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sup-hoes-its-me · 4 years ago

Note

I have a Shikamaru request! It’s a bit long winded so dust with me 😊. Shikamaru is assigned to protect reader who is the last of her clan that a lot is not known about. (So he also has the secret mission of finding our more about the clan and their abilities). They end up falling for each-other (of course). And after reader finds out she is pregnant she learns that Shikamaru was meant to learn about her. I’m seeing some angsty fluffy goodness! And hopefully a happy ending. 🥰

Healing You (Shikamaru x Reader)

A/N: Thank you for your request! These long detailed ones are perfect and give me just enough information to give you the perfect story. I skipped the pregnancy part because im not totally comfortable with that...hopefully you still enjoy.

word count: 5500

Shikamaru had been anticipating this mission for a while. The Hokage told him it was of utmost importance to be ready at any time for this clan princess to show up. He was expected to drop all other missions or plans to escort this woman, whoever she was across the country to her homeland deep within Frost country. He wasn’t expecting much, actually he was expecting probably the worst client ever.

For someone to request escort at the drop of a hat like that, someone with enough money to do so as well... Shikamaru could only assume they were an asshole of the highest caliber. Probably some old woman or a spoiled little child, someone he definitely would not get along with for a month long mission just the two of them. He could remember the urgency in Kakashi’s tone when he assigned the mission, the amount of trust behind his words.

Shikamaru walked into the office casually, hands shoved deep in his pants pockets. Kakashi sat there alone at his desk, looking through paperwork and sifting through piles of white sheets, each with different names and faces. He must have thought long and hard about who he was to pick for this mission, the boy concluded.

This was going to be tiresome, he deduced quickly. Another tedious mission.

“Shikamaru, I have an important mission for you,” the man said clearly. “You can look through these files, if you want, but we don’t have any clear information on this one, I’m afraid.” He tossed over a folder full of records. Death receipts, birth certificates, first hand accounts of battles witnessed. He didn’t know what to make of what he was looking at other than a common last name running across the pages.

Hirawa.

“What is this about?�� he questioned.

“In about a month's time, possibly longer, possibly shorter, I don’t have an exact date, you will escort Princess Y/N Hirawa, of the hidden Hirawa clan to the Land of Frost.”

“Who’s on my team?”

He shook his head at that question. “No one. This is a solo mission, and I’m entrusting you alone with this. It’s important you keep your mouth shut about all of this until we know it’s safe, for you and the princess.” Safe? Just what kind of mission was this anyway? Obviously it had something to do with this clan, not that he’d ever heard of them. “She has a bounty on her head, quite large at that. But we believe she can become the key to mastering some ninjutsu, particularly medical jutsu.”

“Well, what’s her clan’s kekkei genkai?”

“That’s what we don’t know, and for you to find out. All we know is that there's some dangerous people out there who want this power, and we need to protect her at all costs, you understand,” he stressed, and Shikamaru nodded. This wasn’t that big of a deal, he guessed. Protecting one girl from some rookie bounty hunters, not to mention he was being sent out alone. This was going to be a walk in the park.

The worst part of it all would be putting up with some troublesome girl for an entire month. Making conversation and having to pretend she wasn’t getting on his last nerve. That would tire him the most.

“Rumor has it, she was never able to awaken her ability, so I’m hoping you can help coax it out of her and see what we’re dealing with.”

“Of course. I’ll figure it out.”

“Good. I’m counting on you. You should take the files to look over in your free time, you’ll have lots of it before this mission. I have copies here for myself,” he motioned to another folder on her desk filled to the brim with papers just like the one he was holding. It was strange to have so much information at their fingertips, but not enough to put a description to their kekkei genkai. They must be secretive, similar to how the Uchiha hides their secrets on the stone tablet, or something.

He left the Sixth Hokage’s office and walked away to his home, where he could more closely go over the information in this folder, try to deduce something from all this random information. He would get to the bottom of this, he was a genius after all. Whether he had the help of this woman or not, he would figure it out for the Hokage.

And so, here he stood outside of Kakashi’s office with all his supplies packed in his bag, dressed for a long mission away from home. The princess had arrived. He was to meet her and then immediately they were supposed to leave off to her homeland.

The Anbu officer to his left opened the door, and motioned for him to walk in. So uptight for just a little meeting, was all this security really necessary, he wondered to himself. As he looked into the room, he spotted Kakashi standing along the window behind his desk with a smaller woman at his side, wrapped up in thick robes made of wool, embroidered with thick silver and white yarn.

Admittedly, her clothes looked incredibly expensive. He questioned how she wasn’t sweating bullets with the typical warm weather outside here in Konoha. He was expecting her to turn around, to be this hideous creature.

“Ah, Y/N, it seems your escort has arrived,” Kakashi hummed, placing a soft hand on the woman’s back as she turned around. When he finally got a good look at her face, he was taken aback, nearly enough to throw him off balance. She was decidedly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life. Wrapped up in those blankets was a young woman, who couldn't be much older than he was, with piercing eyes that immediately cut through his.

Her hair fell just perfectly around her face to frame her features, the soft color suiting her eyes and skin perfectly. Her eyelashes flickered over her eyes a few times as she gazed over at him, and he felt swoon. She had the softest skin he’d ever seen combined with those mesmerizing eyes and the shape of her face which looked like it belonged cradled in his hands.

He felt this inert urge to run in the opposite direction from her, out the room and down the hall, back to home where he could catch his breath. He already knew his cheeks were turning bright red under her stare, and he could tell Kakashi was judging him with those dark eyes of his.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shikamaru Nara,” she hummed, and he felt faint. Even her voice was precious, almost like she was singing. He choked down his breaths, trying to keep his cool the best he could. It was uncharacteristic of him to act this way with a client. He was just her escort, not some pervert. They were going to live together for basically a month, he needed to get a grip on his emotions. “Your Hokage was telling me great things about you.”

“Oh, uh,” he paused, frozen without words to leave his lips, just an empty mind full of her image. He shook his head a bit, eyes now glaring down at the floorboards beneath him. “You too, Princess.”

“Please, just call me Y/N. Princess is just too formal for me,” she told him, waving off the title almost as quickly as it left his mouth. “Kakashi, it was nice getting to know you this morning, I hope to see you and your wonderful village again soon.”

“You’re welcome back whenever you like.”

She rounded the table and approached Shikamaru carefully, eyeing him down as she did so. She took in his appearance and his stance, the emotions she could see radiating off his person from his body language. From the looks of it, he simply appeared flustered and confused. Not exactly the most ideal for the situation at hand, but they would manage. Men usually had a similar reaction when they saw her for the first time, either they were in awe or they were trying to kidnap her.

He nodded in her direction and then to the Hokage before turning around and starting out the door, the girl following closely behind him. He could hear the swishing of her thick robes around her ankles, just barely skimming the floor. He still didn’t know her personality at all, but he wouldn’t mind looking at her once in a while on this trip.

“So, why are you heading to the Land of Frost?” he asked, and she sighed.

“One of the village elders is dying. They believe my kekkei genkai is the only way to reverse the incoming death, and its consequence on my people,” she explained.

“Why doesn’t another one of your clan members do it? Surely the rest of your family lives-”

“There is no one else. I am the last living Hirawa,” she told him simply, and he could sense a bit of ice dripping off her tongue at those words. How could she not be upset recalling the annihilation of her entire clan. “The problem is that I haven’t been able to awaken my kekkei genkai. I’m not sure what they want with a useless Hirawa like me.”

“Listen, I’m sorry about your clan, but calling yourself useless really isn’t-”

“How would you feel, Shikamaru, if you were the only person in the world with the ability to save a human being from their certain death and you couldn’t even activate that gift? You have to understand how that feels for me,” she told him solemnly, her head hung low as she walked toward the gates of the village right beside the boy. People looked at her as she moved through the village, they stared in awe at her clothes and her face and the unique glimmer in her eyes. And she cowered inward, tucking herself into her robes and the fur of her hood even further, away from the prying eyes of this village.

He stayed silent, not really knowing how to respond to what she’d said to him. The sadness and the anger in her tone, deep within her words, was immeasurable. She was in pain, a conflict with herself. He wasn’t going to get into that just yet. They’d only met a few minutes ago.

They left the village together and started on their journey. It was going to be a long month, that’s for sure.

________

It had been a week of walking through the forest already, days of sleeping on the ground beneath the stars, eating rations out of his bag over the fireplace. Originally, he thought this mission would be easy, that she seemed like a normal-ish girl who wouldn’t give him any trouble, but he was wrong.

She was too quiet. It was strange, walking with someone for hours without a single word shared between them. He tried to start up a conversation, and she would reply with one word answers, sometimes if he was lucky, two or three words. She rarely looked at him, choosing to either stare at the ground where she took each step, or up at the stars and the vastness of it all. She was lost in her own mind.

Every night, as they were falling asleep, he could hear her looking over at him, scanning his form for a sign that he was still awake. He would remain still, facing the opposite way on his side, head propped up on his bag. Then, when she thought she was safe, he would hear the sobs run through her weak form. She would shake and quiver, curling in on herself and crying out into the forest for only Shikamaru and the moon to hear.

He felt terrible for her, needless to say. The guilt he felt just from hearing her cries, and knowing her internal struggle was enough to make this trip difficult. His heart hurt for her, as strange as that was to say. Normally, it was easy to remain objective, but with Y/N, it was different. He felt attached. He felt like her problems were also his. It was maddening.

She laid on the ground beside him, the majority of her soup still in her bowl and her water bottle resting at her side. She stared up into the clouds, occasionally, her eyes would slide over to see what he was up to and then she would look back at the sky. “You need to eat. We have a lot of walking until we reach the next town, probably a week’s worth. I can’t carry you if you get too tired,” he told her, pushing her bowl closer to her side.

“You know, Shikamaru, sometimes I wonder why people like you Leaf nin even protect someone like me. What’s the point? I’m useless to you and the enemy,” she muttered hopelessly. He still pushed the soup closer until she sat up and took the bowl into her hands, taking a small sip from the spoon. “I just don’t get it. How can you call me princess when I’m just as normal as the next woman on the street?”

“Listen, I don’t know what anyone else has told you, but that’s a load of bullshit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, just because you can’t access your abilities right now doesn’t make you useless. You’re still a person just like everyone else,” he explained, stabbing his spoon into his soup as he found himself getting a little worked up. He couldn’t stand this self-pitying bullshit from her. Yeah, she was sad and all, but she didn’t have to rub it into the wound like this.

She looked surprised at his words.

What did she expect him to say? That she was right and then just abandon her out in the woods? He was beginning to think this girl was just plain stupid.

“It’s just been impossible since the incident to think of anything else. I’m sorry for upsetting you,” she sighed, taking another sip of her now cold soup.

He questioned carefully. “What incident?” He was on a mission after all. To discover her clan secrets and bring them back to the village to study. Even if she was being emotional, he could still gather some intel.

She bit her lip, and looked up to the sky again, blinking back tears from gathering in the corners of her eyes. She took a few deep breaths before explaining herself. “The day my clan was massacred. The day that those people slaughtered my sensei in front of the entire village and then killed my parents.”

He paused, lifting his eyes to look at her. She was crying, as he expected, silent tears dripping from her eyes into her lap. But she was holding strong otherwise, not a falter in her voice or a catch in her breath. She wasn’t even shaking. She was really serious about keeping these emotions private, in the middle of the night where he couldn’t hear or see.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he assured, but she shook her head.

“I’m fine. I should talk about it anyway. I haven’t had a person to talk to in years, you know.” Sitting on her face was the saddest of all smiles, a weak attempt at remaining strong. She wiped at her eyes with her wrist and continued. “I’m not even sure why they wanted us all dead, but it had something to do with the war and my clan’s actions. They were barbaric. They slit the throat of my sensei in town square and we watched her blood drip across town while they carried her head.”

“Oh, damn.”

“I know,” she agreed, “As sick as it is to say, I’m glad they only stabbed my parents with a sword. We used to be royalty, it took them killing an entire army of soldiers to get to the throne room to kill them. I was only a child hiding in the curtains, I had to watch without making a sound. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t even breathe, or they would have killed me too.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. That’s horrific.”

“When they left, it was only me. I had to walk my way to one of the outer villages for help. I was a mess, covered in my parents blood. They’d stolen everything. All the secrets of the clan. I never got the chance to read the sacred texts. I only know from my Sensei the very basics of what we can do.”

He absorbed what she had said, taking in each word. Admittedly, she lived a terrible, horrible life, one to rival Sasuke at that. He asked, “You haven’t been able to retrieve any of the texts, have you?”

“No, unfortunately. That’s why it’s taken me this long to figure out how to unlock my ability. I literally do not know how,” she confessed, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. “It feels strange, knowing I have this ultimate healing ability and I can’t even use it to save anyone.”

“Ultimate healing ability?”

“Well, yeah. That’s our kekkei genkai. We can heal basically anything besides death. Blindness, deafness, rotting limbs, in some cases, paralysis. I’m not sure how it works, but that’s what it does. That’s why they want me to come home so desperately. I’m the only one left who can heal her.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he stated bluntly, and she tilted her head to the side in confusion.

“What?”

He reiterated, “You’ll figure out how to use your kekkei genkai. I believe in you. You’re beautiful, smart, and modest, not a fool.”

She found her cheeks begin to heat up at his words, and she leaned back, her eyes catching onto his. “Thank you, Shikamaru. It’s not everyday I get earnest compliments like that.” It was true. Normally, she did get compliments, but not the nice kind. She would often get harrassed on the street by men without brains, or recieve backhanded comments from people of her own village who hated her for what she could not be.

He shook his head, “Well, you should. You’re a strong woman, you just need more faith in yourself. You have almost no self-confidence whatsoever.” He was right about that too. Sad, wasn’t it? “You’re obviously a good person, so be proud of yourself. Not a lot of people could have gone through what you did and still be on the good side to this day.”

“I-” Y/N froze, her eyes growing wide. “Did you hear that?” she asked, her eyes flickering from Shikamaru into the woods. There were voices, soft and quiet voices, but they were still there, hush in the background. He stood up on his feet, and motioned for her to stay down close to the ground.

“Come out, whoever you are.”

And, indeed, a group of men emerged from the forest, at least ten of them. They sauntered up to the pair and the leader smirked. “We’re not here to hurt you, Leaf shinobi. Just hand over the princess and no harm will come to you,” he said, his voice musty and disgusting, like he’d been smoking cigarettes everyday for the past ten years. They knew, clearly, that a leaf shinobi wasn’t just about to abandon their charge and go running for the hills. His request was a joke.

Y/N wasn’t a fighter. She couldn’t help even if she wanted to. She was solely a healer, and even then, her skills were shaky at best. She could only do the most menial and mediocre of work on her patients. Shikamaru was against these men completely alone.

She felt fear creeping up her spine and sending shivers through her body. She barely knew the boy, had only known him for a week or so, but damn, did she like him. He was kind to her, one of the kindest people she’d met in a long time. She wanted him to be safe, to save her and come out on top like the shinobi of the Leaf are supposed to.

He turned around and waved for her to run. “Princess, Imma need you to run. I’ll come find you when it’s safe. Just go.”

She was hesitant to take off, but one stern look from him shot down any thought of staying. The woman gathered up her robes and ran in the opposite direction of the crew and her protector. Immediately after she left, she heard screaming from behind, the shouts of men in pain and men filled with anger. So much yelling. She held her breath, and kept running, running until she could only hear the faint yells of the men. She couldn’t hear Shikamaru. He was far too quiet to have those loud theatrics on the battlefield.

Y/N took cover in the roots of a tree, and just listened, felt what was going on around her. She studied the chakra signatures floating through the air, counting how many men still lived and how many were alive and well. Likewise, she kept close track of Shikamaru’s energy, making sure he was still going.

If he died, she didn’t know what would come of her. Would she be sold off? Murdered? She knew of the unspoken bounty on her head amongst the criminals, and that struck fear in her heart. All she could do was pray for Shikamaru’s survival.

After what seemed like hours but in reality only about 10 minutes, the screams and shouts finally came to a halt. The chakra signatures of most of the men were completely gone, meaning they had died sometime during the battle. Only some remained, and they were weakened severely, probably passed out or bleeding out.

Shikamaru’s alarmed her. It was weak, almost as weak as the rest. She crawled out from under the tree and started back in the direction of the campsite, keeping her head low nearly in a crouch to stay unseen. There was no telling what was happening over there or who was still out here.

When she got to the campsite though, her eyes widened and she nearly screamed. While the rest of the men collapsed on the ground in bloody heaps, Shikamaru lay in the middle of them, bleeding out from a ginormous wound protruding from his side. She fell onto her knees beside his barely breathing form and held her hands over the wound, trying her best to run her chakra through her, but she was weak. Only a faint light emanating from her hands, not enough to come close to saving him.

“Shikamaru? Shikamaru, can you hear me? Please, try to stay awake, okay?” the girl pleaded, resting one of her soft hands on his cheek. He sighed into her touch. It was just as he imagined. Warm and gentle, like the caress of a feather. At least, if he were to die, it would be in the arms of an angel, he decided.

“You need to head back to the Leaf. Tell Kakashi what happened,” he sputtered out, blood leaving his lips and dripping down the sides of his face. “I lived a good life.”

“No, no, no. You are not dying on me. Not happening,” she whispered. She continued to pour her chakra into his wound, not that it was doing anything serious. Tears filled her eyes and she bit her lip, trying to keep them from falling, but she couldn’t help it. All these tears plagued her life. Memories that made her cry. All the pressure. All the death. Poor Shikamaru lying here dying after saving her life. “I’m going to save you,” she muttered firmly.

Pressure built up in her chest and she pushed further and further, digging deeper into her chakra reserve. It actually hurt the amount of effort she was putting in. It was exhausting, and after about a minute, she was gasping for breath. “Stop. It’s okay, princess.”

“Dammit, Shikamaru, I told you not to call me princess, “ Y/N shouted, and in that moment, she felt something shift inside her. A well of energy she never knew she had opened up and she felt it being filled not by her own chakra but by the men around her. Her body absorbed every last bit of chakra in their bodies, filling hers completely. When Shikamaru looked up at her, he noticed a slight glow coming from her skin that wasn’t there before.

It seemed she awoke her kekkei genkai.

With all the newfound energy she had, she channelled it into saving Shikamaru. Right in front of her eyes, his wound began to close and blood sunk back into his body. He groaned at the feeling, shifting uncomfortably on the ground. Finally, she had done something great.

And as she watched the last bit of his wound shut and the blood to seep back into his body, she found herself grow lightheaded.

As she was passing out, she heard him calling her name, and the only thing she could do was smile. She did it. She saved him. Her vision went black and sleep overtook her swiftly.

________

After Y/N saved Shikamaru and awoke her kekkei genkai, the boy gathered up both of their belongings, hoisted them over his shoulder, and then carried her in his arms to the next village. She wasn’t waking up anytime soon, he found that was probably a bad side effect of using the ability. It completely drained her. He just knew he had to move before any of those guys woke back up. He was not ready to fight again.

He enjoyed feeling her in his arms, pressed tightly to his chest with her head lolling side to side. Y/N was sweet and cute, with her little, “don’t call me princess” proclamation before saving him. It seemed she was just as much a princess as everyone thought she was, and a powerful one at that. She basically brought him back from the dead, and he would be grateful for his entire life for what she’d done for him.

The two of them rested for the night in a village inn just a couple miles away before waking up the next morning and setting off with a new bounce in her step toward your homeland where she was sure she could save the village elder now. He watched as the girl walked eagerly in front of him, swinging her robes by her sides and letting her hair loose instead of a tight braid.

This side of her, it was gorgeous. She was gorgeous. Maybe, he found himself harboring just a tiny crush on the girl who saved his life, the girl who took his breath away when they first met. Maybe he liked her a lot. It was pointless to have such feelings for a girl he would probably never meet again after dropping her off in her homeland.

But he could enjoy his time now, with the girl of his dreams at his side.

He found himself wanting more time with her. Much more time. He knew they only had about a week before they arrived in the Land of Frost, and it was depressing him. He wanted her to come back to the village with him and live there, just so he could see her face everyday and hear that sing-song voice run off her tongue.

Was that so much to ask for? Well, yes, but he still wanted it…

They found themselves stopped for the night or two in a village on the coast. She was tired from all the walking and sleeping in the grass. She was willing to spend a few dollars to have a nice bed to sleep in for the night. She booked a room at one of the inns in town and collapsed into the mattress in the room, throwing her robes to the side and cuddling into the comforter. It had been so long since she was living in such comfortable conditions.

He took a seat beside her and pulled out a book, flipping to the most recent page and diving in. He was more than happy to finally rest. He was lazier than she was, after all. They had been walking for almost a month now, he was tired of it. The only thing that kept him going was seeing her smile every now and then, especially the ones directed at him, or in response to something he said.

Something about those smiles just made him feel good inside. It was sickening. These mushy, gushy feelings he was having. He was beginning to think he might be falling for the girl, like, falling in love. He was disturbed. Was he really that weak to a pretty face, soft hands, and a warm heart?

“Shikamaru?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll be home in a week, and you’ll have to go back to the Leaf Village,” she said. He nodded. At that point, they would go their separate ways and it would all be over, this friendship they had. He’d never felt so torn about a mission until now.

He replied casually, “Yeah. Time flies, huh?”

She held her breath for a moment, thinking over her next words very carefully. She’d actually been pondering when she was gonna tell him over the last few days, thinking over every way the scenario could play out. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to leave you, Shikamaru,” she confessed, finally letting go of the breath she was holding.

He raised a brow, setting down his book and turning to face her. “What do you mean?”

“Well...it’s just that your Hokage seems to really like me, and I don’t really have a home anymore with my clan gone,” she mumbled, twiddling her fingers in her lap. “I was thinking maybe after I heal the elders and the village that I could go home with you instead. Live in the leaf village.”

He just looked at her. Had all his longing been for nothing? Could she really mean it? Coming home with him? Could his future really involve seeing her every day, introducing her to his best friends, and healing his people when they were injured?

“I mean, if you don’t think it’s a good idea, though, I totally get it-”

“No! I-I love that idea, actually.”

“Really?”

“Would I say it if I didn’t mean it?”

He watched as her lips curled into a bright smile and she clasped her hands together. “Shikamaru, I’m so happy. You and the other Leaf nin are the only people to show me any kindness in a long time. I get to go home to people that will care about me.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty good at that back in the Leaf. Caring, that is.”

She fell back against the bed and sighed, curling up in the sheets once again. He watched as she smiled into the covers and closed her eyes, relishing in this feeling of newfound freedom and happiness, of the hope she found in him and the village. Despite finding women troublesome most of the time, he was willing to go through trouble for her. He felt like he’d do just about anything for this girl.

So unlike him. Tch. Get a grip, Shika.

Her next words had him melting like putty in her hands though. He just couldn’t help it.

"I'm glad you were assigned this mission with me. You helped me awaken my abilities, and I think it was fate that brought us together for that to happen," she sighed. "This meeting, you and I, it was always meant to be. I'm sure of it now."

"Maybe you're right. I wouldn't know," he replied.

It was quiet for a while, just her lost in her own dreams, her own thoughts. Her eyes trailed over to him, and she just knew she was swoon. With his lazy grin and his thoughtful gaze. It was so obvious to her now.

She confessed, “I think I like you. As more than just a friend, Shikamaru. I know I probably shouldn’t be telling you this considering I still need you to escort me to the village and all, and you might not want me to go back to the Leaf with you now, but I just-”

He couldn’t wait anymore. He was going crazy. Finally, he kissed her.

She felt his hands resting on either side of her head and his lips pressed carefully to hers, testing the waters. She brought her own hands up to cup his own, bringing him closer and deeper into the kiss. She smiled and sighed, enjoying the feeling of pure bliss. It had been so long since she felt something so good. Something so sweet.

“You like me too?”

“You’re dumb as hell.”

And he kissed her again. And again. And maybe a couple more times after that.

#shikamaru x reader #naruto x reader #shikamaru x you #naruto #shikamaru nara #shikamaru imagine #shikamaru one shot #naruto one shot #naruto imagine #imagine #x reader #oneshot #naruto x you #naruto x y/n #shikamaru x y/n

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dottielovegood · 4 years ago

Text

ASMR - chapter 2

Elriel fanfiction

About this fic:

Azriel can’t sleep Elain has an ASMR channel Match made in heaven (or you know, on youtube..)

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Since a few people seemed to enjoy the first chapter, I decided to continue this story. You can find the first chapter here And you can read the story on AO3 here.

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CHAPTER 2

Flower Girl ASMR 1 day ago I am so happy that I could help you sleep, @Shadowsinger <3 ASMR stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. It is that tingly feeling you might get from certain sounds. You can also have visual triggers. Supposedly, if you find the right triggers, they will help you relax and they can even help you sleep. I hope that sleep treats you with kindness from now on.

Azriel stared at his screen. She had responded. She had actually responded to his message. He had scrolled through her comment section again to see if she replied to all her messages, but she didn’t. She liked most comments, but she only replied to a few. It made him feel special, which was absurd. Why did he feel special because some girl on the internet had replied to his comment? She had probably already forgotten about it.

But Azriel carried it with him for the rest of the day.

He also carried with him the annoyance of some of the comments he had seen. This girl really needed to learn how to block some words. Especially: boobs, nudes, cock, jerk off, and cum. Azriel made a disgusted face when he thought about it. If they knew each other, he would help her with that.

But they didn’t know each other, so Azriel didn’t have to think about it. Those comments shouldn’t affect Azriel in the slightest. He had read way nastier things on the internet and never cared.

What was it about this girl?

Azriel was sitting at his desk. He was working at Velaris Times – a web-based newspaper that his best friend Rhysand had started a few years ago. He hired Azriel to work in IT and their other friend, Cassian, as a photographer. It was a pretty small newspaper, so they all felt like family there.

Azriel was feeling naturally energized for the first time in his life. He didn’t even need to down his usual three cups of coffee this morning. Cassian was sitting next to him, editing some photos for an article that their co-worker Mor had written.

“You wanna grab some lunch later?” Cassian asked.

Azriel’s eyes didn’t leave his computer, but he nodded in agreement. “Sure. Should we invite Rhys?”

Cassian snorted. “Nah, he’s on that weird health-cleanse, remember? Feyre probably packed him a kale juice and some broccoli.”

Azriel chuckled. Feyre was Rhys’s wife and since they decided to get pregnant, she had been all about healthy eating, to Rhysand’s dismay. He wasn’t even allowed coffee - it was all about the green tea! Some days, Cassian and Azriel ate their lunches at the office which always lead to Rhys staring longingly at their food. It felt like having a dog begging for scraps underneath the dinner table.

“So that’s still going on, huh? I thought he would have given up by now. There’s only that much kale you can eat,” Azriel said.

“Yeah, but he’s whipped. Remember when they first started dating and she served him soup from a can and he ate it like it was a gourmet meal.”

“Fair enough.”

“You know that I can hear you, assholes?” Rhys called from his office. They had been very aware of this fact. Rhys strode out of his office, wearing his usual uniform of a dark suit and a crisp white shirt. Azriel was happy that he worked in IT so he could get away with just wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt - and maybe a hoodie on cold days.

“Are you telling me that Nesta doesn’t have you wrapped around her little finger?” Rhys smirked and leaned against the doorframe.

Cassians ears turned red. “She could never get me to drink kale-smoothies every day.”

Rhys shook his head. “You were pining for her for two years before she even agreed to go on a date with you. She could probably tie you to your bed and get you to call her mistress if she wanted to.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair and gave Rhys a purely male grin. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Azriel groaned. “Too much information, Cass.”

Cassian shrugged. “Don’t be so sensitive, Az.”

Azriel glared at him. “I’m not sensitive just because I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”

“That’s because you don’t have a sex life,” Cassian muttered under his breath, which elicited a burst of laughter that sounded more like a snort from Rhys.

Azriel shook his head and tried to concentrate on his work, which was almost impossible when his two friends were still staring at him. He could almost feel them scheming.

“Hey, Az. How’s the dating going?” Rhys asked.

Azriel didn’t answer, mostly because the answer would be that it didn’t. He didn’t date. He was tired of going on dates with people he didn’t know. He wasn’t very talkative, so dates were basically his nightmare. And it was even worse when he agreed to download Tinder on a drunken night a few months ago. Dating like that just wasn’t for him. He didn’t want to meet someone on the internet like that.

“You want me to set you up on a blind date?” Cassian asked, and Azriel pretended not to hear him.

“Nesta has some great friends,” he continued. “What about Gwyn?”

Rhys nodded. “Yeah, Gwyn is a nice girl.”

Azriel stared at his friends. “I’ve met Gwyn.”

“So?”

“If I’ve already met her, it’s not a blind date.”

Cassian thought about it for a second and shrugged. “Eh, semantics. Should I tell Nesta to give her a call?”

“No. She’s not my type.”

Truthfully, Gwyn was a very sweet girl. She was cute and funny and determined, but she just wasn’t for Azriel. They had met a few times but there had been no attraction - no sparks. Azriel wanted to feel something from the start. He didn’t want to be in a relationship just to avoid being lonely.

“So, what is your type exactly?” Rhys asked.

An image popped into Azriel’s head. Usually, he couldn’t imagine what his type would be, but now, he saw someone in his mind. She had golden hair and cute little freckles on her nose. She was gentle, kind and calm.

It was Flower Girl ASMR.

Azriel closed his eyes, trying to get the picture of her out of his head. What was wrong with him? He didn’t want to date someone he had only seen in a few videos. That made him as creepy as those assholes in her comment section. He didn’t even know her. He didn’t even know her name.

“I don’t know,” Azriel muttered. “Could you please let me get back to my work?”

And after a few more suggestions of people they could set him up with (he kindly, but firmly, declined), they finally let him work.

That night, Flower Girl ASMR was hosting a livestream on YouTube. Azriel wondered if they might live in the same time zone since the live stream seemed to coincide with a reasonable bedtime for him.

Azriel joined the livestream just a few minutes after it had started. A few hundred people were already logged in. Flower Girl ASMR was sitting in front of a background that looked like the night sky; dark blue and full of fairy lights. Her hair hung in waves around her face and she was wearing a pink top that matched her complexion. Not that Azriel noticed such things, why would he?

She was brushing her camera with a make-up brush, making it look as if she was brushing his face. “I am so happy that you all could join me here tonight,” she whispered into her microphone. “As promised, I was going to host my first livestream when we reached one hundred thousand subscribers, which we did last week.” She smiled at the camera, one of those smiles that reached her eyes. Azriel could feel himself smile back. Which was stupid. She couldn’t see him. “Tonight, you can make requests or ask questions in the comments, and I will answer a few of your questions,” she continued. She was still moving the brush over the screen. The combination of her whispering voice and the visual trigger of the brush made Azriel tingle all over.

Most comments were very nice; telling her that she helped them sleep, or wanting her to say hello to them. People asked her about her favorite color and if she had any pets (lilac and no). One person asked her to do something called hand sounds, and Azriel had never in his life appreciated hands rubbing together as much as he did at that very moment. Maybe it was something with the setting on her microphone, but the sound was like a wave of pleasure in his brain.

He could feel himself relax. But then, of course, the nasty comments started.

HybernCoolKid Show a little skin babyyyy. Those tits look perky af

MortalGraysen Trying to look so innocent when you’re a fucking slut

Amarantha_utm I would honestly rather watch paint dry

Azriel could feel his blood boil. He recognized the names from the video he had watched last night. Why didn’t she just block them? On the screen, he could tell that Flower Girl had seen the messages; her face fell for just a second. And one second was all it took for Azriel to suddenly feel very protective. He was just about to go tell them to go fuck themselves when he saw that he wasn’t the only one with that idea. The comment section was flooded with love for her and in just a matter of moments, the mean comments were drowned in a sea of heart emojis. Flower Girl smiled at the screen, silently thanking all of her followers for the love. But she didn’t address the hate. She just kept going as if nothing had happened. There were a few more nasty comments during the livestream, but the same thing happened every time; her followers love-bombed her. Azriel was happy to see that most people seemed decent enough, but god, she really needed to learn how to block people.

Before he could think about it, he clicked the link in her description that led to her Instagram. Her username was the same on that app, and it was mainly used to tell her followers when a new video was uploaded. Azriel quickly looked at his own feed, making sure that there was nothing embarrassing. There wasn’t. He didn’t post very often, and when he did he usually posted pictures of food.

He clicked the button for her DMs, and before he could talk himself out of it, he wrote her a message.

Shadowsinger Hey! I just watched your livestream (it was great!) but I couldn’t help but notice some really rude comments. I hope you don’t find this weird, but have you tried blocking them? If you don’t know how, I could send you a link that will describe how to do it. God, this is weird, isn’t it? If this message makes you uncomfortable, just delete it. I’m sorry. But if you need help with blocking those douchebags, please tell me.

He sent it without even reading it and as soon as it was out in cyberspace, he groaned. What the fuck was he doing? She wasn’t his friend. She wasn’t his anything. Yet, there was something that drew him to her. Maybe it was the fact that she helped him sleep? Yes, that had to be it. It was either that or witchcraft, and Azriel didn’t believe in the occult.

Azriel was just about to put his phone in another room and go die from embarrassment when he saw that she had answered his DM. He was afraid to open it. What if she told him to fuck off? He would never be able to watch her videos again, and then he would never again feel rested.

FlowerGirlAsmr Hello! I recognized your username from one of my videos! I’m happy that you enjoyed the livestream :) I have blocked them multiple times, but they keep coming back. But thank you for offering to help me. That is very sweet! Ps: The lasagna on your feed looks delicious.

Azriel stared at the message dumbfounded. She had answered him. And she didn’t tell him to fuck off. She had remembered his username. And she thought that his food looked delicious. He didn’t understand why he suddenly felt so nervous. Should he tell her that after watching her video he had the best night’s sleep of his life?

Probably not. That might sound creepy.

Shadowsinger Yeah, I commented last night. Have you tried blocking words from appearing in your comments? If you did that, you might not have to endure such nasty comments. (Yes, the lasagna was very delicious)

He was staring at his message. Did he sound stupid?

Yeah, he definitely sounded stupid. The lasagna was very delicious ? Why did he add that?

Stupid, stupid, stupid

But despite his stupidity, she answered.

FlowerGirlASMR You can do that?? I had no idea! I am not very good at computers. Honestly, I have to google every single thing about YouTube because I understand nothing, haha. How do I block words?

Shadowsinger I’ll send you a link that describes the process!

He sent her the link and waited for a few minutes, feeling happy to help her.

FlowerGirlASMR I hope you don’t think I’m stupid, but I understood absolutely nothing :( Is there a link for dummies?

Azriel laughed at the last part of her message.

Shadowsinger Unfortunately not. But if you want, I could help you.

She didn’t answer him for a while after that. Azriel was staring at his phone, trying to will a message to appear. Did he cross a line?

FlowerGirlASMR I won’t give you the details to my account. We don’t know each other.

Oh god. She thought that he was trying to scam her or something. Fuck.

Shadowsinger I don’t need to log into your account.

He sent the message quickly.

Shadowsinger I could guide you if you like? I work in IT so I’m used to just guiding people through these things.

FlowerGirlASMR How could we do that? I’m not very good at understanding instructions when they are written…

Azriel had an idea and it was both brilliant and idiotic. He typed quickly before the logical part of his brain told him to stop helping this girl he didn’t know.

Shadowsinger I could give you my number and guide you through the phone? I could share my screen with you so you could follow along like that if you are more of a visual learner. You could call me with a hidden number.

He added the last sentence to make her feel safer. And because he didn’t trust himself to have access to her number.

Again, he had to wait for a small eternity before her message popped up.

FlowerGirlASMR That would be great! Could I call you tomorrow at 10.00?

He didn’t even check his schedule before typing “Yes.”

She answered with a smiley.

Azriel sent her his number and she said that she would call, and that was that.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Azriel muttered to himself and got back to bed.

He opened the youtube app, and one of her videos was the first one he saw. His finger hovered above the video. Would it be weird to watch her now that they had messaged each other? He decided to click another ASMR video instead. And then another. And then another.

After 2 hours, he realized that all ASMR was not equal.

So he gave in and clicked on one of her videos. Flower Girl ASMR’s face filled his screen. “Hello my lovelies, lovelies, lovelies,” she whispered, and Azriel thought that she was the loveliest person he had ever seen.

Five minutes later, he was fast asleep.

#elriel fanfic #azriel x elain #elriel #elain archeron #azriel #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years ago

Text

Two steps back: chapter 4 (Poe Dameron x reader)

Chapter summary: (LEAVE:TWO) Poe is now a Captain in the Resistance and he’s finding his stride - that is, until he has a brush with death. After his life flashes before his eyes, he realises he needs his best friend by his side. Somehow, somewhere, across the galaxy, you are coming to the same conclusion.

Series masterlist here

Rating: TEEN Word count: 5.5kish OOPS GIF: @irebelcaptain

Author’s note: please know that the last scene was SO sad in my head that I wept, and I’m sorry if I have failed to convey it well enough to get you in the feels too. I hope you like this instalment. Stick around, there’s a lot more to come for these two.

Song: I have a whole angsty / cheesy playlist for these two and Grow as We Go fits this series so closely that I strongly advise a listen - if you’d like some angst on the side of your angst.

Warnings: character death / death mentions, wounds (not super graphic descriptions but mentions of blood, shrapnel, coughing), ANGST. Kissing. Canon-typical mentions of war, strong themes of homesickness.

Poe was leaving you behind.

There was a sky fringed with red as he lay on his back, the warm, damp soil under his fingers reminding him of home. He was grateful for that. Home is indistinguishable from you.

His fingers clawed more deeply into the earth as he cried out, marring his fingernails, pulling up grass and grit, his hands digging as if searching for the roots of himself.

Poe was leaving you behind, all over again. But this time, as he prepared to leave, the sky was darkening and shrinking above him, frayed hems of red bleeding more deeply into his vision.

So long. So long looking up, ahead, beyond, and in that moment, he simply wished he could look over to his side and see you there. Whyever had he been so keen to fly deep into the maw of space and have its dark expanse swallow him? Why had he wanted to see anything of the universe, beyond where your arms could reach him?

Poe brought his hands to grasp at his stomach, soil mingling with the flowers of red blooming over his torso, a garden of shrapnel buried in him; thorns amongst the pooling red roses.

His chest heaved. A cough rattled like his lungs were full of stones.

He knew. He knew what was coming. A boy who once reached for the stars held hands with a man ending on the ground.

So this is what it feels like to die? So this is what it feels like to die alone?

Perhaps, in these precious moments, Poe should have been thinking of whether he did enough. Enough good. Enough to make his parents proud. Enough to make the sacrifices worth it. Enough that Leia wouldn’t feel he let her down, after she took a chance on his dumb ass.

Perhaps, Poe should have been thinking about whether he would see his mother again soon, as his reddened fingers wound around the ring he wears on his neck, seeking comfort from the familiar, cool band of metal which he used to twist on her finger when he was a boy.

Still, all he could think of was you. That it had been years. Years since you had both laid on your backs in the grass and grazed fingertips, hands and hearts inching closer. Years since you had generously masked the fear in your eyes, for his sake - your fear that the sky he craved so desperately would swallow him and he’d never return.

It had been years now since Poe had seen you, held you, known you, and yet... in these red-tinged moments it was thoughts of you which jarred most in his mind; violence within violence.

Violence, yes, because you didn’t appear to him as an angel- as a soothing balm. As a comfort.

You appeared to him like a spectre. A terror. A panic-rousing lament signalling that it was too late. That he had messed up, because he was too far from you, at his end, even though the only beginning he remembered was hand in hand with you. He was too far away to come back. Out of time to return. Out of breath to tell you…

They say your whole life flashes before your eyes, don’t they?

You are his whole life, then; and yet…

He is filled with dread because he is leaving you, and he never meant to leave you twice.

Once was more than enough for a lifetime.

He looks up, and the sky blazes red, but the earth beneath his clawing fingers reminds him of home. Indistinguishable from you.

****

Poe looks uncharacteristically brooding as he cradles his drink in a dark corner of the Resistance bar, his leather jacket – the first of many to come, perhaps - tugged tightly around himself like a protective barrier. His brow is heavy, his youthful, unlined face learning a new weight. The burdens of war have already begun to school his features; to carve out future furrows.

He rasps a hand over the dark stubble sprouting along the sharp line of his jaw. Typically clean-shaven, Poe finds the texture is a comfort. If he’s honest, he likes the way it makes him look too - and by all accounts so do a fair few others on base. Since he grew it in, he has heard fewer descriptors like “boyish” and “baby-faced”, and more like “handsome”.

Youth is wasted on the young.

Still, his new image, combined with his exploits as an X-Wing pilot, have certainly generated Poe a certain level of… attention. And, certainly, the dashing pilot is learning to better handle the attention he gets - even how to attract and cultivate it, when his Resistance schedule allows it.

Tonight, however, he is not in the mood for any kind of attention, and so he sighs deeply and averts his gaze as Harli enters the bar.

Bracing himself as she sashays over to him, Poe takes a rousing sip of fire whiskey, the spirit burning down his throat and making him cough, fracturing his well-crafted display of sullenness and suave.

Perhaps he is still learning some finesse, then?

Or, perhaps the boozy nights he shared with you on Yavin didn’t develop much of a tolerance in him. Since then, he hasn’t often indulged - he has usually needed to stay sharp in case he has been required to jump in an A-Wing or X-Wing at short notice. This time, though, there is nothing to preclude him from a tipple, since he has once again been grounded for reckless behaviour. No change there, then? Aside from the fact that, this time, his behaviour really had almost killed him.

“Kriff, you’re choking!” Harli sing-songs from behind him in her sweetened voice, patting and rubbing circles into Poe’s back as he chokes. “Are you okay, Captain?”

Poe can’t help it- he still feels a swell of pride every time he hears his newly bestowed rank, especially when delivered in Harli’s honeyed, laudatory tones. He feels it even though Leia had threatened to strip him of his title after the last mission. Still, she had opted not to be that cruel to her fallen pilot. Perhaps she thought he had been taken down a sufficient number of notches already, considering he languished in the med bay, broken and bruised in both body and spirit.

Poe looks at Harli impassably as she slides herself delicately into the bar stool next to him, eyes sweeping over Poe with gentle concern as he presses his palm to his stomach, checking that all of his insides are where they should be after his coughing fit – a nasty habit you form when you almost die, turns out.

He mulls over Harli’s question with more soberness than she had delivered it. He is okay, isn’t he?

Isn’t he?

If so, why can’t he shake that red sky? Why can’t he shake thoughts of you? Ever since that fateful day he has been saddled with a deep-seated sadness, as if all of the incremental, unconscious grieving he has done for you over the years is risen to the surface. As if it had been you that was lost that day. Lost to him.

Perhaps this is how you felt when he left you. When he still had so much to learn. Perhaps he should heed Leia when she insists that, even now, he still does not know as much as he thinks he does.

“Come on, Captain,” Harli probes, a less than subtle hint of flirtation in her tone. “Why so glum?” she slips an arm over to squeeze his bicep, a gesture hovering transparently between comfort and coquetry. Poe had filled out his flight suit a bit since he started training. That seemed to garner him more attention too. He certainly wasn’t complaining.

Harli’s gentle advances are not lost on the pilot, but Poe isn’t exactly in the mood to respond. He is snared by thoughts of you. Of how she is not you. In fact, the ghost of your features acts as a shroud over his companion every time he looks at her, of late. Not your eyes. Not your hands. Not your lips. Not your smile. She is not you.

Of course, this sudden malady doesn’t make any sense, Poe knows.

He’d had his chance to choose you. And he chose to leave you.

There had been others since he tangled limbs with you on Yavin - others who were not you. Of course there had. Zorii. Alister. Ayenne. Harli… Some unions were dalliances, and others over the years, were something approaching love, if not love itself. And yet... none of their faces had appeared to him as a cruel vision in the moment before death. None of their names has embedded themselves in his heartbeat and sounded out with his last breaths.

None of them were at the root of him. You were. You are.

Poe had used to feel invincible. Like the war couldn’t touch him. Like he had all the time in the galaxy to come back to you. It didn’t matter how many bodies he touched or how many names fell amorously from his tongue as he skipped from star to star. But now… now that he understands that he is fallible, he can no longer shake you. Now he understands all too well that time is a thing which ends, his promise of loving you until the stars go out seems recklessly lackadaisical. He should love you now, instead of loving you forever, he thinks.

“I almost died.” Poe says in monotone, eyes fixed on the spinning ice cubes as he swirls his glass in his palm. A distraction. His mouth goes instantly dry.

“Am I missing something? Because that seems like cause for celebration to me,” Harli offers brightly, though Poe still does not look up, his dark eyes appearing haunted. A spectre of you. “Unless… what flashed before your eyes that day?” She studies him more intently. “Or... who?” she ventures, perceptively. She’ll do well in her espionage vocation, Poe thinks, once she’s through with training. She can already run circles around him.

Poe looks up now, squirming guiltily in his chair.

He finds Harli’s beautiful, bright eyes.

She doesn’t deserve the thought, and yet... all Poe can think is to lament that they’re not your eyes. Still, the steady warmth in her gaze softens him a little. Blunts the sharp knife of you which is rammed into his chest, like a piece of shrapnel they could never quite extricate in the med bay.

Poe regards Harli fondly. She is pretty as well as headstrong and sharp. Her body is full and soft and her smile easy, but she retains a careful air of mystery which fits her vocation well. She invites him in but not too close, and, perhaps, that’s exactly where Poe needs to be.

“Someone I left behind,” Poe offers cryptically.

“Hmm,” she responds kindly, even though he has given her little to work with, still smoothing her hand over his arm. “Well, maybe they’ll forgive you, Captain. Maybe you can find your way back.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive myself.” Poe says gloomily, his eyes clouding over, and he looks away from Harli again, not wanting to burden her with this.. whatever this was.

Poe had been convinced he’d done the right thing when he set off for the stars. The war was his vocation, the Resistance in his blood, and he had huge footsteps to fill. Poe put the Resistance above his own life, and he would do it over again, he was sure. Still, in his final moments, when he allowed himself to be selfish, to want something for himself, it was you that he wanted. He didn’t regret joining the war. He did regret leaving you behind to pursue it.

“Well, Dameron,” Harli soothes, extending a hand to squeeze his thigh this time, her lithe fingers rubbing lightly over the fabric of his pants and inching subtly up and up. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

Poe gulps and looks down at her hand there. Not your hand. But it feels… good. Maybe he needs this. Wants this.

“Where are they? This person?” Harli asks, and Poe almost falls into her eyes as she dips her head towards him, her painted, cherry-red mouth tempting him. Harli doesn’t deserve this thought either, but Poe thinks of your lips, so often tainted by the crimson blush of koyo juice, when he knew you.

Where is she? Poe reaches, and…

“I don’t even know.”

Where is she?

There is that rising panic again.

He’s lost you. He’s lost himself.

He can’t find his way back.

He kissed a map of stars on to your skin, and yet...

You should be by his side, and yet...

Harli is here. Harli is here as she tentatively dips forward to capture Poe’s full lips in between hers, staining him cherry-red. A different fruit to you but still sweet, stealing the red from his sky and his wounds and channelling it into this. Into a kiss. Not yours, but warm, like you.

“Feel like hooking-up tonight, Dameron?” she coos as she parts from him, her eyes full of promise. “I promise I can make you feel better.”

She finally teases a smile from him, disarming even though he reveals a mere flash of teeth. “I don’t doubt it, Harli Telana.”

The smile she returns is bright and easy. It cuts through the dark.

Yes, Harli is quite unlike you; Harli is here. Reaching for him.

Able to comfort him. Unlike you.

It’s not your fault.

Not your fault at all. Poe was the one who flew beyond where your arms could reach him. But he had to, didn’t he?

Didn’t he?

Channelling the red, finally shifting the blood from his skies, Poe dips his head to the crook of Harli’s neck, her light, flowery scent filtering over him.

He needs to shake that red sky. He needs to shake the ghost of you. He needs to shake that dense, packed earth where the roots of him are buried. Even if only for now, and not forever.

He can’t go back. He has grieved for you already. For that part of himself you will forever hold on to, and now…

Now… he can only move on.

He nips and tongues the sweet spot on Harli’s neck, tasting her perfume under his tongue and grazing his stubble along her collarbone, earning a soft, keening moan from her already. Her body is soft and full and her smile is easy.

He looks at her. Bright eyes, filled with intelligence and mystery. Cherry red lips like petals opening in a moan for him. He looks at her, but this time he sees her. Sees her without the ghost of you shrouding her features. She deserves this. Deserves to be seen.

“Yeah, I would like that,” he concedes, and she offers him a satisfied, sultry smile.

“Come on then, flyboy. Follow me.”

She rises from her stool, catching his hand in hers. Not your hand, but warm all the same.

Her grip is strong, confident. Leading the way. Not the way home… but where else can he go?

Maybe this could be something? Maybe?

Maybe it could be enough.

Maybe Poe could finally leave you behind. At least for now, if not forever.

****

He was leaving you behind.

He gasped, and spluttered, and he cried out, until he knew not whether he heaved violently for air, or for you. Until the burn in his oxygen-deprived lungs was indistinguishable from a need for you. Until the letting of blood from his body was the chance of you, slowly ebbing away. Until the pain jarring through his body was nothing but the burn of regret.

In death you returned to haunt him as a life unlived. A story unfinished.

Violence within violence.

“No, no, no!” he rasped brokenly as the field medics rushed to his side. “Tell her… Tell her…” he had tried, but his lungs felt weighed down by stones, his voice a red, gargling brook, his liquid sinking into the wet earth.

As they tended to him, they might have imagined he was crying for the loss of himself, and yet... he was crying for you.

He had always wanted to fly away, to disappear in the stars. He did not comprehend that he ran towards death. He had still had so much to learn, when he flew the nest. And yet…. now, he would trade it all for a life with you.

He didn’t want to leave you again. He wanted to come back to you, in the end. At his end.

But it was too late. Too dark. He didn’t even know where to find you.

He was lost. He always lost his path without you, didn’t he?

And now, now he was under a shrinking, blood red sky. Reddening. Redder.

Still, as his eyes blinked closed, he was beneath a canopy of verdant green, looking up at the expansive blue sky. He looked to his side and found you there.

You were children again. You had nothing to regret yet, and he felt calm as he reached out to take your hand in his. You always were and always will be at the root of him.

He had thought all was lost but now...

“How did you find me?” he whispered, and his voice was innocent again.

“I always know my way to you,” you replied, in the voice of his best friend. Of his youth.

“I was so lost,” he cried - to you, to the medics, the boy who reached for the stars joining his voice with the man ending on the ground. You swiped the tears away from his skin. A comfort. His angel.

“You’re safe, Poe,” you had gently smiled. “You’re home now.”

And in the moment where the reds and greens and blues faded to black, you were with him.

He stayed by your side as he left you behind.

****

As Poe is ending, you are returning to where he begun. You track down the oh so familiar dirt path to Kes’ house, your face still tear-stained and puffy from both your reunion and your hasty goodbye with your Mama.

“Kes? Are you home?” you call into the house, a break in your voice already - a distinct crack as you sound the word “home”. You find the door ajar, and you wait at the mouth of the house for him to greet you, your heart in your mouth.

It has been years.

You never expected that returning here would hurt so much. To this planet. To your house. To Poe’s house. You ache with both regret and relief.

Still, the sounds and sights and smells of Yavin are deeply familiar and soothing, and you let them wrap around you while you wait. You tilt your head up towards the low-slung sun, which bathes everything in gold. You allow the wafting scent of koyo fruit and tea and wet earth to fill your nostrils. Allow the jibber-jabber and chatter and squawk of animals and birds lilt into your ears, filtering from the jungle via the gentle breeze which makes the leaves in the canopy shush and tremble.

Beneath all this, if you peel back the layers of yourself, you can practically hear the laughter of two young children. You can practically see tiny, grubby hands teasing the hefty, wooden door ajar. Can practically see a brown-eyed, black-haired boy, greeting you with a toothless, cherubic grin.

The lump in your throat grows. It has been a long time since you were home. So much has changed - including you. There is so much that is missing. And yet, everything is simultaneously as it was. You are a child again. As you stand here in front of Mr. Dameron’s door, you feel three foot tall.

Kes appears in response to your call, trundling through from the back of the house, approaching you from across the kitchen, his eyes creasing at the corners as soon as he catches sight of you, his arms already extending towards you in preparation for a hug. He looks older - slightly more rotund, and his hair now entirely awash with grey, but the light in his eyes is still as bright as ever. They are warm and brown like earth as they fall on you, and they remind you endlessly of a boy you used to know.

“Hi, cookie.” Kes smiles, a break in his voice too as he tugs you into an immediate, enveloping hug, and your heart snags on the old nickname.

You hadn’t realised how much you felt Kes’ absence until his presence surrounds you, and suddenly a delayed fit of sorrow bubbles to the surface.

Still, you gladly return his vigorous embrace as he grasps the nape of your neck, just like his son used to do. As he holds you, you are overcome, your eyes screwing shut and your brow creasing - your throat bobbing around a terrible lump as you fail in biting back the tears. You are sure they are in part shed for this reunion, and in part for the reunion you never did get with his son.

Kes feels a gentle, unexpected sob wrack you as he holds you tightly, and he breaks from you to plant his hands firmly on your shoulders, giving you a reassuring squeeze and pat. He nods gently - kindly, understanding your tears. You feel three foot tall again, as if you have run to him with scraped knees and crocodile tears to tend to. You had been prepared to face your mother, but this - this took you by surprise.

“It’s been a long time, kid. Long time since you were home, huh?” he asks gently, allowing you to freely let go of whatever you didn’t realise was pent up.

There’s that word again. Home.

It has been a long time indeed. And it will be longer yet that you must be away. A fresh batch of tears travels down your face and you quickly wipe them away with the back of your hand, smushing your face. You nod quickly, your face a grimace.

“Well, let me get a proper look at you,” Kes says in his soothing baritone, as you bring yourself under control with a few deep breaths, his kind eyes creasing at the corners as he fishes some glasses out of his cardigan pocket and lifts them to his face with his big, worn hands, his aging skin lined and crinkled now like brown paper packages.

You’re not sure Kes will like the jaded, battle-scarred woman in front of him, and for a moment you worry you will disappoint him upon closer inspection, but he tips up your chin fondly with his thumb, a warm light tinkling in his eyes. He looks you over in your tactical wear and you stand a little taller, out of habit.

There is a certain sadness in his eyes when he observes that you look every inch a soldier. He always hoped you and his boy would be spared the fight.

“Look at you, beautiful girl. And look at that steel in your eyes. Still a hard nut, and still soft in the middle, I suspect. You’re everything I knew you could become, but hoped you would never need to be, aren’t you?” Kes’ eyes grow even more wistful as he regards you, at once familiar and yet entirely changed. “It’s still so strange to see you without him. Whenever I saw you standing in my doorway, I could always expect to see my boy rounding the corner a few steps behind.” Your eyes become misty again, and you and Kes are joined, finding affinity in the pain of Poe’s absence. “Come in, cookie? Have some tea? I’m sure we have a lot to catch-up on.”

So much.

You nibble your fingernail, because you know you’re about to break Kes’ heart.

You and Poe had each given the man a hard time in your youth. Poe in particular, especially after his mother passed. For a good few years things had grown strained between them. Still, Kes had always seemed so much sterner back then. Now, he seems kind and soft, and you realise that you owe him so much.

“Kes. I’m so sorry,” you say earnestly, placing a hand on top of his as his grip settles around the kettle. “I can’t stay. I wish I could, believe me,” you say truthfully. “But I need to find him, Kes.”

The man pauses, recognising the levity in your tone. He looks at you questioningly, knitting his brows together but serving no interruption.

“My unit are... They’re all...” You can’t complete the thought. You can’t bring yourself to say it, but Kes recognises that familiar look. The weight on your face is all too familiar.

He is sorry, in that moment and so many others, that his generation did not do enough to spare the next from this pain. He can’t find the words either, but he again finds an affinity, and he reaches out to squeeze your arm.

“Someone betrayed us,” you explain more cleanly, gaining some composure. A determination taking over your voice, causing Kes’ eyes to glow with a gentle pride. “I don’t know who to trust, Kes. The Order obliterated our forces. I have no friends left. I need to find him and find the Resistance. There’s work left to do.”

Kes nods in understanding and pats your cheek reassuringly with his palm. “Kid.” he says, with a fond smile, crossing to a wooden dresser and fishing out a data chip. “You’ll always have at least one friend.” Padding back to you, he scoops up your smaller hand and places the data chip in your palm, wrapping your fingers securely around it as he clasps your hand in his.

“That’s the most recent cypher. He might have moved on since then, I don’t know. He... he gets in touch when he can.” Kes’ voice is heavy with the absence of his son, yet also imbued with forgiveness, readily given, for the lack of him.

You clasp your free hand over Kes’. “I missed you, Kes. I miss him. I wish I could stay.”

A soft smile blooms on Kes’ lips. He is getting all too used to being left behind. “Me too. Me too, kid. Just... promise me something?” You nod. “If you see Poe...” Kes’ watery smile falters and his eyes drop to the floor, his breath becoming subtly discombobulated as he speaks. “If you see him will you tell him that I.... I....” Kes’ voice fractures, and so you generously pick up the slack.

You nod, a steel in your eyes letting the man know you will keep your promise. He can’t put his message into words, but he doesn’t have to. You can translate it for him. You know love when you see it.

“I’ll tell him, Kes. But he already knows, and he loves you too,” you reassure, your words precise and your eyes searching his to ensure the words sink in in their entirety. It seems to offer some comfort to the man. You fish for a little more, if you can provide it. You land on the only other thing you know of Poe since you knew him on Yavin. “He saved my life you know. He was one helluva pilot, even as an Academy flyboy.”

“He told me about that. Told me we almost lost you,” Kes shakes his head as if chiding you for it. “I’m glad my son was a crappy enough pilot to crash and a decent enough pilot to get you out.” Kes delivers another wistful smile. “Boy always was like his mother, fortunately. Wouldn’t want him to have turned out like his father.”

A soft, watery smile finally cracks your face, and you force it up until it apples your cheeks.

“Ah, you’re not so bad, Kes. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” you say fondly, dipping to kiss him on the cheek.

He smiles gratefully at you, suddenly looking smaller and older, and with a deep inhale, you turn and track out of the house. If you don’t leave now maybe you never will. This house is imbued with memories from the floor to the beams and everywhere in between, and if you bask in them too long you won’t want to leave them behind. Still, you pause in the doorway, your fingertips gripping the frame, just above where child’s hands used to.

You turn, looking back over your shoulder, and you say something to Kes which you have thought to yourself on many a battlefield, in moments of deep gratitude. You really did owe him a lot, and now you can tell him that. “Thank you, for teaching me how to shoot better than every enemy I’ve come up against so far.”

“I’m sorry that I had to, but I’m glad that I did.”

You nod, one soldier to another this time, and you begin to track down the dirt path, turning your back on the past once again. Kes follows and leans up against the doorframe, calling out to you one more time. He sees your humble ship in the distance, parked-up by the edge of the clearing.

“You’re not flying that are you, kid?”

Flying was never one of your talents. Nor was it ever a talent you wished for.

You smile at the good-natured teasing. “Unfortunately yes,” you call back. “But I’m a little better than I used to be.”

“Thank goodness for that!” Kes calls, with a rumbling, baritone laugh, and you smile as he beams back at you, etching this happier image into your memory for later. You really do wish you could stay, and so, this time as you turn your eyes away from the cottage, away from Kes, and away from the ghost of a black-haired boy in the doorway, you don’t look back.

Instead, you fix your eyes ahead on Sion, where he leans up against the side of your craft. You school your face until it is free of emotion, despite the tear-tracks lingering on your cheeks. You don’t feel like sharing. Sion hasn’t exactly been on board with this plan, and with this whole visit, and his attitude inspires a coldness in you, in stark contrast to everything you found in that cottage.

“Did you get it?” Sion asks you tersely, pushing himself up from his position and opening up the boarding ramp.

You nod, curtly, not making eye contact with him as you make your way up the ramp.

“I still don’t like this,” he voices, for the nth time.

You are starting to lose patience. You’re not sure how many more times you can rehash this.

“We need a friend,” you bite. “Someone we can trust. I don’t know if you noticed, but we have no-one left, Sion. If we don’t act soon, the Order will -”

Sion grabs you by your arm as you bluster past him, and your eyes whip towards him, full of steel. “I know all that.” he interrupts. “But, I don’t get it. Poe. Poe Dameron. It’s been years. Why him? You don’t know him anymore.”

“I know him,” you insist, and Sion shakes his head, puffing out air in exasperation. But, with a lack of alternatives, you know he has no moves left to make. You’re at stalemate.

“You trust him?” he asks, muscles in his jaw twitching in agitation.

You pause, looking Sion in the eyes, your stare penetrating, your body poised. You know you should probably bite your next words back, but you feel in the moment that’s it necessary that you make yourself eminently clear.

“I’d sooner mistrust you,” you say coolly, emotionless, before snatching your arm away from him and tracking up the ramp to slide yourself into the pilot’s seat.

“Brilliant. Kriffing brilliant,” Sion curses under his breath, angrily strapping himself in beside you, his face painted with a scowl.

You ignore his mood. Something feels off with him and has for a while, but you don’t have anything you can prove yet. Only conjecture. You know Sion cares about you, but sometimes you wonder if he cares a little too much. Enough to have struck some sort of deal with the Order. The fact that only the two of you survived the betrayal always struck you as a little too... convenient.

Still, you push your niggling suspicions down, and allow your eyes to sweep over the view in front of you - the panorama of jungle and temples and golden light through the transparisteel windshield. You drink in one last measure of home, while you still can.

You were home, but it wasn’t quite the same without him.

And, as much as you wanted to stay here, on familiar ground with your family, you had to find a friend. You knew you could only find him amongst the stars.

You power up the craft, and you insert the data chip into a vacant slot on the control panel, letting the ship decipher the coordinates.

The ship whirrs, and you take off shakily, in all respects.

“Kriff, I hate flying,” you complain as you rise up, up, up. Far above the canopy. Far above the place you never wished to fly away from, and towards the only person worth following into the stars.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron angst #star wars #oscar isaac

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fullyellowsun · 4 years ago

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Subtle | 3

Second-hand Embarrassment:

I do not own the gif, credit to the owner.

This is my first series so please cut me some slack but also I welcome constructive criticisms! This is in Korean so for those of you who can read Korean and English, go ahead! I will post a full English version link to the Wattpad story in the masterlist!

Pairing: baekhyun x reader

Genre: kpop group collaboration!AU

Word Count: 1015 words

Description: After watching some of EXO's performances (*cough cough* The Eve *cough cough*), the official contract of the two groups 'marriages' begins and now the real party starts.

Masterlist

"Honestly, I feel second-hand embarrassment for them." Yoona 언니 and I were watching some of EXO's performances and ended up watching their "The Eve" live performance. "But I also applaud them for their confidence."

"그��? Then who fits this dance best?"

"카이, 당연하지, I mean, his image along with the outfit..." I put up a big thumbs up.

"Ooh, 언니, do you like Kai?" Suah teases.

"아니, Yoona does." I point at Yoona. "I was just saying how well his image goes with the dance."

"와! 대박! Plot twist! 진짜 유나언니?" Suah says still stuck on the crush thing.

"Uh..."

"역시, of course she likes the dancer." Sunny says.

"Then who do you like Dayeon 언니?"

"No one, 왜? Do I have to like one of them?"

"No but I thought it would be cute if we had 2 couples in the group, you know?" Suah continues. "... like if you and 백현오빠-"

"Me and Dayeon what?" Baekhyun interrupts our conversation. Suah, obviously started, sqeaks in terror and starts rambling.

"Well the thing is, I- well,"

"What are you doing here?" I ask him.

"아, our Eve performance." He reminisces.

"Oh yeah, we were watching your different performances." Yoona says quickly.

"다연아, I think we need to practice more on the duet."

"Oh, yeah sure, where should we practice?"

"역시, genius idol is a workaholic." Sunny says.

"All of you come, we changed the duet a bit so that all of us dance."

"Aww... I wanted to rest!" Suah complains cutely.

"Just come." He says flatly and exits.

"Me and 백현오빠 뭐?" I ask Suah.

"Dated..." she says quietly.

"안가?" Baekhyun comes back and asks.

"Did you hear what I said?" Suah asks frightened.

"아니, what did you say?" He asks.

"Nothing, let's just go!" Suah skips out the door and drags Baekhyun with her. When we get to the room, 유 매니저 and 리 매니저 were there.

"Finally, you're here. So this performance is going to symbolize like a 'marriage' between the 2 groups so after that you will create a full length album, do VLIVE's together and we'll also prepare a variety show similar to the EXO Ladder show." Manager Yoo starts.

"To increase your chemistry, each EXO member will be paired with a BUBBLEGUM member and because there are less BUBBLEGUM members than EXO, only 5 members will be paired. Here are the pairs and activities and other requirements. We combined the different roles together to make it easier to make content together." Manager Lee says.

"Bora and Suho. Dayeon and Baekhyun. Yoona and Kai. Sunny and Chanyeol. And Suah and Sehun." We all step forward in our pairs to get our requirements. I smile at Yoona and give her a thumbs-up as a good luck. I could tell that Baekhyun and Kai had some tension because when we were talking altogether, they wouldn't even look at each other. We go into our separate couples to read the requirements. Comfortable... new dorms... skinship... chemistry... fake... nothing special.

"오빠, are you mad at Kai?" I whisper to him since he was sitting next to me.

"No, it's not like that. He got mad at me because I broke an unspoken rule." He whispers back.

"So like breaking girl code but for boys?" He laughs uneasily.

"Yeah, kinda like that." Sehun noticed our close behavior and said loudly, "야, get a room already!"

"Huh? Why should we? Shouldn't we be working together on this album? Are we supposed to work on lyrics? Sorry, I wasn't really listening well enough." I bow to everyone. "죄송합니다." Baekhyun actually laughs for the first time since we saw him and Suah just facepalms. "Ah, 미안합니다. 오빠, let's go." I get up to find a room but he just pulls me back down, gasping for breath from laughing so hard.

"장난 이였어. 농담! Have you never heard that phrase before?"

"What phrase? Getting a room? How is that a phrase? What does it mean?" I say confused. Baekhyun was still holding my wrist.

"아니다. Let's just work." We continue to talk about the album and performance and practice.

"I think we got it! We did well. Everyone, we just need to practice. Everyone we love it, both the EXO-L's and the 여러불 (fandom name... play on words. 여러분 means everyone and 불 is part of 버불 (bubble) in BUBBLEGUM)." Bora applauses after looking at our performance.

"Yeah she's right. We look awesome, especially the duet." Suho hyung looks warrily at Kai. "다연아, 백현이, 잘했어!" He gives us a thumbs-up like a proud dad.

"감사합니다 오빠. It's nice to hear I'm doing so well from someone I respect." She bows.

"야, don't lie. That will just make him do more weird stuff." I say.

"야!" Suho puts his hand over his head as if her were about to hit me.

"그만하세요 오빠들." I say half-laughing.

"At least she has some respect." Suho says.

"Should we start working on our album? If we were to finish in about a year, what should be our theme?" Bora asks.

"Oooh! 언니! Pick me! I know!" Suah says excitedly.

"What is it Suah?" Bora says half-listening.

"Well, if we finish in about a year? How about we make a Christmas album? Then our reality show could be all the snow activites like the first snow and ice skating and snowball fights!"

"Hmm... not a bad idea." Chanyeol says. "What do you guys think?" I was thinking of a word or phrase to base the album off of because that helps me focus. I just randomly blurted out, "Christmas Spirit!"

"Huh? Are you okay? What did you say?" Baekhyun asks.

"Christmas spirit."

Masterlist

#baekhyun #exo #exo baekhyun #baekhyunnie #baekhyun imagines #baekhyun x reader

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spnfanficpond · 5 years ago

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October Angel Fish Awards

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words.

The monthly Angel Fish Awards are peer-nominated, meaning ANYONE IN THE POND CAN NOMINATE ANY POND MEMBER’S FIC. While the Pond was founded to support the Guppies, everyone in this community deserves to be showered with love and feedback, and we hope that by opening this up as a Pond wide system, we’ll be able to share the love as far as it can go.

NOTE: WE’VE BEEN HAVING OCCASIONAL PROBLEMS WITH ASKS GOING MISSING. Please use the Submit button when submitting your nominations and make sure you’re signed into Tumblr or your URL won’t show. (If the form asks for your name and email address, then you’re not signed in.) If you like, you can also send a message to Michelle or Mana to check and make sure we got your submission.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE ARE OCTOBER’S ANGEL FISH AWARDS!

Nominated by @impala-dreamer

Lay All Your Love on Me (oneshot) by @idabbleincrazy

Very very tasty Sam smut here. Love him just letting go and getting into it. Very good work!!

For Tonight (oneshot) by @dontshootmespence

Amazing. Simple yet beautiful and oh the sweet pain. I loved it.

Nominated by Anon

Ride with Me by @katehuntington

This story is amazing! Kate is weaving such an intricate little AU while still remaining true to the characters. Her descriptions are spot on and the dialogue just feels so…perfect. I adore the insight we are getting from Dean’s perspective too. This is such a unique story and now I just want to go on a trail ride (and find me a cowboy *winks*)!

Nominated by @manawhaat

Dessert Then Dinner (oneshot) by @atc74

HOLY SHITBALLS! I generally am not a slut for Rob, but this made me the absolute biggest slut for Rob. Oy vey. The inspiration was fucking there! That picture did things to me and the fic that followed definitely did things to me. It’s hot, it’s fucking ACCURATE representation of lust for the way a man is dressed. Ay ay ay, these words and image are just happen to be exactly what makes my brain explode.

Witches Fuckin’ Suck (oneshot) by @crashdevlin

This. Fic. Is. Fuckin’. Weird. It’s weird. It’s absolutely weird. IN THE BEST POSSIBLE WAY. OMG. I have never related to all parties in a fic so thoroughly. It’s hilarious. It’s ridiculous. There’s a funniness and curiosity that bleeds into sexiness in such a light and honest way. The way this scenario presents itself is so damn real within the realm of Jody and Donna and me. Fucking fantastic!

Nominated by @slytherkins

River (oneshot) by @thoughtslikeaminefield

Love me some Denny, but this one is almost better because it’s just implied. There are all sorts of references to Dean’s past, but they are subtle, and the fic itself is understated. It’s also hawt. :p And Dean is so in character. I just…I just like this. Is just good. Bittersweet and sexy.

Drabble #5 (oneshot) by @thegirlwhorunswithwinchesters

I loved this drabble. It’s so understated. Big responses in these types of situations are great and all, but I think the fact that they were so reserved made it all the more touching. And particularly in character for Dean, imho. Read it! Be moved. :p

A Dangerous Game ch.6 (series) by @risingphoenix761

Ooooooh Myyyyy Gaaaaaaawd. Y'all. New chapter. Smut…so hawt. Character dynamic…so fun. Crowley…so, so secksy. Magic…so magicy. :p Remusly, this series just blows me away.

Nominated by @thing-you-do-with-that-thing

About A Boy (series) by @percywinchester27

I would like to nominate Ana’s About a Boy series. It has me on the edge of my seat already. Ana is such an insanely smart writer and she really knows how to build a story. She also know her character super well and she is wicked at writing them as kids/young adults. It’s not a reader insert which I know turn a bunch of people off which is a huge shame cause this one really deserves a lot of love and attention.

Nominated by @lovetusk

A Little Hide and Seek (series) by @iflostreturntosteverogers

Can I nominate this new series that Carrie is working on? She’s really growing as a writer lately, and so far this series really showcases that.

Nominated by @princessmisery666

Blood In Bed (oneshot) by @slytherkins

So I don’t support @slytherkins as much as she supports me and my writing so I wanted to read something of hers, even though it’s not my ‘usual’ cup of tea!!

And god damn I’m so f******g happy, scrap that, ecstatic that I did. This was fun, engaging, funny, sweet and heart breaking. I know she knows Crowley, she quite literally is his Queen 👑. She gets him spot on and this could quite easily be canon. I can see it happening.

I wish I had the words to tell you how brilliant this is, how much I really like it. Demon Dean is perfectly portrayed and I just can’t express how good this is. Mark as my favourite and one I will return to, many times.

Not Always The Way (oneshot) by @kittenofdoomage

THIS WAS PERFECTION!! Yes I know I’m shouting but I need to!!!

Sweet, fluffy, smutty, perfectly Sam, cute and awkward and kind and patient and just yeah!

Nominated by @ellen-reincarnated1967

A New Fall (series) by @iwantthedean

It's autumn themed, full of the apple pie life, orchards, pumpkins, cinnamon rolls that you can eat as well as the human cinnaroll Jensen post season 15. The family history of the reader really puts you right at the farmer's market and you'll feel cozy. There's also a twist. Looking forward to the rest, but the chapters up now, are addicting like apple pie!

Nominated by @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish

Blood and Water (series) by @crashdevlin

This story is fan-freakin-tastic! I love everything about it. I’m all about Dark!chesters and Crash is killing it, especially since the boys still feel in character despite the whole ‘screwing their sisiter’ thing. Bravo Crash! Can’t wait to see what else is in store for these three.

His Property (series) by @negans-lucille-tblr

How do I begin to describe this amazing work of fanfic? Dirty? Kinky? Delicious? Dramatic? Angsty? Smutty? Surprise conflict? On point characters in a very very alternate universe? Yes, I think one of those is a good place to start. Bottom Line: READ THIS FIC (and its sequel Yours)!

Mr. Impala (mixed media) by @evansrogerskitten

I don’t even remember how I stumbled across this gem but I was shook! I totally thought I was looking at the real thing! And then I read the article, and I was absolutely reading the real AU thing! Such an awesome work of art and fic combined! I was blown away by the quality of it! Props to Ash (and all the other art people) for such an awesome piece and even more props for merging art and fic flawlessly!

Nominated by @stunudo

Smokestack Lightning (oneshot) by @thoughtslikeaminefield

I’m nominating MJ’s awesome Sam/Rowena fic because it was what we needed after The Rupture. It is real, but also fun and flirty. She is a master at layering the emotions into her fics, especially the smutty ones.

Nominated by @wi-deangirl77

Stages of Grief (drabble) by @plaidstiel-wormstache

I’m nominating this drabble by my gal Jessie because it’s so different than a lot of the fics out there. The way she coveys the pain and sorrow that the characters feel after such a loss is palpable. And the way she jumps forward to the future that neither of the remaining characters could have even thought possible at the beginning of the story is very bittersweet.

What’s Left of Me (drabble) by @waywardjoy

Once again the Queen of Angst (as I’ve so lovingly dubbed her) brings it to the next level. Writing it all from Sam’s POV she sets up this dark, DARK fic (heed the warnings peeps) for one hell of a ride. You can’t help but feel as confused, scared and out of control as our hero Sam does as she takes you down the spiraling track that is the plot of this fic. Well done, dear Joy…well done.

Thank you all for the awesome work and great feedback!

As with the BFAs, these are not actual awards! This system is set up so everyone in the pond has a chance to share the love and promote a fic/author that has grabbed your attention. The more people that participate, and the more everyone remembers to submit their own fics after posting, the better this will be :D

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

#angel fish awards #afa masterlist #spn fanfiction #spn fic rec #spnfanficpond #afas

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jacksonxschuester · 4 years ago

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I Owe You a Painting || Jacksher

Date: September 20th, 2020 Who: Jackson and Asher @asherkarofsky Description: Jackson delivers the painting he did for Asher, as a thank you for the easel Asher made for Jackson, which was a thank you for... you get the point. Jackson then helps Asher make his suite feel a little more like home Note: Not finished, but it’s cute and I want it on the dash.

Jackson had actually finished the painting a few days ago, but he'd gotten ambitious and decided to try oil paints for this piece, and he'd wanted to give it lots of time to dry before delivering it. Taking inspiration from some Bob Ross episodes, he'd created a sweeping prairie landscape with a duck pond and a farm house. There were a few trees and bushes and flowers, but plenty of open blue sky and a worn, homely feel to the house. He'd painted it on a 18" x 24" canvas and had signed his name in the bottom corner. Overall, he was pretty proud of how it turned out, but he was still a little nervous about Asher's reaction to it as he stood outside the Dom's door and knocked. He hoped it would be well recieved.

Everyone had told him he would settle in and get more things and that the giant suite wouldn't feel so giant anymore. That had not happened yet. Mostly he ate in the cafeteria and spent any time out of classes in bed sleeping. Today he'd decided to do some whittling in his suite since the workshop didn't have the light he needed. There were small curls of wood on the kitchen bar where he was working. He'd just put the small creature on the bar top to look at when there was a knock on the door. He opened it wondering who would be coming to see him. He was happy to see that it was Jackson. He just didn't know what to say. "Hi." He even waved before feeling awkward and letting his hand drop. "Oh... oh come in."

Jackson forced a smile onto his face when he saw Asher. "Hi." He greeted, and stepped in when he was invited. He stood awkwardly for a moment, and then remembered the reason for his visit. "I um... I finished it." He said, turning the painting around in his hands for Asher to see. "It's my first attempt with oil paintings, so it's not perfect, but I hope you like it and even if you don't it's okay because I can always try to do a better one..." He rambled.

Asher hadn't expected to get the painting yet. Surely Jackson had so much other more important things than him, but here it was right in front of him. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but the painting was perfect. "It... it's perfect. It's exactly like the place I dream of having some day. Like that's exactly it." He reached out for the painting but hesitated. "Can I... Is it okay to hold it?"

Jackson's expression shifted into a softer, more genuine smile as Asher took in the painting. He was relieved that the Dom seemed to like it. "Yeah, it's totally dry, you can hold it." He assured. "You really do like it?" He asked, seeking confirmation and reassurance.

"Like it? No. I love it." He carefully took the painting in his hands walking closer to the large living room window to see it in the light. "How did you know this was exactly what I saw in my head? I have this dream... kind of dumb I know, but I'd love to own a place like this someday. A place to call my own, you know?"

"I didn't know." Jackson shrugged. "I just ran with the idea you gave me and this is what came out. It does look like a nice place to live though. Peaceful..." His smile turned sad as he realized he'd never even given any thought to the type of house he'd like to have someday. Not since Steven had passed, anyway. "I hope you get to have a place like this in the future, Sir."

"Yeah peaceful." He turned to the other man. "I hope so. Gotta be careful with dreams though." He hated that he couldn't just be one of those hopeful, optimistic people. He blames his parents for ruining that for him. "Will you help me figure out the best place to hang it." He looked around at the suite. It was very.... white. The painting would start to make this place feel a little like home.

Jackson nodded, "Of course I'll help." He said, glossing right over the bit about being careful with dreams. He'd given up having any sort of dream himself. He didn't want to bring Asher down by talking about that. "What about that wall there?" He pointed to one of the walls in the living room. It was opposite the couch, so that you could see it if you were sitting there, and the shape and size of the canvas was very appropriate to the size of wall it was

He nodded. He realized instantly that if he was on the couch he'd be able to see it and also it there it would be visible as soon as he walked in the door. "Here hold it. I'll get my tools." He went to the kitchen bar, but stopped and turned back to look at Jackson. "Thank you. Thank you for this." He grabbed his tools and walked back over. Gesturing around the suite, he laughed. "As you can see I'm not so good at, decorating. Personalizing." That was the better word. He didn't need 'decorating' but he did sort of crave personalization in his life.

Jackson waited patiently while Asher grabbed his tools, and upon observation he found that Asher's statement was accurate. There weren't a lot of personal touches around the place, except for the pile of wood shavings and some sort of carving on the counter. Jackson assumed that's what he'd been working on when he arrived, but now that he knew the wood shavings were there he was itching to sweep them up and put them out of sight. "I could help you with that, if you like?" He offered suddenly, unsure of exactly way. Maybe he just needed to feel like he was useful, needed by someone.

Ash was pulling out his small hammer and some finishing nails that should do the job to hold up the painting when Jackson spoke again. "Hmm? Oh.. oh really? You'd do that?" He looked around again. "Don't even know where to start." He shrugged and kept his gaze down on the hammer in his hands that he was spinning around. "Used to have a little picture of me an' Silas and Dave as kids, but I lost it." It had been the only thing he'd had to remind him of his family. And losing it was the very last time he ever cried.

Jackson nodded. "Yeah, I don't mind." He said. "Is there a way to find a copy of that picture, maybe? Would Silas or Dave have a copy?" He asked, already planning on asking Silas for any photos of Asher as a kid to frame. "We could also paint the walls to whatever colours you like, and add things related to stuff you like." He motioned over to the carving on the counter. "Do you do a lot of that sort of thing? You could display your work on your bookshelves and such.

"Don't know. Maybe Dave. Si kind of left in a hurry. Don't think our folks let him bring much when he came here." He frowned. "They won't mind me paintin'?" He been worried about the holes he was about to put in the wall and already had a plan on how he'd repair those when the time came. He laughed and smiled at Jackson. "Don't if they're as good as all that, but might be nice to look at 'em." He looked over at the creature on the bar. He found a lot of happiness in making them even as silly as they were.

Jackson made a note to check with Dave, also. Just in case. "They don't mind paint and things like hanging pictures or hooks or decor, they just don't want anyone doing extensive damage that'll cost a lot to repair or render the suite unusable for any period of time." He informed, remembering one incident when he was a teenager that his father got very heated about. "One time a student knocked out a couple of walls to combine all the bedrooms together. My father was not pleased. That was way before I came here, though." Curious, Jackson made his way over to the counter. "Give yourself a little credit, not everyone can carve things out of wood like this. I'm sure they're..." He trailed off when he saw what the little creature was. A tiny bird sat on the countertop near the pile of shavings, and Jackson felt his heart jump into his throat. "... great." He finished his sentence, carefully picking up the carving and examining it closer. The word pajarito played over and over in his head in Mateo's voice, 'little bird' it meant. The tears were stinging at his eyes despite his valiant effort to make them stop.

Asher's eyes went wide. Knocking down the walls was a huge undertaking and could actually be downright dangerous. Generally with a large building like this the load bearing walls were all around the outside, but still. "I don't even use the space I have. Can't imagine needing more. "They aren't too hard. Learned when I was a boy. They do..." He noticed that Jackson had stopped talking and that he had tears in his eyes. "Sugar, are you okay?" He dipped his head to get in between the other man and the small wooden bird taking shape out of the wood.

Jackson took in a shuddering breath and tried very hard to steady his emotions. "Fine. I'm fine." He insisted, despite it not being true in the slightest. "It's nothing. It's a stupid thing, actually." He rambled. "Little bird is the nickname Sir Mateo gave me, that's all." He said, knowing Asher would want an explanation, but Jackson felt really stupid for such a small thing affecting him this much. Sometimes it hit him like a sack of bricks, the magnitude of losing yet another Dom, and in those moments Jackson found it really hard to breathe.

Asher didn't hesitate for a moment. He snatched the bird off the counter and shoved it in his pocket. "It's not stupid." He obviously had no idea of this reaction when he decided to carve a bird, but he hated that it had caused him to remember this pain. "I'm sorry."

Jackson shook his head. "It is stupid. And it's not your fault." He insisted, and then his hands where against his arms, fingernails digging into his skin. He hated how fragile he was. He took a few steps away and took a breath, "I'm sorry..."

Asher didn't want to argue but he didn't think it was stupid at all. He'd never been in love before and he couldn't image having it and losing it. That whole 'better to have and lost' seemed like bullshit to him. He stayed quiet for a while and then spoke in a quiet voice. "Wanna get this painting up and then help me pick out my next carving should be?"

Jackson could feel his skin start to break under his fingernails, and the sharp pain brought him a brief moment of respite from the mental pain. He heard Asher speak and for a moment, he wasn't sure what the Dom had said. He turned, wiping at his eyes. "Maybe I should just go?" He asked, not wanting to further bring Asher's mood down.

Ash saw the way Jackson's body was stiff Nd he was scratching roughly at his arm. It must have hurt the way he was pressing in. "I really like having you here, but don't wanna make you stay if you're feelin' uncomfortable." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Can I walk you home? Make sure you're safe."

Safe. The word rung hollow in Jackson's ears. Sure, he might be away from any immediate harm, but safe? Could he really count himself as safe until he was claimed? Mateo had promised him safety... he had promised to do whatever it took to include Jackson in his family, but when the time came it turned out there was a line he wouldn't even consider crossing. Jackson realized it had been a minute or two since Asher had spoken, and he still hadn't replied. "Um... I... I'll stay if you want. You needed help, right? I can help. I can be useful." The words were mostly spilling from his mouth as they came into his head, no filter in between to remind him what was socially appropriate and what was not.

Ash wished he was his brother in this moment. Silas would have the words to comfort Jackson. But he just waited. "You've been so damn helpful to me Jackson. I gotta tell you, don't really got friends." He shrugged. "You're probably not supposed to decide this one sided, but you're my best friend Jackson. Don't know what I woulda done here without you. So yeah, if you want to stay, I could use your help." He didn't know if that meant Jackson was useful, but it damn well did mean he was needed. Asher really needed him.

Jackson felt himself tear up again. Asher considered him his best friend? It felt good, but it also made him feel a little guilty. Should he be putting more into this friendship than he has been? Asher really must not have had many friends if he considered Jackson to be the best one... He wiped at his eyes again and just nodded. "Okay... I'll stay." He said softly. "Tell me what you need me to do, Sir."

Ash smiled. He felt like he'd maybe unwittingly manipulated Jackson to stay, but it was hard to muster any guilt over that. For whatever reason, he just felt like his friend belonged right there for the time being. The suite felt like something more than a place to rest from time to time when he was there. "Let me just tap a nail in here." He did just that and then hung the painting up before looking over at Jackson. "So is it straight?"

Jackson just watched as Asher hammered in the nail and hung the painting. He let out what could only be described as a half chuckle/half sniffle. "It's about as straight as I am." He informed, which was to say, not at all. "Needs to go a little to the left."

Ash let out a snort. The years away from his parents and their church as well as the same years spent working side by side with all sorts of people had freed him from most of his prejudices. The ones that remained only seemed to direct inside toward himself. He liked that the chuckle sounded even if there was a bit of a sniffle with it. It hinted at what a joyful sound he would make if he was truly happy. He tilted it to the left. "How's that?"

Jackson gave a thumb's up as he used the other hand to wipe his eyes. "Much better." He said. "Probably as good as you'll get it without using a level, anyway." He added.

"I'll probably order a better hanger. 'Fraid the nail will damage it long run. I'll get some wire and do it up right. Then I'll use a level." He stepped back and stood next to Jackson. "Ain't that beautiful. Best thing I've ever owned." He looked over to his friend. "So I got a bunch of these little wooden critters. But some's better than others. Help me pick some for the shelves?" He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Then I got some of that casserole you made me. We could share some if you want. Maybe watch somethin' on the tv?"

It warmed Jackson's heart that Asher loved the painting enough to think about things like whether or not the method of hanging would damage it. He had to admit, he liked the way it looked in this room. It was just a touch homier now, and soon Jackson hoped to make this place feel like a home to Asher. He got the sense that Asher didn't feel at home here yet, and that made him sad. "Sure, let's look at them." He said, "That all sounds good, Sir." He offered a smile. It was small, only lasting a second or two, but it was genuine.

"Hang on. Be right back." He had realized at the last moment that his room was in no state for Jackson to see it. Usually he was quite neat. After all it was easy to be neat when you didn't have a lot of things. But that morning he had been in a hurry to get to class and he knew for a fact there was a pair of underwear right there in the middle of the floor. He scooped them up and tossed them in the hamper on his way to grab his duffel bag. The little wooden figures rattled around inside. Once back he sat on the couch and unzipped the bag. And started to pull the little creatures and set them out one next to the other. "I know they're kinda silly."

Jackson sat on the couch while he waited, trying to calm his mind and heart. His fingernails naturally found their way to his skin again, using the sharp little pains as a distraction tool until he felt less like bursting into tears at any moment and more focused on his actual surroundings. When Asher returned, he tugged a sleeve over his arm to hide a particularly bad spot. As the little wooden figures made their appearance, Jackson's eyes widened. "They're not silly at all, Sir." he assured, "They're amazing..." He reached out for one, gently lifting it to get a closer look. "Is this... Vulpix? Like from Pokemon?" He asked.

Asher wasn't the type to blush and he didn't quite blush now, but he looked a lot more like an a shy boy then he ever did. "Oh... umm, yeah. Used to love Pokemon when I was little." He still loved it clearly, but it felt safer to couch it in terms of a childhood thing. "The folks decided Pokemon were demons and wouldn't let us watch." He shrugged. "Guess just feels good to defy 'em."

Jackson smiled, picturing a young Asher and Silas sneaking over to a friend's house to watch Pokemon after school. "I used to love Pokemon too. Still do, sorta. Guess I'm not as into it as I once was, though." He admitted. "These are really cute though." He said, looking over the rest of the figures. "I think you should display them all, honestly."

"I should give the Pokemon one's to Si. He loves all that stuff." He picked up the bundled up little koala bear and handed it to Jackson. "Okay. I'll put 'em on the shelf. Better than bangin' around in my bag huh? But umm... would you take this one?" It was like how he felt Jackson should be... bundled up and protected.

Jackson carefully took the little bear, smiling at it. "Are you sure?" He asked, already kind of in love with the little figurine. He wasn't particularly attached to bears or anything, but he adored the way this one was all cozied up, and the fact that Asher had made it made it all the more special.

"Positive. It'll make me happy and proud knowin' you got him." He smiled and nodded. "So which do you think you'd like doin' more..." He had taken some time to research OCD and there was this thing he read about how control over tasks was super important. "figuring out how they should look on the shelf or heatin' up the food? Or we could to 'em both together."

Jackson nodded. "I'll keep him safe, Sir. I promise." He said, and then at being given the option, Jackson blinked. He wasn't used to that. Normally, Doms would just give him an order and he'd happily follow it, feeling happy to at least be useful. "Um.. I could put these up on the shelf, Sir." He said, knowing he'd get an immense amount of satisfaction from deciding how to arrange them in the most aesthetically pleasing way.

"Cool." He chuckled. "Was hoping you'd say that. Don't know where to start with that kinda thing." He figured that because the food was prepared by Jackson, he would feel comfortable eating it. He went to the kitchen and started to pull out the food and then suddenly had a thought. He left the food in the fridge and pulled out a bottle of cleaner and gave the counters and microwave a good once over, even though they were already clean to his eyes. He scooped the wood shavings and put them in the garbage before finally starting to reheat the casserole. He would occasionally look out over the kitchen bar to where Jackson was working. The suite felt like so much more than just a place in that moment.

Jackson immediately set to work, teaking hte figures and spacing them out along the shelves. He decided it would be best to have them throughout the whole room, it would help unify it a little, as well as give the whole room a personal touch rather than just one section. He kept like figures together, like the ones wrapped up in little wooden blankets like his koala were together. And the pokemon ones, while he was sure some were destined to go to Silas, he put on display for now as well. Sea creatures had their own shelf while terrestial creatures were on another. He couldn't resist, however, putting an owl next to a little wolf. He debated whether he should ask Asher for the little bird, and put it with them so they could all at least be together in one form, but somehow it felt wrong. He had taken notice of how Asher had cleaned his kitchen and microwave before starting, and he felt a flutter of fond appreciation grow in his chest for the man. He was taking a lot of extra steps, clearly for Jackson's benefit, and it made him feel really welcomed and important. He hadn't felt like that in a while.

He hadn't once eaten at the actual table, choosing instead the bar on the occasions when Jackson has brought him one of his always delicious meals. It feels appropriate to have his first meal in the place with Jackson. Once the casserole was hot enough he looked for something to go with it. The cupboards were pretty much bare, but he did find some bottled waters. He went through the cleaning process for the table and then set out two plates, the casserole with a serving spoon, and the bottled waters before making his way over to the living room. "Wow." He looked around and it honestly seemed like a different place. "Looks like someone actually lives here."(edited)

Jackson had just taken a step back to examine his work, and like always, he was finding tiny little flaws and details and was now making micro-adjustments to the configuration of a few of the figures when Asher came back into the room. Despite it not being perfect yet, the fact that Asher seemed to like what was going on so far made Jackson relax just a tiny bit. Maybe he didn't need to adjust everything to perfection today. He did finish with the figures he was working with though, before he stepped back. His eyes caught the little wolf with the little owl again, and he had to force himself to turn away. When was it going to stop hurting so much, he wondered? Every little thing seemed to remind him of what he'd lost, and distractions only lasted a few moments before he was reminded yet again. "You like it?" He asked Asher, not fishing for compliments, but rather fishing for another distraction. Anything, really, to keep his mind from spiralling any further.

"I really do. Feels like a home." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Never really looked at my stuff all at once. They're not too bad huh?" The little critters had been his secret friends, but he'd never really 'looked' at them. "Thanks. Wouldn'tna done it myself." He rubbed his neck again. "Got food ready. Wanna eat."

Jackson nodded in agreement. "They're amazing, Sir." He assured. They really brighten up the place." He stated, and as he looked over at the table he was endeared by how Asher had even set the table and everything. "Yeah, let's eat." He agreed, making his way over to the table to sit.

Asher hurried over to pull out a chair for his guest. He suddenly felt like this place was more than just four walls. It was his home. A home that Jackson had helped him build. It all started with that painting. As he pulled out his own chair and sat he looked over at the painting and smiled. "This is the first time I had someone over for dinner." He didn't mean just here at Lima. He'd lived a solitary life since leaving home. Sure he'd go to a bar with co-workers or grab some food off the roach coach with them, but sharing a meal in his own home? This was a first. And he liked it. "So... umm.... how's classes going?" Alright so he needed to work on his small talk.

Jackson sat down and offered an awkward smile in thanks for Asher pulling the chair out for him. The switch picked up his fork and began to slowly separate the components of his food. It wasn't something he did all the time, but it was a habit that carried over from his childhood. If he wasn't feeling particularly hungry, he would take his time sorting his food, and eat by making sure he had a little bit of everything in each bite. It took way longer, but often his mind was so engaged in it he'd be able to get a good portion of it down before he had to stop. "Classes are... well, I don't think I'm failing, at the very least." He finished, realizing he was behind on at least two assignments already and there was some reading he had to do for a different class.

Ash watched as Jackson picked apart the casserole organizing all of the ingredients. He knew it wasn't because the food was bad. One, because it was delicious and more importantly because he made it. If Asher had made it he'd be worried. He figured it was something else... probably still feeling the pain about this guy he'd broken up with. He at casserole while listening. "I was never very good in school and it's been years now. Just weird getting used to homework. Homework! I'm too old for homework." He exaggerated hoping he could maybe bring a smile to his friend's face.

#asher #para

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im-a-goner-foryou · 6 years ago

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Babysitter! Peter / Married dad! Tony au, as per an anon's request several months overdue because I'm a piece of shit. Let me know if anyone's interested in a continuation!

It's only the first day of his new job, and already Peter's having second thoughts about the whole thing.

It's not like Harley's a problem child, or anything like that. On the contrary, the bubbly three-year-old has to be the sweetest boy Peter's had the chance of babysitting, something he's incredibly grateful for-- he shudders to think about Mrs Stark's reaction upon finding out her son broke a million-dollar house ornament while under Peter's care-- no, the issue was that the Stark residence is the most opulent estate Peter's ever seen, luxurious enough to make the glossy pictures in those modish home design magazines look frumpy in comparison. To say that Peter had been surprised to walk into the fully marbled, high ceiling, lavish parlour was an understatement; his knees actually wobbled, and he would have sunk down onto one of the many couches if they weren't clearly designer and made of pristine white leather.

Glancing down at the address on his phone screen in a panic, he entertained for the first time the idea that maybe this was all a huge mistake. "Uhm, Mrs--"

"It's just Pepper, I don't really do the whole 'Mrs Stark' thing. What is it?" Pepper interrupted, sounding more than a little tired; still, she certainly made a picture perfect image against the backdrop of the pristine mansion standing tall in a gorgeous sapphire blue dress, the boy resting on her cocked hip gazing at Peter curiously with his huge brown eyes while tugging on strands of his mother's blond hair.

"Miss Pepper," Peter immediately rushed to correct himself, feeling the tips of his ears burn at the mild eye roll this garners him. "I was just-- Uh." Wondering if this is just one big screw up, because there's no way a family this affluent will pick a mere high schooler off a babysitting website rather than a professional caretaker. "Hoping to go over the whole arrangement again, just to be sure?" he finished lamely.

"Oh. It's fairly simple, I thought I was clear enough on the phone earlier." Frowning down at her wristwatch as though thinking about the other more productive errands she'd rather be doing than talk to some daft teenager, Pepper sighed, "you'll look after Harley five days a week, provide the basic babysitting service, drop him off and pick him up from daycare; I'll text you all of the info you need about his feeding schedule and nap times later. Tony comes home every day around eight-- of course, if he'll just take more time off work we wouldn't have to deal with hiring a caretaker in the first place," the last sentence venomous under her breath.

Peter had blinked nervously, unsure how or if he's supposed to respond but before he could decide, an armful of toddler is thrusted upon him. Gathering up her purse, Pepper then instructed primly, "well, I'm going to be busy tonight, so if you have any questions just message Tony."

And just like that she turnt and left with a flick of her ponytail, heels clicking sharply against the across the sparkling linoleum-- and before Peter could point out that he didn't have her husband's number.

Mind still reeling from this turn of events, it was only Harley's vigorous squirming in his arms that snapped him out of his daze. Looking down a little helplessly at the wiggling boy he mused, "so, Harles. You like cupcakes?"

............

...Which turnt out to be another one of Peter's bad ideas, as evident by the sticky situation- literally- he's now in, vanilla icing smeared all over the beautiful marble countertops along with flour and powdered sugar and god knows what else; Peter nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to tidy the kitchen up to its once spotless state-- which was not an easy feat (who knew a single three year old could cause this extent of damage in those very few seconds Peter had taken his eyes off him to go preheat the oven?)

He was just bending over the island table to scrub at a particularly stubborn stain when he hears the distinct clearing of a throat right behind him, and the high pitched shriek that slips past his lips is something he'll vehemently deny later on.

"Woah there," a voice speaks up, unmistakably male from the deep intonation of his words. "Did I scare you? I'm sorry," the man adds, and for some absurd reason Peter feels liquid heat pool in his belly at just that silky low baritone alone, tinged slightly with amusement--

It's only then does the teen finally register the compromising position he's currently in, standing on his tiptoes and leaning over the counter so his ass is arched high in the air... right in front of his employer.

This first day is not turning out in his favour.

Feeling himself blush to the tips of his ears, Peter scrambles to stand upright once more, whirling around while holding his breath in anticipation of the annoyed expression he'll surely be greeted with-- but what he didn't expect to see is a devilishly handsome man, dressed in a three-button suit that fits so perfectly snug around those broad shoulders and firm chest it should be illegal; and for the second time in just a few hours Peter actually feels himself go weak at the knees once more, because holy shit this fine specimen of a man was not in his job description when he very well should be; if he had known how fucking hot Harley's dad is he would have brought his inhaler, or something.

"Hey, you okay?" the man- Tony, a dazed part of Peter's mind helpfully supplies- asks, chocolate dark eyes examining him in a way that leaves him in serious danger of swooning. "You look a little pale... Peter, isn't it?" The boy only nods dumbly in affirmation, but Tony smiles warmly. "I'm Harley's father. Nice to meet you."

Brain finally catching up, Peter blurts, "I know," before realising just how bad that sounds and backpedalling quickly. "Wait-- no, I just meant I already knew-- that you're Harley's dad, I mean... Uh, Mrs Stark told me earlier... I-I'm Peter by the way, shit you already knew that," he babbles, cheeks flushing hotter with every squeaky word that leaves his mouth until he's sure that he's a cherry red by the time Tony raises a hand to stop him.

"Okay, okay! Slow down there, kiddo," he chuckles, and fuck even his laugh sounds so incredibly sexy it's unfair, Peter's just a teenaged boy with daddy issues; he doesn't stand a chance. "Give your old man here some time to catch up, will ya?"

"Sorry," Peter instinctively says, or squeaks, more like; tucking his chin into his chest his shoulders fold forward in mortification, painfully aware of how ridiculous he must seem to the older man. Get it together, Parker. You're being pathetic.

His mental beration abruptly cuts off, however, as Tony begins to shrug off his suit jacket, dress shirt underneath stretching thin over his biceps as he drapes it over the back of a chair and holy shit, holy shit the urge to just reach out and trace over those defined muscles with his fingers is so overwhelming Peter has to grab at the edge of the countertop. "You don't mind, do you? I've had a long day at work is all," Tony says apologetically.

Nope. He does not mind at all, not one bit. "It-- it's okay, Mr Stark."

That earns him another warm smile, hardened lines across the man's face deepening along with the crinkling at the edges of his eyes. "Oh, you're sweet." --Peter actually feels his legs threaten to buckle underneath him at that-- then Tony's eyes drag almost lazily over his body, and his lips curve into a roguish grin as he adds, "...and that cute little apron you've got on there certainly helps your image."

Fuck. Oh, god, until then he'd forgotten the apron he had found and hastily thrown on earlier-- and not just any apron, but a frilly soft pink one complete with a lacy hem-- not unlike the ones housewives donned back in the nineties or something. Peter actually buries his face in his hands with a groan then, so overcome with humiliation. "I'm sorry, I just found it in one of the drawers..."

"It's alright, Pep never uses it anyways," Tony says dismissively, his next words pitching lower into one of a drawl that makes Peter shiver. "...Plus it looks much better on you, sweetheart."

Peter peeks out shyly from behind his fingers then, only to gasp; for the look on Tony's face that greets him can only be described as hungry, dark with unmistakable lust and something else he can't quite decipher but leaves him breathless for more-- the combination of both that gaze pinned heavy on him and the use of that pet name is enough to draw something akin to a keening whine from the back of his throat that he quickly tries to smoother into a cough. "Really?" he mumbles, hiding his pleased flush as best as he can.

Tony grins knowingly. "Oh, for sure. I've never seen anyone look prettier in an apron than you, sweetheart," he purrs, closing up whatever remaining distance between them in two confident strides; Peter gasps, automatically backing up until his back hits the edge of the island table, the older man effectively pinning him there. Staring up into darkening eyes through fluttering lashes, Peter draws his bottom lip in between his teeth- nervous habit- and hopes that Tony won't catch the wild thudding of his hear against his ribcage at their close proximity; the man's expensive cologne fills his senses, makes his head spin with pure want and has him subconsciously licking at his lips.

Tony's next words come out more gravelly and deeper than before. "You've got a little bit of icing on your face," he grunts, and before Peter has the chance to respond he's reaching forward to swipe at his flushed skin with a calloused thumb. Breath hitching at the tender touch, Peter sways on his feet as the huge palm cradles his cheek for a split second-- then just like that it's over and Tony's stepping back, the loss of him enough to make the younger teen whimper pitifully.

"All clean now," Tony mutters, sounding decidedly more strained than a few moments ago; Peter's no better with his raggedly falling breaths, and the tent rapidly forming at the front of his skinny jeans-- maybe wearing the apron's not such a bad decision, after all.

"Thanks, Mr Stark," he squeaks, and he swears the older man's eyes darkened at that; gaze darting away from the intensity of that stare, Peter focuses instead on the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. Pepper should be home soon--

Shit. A fresh wave of guilt crashes over Peter for the first time that night at the thought of Pepper-- Tony's wife. How could he be so stupid? Mr Stark's a married man, for Christ's sake-- not to mention a father as well, to a child Peter's supposed to be looking after. He's here to babysit, not be swept off his feet by a rich older man, as appealing as the second option sounds.

And yet-- the way Mr Stark had looked at him earlier, gaze almost predatory as he crowded him in...

Shaking his head as though that would get rid of his thoughts, Peter hurriedly unties the apron and stammers, "I, uh, I should go--"

"Wait. You don't have my number, do you?" Tony frowns, grabbing his forearm lightly to stop him from reaching for his backpack. When Peter shakes his head no, the man reaches into the breast pocket of his discarded suit to pull out a business card. "Here. Just in case... you know," he shrugs. "You have questions about Harley, or whatever."

"Yeah, about-- Harley," Peter echoes, taking the card; their fingers brush against each other as he does so, and he can't help but shiver at the contact; he thinks he catches a small grin out of the corner of his eye. "It was nice meeting you, Mr Stark."

And there's another one of those smiles; Peter feels his stomach flutter again. Stupid. "Pleasure's all mine. I'll see you soon, Parker," Tony says smoothly, shooting him a quick wink as he releases his hold. Peter practically flies out of the front door on trembling legs-- taking care not to crash into any glass ornaments on the way, of course.

This new turn of events definitely add another compliation to his job, that's for sure; and yet Peter walks home that day with his heart hammering in his chest, cheeks still tinged pink... and with a giddy smile on his lips.

#starker #peter x tony #drabble #au #babysitter! peter #married dad! tony #anon request

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lurafita · 5 years ago

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Rich!Tony/Artist!Peter, part 2

Go here for Part 1

Okay. Gotta be honest, this part isn’t that much more interesting than the first part was. But I did some actual research for this one and most of the artworks described in the text were inspired (or unashamedly stolen) from this site: https://theartofeducation.edu/2017/10/26/11-fascinating-artists-inspired-science/

So, let’s get this done!

The Art of Science and the Science of Art

While self-satisfaction might not be very virtuous, Pepper couldn't help the proud smirk that spread over her face, as she watched Tony all but fawn over the different artworks.

“Are you seeing this, Pep? This is a glass model of a magnified virus cell. They installed tiny light sources in specific places and angles to show how and where the cell interacts with the human body. And then there is a whole other set of lights and mirrors that indicates which parts are targeted and gradually destroyed by an antiviral drug. Actually, the way the mirrors are positioned here... yep. If you go around the pedestal and look at it from the different angles, it's like a little movie. First you see the lights indicating the parasitic effect of the virus on the body, then the way the drugs counteract the effects, and once you reach full circle; Ah, see here? Now the lights and the mirrors and the shadows create the effect that the virus evaporated. Damn, that's clever.”

Tony walked around the pedestal once more, trying to make out the positions and calculate the angles of all the lights and mirrors used.

Pepper's previous gleeful smirk softened, as she watched her boss move on to the next exhibit, a gorgeous piece created with metals and specially coated glass. The reflected images and light created 'Sun Drawings', that moved and changed in response to sunlight and the passage of time.

Having been Tony Stark's personal assistant for almost 8 years now, Pepper had learned much about the inner machinations of the man. And at his very center, Tony Stark was an engineer. A mechanic. He could talk theoretical physics with the best of them, but he preferred practical results. Tony's work had a purpose, a direct impact.

Which was one of the reasons why he wasn't normally swayed by art.

“Okay, this here? Classic movie effects. Chemical reactions used to visualize the images of a nuclear explosion, but it all happens under a microscope.”

While the billionaire could certainly appreciate beautiful art, something that was nothing more than 'nice to look at' held no value to him. It was the same reason why he had tons of one night stands, and hardly any actual relationships in his life. He was at first attracted to a person's physical beauty, which usually led to sex. But when the sexual need had been sated, mere physical attraction wasn't enough to keep him interested in the person he had bedded the night before.

“Now this, this is art. Applied physics at its finest. Do you see how the magnets interact with and against each others polarity? This is a perfect demonstration of the symbolism behind the theory of gravitational forces.”

It was why Pepper had jumped on the chance to get her hands on the tickets to Peter Parker's first ever art exhibition. He had been steadily making a name for himself over the last two years, and the redhead had seen some of his early works while she was on vacation in Europe. The young man had been set up in a corner of a street market in Marseilles, and with the help of various visual and practical effects, had explained the complex mechanics behind aerodynamic principles, to his wide eyed and utterly fascinated audience.

“A model of Nikola Tesla's early design for a solar collector made by modern computer code. See this section here? That's programming code for data extraction. In this context, it translates to Tesla's attempt to convert the energy of solar rays into electrical power. It serves as a parallel between combining old and new resources. See? This is the kind of art one can actually talk about. Not a painting of a stupid fruit bowl.”

Whereas Tony used his genius and understanding of different areas of science to create and improve, Parker used his to teach and inspire. Parker's art was something that Tony could not only relate to, but also admire, because it had purpose beyond it's beauty.

The hour that Tony had initially given himself to suffer through the showcase had long since passed, as the billionaire found himself unable to curb any of his enthusiasm, as he grew ever more fascinated with every new piece of art. Other people milling about the rooms 'oohed' and 'aahed' as they inspected the different works of the artist, sipping on their glasses of complementary champagne. But Tony doubted they could truly grasp the idea; the genius behind it all.

He was going to buy it all. The whole exhibit. Everything. He wanted those pieces in his company, in his home, in his workshop. He wanted to have the computer coded Tesla piece in his office, as a symbol of Stark Industries work on renewable energy. He wanted to gift the glass model of the virus cell to Bruce, to celebrate the biochemist's latest break through in the field.

He wanted both the magnetic force field work and the microscopic chemical reactions in his workshop, as a source of constant inspiration. His fingers itched with the want to create, the need to pour his skills into his work.

He wanted... He wanted to meet the artist.

When they had made their way almost full circle around the exhibit, they stopped at what appeared to be the last of the show cases. This one was different from the rest. For one, it was made out of Play Dough, though that was a fact Tony only realized by reading the description. How the hell this Parker guy had managed to form a completely genuine looking circuit board out of such an inferior material as children's clay, he could only guess.

He wanted to talk to the artist.

Another thing that struck Tony was that this circuit board looked somehow familiar.

He leaned in closer.

“This one section here looks like a rather awkward welding job. The connections between the wires seem a bit clumped. I would put it down to the use of Play Dough, but the other details on the board are so clean... You know, this looks almost like-”

“-the circuit board you built when you were five years old.”

Both surprised by the new voice, Pepper and Tony quickly turned around. Just a step behind them stood a young man, dressed in a casual but nice enough suit, with deep brown eyes, fluffy looking chestnut hair and a shy smile. Pepper recognized the man she had seen in France right away, and held out her hand to him.

“Mr. Parker. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Virginia Potts. But please, feel free to call me Pepper. Everyone does.”

The artist took her hand with a pleasant smile.

“In this case, I insist on Peter. And the pleasure is mine, Pepper.”

Tony could hardly wait for the handshake to end, to insert himself into the introduction.

“So you are the surprisingly gorgeous face behind all these beauties. I'm-”

“Tony Stark. I know. I'm a big fan of your work, Mr. Stark.” Parker smiled brightly (and blushing heavily) at him and eagerly reached for his hand. Then he shyly nodded to the pedestal display. “Your earliest work included.”

He wanted...

“Just Tony will do. One question, though. Why Play Dough? I may not have been very skilled with the welding equipment back then, but I do remember using the actual parts needed.”

Peter turned to his work, a helpless sort of smile on his lips, as he explained.

“When I was in my last year of highschool, and it was time to make a decision regarding college, I felt helplessly defeated. Was I supposed to attend one that focused on all the things that fascinated me about science, or one that focused on all the things I loved about art? I didn't know if I would ever be able to meet the expectations others had placed upon me, and the ones I had placed upon myself. I became wary and anxious about every choice I made. Constantly questioning myself if it was worth it to try to combine the things I loved, or if I wouldn't be able to hold on to both at the same time. Science versus art. Wanting to pursue such opposite things seemed ridiculous. But then my teacher gave us the task of writing a paper about a person that had greatly influenced our society and progress. I chose to write about you. And during my research, I found an old newspaper article, front page, about the young Stark prodigy, who was already showing the whole world how smart he was. The ordinary 5 year old makes crayon drawings and forms simple shapes out of Plasticine. A few can already read some of their children's books, but many are still more focused on the pictures in them. But the 5 year old you broke out of the limitations perceived for kids, and defied expectations. And I thought to myself ‘Hey, if Tony Stark can build a circuit board at such a young age, then maybe I can find a way that doesn’t mean I have to give up on one of the things I love.’ So, I guess I used the clay to symbolize what was expected, and your final design to show how you rose above.”

That shy little smile again. He wanted...

“In fact, you have done nothing but risen, Mr.- Tony. You have been a great inspiration for me, over the years. Quite possibly even a bit of a muse, if you will.”

Tony was a bit stumped, honestly. He had never been lost for words before. Thankfully he caught himself quickly.

He wanted...

“So, philanthropist, billionaire, genius, muse.” (Had he just replaced his usual playboy title with ‘muse’?) “I like that.” (He did.)

Peter.

“As your muse, I get dibs, right?”

A confused little head tilt.

Cute.

“Dibs?”

On you.

“On the art pieces.” Tony elaborated with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “They are up for sale, right?

“Oh, yes. It’s uhm... we will hold an auction in a bit, after I have officially introduced myself to everyone here and said a few words.” Peter looked distinctly uncomfortable with that bit.

Tony was just opening his mouth to say something else, when suddenly Pepper inserted herself back into the conversation. (He had admittedly forgotten that she was there.)

“Peter, I think the woman over there is trying to get your attention.”

They turned to see a middle aged woman in an elegant dress, subtly gesturing to him. Peter grinned a bit ruefully as he turned back to his two companions.

“That’s my aunt, and also kind of my manager. I guess it’s time for my big entrance.”

He offered his hand once more first to Pepper, then to Tony.

“Pepper, Tony, again, it was a pleasure meeting you. Since it’s an auction, I can’t exactly grant you dibs, as much as I would like to.” He grinned at Tony. “But about 75% of all our revenues tonight will be donated to The Future Hope Foundation, which is a research center focused on developing cures for different diseases, speacially in children. I will be talking a bit more about that one in my speech, provided my severely repressed stage fright doesn’t hit me in a few minutes. So just know that whatever you decide bidding on, it will be worth it.”

Tony wanted to keep holding on to that hand. A hand that was just as calloused as his own, but still somehow softer and more delicate.

“I’m sure it will be.”

You will be worth it.

Just as Peter turned to leave, he cast one last look at the Play Dough model.

“Take a look at the note beside the general description before things start going, would you?”

Then he and his aunt vanished out of the room, to prepare for Peter’s introduction.

Curious now, Tony and Pepper turned back around to the pedestal and found what Peter had been talking about.

‘Of all my works, this one is my favourite, not only because of what it represents to me, personally, but also because of the person who inspired it. Unlike many of the other pieces, that are named after that which they represent, for this one, no other title than

Indomitable

could have ever come to mind. This is the only piece in the show case that will not be part of the auction. As this one already belongs to Anthony Edward Stark.’

“Pep.”

“Yes, Tony.”

“If I win every single auction bid, which I will, I would be entitled to a date with the artist, right?”

“You are probably still going to have to ask him the old fashioned way.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you all for coming tonight. Without further ado, it’s my sincere pleasure to introduce you to the man whose art work has brought you all here.”

Tony smiled. “I can do that.”

“I proudly present to you, Peter Parker!”

_________________________________________________________

The End.

Thanks to everyone for reading and liking the story! I hope you all enjoyed it, even though the story ends before Tony and Peter’s relationship really begins.

Thanks to the original prompt giver as well, due to the research I did for this story, I was able to see quite a few amazing art works.

Tagging: @unicornpower5301 -->why isn’t this stupid tag working?

#starker #fanfic #au #rich!Tony #artist!Peter #prompt #ask #no powers au #peter parker #tony stark #op lurafita

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themesgear · 5 years ago

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REHub - Blog / Magazine Affiliate Marketing, Community Theme

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diinofayce · 6 years ago

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Shadows on the Horizon - 9

Pairing: Winter Soldier! Bucky Barnes x OFC! Layne Hardin | Word Count: 1.8k | Warnings: small descriptions of violence, minor swearing| A/N: This is a sequel to my story Like a Whisper in the Night | Shadows on the Horizon Masterlist

When Bucky opened his eyes after the flash he found himself still standing in the darkness. He looked around himself a bit in confusion, he didn’t understand, he thought they had called a truce, was the Soldier planning on trying to fool everyone that he was better and leave Bucky trapped here in the cold and dark? No, that wouldn’t work, Layne would know something was wrong right away.

There was the sound of iron bars slamming and Bucky whirled around to find himself looking at the Soldier through the bars of a cell. The cell that Bucky had been trapped in for the last 48 hours, watching from the inside as the Soldier once again took control of him. It hadn’t changed since the last time Bucky was stuck inside his own mind years ago, why should it have? It’s not like you can add furniture to your subconscious.

“It is not so nice, here in the dark,” the Soldier spoke, his eyes - harsher and more intense than Bucky’s - roaming the bleak nothingness that surrounded them.

“No, not particularly,” Bucky responded tersely walking up to the bars and wrapping his vibranium hand around the cold metal. It felt solid and real, these were new. When Bucky had been trapped inside of himself at the hands of Hydra it was just endless expanses of darkness. He remembered spending what were probably years running non-stop inside of his own mind, only stopping to watch the terrible missions that Hydra commanded of the Soldier. The fortified cell was new and could only be Shuri’s doing.

“You locked me in here. You tried to forget me,” the Soldier accused and Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“For four years. You’ve been here for four years. I was in here for over seventy while you murdered innocent people.”

“Not all of them,” he responded dryly.

“It still wasn’t our call to make!” Bucky yelled his temper boiling and slammed his fist against the bars. The vibranium against vibranium echoed hollowly throughout the empty space, the blow not even knocking the rust off.

“They made the call if I hadn’t followed you would be dead. We’d both be dead,” the Soldier hadn’t flinched, his voice never wavered and he didn’t show any sort of surprise at Bucky’s outburst. Bucky was the emotional one, the Soldier had to keep all that locked away. All the rebellion, all the anger, all the fear. He couldn’t feel any of that if he wanted to survive.

“It would have been better. We are not worth more than anyone else,” Bucky pressed.

The Soldier locked eyes with him and didn’t say anything. He simply stared into Bucky’s eyes as if trying to convey a greater message, but Bucky was feeling too outraged and self-righteous to care about anything his other half wanted to say.

Finally, the Soldier broke eye contact and actually had the audacity to heave out a sigh. Reaching into the pocket of his tac pants he pulled out a key and stuck it in the slot.

“If you didn’t want to live, you shouldn’t have begged to be saved,” the Soldier said before turning the lock and letting the cell fall away.

~*~

Bucky opened his eyes with a gasp and a pounding migraine. He last remembered the Soldier sitting next to Layne on the couch as she fiddled with her music, it was a situation that was so intimate that it had immediately put Bucky on edge. But now, he was laying on his back on the floor, the plush carpet cushioning his head, and his hair stuck in his mouth.

“James? Are you okay?” Layne’s voice, laced with worry, floated to him and he felt her kneel down beside him and carefully swipe her fingers over his cheeks to pull the hair from his lips.

He flicked his gaze to her and sighed softly in relief, there were dark and heavy bags under her eyes and her face was crumpled in concern, but she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life. He reached up with a shaking hand and caught hers, lacing their fingers together and pressing her skin against his face so he could inhale the soft vanilla and blackberry spray she always spritzed on the inside of her wrists. She was real, this was real.

“Bucky?” she asked nervously, afraid to believe that her boyfriend was finally cognizant.

“Hey doll,” Bucky grumbled, his whole body was heavy and he suddenly felt very tired. He hadn’t technically slept since the mission, constantly fighting against the mental barriers that Shuri had constructed to keep the Soldier in that were now keeping him a prisoner in his own mind. He took another deep breath of her and closed his eyes for a moment.

It came upon him suddenly, the image of a what he could only assume was a Hydra safe house, nestled deep in a clearing of trees that were bigger than any he had ever seen. The boughs of branches were bent and straining under heavy, wet snow. Somehow he knew that if he were to go into the back left bedroom and rip up the sixth-floor board from the west window there would be a go bag filled with weapons and false documents.

He opened his eyes quickly only to be met with not only Layne’s anxious face but also Steve’s and Bruce’s.

“We should call Helen,” Bruce was saying.

“So you just eliminated Shuri’s safeguards without talking to her?” Steve ignored Bruce to go straight to accusing Layne.

Bucky frowned, not liking how his best friend was speaking to his best girl. From the tense atmosphere that crackled between Steve and Layne, he could only assume things between the two have been rocky for quite a bit. He tried to sit up, but his head swam and he immediately had to catch himself on his elbows.

“No. Bucky’s mind kicked me out the minute the Soldier and him and connected,” Layne said, looking at the blond crossly as she hurried to catch Bucky before he collapsed again.

“Dr. Cho really has more advanced knowledge of neuroscience than I do,” Bruce continued.

“Are you sure he’s back to himself? Because if he is I can call the princess in to fix what you wrecked,” Steve asked, already reaching for his phone.

“She unintentionally caused enough problems in his head. If the barriers are down he did it himself,” Layne argued, a red flush rising high on the apples of her cheeks - the first sign that her patience was gone and her temper was the next thing she was about to lose.

“Can we stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Bucky grumbled, raising his vibranium hand to his forehead and sitting himself up.

“Well, you did black out for about five minutes,” Layne lamented nervously and set her hand on Bucky’s shoulder to help hold him up.

“No, it was only a second,” Bucky argued, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead.

Steve leaned down and knelt down into Bucky’s field of vision and another zing of pain shot through Bucky’s temples followed by a memory. The Soldier stood in front of the abandoned and burned out facility in Azzano. Something about this area called to him, it stirred something in memories that weren’t his. A tuft of blond hair and warm sea-glass eyes. He stomped into the facility and stopped in front of a ramshackle cell, the cold stone floor cracked and scarred. The Soldier dug his metal fingers into a crack in the cement a pulled, ripping a two-foot hunk of ground away from the earth. Within fifteen minutes he had buried a hidden stash of weapons and documents and a cracked leather bound journal before filling in the hole and covering it with the cement again.

“Bucky?” Steve was calling his name, worry creasing his features. Bucky gave himself a mental shake and tried to push away from the people surrounding him in an attempt to give himself space to breathe.

“I’m fine. It’s all just, coming back at once,” Bucky groaned, scrubbing his hands over his eyes and digging his palms hard into his sockets.

“Your memories are combining,” Layne realized.

Layne shooed at Steve and Bruce, ushering them to move back and give her and Bucky room. Bruce stepped back immediately, his curiosity higher than his concern for Bucky. Bruce knew that Layne was more than capable and this was definitely out of his field of expertise. Steve, on the other hand, moved back much more reluctantly. Layne, still on her knees, situated herself between Bucky’s. She reached forward and gently wrapped her fingers around his wrists, pulling them from his face.

Bucky looked up at Layne, his eyes squinted against the dull light of the room that was too harsh for his migraine. “Can you try the thing?” he begged and Layne nodded furiously.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Layne reassured as her caramel eyes shifted and flared amber with energy. Taking a deep breath she crossed her first two fingers and jabbed him firmly in the middle of the forehead like her brother had shown her. With an exhale she pushed his head back, a ripple of energy shot out from her causing Steve and Bruce to stumble half a step back, but Bucky was asleep before he hit the carpet.

Layne gasped a few times, feeling like she had sprinted five miles with Steve, a cold sweat broke out across her skin and she slicked her hair from her damp forehead before looking up at the men.

“You wanna lug him to bed for me?” Layne asked Steve weakly who was just staring at her incredulously.

“Should I still call Helen?” Bruce asked after a moment of Steve and Layne simply staring each other down.

Steve’s lips were pursed and his shoulders were tenser than Layne had ever seen them. There was a little vein in his forehead that was pulsing slightly that had her slightly concerned, but he after a second longer he simply scooped Bucky up and stomped off in the direction of the bedrooms. Layne sunk back against the couches and swallowed a lump that seemed to be stuck in her throat.

She looked up at Bruce who was still standing there unsure of what to do.

“Yeah, can you get Dr. Cho to the tower, please? And we should probably call the princess just to assuage Steve.”

#winter soldier x layne hardin #bucky barnes x layne hardin #winter soldier #winter soldier fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #avengers #avengers fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction

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chorusofravenousangels · 6 years ago

Photo

Here they are! I got these D&D character commissions for my D&D group in secret! Three of the artists I met at Otakuthon, one I met through a friend online (thanks @gluethegrue for the hookup!), and one was a gift paid for by a friend a long time ago. I’ve had my tiefling Bright for a long time, but the others didn’t have any visual representation - so I finally started scheming! I texted each party member asking them for a physical description, and got commissions based on those descriptions and my own knowledge of the characters. When one player asked me a week later whether I was getting commissions, I lied. “No, sorry!” I said, “It’s not in my budget! I know that some characters have gone through some kind of intense physical changes lately and have had trouble finding moments to bring it up to the party, so I thought it would be good if everyone updated their bios at once, without knowing why!” They bought it! I hid the truth for over a month before I finally had prints of all four new characters. In our next session, when the players were investigating a room after a fight, I pulled out an envelope with a symbol of the god Vecna on it (their arch-enemy for this campaign). They were dumbfounded when they opened it and found, instead of carefully crafted props, pictures of their characters! I’m proud to say that everyone was really pleased with their pictures and how the characters were captured by the respective artists. We’re playing D&D 4e, and the characters are level 18/19 at the time of these pictures. Going top to bottom... Bright the tiefling ranger was drawn by longtime friendly acquaintance @envyhime a couple of years ago, so this is lower-level Bright, but the confidence in this picture is something he has grown into even more lately. He grew up in the wilderness as a slave to a goblin tribe until his teenage years, when he orchestrated his own escape. Spending years in nature on his own, he felt the protection of Melora (goddess of nature) without knowing who she was. He still loves nature and is uncomfortable around cities and people, but he’s learned from his hawk companion Dagger a confidence in knowing his capabilities and being satisfied. He uses a fighting style also learned from Dagger - small weapons, daggers of his own, used to throw or slash with great ferocity and full-body commitment. Lo-Kag the goliath warden was drawn by @rhodathepomelo , friend of a friend. They were amazing at taking feedback, and I was recommended specifically because they were good with big, beefy characters like Lo-Kag. Lo-Kag is almost impermeable as a character, rushing into the midst of battle and keeping enemies close to him so that they don’t hurt anyone else, his skin stone-hard against enemy attacks. Lo-Kag is a variety of goliath known as Stoneblessed; he is taller and lankier than normal, already tall goliaths, and his arms seem especially distorted as a result. In addition, wardens use natural or primal forces to transform their body, and Lo-Kag has gotten almost too attuned to this, regularly stretching himself further, taking on the space-warping gravity of mountains or bursting into flame as he’s struck by lighting. In the image, you can see vines writhing under his skin in the heat of battle, another transformation. Finally, Rhoda put special care into his maul - on one face, you can see a simple scene, meant to represent Lo-Kag himself in triumph. The weapon was made and enchanted for him by the drow after he helped save a number of their soldiers from a wave of undead. Chaedi the elf cleric was drawn by @elzeoredraws - I met the artist at Otakuthon and was really impressed with her portfolio! Chaedi is a cleric of Melora who is somewhat at odds with her god: while Melora champions the natural cycle of life and death, Chaedi hates suffering and wishes to alleviate it whenever possible, hoping for goodness in even the bleakest hearts. Her compassionate healing style leads her magic to wound her in exchange for healing others, leading to the network of scars visible on her body. The artist also did a great job capturing her physicality: her big eyes, approachable, friendly face, and the “Renaissance woman” body that carries more weight around the hips, neck, and so on. She carries no weapon, preferring to use prayers that hinder, but do not wound enemies. Riii the eladrin warlock was drawn by @hoodyrooster , who I also met at Otakuthon - her work was really eye-catching in its colour and angular, stylized figures, and I thought this would be perfect for Riii. (I was right - the player loved her!) Warlocks, as a class, have made bargains or deals for their power, and Riii is no different. At the beginning of the campaign, almost a decade ago (!!!), Riii came in with amnesia, including about where her powers came from. This proved to be quite the plot hook, as Riii discovered: -she couldn’t enter the Feywild; -this was because she had been cursed by someone; -this person was on the other side of the continent, a seer named Miranda. The party journeyed across desert, forest, and mountain in order to find her, and discovered: -she was possessed by some sort of fire spirit; -when defeated in Miranda’s body, this fire spirit in turn possessed Riii; after they defeated it, the party discovered Riii’s body had lost the ability to thermoregulate, and so they had to craft an elemental fire amulet for her (not pictured here). After this, she could journey into the Feywild, but more began to become clear as she met the Archfey Summer Queen and afterward: the fire spirit had not fully left her body and been killed, it had only been slumbering inside of her, weakened. In fact, it is the King of Summer, Moreth, betrayed and nearly killed by his Queen, who chose her as a host for his recovery, giving her power and safety *in exchange for her memories! Riii has a history of irritability, impulsiveness, and mild arson. As she embraces once-King Moreth more and more as a partner instead of as a parasite, he in turn grows in strength and aids her more. The fiery tiara around her head is emblematic of his influence joining hers, and the combination of smug poise and sex appeal in her bearing is perfect for the character. Also note the outline of a crooked staff in the background, an unusual weapon for a warlock but Riii’s implement of choice, and the magic tattoo on Riii’s chest that blinks when she curses enemies. Tayschrenn the eladrin wizard is drawn by Orly at http://twitter.com/orlysaurus/ - she shared a booth with Elzeore, the artist who drew Chaedi, and when I got Tayschrenn’s description mid-convention I was super pleased that I could give them both business! Orly’s colour work is fantastic, and she happily changed sketches several times on my request as well, finding a finished work that both I and the player were happy with. Tayschrenn is a 16-year-old eladrin wizard, young and idealistic; he was an excellent student, educated by a fascist regime, but in his first battle against the rest of the party, he realized he was fighting good people and began to question everything he was taught. Despite his naïveté when it comes to worldly matters or truth, Tayschrenn is possibly the best-read member of the party, having spent his youth in study and training. He is a Spiral Tower-trained wizard, using his longsword (here at his hip) in eladrin tradition to channel his magic or to slash away enemies who come too close. He is also a summoner, one who gets to know his summoned creatures as friends. In this excellent illustration, you can see him summoning a chain bearer from a portal behind him, young and with the lanky proportions of a teenager having just survived a growth spurt, but with training in arcane and tactical knowledge rendering him calm and certain in battle. If you enjoyed these images, please consider following the artists - I am not sure who of the five are currently accepting commissions, but my group was very happy with the results and I’m sure you will be too!

#dungeons and dragons #D&D #characters #eladrin #elf #tiefling #goliath #ranger #cleric #warlock #warden #wizard

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draco-omega · 6 years ago

Text

10 months ago, I decided to make a game.

10 months later, I have a bunch of art and a bunch of interface code and a whole pile of design notes, and not much game.

This is my story.

(Now in bullet point form so that I can stop redrafting it >.>)

I have a treatment-resistant anxiety disorder which significantly interferes with my ability to work - both on my own projects and other things that might be called 'gainful employment'. (I still feel some shame at admitting this so bluntly, even though I feel ideologically that there should be no more shame in this than any physical impairment that resulted in the same. Fuck mental health stigma, defining self-worth by employment is toxic capitalist dogma, etc, etc.)

In part because of this, I had been effectively unemployed and living with my mother for a number of years. (I still did my best to hammer out projects, but nothing, y'know, actually PAID anything... >.>)

Then in late 2017, my mother died (somewhat unexpectedly) of cancer, which left me with no home (we'd been sharing an apartment that she had been covering most of the rent on) and literally zero income. Obviously grief and upheaval did not help with any of my prior difficulties managing employment, either.

After some debate, I decided to combine the savings I had left over from my last stint as a network administrator with a (modest) inheritance from my mother and try to actually make a living at making games. This is something I had always theoretically wanted to do, but never put actual money on the line for. (Okay, in a perfect world, I'd happily give all my work away for free and live on some minimum guaranteed income, but we do not yet live in such a world).

One of my historically biggest gamedev weaknesses was a lack of artistic ability, so this seemed a perfect thing to put money towards. I could hire an artist, which would not only allow me to make a more commercially appealing product, but would also free me up to focus on the mechanical and writing aspects of gamedev, which are the areas I most wanted to be working on and also consider myself best at. (Any followers that remember my work on ToK may recall me complaining there about how it seemed I spent my time on nothing but graphics? >.>

This was shortly after Touhou fangames had been given the official blessing to be sold on Steam, and some had already achieved great success there, so this seemed like a good way to create some instant appeal and interest in my game, while working with a franchise that I already loved to death and had written hundreds of thousands of words of fanfiction for (eg: This or that or this other thing)

And so Chronicle of False History was born!

...and yet I somehow still spent most of my time working on art. You see, having never worked with an actual artist before, I underestimated a number of things:

1) I underestimated how much work it would be to find a suitable artist in the first place (though at least this part is done)

2) I gravely underestimated how much of my time would be spent on 'art direction' or 'project management' or whatever you want to call it.

Every sprite that is created, even for canonical character designs, requires making a large number of decisions regarding:

What attack and spell poses it will have (and how to cover the broadest range of signature abilities with just two 'frames', for budget reasons)

Which of enumerable (and sometimes mutually-exclusive) costume details from canon (and fanon) should be selected (and do you have any idea just how many variations there are on things as straightforward as 'the hilt of Miko's sword'?)

Gathering a pile of reference images that clearly detail every element of the character (and action poses) to be drawn (which is also harder than you might think; a lot of art is sufficiently suggestive of details to view without actually being a good reference to reproduce and anything that isn't exactly what I'm looking for risks my artist misunderstanding my request entirely)

Designing alternate-history variants of this character in a way that can be clearly conveyed with minimal costume and color changes alone (as any significant redrawing would cost far more and the cast of the game is so large already) and doing so before the part of the game they would appear in is even written.

Gathering reference images for all of those things

Writing up a detailed description of all the decisions listed above (and often drawing actual diagrams of action poses and projectile overlays that are ambiguous to express with just words) and handing it over to my artist

Waiting a while, then getting sketches back and finding out that there is inevitably a whole pile of things that need changing (either because the artist misunderstood my request entirely - despite all that previous effort - or because an idea of mine looked far better in my own head than it does, or just the usual 'incremental improvements' to something that is on the right track but not quite there - like a sort of collaborative redrafting.)

Spending hours poking at these sketches in an image editor, testing how well individual details resolve at in-game size, how well the action frames snap together, and how I feel about each questionable element. This often extends to (crudely) adjusting and readjusting the position and angle of individual limbs and eyebrows and projectiles that feel 'off' so that I can figure out what I would like her to do with them (and whether it's even worth making her take the effort to do anything with them at all)

Finally, summarizing that feedback into a detailed list of change requests (often with new diagrams to clarify my words) and repeating the last two steps over and over and over again.

Like, she does great work - don't get me wrong. I'm very pleased with the end results and this is just an inevitable part of the process of making something professional. But it does also mean that my original idea that paying an artist would free me up to work on things other than art has been... laughable in retrospect, to say the very least. In fact, it's very possible that a greater percentage of my dev time is spent on art-related tasks than on previous projects where I was doing all the art myself - I just get better art for my trouble (and money....)

This is especially true given that:

3) I underestimated just how much art work I would still need to do completely independently of her

Raven is doing character sprites. These are arguably the most individually important art content in the game, and certainly the ones that give it the most screenshot appeal, but that has left me to do everything else. Which has included:

Figuring out how to make battle backgrounds that passably match the art style of the game (since commissioning enough of these to fill all the locations needed would absolutely blow my budget)

Designing the entire look and feel of the combat screen to mesh well with Raven's sprites while also being something I am personally capable of making (using only cheap/free resources)

Creating all tweened animations and particle effects

Designing every single little UI element that exists in the game:

Elemental symbols

Dialogue boxes

Spellcard icons (and the entire menu design that requires them in the first place)

Combat action menus

Icons to indicate spellcard usability

Spellcard tooltips

Targeting overlays

A turn order bar

Spellcard availability reminders

Font choice for damage/healing numbers, spellcard names,

More cursors that you can shake a stick at

Lots more stuff, I'm sure

And even the completed sprites I get from Raven still need multiple hours of processing each to split them into component parts with sufficient information to re-composite and animate in-game. (If you've ever wondered why my screenshots seem to only involve Nazrin while I've already shown sprites for multiple other characters, this is why)

It never ends!!

...which is a fact that has been extremely draining. Like, it is probably difficult to overstate just how demoralizing it has been to pay this much money and work this hard and long and still somehow be mostly doing art (or visual-related coding) when I naively thought this project would offer some freedom from this after the endless, endless hours I spent doing this for ToK.

And it has also revealed a very tangible (and extremely stressful and troubling) fact about this game's development:

I am going to run out of money before I am remotely close to having a saleable product

When I first laid out plans for this project, I ballparked a modest but realistic budget for the artwork. I chose an art style that could provide pleasing visuals for a very large cast of characters at a cost-effective rate (for a game, at least). I deliberately limited my cast size based upon the agreed-upon cost per character with my artist (and have repeatedly held myself back from various fun ideas because I felt I simply could not afford to make a habit of such things). I studied sales figures for comparable games to aim for a target that had a reasonable probability of sufficient return (or at least breaking even). Game development is always a gamble, of course, but I felt (and still feel) that I made a sensible budget call and it was an amount I was fully able to pay.

But in all this, I neglected to factor in what has been, by far, my most costly development expense: remaining alive.

You see, at the rate my artist is able to produce work, the cost of retaining her is utterly dwarfed by such banal things as food and rent and not freezing to death in the winter. I live about as modest a lifestyle as possible - a one-room apartment, no car, no eating out, nothing in the way of luxuries (I don't even own a cell phone) - but that is still awfully expensive when you have no income and no prospect of it in the immediate future either.

It's a vicious cycle. The less work I get done, the more I feel future financial pressures breathing down my neck, the less work I'm able to get done (due to stress and general demoralization), the more I feel future financial pressures, etc, etc, etc.

And there's a logistical problem even outside of my own stress and anxiety and being damnably human in my need for actual rest: I've spent nearly 10 months working together with my artist and thus have a pretty good sense of how fast she's able to get character art done. And unless something changes dramatically, the time required for her to finish the art assets for the game will be several years longer than I will have any savings left to pay for them - because, as it turns out, hiring an artist is actually a tiny expense compared to merely continuing to exist.

I... don't really have a good answer for this problem and I've spent a lot of time consumed by it at this point. I have faith that Chronicle of False History can be a great game... eventually. But that does no one any good if I can't stay afloat long enough to make it. I've considered pivoting to another smaller-scope game project in the meantime, in the hopes of generating some modest influx of cash that could be used to fund the rest of CoFH's development, but there are a whole slew of reasons this is dicey (not least of which is that small-scope projects have a tendency to not be nearly as small as one anticipates...)

I've also thought about exploring Patreon, but like... I'm fully aware that I don't currently produce nearly enough interesting content for people to just want to throw money at. Tantalizing glimpses of it, perhaps. The promise that in the future I might. But what do I really have to show for this at the moment?

And so, here I am, exhausted by a marathon of work I did not properly anticipate and without the tangible reward I'd expected to have by this point (not a finished game, by any means, but like... much more of one than I actually have). And every month that passes by in which I get less done on my game than anticipated is yet more cash bleeding out of my bank account, like I'm trapped on a badly leaking boat with no shore in sight. I need a rest from all these stressors (and some more personal ones not described here), but when time spent not working has itself become a stressor these days, where can I even find it?

...wow, this sure sounded upbeat, huh?

In any case, I still care a lot about CoFH and have no intention of stopping work on it. I just... need to figure out some way to allow myself to continue to do so without this enormous capitalist behemoth crushing me beneath it.

(I had originally intended to provide more of an overview of the useful work accomplished over these past 10 months here, with mockups showing the evolution of the game's visual design, but clearly that goes into a future post at this point).

#Chronicle of False History #Gamedev #Game Development #CoFH #Personal (Kinda)#What; surely posting a massive wall of text at 5 in the morning is _completely sensible_#And not at all inane #I am... tired #But these sure are words #So many words #I apologize if I drown anyone in them

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claitynroberts · 7 years ago

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Captain Hook & Rapunzel

Part 1 of 3 —> Part 2 Part 3

Description: Reader insert; multi-part oneshot. The reader has been a member of Team Free Will for a year now. During an unexpected lull in jobs recently, you, Sam, Dean and Cas decide to attend Jo’s themed birthday party. During the events of the night, cards are shown and things definitely take an unexpected turn.

Author’s Note: This fic was written for @eyes-of-a-disney-princess and her Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challenge, and it is my first ever reader insert, as well as SPN fanfic. I’ve tried so hard to authentically portray the beautiful characters of the series, but I’m only human so please bear with me! I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Contains: angst, some language, fluff, potential bad decisions, physical fighting/violence

Warnings: physical violence, taking advantage of a drunk female (the reader) is mentioned but never acted on thanks to a big muscular hunk ;)

If you find any other triggers that may affect readers please let me know and I’ll add them here

Word Count (parts 1-3): 7,106...sorry, it’s so long :D

*This pic isn’t mine, credit to the owners and Google images.

You had been a member of Team Free Will for some time now. Long enough to fall into a comfortable, yet predictable, routine with the boys. Research, road trip, more research, gank, repeat. Like washing your hair, or winning the nightly games of rock, paper, scissors with Dean when y’all fought over the bed in the motel room, it became second nature.

You and Sam had become pretty close during this time, especially since you both enjoyed the more brainiac side of things. Cas even seemed to enjoy your quiet company; it was the precarious friendship with Dean that could make things uncomfortable sometimes. It’s not that you two didn’t get along, but sometimes the bond you shared felt as if it went substantially deeper than either of you let on.

The strange lull in paranormal sightings and jobs recently was odd; and to say it was taking its toll was an understatement. As much as you enjoyed spending time with Sam and Dean, you had spent more idle time with the boys in the bunker over the last couple weeks than you ever have. It was beginning to strain the friendships between each of you.

To pass time, you and Sam had spent time together digging through old files, inventorying artifacts and cursed objects, and even brushing up on the obscure lore the Men of Letters left behind. Whenever the dust got to you and caused your allergies to act up, you would spend some time with Dean cleaning and oiling guns or helping tune up Baby. You even had a Netflix binge session with Cas one time, although you had to explain to him that ‘no, watching Grey’s anatomy did not train you to be a real doctor’ no matter how real it seemed.

On this particular day though, you had decided to spend some much needed time alone listening to music and catching up on your very large ‘to be read’ pile. Toward the halfway point of the dusty tome you liked to call ‘light reading,’ sleep began to pull at the edges of your consciousness. The soft rock on the radio combined with the heady scent of the musty pages lulled you into a light doze. About the time you decided to let go and surrender to the tide of sleep, allowing it to pull you under its soft current, the phone began buzzing. Loudly.

A tortured groan fell from your lips as you roused yourself enough to locate the damn thing. Pulling the phone out from under your hip you noticed Jo’s name on the screen.

“Girl, I love you and all, but you just called as I was drifting off into what was probably going to be the best nap of my life,” you grumble-whined into the receiver.

“Sorry, not sorry,” came her clear voice. “You think every nap is going to be the best nap of your life,” she shot back with mirth.

“Well, if I keep getting interrupted how am I supposed to be able to compare them, huh?” You said, using your most logical sounding, matter-of-fact voice.

“Listen, just give me two minutes, then you can return to your nap.” You could practically see her eyes roll.

“Fine. Your time starts now.”

“As you know my birthday is this weekend. So I am going to have a party. You, Sam, Dean, and Cas are invited.”

“Alright.” Sigh. “Do you need us to bring anything? Booze, food, boozy-food…” you replied with a giggle at your own joke.

“No smart-ass. Mom and I have it covered. Be at the Roadhouse Friday night around nine.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” You said, pantomiming a mock salute, although you knew she couldn’t see it.

“Oh! Before I forget. It’s a costume party. Theme is Modern Fairytales. Be sure to tell the boys.”

“I will never understand your obsession with costumes.” You groaned as your rubbed your thumb and index fingers across your forehead.

“It’s kinda like a scaled down Halloween in April.” She said.

“Alright, we’ll be there.” You replied, huffing an exasperated sigh,

“In costume!”

“Yes, in costume.” You acquiesced.

“Good! See y’all then!” Her voice was so chipper you could hear her face splitting smile, as she hung up and the line went dead.

You sat up and texted the guys, Family meeting. Kitchen. 5 minutes, and carefully placed the thick book on your nightstand. Switching off the radio as you walked out the door and toward the kitchen.

Padding down the hallway, you made it to the kitchen before the rest of the crew, your stomach growling very loud. Geez, I guess I shouldn’t have skipped lunch. Opening the pantry you noticed your favorite snack, (Y/snack of choice), was up on one of the higher shelves. This place was not designed with average size humans in mind, you thought. Raising up on your tiptoes and stretching out the rest of your body did nothing to help the situation, especially since you could just barely touch the corner of the package. Struggling to retrieve your bounty, you didn’t notice the figure behind you until he reached up and retrieved your snacks; his chest brushing the side of your arm and his wrist grazing your fingertips.

Startled, you whirled toward the intruder and let out a small yelp, soliciting a grin from him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” You yelled, smacking him in the chest.

Feigning offense, he raised the snacks higher, “Oh, so you want me to just put these back, then?” He stopped in midair and quirked an eyebrow.

“Dean, no! I haven’t eaten all day, and all I want is my (snack of choice). Plus, that’s not where I left them, so some titan around here must have gotten into them.”

He threw his head back and let out a bellowing laugh as he handed you the package. “Titans. That was a clever one, (y/n).” Still grinning he leaned against the counter and set to work wiping the grease off his hands with the towel he was holding. “Of all the things we’ve ever been called, Titans was not one of them if I remember correctly.” He looked at you with a smirk, his eyes crinkling with mischief. “Weren’t titans devilishly handsome and well endowed in the...ahem...height department?” His eyebrow quirked up again, his flirtatious words making a scarlet blush rise to your cheeks. God, he was so attractive; not that you’d ever let him know that.

“I think that’s all wishful thinking,” you spat back while rolling your eyes. “Where are the other two at?”

He cleared his throat. “I think Sam is heading up from the archives, and Cas was watching something on Netflix last I checked.” His half smirk dropped and his eyes became heavy with concern as he remembered why he was called to the kitchen, “what’s up with the abrupt family meeting?”

“Nothing bad, I promise.” You raised your hand as if testifying in court.

With that sentence, all the tension left his face. The furrow between his eyes disappeared, and he relaxed his jaw which he had unknowingly been clenching. As you completed an inventory of him, watching his shoulders become less strained and his posture relax, you met his magnetic green eyes. They held yours for longer than you expected, deep green piercing into (y/ec), causing the moment to become charged with all the tension that had been building between the two of you for some time now. You were glad you had walked to the other side of the room earlier and put the kitchen table between you two; you’re not quite sure what would have happened in that moment had you been beside him. His body always beckoned you to touch him, always left you wondering what it would feel like to be wrapped up in his strong arms. To feel the short strands of his hair slide between your fingers as his lips crashed down on yours, molding to the shape of them.

The tension built and the visions of fantasy kept coursing on until a soft cough broke the two of you from your intense staring competition. “Ahem.” Someone cleared their throat from the kitchen doorway, breaking the spell and jolting you out of your reverie. You turned to see it was Sam and Cas, both of them looking at the two of you with inquisitive looks. “Did we interrupt something,” Sam asked, trying to contain his smirk. Appreciating his attempt to remain somewhat nonchalant.

Embarrassed you buried your face in your snack bag, attempting to hide your blush. Peeking up through your lashes you saw Dean rub the back of his neck with his right hand, and turn toward the cabinets to retrieve a glass, which he quickly filled up with water from the tap.

“Well, that’s not weird,” said Cas.

Chuckling, Sam agreed. Still looking between the two of you, but deciding to leave the awkward moment for later, he asked, “so why did we need a family meeting?”

“Oh! Jo is having a birthday party this Friday; and we are all invited.” You replied as nonchalantly as possible.

“That’s it?” Asked Dean. “I was in the middle of changing Baby’s oil. This could have waited for later, (y/n).” His voice was gruff and aggravated as he feigned outrage for interrupting his alone time with the classic Impala. To undiscerning ears he would have genuinely sounded angry, but you knew him better than that. He was attempting to save face by making it sound like he had better things to do than stand around the kitchen with you.

Rolling your eyes at him and his weird obsession with his car, you went on. “There’s one catch. It’s a themed party.”

“Huh-uh. No way am I dressing up to attend her birthday party.” Dean said adamantly.

“Okay, first of all, Dean, we all know you’re a closet nerd and secretly love LARPing. This is no different. Second of all, her theme is ‘Modern Fairytales’ so we have to come dressed as a modern interpretation of a fairytale character. Third of all, we are all going in costume. No ifs, ands, or buts.” Sometimes the only way to get through to these three lunk-heads was to put your foot down, hard.

“Dean, she’s right,” Sam agreed with a smothered chuckle, “and it sounds like fun.”

“I’m not sure what any of that means, but I am in as well,” said Cas.

“I’ve already got my costume planned.” You said to Dean, raising your eyebrow.

“Fine.” He replied, unhappily. “I’ll wear a costume. What are you two thinking of going as?” He jerked his chin at Sam and Cas.

“Nope.” You interrupted. “No stealing ideas. No piggybacking. No talking about costumes in general until we are ready to go to her party. Got it?”

“Fine”. All three of them replied at once.

This was going to make for an interesting evening, that was for sure.

——

Friday night finally came around, and you couldn’t deny it—you were pretty excited to see what the boys came up with. You had decided you were going to go as modern Rapunzel, your character being loosely based on the Disney version instead of the original tale. Since she was a sweet, sheltered girl, you thought a modern day version would wear a pretty floral sundress. The dress you chose was a pale pink color, trimmed in lace, with a beautiful pattern of cherry blossoms on the skirt and bodice; a white pair of ballerina flats adorned your feet, and a blonde waist length wig covered up your (y/hc) hair. After you had checked and double checked your outfit, you decided you were still missing something. After you thought for a minute you realized what it was.

Down in the kitchen you were rummaging through the cabinet beside the stove attempting to find the smaller skillet you knew you could carry around for an evening. As you were stooped down digging through the various pots and pans, Dean quietly walked up behind you, unbeknownst to you. “Let me guess, Cinderella?”

You raised up abruptly smacking the back of your head against the cabinet opening. “Son of a bitch,” you groaned as you retreated from the storage space with your pan. “No I’m not Cinderella,” you said rubbing the goose egg forming on the top of your skull. “And what is it with you always sneaking up on me?”

“What can I say,” he shrugged. “I’m silent but deadly.”

“You know you just compared yourself to a fart, right,” you asked as you turned around.

While he was silently contemplative, mouth gaping like a fish as he remembered the conversation and attempted to come up with a retort to explain it away, you got a look at him in his costume. Dark wash, nearly black jeans adorned his beautiful bow legs. He wore a dark maroon shirt, untucked, with the top two buttons unfastened and covered by a black leather jacket. His dark emerald eyes were rimmed in a line of kohl, and a ruby earring adorned his left ear. On his left hand, was a shiny silver hook with a black leather cuff; his trusty Colt 1911 strapped into a shoulder holster in lieu of a sword. The breath caught in your throat as you took in how attractively badass he looked.

Giving up on his internal dialogue, he asked, “Alright, Blondie, who are you supposed to be, then?” His words broke through the mental fog brought on by his presence.

“Rapunzel. Obviously.” You said as you brandished your frying pan at him.

“Gesundheit.”

“Smart ass.” You rolled your eyes. It’s a wonder they haven’t become stuck in the back of your head. “Where is your brother and Clarence, hmm?” You asked affectionately using Meg’s nickname for Cas; as the words left your lips you heard Sam and Cas arguing as they approached the kitchen doorway.

“Cas, I don’t think you understand the theme here,” Sam was finishing as they entered the room.

“You explained it to me and now I understand perfectly,” he began, “we are supposed to dress as modern interpretations of fairytale characters.” He looked between the three of you. “Dean is obviously Captain Hook, (y/n) is Cinderella, you are Prince Eric, and I am Aladdin.”

Sam facepalmed, and you spoke up, “Umm, I’m actually Rapunzel, Cas.” He looked at you confused, so you didn’t bother to elaborate on the finer points of fairytale/Disney lore. “How are you dressed like Aladdin?”

“Aladdin was a street urchin who stole in order to feed himself and his primate friend Abu. Street urchins today look like anyone else, just like he resembled the people surrounding him. Thus, by wearing my usual attire, I am Aladdin.” He grinned in self-satisfaction.

Your eyes became wide, a retort on the tip of your tongue, when you locked eyes with Dean; his expression telling you explaining things to Cas would take more time and energy than it was really worth. You let the subject drop. Looking over at Sam you realized he pulled off a great modern rendition of Prince Eric. He had on salmon colored shorts that fell a couple inches above the knee, boat shoes, a white oxford button down with the sleeves rolled up, and a navy colored sweater tied across his shoulders. A pair of Ray-bans covered his eyes and a captain’s hat sat atop his luscious mane of hair. Around his neck hung a sign with the words, “Have you seen Ariel,” written on it. You stifled a giggle, “nice costume there Sam.”

He grinned in thanks.

“Well, then. Should we blow this popsicle joint?” Dean asked with reluctance.

#eyes-of-a-disney-princess #supernatural #spn #deanxreader #insert #fanfiction #fanfic #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #jo harvelle #ellen harvelle #april #costumes #party #theme #birthday #bad decisions #Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challenge

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