#tattoos????? literally throwing PERMANENT ART on yourself??????????

[aliengirl]

skin is just beautiful. All the colors it can be??? And become???? The tans, the pinks, the golds, the reds, the blues??????

And it is just a blank canvas??? A blank canvas for our life. It starts being art the moment you were born, all your tints, moles, veins, birthmarks..... its?? beautiful????

And all the art that happens to it, being it purposely or not?? Being put there by someone or time itself??? The marks, the scars, the tattoos, the wrinkles, expression lines, stretch marks??????

ITS ART, its the museum of your life told by your body

[xjoonchildx]

airplane, pt. 2 | jjk x reader chapter one: ICN --> LAX

pairing: jungkook/reader word count: 6.4K rating: 18+

genre: smut | silly smut | nonsensical smut

warnings:  criminal!jungkook, koreanamerican!jungkook, highly improbable condom placement, unrealistic use of available sex space, reality has left the chat, plausibility has left the chat

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

artwork by the shmexy @ppersonna​ who’s smut is even better than her art

*************************

One day it works out too well, then the next day I’m completely screwed (I still) Who should I live as today, Kim Namjoon or RM? 25, I still don’t know how to live well So, today as well, we just go -- Airplane, Pt. 2 BTS

**************************

Jungkook Jeon is basically your Carmen Sandiego.

You stare down at the photocopy of the state of California driver’s license in your hand, into the face of the brash little fucker you’ve been chasing across the globe for the better part of a year.

He looks barely old enough to drive.

Of course, this picture was taken years ago when he was a sophomore at Stanford. Back before he dropped out of school despite being in the top of his class. Back before he broke the law by taking six million dollars of someone else’s money, then broke his parents’ hearts by disappearing without a trace.

You should already have him in custody — and If he were like any of the other greedy assholes you usually chase, he would be. But instead, Jungkook Jeon has managed to deflect and dodge and avoid you at every turn for months.

It’s driving you fucking insane.

One time, you’d been so certain about cornering him in Argentina that you’d boarded a plane with a pair of thick-necked US Marshals and flown south. You’d had to head back to the States empty-handed and sunburnt and pissed.

The real kicker was when you’d gotten home and opened a one-line email – encrypted to hell and back – with a picture of your FBI Academy graduation headshot attached.

you’re so hot i almost want to get caught. almost.

That had hurt.

So you’d had to lick your wounds, bide your time and wait for a man who apparently didn’t make mistakes to make a mistake. And for a while, he didn’t.

Until he did.

************************************** 

Agent Kim Namjoon is definitely not the pencil pusher you imagined him to be during your many phone calls and other interactions.

No, the man who meets you and your team at Incheon International Airport is what the kids these days call a snack. He is tall and broad and wears a pair of dark thick-rimmed glasses that should make him look like a giant nerd but somehow don’t.

Very, very cute.

“Welcome to Korea,” he says with an easy smile. You smile back, then clear your throat and remind yourself you’re not here to flirt with your contact with Korea’s National Intelligence Service.

Seriously.

Agent Kim’s English is immaculate – this you already knew since you’ve exchanged more than a few calls in recent weeks. He’s got his own team ready for briefing at his headquarters. After a quick drive, you’re all in one room going over the plan.

His guys have tracked Jeon to a high-end restaurant in Seoul where he’s been working for a few months. They already have a rough sketch of the area. You’re going to block off every exit, cover every angle, and make sure there’s no way he’s getting out of that restaurant without coming through one of you.

This should go off without a hitch – but then you remember Argentina and frown.

“He’s there. My guys are ready to go,” Agent Kim says, after taking a quick call on his cell phone.

It’s decided, then.

You load into black vans and take off for the west end of the city. Agent Kim drives and you have the chance to look out the window at the streets. It’s a beautiful place, you think. Agent Kim seems to read your mind.

“You should come back sometime,” he says. “When you’re not here on business.”

Sigh. You’re going to have to flirt with this man, aren’t you?

“I would like that. Maybe you could show me around some time,” you reply.

His eyes stay on the road – his hands locked at 10 and 2 – but you see the ghost of a smile pass over his lips. You smile to yourself and look back out the window.

Minutes later you’re parked outside an industrial-looking brick building. Gleaming glass-and-stone condos and perfectly manicured greenscaping confirm you are in a high-dollar neighborhood. It’s a Saturday night in a ritzy part of Seoul and you’re probably about to ruin someone’s date night.

Or maybe rescue it, depending on the date.

You stare out at the restaurant and imagine Jungkook Jeon inside, going about his life without realizing you’re here to throw a wrench into all his plans. You get a little thrill when you imagine the look on his face when he realizes the gig is up. Victory is so close you can taste it.

Agent Kim gets a call from his point man, everyone is in place.

Showtime.

******************************

“Is that consommé? It looks like consommé. What do you think, Agent Kim?”

Jungkook Jeon looks shaken for a moment when you step in front of the table where’s he’s just laid out a picture-perfect pair of starters. His guests, a nicely-dressed older couple, also look shaken as they glance nervously between you, Agent Kim, and their now permanently off-duty server.

He straightens to his full height.

The youthful roundness of the face you’ve stared at so long in that driver’s license picture is gone. You have no idea what this guy’s been eating for the past few years, but in place of that baby-faced kid is a man, tall and broad and muscular. Tattoos you can’t make out run across his hands, up his arms, and disappear into the white dress shirt he has rolled to the elbows. His hair is on the long side, pulled back, giving you an unobstructed view of what can only be described as a perfect face. Serious, literal perfection.

Good grief.

Somehow the little shit recovers from his shock in an instant. He smirks, despite his clear disadvantage.

“I gotta say, you look even better in person.”

Oh yeah? So do you.

You ignore his opening line.

“It’s time to come home, Mr. Jeon. Pay the piper and all that.”

He has the nerve to roll his eyes and your hand itches with the desire to punch him in his stupid fucking perfect face.

“Teamed up with some Korean suits, huh?” He gives Agent Kim the once-over and apparently finds him lacking.

“Mr. Jeon,” you feign a scandalized tone. “Just how do you think I was raised? It would be downright rude to barge into a sovereign country without an invitation. Besides, Agent Kim here has been an absolute pleasure.”

You could hear a pin drop inside this restaurant right now. Every knife and fork and glass has come to rest on the fine white linen on these tables. The guests are frozen in place, taking in the strange scene.

Dinner and a show tonight, guys.

Jungkook doesn’t move an inch. You’d half expected him to just walk up, accept his cuffs and get this show on the road. But no, apparently he’s in a talking mood.

“Tell me how you found me.”

You sigh. You’re not a pair of girlfriends catching up over coffee. You open your mouth to say just that, but Agent Kim speaks up.

“We had a source come through with some very specific information on you.”

“Oh, I think Agent Kim is being far too kind,” you counter. “What he means to say is that your Korean sucks. You see, Mr. Jeon, you may look like them,” you gesture at the restaurant full of guests, “but you sound like us. Let’s just say you stick out like a sore thumb here.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement at the jab.

“I hated Korean school, you know.”

“It shows.”

He laughs.

Agent Kim clears his throat as if to remind you both that you’re not alone.

“Well this isn’t a social call, and I’m sure all these fine people would love to get back to their meals. So why don’t we finish this chat on the way back to the United States, Mr. Jeon?” you say, getting back to the task at hand.

Agent Kim signals his guys and they swoop in to put him in cuffs. He doesn’t resist, just holds out his hands and shoots you his most flirtatious smile.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Agent.”

On your way out the door, you glance over at the consommé and hope it’s supposed to be served cold.

**********************************

“What is a man who stole six million dollars doing waiting tables at a restaurant?” you muse out loud.

Jungkook Jeon is in the backseat of Agent Kim’s black SUV, looking out the window.

“I had to have some kind of story, right? Besides, I kind of liked it.”

“You didn’t get to spend the money,” you say.

“Not really,” he admits. “It’s much easier to fantasize about blowing millions of dollars than it is to actually do it.”

“Tsk, tsk, Mr. Jeon. What a shame.”

He leans forward in the backseat, hands cuffed in front of him.

“You know what would really be a shame, Agent? If I don’t get the chance to fuck you before you lock me up.”

A muscle twitches in Agent Kim’s jaw.

“Watch your mouth,” he warns, glaring into the rearview mirror. You immediately decide you like him a little stern. It’s pretty hot.

“Mr. Jeon, you and your dick will be free to do whatever you’d both like in about twenty years. That’s how this whole grand larceny and evasion thing works,” you say, ignoring the sensation that spreads across the back of your neck at his crass words.

He whistles.

“I’m really going to waste my best-looking years in prison.”

No kidding.

“Oh, don’t be too disappointed,” you say sweetly. “I hear there are a few advantages to having such a pretty face behind bars.”

You hear the clink of his cuffs and look into your rearview just in time to see him give you the finger.

*********************************

The government can be so cheap sometimes.

You’d have loved to pull right up to the tarmac at Incheon International, walk right onto a chartered plane like the Feds do in the movies. But alas, private flights are definitely not in the budget.

Instead, you have to settle for regular seats on a Korean Air flight. You’d been in touch with the airline ahead of time and they’d offered you and your team privacy in the back rows of the plane – complete with a curtain separator. You really couldn’t blame them for not wanting passengers to be greeted by a handcuffed man and his gun-toting babysitters.

Smart move all around.

Seating arrangements are decided, you and Jungkook on one side of the aisle, your two Marshals on the other. They’re both smart men, highly-skilled and boring as hell. You’d already had to suffer through their small talk on the fourteen-hour long flight here, and you’d be damned if you had to do it again on the way back.

“Are you going to let me have a drink?” Jungkook asks, as soon as you’re settled into your seats.

“Of course,” you reply, scrolling through a few emails on your phone. “What’s your favorite kind of juice?”

He snorts.

“It’s gonna be a long flight unless you play nice,” he warns.

“Mr. Jeon,” you sigh. ���Shut up.”

He shakes his handcuffs.

“You could at least take these off,” he grumbles. “Not like I can walk off of a moving plane.”

“Nope,” you reply, affecting your best bored tone. You grab a magazine out of the seatback and pretend to leaf through it.

“So you want me to sit here – no phone, no headphones, no nothing – for fourteen hours?”

“Better to practice that ‘bored out of your mind’ routine sooner rather than later. I’m sure it’s gonna come in handy.”

You don’t look his way, but you can feel the glare he’s fixed on you and you have to fight the urge to smile.

******************************

The flight attendant who rolls a giant drink cart into your quiet section of this plane looks like a doll. Porcelain skin, huge eyes and the whitest smile you have ever seen.

Jungkook straightens in his seat immediately. He’s been pouting for the last hour but now he sees this dazzling young woman and his game face is back on.

“Hello,” he says, flashing her a smile.

Then he stops — seems to remember his audience — and resumes the exchange in Korean. You stare at him as he makes eyes at the flight attendant, working her with the confidence of a man who is not wearing handcuffs right now.

She blushes deeply at something he says before turning back to her cart to pour a Jack and Coke.

“Are you serious, Jeon?”

He smiles.

“You don’t hate me, right? Like, obviously I’ve pissed you off, but you don’t hate me. Because only a person who hated me would stop me from having a drink on my way to federal prison.”

You open your mouth to protest, but instead decide that he’s right. He’s a thief – not a killer for pete’s sake.

A super-hot, ridiculously charming, complete asshole of a thief who is definitely not getting under your skin by flirting with the flight attendant right now.

The porcelain doll turns back and hands him his cocktail and Jungkook winks at her. This man just accepted his drink with his hands in fucking handcuffs and this woman is blushing at him like he just asked for her number in a nightclub.

“Are you done?” you hiss.

“With what?” he asks innocently, cuffs clinking as he lifts the drink to his mouth.

“Eye-fucking the flight attendant.”

He feigns shock. “Are you – are you…jealous?”

You scoff and turn your attention back to your magazine.

He leans close.

“Don’t be jealous,” he says, blowing whiskey-scented breath into your ear. “I wanted you first. I’m only flirting with her because you’re really mean to me.”

He leans back and takes another sip of his drink.

There is something about this mischievous boy-man with the chiseled body and the smart mouth. He certainly has a charm. You’re certain he’s been able to use that charm to get out of more than a few sticky situations over the years.

“I wasn’t kidding you know,” he says. “About wanting to fuck you.”

He shakes the ice in his glass to show off that he’s already drained it and gives you another one of those self-assured smiles that’s really starting to piss you off. You drop your gaze back to your magazine.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” you state simply, pretending to have a deep interest in some blurb about face masks.

“No? Are you sure about that?”

“You are mind-bogglingly arrogant for a man who is headed to prison for the next two decades,” you reply dryly.

“Probably headed to prison,” he corrects. “Innocent until proven guilty, due process and all that. Unless things have changed? I realize it’s been a while since I’ve been home.”

You snort.

“Okay fine, you’re right. I’m headed to prison for the next twenty years which is why it’s imperative that you fuck me now. Immediately. Anything else would be,” he gives a dramatic shake of his head, “Inhumane.”

This time you can’t help but laugh and one of the Marshals across the aisle gives you a disapproving look, like he’s been forced to chaperone a pair of giggling teenagers.

You clear your throat and look back down at your magazine, force the smile off your face.

“Argentina,” you say. “How did you get out of there before I got to you?”.

The flight attendant returns with another drink and another smile for him.

“You want something, I want something,” he says, taking a long sip. “Maybe we could work something out?”

“I’m not going to fuck you for information, Jeon. All of that will soon come out in the wash,” you sigh.

“Then fuck me for charity. For good will. Fuck me because it’s the least you can do since you’re blowing up my entire life right now.”

You roll your eyes.

“You blew up your life, you idiot. You’re the one who intercepted a wire transfer and stole six million bucks. You’ve already been fucked. You fucked yourself.”

He smiles wistfully for a moment.

“Yeah, you’ve got a point there.”

*******************************

You stop him at three drinks.

His eyes have taken on a soft quality and his entire energy is a bit more relaxed with some booze in his system. It’s hard, it’s really hard to ignore how hot this man is without even trying.

But when he tries? Then it’s damned near impossible.

You check your watch. You still have seven hours to go on this flight.

“Luck,” he says, suddenly.

“Excuse me?” you say, looking up from your magazine.

“You wanted to know how I got out of Argentina in time. I was gonna make up some fancy story about how I’d figured out you were on to me and beat the clock to get away but the truth is, I was just lucky. I’d already been there too long and I was getting restless. I was ready to go.”

Hmm. So the booze has made him talkative.

“Your landlord said we’d missed you by one day,” you counter.

“Yup,” he laughs, closing his eyes momentarily as if reliving the thrill of the chase. “I used to have a lot of luck, actually. Before I ran into you.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No you’re not.”

“Fair enough,” you say and the two of you share a laugh. You open a bag of pretzels and offer him one. He begrudgingly accepts.

“Why did you take the money?”

He chews thoughtfully for a moment.

“Because I wanted to know if I could. I didn’t think I was gonna pull it off, but again, it was my luck. Once I figured out how to do it, I just did.”

“How remarkably stupid,” you breathe, a smile on your face. He smiles, too.

“Yeah, well. I said I was lucky, not smart.”

“Oh, but you are smart, Mr. Jeon, and don’t think you’ve convinced me otherwise. Your transcript from Stanford tells a very interesting story. What did your parents say when you dropped out at the top of your class and went to work at a gas station?”

The sarcastic back-and-forth screeches to a halt. For the first time, you see darkness pass over his face.

“Don’t ask me about my parents,” he says curtly. “I’ll tell you whatever else you want to know, but that shit is none of your business.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, and this time you mean it.

He shifts to his side, away from you, and looks out the window.

You sit quiet, thinking for a minute – but after a while you both fall asleep.

********************************************

You wake to Jungkook nudging you.

“Get up,” he says urgently. “I have to piss.”

You groan, trying to clear the fog from your brain and glance at your watch. Still four more hours to go on this flight.

“Like now,” he says, bouncing one leg to ward off the sensation.

You get up, stretch out, and wait for him to stand but then realize he’s waiting for you to help him since it’s an awkward fit in the seats with his handcuffs. Instead of making a snarky comment, you just offer your hand and a slight smile.

Very unlike you.

“Thanks,” he says, straightening out, stretching his legs. One of the Marshals raises an eyebrow at you.

“He has to use the bathroom,” you say, stilling the man with a raised hand when he makes to stand. “It’s alright, I need to stretch, too. I’ll walk him down there.”

The Marshal looks skeptically from Jungkook to you and back.

“It’s fine, Agent,” you say, a little annoyed. “It’s not like he can go anywhere, right?”

“Right,” Jungkook says, still bouncing that leg.

The Marshal gives you a look that makes clear he doesn’t approve, but he’s not going to stop you.

You walk behind Jungkook as he makes his way past the curtain, down the aisle and towards the bathroom. It’s a half-empty flight, and you’re glad for it when you see people staring at his handcuffs. You don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you can’t help but feel a little embarrassed on his behalf when you hear them whispering in Korean. At least you don’t know what they’re saying.

The firm set of Jungkook’s mouth makes you think he wishes that were the case for him, too.

“Just uh, give me a minute,” he says, when you reach the bathroom.

It turns out to be a lot longer than a minute.

You’re half tempted to bang on the door and demand to know why he’s taking so long. Maybe the Marshal was right to be suspicious of Jungkook. Maybe he figured out a way off this plane through the toilet.

You’re bouncing your own leg impatiently when he finally reappears.

“What took you so long?” you ask, annoyed.

“You ever try to take your pants and underwear off while handcuffed?” he asks. “You know what — never mind, don’t answer that. You’ll start giving me ideas.”

Ah. He’s back, then.

Part of you is a little relieved to hear his smart-ass mouth again. You feel a hell of a lot less guilty around this version of him.

“Listen, I did a little recon and it’s a tight fit, but there’s definitely enough room for us to fuck,” he says, face comically serious. “And we’re running out of time for you to pull the trigger, so what’s it going to be?”

“Ugh. You’re foul,” you say, pulling a face.

“But you kind of like it,” he shoots back.

He’s right, though. You kind of do.

***********************

Clearly you’ve lost your mind.

Pheromones have short-circuited all the portions of your brain that control logic, reason, and risk. That’s the only plausible explanation for why you are slumped into your seat right now, legs pressed together tight, imagining fucking Jungkook Jeon in an airplane bathroom.

Sympathy and curiosity and more than a little horniness are making for a strange mix. You reason to yourself — as if you are actually entertaining this madness — that he’s not a convicted felon, just an accused one. There’s gotta be a loophole in the FBI handbook somewhere.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Jungkook asks, leaning close — a smile playing over his lips.

“Shut up.”

“You are,” he whispers in a scandalized tone. “I mean with these on, I’m not going to be able to do my best work, obviously, but I’ve done more with less. Unless you want to take them off,” he says, rolling his wrists in the handcuffs.

“I already told you, I’m not taking those off,” you say sharply.

“Alright, alright. Keep it kinky. I can roll with that.”

”Shut up, Jeon.”

He gestures across his mouth like he’s zipping it shut and throwing away the key and you fight the urge to laugh.

“If I decided to fuck you, and I’m not saying I would,” you hiss, “I would have to stuff a sock into that smart mouth of yours just to not have to hear it.”

He laughs and his face looks so young and relaxed it takes your breath away a little.

“Make it your underwear and we have a deal,” he winks.

You pick up another magazine and get back to actively trying to ignore him and that annoying pulse between your legs.

*************************

Two hours left to Los Angeles.

You glance over at your guard dogs, who’ve both knocked out after a snack. One has a newspaper draped fully over his face, grandpa style.

You should have ordered a drink. You should have ordered six. That way, if you’re ever called to the carpet about the decision you’re about to make, you can blame it on alcohol-induced psychosis. Because the Marshals are asleep and you feel bad for Jungkook Jeon and he’s so hot you can barely think straight at this point. You take a deep breath and make a decision.

Fuck it.

You stand quietly, motioning to Jungkook with a finger over your lips. For a moment, his brows knit together in confusion but that look passes almost as quickly as it came. Then his entire face breaks out into a wide grin.

“Yeah?” he whispers.

“Shut up,” you whisper back, through gritted teeth.

You hold out your hand to help him to stand and when he grips it, he rubs his the pad of his thumb across your wrist. You try to ignore the sizzle of arousal he manages to drum up with that brief touch.

Quietly, you both walk past the curtain, past sleeping passengers and back to the clean but cramped bathroom where you are about to do the dumbest shit you have ever done.

You glance around at the passengers nearby and notice only one older man, eyes wide on the two of you. You shoot an excuse-me-sir-this-is-official-government-business look at him before following Jungkook into the tiny space.

You lock the door and turn to face him.

“Glad you finally came around,” he says, immediately backing you into the door. His mouth goes right for your neck and he pushes his entire body into yours in this tiny space. He is large and warm and he smells way better than he should after working a restaurant shift, being arrested, and then being jammed into a plane seat for hours.

His lips work up the column of your throat and his hands, still secured in front of him, push uselessly into the front of your lightweight wool dress. Shame, really, that you couldn’t take him out of these. You’d love to feel those hands right about now.

“I wasn’t kidding about keeping your mouth shut,” you manage to say, breathless at the feel of his mouth on your skin. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

The vibration of his laughter tickles the shell of your ear.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise,” he says. “I just need to get my face under this dress.”

Your brain stutters for a moment, hung up on the mental image. He drops to his knees in front of you, lifts his hands to try and push up the front of the almost-too-tight garment but his handcuffs make it impossible. You graciously help him out, hiking the hem up your thighs. You’re about to work your underwear down, but he’s impatient, burying his face directly into the wet satin and inhaling deeply.

“Fuck, you smell amazing,” he groans, nosing the aching nub between your thighs. You’re glad he can’t see the way your mouth drops open when he licks out at the damp material, teasing you with the barest hint of friction.

“Help me out here,” he moans, and you do just that, sliding your panties down as best you can with the amount of space you’ve got.

At this angle, you can only get them down to your knees, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to care. He pushes his entire face into you, lips and teeth and tongue driving into you, working you with a fervor that makes your knees start to wobble. You grab a handful of his hair to steady yourself but it’s no use. Absently, you realize the tremors running up and down your body are rattling the door.

“Nice to know that mouth is good for more than just trash talk,” you tease on deep exhale. He laughs.

“Maybe some day you’ll get the chance to enjoy the full-service experience.”

“Probably not, Jeon,” you moan. “This is just a one-time favor, got it?”

All the blood in your brain has taken a dive into parts lower south and you marvel at how quickly your impending orgasm is coming on. But then, you’ve basically had about ten hours of foreplay up to this point, so maybe it’s not that surprising.

That damned door keeps rattling and you just know the little old man on the other side is probably staring it down. You’re not sure what it says about you that you think that’s kind of hilarious.

Your body jolts when Jungkook wraps his lips around your clit and sucks so hard you see stars. “You’re the one about to come on my face in an airplane bathroom,” he groans, licking obscenely between words. “So who’s doling out favors right now?”

Well, that does it.

The second he brings his lips and tongue back to your clit, you fall apart, gripping his hair so hard you’re certain it has to hurt. You pour all your energy into not screaming as your orgasm steamrolls you, and whatever energy you have left goes into trying to stay upright. Jungkook stays face-first in your heat, lapping up your release until the last tremors shake you and that goddamned door.

“Shit,” your voice is shaky, chest heaving when you finally make a sound.

“You are very, very fucking hot,” Jungkook says, breathless from where he sits on the floor. “Way too hot to be a Fed.”

You laugh.

“Well you are definitely too hot to be a criminal, but here we are, huh?”

Your eyes slide down to his glinting handcuffs, but they aren’t what’s catching your attention. Instead, your gaze heads right to the giant bulge straining against the front of his jeans. Turnabout is fair play, and you’re suddenly very eager to return the favor.

You help him stand and immediately seal your mouth to his, tasting yourself on his lips. Your fingers fumble past his restraints, underneath to where you can feel the button of his jeans and you undo it as fast as you can. He stops kissing you long enough to groan into your mouth when your hands slip into his boxers and your fingers wrap around his cock. He is hot and thick and hard in your hand. You squeeze around him, enjoying the way his hips jerk in response.

“Don’t tease,” he whines. “I’m gonna have to fantasize about this blowjob for the next twenty years.”

“I’d better make it memorable then,” you say, sinking down to your knees in the cramped space. You shove his jeans off his hips and look up at him as you gently push his boxers down and over his straining cock. His body is rock hard, lean muscle and defined lines running from his shapely legs up to his cuffed wrists and underneath that white shirt you’d love to peel off but can’t.

His head falls back the second your lips touch his swollen head. You tease it for a moment with a few quick licks, but decide this is really not the time to be dragging this out. The strangled “fuck” he whispers when you take him down fully is the sweetest and dirtiest thing you’ve heard in a while.

You manage to catch his gaze for a moment as you maintain a steady rhythm on his cock with your hands. His eyes are glassy with drinks and arousal, and you nearly have to slip a hand between your legs when his tongue slips out of his mouth to wet his lips.

He lifts and drops his handcuffs a couple of times before growling his frustration at not being able to put his fingers in your hair. You feel a faint throb of sympathy for him for a moment before reminding yourself that you literally have your mouth around his cock so frankly, things could be a lot worse for him than they are right now.

“You gotta stop,” he says, after a few minutes of the slow, wet torture. You release him with a soft pop and a confused expression.

“It’s your last blowjob for twenty years, Jeon. You want me to stop?”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I have to fuck you. Please let me fuck you. It’s all I can think about,” he whines.

“You can’t,” you say firmly. “No condoms.”

He blows out a heavy breath like he’s thinking for a moment and there you are, on your knees in this tiny bathroom, confused as to what your next step should be.

“Look around,” he says suddenly.

“What?”

“Look – people fuck in airplane bathrooms all the time, right? It’s a thing. Maybe someone out there pulled some hero shit and is looking out for the next person.”

“This bathroom,” you say skeptically, “is the size of a goddamned shoebox, Jeon. You think we’re going to magically scrounge up a condom?”

“Just look,” he implores through gritted teeth.

“Fine,” you huff, leaning over to pop the cabinet under the sink open. You put one searching hand inside and pull out three sanitary pads that look like they were packaged in the 1970s.

He groans, frustrated.

“Hang on,” you say, jamming your hand back inside. Your fingertips brush up against something smooth and you fish it out, eyes wide with utter disbelief.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you say, more to yourself than to him.

You hold the condom packet up for him to inspect.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, cock jerking at the sight of it, like it knows he’s just hit the jackpot.

He laughs so hard for a moment you fear this entire encounter has gone entirely off track.

“My luck is back,” he declares triumphantly, finally. “Now, please hurry up and get on my dick.”

You’re shaking your head in disbelief the entire time you’re ripping the packet open, rolling it down Jungkook’s impossibly still-hard cock. He’s breathing hard, body tense with anticipation when you slide your heels off to take your underwear off completely.

“The heels,” he groans, watching as you slip your panties over your ankles. “Can you — you know…keep ‘em on?”

“Ugh, you are such a pervert,” you scold, slipping your feet back into the shoes and leaning back to line him up with your entrance. He surges forward and you moan at the stretch as he fills you entirely in one thrust.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, already rolling his hips frantically against you. “Shit, that’s incredible.”

And truthfully, it is. The ledge of the sink is biting into your ass with every thrust and you’re having to do most of the work given his handcuff situation but you really don’t even care because he still feels amazing like this.

He mouths uselessly at the wool covering your breasts because there’s no way to get to them. You nearly admonish him because he’ll leave crude wet spots on the fine material, but you decide against it.

“Oh, I bet you have amazing tits,” he groans, hips maintaining a steady rhythm. “Giving me something to look forward to for next time.”

“There won’t be a next time, Jeon. And there won’t be a this time if you don’t hurry up already,” you shoot back.

He laughs, a little breathless from exertion. “I’m close, I promise. Fuck, you feel so good.”

You squeeze tighter around him, push harder back against him, angle your hips a bit more to ensure he’s going to the hilt with every thrust. The guttural sound he makes in response sends a shiver up your back.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasps after a moment, mouth covering yours as his hips begin to stutter at the first ebbs of his release. Your ass is numb from the sink ledge at this point, legs tired from supporting your weight and his.

“So come then,” you tease, biting gently on the sensitive skin at his pulse point. He groans from deep inside his chest as he lets go – hips jerking as he pumps himself through it.

“Shit,” he groans, leaning on you with his full weight.

“You are crushing me Jeon,” you complain, pushing at his chest with both hands. He chuckles. “Yeah, sorry about that. Balance is a little off at the moment.”

You open your mouth to shoot another sarcastic comment his way, but there is something about the way he is looking at you right now that stops you short.

You clear your throat, uncomfortable with the tiny glimpse into whatever that was.

“Well, as much as I’d love to ruminate on how good this was,” you say, shifting your dress back down and making a beeline for your underwear, “We’ve been in here an insane amount of time already. There’s probably a line outside the door.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, a little too quiet for your liking.

So you put yourself back together and help put him back together, too.

And strangely, when you open the door to leave there is no line. But that little old man is still watching, a look of astonishment on his face as you both walk past.

***********************************

“Listen, are you sitting down right now?”

You frown at the phone display in your office because any conversation that starts with an opening line like that is headed south.

“Uh…yeah. Why?”

“Hang on, I’m coming to your office.”

Seconds later, Agent Novak bursts through the door.

“So you haven’t seen it,” he says, rushing up to your desk.

“Seen what, Novak? Spit it out,” you say, frustrated already.

“Check your email,” he says, arms crossed over his chest. He looks fit to burst with some kind of excitement and your chest already feels a little tight at whatever it is he’s dying to show you.

You click into your email to find an urgent bulletin that you’d missed because you were working on a stack of papers on your desk, not your computer. The subject line makes your heart hammer.

URGENT MEMO: Fugitive Search, Jungkook Jeon

ATTACHED VIDEO FILE

“The guy just walked out of a federal courthouse like he was on an afternoon stroll. Had on a suit and everything,” Novak says, a note of awe in his voice. “Check out the video.”

Your mouth is already hanging open before you even click on the attached CCTV footage. A camera inside the courthouse shows Jungkook Jeon walk out of a bathroom in the front lobby, dressed like an attorney, not a defendant. His long hair is cut into a more professional style, his suit covers his tattoos and he looks entirely in place.

Novak is right – he walks so casually past the guards and other visitors that no one even thinks to stop him.

“Word is, court was on a lunch break and it looks like he had everything ready to go. Walked into a waiting Uber and vanished like smoke.”

You haven’t said a word since Novak walked in with this bombshell.

You just watch the CCTV footage over and over again in a loop, willing your brain to accept what your eyes can see clear as day.

This motherfucker.

Guess his luck really is back.

***************************

[gotatext]

by this point im p sure u all know the drill.... i’m nora, 23, she/her, gmt and tonight matthew im going to be greta o’driscoll, a terrible person but a hot one which frankly makes it almost ok. here is her pinterest..... this intro is literally just copied n pasted frm the last time i played her so soz if u’ve read it like 10+ times.... 

「 diana silvers. cis-female. 」have you seen greta o’driscoll around yet? i hear she decided to be in POTENTAS for their SOPHOMORE year as a CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGY major. the 20 year old SHEPHERD is known to be tenacious, magnetic, capricious and evasive. ➨ the muse is written by nora, she/her, gmt.

was adopted as an infant. had two foster moms and two older sisters so always surrounded by women. lived in a boarding house, very much like the one in 20th century women, with lodgers coming in and out all the time, mostly artsy young women because her gay moms were both high school teachers trying to set up their own arts collective. one of her moms left when she was 4, n she doesn’t really remember her.

while living with entirely women made her super into catlin moran and the guilty feminist, as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention jst bcos she’d never really experienced it. saw it as something aspirational, like sitting in the back of chad’s second-hand truck while he drove you to macdonalds and offered you and his five friends with identical haircuts weed was the height of being cool to greta, she wanted to be their dream girl, even if it meant compromising her beliefs

was always a really sporty bitch. it started with a junior athletics squad, which turned into athletics and cheer, which then became athletics, cheer and hockey until she basically was doing a different activity every night. she came to see her body as a tool that she could make work for her if she trained it up and this attitude’s always kind of stayed with her that as long as her body is strong she is capable of anything. runs every day. 

bubbly bitch but also massive snake. metaphorically and literally, always shedding her skin. loyal to few, ruled by none, out for herself, babey!! every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result som ppl think she’s called rita, some ppl know her as margot, she just flicks through identities like nobodies business.

left school at 18 n went backpacking around the states making money in the casinos by being a shot girl (yeehaw) and trying to make it as a mysterious 1920s widow with a smoky voice, a dark secret n a heart of gold, looking for love in the big city. all she found was producers and acting agents who’d promise her stardom n actually just fuck her in a motel n then ignore her calls.

TW domestic violence, TW gun, her watershed moment came when she met luke in sioux falls while she was working at a strip club. he was a few years older and had a car, and they kind of went from seeing each other to being that super intense couple who are just necking all the time.

they got engaged like 3 months after they met n rented a flat together, much to her family’s annoyance but she was 19 so there wasn’t much they could do. their relationship was super super intense though, often really heightened and when they fought it could become quite violent, but she’d pass it off as just him being really passionate.

one of their fights got really heated and greta threatened him with the gun he kept in the glove box of his vauxhall corsa, but the safety was off and she accidentally shot him. she pleaded self defence in the trial n cos of the amount of times she’d been hospitalised for various concussions n things like ‘fallling down the stairs’ the police were like yea… pretty watertight evidence that he was a bastard who [chicago voice] had it coming….. 

she’s now under witness protection, rehoused in livingstone as a sports-scholarship student, due to the amount of police involvement in the area, it would mean should one of luke’s family members try to track her down, she’d be relatively safe

massive sports fanatic. plays tennis. on the cheer team. was a track superstar in her high school. honestly just that sporty bitch, you’ll see her doing lines at a party at half four and then on your way to your 9am lecture you see her running across the park like a fresh fucking daisy who is this bitch. maybe it’s maybelline, maybe its coke.

massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune bc she misses her childhood in a south dakota boarding house and has endless support for women. honestly annoyed that she is attracted to men, would so be 100% gay if it was a choice. cuffs her jeans and can’t drive. is That bisexual. skateboards. wears backwards caps.  i hate her 

isn’t a foward-planner, however. greta prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manners so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. 

not afraid to go after what she wants !! ambitious academically and romantically thirsty !! she loves the adrenaline of the chase. when someone’s easy to get, she becomes bored. very bisexual and very proud of it. feminist as fuck nd part of a queer representation in the arts group which holds fortnightly meetings to discuss lgbt representation in film, literature, art etc.

old soul in a young person’s body. all the shit that has gone on has kind of aged her. she’s quite cynical about everything now. always smoking smoking smoking. very edie sedgwick in that way.  little girls skirts bought for next-to-nothing at the market because she’s skinny enough to get away with it, barely long enough to cover your bum, and then the ugliest baggy sweater you’ve ever seen thrown over it.

likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

super into pop art and andy warhol. puts female friendships above everything but at the same time, would fuck her best friends man

her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk.

aesthetics:

a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, denim jackets, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, peeling sticky plasters, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, hot coffee, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, kissing girls, cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, leonine arch of your back and that stellar smile that says ‘you have no idea who you’re dealing with’, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your mom wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, his name scrawled in rage across the pages of a diary, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

wanted plots

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sports rivalries ! sporting friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!! 

since greta literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships

 girls from the cheer team who she’s like, weirdly intimate with like the shower together but its not a Thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

and I want like, fellow criminology students who are like?? how is this bitch still passing?? i swear she goes out every night?? 

she works part time at a fast food restaurant, i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry. 

ppl she did a few modules with ie. art history, bio-med, film studies, before changing course and somehow sort of remaining in touch with

 ppl who she runs track with. 

someone she’s trying to make a zine with. 

here’s a list of plots on her old blog if u want any of them w her.

would love plots of any type, throw them all at me please, i cnt wait to interact w all of u. like this if u want me to message you about connections / plots! xo

full biography if u can be bothered

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your busom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and dare devils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month, before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wild fire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you making your name as a downtown singer while he footed the bill with pills. they had a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you lived like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to livingstone where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

[thefloatingstone]

is it a sign of bad character design if a character doesn't have any kind of accesoire on them? like tattos/piercings or any kind of. i kinda feel everytime i creat one without such things, they look boring or have nothing special on them... is it important or just a case of personal taste?

Hmm…

Having no accessories or tattoos isabsolutely not a sign of bad character design :) But at the sametime, you are following a good train of logic, I just think you needto look into it a little more:

You say that when you create acharacter without accessories or tattoos, they feel feel boring orhave nothing special to them. I think this is a very good insight tohave, and although your solution for adding accessories and tattoosisn’t wrong, in this case I think it’s more of a crutch thanaddressing the true issue.

(more under the cut because this endedup being insanely long)

I don’t know what kind of art style youtend to lean towards (more cartoony or more manga type stuff orsomething like that) but I’m going to assume you’re working withgenerally human characters. If you feel like your characters feelboring or like there’s nothing special about them, then that issomething to try and address, yes. However, using something like atattoo or an accessory or piercing does not actually solve theproblem. What you’re looking for is a way to give your character apersonality that comes across in how they look. And so the firstthing you need to ask yourself is; what kind of personality does yourcharacter have? And does having a tattoo or accessory compliment thatpersonality, and if it was removed, would the character’s personalitystill be obvious to the audience?

I’m playing Persona 4 at the moment, soLet’s look at one of my favourite characters in the game; KanjiTatsumi.

So Let’s look at Kanji’s characterdesign, which has both accessories and a tattoo. Kanji’s outfitchanges in the game depending on whether you’re at school or if it’sthe weekend, whether it’s summer or one of the colder seasons, andvarious other situations. Kanji’s accessories change throughout thegame as well. Especially his necklaces. However the change is barelynoticeable and don’t define how he looks. Also, he has a tattoo onhis left shoulder of a skull and cross-bones. However, when he’swearing his jacket you don’t see it. Again, it does not define hischaracter design.

Ok, so what can you tell about KanjiJUST by his design when removing his tattoo and his accessoriescompletely?

Well most obvious is that he looks alittle scary.

His hair is dyed bright blonde (whichwould be even more intimidating in Japan where he’s from for culturalreasons I’m not gonna go into here) and he’s got it slicked back.Combined with his very sharp facial features, it makes him lookpretty rough. He’s got small, sharp eyes and eyebrows that jutinwards harshly. His nose is also pointed, and his jaw is a littlemore square than the other main characters, even the boys, who havemore rounded or pointed jaw-lines. Then there are smaller detailslike his scar. However, like with his accessories, if you removedthat scar he’d still obviously be Kanji. (I also noticed for thefirst time while looking at these that his nose is pierced. SomethingI never noticed before)

All of his facial features, as well ashis neutral expression and even the way he stands all tell us a lotabout him as a character before we even get to things like clothes,tattoos, accessories, piercings or scars. Kanji is obvious a roughperson, probably a troublemaker and seems like the kind of person whogets into fights a lot. Now you add the kind of colours and clotheshe wears. Kanji generally only wears black with details on hisclothes usually being red or orange. He also wears a lot of tank topswith flaming skulls on them, as well as black jeans and heeled boots.This emphasises his personality, and makes you wonder “is he in agang? Is he a biker maybe? Is he into metal perhaps?”. Then you addthings like his multiple piercings and his tattoo (He might have morethan one? I’m not even sure.) But even if those things weren’t there,we already have a picture of what kind of person Kanji is (or thekind of person people in the story thinks he is) based on hisappearance. The things like his tattoo, piercings and scar furtheremphasise that, but they are not what makes his character design whatit is. They merely tell us even more of what we already know. That ifthis kid was in your high-school, you’d probably want to avoid him.

It may also make him look like a bit ofan edgelord. Like he’s trying TOO hard to look scary andintimidating. And you know what? In Kanji’s case, that’s absolutelytrue. Kanji looks like he’s trying SO HARD to be scary, because heactually is. Kanji is afraid of people rejecting him. Especiallysince… well… Kanji is almost certainly Pansexual, if not bi, andwhen you first meet him he’s agonizing whether he might now just beouright gay. He also loves sewing and knitting, and as a little kidpreferred playing with dolls and cooking to what the other boys did.So he grew up with boys making fun of him, and girls telling him he’sweird. As a result, Kanji grows up into a 15 year old who has becomeso afraid of rejection that he tries his hardest to scare people awayfrom getting to know him. So his character design looks like it’strying too hard to be edgy, but with Kanji that’s actually onpurpose! Because KANJI is trying too hard to be edgy!

Now let’s look at some characters withno tattoos or accessories. (I’m sticking to the anime style just as abasis of comparison since I was using Kanji as my first example)

Say hello to my OTHER big love of ananime series Gay Baseball Okiku Furrikabute (Or BigWindup) Or Oofuri for short.

Oofuri is a sports anime, in this caseBaseball. Which means the characters most of the time either weartheir school uniforms, or their baseball uniforms. Which all lookidentical. None of them have accessories or tattoos to distinguishthem from each other, and heck most of them have the exact same haircolour and almost exactly the same hairstyle! (save for a couple)

However, look at the above picture,especially the two main characters of Abe and Mihashi on the left.You can probably tell a LOT about them as characters just by theirdesigns, but especially by their expressions and posture. Abe looksserious. His eyes are heavy lidded, but his eyebrows are sharplyslanted inwards. His hair is also very dark, darker than most of theother boys, as is his eyes. It gives him a more mature, serious look.Mihashi is the complete opposite. His pose and expression immediatelylet us know he’s a very nervous boy. His eyes are very large, butalso light in colour, and his irises are not big and deep like Izumion the far right (The one with the freckles and big ears). Hiseyebrows are also crooked, making him look nervous an unsure. Hismouth also makes it look like he’s permanently chewing his lip orthat he’s tense. But his hair gives him a softness as well. It looksa lot more fluffy that the other boys’ and looks much softer andpoofier. It’s also obviously much lighter in colour. Along with therest of his features, Mihashi seems like a very anxious but probablysweet boy.

Izumi looks like he would be theyounger, more boyish type of character, but his expression and posemakes him seem more serious than his features would imply, whileSuyama on the bottom Right looks much more mature than any of theothers because of his smaller eyes and more defined nose. As well ashis shaved hair and small eyebrows. He’s probably older than theothers and pretty level-headed. However, there’s something curious inhis expression. He’s not trying to stare you down like Izumi abovehim. He just seems curious as to why the audience is there.

However, that is not to say tattoos oraccessories can’t be an important part of a character’s entiredesign, but again, the question comes back to “how do these addedelements compliment my character’s personality” and not “whataccessories can make my character unique?”

Here we have Jack, from Mass Effect 2.

Her tattoos are a VERY obvious part ofher design, and if they weren’t there it’d harm her character designa LOT and change her complete look. She’d still be striking with herinsistence to walk around topless and her shaved head, but hertattoos are what we see first. But why does she have them?

Jack is an INCREDIBLY damaged characterin the game. Much like Kanji, she pushes people away and tries tokeep everyone at a distance. However, unlike Kanji who uses his looksas a shield, Jack embraces her look as she feels it’s a reflection ofherself. She sees herself as a tough bitch no-one should mess with,and she projects that. She’s lived a life of abuse, betrayal andviolence, and so she’s developed defences to literally keep herselfalive. In a world of gangsters, casual murder, rape and peoplethrowing their partners to the wolves, Jack has decided her only wayto survive is to be king dick of shit mountain. And so her tattoosand accessories are a way to broadcast that she’s, essentially,completely fucked up. She’ll stab you without a second thought andshe wants you to know that. They’re also a “fuck you” to normalsociety. Jack believes most people are full of shit, but the peoplewho fit in with society and act all nice are the scariest and mostdangerous of all. She sees them as even lower than the criminals shesurrounds herself with, because they “pretend” to be good peoplewhen really they’re just hypocrites who’d eat each other alive. SoJack also uses her tattoos and accessories to mark herself asrejecting “normal life”.

In mass Effect 3, her design haschanged. She still has her tattoos, but her overall look hassoftened.

She’s growing out her hair (at least toan extent. She’s not gonna go full housewife on you) and she dressesmore modestly. However, she does so while still exposing a lot of hertattoos, and her jacket is leather and studded. But since she’strying to take steps to be a better person, deal with her pasttraumas and connect with other people, her design is less like she’sa psycho murderer, and more like she’s a hardcore punk you couldbelieve yourself seeing in the real world.

Her tattoos and overall design allspawn from her internal thoughts, feelings and personality, and sochange according to it. Her tattoos do set her apart from the otherfemale characters in the game, but they are dictated by how she iswritten, not the other way around.

And THEN…. you have Tidus…

I’m sorry people who like this game andthis character but… Tidus’ character design is a mess.

All that there appears to BE to Tidus’design is accessories. And yet not a single one of them seems toreally tell us anything about him other than “this is a FinalFantasy main Character.” And yes, you can probably apply that tonot only a lot of characters in FFX but in Final Fantasy as a whole(Zidane isn’t much better in his design. And FF9 is my favourite!)But at least with the other characters in FFX they give us SOMEinsight…. kinda. Yuna looks very traditional and demure. Rikkulooks like a bubbly almost Ganguro style girl. Auron looksno-nonsense and almost like a samurai. Lulu looks like a darkbrooding goth girl. But what does Tidus’ design tell us other thanhe’s a main character in a JRPG?

He has pants that… don’t have thesame length to them. Why? Is there any reason? Does it tell usanything about his personality? He’s got that cropped jacket. He’sgot big clunky shoes. He’s got finger-less gloves which is probablythe closest to making sense since he’s an athlete and they look likesport equipment. But honestly, if you undressed him, took off all hisaccessories and took away his blitzball… how would you know thischaracter is Tidus? The designs of FFX are a little too photorealistic to be recognisable on style alone. And Tidus has no designdetails about him that make me think that he is Tidus. (Spoonyfamously pointed out that he basically looks like Meg Ryan) He’s ablonde dude and erm… that’s it?

So Tidus’ design relies COMPLETELY onaccessories to make him stand out and recogniseable.

And THAT is bad character design.Regardless of the fact that his accessories make little to no sensein any way shape or form for what we DO know about his character(He’s an underwater athlete but wears heavy clunky clothes. He broodsaout his father but his clothes are yellow and sunny), his clothesare the only thing that makes him recognisable as himself. And thefact is that Tidus, really, doesn’t have any personality. He’s “JRPGProtag” personality. He’s upbeat for the most part, angsty when theplot calls for it, has a tragic back story tm which doesn’t seem toaffect him in any real way outside of complaining about his fathernow and then, and he’s in love with Yuna. And these, honestly, wouldall be ok. Because he’s the main character in a video game and we’resuppose to project ourselves onto him. The problem is that even MainCharacters in other JRPGs that we’re suppose to project ourselvesonto have SOME kind of logic or unifying factor to their design.

Yuu from Persona 4′s hair is silver and straight cut, his eyes aresilver and he generally wears very monochromatic outfits, usuallyleaning to white and grey. He doesn’t clutter his outfit with manyaccessories, and what he does wear seem mainly to be practical (likea wristwatch). Persona 3’s main character looks COMPLETELY different.His dark blue choppy hair covers his face, he always carries hisheadphones with him (and he prefers those weird clip-on headphones). He’s obviouslymore casual and laid back, but with a slight rock vibe to him.

So back to Tidus… what exactly unifies his design? What does it tell us about his role in the story and personality? (Since unlike Yuu and the Persona MC, Tidus has a personality outside of his player proxy status) If he removed hisaccessories would he still be recognisable? If we kept his designexactly the way it is but gave him Luffy from One Piece’spersonality, would his design have to change? If we gave him a completely different outfit that looked nothing like his canon one in any way at all, would it even matter?

(btw this is not Tidus. This is Vaan from FF Tactics A2)

The only time we could say we’d need tochange his design is if we went in a hard opposite direction. Like ifwe wanted to make him a broody edgelord we’d probably not have asmuch yellow in his design…. even though he IS broody and angsty inthe game??? Does the bright yellow and blonde hair really scream“existential crises with daddy issues” to anyone???

ugh. What a mess.

So, as a VERY long winded answer;characters don’t have to have tattoos or accessories to have gooddesigns. Nor do tattoos and accessories make designs bad. What makesa design bad is if you are using tattoos and accessories as a crutchbecause you cannot find a way to project your character’s personalityin how they look, in which case you may need to look into what yourcharacter’s personality actually IS. And then examine how you cantake that personality and apply it to their physical appearance andlook. Not just in what they wear and how their hair is styled, butalso in their face, body, posture and expressions. What kind ofcolours would suit their personality best? What about theirbackground or situation would dictate how they look or what theywear? What kind of person are they?

And then, FINALLY, you can askyourself; Do I need a tattoo or an accessory or piercing to enhancewhat I have already put into the design?

Because in the end that’s what tattoosand accessories should be: an enhancement of the character that’salready there. Because THAT’S what’s gonna make your characterinteresting and special. Who they are, what their situation is, wherethey’re from, where they’re going and what are their goals. What aretheir quirks, their likes, their dislikes, their hang-ups, theirstrengths, their fears, their hopes.

A character’s design is how an artistintroduces a character to the audience and what kind of person theyare without having to explain it with words. It gives us a startingpoint to get to know them and what kind of story they are here totell.

If you want to expand on your characterdesigns and not rely on things like tattoos and accessories, Isuggest looking up different character designs and look at how theirfaces and bodies are drawn. If you can find them in different outfitsthat’s a big help too! Look up tutorials on things like facialstructure. Look at your favourite animated movies and take note ofhow the different characters’ faces, bodies and especially their bodylanguage are done. Look at the way they stand, the kind ofexpressions they tend to pull, what the structure of their face islike, how they tend to move, how they stand perfectly still. Whatshapes are used in their designs. What the art style looks like. AndI would also suggest not using too much modern anime for referenceexcept those that have a very distinct look to their characters. Alot of modern anime use exactly the same designs for theircharacters, relying on hair colour and clothes to make them standout. (which is again, poor design)

Honestly a very GOOD anime to look atis Osomatsu-San. All 6 man characters are identical. However you canimmediately tell who is who based purely on their expressions andbody language as well as very small minute details. So even when theyall wear the same outfit, it’s extremely easy to tell who is who.

Anyway… I hope that at least KIND OFanswers your question? Maybe? I’m sorry this is so long but in thiscase I feel the best way to learn is simply through analysingcharacters with GOOD designs and really looking into why they work.And compare them with bad designs and see why the bad designs do NOTwork. Because I don’t think your problem is that you “need”tattoos and accessories to make your characters interesting. I thinkyour problem is you have discovered a weakness in your art skills,and you want to improve upon it. But you’re unsure how, and you feelmaybe tattoos and accessories could be an answer. I feel, however,it’s merely a bandaid. Where it may make it seem a little better, butit doesn’t actually fix the underlying issue.

Just keep at it. Study the kind ofdesigns you like, adapt the parts you are drawn to in your own work,and over time, if you keep at it, your designs will naturally improveto where tattoos and accessories will no longer seem as big anecessity as you feel they are now :) you can still use them as muchas you want, but it will be to strengthen your design, not hold itup.

And I’m really gonna stop typing nowbecause this is insanely long.

[oh-little-owl]

a lotta facts

I was tagged by @sofuckingchuffed and @barbaesparza! Thanks y’all :) 

Gonna save your dash and put it under the cut. Reminds me of ye olden myspace days.

RULES: you must answer this 92 statements and tag 20 people.

THE LAST:

1. Drink: coffee

2. Phone call: student loans, as soon as they opened this morning, hoo boy!

3. Text Message: a college friend

4. Song you listened to: Future Islands - Through The Roses

5. Time you cried: Friday -- saying goodbye to family after vacation

6. Dated someone twice: if this is like “breaking up and getting back together” then i left that stuff in college. 

7. Kissed someone and regretted it: eh. no real regrets.

8. Been cheated on: not that I’ve been aware of.

9. Lost someone special: grandfather.

10. Been depressed: it comes and goes.

11. Gotten drunk and throwing up: my husband’s birthday party a few years ago. it was memorable enough that i haven’t done it again.

LIST THREE FAVORITE COLORS:

12. blue

13. brown

14. green

IN THE LAST YEAR, HAVE YOU:

15. Made new friends: yep

16. Fallen out of love: nope

17. Laughed until you cried: lots

18. Found out someone was talking about you: i find with age it matters a whole lot less

19. Met someone who changed you: um, maybe in small ways. nothing major as far as i can tell.

20. Found out who your friends are: I’ve had a pretty good idea

21. Kissed someone on your facebooklist: these questions are boring when you’re married haha

GENERAL:

22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: most of them.

23. Do you have any pets: two bebe cats

24. Do you want to change your name: nope! didn’t even change it when i got married. 25. What did you do for your last birthday: low key family stuff. I’m not a huge party person.

26. What time did you wake up: during the work-year: 6am. summers are more like 8ish.

27: What were you doing at midnight last night: writing :3

28. Name something you can’t wait for: SVU19/Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt s4

29. When was the last time you saw your mom: Saturday

30. Favourite food: So many...but I’ll go with my top “this would be my last meal” choice which is tacos al pastor from this little mexican place in my college town.

31. What are you listening to right now: Noname Tiny Desk concert (for the thousandth time already, and it’s only a 15 minute set good lord)

32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Yes. A few even. 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: general anxiety

34. Most visited website: Tumblr definitely.

35. Background: Lock screen is a Barba collage, Wallpaper is art from the game Firewatch; desktop background is Poldark <3

36. What are you wearing right now: loungey-but-appropriate-to-leave-the-house clothes

37: Hobby: not as many as I’d like. writing, video games, sometimes messing around with perler beads 

38: Hair color: brown

39. Long or short hair: medium

40. Do you have a crush on someone: aw, husband. and i mean tons of actors but that’s only fair.

41. What do you like about yourself: i already did this! 

42. Piercings: ears

43. Blood type: who knows

44. Nickname: none, i mean aside from “hey you” 

45. Relationship status: married

46. Zodiac: Virgo

47. Pronouns: she/her

48. Favorite TV show: ahh. too many! 30 Rock/Parks and Rec/UKS/SVU/Girls/Silicon Valley to name a few. 

49. Tattoos: none yet. plans some day for a virgo constellation and a meaningful lyric.

50. Right or left-handed: right

51. Surgery: eyes! twice! as a kid! left me with a permanent paranoia of things coming near my eyes.

52. Scent: favorite? fresh bread baking.

53. Sport: baseball. let’s go O’s!

54. Vacation: favorite? road trips to find random roadside retro stuff with my husband.

MORE GENERAL:

57. Eating: had some bread for breakfast that my cat tried to share with me :|

58. Drinking: coffee

59. I’m about to: do something productive for sure. definitely. it’s gonna happen.

61. Waiting for: dnd tonight

62. Want: bills to be paid

63. Get married: that happened!

64. Career: in the words of leslie knope - “punk ass book jockey”

WHICH IS BETTER:

65. Hug or kisses: Hugs

66. Lips or eyes: Eyes

67. Shorter or taller: no biggie. my husband is the teeniest bit taller than me and i think that’s perfect.

68. Older or younger: gonna agree -- context is needed.

69. Children or no children: not really sure. i like kiddos in theory, but I am literally also this person when they are given to me:

70. Nice arms or nice stomach: all bout arms

72. Hook up or relationship: relationship

73. Troublemaker or hesitant: hesitant

HAVE YOU EVER:

74. Kissed a stranger: I guess if I really think about it, yes

75. Drank hard liquor: Yes.

76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: yes 

77. Turned someone down: yes

78. Sex on the first date: no

79. Broken someone’s heart: maybe. i feel like that’s giving me and former relationships a lot of credit though. 

80. Had your heart broken: yes

81. Been arrested: never

82. Cried when someone died: yes, but much later. i process things at a glacial pace.

83. Fallen for a friend: yes

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

84. Yourself: sure

85. Miracles: yes (I’m not religious, but a tow truck driver who introduced himself as J.C. popped a lock for us all stuck outside a car on christmas eve, so. that’s the one miracle I count).

86. Love at first sight: no. i got butterflies when i saw my husband for the first time, but that wasn’t love. love is something you build.

87. Santa Claus: the spirit of the thing 

88. Kiss on the first date: if it happens

89. Angels: eh.

OTHER:

90. Current best friend’s name: i’m lucky to have a couple i’d consider best friends!

91. Eye color: brown

92. Favorite movie: gosh. too many, again. Lost in Translation/Philadelphia Story/Adventureland/The Shining/Rear Window to name a few.

made it through! Honestly I don’t know 20 individuals that haven’t already been tagged... I’ve only recently been more social on this here blog so... as usual I will cop out. If ya wanna write 92 facts about yourself, go for it.

[saving-people-shipping-things]

Falling Around You: Part 1

Title: Falling Around You

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Summary: Sam pines away for the reader in secret, but when she loses all memory of hunting and monsters, he’s forced to rethink how to approach his feelings.

Theme song: “Over You” by Ingrid Michaelson

Word count: 4,159

A/N: What is it with me and one shots that turn into series??? Anyways, this is my first Sam series, and I have to give a huge shoutout to my beta @idjitmonkey​ for helping me to avoid Sam sounding like Dean (#DeanGirlProblems). This is the first part of what will probably be a 3 or 4 part series for @impala-dreamer​ and @idreamofhazel​ ‘s Sam fic challenge. My prompt is the quote “We are far from perfect, but we are good.” I haven’t used it yet, but trust me, it’ll be used later. Let me know if you want to be tagged for future parts!

Sam smelled it first. The smoke. The charred flesh. The smoldering fabric. It was an all too familiar smell, a scent no one should have to be familiar with. But the scent came first, and with it, the memories tattooed in his brain, permanent and infecting his body with a poisonous ink.

Next came the realization. It’s happening again. Sam’s heart flew into his throat as tendrils of gray curled from underneath the door to the next room. He kicked the door open and the blaze towered over him in an arc like a tidal wave, but even through the flickering forest of scorching flames, he saw clearly who this time was pinned to the ceiling.

You.

Your mouth hung open in a silent scream, eyes wide and panicked but long since dead. Sam called out your name, lungs bursting in his chest with the force of his shout, but he made no sound.

Sam woke up to sheets soaked with his sweat.

It had been the same nightmare for one-hundred and sixty-four days.

#

Constant nightmares meant Sam was constantly the first one up and about in the mornings. Interrupted sleep with the image of you on the ceiling burned on the inside of his eyelids was hell for his concentration most days, but it was great for making sure he got an early start. The sun had barely risen and he was already back from his run, panting and dripping with sweat. He guzzled a bottle of water as Dean shuffled into the room in his bathrobe.

Dean grimaced at his younger brother and put on a pot of coffee. “Dude, you stink.”

Sam shrugged. “At least I take care of my body.”

Withdrawing the remainder of the doughnut Dean had just shoved in his mouth, he spoke around the food. “Wha’ oo you mean?”

“Never mind.”

You wandered in, letting out a loud and dramatic yawn as you blinked and stretched. Your hair was in total disarray thanks to your chronic case of behead, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh and give it a playful tug when you passed.

“What was that for?” You slapped his hand away.

Sam took his toast to the table. “Nothing. How did you sleep last night?”

“Like a rock.”

Sam watched you move around the kitchen in a rhythm unique to you. It was the same routine every morning, without fail. Half-asleep, you’d pull out a mug for your coffee, then poke your head into the fridge for something to eat. Then you’d realize you forgot to pour any coffee and abandon the fridge without closing it. After pouring your coffee, you’d remember you forgot to close the fridge and do that. But then you’d open it right back up again because you forgot to grab the creamer while it was open.

And every morning, Sam would smile at you from the table when you weren’t looking. The day didn’t really start until you’d bustled around the kitchen to get yourself some breakfast.

“I stayed up way too late last night binging ‘Sherlock,’” you continued, joining Sam and Dean at the table with a cup of coffee and a container of mango yogurt. “But, you know, once you watch a season finale you have to see the episode of the next season.”

“I’m familiar with that torture,” Sam said. “I had to wait over two years to watch the next episode, though. You’re lucky you have Netflix.”

Your eyes got wide and round over the rim of your mug. They matched the light brown, creamy color of your coffee, accentuated by the thick black eyelashes. “You’re kidding.”

Sam shook his head. “Nope. It was a long hiatus.”

Dean snorted from his end of the table. “Dork.”

“Hey,” both Sam and you protested simultaneously.

“You’re just jealous because you’re missing out on all the ‘Sherlock’ fun,” you pointed out. “We all know you’re the biggest dork here.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s right, Dean.” Sam balled up his napkin and took it along with your empty yogurt container to throw out. “It may be a different kind of dorkiness, but it still counts. Who stayed up all night to finish a ‘Dr. Sexy’ marathon last month?”

“That’s different. ‘Dr. Sexy’ is an art form.”

“If you say so.” You stood up to wash your mug. “But anyways. I found ourselves a case.”

That caught the brothers’ attention, pulling them away from their relentless teasing of each other.

“What?” Dean said, as Sam said, “Where?”

You answered both of their questions. “Some small town in South Dakota, not sure what. But people are literally losing their minds from whatever it is. Total memory loss for no reason other than they went into this ‘haunted house’ on a dare. One day they’re fine, the next they don’t even recognize their own families. It’s near Sioux Falls, so I thought we could stop by and say hey to Bobby on the way back.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m gonna go change.” Dean stood up from the table, gesturing to Sam, but speaking to you. “Make that man take a shower before small animals start passing out when he walks by them.”

You snorted, then called after him as he walked away. “Why would you think I’d have any control over him? He’s a grown man.”

“I don’t know, bat your eyes or something.”

Sam muttered, “Jerk,” under his breath, trying to play it cool even as heat rose to his feet.”

“So,” you said once Dean had left and leaned against the counter in what was probably supposed to be a seductive way, but coming from you came across more like a toddler playing dress up in her mom’s heels. You had no clue what you were doing, and it was absolutely adorable. “Do I need to bat my eyes at you or are you going to shower? Cause I hate to side with Dean on, well, anything, but you do stink, and there’s no way in hell I’m getting in a car with you for seven hours like this.”

“Like you said, I’m a grown man.” Sam tugged at your hair again, earning himself another slap from you. “I’ll take a shower.”

“Thank you, kind sir. Now we can all save those poor, innocent forest creatures Dean is so worried about.”

“Those bastards,” Sam said with a twinkle in his eye, because he knew as soon as he said it, you’d be doubled over with laughter, and your laugh was one of those rare things that couldn’t be manufactured but made the sun wonder how you were able to outshine it.

It was a simple phrase, but held enough meaning between you two, it was like a secret code. After your first hunt together, you’d hit it off so well, you decided to catch a movie nearby. But of course, no movie was complete without smuggled snacks. Into CVS you went, and while Sam opted for the healthier choice of trail mix of which you later picked out all the M&M’s, you went straight for the candy bars and other junk foods.

“They don’t have my favorite chips!” You’d gasped, clutching a Snickers bar in each hand.

Something about your utterly indignant face as you stared in horror at the shelves made Sam grin wider than he’d ever had. “Those bastards,” he replied, without missing a beat.

You’d turned to him, the serious look still etched upon your face, then folded over on yourself, wheezing for breath as you laughed. Maybe it had been the hunting high you were both still coming off of, maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe something else entirely. But something had changed then. Maybe just for Sam, but it had still undoubtedly changed.

“Hey, Sam?” You said before Sam could leave the room completely.

Sam poked his head back in the kitchen. “Yeah?”

You fidgeted with the ends of your frizzy hair. “Did you sleep okay last night?”

Sam stiffened. He leaned against the doorway so you wouldn’t notice. “Yeah. Fine. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing.” You sighed and turned away. “I thought I heard someone calling out in the middle of the night, but maybe I was just dreaming.”

“Maybe,” Sam said, and left before you could ask any more questions.

#

You were making excellent time up until the last hour when the skies broke open over you and pelted the road with glittering glass shards of raindrops. It was an angry, punk rock sort of rain that obscured your vision and made it impossible to do anything but crawl to the nearest exit.

“We’ll stay with Bobby tonight,” Dean said as he pulled off down a quieter road, away from most of the traffic. “I’m sure he won’t mind. We can do some research there and head out again tomorrow.”

Bobby did mind, very much, as he was wrapping up a date none of you had known about when you arrived, soaking wet, your shoes more mud than they were shoes. After Bobby had bid the woman farewell, Dean proceeded to tease him for a straight half hour. Sam just shook his head at his brother and thanked Bobby for letting them crash, then headed to the kitchen to get a head start on the research.

You joined him soon afterward, but Sam only caught you in his peripherals as he really dissected the articles depicting the recent memory loss victims. You dug around in the cupboards, shamelessly raiding Bobby’s stash of food.

“Bobby!” You called out. “You really need to keep actual food in your kitchen, not just whiskey and cans of beans.”

“I do have real food,” the grizzled, grumpy man grumbled. He and Dean came in, distracting Sam for the time being. “I wasn’t expecting company, that’s all.”

“Yeah, only the company of your lady friend.” Dean smirked.

“Shut up, ya idjit,” Bobby muttered.

At some point, things quieted down. You found a Snickers bar at the bottom of your hunting bag, rectifying the food situation, and Dean helped Sam research for five minutes before faking a yawn and calling it a night. Sam continued to scroll through articles and Facebook posts on his laptop.

The thunk of a mug being set down on the table jerked Sam out of his trance.

“You need some caffeine if you’re going to keep this up for much longer,” you said. Your hands were wrapped around a steaming mug of your own. “You look exhausted.”

“Thanks. Restless night last night,” Sam said without thinking. He stifled a yawn on the back of his hand.

Your eyebrows knitted together. “I thought you said you slept fine.”

Sam’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. “I did. I just meant—”

He broke off. There wasn’t a good enough lie within his grasp for him to use, so he grabbed the mug instead. It was hot, much more than usual. “Did you warm the mug first?”

A smile tugged your lips at the corners, barely. “Yeah. You always get so focused on your research, you know, sometimes your drink gets cold. I figured the coffee would take longer to cool down this way.”

It was just a normal, unsweetened, generic cup of coffee in a chipped mug worn from one too many times through the dishwasher. And Sam loved it.

“Thank you.” He picked it up and held it to his chest as you sat down next to him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked. “I mean, I know hunters always have bags under their eyes, but yours have seemed a little darker than usual lately.”

Sam sighed. He wasn’t able to keep things from you, most of the time. Just the most important bits, the ones that would condemn him in ways that would change your relationship permanently, for better or for worse. “It’s been a rough few nights. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Nightmares?” You ventured.

Sam nodded.

“I get them, too. Sometimes I see them at night, my family. And it feels—so real.” You took a shuddering breath, staring at the wall. You looked paler than usual. “But then I wake up and they’re gone. I can’t always decide what’s worse: having them there, covered in blood in my dreams or having them—just gone.”

Sam knew you were thinking about them—your parents and younger brother. And he knew just how you felt, down to the “it’s all my fault” face you got when you thought he wasn’t looking. But he couldn’t reach out or do more than say, “It sucks, doesn’t it?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Really screws with my beauty sleep.” You cracked a sideways smile at him. “And you could definitely use more of that.”

Sam rolled his eyes, snorting. “Thanks.”

“I’m just saying, a little facial cream does wonders—”

“I get the picture.”

You squeezed Sam’s shoulder, and an electric jolt ran through him, like a little shock, though he knew he’d imagined it. “Don’t stay up too late tonight, ‘kay? We can always do more research on the road.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

You shrugged and put your mug in the sink. “I can’t help it.”

Sam tried not to watch you leave, but he couldn’t resist a glance your way as you disappeared around the corner.

Bobby watched you, too. Or rather, watched Sam watch you.

“What?” Sam said, too defensively as he opened another tab on his laptop.

“She’s sweet on you,” Bobby said softly.

Sam snorted again, but there was no humor behind this one. This was all self-deprecation. “No she’s not.”

Bobby’s stern look was one Sam was well acquainted with. It was often paired with a grumbled “idjit.” “Boy, I’ve been around the bend a few times too many to know that that girl has more than just friendly concern for you. Believe me.”

“You’re crazy, Bobby.” Sam didn’t look up from his laptop when he spoke.

“Don’t you go calling me crazy in my own home. You boys just can’t realize when something good’s right in front of you, can you?”

Sam didn’t resume his typing until he could no longer hear Bobby’s heavy footfalls. When he went back to his Google searching, he found he couldn’t focus any better with the room empty, save for Bobby’s words echoing in Sam’s head, than he could with it full of people.

Sam picked up his coffee mug, realizing he hadn’t even sipped at it, and took a drink. Still warm. He smiled down at the contents in spite of the remnants of his nightmares flashing in front of his eyes.

Maybe if he told himself enough that he was fine. Maybe if he did, he could get over this. Get over you.

#

You made a big show of grumbling your discontent as you got out of the Impala to ask directions at the gas station, but Dean insisted on sending you inside. As soon as the door had slammed shut and you started to walk away, Dean whipped around to face you.

“What’s this I hear about you and Y/N?” He demanded, all business.

Sam threw his hands up in defense. “Whoa. What’s what about what?”

“You know what. Just answer the question.”

“How am I supposed to answer a question when I don’t even know the question?”

Dean sighed and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Bobby told me last night that you and Y/N have a thing going.”

Sam laughed. Loudly. Too forcefully. “There’s no thing.”

“B.S., Sam. Bobby seemed pretty sure of himself.”

“Bobby’s crazy.”

Dean shook his head. “He said you’d say that.”

“Seriously, Dean—it was a silly crush, okay? Like ages ago. But I’m over it now, it’s no big deal. And Y/N doesn’t know it ever happened, so let’s keep it that way.”

Dean set his jaw and squinted his green eyes at Sam for a long time, but you reemerged before he could interrogate is brother further. “Okay.”

You slid into the backseat. “Yeah, just like your phone said, Dean. Straight ahead. I’m not sure why you don’t trust GPS. Everyone uses it.”

“Because I swear one day, these machines will rise up against us,” Dean said as he started the Impala up again.

“You sound like my grandfather.”

“Maybe he had a point.”

Sam tuned out your bickering and leaned his head against the window, resisting the urge to doze. He couldn’t risk another nightmare with you and Dean in the car. Not when he already spent half the night last night tossing and turning.

Your face, framed by the flames, flashed in front of him again. Sam sat up straighter, pinching his forearm. As much as he hated the reminders from his subconscious, the reminders were necessary.

So many names. Too many gravestones. He would not add yours to the growing list.

#

You all reached the old, abandoned house, and you reached up to tie your thick hair back. But, of course, it didn’t work the way you’d planned.

“Shoot,” you muttered. “I always forget—”

“—your damn hair tie?” Sam finished for you, pulling one out of his pocket.

You laughed and accepted it, tying your hair into a ponytail. “You’re a lifesaver. Honestly.”

“I try.”

“When you two are done flirting, we’ve got a haunted house to inspect,” Dean said as he passed, earning him a less than kind hand gesture from Sam when you weren’t looking.

The house was a total cliché, something straight out of a cheesy horror flick. It was dusty and over a hundred years old and had floorboards that creaked louder than a clap of thunder if you so much as breathed too loudly.

“Nice digs,” you said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “I’m sure there’s something here that’s causing the memory loss.”

“Let’s hope.” Dean shone his flashlight around the bottom floor. “Otherwise we’ve got to figure out where else these people could have been attacked.”

“I’ll take the upstairs,” Sam offered. He gripped his knife tighter as he looked at the rickety staircase.

You batted a cluster of cobwebs away from your hair. “I’ll join you. Might be nicer than down here.”

“Doubt it,” Dean said, but you and Sam went upstairs anyways.

Dean was right. The upstairs wasn’t much better, but it creaked less, and it allowed for you and Sam to be in the same space without Dean or Bobby potentially causing problems. Sam found that for as often as you made him fight for breath, it was also easier to breathe around you. Something as simple as your presence stilled him. It was a rare and beautiful thing to find a soul that could calm another.

“What?” You said, startling Sam.

“What?” Sam echoed.

“You were staring at me. Something in my teeth?”

Sam cleared his throat and pretended to be rifling through an ancient wardrobe. “No. Sorry. Just zoning.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t sleep last night.”

“Did you?” Sam countered. “I heard someone up at four getting water.”

“You had to be awake to hear me.”

“Touché.”

You ran your hand along the top of a desk, shuffling a few papers out of the way as you did so. “So if you were awake—” You broke off, and Sam followed your gaze to the fireplace. On top of the hearth was a glittering object, some sort of crown. “Whoa, fancy.”

“Y/N, I wouldn’t—” Sam started, darting forward.

But you’d already touched it. You shrieked as a bolt of something electric audibly crackled, blasting you backward into the wall. Sam fell beside you when you crumpled. Your eyelids fluttered, thick lashes twitching with them. Sam felt for your pulse. It still beat in a steady rhythm, if not more rapidly. Dean could be heard storming up the stairs, calling both of your names, but Sam didn’t answer him.

“Y/N?” He said, holding your face in both of his hands. He tried not to think about how it fit perfectly, a puzzle piece falling into place. “Y/N, can you hear me?”

The door slammed against the wall as Dean burst in. Plaster fell like snow from the hole in the wall thanks to the doorknob smashing into it.

“What the hell happened?” Dean panted. “Y/N? Is she—”

You groaned in response, reaching out to Sam like he was a raft in the middle of a stormy sea. Your eyes were unfocused, breathing more shallow. “Sam?” You mumbled. “Something—ungh, I feel sick . . .”

“Hey, hey, hey.” You tried to stand, but your legs wouldn’t hold your weight. Sam caught you before you could hit the floor again. It was a good thing you weighed close to nothing, or at least it seemed that way to Sam.

Dean stepped out of Sam’s way, watching as he lifted you into his arms. “Get her to the car. What happened?”

Sam jerked his head toward the crown. “Touched that. Careful, I think that’s the source of our problems.”

Dean shook out a cloth from his pocket as Sam took you from the room. A minute later, Dean slid into the front seat of the Impala and glanced back at Sam inspecting your head.

“Definitely cursed,” Dean confirmed. His lips were set in a grim line. “How’s her memory?”

“Haven’t gotten that far yet.” Sam leaned back and waved his hand in front of your eyes to get your attention. “Hey, can you tell me your name?”

“Sure, I can. It’s Y/N Y/L/N,” you said, and though your speech was slurred, Sam couldn’t find any other reason to worry.

“And where are we?”

“Near Sioux Falls. South Dakota. We’re staying with Bobby.”

“What just happened?”

“I touched that.” You pointed to the crown wrapped in Dean’s cloth. “And everything went dizzy.”

“I think she’s okay,” Dean said. Both his and Sam’s faces were uncertain, but there was nothing more they could do. “We’ll keep an eye on her, just to be sure.”

“Sam?” You said again, and to Sam’s surprise you scooted closer across the seat and curled into him. You must have been tired. “Can we get food? Real food? Greasy food? I’m hungry.”

Sam’s stomach churned at the thought of another diner meal where the closest thing to a vegetable was corn, but he couldn’t resist you. Never was able to. Especially now, when your head resting against his shoulder, when your messy ponytail draped over his arm, when your eyes were half-shut and vulnerable.

Over you. He was so over you. Over your laugh and your smile and your wit and your everything.

“Sure,” Sam said. “Anywhere you want.”

#

You gasped from across the booth at the menu, startling Dean, who sat next to you, but Sam just glanced up from his own menu. He had a guess as to what you’d say.

“Sam!” You said in indignation. “They don’t have any cheese dip!”

“Those bastards,” he laughed, which made you laugh despite the grievous offense of leaving out cheese dip as a menu item.

Dean shook his head at both of you. “I stand by my original ‘dorks’ statement.”

You hit him with your menu.

Somehow, you all managed to find something worth eating even without the cheese dip, and an hour later you strode back to the Impala, full of food and laughing at each other’s jokes.

Then, without warning, you collapsed again.

This time Sam wasn’t able to catch you, but he did help you off the asphalt, wincing on behalf of your skinned knees.

“You okay?” Dean went to your other side, helping you to sit down in the backseat.

You blinked a few times, then smiled up at the both of them. “I feel fine, why?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.

“You just fell down over there,” Sam said. “Can you—are you still remembering things okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just go through the questions again.” Dean left Sam to go to the driver’s seat and get the engine going.

Sam crouched down to get on your level. “Where are we?”

“A diner?” You said, as if it were totally obvious. Your forehead had confused crinkles in it.

“Okay, good, and where are we going?”

“Back to Sioux Falls, I assume.”

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N Singer.”

Sam was about to stand up, satisfied with your answers, but your last one made him pause. “What did you say?”

“Y/N Singer,” you repeated. The crinkles in your forehead were deeper. “Why are you questioning me? I just scraped my knees. I’m fine.”

“Dean,” Sam said in warning, but Dean had already twisted around in his seat.

“I heard her,” he said, his face clouding over. “Let’s get her to Bobby’s quick.”

“You guys are acting weird. Weirder than usual,” you said as you all drove back to Sioux Falls.

Dean grunted, but didn’t say anything for the remainder of the drive. Neither did you. Neither did Sam.

Part 2

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Anne

Ah, here we are at Anne. One of the more interesting, unique episodes of Buffy, and possibly a backdoor pilot for Angel. Here we meet Los Angeles, and see what it’s like when Sunnydale is relying entirely on Willow and Xander the Vampire Slayers. 1. How badass is Willow in the opening scene? Sure, it doesn’t last long, but she’s learned Buffy and Cordy’s snark, at the very least. 2. I also love Oz throwing the stake after the vampire and it missing. And the vampire having once been on the gymnastics team. Though it kinda looks like being turned gets you at least red belt-level martial arts in addition to the strength, speed, appetite for hemoglobin, and evil. 3. Willow is urgent for Buffy to come home. Xander… seems less so. That makes sense - Buffy is Willow’s friend, while she is Xander’s person who wouldn’t fuck him. 4. Our first time seeing Buffy this season is a rather pretty image of her during the day on a beach. It is a dream, obviously, given all the not-burning-up and not-being-in-Hell that Angel’s doing, bt it’s still a lovely image. 5. That’s a shitty apartment in a shitty neighborhood, Buffy. On the other hand, you’re not being emotionally abused by your mother and Xander, so… step up, on the whole? 6. Why is Shirtless Swim Xander in the opening credits? Was Nicholas Brendon actually someone people wanted to see shirtless in 1999? 7. David Borneaz is still in the main credits. Way to spoil things, Joss. 8. Like five minutes into a new season and Buffy’s already being sexually assaulted. 9. “It’s nice. It’s nice and, uh, permanent.” I’ve been in a stable relationship for what’s approaching a decade now, and still wouldn’t consider getting a tattoo of my girlfriend’s name. It seems like a display of hubris likely to bring down curses from Heaven. 10. “Guest starring Kristine Sutherland.” Ugh. 11. “For God’s sake be careful.” Best advice ever, Giles. 12. “We try not to get killed. That’s part of our whole mission statement!” 13. Willow and Cordelia smile honestly around each other and that makes me happy. 14. Oz didn’t graduate. I… guess that serves the narrative nicely? 15. “Summer is over. Be somber.” Okay. 16. “If we can focus, keep discipline… and not have quite so many mysterious deaths… Sunnydale is going to rule!” And if the Slayer doesn’t come back, the town can blame 17. Principal Snyder and Joyce Summers for missing out on the playoffs again. 18. Is the spark gone for Xander and Cordy? Please tell me the spark’s gone for Xander and Cordy. 19. “Helen’s Kitchen.” Business Anne walks past in LA. I dig it. 20. Xander does, in fact, want Giles to give up. It would be sweet if it wasn’t Xander. 21. Buffy’s good deeds are coming back. That’s nice. 22. I… actually think Lily is an interesting character. 23. And now Buffy’s saved a very, very out of it guy and gotten herself hit by a car. Then run off full-tilt. And into some guy who’s creeping me out. 24. Ah, that line about growing up too fast and life being drained out is going to turn out to be literal, isn’t it? 25. I like the Bronze singer for this episode a lot. 26. Oh, Xander. Stop. Whatever you’re planning, stop. 27. You could talk to her, Joyce, if you hadn’t thrown her out of the house. 28. The last thing you did wasn’t fight, Joyce. It was throw her out of the house. 29. “Joyce, you musn’t blame yourself.” “I don’t. I blame you.” Giles is wrong here. Joyce absolutely should blame herself. She did, after all, throw Buffy out of the house. 30. “I feel like you’ve taken her away from me.” No, Joyce. You threw her out of the house. 31. Blood Donation Woman is in league with Evil. 32. Well, I was right. Now Ricky is old and has died from drinking drain cleaner. 33. Oh, look, it’s Creepy Preacher Man. There to prey on Lily. 34. And Buffy is breaking into the blood bank. “Candidate.” It’s all the “None”s on the form… people who won’t be missed. 35. “I don’t want trouble. I just want to be in a room, alone, with a chair and a fireplace, and a tea cozy. I don’t even know what a tea cozy is, but I want one. Instead, I keep getting trouble, which I am more than willing to share.” 36. “I’m doing this for Buffy’s sake.” Good thought, Cordy. 37. Willow is now bait. 38. Creepy preacher man’s creepy baptism. 39. “Oh, I just suck at undercover…” But you’re wonderfully fun to watch trying! 40. Under the evil pool portal is… a warehouse? 41. Ah, creepy preacher boy is a demon running a slave-worked demon factory that runs on Narnian time. 42. And he knocked Buffy out with a club. 43. Now Xander and Cordy are making out, because stress bonding is the foundation of their relationship. 44. … This demon slavery thing must have portals all over the world, to keep labor in place. Buffy might save more people in this episode than she does in any other where the existence of humanity isn’t at stake. 45. The axe the demon has… I’ve seen it in other stories. Probably just a reused prop, but it seems significant. 46. Yay Lily! Dead creepy preacher guy demon! 47. Or maybe now he’s dead. 48. “Hey. Can I… be Anne?” Overall: Wow, that was… really good, actually. Like, really good. Maybe the best episode the show’s had so far, which is saying something because it’s had some quite good ones. Good mystery, good horror, good drama. Lily/Anne is the most interesting one-off character the show’s introduced so far, Buffy’s scenes are actually heartwarming, and it hits basically all the emotional chords it’s going for. I’m heading for an episode I’m really not looking forward to next, so the reminder that Buffy is actually a great show is going to help a lot.