I glanced at lauren jauregui’s sex-rumpled bed and shivered with remembered pleasure. My hair was still damp from a shower, and the towel wrapped around me was my only article of clothing. I had an hour and a half before I had to be at work, which was cutting it a little too close for comfort. Obviously, I was going to have to allot time in my morning routine for sex, otherwise I’d always be scrambling. Lauren woke up ready to conquer the world, and she liked to start that domination with me.

How lucky was I?

Because it was sliding into July in New York and the temperature was heating up, I chose a slim pair of pressed natural-linen slacks and a sleeveless poplin shell in a soft brown that matched my eyes. Since I had no hairstyling talent, I pulled my long drown hair back in a simple ponytail, then made up my face. When I was presentable, I left the bedroom.

I heard Lauren's voice the moment I stepped into the hallway. A tiny shiver moved through me when I realized she was angry, her voice low and clipped. she didn’t rile easily . . . unless she was ticked off with me. I could get her to raise her voice and curse, even shove her hands through her glorious shoulder-length mane of inky black hair.

For the most part, though, Lauren was a testament to leashed power. There was no need for her to shout when she could get people to quake in their shoes with just a look or a tersely spoken word.

I found her in her home office. She stood with her back to the door and a Bluetooth receiver in her ear. Her arms were crossed and she was staring out the windows of her Fifth Avenue penthouse apartment, giving the impression of a very solitary woman, an individual who was separate from the world around her, yet entirely capable of ruling it.

Leaning into the doorjamb, I drank her in. I was certain my view of the skyline was more awe-inspiring than her. My vantage point included her superimposed over those towering skyscrapers, an equally powerful and impressive presence. she’d finished her shower before I managed to crawl out of bed. her seriously addictive body was now dressed in two pieces of an expensively tailored three-piece suit—an admitted hot button of mine. The rear view of her showcased a perfect ass and a powerful back encased in a vest.

On the wall was a massive collage of photos of us as a couple and one very intimate one that she’d taken of me while I was sleeping. Most were pictures taken by the paparazzi who followed her every move. She was Lauren Jauregui, of Jauregui Industries, and at the ridiculous age of twenty-eight, she was one of the top twenty-five richest people in the world. I was pretty sure she owned a significant chunk of Manhattan; I was positive she was the hottest woman on the planet. And she kept photos of me everywhere she worked, as if I could possibly be as fun to look at as she was.

she turned, pivoting gracefully to catch me with her icy green gaze. Of course she’d known I was there, watching her. There was a crackling in the air when we were near each other, a sense of anticipation like the coiled silence before the boom of thunder. she’d probably deliberately waited a beat before facing me, giving me the opportunity to check her out because she knew I loved to look at her.

Dark and Dangerous. And all mine.

God . . . I never got used to the impact of that face. Those sculpted cheekbones and dark winged brows, the thickly lashed green eyes, and those lips . . . perfectly etched to be both sensual and wicked. I loved when they smiled with sexual invitation, and I shivered when they thinned into a stern line. And when she pressed those lips to my body, I burned for her.

Jeez, listen to yourself. My mouth curved, remembering how annoyed I used to get at pals who waxed poetic about their boyfriends’ good looks. But here I was, constantly awed by the gorgeousness of the complicated, frustrating, messed-up, sexy-as-sin woman I was falling deeper in love with every day.

As we stared at each other, her scowl didn’t lessen, nor did she cease speaking to the poor soul on the receiving end of her call, but her gaze warmed from its chilly irritation to scorching heat.

I should’ve gotten used to the change that came over her when she looked at me, but it still hit me with a force strong enough to rock me on my feet. That look conveyed how hard and deep she wanted to fuck me—which she did every chance she got—and it also afforded me a glimpse of her raw, unrelenting force of will. A core of strength and command marked everything Lauren did in life.

“See you at eight on Saturday,” she finished, before yanking off the earpiece and tossing it on her desk. “Come here, camila.”

Another shiver slid through me at the way she said my name, with the same authoritative bite she used when she said Come, Camila, while I was beneath her . . . filled with her . . . desperate to climax for her . . .

“No time for that, ace.” I backed into the hallway, because I was weak where she was concerned. The soft rasp in her smooth, cultured voice was nearly capable of making me orgasm just listening to it. And whenever she touched me, I caved.

I hurried to the kitchen to make us some coffee.

she muttered something under her breath and followed me out, her long stride easily gaining on mine. I found myself pinned to the hallway wall by a six feet, two inches of hard, hot male.

“You know what happens when you run, angel.” Lauren nipped my lower lip with her teeth and then soothed the sting with the caress of her tongue. “I catch you.”

Inside me, something sighed with happy surrender and my body went lax with pleasure at being pressed so close to her. I craved her constantly, so deeply it was a physical ache. What I felt was lust, but it was also so much more. Something so precious and profound that Lauren's lust for me wasn’t the trigger it would’ve been with another man. If anyone else had attempted to subdue me with the weight of their body, I would’ve freaked out. But it had never been an issue with lauren. She knew what I needed and how much I could take.

The sudden flash of her grin stopped my heart.

Confronted with that breathtaking face framed by that lustrous dark hair, I felt my knees weaken just a little. She was so polished and urbane except for the decadent length of those silky strands.

she nuzzled her nose against mine. “You can’t smile at me like that, then walk away. Tell me what you were thinking about when I was on the phone.”

My lips twisted wryly. “How gorgeous you are. It’s sickening how often I think about that. I need to get over it already.”

she cupped the back of my thigh and urged me tighter against her, teasing me with an expert roll of her hips against mine. She was outrageously gifted in bed. And she knew it. “Damn if I’ll let you.”

“Oh?” Heat slid sinuously through my veins, my body too greedy for the feel of her. “You can’t tell me you want another starry-eyed woman hanging on you, Miss. Hates-Exaggerated-Expectations.”

“What I want,” she purred, cupping my jaw and rubbing my bottom lip with the pad of her thumb, “is you being too busy thinking about me to think about anyone else.”

I pulled in a slow and shaky breath. I was completely seduced by the smoldering look in her eyes, the provocative tone of her voice, the heat of her body, and the mouthwatering scent of her skin. She was my drug, and I had no desire to kick the habit.

“Lauren,” I breathed, entranced.

With a soft groan, she sealed her chiseled mouth over mine, stealing away thoughts of what time it was with a lush, deep kiss . . . a kiss that almost succeeded in distracting me from seeing the insecurity she’d just revealed.

I pushed my fingers into her hair to hold her still and kissed her back, my tongue sliding along her, stroking. We’d been a couple for such a short period of time. Less than a month. Worse, neither of us knew how to have a relationship like the one we were attempting to build—a relationship in which we refused to pretend we weren’t both seriously broken.

her arms banded around me and tightened possessively. “I wanted to spend the weekend with you down in the Florida Keys—naked.”

“Umm, sounds nice.” More than nice. As big of a kick as I got out of Lauren in a three-piece suit, I much preferred her stripped to the skin. I avoided pointing out that I wouldn’t be available this weekend . . .

“Now I’ve got to spend the weekend taking care of business,” she muttered, her lips moving against mine.

“Business you put off to be with me?” she’d been leaving work early to spend time with me, and I knew that had to be costing her. My mother was in her third marriage, and all of her spouses were successful, wealthy moguls of one kind or another. I knew the price for ambition was very late hours.

“I pay other people a generous salary so I can be with you.”

Nice dodge, but noting the flash of irritation in her gaze, I distracted her. “Thank you. Let’s get some coffee before we run out of time.”

Lauren stroked her tongue along my bottom lip, then released me. “I’d like to get off the ground by eight tomorrow night. Pack cool and light. Arizona’s got dry heat.”

“What?” I blinked at her retreating back as it disappeared into her office. “Arizona is where your business is?”

“Unfortunately.”

Uh . . . whoa. Instead of risking my shot at coffee, I postponed arguing and continued on to the kitchen. I passed through Lauren's spacious apartment with its stunning prewar architecture and slender arched windows, my heels alternately clicking over gleaming hardwood and muffled by Aubusson rugs. Decorated in dark woods and neutral fabrics, the luxurious space was brightened by jeweled accents. As much as her place screamed money, it managed to remain warm and welcoming, a comfortable place to relax and feel pampered.

When I reached the kitchen, I wasted no time in shoving a travel mug under the one-cup coffeemaker. Lauren joined me with her jacket draped over one arm and her cell phone in her hand. I put another portable mug under the spout for her before I went to the fridge for some half-and-half.

“It might be fortunate after all.” I faced her and reminded her of my roommate issue. “I need to knock heads with Cary this weekend.”

Lauren dropped her phone in the inner pocket of her jacket, then hung the garment off the back of one of the bar stools at the island. “You’re coming with me, camila.”

Exhaling in a rush, I added half-and-half to my coffee. “To do what? Lie around naked, waiting for you to finish work and fuck me?”

her gaze held mine as she collected her mug and sipped her steaming coffee with too-calm deliberation. “Are we going to argue?”

“Are you going to be difficult? We talked about this. You know I can’t leave Cary after what happened last night.” The multibody tangle I’d found in my living room gave new meaning to the word clusterfuck.

I put the carton back in the fridge and absorbed the sensation of being drawn to her inexorably by the force of her will. It’d been that way from the beginning. When she chose to, Lauren could make me feel her demands. And it was very, very difficult to ignore the part of me that begged to give her whatever she wanted. “You’re going to take care of business and I’m going to take care of my best friend, then we’ll go back to taking care of each other.”

“I won’t be back until Sunday night, camila.”

Oh . . . I felt a sharp twinge in my belly at hearing we’d be apart that long. Most couples didn’t spend every free moment together, but we weren’t like most people. We both had hang-ups, insecurities, and an addiction to each other that required regular contact to keep us functioning properly. I hated being apart from her. I rarely went more than a couple of hours without thinking of her.

“You can’t stand the thought, either,” she said quietly, studying me in that way she had that saw everything. “By Sunday we’ll both be worthless.”

I blew on the surface of my coffee, then took a quick sip. I was unsettled at the thought of going the entire weekend without her. Worse, I hated the thought of her spending that amount of time away from me. She had a world of choices and possibilities out there, women who weren’t so screwed up and difficult to be with.

Still, I managed to say, “We both know that’s not exactly healthy, lauren.”

“Says who? No one else knows what it’s like to be us.”

Okay, I’d give her that.

“We need to get to work,” I said, knowing this impasse was going to drive both of us crazy all day. We’d sort it out later, but for now we were stuck with it.

Resting her hip against the counter, she crossed her ankles and stubbornly settled in. “What we need is for you to come with me.”

“lauren.” My foot began to tap against the travertine tile. “I can’t just give up my life for you. If I turn into arm candy, you’ll get bored real quick. Hell, I’d get sick of myself. It shouldn’t kill us to spend a couple days straightening out other parts of our lives, even if we hate doing it.”

her gaze captured mine. “You’re too much trouble to be arm candy.”

“Takes a troublemaker to know one.”

Lauren straightened, shrugging off her brooding sensuality and instantly capturing me with her severe intensity. So mercurial—like me. “You’ve gotten a lot of press lately, camila. It’s no secret that you’re in New York. I can’t leave you here while I’m gone. Bring Cary with us if you have to. You can butt heads with him while you’re waiting for me to finish work and fuck you.”

“Ha.” Even as I acknowledged her attempt to lighten the strain with humor, I realized what her real objection to being apart from me was—Nathan. My former stepbrother. The living nightmare from my past that Lauren seemed to fear might reappear in my present. It frightened me to concede that she wasn’t totally wrong. The shield of anonymity that had protected me for years had been shattered by our highly public relationship.

God . . . we totally didn’t have the time to get into that mess, but I knew it wasn’t a point Lauren would concede on. She was a woman who claimed her possessions utterly, fought off her competitors with ruthless precision, and would never allow any harm to come to me. I was her safe place, which made me rare and invaluable to her.

Lauren glanced at her watch. “Time to go, angel.”

She fetched her jacket, then gestured for me to precede her through her luxurious living room, where I grabbed my purse and the bag holding my walking shoes and other necessities. A few moments later, we’d finished the descent to the ground floor in her private elcamilator and slid into the back of her black Bentley SUV.

“Hi, Angus,” I greeted her driver, who touched the brim of his old-fashioned chauffeur’s hat.

“Good morning, Miss.Cabello,” he replied, smiling. He was an older gentleman, with a liberal sprinkling of white in his red hair. I liked him for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that he’d been driving Lauren around since grade school and genuinely cared for her.

A quick glance at the Rolex my mother and stepfather had given me told me I’d make it to work on time . . . if we didn’t get boxed in by traffic. Even as I thought this, Angus slid deftly into the sea of taxis and cars on the street. After the tense quiet of Lauren's apartment, the noise of Manhattan woke me as effectively as a jolt of caffeine. The blaring of horns and the thud of tires over a manhole cover invigorated me. Rapid-moving streams of pedestrians flanked both sides of the clogged street, while buildings stretched ambitiously toward the sky, keeping us in shadow even as the sun climbed.

God, I seriously loved New York. I took the time every day to absorb it, to try to draw it into me.

I settled into the leather seat back and reached for Lauren's hand, giving it a squeeze. “Would you feel better if Cary and I left town for the weekend? Maybe a quick trip to Vegas?”

Lauren's gaze narrowed. “Am I a threat to Cary? Is that why you won’t consider Arizona?”

“What? No. I don’t think so.” Shifting in the seat, I faced her. “Sometimes it takes an all-nighter before I can get him to open up.”

“You don’t think so?” She repeated my answer, ignoring everything but the first words out of my mouth.

“He might feel like he can’t reach out to me when he needs to talk because I’m always with you,” I clarified, steadying my mug with two hands as we drove over a pothole. “Listen, you’re going to have to get over any jealousy about Cary. When I say he’s like a brother to me, Lauren, I’m not kidding. You don’t have to like him but you have to understand that he’s a permanent part of my life.”

“Do you tell him the same thing about me?”

“I don’t have to. He knows. I’m trying to reach a compromise here—”

“I never compromise.”

My brows rose. “In business, I’m sure you don’t. But this is a relationship, lauren. It requires give and—”

Lauren's growl cut me off. “My plane, my hotel, and if you leave the premises you take a security team with you.”

Her sudden, reluctant capitulation surprised me silent for a long minute. Long enough for her brow to arch over those piercing green eyes in a look that said take it or leave it.

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” I prodded. “I’ll have Cary with me.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust him with your safety after last night.” As she drank her coffee, her posture made it very clear that the conversation was done in her mind. she’d given me her acceptable options.

I might’ve gotten bitchy about that kind of high-handedness if I didn’t understand that taking care of me was her motivation. My past had vicious skeletons, and dating Lauren had put me in a media spotlight that could bring Nathan Barker right to my door.

Plus, controlling everything around her was just part of who Lauren was. It came with the package and I had to make accommodations for that.

“Okay,” I agreed. “Which hotel is yours?”

“I have a few. You can take your pick.” she turned her head to look out the window. “Scott will email you the list. When you’ve decided, let him know and he’ll make the arrangements. We’ll fly out together and return together.”

Leaning my shoulder into the seat, I took a drink of my coffee and noted the way her hand was fisted on her thigh. In the tinted window’s reflection, Lauren's face was impassive, but I could feel her moodiness.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“Don’t. I’m not happy about this, camila.” A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Your roommate fucks up and I have to spend the weekend without you.”

Hating that she was unhappy, I took her coffee from her and set our travel mugs in the backseat cup holders. Then I climbed into her lap, straddling her. I draped my arms around her shoulders. “I appreciate you bending on this, lauren. It means a lot to me.”

she caught me in her fierce green gaze. “I knew you were going to drive me insane the moment I saw you.”

I smiled, recalling how we’d met. “Sprawled on my ass on the lobby floor of the Crossfire Building?”

“Before. Outside.”

Frowning, I asked, “Outside where?”

“On the sidewalk.” Lauren gripped my hips, squeezing in that possessive, commanding way of her that made me ache for her. “I was leaving for a meeting. A minute later and I would’ve missed you. I’d just gotten into the car when you came around the corner.”

I remembered the Bentley idling at the curb that day. I’d been too awed by the building to take note of the sleek vehicle when I arrived, but I had noticed it when I left.

“You hit me the instant I saw you,” she said gruffly. “I couldn’t look away. I wanted you immediately. Excessively. Almost violently.”

How could I not have known that there’d been more to our first meeting than I’d realized? I thought we’d stumbled across each other by accident. But she’d been leaving for the day . . . which meant she had deliberately backtracked inside. For me.

“You stopped right next to the Bentley,” she went on, “and your head tilted back. You were looking up at the building and I pictured you on your knees, looking up at me that same way.”

The low growl in Lauren's voice had me squirming in her lap. “What way?” I whispered, mesmerized by the fire in her eyes.

“With excitement. A little awe . . . a little intimidation.” Cupping my rear, she urged me tighter against her. “There was no way to stop myself from following you inside. And there you were, right where I’d wanted you, damn near kneeling in front of me. In that minute, I had a half dozen fantasies about what I was going to do to you when I got you naked.”

I swallowed, remembering my similar reaction to her. “Looking at you for the first time made me think about sex. Screaming, sheet-clawing sex.”

“I saw that.” her hands slid up either side of my spine. “And I knew you saw me, too. Saw what I am . . . what I have inside me. You saw right through me.”

And that was what had knocked me on my ass—literally. I’d looked into her eyes and realized how tightly reined she was, what a shadowed soul she had. I had seen power and hunger and control and demand. Somewhere inside me, I’d known she would take me over. It was a relief to know she’d felt the same upheaval over me.

Lauren's hands hugged my shoulder blades and pulled me closer, until our foreheads touched. “No one’s ever seen before, camila. You’re the only one.”

My throat tightened painfully. In so many ways, Lauren was a hard woman, yet she could be so sweet to me. Almost childishly so, which I loved because it was pure and uncontrolled. If no one else bothered to look beyond her striking face and impressive bank account, they didn’t deserve to know her. “I had no idea. You were so . . . cool. I didn’t seem to affect you at all.”

“Cool?” she scoffed. “I was on fire for you. I’ve been fucked up ever since.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“You made me need you,” she rasped. “Now I can’t stand the thought of two days without you.”

Holding her jaw in my hands, I kissed her tenderly, my lips coaxing and apologetic. “I love you, too,” I whispered against her beautiful mouth. “I can’t stand being away from you, either.”

her returning kiss was greedy, devouring, and yet the way she held me close to her was gentle and reverent. As if I were precious. When she pulled back, we were both breathing hard.

“I’m not even your type,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood before we went into work. Lauren's preference for blondes was well known and well documented.

I felt the Bentley pull over and to a halt. Angus got out of the car to give us privacy, leaving the engine and air-conditioning running. I looked out the window and saw the Crossfire beside us.

“About the type thing—” Lauren's head fell back to rest against the seat. She took a deep breath. “Corinne was surprised by you. You weren’t what she’d expected.”

My jaw tightened at the mention of Lauren's former fiancée. Even knowing that their relationship had been about friendship and loneliness for her, not love, didn’t stop the claws of envy from digging into me. Jealousy was one of my virulent flaws. “Because I’m brunette?”

“Because . . . you don’t look like her.”

My breath caught. I hadn’t considered that Corinne had set the standard for her. Even Magdalene Perez—one of Lauren's friends who wished she were more—had said she’d kept her light hair long to emulate Corinne. But I hadn’t grasped the complexity of that observation. My God . . . if it was true, Corinne had tremendous power over Lauren, way more than I could bear. My heart rate quickened and my stomach churned. I hated her irrationally. Hated that she’d had even a piece of her. Hated every woman who’d known her touch . . . her lust . . . her amazing body.

I started sliding off her.

“camila.” She stayed me by tightening her grip on my thighs. “I don’t know if she’s right.”

I looked down at where she held me, and the sight of my promise ring on the finger of her right hand—my brand of ownership—calmed me. So did the look of confusion on her face when I met her gaze. “You don’t?”

“If that’s what it was, it wasn’t conscious. I wasn’t looking for her in other women. I didn’t know I was looking for anything until I saw you.”

My hands slid down her lapels as relief filled me. Maybe she hadn’t been consciously looking for her, but even if she had, I couldn’t be more different from Corinne in appearance and temperament. I was unique to her; a woman apart from her others in every way. I wished that could be enough to kill my jealousy.

“Maybe it wasn’t a preference so much as a pattern.” I smoothed her frown line with a fingertip. “You should ask Dr. Petersen when we see her tonight. I wish I had more answers after all my years of therapy, but I don’t. There’s a lot that’s inexplicable between us, isn’t there? I still have no idea what you see in me that’s hooked you.”

“It’s what you see in me, angel,” she said quietly, her features softening. “That you can know what I have in me and still want me as much as I want you. I go to sleep every night afraid I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. Or that I scared you away . . . that I dreamed you—”

“No. lauren.” Jesus. She broke my heart every day. Shattered me.

“I know I don’t tell you how I feel about you in the same way you tell me, but you have me. You know that.”

“Yes, I know you love me, lauren.” Insanely. Outrageously. Obsessively. Just like my feelings for her.

“I’m caught up with you, camila.” With her head tilted back, Lauren pulled me down for the sweetest of kisses, her firm lips moving gently beneath mine. “I’d kill for you,” she whispered, “give up everything I own for you . . . but I won’t give you up. Two days is my limit. Don’t ask for more than that; I can’t give it to you.”

I didn’t take her words lightly. her wealth insulated her, gave her the power and control that had been stolen from her at some point in her life. she’d suffered brutality and violation, just as I had. That she would consider it worthwhile to lose her peace of mind just to keep me meant more than the words I love you.

“I just need the two days, ace, and I’ll make them worth your while.”

The starkness of her gaze bled away, replaced by sexual heat. “Oh? Planning on pacifying me with sex, angel?”

“Yes,” I admitted shamelessly. “Lots of it. After all, the tactic seems to work well for you.”

her mouth curved, but her gaze had a sharpness that quickened my breath. The dark look she gave me reminded me—as if I could forget—that Lauren wasn’t a man who could be managed or tamed.

“Ah, Camila,” she purred, sprawled against the seat with the predatory insouciance of a sleek panther who’d neatly trapped a mouse in her den.

A delicious shiver moved through me. When it came to Lauren, I was more than willing to be devoured.

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minuteminx · 4 years ago

Text

Revolutionary

[NEW FIC ALERT!!]

Pairing: Preston Garvey/ Female Sole Survivor

Summary: In the aftermath of personal tragedies, Preston and Charlie both seek to make a difference in the Commonwealth and those around them. They could never anticipate the impact that they will have on eachother in the process.

[AO3 Link]

Chapter One: Paul Revere

“You cannot buy the revolution. You cannot make the revolution. You can only be the revolution. It is in your spirit, or it is nowhere.” ― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Dispossessed

Qunicy Ruins, June 2288

When Preston was a kid, he’d sit with his dad on their tattered rug as the man picked lackadaisically at the strings of an ancient guitar. He’d wax all sorts of poetic about the past, the times before the war, before the bombs fell, before everything was rads and raiders and running from bands of ferals. It was that Great Commonwealth Myth of a pre-war paradise, of big ideals, and boundless opportunity. A myth that one would hear refuted if they listened closely enough to grumbles from ghouls who’d managed to keep their sanity over the two centuries since the end of the world.

The myth was a lie, for sure, one Preston had clung to for most of his life. But he couldn’t anymore, not as he stood staring at the massive pile of ashes that used to be his comrades and the settlers they attempted to protect. The bastards who murdered all of those people were direct descendents from the monsters who made weapons with enough power to wipe entire regions off the map. There was no paradise; it was just a prettier picture.

The Quincy settlement, if he could still call it that, looked a lot different since the last time he’d seen it, surrounded by junk fences and lined with barbed wire at the top. Buildings were tagged with Gunner graffiti, and the streets were quiet as the mass grave that the settlement had turned out to be. It really didn’t make much sense. Shouldn’t it have been some sort of bustling Gunner stronghold after Clint and his buddies went to all that trouble to claim it?

“I don’t like this,” Charlie remarked suddenly, her raspy voice a quick reminder that he wasn’t alone, hadn’t been alone for over eight months now. He turned to face her, eyes flicking around the ruins to the seven other Minutemen who’d come along. Millie was the only one who noticed him, and she gave him the least reassuring smile he’d ever seen.

“Neither do I,” he agreed as he returned his gaze to Charlie. “Not one bit.”

“It wasn’t like this when I got away,” Millie added, glancing around the square, “I know that there had been mention of disagreements between Clint and the other bosses, probably because he has the leadership ability of a bloatfly.”

Preston smirked. “Now, Millie, I think that’s giving him too much credit.”

She laughed and opened her mouth to reply to him, but an explosion rang out instead as a launched projectile crashed into one of the buildings just ahead of them. She eyed the area frantically before locking onto the rooftop of the church. “Shit. It’s Baker.”

“Baker?” He snapped his gaze up to the walkway, catching a glimpse of a figure clad in power armor and wielding a goddamned fat man.

“He’s one of the other bosses… and it looks like he found himself a new toy.”

Preston sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, running through the list of possible strategies in his head. “We need to fall back,” he muttered under his breath decisively, then looked up to make the suggestion to Charlie, to the general, “We need to fall b--”

She’d already taken off toward the church, a pistol in either hand, without giving a single order to him or the others. He wanted to drop everything and chase after her, to stop her from running directly into danger, just once. But someone had to give some kind of instruction before Baker launched a nuke directly on top of them. He waved his hand over his head and back toward the gates, motioning for the others to head back out of the middle of town. “Fall back. Head up to the walkways if you can. We can’t win this from the ground.”

Millie remained where she stood as the others fled to safety. “I’ll get these guys into position,” she stated, then nodded in the direction Charlie had run, “You go fetch your general.”

“But--” Another mini nuke exploded, in the distance this time, and his stomach lurched.

“Go.” She flicked her wrist in a shooing motion. “You’re not gonna be any use back here worried about her out there trying to pistol whip Baker to death.”

He snorted out a laugh despite the gravity of the situation, the image of the rail thin red-head successfully tackling him down, power armor and all, and smacking the butt of her favorite 10mm into his nose. Honestly, he’d seen her get away with wilder things. He tipped his hat at his long time friend, gave his musket a quick crank, and ran off after his wildcard general.

He faced little resistance on his way to the church, only a couple of Gunner conscripts crossed his path, and he was able to take them out easily. It looked like a lot of their efforts were focused on Millie and the others at the gates and climbing up the walkways. It was for the best, but it didn’t make him worry any less for their safety.

When he finally reached the church, it was too quiet, especially for somewhere Charlie was supposed to be. There was no gunfire, no talking, nothing. Just silence. Preston scanned the area, heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest. After everything Charlie had been through, all she’d survived, she couldn’t be dead now, not while doing a favor for him, not with all that unfinished business between them. She couldn’t.

Several moments passed, and there were still no signs of life in the area. He decided to head inside the church, figure out how to get up to the roof for a better view. Just as he moved toward the door, a loud clank of metal sounded behind him and he spun on his heels, weapon readied.

It was the traitor himself that he turned to face, Clint, in his hulking suit of stolen power armor, a militia hat perched disrespectfully atop his buzz cut head. He still wore sunglasses that were so reflective that Preston could see his own furious face in the lenses. Clint let out an arrogant chuckle, and stomped up closer.

“Well, well, well,” he mocked, “What do we have here? Paul Revere himself?”

“Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to correct a man he intended to kill, but the words slipped out.

“I know who you are. Read all about you in Ol’ Ezra’s holotapes.” Clint laughed again. “And the Minutemen don’t exist anymore. I got rid of the last of ‘em, myself.

“You missed one,” Preston remarked, dryly.

“What? You? Ha!.” Clint shook his head. “And that merry band of farmers you marched in through the front gate with? Kind of a rookie move, there, son.”

“ Don’t call me son,” Preston spat, venom filling his mouth.

Before he could react, Clint’s armored fist slammed into his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him flying back against the rusty skeleton of an old car. Preston’s head crashed against the metal, and pain pulsed out from the point of impact throughout his whole head. His vision spun around him, creating a double of the man who towered over him. He felt sick to his stomach, and couldn’t quite figure out how to get back to his feet or where his weapon went. Darkness crept in at the corners of his vision.

“I hate mouthy punks,” Clint growled.

Preston attempted to speak, but couldn’t find words in the chaos of his head. He mumbled something even he couldn’t interpret.

“Oh man,” Clint exclaimed, smirk twisting on his face, “You’re really making this easy, Garvey. Can’t say you live up to Ezra’s praise. What in the goddamned wasteland made you think you could rebuild the Minutemen? You can’t even take a punch. Pathetic.”

As Clint spoke, Preston noticed a blur of movement behind the other man. He knew his eyes must have been playing tricks on him because it looked as if the air vibrated like it sometimes did in highly irradiated areas. Quincy wasn’t one of those places. The only other thing it could be was a--

Just as he thought the word stealth boy , the wobble in the air dissipated, and Charlie stood no more than ten feet behind Clint. She slowly raised a finger to her lips in a shushing motion, and readied her weapon to aim. Preston couldn’t keep the relief washing over his face, mouth twitching at the corners. She was alive, and not only that, she’d come to save him once again. Mama Murphy really did hit the nail on the head all those months ago.

“Why are you smiling,” Clint asked abruptly, lifting his laser rifle, locking it straight in the direction of Preston’s chest. “What’s so fucking funny, huh?”

“Nothing, man,” Preston managed, words slurring, “Nothing at all.”

At that moment, Charlie unleashed a terrifying barrage of shots into Clint’s armor, damaging the legs so severely that they locked in place, and Clint had to jump out. “What the--” he began, and turned around, to face his attacker. “You little bitch .”

He attempted to raise his weapon and aim at her, but before he could get there, she’d pulled her trigger. Preston couldn’t make out where she’d shot Clint, but the man dropped his gun and fell to his knees, before falling to his face. Charlie holstered her pistols, and stared down at the man she’d just killed, expression as flat as he’d ever seen it.

“I’m not a bitch,” she muttered, shaking her head before setting her gaze on Preston, worry knitting her brows as soon as their eyes met. She rushed over to where he sat, up against the car he’d been thrown into, and knelt down, cupping his face with a gloved hand on either side and turning his head to the left and then the right, clearly examining him for injury. She flipped a switch on her PipBoy, flashing a bright beam of light into each of his eyes. He squinted and shook his head, causing her to giggle, but he could hear the tears and sniffling between laughs.

“You’re okay,” she assured him, pressing an unexpected kiss to his forehead, “Looks like you might have a concussion, but you’re safe. I’m here.”

“You’re really scary sometimes, you know that,” he stated, words still stumbling out of his mouth clumsily.

She laughed nervously and glanced away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, I just… I’d just watched Clint knock you into this car, and he was about to kill you and I just--.”

“No,” he corrected her, grin spreading across his face, “It’s kinda hot.”

She snorted and a tear rolled down her cheek, dripping off her chin. “Jesus, you hit your head harder than I thought.”

“It’s still the truth,” he admitted weakly, vision closing in entirely. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness entirely, was her voice calling his name.

“Preston?”

#fallout 4 #preston garvey #preston garvey x f!sole survivor #female sole survivor #fanfiction #my writing #long post

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foxymoxynoona · 3 years ago

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miss foxy i am going THROUGH it right now 😩💔 you've heard of baby fever? i have marriage fever. i'm 25, never dated, and i'm sitting here thinking about how nice it would be to love and be loved and share lifelong happiness with someone. tmi maybe but for the past year every time i ovulate it makes me want to actually be in a relationship for the first time and idk what to do with those occasional feelings. and for some reason amended!jk makes me really want +

Continued: + to be in a relationship like that. idk, i guess kinda like someone seeing all the worst parts of you and still choosing to love you and be head over heels for you and treat you with dignity and respect? sometimes i feel like i have unrealistic expectations for relationships and it scares me a little. anyway, sorry for the unexpected venting session and thank you for all the work you do 💗

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

Hey, you aren't alone in thinking/feeling like that! There are some swell things about being in a relationship but there are some swell things about flying solo too, it's just definitely easier to glamorize the one you don't have at the time. 25 is still so young though and there is no timeline for love or dating, despite what the world tries to convince you.

I don't know if this helps but one thing I wish I had really grasped when I was younger is that you can't go backwards. There will be things you miss and feel nostalgic for, even about things in your life you may have been really bored with at the time. I wish I had not rushed so much all the time. I’ve always been in such a rush! I wish I had slowed down and appreciated more when I was single, when I started dating or moved in together, or got married, or before I had kids. I wish I had appreciated more how glorious it can be to be your own everything, to completely steer your own ship, and to have endless opportunity ahead of you, for every moment to have so much unbounded potential. Those opportunities get restrained once you're in a relationship. You don't lose all of yourself but you do have to give some of it up to blend your life, in my experience. Each phase in our lives is an opportunity for something precious, we just live in a world that really pressures us to follow a single, traditional path a specific goal, and it can be hard to ignore all those pressures about timeline or even if that “goal” is right for us! What it leads to is what I’ve been working so hard to overcome: this idea that once you get to this “goal,” you’re done and your life is boring and unimportant now.

As for my story: Amended JK may mess up occasionally, but he's still a male character written by a woman. I am a married woman and I read that story and am like “I want this,” lol. Marriage and relationships are messier than they look in stories. You should definitely demand love and respect in your relationships, don’t get me wrong! Don’t compromise on finding a partner who loves and respects and admires you! But it doesn’t mean you won’t fight, or hurt each other, or feel rejected, or get things wrong. And it definitely doesn’t mean you won’t sometimes daydream about single life, haha. I mean look how many stories I write chasing that feeling of “falling in love” again because it’s a fun time! And look, I married an amazing guy and we love and respect each other, but you would probably be horrified if I posted some of our struggles and frustrations here (and wonder how two people can fight so hard over the stupid things, but that’s how it goes!) Real relationships have periods of easy companionship but also periods of really emotionally exhausting work. I wish media portraying this was more common!

It’s totally ok to dream and consume media that glorifies finding a partner. We’re all reading my stories about that! Let yourself daydream about it, dream big! Just also keep in mind that love with someone else is not the ONLY important and happy and wonderful story to tell, just the one media tends to fantasize about most. And it's human nature to think the grass is greener on the other side. You’ll always be yearning for something, it’s just the way people are, so embrace that but don’t let that distract you from the wonderful things you have now!

Ok ok I waxed poetic and I get embarrassed about doling out life advice like I have no problems and any idea wtf I’m doing, haha. You don’t have to listen to a word I say, just sharing some things I wish I had known much earlier! <3

#personal #anonymous #asks

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keyofjetwolf · 4 years ago

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Bonus Question Answers! (anime heat 3)

I asked a silly question! You gave me incredible answers. SO VERY MANY INCREDIBLE ANSWERS. If yours is listed below, you’ve earned an entry in a random draw to win a GIFTENING liveblog OF YOUR CHOICE

SURPRISE EVERYONE WHO ANSWERED THIS ONE GETS AN ENTRY (with extra entry if you pulled a specific line). This has been such a struggle for me for the past ... you know, million years or something, and each of you made me feel so good, thank you. ♥

—

Q: This is reaching back into the memory a bit, I know, but what's your favourite of my fanfic? (BONUS BONUS ENTRY if you pull a specific line!)

* i cannot remember a specific line off the top of my head but i remember the post-S series dealing with usagi's trauma from pharaoh 90 (sound of silence?) was a gut punch and a half -- anewconstellation

* "Blue shirt. Pearl buttons." I think this was the first time I read you writing the Outers, particularly Neptune and Uranus, and, uh, holy shit. Absolutely note-perfect dialogue and dynamic, particularly for that period of Sailor Moon S when Michiru and Haruka used intimacy of speech and gesture as an instrument of distancing and obfuscation (of their goals to the Inners, of their hearts to themselves and to each other, of the heli-pad to the staff at Mugen Academy, etc). It was so clear, and so clearly *them* that I could actually hear the intonations of their respective seiyuu. And then to deploy such spot-on character elements in combination with the stakes and the maturity the anime never reached for, my WORD, are you trying to kill me??? The pacing, the restraint! What an absolute gift. You're a wonder. (also your drabbles are fuckin peerless, and the BTL concept is such a clever series framework) -- @rasiqra-revulva

* This was so hard to pick from, but I finally settled on "Cause and Affect" - it's such a heartbreaking story, but the juxtaposition between the clinical lines of information from the computer to the memories Ami is dealing with to the horror of the visuals around her... it's so bright and sharp and PRESENT. It keeps me in the story, that mix of tones and feelings. And the final line? Perfection. "Number of regrets: none" What an amazing take on Ami and how she processes information and how she deals with the situation she is in. I still get chills up my back when I read the story. -- @amberlilly

* I love your Between the Lines series, it's how I found your Tumblr and liveblogs back in the day -- @amboato

* Author Alert. “So never, ever, going to live this down.” -- @crunchbuttsteak

* "Of her word" quote "But for all that, it remained sand. Rei erased it with one swipe." -- Dei

* Between The Lines. Adding further character/emotional depth to canon is YES PLZ. I really liked the whole idea of Usagi having trauma post-Pharaoh 90 and all the chapters that hit on that. On a less serious note Chibs' circus-related PTSD and freaking out when Hotaru wants to go to the circus kills me every time. ("But your precious dreams Hotaru-chan!") -- forgottenfae

* This is probably the obvious choice, but "The Sounds of The Silence" has haunted me in all the best ways since I first read it. The way you write Rei, Usagi, and Rei and Usagi hits me right in the heart every time. This particular fic, with Usagi so traumatized, and Rei being as soft and gentle as Usagi needs, will always stick with me. I pulled up the fic to try and narrow down a single line, and ultimately there's no real debate. "She would never stop trying to do more, but for now, she simply did this." That line is, at its core, the essence of Rei Hino. And it is perfection. -- gatorsandglitter

* I don't expect this to win at all, just sharing,, but I just super fondly remembered the goggles and all the amazing content, meta, and fic those inspired, both from you and others -- @goosebytrade

* "You Win or You Die" my favorite line is "She and Rei WOULD have The Moment, they WOULD get their thousand years of bliss, and they WOULD be making out after all this was over. Like, SO HARD." -- @i-needa-nap-please

* I'm always really bad at answering questions like this because my mind has pretty much become a goldfish in my old age and I have a hard time remembering specific fics; it all sort of starts to jumble up in my brain and things get lost. But I have always loved reading your writing, it's what got me onto this godforsaken website in the first place -- it was just before Crystal dropped, and we were all foolishly full of hope and excitement, and you were going through the Moon Pride video and waxing poetic about the FRIENDSHIPS and I was like, "YES! Finally! Someone who understands why I love this stupid kids' show!" I think I sent you an ask saying this before, (but who knows if you ever got it, Tumblrs being what they are - indifferent) but I tried reading fanfic and even published novels based on properties, like the Buffy novels and Star Trek and Star Wars novels, for a long time, and mostly found it frustrating and annoying and just... wrong. It always had this awkwardness and clunkiness to it that didn't do anything for me and just constantly screamed "THIS IS A FANFIC IT IS NOT REAL WRITING" at me. Didn't like it. But, I liked yours. Yours didn't feel awkward or clunky. You have never written any sentences like, "Rei watched the blonde stand up" where "the blonde" is Minako, and I don't know why fanfic writers think that calling characters "the blonde" or "the redhead" or whatever is sexy or cute but it ain't (sorry, pet peeve tangent). So, when you were writing stuff more, I would read it like it was going out of style, and you led me to Doc's writing, which had the same natural, "this is real writing" quality, and I loved hers, too. Anyway, my favorites of yours have always been the Between the Lines stuff. I just love the "hidden" moments that we didn't get to see. The Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead bits of Sailor Moon (speaking of fanfic that actually works) that bring so much depth to characters we know and love already or to characters we see only briefly. Also, the Shadow Senshi, because FUCK. Just... Kill Me. In any event, I know that writing has been difficult for you of late, and I know how that feels, so I hope that people who are actually able to answer this question have given you some places to go and draw strength from so that it can become part of your life again. TBH, I've been using the bonus questions on your Giftening surveys and Doc's 8 Days surveys as an excuse to try doing some small bits of quick, no pressure, nobody's gonna see it unless you or Doc actually LIKE it, don't think about it writing, and it has been helpful. I hope you can find something that gives you the same opportunity. Now that I've written you a novel that doesn't even answer the question you asked (goldfish, remember? *sigh*), have a gorgeous Tuesday! -- @incorrecttact

* The one with Pluto and Queen Serenity, where Serenity is selfish in a very Usagi way, but her arrogance combined with that selfishness makes it a fatal flaw? I liked that one a lot. -- Jules

* the bit you wrote to 'fill in' a gap for why during r did mamoru act like a distant jerk. My favourite parts were Rei coming to see the same dream, and despite being the one to have the biggest reason to believe in these kinds of prophetic visions, Rei still doesn't believe fate is set in stone. -- just... a fan. a well-baked one

* Make It To New Year's -- @kaleidodreams

* ahhh, where is a link to all of your fanfic? It's the series you started after S, with Rei comforting Usagi, because like you I was let down by the fact that they never followed up on what Usagi saw, or even how she dealt, with the end of S. runner up: the one where Usagi is about to give birth because everything you write with Rei and Usagi is amazing. -- kari

* There was a drabble/draft/something that you used one of my prompts for, and I prompted you with Usagi and Rei, but you did it from Luna's perspective and THAT WAS SO UNEXPECTED and it turned out SO GOOD cause like!!!!!! You made Sailor Moon both someone Luna cares for, because still the legacy of the moon, and someone utterly discouraging for her because *this should not be*, and wow what a way to make it both about Usagi herself and about her powers. -- katrani

* I love the btl fics, they fill in the missing gaps, add depth to the story, and sometimes smooth over things (SuperS) when canon is just...blah. One line I really liked was: “I was listening, at first, but then I started thinking about how hungry I was, and how a pork bun would be really good right now, and then I wondered what makes a thing a bun, and like, if you put ANYTHING in a bun, does it become a Thing-Bun, so could you make a bun out of another bun and would it be a Bun Bun, and wouldn’t that be the greatest thing to– Rei?” It's a great run-on, stream of thought sentence that just really catches Usagi's voice, is hilarious, and such a natural progression. -- @kumeko

* “HUG,” Usagi demanded again, because dammit, she’d been promised a hug and SOMEONE was going to deliver. (The one where Michiru has the hiccups. Because it's fun HaruMichi stuff, because it weaponises Usagi in a useful way, because it manages to (gently) make fun of both perfect!Michiru and saint!Usagi without being mean to either character, and also because I get hiccups a lot and I haaaaate them.) -- nerdy-flutterings

* I can't remember a specific fic, but I LOVE your Shadow Senshi headcanons and they're the main reason I started writing my own Shadow Senshi stories. -- @notesfromtheidiotbox

* The Figuarts saga is the Sailor Moon fic I never knew I needed -- Raye

* Special Delivery is a delight. So much Rei Certainty (that ends up being misplaced). So much Usagi being The Most Usagi About Pregnancy. So much Comedic Hijinks, because why the hell WOULDN’T ‘the Senshi get blindsided when Usagi goes into labor’ end up going full screwball? There’s a lot of great lines there (Rei’s theory about Chibs taking control of the Gate of Time and manipulating things is fantastic, as is the ending,) but my favorite is definitely “Rei Hino if I give birth to my daughter on the side of the road I swear I will go back in time and tear all the pages out of your favorite coloring book! [...] I’ll break the crayons too, Rei-chan!” Delightfully specific and childish, especially since Usagi sticks with it, and that particular brand of comic specificity is definitely a highlight of yours. -- Regalli

* Fire on Mountain!!! When I got to “Her voice was deeper than most expected when facing the certainty of her. It was rough, sandpaper running over cherry. She’d been a singer, once. Nobody would have believed her.” I was like oh. OH! -- Sasha

* My favorite of your fanfic, one one of the first I read is 'Hard to Break'. And my absolute favorite line is Usagi's panic when Minako tries to smoke: "Minako who was almost certainly dying, the cigarette had spread its evil and killed her instantly oh god." -- @shavedjudomonkey

* Tonight Ami would grieve, and wish she understood why.' This Between the Lines about Ami getting her mini computer both haunts me and brings tears to my eyes. -- @shonasof

* I can't remember the title, but it's the one where Minako realizes that Rei's been writing Sailor V fanfic under the name Red Bow -- Somariel

* You would think Mako-chan's Happy Ending, but nope, this one goes to Hard to Break (although I had to look up the exact name.) This thing is filled with such great lines. How am I supposed to pick out one? "[Watch out, boys,]" Minako said in smooth and entirely unnecessary English. "[Lady Super Cool is on the prowl.]" -- Ultrace

* I forget the title, but it's the 'last senshi standing' fic where Ami is reflecting on the battle that took the others from her. Detatched and cold as she analyzes Rei Minako and Mako and finally Usagi's death with a medical efficiency, going through her Visors readout and then reflecting that the clinical words were nothing compared to what she'd actually seen. following up the method of death of the senshi with a statistic in relation to her friendship with the girl. Number of milkshakes shared, number of conversations lasting well into the night, number of hugs, number of smiles that brightened the darkest of moods. Describing how Rei's heart was pulped in a monster's grip, Minako's once beautiful face smashed against the rocks, Mako's lightning that outlived its mistress as she and Usagi ran off, and then finally that one last attempt to protect Usagi failing as 'Cervical Fracture' flashes on her visor. And From there she just... accepts death. sitting beside where Usagi had fallen and waiting for the end. it's dark af but it's the first one that always comes to mind when i think about ur fics :> -- Vega

* I am extremely predictable here with two of my choices, as you know that I am obsessed with Fire on the Mountain and Blue Shirt, two things you wrote when you "definitely couldn't write" (Sidenote: My new year's resolution is to be harder on your about writing) We all know why I love blue shirt, it's basically an underhand pitch to the face for me, but Fire on the Mountain has a quality of regret and longing that I really connected with, something that really struck me in a way that was powerful. It's different from a lot of your inners work, and I think about Mina posing as Rei, in her disguise magic in the woods, and all the reasons why, fairly often. Something that MAY come as a surprise to you, is I really wish we got more ofyour overwatch stuff, and maybe I'll just keep asking for this for my birthday for the rest of our natural lives, but I think of like, the one you wrote on 7/14/20, with Pharah longing to have a man to shoot in the face because that would be easier than the emotions around whatever's going on with her, and I'm utterly tantalized. And I loved that hurt/comfort you wrote for me, where Pharah had this single minded drive to find out what had happened to Angela, and Tracer's trying to, well, comfort her, on some level, and the way you described Pharah's "animal cry" was FANTASTIC, and as always I am deeply jealous of your Tracer voice and IF YOU WOULD WRITE IT MORE IT WOULD HELP ME. -- WRITE, BITCH.

* The one were Hotaru confronted Michiru and Haruka about how they had tried to kill her in order to stop the Silence. Such a good little moment =w= -- zorrito

AND THEN THESE WERE UNSIGNED SAD FACE

* Chosen. I like your Overwatch stuff but Chosen was a goddamn masterpiece.

* Operation: Heart Angels. Senshi going after Mamoru for his bullshit was something I didn't know I needed.

* The entirety of Beggars Would Ride, including every single line of Anya's dialogue.

—

I’ll be drawing for the bonus liveblog around the start of THE GIFTENING 2020 (currently looking to be Monday, 11 January 2021). Each bonus question is another chance to earn an entry! I CAN ABSOLUTELY AND SHAMELESSLY BE BOUGHT.

#THE GIFTENING 2020 #THE GIFTENING 2020 admin stuff #THE GIFTENING 2020 bonus q #in which jw gets a fuzzy #jw writes stuff

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kinetic-elaboration · 4 years ago

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September 13: 1x14 Balance of Terror

A little late this week because Friday didn’t work out but here I am with my liveblog (ish) of Balance of Terror.

This is the one that starts off with Kirk officiating a wedding, which is adorable. He loves this part of his job. He loves love so much!

Also they’re going to broadcast this important event through the whole ship. And Scotty is walking the bride down the aisle, which is so on point for him.

Sulu, shut up. Kirk’s busy officiating here. He broke out the romantic lighting on his eyes and everything.

The Earth-Romulan War, over a century ago. That’s a long time. Interesting that it wasn’t a Federation war, although Spock mentions allies. Either that was pre-Federation within canon, or pre-Federation in the writing of Star Trek, or if it really was just an Earth war. Were Vulcans allies?

I’m just....... eternally fascinated by Romulans. It fascinates me too that this whole history is ALSO the background to the Kelvin attack in AOS, which is 35ish years before this. So at the time, the Romulan war had happened, but Earth didn’t know what Romulans looked like, and then one shows up on this big-ass ship and just destroys a Federation vessel for no reason. It’s not even clear if they knew Nero was a Romulan if I remember correctly. Basically my point is that AOS should have done way more with this.

Also outposts on asteroids.

This engaged couple is adorable.

A space vessel attacked your outpost? A space vessel? In space? How could it be??

Spock’s make up on point as usual.

Time to screen share.

“Their invisibility screen must work both ways.”

Kirk is so smart and has such a great command presence. I love him.

Today’s one allotted use of Kirk’s first name by Spock: “The exact heading a Romulan vessel would take JIM.”

I mean it was obviously a Romulan attack lol. I know from the last ep Kirk really likes to be sure of stuff but who else could it possibly be??

Stiles suggests there could be Romulan spies on the Enterprise, for reasons I missed because I was busy thinking about how he was dumb. I respect Kirk for listening to his men when they’re being smart but on further reflection... how the heck would Romulan spies get on a Federation ship?? Also nothing ever came of this so...

Dun dun dun, big reveal! Everyone’s so shocked and Spock is like initially surprised and then faintly resigned. “I know how this is gonna go... brace for racism.”

Alternately: “...Dad?”

Yeah, Kirk, shoot down that bigotry on the bridge. “I said I’m sure you’re complimenting my husband on his decoding abilities, RIGHT?”

Spock probably could decode the message though.

...Thinking about it now, did they ever decode the message? Or was it just important for like figuring out where the ship was or that it still existed even though invisible or whatever?

Cry me a river about wanting to go home, Romulan Commander, you were the one who crossed into Federation territory and attacked outposts for no reason lol. “I can’t believe our acts of war are going to lead to war.”

He’s like Romulan Pike. So world weary and dramatic. “Danger and I are old companions.”

Stiles is all like “well Spock’s an expert on Romulans” but he’s not an expert? He’s just making up what he knows about them based on very old Vulcan history.

I know later “canon” killed this theory but I took Spock’s reference to Vulcan’s colonizing past as him guessing that perhaps Vulcan colonized a planet and then forgot about it, and those colonists missed out on the Surakian revolution. And I find this pretty hilarious so I’m just gonna stick to it.

Romulan Commander would not get along well with Nero. Here he is waxing all poetic and stuff. Bet he’s never met a miner in his life.

Kirk’s profile when he’s looking down... you can see why CPine was a good choice to reboot him.

Lol random Janice Rand. Just here to hug Kirk since Spock is too busy being on the floor.

What the heck was that with Spock and Stiles? He just shows up at the navigator’s station like “Hey. I dare you to be racist right now.”

People who don’t like Kirk need to watch this ep, along with the Corbomite Maneuver. His gravitas, his sense of command.

RIP Centurion.

The Romulan Commander is so “oh woe is me, I am so far from home, I only wish to see my familiar stars again” but BITCH you left home! You attacked people for no reason!

Enterprise after dark.

Kirk just lying around, looking handsome. Resting handsomely.

Taking out Chris Pine’s tiny violin while Kirk whines about command.

When McCoy started in on his speech, my mom was like “McCoy has been drinking” and honestly......lol and she’s probably not wrong. He’s still being sweet though.

Spock what the hell man. Stop being so awkward and clumsy, bitch.

“He reads the thoughts in my brain.”

Woah forgot the part of this where they blow up a literal nuclear warhead.

Sulu’s into this Navigator Uhura thing. Real step up from Stiles.

Commander’s so fed up with this Decius bitch.

Spock runs like a dork, too. Still there to save the day and Stiles’s ass though!

Firing the phasers isn’t very pacifist of him.

“In a different reality, I could have called you a friend.” They should have rebooted him, and had him meet CPine’s Kirk.

No, not Tomlinson!!

The irony of the groom dying is the part I remember from this ep, that Kirk did a good job, destroyed his enemy, avoided the neutral zone, and got away with only one casualty--but that casualty was the man who was about to get married--but the actual literal ending is bizarre. “There there, crewman... okay time to get back to work.”

Then striding through the halls alone.

I love this episode and it holds up, although I sometimes missed the finer points of their maneuvering. I think this is partly because there’s a lot of technical stuff going on along with a lot of other stuff in the span of less than an hour and partly because this is SUPER space Navy, like one of the straight up Naviest episodes they ever did, and Naval battle narratives is not a genre I’m super familiar with.

There is way more to unpack here than I am really up for lol. First, while I love Kirk and Kirk-centric eps and the whole ‘he and the Commander are so similar they basically have a telepathic connection’ stuff... there’s a lot of barely touched upon Spock stuff here. My mom and I are disagreeing about how much he knew. She thinks he did know what Romulans look like, or that at the very least some Vulcans, like important Vulcans (and we know Spock is important) would have to know, because the whole concept of katras makes it impossible for them as a people to really forget anything. But I think it’s more interesting, and more in keeping with what this episode implies, if Spock specifically did not know. So this is a big reveal for him. And then in addition to dealing with Stiles’s shit, he has to assimilate that an Earth/Federation enemy is a relative of his people. And it’s a glimpse into the pre-Reform era, which you know even Vulcans have gotta be fascinated by. AND his positions in this episode are just... not super pacifist. Like the stuff he has to advocate, and actively do, like in firing the phasers and so on, is exactly what his dad warned him about when he was like ‘hey I’m gonna join the military, peace out.’ Then there’s the added wrinkle that the Romulans probably also don’t know what the Vulcans look like and Spock is conveniently never around for the Romulan Commander to see him. Not that he could take the info back with him, but they never have any confrontation even between them. So that’s a lot right there.

If this were a S2 or S3 ep, it would have been Spock-centric.

Literally can’t believe there were only 2 Romulan centric eps in the whole of TOS lol. Major missed opportunity there.

Next ep (hopefully this Friday!) is Shore Leave. In which McCoy has 3 ladies and Kirk has a homoerotic wrestle in the dirt with a man and somehow everyone still thinks he’s the space slut.

#the year 2020 #2020: star trek #2020: fandom thoughts #star trek tos

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