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old-hyper-super-clover · 4 years ago

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For the requests‚ what about a family trip to the beach with Purgatory Hall + the royals and MC? Like Simeon and Barbatos setting up a picnic table meanwhile MC and Luke play around in the sand searching for shiny or strange things to building a sand castle (everything also keeping Solomon and Diavolo far from the preparations for the picnic)‚ playing with water guns or swimming. And after eating maybe playing a match of volleyball sand, admiring the sunset till it's nigth time and before going back‚ playing with fireworks, do a little stargazing or something--

Feel free to ignore this and thanks in advance anyway~

FINALLY I've come to write something for this lovely request. It's packed with so many fun ideas that I kinda went overboard with it xD this means the story is so big I'll have to split it into two posts!

To Bisshitu: I wanted to thank you for your continuous support! I see you in my notifs a lot and I really appreciate it!! (ALSO I AM SO SORRY YOU'VE WAITED SO LONG I HOPE YOU WILL STILL ENJOY THIS CHAOS)

Literally just 13 idiots on a beach trip~

Part 1

MC was leaning against one of the walls in the giant entrance halls of the House of Lamentation. Standing next to them, Solomon handed MC an opened bag of spicy newt chips. "Want some?" He asked and MC gladly took a few while constantly watching the commotion that was going on in the rest of the hallway.

Who would've guessed that going on a vacation with the seven rulers of hell would involve the most panicked, loud and chaotic packing of bags to have ever existed?

Well, let's be real, MC did expect it, but maybe not to the degree that they were in amusement about now.

The oldest brother had called the others for a "luggage check" as he had been sceptical of his brothers' talents in packing reasonable items in an, likewise reasonable, amount of suitcases and bags.

And of course, the first one to show up had to present his luggage in the form of... nothing.

Yes, Beelzebub came up to Lucifer, only the remains of a sandwich in his hand (which didn't last longer than three more seconds), confused when Lucifer mustered him with an angered glance.

"Where's your luggage?" Lucifer asked, to which Beel only gave a shrug.

"We're going to the beach, right? Which means I'll only need my swimming trunks, and I wear those underneath my pants."

Now the confusion has wandered over to rest on Lucifer's face. "But... Won't you need clothes to change into, or at least pyjamas for the night?"

"Hm..." Beel scratched the back of his head while thinking about Lucifer's words. "Nah, I don't need those. I'm planning to stay at the beach all the time, so..." Then suddenly, he gasped as he remembered something. "Wait, I do have something else prepared to bring along!"

Beel reached into his pocket, and when he pulled out a hand-written list that unrolled itself, plonking onto the carpet and rolling all the way to Lucifer's feet, the avatar of Pride knew exactly what said list was going to be.

"There are a few food stands that I'd like to try out..." Beel announced, eyeing the paper. "First of all, there's one selling shaved ice, which I want to compare to the ice-cream from this other stand, but who's also selling parfaits of which I kind of want to try all twenty-five flavours... Also then there's of course-"

"Beel" Lucifer interrupted the avatar of Gluttony in a strict tone. "Go pack a proper bag."

"But-"

"Now."

Letting out a sigh, Lucifer watched as Beel left.

But little did he know, this had only been the beginning of the chaos...

Moments later, Lucifer has found himself explaining to Satan why taking 70 different books with him would be ridiculously much. Also Mammon had taken this opportunity to "lend" some of his brothers possessions, arguing that he "needed those for the beach". This had worked until his swift fingers touched Levi's limited edition Ruri-chan sunscreen.

So, as Lucifer was spam-calling Belphie to wake him up and finally have him start packing, a sudden argument could be heard from upstairs:

"... How dare you steal my precious Hana Ruri 'magical sun ray protective lotion for all blooming heroes of justice'?! This very sunscreen is an homage to the legendary beach episode where Azuki-tan got a sunburn and couldn't help Ruri-chan in the intense battle against the evil kelp-army that was threatening to overgrow the local reef-"

"OKAY OKAY, HERE'S YOUR STUPID CREAM NOW LEAVE ME ALONE"

"S-STUPID CREAM?!?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW PRECIOUS THIS ITEM IS TO A FAN LIKE-"

That was all Lucifer could understand as an awfully annoyed scream Mammon let out was drowning Levi's gibberish. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Lucifer knew this vacation was going to be one intense experience...

An hour later, the group found itself where this little story had started off. The Purgatory Hall crew had already arrived long ago, enjoying the chaos together with MC -- who, btw, had been the only one to pass Lucifer's vibe luggage check right away.

Slowly it felt like most of the brothers were ready to go, only Asmodeus was left in the judgemental glare of the avatar of Pride.

But Lucifer noticed they already were way behind the time they were supposed to meet Diavolo at his castle. So, to Asmo's luck, he let off of trying to see what's inside the pretty boy's suitcase and announced the group's departure.

In enthusiasm shared by almost everyone, they let out a big cheer:

"Off to the beach we go!"

Some of the demons had whined about wanting to visit the human world beach. But as those idiot boys literally couldn't be trusted to act responsibly (which is okay, we love them regardless), Diavolo offered to stay at the beach resort he created in the Devildom.

Looking over the endless ocean, surrounded by the equally large beach and glistening in an artificial sun's light, MC was wondering just how powerful the demon prince must be to have created all this. But they were left only little time to be in awe over the location, as their friends demanded their attention shortly after having arrived.

Without going into much detail -- the day was packed with lots and lots of fun. MC was running around the beach, playing and goofing around with their friends, only to take a collective rest and then go do something silly again. Only a few other demons were to be found at the resort, but those were some acquaintances of Diavolo's family, and the group seemed to have scared them off of the beach after, like, an hour or so. Hence, the whole beach served as their playground for whatever activity they wanted to do, until in the afternoon, most of them were about to collapse from exhaustion and hunger.

"That's right, we didn't really have a proper meal since coming here" Asmo noticed as several tummy grumbles undermined his statement.

"We DID bring a picnic basket..." Satan mumbled. "But some genius had to let Beel carry it."

The culprit gave an immediate pout. "I had to hurry, 'kay?!" Mammon huffed. "MC was already at the beach and I--" he stopped. "... U-uh... I mean..."

Gaining a round of sighs and shaking heads, his brothers however decided to let Mammon's... mammon-ness slide for once. Mostly because, approaching from the distance, Barbatos and Solomon were getting closer, their hands full with bags that seemed to be stuffed with food.

"Y-yoU BroUGhT S-nAcKs?!" Beelzebub was already on his feet running towards them but Barbatos' stare was actually enough to make him stop.

"Not before the dishes are prepared, Beelzebub" Barbatos explained calmly, but with this very weird hidden tone in his voice that gave everyone chills despite the scorching summer heat.

"We figured everyone must be starving by now, so Barbatos suggested we'd make a little picnic party with everyone" Solomon cheered, presenting the bags in his hands.

"That sounds lovely" Simeon could be heard among the general noise of approval. "Let me help you prepare everything, Barbatos."

The demon butler beamed him a smile, thanking the angel for his help.

Then, Solomon spoke up again, and every bit of joy vanished from all their faces: "Thank you, Simeon! With the three of us working together the food will be ready in no time!"

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

Barbatos was putting all kinds of spices into a bowl to create a delicious sauce. Right next to him, Simeon prepared mouth-watering sandwiches.

And behind their back, there was this chopping sound. Chop reaching their chop ears in an chop never- chop ending thread, over and chop over again...

Swallowing his tension, Simeon was fighting a frown. "He's only cutting the fruits..." He whispered. "You shouldn't be able to mess up a fruit salad..."

"I know" Barbatos mumbled back. "However I cannot fight this unease that urges me to check if he's really-" He was interrupted by a very unsettling "oops" coming from that certain sorcerer at the cutting board.

In honestly quicker than the blink of an eye Simeon and Barbatos were at Solomon's side, frantically scanning the table for whatever Solomon must've messed up. When all they found were slices of fruit that, well, might have been chopped a bit wonky, they gave Solomon a confused stare.

"I cut off too much of this poor Hellberry's pull" Solomon explained. "Oh well, I'll just cut around the stem and add it to the fruit salad like this."

Both Barbatos and Simeon couldn't help but stare for a moment longer, their brains not really comprehending NOT finding an abomination in Solomon's cooking.

"Can I help you two with anything?" The sorcerer then asked.

"U-uhm, no..." Simeon mumbled. "It's all fine, we just..."

"We wanted to see if there's anything we can help you with" Barbatos jumped in to continue.

"Thanks, but I'm fine. Actually I'm almost finished, so maybe I can help one of you afterw-"

"Nononononono...!" Simeon almost whined. "I-its fine! We're actually almost finished ourselves, so..."

Solomon looked back, raising an eyebrow. "Doesn't look like it to me..."

Suddenly, another voice joined the group.

"I agree! You two are likely just being humble again" Diavolo had walked up to their working station a moment ago, but neither of them seemed to have noticed in their stress. The prince continued: "That's why I decided to lend you a hand as well. This is a vacation for all of us, so I should not burden my loyal butler with all the work."

"That's a commendable attitude for royalty like yourself" Solomon cheered. "Well then, I think Simeon and Barbatos could use a hand."

Diavolo was already squeezing his quite broad body into the tiny cooking space, this certain over-excited sparkle in his eyes as he mustered the food.

Barbatos and Simeon on the other hand were exchanging glances, so immensely stressed that their thoughts were almost audible:

'Barbatos I don't think I can handle any more of this stress' Simeon stared.

'We shouldn't have let Solomon help in the first place, our kindness was foolish' Barbatos stared back.

'What do we do now Barbatos this is the only food we have left, they cannot ruin it'

Thankfully, the perfect butler was not planning to let their "help" threaten the food for any longer. "Young master, I highly appreciate that you thought of my well-being. Which is why I indeed have a request for you and Solomon."

Simeon almost barged in on a frightened impulse, but Barbatos continued before anyone could raise their voice. "There is dessert stored in our hotel's main storage. Would you be so kind and bring enough for our whole group?"

A little surprised, Diavolo agreed. He waited for Solomon to finish cutting the fruits, then they went off to the hotel.

Finally able to catch a breath, Simeon shot Barbatos a last glance. "That was easier than expected. Why didn't we let Solomon bring the desserts earlier?"

Back to mixing spices, Barbatos didn't look up at the question. "What desserts?" He simply asked.

"... Uhm..." Simeon was quite startled. "Are there... Are there no desserts in the storage room...?"

"Oh, I sure hope there are" Barbatos said. "Otherwise I will have some explaining to do..."

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

(To be continued...)

Find my summer event Masterlist and Rules for the requests here <3

#obey me #obey me shall we date #clover's om summer event #thx for requesting side character content #i love them and had fun writing them!#the second part will drop as soon as i finish it #i hope its fun #obey me lucifer #obey me beel #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me asmo #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon #obey me barbatos #obey me luke #obey me solomon

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interact-if · 4 years ago

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Day 6 of A/PI Heritage Month featured authors interview! Perceive Nines, me, yours truly!

Nines, author of Orthall Bay

A/PI Heritage Month Featured Author

[…]The name always stuck, regardless of how many foster families you fell under. It should be comforting that at least one aspect of you will always stay the same, but it’s a stark reminder of how isolated you are. A name with nothing to belong to, nothing to trace back to. Then again, you’ve managed to get this far just on your own.

In Orthall Bay, an in-development interactive fiction, you play as a young adult who grew up as an orphan. You have no knowledge about your parents, or any form of family. That is, until you get a phone call about a recently-passed man claiming to be your grandfather. Two things are certain when you arrive in the maritime town. One, Orthall Bay is seemingly idyllic. And two, there’s no such thing as perfect towns.

The question is, how deep does its roots go?

Author's Ko-fi

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: First of all, introduce us to your project! What is it about?

My current project is about you, an orphan, who moves to a fictional tourist town in California after being left as a beneficiary of your estranged late grandfather’s will. Orthall Bay is rich with supernatural myths and superstitious legends, and it has always thrived like that. Not long after your arrival, you start to notice that a lot of things about the seemingly arcadian town don't add up. At the center of it? You, and your equally estranged half-uncle.

Q2: If it’s not too spoilery, what are you most excited about your project?

Ooh, this is a bit tricky to answer! There’s so many things I’m looking forward to exploring with writing Orthall Bay, it’s hard to nitpick a few. Right now, I’m excited about building characters with depth that people would both be able to criticize and appreciate. It’s an easy choice to write characters you know your audience is coded to love and/or admire, but I want to explore the opportunities with character development depth that interactive fiction brings. Who knows, maybe I’m thinking of allowing my characters to go down the paths less taken.

Q3: What inspired the current project you’re working on?

Ah, man, I just know my October 2020 self is burying their head under a pillow right now. The idea for Orthall Bay was actually a mosaic of lines from fics of various fandoms, but what really set off the lightbulb was a line from a Teen Wolf fic. It’s very telling of the direction I want to take this project, so I won’t write it down, but I am going to leave a tiny crumb. One word: widdershins.

Q4: Do you pull from your own identity for inspiration? How has that been reflected in your work?

Orthall Bay is set in California which houses a sizable Asian-Pacific Islander population, but that being said, it’s not heavily focused on. A lot of my characters are A/PI but I can’t definitively say that I’m rooting from my own identity. It’s a supernatural book, and I’m drawing from all sorts of mythological creatures and lores and making them into my own. So, in a way, I’m allowing Orthall Bay to be a project where I let it take an identity of its own. I’m pretty sure I’ll come up with future projects that are more SEA-centric though!

Q5: What’s been your experience so far? With writing, with the IF community…

The jump from writing novels to writing interactive fiction was a bit of an adjustment. I haven’t been a very consistent writer, but most of my works were novels and its fixed worlds. Interactive fiction is different because you have to actively bind the story together in a way that makes your reader feel involved. And you have to be constantly aware of that. I still end up drafting a chapter, only to realize I forgot to lay out options that matter. It’s definitely a learning curve, but it’s worth it and very rewarding.

As for the IF community, I genuinely believe it’s one of the most welcoming and supportive communities I’ve had the pleasure of being a part of. Really, it’s heartwarming to see writers excited about their upcoming projects and being met with equal, if not more, enthusiasm from a potential audience. It’s not without flaws, sure, but the sheer amount of support you can garner is incredible. As a writer trying out a new medium, it’s one of the things that helped boost my confidence to continue working on my project.

Q6: Do you have any future projects in the works?

I do! GFTA is my baby, and I plan on nurturing it for a long time. Currently, I have about three ideas I’m considering to turn into actual projects, one of them being sci-fi and inspired by a game. As of now though, I’ll mostly be working on Orthall Bay. This is due to restrictions from my schedule, but it’s safe to say that I’ll be around for more than just a while. I’m absolutely dedicated to establishing my own platform within the IF community.

Q7: Finally, what piece of advice would you give to fellow authors?

Hmm, I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask since I’ve only recently started writing interactive fiction, but I’d like to say this: you are your first and last audience. Always. Every project starts off as self-indulgence to some degree or extent, and that’s okay. Write what you want to write, not what everyone demands. Pleasing your audience is a grey area and you won’t be able to satisfy everyone. It’s important to take criticism into account, but please remember you don't owe anyone anything for writing media that they actively have a choice whether or not to consume.

#if: events #Happy Asian and Pacific Islander month!!#Asian/pacific islander month 2021 #a/pi month #a/pi month 2021 #aapiheritagemonth #aapi month #interactive fiction #authors of color

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joheun-saram · 4 years ago

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otsukare sama deshita (sope)

Summary- Hoseok knows the perfect partner for his new song, but will Yoongi agree?

word count- 1.6k

pairing- Hoseok x Yoongi (platonic)

rating- G

genre- friendship, fluff, slight angst (not really)

warnings- none

a.n- HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAN!!! 🥳 I wrote this as a birthday present for @eternalseokjin but in typical mars fashion, i was late. I hope you enjoy my first mxm fic. this is my take on how hobi convinced yoongi to perform with him. when i floated this idea on the net people thought it was gonna be a crack fic, but honestly i think yoongi respects hobi too much to protest a lot lol

A huge shoutout to @hoebii and @hobisbeautifulass for beta reading this! 💕

As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌

perm taglist- @cheesecakes-randomshitz, @aroseforyoongi

Hoseok was excited. In fact, he was beyond excited. He had spent the Japanese tour leg writing a song that he felt was the perfect mix of goofy and talent, if he could say so himself. A cheerful, optimistic song that portrayed his J-Hope persona to a T. He knew it wasn’t going to go in any of the albums; he had told his fellow co-writers in Japan as much, but he just knew that ARMY would love it as soon as he unveiled it. The only thing that would make it better would be if he could get a certain friend of his to join in on the antics. A certain grumpy friend that sat across from him zoning out as he sipped his iced Americano, even though it was close to 10pm.

“Hyung, can I run something by you?” Hosoek asked, feigning an air of nonchalance, as he rolled his chair closer to the couch Yoongi was sprawled on. He rested his feet against the cushions, leaning back against the chair, his fingers drumming against the arm rests. He didn’t want to admit it but he was a little nervous. Chances were that Yoongi would agree to his proposition; he was usually very easy going and enjoyed the fanservice that they partook in. However, lately Yoongi had been pretty stressed, short tempered and tired, snapping at everyone. He hadn’t shared why, but Hoseok felt it was something personal that he didn’t want to pry on.

Hoseok’s voice broke Yoongi out of his thoughts as he looked up to the brightly dressed man in front of him. He mirrored the frown on Hoseok’s face as he hummed for him to continue. Yoongi would never admit it, but he was in no mood for a conversation; his head running through the overwhelmingly long to-do list he had to accomplish before the end of tomorrow. The longer he looked at Hoseok sitting in silence, the deeper his frown got. What was he so fidgety for? It was putting him on edge, not to mention adding to his stress.

“Spit it out, Hobah,” he snapped, sighing a little in frustration as Hoseok cleared his throat tentatively.

“Well… I wrote this song. I was wondering if you wanted to perform together.” That’s it? Hoseok just wanted to perform a song together? What was the big deal about that?

“Yeah okay. Sure,” Yoongi acquiesced easily, much to Hoseok’s surprise. Hoseok’s face broke into a large grin, one that brought a small smile on the older rapper’s face.

“Promise?” Hoseok asked, almost bouncing excitedly. Yoongi furrowed his brows suspiciously, knowing that there was no way he was this giddy about a simple duet. Something had to be up.

“You’re making me rethink this…” Yoongi said as he looked over the rim of the plastic coffee cup in his hand, missing his mouth with the straw before capturing it with his lips with a huff and an eye roll. Hoseok chuckled at the action before continuing.

“Oh come on! It’ll be fun! I can just imagine ARMY’s excitement! A Sope unit song!” Hoseok radiated enthusiasm, lifting Yoongi’s spirits as well as the corners of his mouth. He really was a ball of energy sometimes, his excitement almost contagious as he never failed to energize Yoongi, even when all he wanted to do was crawl in bed and sleep his life away.

“Fine. Let me hear it first,” Yoongi said with a snicker, eager to hear the masterpiece his friend had created. He couldn’t help shaking his head with a smile as Hoseok excitedly stood up, almost hopping to the computer to play the track. Yoongi smiled as the track played, habitually fidgeting with his lip in concentration.

To say it was different than any of the songs Hoseok had penned before was an understatement. Yoongi expected vibrant beats and spunky lyrics like the tracks Hoseok had consulted with him on for his future mixtape but this song was a rollercoaster, a tongue-in-cheek trot song of optimism. He smiled as the track played on, Hoseok’s cheerful vocals a perfect fit for the atmosphere it created. As the chorus played again, Yoongi couldn’t help but sing along to the catchy words under his breath. An action not missed by Hoseok, whose smile only got wider.

As the song came to an end, Yoongi felt his mood lightened, the song already stuck in his head. Hoseok hadn’t written many songs alone before and he felt proud of his friend’s accomplishment. “It’s good. Good job, Hoseok!” Yoongi complimented, a gummy smile on his face.

“Thanks!” Hoseok sang out, his smile quickly replaced by his professional straight face as he continued on with the details of the collaboration, which part Yoongi would sing and the vibe he would add. Yoongi found himself easily agreeing with him. He could do with a fun project, and to be completely honest he was ready to record it as soon as the month was over. However, this thought was brought to a screeching halt as the next words left Hoseok’s lips.

“So I was thinking we reveal it at the Japan fan meeting.” Yoongi’s eyes widened at the comment. *Was he serious?

“The one in two weeks?” Yoongi’s momentarily forgotten stress was back with full force, and he bit his nail. He had so many things on his plate that adding a song that he would not only have to record, but learn the dance and words to *within the next fortnight made his chest clench uneasily. He always had a hard time saying no to Hoseok but the more he thought about the endless things he had to work through, the easier it became. “Absolutely not.”

“Hyungnim!” Hoseok stretched the syllables cutely in a whine to appeal to his older member. He knew behind all the apathy Yoongi had a soft spot for him and it was not beyond him to use it to his advantage. He jumped from his chair next to Yoongi, an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders as he tried to get him as excited as he was. “The theme to Hwagae Market! We’ll wear cheesy suits and goof around! Come on! It’d be fun!”

Yoongi knew Hoseok was just being his usual self, but he felt slightly suffocated. Shrugging his arm off, Yoongi leaned forward, elbows on knees as he rubbed his face with a groan. He missed the way Hoseok frowned, certain now that something was bothering his friend. Before he could prod for details, Yoongi let out an exasperated sigh.

“I don’t know, Hoseok. Fuck. I’m just so stressed. I don’t know if I can take something else on right now.” Yoongi looked at him, a silent plea hidden in his eyes that made Hoseok’s heart tighten in empathy. He knew all about being overly stressed. It would be a lie to say the life they had chosen was easy and smooth sailing.

Hoseok always tried to keep a professional distance between his members, not wanting to overwhelm them when they had to spend so much time together by obligation. He always felt he was prying if he asked about their personal lives or struggles, but he also knew that Yoongi never brought up something unless he wanted to share. He just needed a push.

“You wanna talk about it?” Hoseok asked, placing his hand on Yoongi’s knee, trying to coax the rapper into conversation.

“I don’t know…” Yoongi began, but it didn’t take him long to delve into his problems. There was something about Hoseok that always led him to open up without feeling the guilt he sometimes did when sharing his feelings. Although Hoseok was usually loud and energetic, when prompted he was quiet and a great listener. Just looking at his face stoic in concentration made Yoongi feel as if what he was saying truly mattered, regardless if it was a useless rant about work stress that Hoseok himself had.

It was close to midnight by the time the two had wrapped up their heart to heart, empty beer bottles and half eaten dishes of sundae and tteokbokki cluttering the coffee table in front of them. Hoseok hadn’t expected Yoongi to open up to him the way he did, but he was glad to shoulder his burden with him. There was a reason he was closest with the introverted producer in the group; he seemed to make everything Hoseok said seem important, like it had substance, be it a stupid joke that Yoongi laughed at the loudest, or advice that he could’ve gotten off an Instagram inspiration page.

By the time they packed to make their way to the dorms, Hoseok felt almost bad for adding to Yoongi’s work load, but the dark haired man would have none of it.

“Nah, Hobi. We’re doing it,” Yoongi said, his voice stern and determined.

“Are you sure?” Hoseok asked, as he climbed into the passenger seat of Yoongi’s car, stuffing his backpack between his legs before strapping on his seatbelt. “It was a random idea. We don’t have to. I can table this song for next year.”

“No. It will be fun. ARMY will love it,” Yoongi replied, placing an arm on the back of Hoseok’s headrest as he turned to reverse out of the parking space, before driving out of the underground lot. “It’s a really good song, Hobi. Proud of you, man.”

Hoseok couldn’t help but chuckle at the earnest praise, feeling instantly shy. He was right though, he realized as he walked off the stage two weeks later, high on adrenaline with a huge grin on his face. His expression was mirrored on Yoongi’s face who clapped him on the back, panting hard.

“Sope des!” Yoongi joked, still laughing at how great the performance went, taking off the shiny sequined coat.

“Sope des!” echoed the rest of the boys cheerfully before rushing towards the stage, as Hoseok laughed putting on the jacket for the next performance.

Like this? Check out my other works.

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mypoisonedvine · 5 years ago

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Double-Edged Sword: Capt. Syverson x Reader (Chapter 1)

[I decided to ignore my WIPs and my URL and write something for Syverson because he is just…. a beautiful, meaty man and he deserves some more love.

To those of you who follow me for Witcher stuff only, I promise we will return shortly to the regularly scheduled programming. As for the rest of us who are thirsty for Cavill in any context… enjoy!]

Summary: As a Major in the Marine Corps, you work with other units and branches relatively often. That said, you had never really had to ask another unit for help before, so you felt pretty awkward when a mission required you to travel to a nearby Army camp and take shelter with them for the next two months. Of course, their smack-talking, free-wheeling Captain isn’t going to make it any easier on you, either.

Word Count: 5k (oh jesus christ)

Rating: E

(warning for dub con and people being sexist assholes, cause yknow, it’s the military. contains lots of angst and bickering and arguing, and of course, smut.)

“Listen, I’m not going to stand here and pretend I’m Ms. Popular,” you sighed, “but hopefully you all can appreciate that I look out for all of you.”

No one said anything, because they were standing at attention at their cots.

“At ease,” you added, and they all relaxed a bit, “but keep quiet so I can finish.”

A few sat on their beds but most still seemed to be paying attention.

“When it’s just us Marines, I don’t mind much whatever you call me when I’m not around. Or when I’m around. But once we get where we’re going tomorrow, we’re shacking up with the Army. And as much as I want everyone to get along, I’m not sure how likely that is. Anyways, what I’m trying to say is… right now it may be me versus you, but soon it’s going to be us versus them, Marines versus Army. And us Marines need to stick together. Does that make sense?”

There were a few nods, but you weren’t sure they were getting it.

“Alright, allow me to be a bit more literal. Don’t tell the other soldiers that I’m a bitch,” you requested. There were some scattered chuckles. “I know it probably seems fine since you say it to each other but I need you guys to help me get their respect. I’m not saying to go in there and tell every Army nimrod that I’m everybody’s favorite officer. Just… don’t let them see any cracks they could exploit. Because I have to start ordering these guys around and I’m already batting a thousand.”

“Seems reasonable,” Private Cole replied, and most of the others agreed. You smiled and left them alone to have a somewhat relaxing night before they had to ship out.

“I don’t want this to be Marines versus Army,” you told Captain Syverson the next day when you met with him for the first time. Of course, that was what you had told your own unit would happen, but he didn’t know that. “I’m sure you know that this is an officer versus enlisted issue. And us officers should stick together.”

He was smiling back at you from across the table, but it didn’t seem that friendly.

“I don’t see why there’s any ‘versus’ at all. You and your unit are guests here. We get this project over with and you’re out,” he shrugged.

“Maybe you haven’t had much issue getting control of your soldiers. But it took me a while to get mine to trust me, and now I have to go in blind and command your unit. So I hope you’re on my side,” you explained.

He went from smiling in an unhappy way, to laughing in an unfunny way. You regretted the way you had approached this conversation.

“Sounds like you’re not a good leader, if it was so much trouble for you,” he scoffed. “Maybe you should work on that.”

You didn’t get angry very often, but this was the closest you’d been in a while. You understood his distrust, even a little duplicity was merited. To just outright insult you to your face was, of course, hurtful, but mainly just stupid. You’d always known Army guys were total morons, but this was just ridiculous. What could he gain from going against you?

“How many years until you get promoted?” you asked him suddenly, standing up from your chair.

“About two and a half,” he responded.

“Well, if in two and a half years we’re both still alive, and I’m not already a lieutenant colonel, call me and we’ll talk about who’s in charge. Until then, back off,” you huffed, and turned to walk away. You yelped when he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you back.

“You’re on my base,” he reminded you sternly.

“And we’ll try to be respectful while we’re here, regardless of how we’re being treated,” you grimaced, wrenching your arm out of his grasp.

“You’ll try to be respectful? On my base?! How generous,“ he scoffed. "You can’t just show up and start running things.”

“I have no desire to micromanage your little sandhut, Captain. I don’t give half a fuck what goes on in here. What I do have is the final call on any decision made in this mission,” you explained.

“On whose authority?” he pressed. You laughed.

“Cap, somewhere in your desk there’s a little piece of paper– it’s got a lot of pretty gold and silver stars on it– and it explains how commanding authority is ranked in every branch of the United States military. Feel free to go and check me on this, but I’m pretty sure that ‘Captain’ is here,” you motioned in the air, “and ‘Major’ is here,” you moved your hand up an inch.

“Well, sweetheart, there’s a sign outside the front of this base that says ‘Army’ on it, and a little sticker on your chest,” he poked it, and you couldn’t decide if you hated the physical contact or the deriding pet name more, “that says USMC.”

“Rank is rank,” you argued.

“So if you’ve got a doctorate in physics and I’ve got a master’s in English, you have the right to lecture me about fuckin’ Grapes of Wrath or whatever?”

“My doctorate is in American History,” you frowned. He laughed in frustration.

“Only a Jarhead could miss the point that hard,” he groaned, “and find a way to brag in the process.”

“Call your superior,” you growled, “who is notably a Major, and ask him who has authority on this base while we’re here.”

You stormed out before you could hear his reply.

When the time came, the two of you discussed how you would approach the mission behind closed doors. Not like it was fun or anything, but you managed to stay off each other’s throats for a while and agree on a few things. It was nice enough that you actually let your guard down, so much so that you were totally blindsided when he waited until you were in front of the entire company to disagree with you.

“That’ll never work,” he suddenly interrupted as you explained the plan, “we’ll divide and conquer.”

You looked at him with confusion.

“That’s not what we discussed before,” you reminded him.

“I changed my mind,” he shrugged.

“Well, I didn’t. So we’ll do it my way.”

“My men, my rules,” he growled, stepping closer to you.

“Half these people,” you corrected, since a few of your unit were women, “are mine, and you’re below me.”

“Fuck you,” he said casually, smiling while he did it.

“You couldn’t handle it,” you spat back.

A few of the enlisted ‘ooooh’ed but for the most part it was very, very quiet.

Finally, Captain Syverson silently turned on his heel and walked away, looking exasperated.

“Looks like the Captain is going to take a little break,” you smiled with fake enthusiasm, turning back to the company, “and I’ll keep explaining this mission to you all.”

“If Captain Syverson doesn’t approve it, we’re not doing it,” one of the Army kids announced. Your Marines were notably silent, but the rest of the Captain’s unit nodded in agreement.

“I’ve got a word for you, boys. It starts with ‘N’ and ends with ‘subordination,’” you frowned. They all groaned.

“It’s not insubordination because you’re not in charge of us!”

“Manage your own people, Jarhead!”

You uncrossed your arms and let your voice get a little louder. “Hey, hey, settle down!”

It mostly worked, but everyone seemed pretty displeased.

“Captain Syverson and I had a discussion with our superiors and it was concluded that I am highest ranking and I get the final call on every tactical decision,” you explained.

“That’s not what he told us,” one of the Army boys chuckled.

You tried not to seethe in front of them, you tried to keep it professional, but how were you supposed to work in these conditions?

“As you were,” you resigned through your teeth, storming off to where the Captain had gone. You found him in his quarters, relaxing on a sofa; you nearly kicked the door in to talk to him.

“What the fuck was that?!” you exclaimed.

“I changed my mind,” he repeated calmly.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you growled, shoving him where he sat. He stood up, clearly agitated.

“Get your hands off me, lady.”

“Major,” you corrected through your teeth.

“Only Major you are to me is a major waste of my fucking time,” he replied.

“Take it up with the Department of Defense, they’re the ones who gave me the title,” you defended.

“You know, lately I’ve been having issues with a lot of their decisions. I’m still trying to figure out why the fuck we’re doing this anyways.”

“The mission?” you asked.

“The war,” he corrected.

“Ah,” you nodded, looking around nervously. You were more comfortable with the arguing than the awkward silence.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, crossing his arms and slumping his shoulders.

“Go tell your unit the plan- our plan. Better yet, tell them they answer to me,” you demanded.

“I couldn’t have made it any more obvious that I’m not gonna do what you tell me,” he frowned, crossing his arms.

“Will you at least cooperate with me enough to get this mission over with?”

He thought about that for a minute, and you tried not to lose your patience.

“Hmm… no,” he decided finally.

“Then will you shut the fuck up and stay out of my way?” you suggested instead.

He stepped up to you until he was uncomfortably close, and you had to crane your neck to meet his gaze. He had these really bright blue eyes and they didn’t fit with the rest of his face, which was significantly angrier and grittier.

“Not a chance,” he answered. But his voice had lost the intimidating tone, and his expression had changed at some point without you noticing… he looked sort of calm, considering the situation, and you realized that he was examining your face.

“You know,” he said suddenly, “you’d be pretty if you weren’t so…” he trailed off.

“Mean?” you finished, having heard this sort of comment more than a few times.

“No, it’s not that. The mean thing is sorta hot,” he corrected casually as if it were nothing to say. You bit your lip and broke the eye contact, trying not to blush. It was a good thing you didn’t find him attractive- because of course you didn’t, him being this dirty brute and all- but still, it was uncomfortable.

“You’d be pretty,” he decided, “if you weren’t a Marine.”

You laughed and shook your head incredulously.

“Yeah, well, maybe you’d be pretty if you shaved that raccoon off your face,” you suggested, “and took a shower.”

You smiled as you left the room.

You delayed the mission briefing a day, to give you and the Captain more time to hopefully come to some decision, and you hoped it wouldn’t mean you and your unit had to stay at this camp even just one day longer. You met with your Marines privately, and they were sympathetic but seemed to be getting along with the other soldiers enough to sympathize with their unwillingness to cooperate. One soldier said he would only listen to you and not ‘Sy’ as they called him, but you told them to always listen to their commanding officer even if he’s a complete tool.

You were walking back to your quarters for the night when you passed by an open tent, a half-dozen Army boys inside playing cards.

“Hey Major, what size bra do you wear?” a soldier hollered at you, and the others snickered.

“I think they’re bigger than they look in that uniform,” another added. “Double ‘D’s, at least.”

You stopped and decided to address them, unable to let a comment like that go.

“Oh I’ve got double ‘D’s alright,” you smirked. “Dishonorable Discharge.”

“Aw, we’re just messing around,” the first dismissed with a frown. “Can’t you take a joke?”

“I can take a joke, but I can take your job, too. Maybe stay on my good side.” You winked, just to keep it playful, but you were really screwed either way. You’d tried playing along with jokes before and all it did was make you seem like some creep and/or slut who liked getting hit on (was this even what that was?) by subordinates. But getting stern didn’t seem to make you any friends, either. That’s why you were so comfortable with not having any friends.

“Your good side? You mean from the back?” one of them murmured, and you wondered if he was trying to be just loud enough for you to hear, or just quiet enough for you not to.

“Dude, she’s probably a dyke anyway,” Private Lipowitz responded.

“Am I supposed to find that insulting?” you asked him. He smirked, as did the others, as if it was obvious that you should, but nobody said anything. “Maybe I am a dyke. And maybe I could give your girl back home more pleasure in five minutes than you’ve given any woman in your whole life combined, eh Lipowitz?”

“You better not talk about my girl, Major,” he challenged, standing up and puffing up his chest. “I know you’re not supposed to hit chicks or anything, but seriously, I’ll take out anybody who talks about my girl.” You decided not to point out that you’re not supposed to hit your commanding officer, ‘chick’ or otherwise.

“Then you better start with your boys first,” you responded, motioning to a few of the other soldiers, “because word on the street is they found those saucy little pictures she sent you.”

Lipowitz turned to the other men with wide eyes, and suddenly you were the only one smiling. Enlisted seem to talk so much more and so much louder than they realize.

“What the fuck?” he exclaimed, dashing to his pack, presumably searching for those photos. When he didn’t find them, he stood up and pushed Private Mason back by the shoulders.

“Where are those fucking pictures, dude?”

“I don’t have ‘em, I swear,” Mason defended, but all the other guys were laughing.

“Seriously, guys, whoever has them, just give them back!”

“You’re not going to want them back in the state they’re in,” another finally admitted, “trust me.”

They all burst into laughter as Lipowitz went on a rampage, yelling and kicking and threatening to beat up the other guys. You took the commotion as a good opportunity to sneak away mostly unnoticed and get back to your quarters for the night.

You weren’t there very long before you decided to spend some time in your temporary office instead. You had taken your hair out of the tight regulation bun, intending to change into pajamas and go to sleep, but you remembered some paperwork that needed to be done by tomorrow night and decided to make some progress on it, since the Captain got in the way of your productivity during the day.

Of course, you weren’t an hour into it when he knocked on your door, though you didn’t know it was him until you told him to come in without looking up from your files.

He entered but stopped and didn’t say anything.

“Can I help you?” you asked eventually.

“You look different with your hair down,” he observed, and you looked back at him with a confused expression.

“Yes, I’d figure so,” you replied.

“You sleep in your uniform?” he asked, noticing that you were still in your fatigues, though you’d shed the camo long sleeve and just had on the green undershirt.

“Do I look like I’m sleeping?” you asked incredulously, looking back to your papers. He snorted but didn’t say anything. "Besides, I don’t think you’re ever in uniform.“

"Not when I don’t have to be,” he shrugged. “I’m not sure why you wear it when you don’t have to.”

“I barely get taken seriously with it on, so it’s the least I can do,” you explained.

“About that…” he began, and you looked up in surprise. “I’m sorry they give you such a hard time.”

“Oh, I see,” you nodded, getting up from your chair to put some papers in your filing cabinet, “you talked to them and heard some of the awful shit they call me.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Well, you only have yourself to blame for that. You had plenty of chances to instill respect for authority but you decided it would be more fun, I suppose, to go rogue and turn everyone against me,” you bit back with sarcastic cheeriness.

“Shit, I’m actually trying to be nice to you, and you’re still impossible. You’re such a fuckin’ brat,” he nearly yelled. You felt like the word ‘brat’ specifically targeted the fact that you were younger than him, which you didn’t appreciate at all- you would rather be judged on your merits, even if the judgment was poor, than be treated differently just because you were young.

“I’m in charge of you,” you corrected, “and you’re refusing to listen to me. So, if anything, you’re the brat.”

“What I would give to put you in your place right now,” he growled to himself.

“Oh, my place? And what place is that?”

“Bent over my desk and getting your brains fucked out,” he answered with a deep voice.

A lot of guys probably fantasized about rough sex (or worse) as a means of revenge against you for all those extra push-ups and boot camp humiliations– a few had even made comments about it, though most hadn’t realized you could hear them at the time. You’d learned quickly how to not let that stuff get to you. But this got to you… and not in the way you prepared for. Your face burned and your gut sank and your insides throbbed, as if out of nowhere.

“I figured you liked your women without brains,” you quipped in reply, trying not to show any signs of weakness.

He dashed to close the space between you, pressing you back against the wall. He was so big, and he smelled like sweat and beer and pine. You were surprised, and confused, but you didn’t worry that he would hurt you, for some reason.

“Seems I like my women with a mouth on ‘em, because every time you make some little comment like that, I swear I get harder than steel.”

He pushed his hips into you and yep, there it was. Your breaths began to stutter but you didn’t want him to see how much this affected you.

“Just wish you put that mouth to better use,” he added with a devilish grin.

“You’d better get back,” you threatened, without actually mentioning any potential consequences.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me,” he purred, and leaned down to speak against your ear. “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? I can tell you’re getting turned on when we argue, too.”

“You’re confusing arousal with irritation, Captain.”

“Mmm, I like when you call me that. I assume the intention is condescending, cause you just have to remind me that you outrank me, but I like it anyway,” he presumed.

“It’s the proper way to address another soldier, nothing condescending about it. You know, I actually don’t have any problem with your rank. Or your branch. My problem is with your personality,” you corrected.

“That’s fair. I have a big personality,” he smirked, and pressed his erection harder against you… it felt pretty big but you couldn’t get a good impression through your fatigues.

“Well, that might explain your ego,” you murmured.

“Just tell me you don’t want it and I’ll leave you be, we’ll go back to bickering an’ shit,” he offered. “Just look at me,” he prompted, putting a finger under your chin and guiding you to look up at him, “and tell me you don’t want it.”

As you met his gaze, you let yourself really get a closer look than you had before. It had always been obvious that he was good-looking, but right now he looked oddly gentle considering the circumstances. The look in his eyes lacked the confidence you were expecting… as if he really didn’t know if you wanted him or not. As if he really wanted you to want him. As if he really wanted you. And it had been a long time since someone had looked at you like that.

“Fuck it,” you growled and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. His beard rubbed against your face but it wasn’t as scratchy as you’d imagined- not that you had imagined this or anything.

He inhaled through his nose and stepped back, pulling you with him and putting a hand on your hair and the other on your hip.

“Looks like you’ll have to settle for bending me over my desk,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Not gonna bend you over anything yet,” he replied, putting his hands on your butt and lifting you up until you were straddling him in the air.

He walked with you wrapped around him until he could set you down on the desk, and his hands felt so damn big on the small of your waist.

He pulled back so he could pull your shirt over your head, and he took off his own while you slipped off your sports bra. You both took a moment to stare at each other’s toplessness, a silent acknowledgement that you’d both been wondering about the other’s body. You ran your hands up and down his chest, and he just looked at you while you did it with a difficult-to-read expression. Of course you were familiar with muscle, you saw shirtless soldiers all the time and they were all in great shape, but this guy was just enormous. His shoulders dwarfed you and with him so close you felt uncharacteristically small.

He didn’t say anything as he pulled you into another kiss, and this one was a bit gentler than the last. You felt giddy and nervous and so desperate for him; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt like this, honestly.

His hands trailed down your back and you slid off the desk until you were standing. He spun you around and pushed you down between your shoulder blades until you were face down on the desk, the cold wood making your skin break out in goosebumps.

He reached around your hips to open your button and fly, pushing your pants and underwear down to your knees. You gasped a bit when you felt the air hit your skin.

“Oh shit, you’re wet already,” he noticed. “Really wet.”

His fingers slipped through your folds and you tried to spread your legs but the pants got in the way.

“Just fuck me,” you demanded.

“All you know how to do is give orders, huh?” he laughed.

“This might be my first order you actually follow,” you considered, hearing him unzip the fly of his jeans.

“I don’t have any condoms,” he explained, “it’s an all-male unit, after all.”

Internally, you wanted to point out that being in an all-male unit doesn’t stop plenty of soldiers from getting it on, and that he shouldn’t be hooking up with anyone in his unit regardless of gender, but you realized this was not the time for explaining rules.

“Don’t need them,” you replied, “as long as you promise you don’t have anything I can catch.”

“You’re being so reckless,” he teased as his hands ran along your back and grabbed your ass, “it’s so unlike you. What happened to that stubborn little rule-follower, hm?”

“She got really fucking horny,” you growled, “now get inside me, damn it.”

And without much warning, without any preparation, he slammed himself into you all at once.

“Oh fuck!” you cried out, much louder than you meant to. He was big, really fucking big, and your walls struggled to fit him. He didn’t slow down though, instantly setting a fast and brutal pace.

“Not so loud, sweetheart. Not that I don’t love you screamin’ for me. But if the other guys found out we were doing this…” he trailed off. “Actually, I bet I’d be the most popular officer at camp if they knew we were doin’ this.”

“You already are,” you pointed out, struggling to focus on forming sentences. “And we’d both get in a lot of trouble– ah, god– if anybody reported it.”

“You’re right. Better keep you quiet, then,” he sighed, leaning forward and stuffing two fingers into your mouth. Your moans became sputters and chokes yet you eagerly sucked on his fingers and took them all the way down your throat.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he growled. “If you’d deepthroated my fingers like that when we first met, I bet we’d have gotten along a lot better.”

That’s not really the way I do business, you wanted to respond, but you couldn’t say much when you were busy with the task at hand.

His fingers pulled out and you felt his hands wrap around your elbows. He grabbed your arms and held them back as he slammed into you so hard that the desk scraped across the floor with every movement.

“So tight,” he observed. “Bet no one’s done this to you in a long time. Bet what you always needed was a good fuck to loosen you up– literally.”

He landed a hard slap against your ass and you moaned.

“Oh, you like that? You like it when I hit you?”

“Yes,” you answered through bared teeth.

“Dirty little slut,” he said, but the way he said it sounded more like a compliment than an insult.

He spanked you again, just a bit harder, and you yelped but found yourself pushing your hips into him and arching your back as an invitation for more. He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer, pressing as deep inside you as was physically possible and grinding against you. You sobbed and he grabbed you by the hair, pulling you up until his chest was against your back.

“Anybody ever been this deep inside you before?” he asked, his lips right against your ear.

“No,” you whimpered.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your neck down to your shoulder. You weren’t sure how to feel about him calling you ‘baby.’

He let go of your hair but kept you close to him by wrapping his arms around you as he started to thrust again. It was oddly intimate, and your head fell back onto his shoulder as you moaned and sighed and whimpered.

Calloused hands began to grab at your breasts, teasing and pinching your nipples; you hadn’t realized how sensitive you were there, because it sent sensation shooting straight down to your inner walls.

“I’m close,” you gritted out.

“That was quick. You’re easy to please,” he replied, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

“Just don’t stop,” you pleaded. He pushed you back down onto the desk and began to pick up the pace.

“Oh, I won’t stop, I promise you that.” His voice sounded different than normal- deeper and scratchier and oddly weak in a way. You liked the idea that this had such an effect on him.

His thrusts slammed into you so hard and fast that you were sure you’d have bruises from it, and probably on your thighs where they were hitting the edge of the desk. For some reason, that thought was what sent you over the edge.

“Ca-captain!” you cried out as you came, and he growled a bit against your ear. You figured he thought you were calling him that as some sort of sexy nickname, a flash of authority, but it’s just the only thing you could think to call him, the only thing you’d ever really called him.

He, on the other hand, responded with your first name, even though you’d never gone by it and never even told it to him, mixed in with his grunts and moans as he pulled out and came all over your back.

It was strange to go from so much noise– skin hitting skin, moans and yelps, the desk screeching on the concrete floor– to just heavy breathing and the sound of the ceiling fan spinning above you. Or maybe it was you that was spinning; you felt sort of dizzy and numb.

He leaned away from you until you couldn’t feel his touch anywhere, and you heard him zip up his jeans. You awkwardly lifted yourself off the desk, pulling up your own underwear and pants as well, and looking around for something to wipe yourself off with.

“Did you come?” he asked, and you felt shame and fear and anger bubble up inside you. This had been a really, really bad idea, and both of you could lose your jobs over it, or worse. And he was such an asshole and you were supposed to be setting a good example for the women in your unit and here you were with some Army dumbass’ cum all over you and he didn’t even have the courtesy to make sure you’d finished before he did… what a joke.

“Oh, I came alright– came to my fucking senses. Get out of my office,” you barked.

He laughed like he saw all this coming.

“Your office? It’s my base. Everything here is mine. Even that jizz you’ve got on ya,” he grimaced. “Kickin’ me out before it’s even gone cold. You’re a real ray of sunshine as always, Major.”

“That’s the first time you’ve called me Major,” you realized. “Let’s make that the only thing done tonight that we turn into a habit, alright?”

He shrugged and turned to leave, but of course, he had to have the last word. “You can fuck the ice queen but you can’t melt her, I guess.”

“Is that what this was? Some sort of sexual scavenger hunt, to prove you were macho enough to get the prude to spread her legs?”

“Well, it worked didn’t it?” he grinned.

“I said get out,” you reminded him, hoping he’d leave before you started crying. He did.

You didn’t cry very often, not something you had the luxury of doing after a decade at war. And you still didn’t let yourself do it for very long, because you were morally opposed to crying over boys.

#syverson x reader #captain syverson x reader #henry cavill x reader

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tansypoisoning · 5 years ago

Text

Scrappy Doo

You got in trouble often, and it showed. Worse than every bruise and cut, though, was your front door neighbor’s concern. He didn’t know you; he was too busy to know you. You wished he would stop pretending he cared so you could move on with your life in peace, and never have to deal with intrusive thoughts of what it would be like to have a room in his heart.

Me, writing fluff? More likely than you think (and yet not that likely). This is my entry for @jtargaryen18‘s “30 Days of Chris” I’m just trying to branch out a little, and since J’s fics tend to end up being really sweet even if they don’t start that way… Well, I thought I’d go for some sweetness too. Ended up calling out myself in this xD. Anyway, I would appreciate if you guys let me know if you think this is okay. Don’t judge the name too harshly please xD

Fandoms: MCU

Genre: Fluff? Hurt/Comfort? Things you wouldn’t expect from me, I guess.

Ships: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3166

Warnings: Mentions of violence and injury, some blood, non-graphic descriptions of wound dressing

The bits of bandage and specks of blood in the sink were piling up worryingly fast. You had looked at them to take your eyes and mind of the gash in your arm, but you reckoned you should’ve just closed them.

“One of these days you’re going to lose your head,” The woman in front of you grumbled as she weaved needle and thread through your flesh “and I’m not going to put you back together, I swear.”

You tried to tell her ‘If anyone could it’s you, Molly’, but the stiff thrown pillow stolen from her couch so you’d have something to bite muddled the words to the point none of them were recognizable.

You ground your teeth on the linen with every new puncture, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter like a lifeline. It hurt, but you’d be okay. You’d been through worse. Your love of hiking, parkour, urban exploration, political activism and doing good recklessly (emphasis on the reckless bit), meant you often found yourself beaten and bruised and wounded and just fucked up in general, but it was all worth it. Just last week you’d rescued a woman’s purse! Molly didn’t share your enthusiasm.

“I should really charge you for this,” she complained. She said it every time you showed at her doorstep, and every time she would put you back together free of charge.

Nick by nick, all your wounds were dressed and you were good to go. You dropped the pillowcase in the washing machine before making your way to the door.

“Seriously, you gotta start being more careful.” Your friend called. “I get that you can’t always help it, but…. jumping on a rusty ladder, are you kidding me?”

“I can’t make any promises!” You smiled sheepishly and she rolled her eyes “Thank you, Molly. I really appreciate it.”

She sighed, but her lips curled upwards nonetheless “Yeah, I know. I expect to see you again in a week.”

“You know I’ll visit regardless!”

“Hopefully not bleeding!” She yelled just as you turned around to jog back to your apartment complex just across the street. The walk was familiar, if a little uncomfortable. Your bruised legs hurt as you climbed up the stairs, but you were smiling all the way.

You had just shoved the key in the lock when the door across from your place opened, and someone behind you sighed.

“Again?”

You whirled around on the balls of your feet, arms raised in preparation to salute the other person on the hall with you.

“Hello, captain!” You greeted cheerfully, resting your hand against your forehead.

Captain America’s look of disappointment could make just about everyone wilt, and you weren’t the exception. In fact, maybe you were even weaker to it than the average person.

“What happened this time?” He asked.

“Urban exploration,” you said, your voice losing a considerable amount of volume and enthusiasm “I was on some ladders when they broke down.”

The lines of his forehead deepened. No, this wasn’t disappointment; it was concern. That was somehow worse.

Who the hell was he to be concerned about you? He didn’t know you; he was too busy to know you.

“I’m okay, though. Nothing broken or anything.”

“You got stitches.”

You shrugged. “Stitches, schmeeches.”

He didn’t find it amusing. “And you’re still going on these expeditions alone.”

“Well, who else am I gonna do them with?” Most of your friends lived too far away, and the ones who lived near had no interest in your little misadventures.

Steve didn’t answer. He likely didn’t have an answer, but he also didn’t have the decency to wipe that look of faux worry off his face.

“And how are your expeditions on the culture going?” You used his silence to direct the conversation to a more pleasant topic.

You didn’t know much about Captain America – he didn’t really let himself be known – but living across from him had given you some insight on his life. Given he’d been stuck on ice for seventy years, it was no wonder he’d needed help to acclimate to the radically different world he had woken up in. He got used to the social and political changes with surprising ease, and it didn’t take him long to acquire a passable understanding of current technology. What he struggled with was pop culture.

You had been his media dealer for a few months now, supplying him with an endless stream of movies, series and music (some of which of questionable legality, but he didn’t need to know that). He had told you of his difficulty finding some of the things people had urged him to look into, and you offered to help him with that. You used the opportunity to introduce him to some things that you liked, because it was always nice to have another person to talk to about these things.

“It’s been going,” he said, and you were happy to see his expression softening “slowly, but it’s been going. Thank you for the Prince songs, by the way.”

“You’re so welcome,” you answered with a grin. He had initially given priority to media other people had suggested to him, but he’d been getting around to your things in the last two months or so “Have you watched Mr. Rogers Neighborhood yet?”

“Not yet.”

“You really should. Fred Rogers might be the one person who beats Steve Rogers at the whole ‘being a good human being’ thing.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m putting it off,” he smiled, but it was short-lived as he stopped to clear his throat. “I gotta go now.”

“Okay,” you nodded and stepped back to press your back against the wall. The hall was almost too small for the two of you. “Gotta rush to save the World, huh?”

“Something like that,” he said as he moved toward the stairs, but he turned back to you as he reached the railing. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

You recoiled at his words. “Sure.” You answered stiffly, then rushed to open your door before he could say anything else. You didn’t need this. This fake concern, those empty words… You much preferred hostility, that was at least less confusing, less painful.

It really was stupid of you to nurture such a silly crush. Steve was just your front door neighbor. The sooner you accepted that, the better.

Molly wasn’t home, and she wasn’t picking up her phone. Where the fuck was she? It’s not like she had an obligation to help you out, yes, but… She always did help, and now she had to pick the worst possible moment to go M.IA.

The walk up to your apartment was familiar and painful. You were worried about your right arm; it wouldn’t move, and whenever you tried to touch it, it hurt. Could it be broken? You hoped not, but if anyone could be sure, that person was Molly. And she always picked up.

Your key was in your backpack, so you had to take it off before you could open your door. You tried to be quiet, but when the strap brushed your injured arm you couldn’t help but yelp.

Your neighbor’s door opened instantly, and at such a speed you felt the air in the room being rearranged. Steve’s gasp behind you only made you feel worse.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” you sniffed “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.” There was a pause and then a hand was at your right arm, squeezing it as if to turn you around. You were loathe to show any weakness in front of him, but it hurt too much. You howled, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, and Steve let go. He walked around you, coming to stand in front of you. He didn’t look angry at all, just deeply concerned.

Great. You didn’t need this shit on top of everything else.

“Steve, let me get into my home.”

“Where’s Molly?”

“I don’t know,” you whined. It was getting harder and harder to keep the little composure you still had “Please let me in, Steve.”

“I’m taking you to the hospital.” His voice brooked no arguments, and something about it was too much for you.

You broke down with one sob, then several more, and the look on Steve’s face only grew more worried. “I don’t know if I can afford it.”

“I’m paying,” he said, and you were about to tell him no, but he didn’t give you the chance: “This is serious. You can’t wait this out. I’m taking you and I’m paying for it. Do you need me to carry you or can you walk on your own?”

You wiped at your tears with your good hand and nodded. “Yeah, I can walk.”

You followed Steve out of the building, pausing ever-so-often. Steve would wait for you whenever you did, not once complaining or frowning. He helped you into his car and buckled you in.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” He asked once he’d settled in the driver’s seat.

“I don’t want to.”

He took a deep breath as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t press the issue. You didn’t want to talk about the incident, but you didn’t know what else to talk about, so you kept quiet. Steve didn’t speak much either, occasionally asking you for updates on your state, but otherwise letting the radio do the speaking for you. The songs playing were ones you’d recommended to him, you noticed.

The trip to the hospital was longer than the waiting in the lobby, and thankfully that wasn’t very long. Steve remained outside while you were being patched up. You were glad for it. Having to explain your wounds to the staff was already bad enough, you didn’t need him to hear it as well.

You left the hospital in bandages and with a cast on your right arm. Despite the weight of the plaster, you felt a hundred times lighter, knowing you’d gotten the care you needed for free. Steve didn’t share your enthusiasm. He sighed when he saw you walk out of the room, and you felt your smile slip just a little.

The two of you were quiet when you entered the car. Steve drove in absolute silence for about two minutes before you thought to thank him – and you really were thankful, but thanking him almost seemed a waste. He looked so frustrated, just like everyone else when it came to you. Reckless, hasty, imprudent, you should just know your limits and not go past them. You should just stop doing the things that made you happy and the things you felt were needed because you would get scratched in the protest. That’s what everyone said. You couldn't imagine a super-human who put his life in graver danger every day being any more understanding.

You were about to bite the bullet and thank him, but Steve opened his mouth before you could: “You’re kind of like Scrappy Doo.”

“What?” All your previous feelings of goodwill vanished from you like the air in a popped balloon.

“I started watching some of the cartoons you-”

“I’m surprised you’re even here if I’m such a burden.”

It was his turn to look incensed. “What are you talking about?”

“Scrappy Doo. Am I seriously that much of an annoyance to you?”

“No!” He took his eyes from the road for a brief moment to direct them at you. “I was making a reference. Isn’t that what people like to do nowadays?”

“You compared me to a character everyone hates.”

“I don’t. And I don’t know why anyone would.”

“That’s not-” Your words didn’t come to you as fluidly as you would like them to. “It doesn’t matter. He’s an annoyance and only ever makes things worse.”

“Is that what you think of yourself?”

“No, that’s just what everyone else thinks of me.”

You looked at the rear view mirror to see him frowning. “Who told you that?”

“You don’t have to tell me anything.” Of course he didn’t. If you were a nuisance to normal people, imagine how pathetic you must’ve seemed to someone as strong as Steve.

“I-” Whatever he was going to say he interrupted with a shake of his head and a sigh. “I shouldn’t say you remind me of Scrappy Doo. Rather… you remind me of me.”

It was your turn to frown. “You?”

“Before I was recruited for the serum program, I used to be very small. Short, frail… that didn’t stop me from getting in trouble whenever I saw injustice. I thought it was wrong to let bullies go unchallenged, even though I knew I couldn’t win. I always had to get rescued, but I kept doing it because I knew it was the right thing to do.”

“And then you got jacked and that helped a lot.”

He laughed. “I’m way better at doing helping out nowadays, but even so… I don’t think you’re an annoyance. I worry about you because I used to get in the same sort of trouble. I ask you to be careful because I’m afraid you won’t come back home one day.”

Your heart leaped in your chest, and then you remembered you had been there before. That wouldn't be the first time someone pretended to care for you on a personal level, then abandoned you when it wasn’t convenient anymore.

“You don’t really know me, Steve. I get if you’re worried about me just like you’re worried about everyone else, but I would rather… It feels fake, you know? Like you’re just helping me because I’m right there, and if one day I didn’t come home you’d just go on worrying about everyone else.”

“No, I-” He started, then cut himself off to huff. “I can’t talk about this while I’m driving. Hold on.”

You were quiet as Steve turned into a side street, darker and quiet than the one you were on. He looked around until he found a place to park, and then turned to you once the engine was off and the key was out of the ignition.

“I do care about everyone. If I was neighbors with someone else and they got hurt as often as you, I would worry and I would help them however I could, but I wouldn't feel the same way I feel about you. If you suddenly didn’t come back I- Why would you think I don’t care?”

“I just don’t see why you would. We only talk when we meet in the hallway, and you don’t look at the things I reccomend you, because you never talk about it.”

“I was watching Scooby Doo when you showed up.” Steve said, and there was an edge of frustration to his voice “Whenever I’m home I’m looking at the things you gave me. I don’t have as much time to learn about the things you like as I wish I had. I don’t have as much time and energy to know you as I wish I did. And you-” He stopped himself and shook his head. “Nevermind. I don’t want to do this when you’re injured.”

“No, tell me.” You and Steve were finally conversing rather than exchanging pleasantries. Now that you were being honest with each other, you didn’t think you could go back to how things were before. “I told you I wanted honesty. And whatever it is you’ve got to say, I bet won’t hurt more than this fucking thing.” And you pointed at your injured am.

He hesitated. He looked back and forth from you to the windshield, then swallowed hard before proceeding. “You put up a wall. I couldn't get you to talk to me about your injuries for months, and every time I ask you to be careful, you brush it off. It’s like you don’t want me to know anything about you.”

You considered his words for a second, then your own feelings for a moment longer. You couldn’t pretend it was just because you didn’t want to be a burden. “This is going to sound weird, but I’m scared I can’t trust you?” You turn to him. His brows are scrunched together, and he almost looks to be in pain. “I know, right? If you can’t trust Captain America, who are you gonna trust?” Your chuckle sounded hollow to your years.

Steve shook his head as his right hand moved from the wheel to latch onto your left wrist. His hold was gentle, and you knew you could pull away if you wanted to. You didn’t want to. “I thought you disliked me.”

His words sent a shock through you. Dislike him? How could he think that when the truth was the exact opposite? Then it dawned on you that you really had avoided him. Whenever he tried to get you to open up you deterred his efforts, like you really didn’t like him, like you didn’t want to know him. You did, you just… You were just afraid of what could happen if you let him in too deep.

“That’s funny.” You said, even though it wasn’t. “I was so scared you wouldn't like me, or you would stop liking me, that I didn’t even give you the chance to do that.”

He was quick to respond: “No. I could’ve talked about different things-”

“It wouldn’t have worked.” You said. The words came to you easily, products of an epiphany rather than a thought. They’re not a product of your own reason, rather a universal truth. “It’s not your job to chip at my barriers. I was avoiding you, I was fighting this. Why would you keep pushing if I gave nothing back?”

“I don’t know why you put up walls.” Steve’s fingers skimmed against your skin. Was he still afraid his touch wasn’t welcome? “You must have your reasons, and I’m not going to ask them. I want to be someone you can trust, but I can’t make you trust me. Do you think… Do you think we could make this work? I’d like to get to know you, if you’re okay with that.”

You pulled your hand from his. His shoulders slumped, but he looked up when you entwined your fingers with his. His surprise was evident, and behind it, subtler, there was something else. You didn’t know what it was, but something in his expression sent your heart fluttering.

“I would like that too.” You said, smiling at the same time he did. “And you can let me know when you’re free so we can watch some series together, and you can explain to me how the hell you don’t hate Scrappy Doo.”

He laughs and squeezes your fingers in his. His touch is reassuring, and you feel nostalgic. You remember your childhood bedroom, and being snug under covers while a hand ran through your hair. Safe. That was the last time you had felt this safe.

#30DaysofChris2020 #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #mine

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astraeal · 4 years ago

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Commission for @thedashasaproblem! Hope you enjoy; read it on AO3 here.

Farmer Marie, original character, belongs to @thedashasaproblem. Stardew Valley, and all characters and settings therein, belongs to concernedape.

“Okay! We have quite a few things we need to get done today. Marnie called – you know how I asked her to let us know if she had any more available chicks? Yes? – and said there were some new ones we could pick up, which is perfect and just in time because Robin wrapped up the coop yesterday! And that means we need fresh hay in the coop, and if we need to restock the silo then we’ll mow too. Bessie needs to be milked and we’ll check if Sweetpea has any this morning or if she’s still nursing – ugh, little Delilah is going to be so stunning when she grows up, I can feel it. Oh, and good morning babe!”

Elliott blinks from where he’d stumbled into the kitchen, his hair thrown into a messy bun and loose auburn strands hanging around his face. He is in no way prepared for Marie’s chipper enthusiasm, but that’s what made him love her, after all. And, this entire situation is something he brought upon himself.

Head full of fantastical pastoral fantasies, he’d asked Marie to keep him appraised of what it takes to run Shady Land Farm. He was good with books, which was helpful – while Marie was running about the Valley in search of delicious fruits and rare stones, Elliott appointed himself the financier of Marie’s assets.

It had been difficult; he’d consolidated sticky notes scattered about the house with haphazard reminders about supplies owed to Robin, and items to sell to Pierre at the general store vs. what should be distributed to townsfolk directly, and birthday reminders, and favorite gifts, and occasional notes written in a script he couldn’t parse but appearing on a fantastical dark blue page that made his writer’s intuition spark. (That, and his fingers burned a little whenever he held such a note, as if it knew that he was not the intended recipient, but he never let Marie know that.)

After his book tour had completed, he had taken the better part of their first fall together to consolidate these notes and square the books. It had been helpful when Marie decided to go forward with the basement upgrade, and suddenly Shady Land’s wines and cheeses were worth quite a lot more. They’d only recently begun talking about incorporating more animals into the farm, hence the phone call to Marnie. With the addition of more animals, and Marie’s additional time spent working on repairing the old Community Center, Elliott wanted to assist more. It was only fair, after all; he still got most of his writing done at night, and there was no reason he couldn’t spend more of his mornings helping around the farm.

Marie had been ecstatic, of course, and he’d glowed with the anticipated appreciation for his efforts. So far, it hadn’t been that difficult. Sprinklers handled most of the watering, and with Marie’s clear eye for design, he wasn’t getting lost in the fields as he had feared he would.

But he still wasn’t a morning person, and his brain isn’t entirely on all the way, especially when his wife has inundated him with information and her beautiful visage so early in the morning.

Marie looks up at him, wide blue eyes and a warm smile on her face, blonde hair tucked away in two braids that usually resided beneath her sunhat. The hat now rests on the worn kitchen table, two steaming mugs of coffee and cozy breakfast platters set on the table. Still processing his wife’s words, Elliott makes his way to the second breakfast platter and pours some milk into his coffee, knowing he’ll need it to make it through the day.

“Good morning, my dear,” he murmurs as he finishes those first three blessed gulps of caffeinated beverage. “Would you like me to fetch the chicks? Or shall I stay on the homestead and you venture to the forest?”

Marie takes a bite of her eggs, done up with some goat cheese – “I bought it from Pierre but when we get some we’ll make our own, and it’ll be probably fresher than this stuff!” – potatoes, and sausage in her own little scramble. Elliott’s breakfast is far more tame, scrambled eggs and farm fresh cheese, with toast on the side.

“If you want to take Miss Daisy to Marnie’s, that would be great! She could use an excursion, and she loves the woods.” Marie sets her hand – soft, thanks to the gloves she uses, but still strong and capable – over Elliott’s wrist. “If you don’t mind, that is. I know coming back with newborn chicks might be a little…difficult.”

He warms at her touch. “I’m sure Marnie has a basket or some such thing I could use, don’t fret darling. She’d never let anything happen to the animals in her care.”

Marie smiles at him, and pecks his cheek. “Alright, babe, I’ll head down to the barn –”

“Oh, I can do that!” He blushes a little after his outburst, but still gives his wife a smile. “Let me handle the animals today, my dear. The first fruits of spring will be in the orchard, and you’ve got a better sense for flora than I.”

They both remember the catastrophic effort in Elliott’s old cottage when he watered his rose with sea water and was confused as to why it was dying. That had been one of the many points Elliott began to consider Marie as more than a friend.

She gives him a look clearly conveying that she’s thinking of the same moment he is. “Well, alright. Apricots and cherries, what a combination. Oh! And the wine! I’ll be right back!” She darts away, down the basement stairs, presumably to see if any wine has finished maturing yet. Some things she pulls out early, just for a little extra cash – Gus is always appreciative of a finer quality of any type of ingredient, especially alcohol.

Elliott knows it will take her a little while to check each barrel, so he quickly finishes his breakfast and coffee, and then stands, ready to take on the day.

First, to get himself prepared.

Then, to tend to Miss Daisy.

♢♢♢

Marie loses some time in the basement, checking each and every barrel, weighing the pros and cons of switching out some of the wine barrels for cheese barrels. With Bessie and Sweetpea both producing such quality milk, Shady Land has a near excess of cheese and she knows Gus would pay a fair amount to have some for his pizzas and salads.

Then again, better quality cheese keeps her going in the mines and other excursions, so there might be some incentive to keep some around? She’d probably ask Elliott for his thoughts, but by the time she surfaces from the basement and sees the clock perched over the coffee maker in the kitchen, she realizes it’s already 2:49pm.

She’d left her husband alone for hours. Elliott isn’t incompetent, but there’s still etiquette for handling new animals, especially babies, and all of Grandpa’s farming books are written in family shorthand, something she’d been meaning to teach Elliott but just kept forgetting.

Alarmed, Marie runs out to the front porch, expecting some sort of catastrophe. Bessie to be loose – not that she’d do much but perhaps wander up towards the house and eat a few tulips or something – or maybe Aspen to have fallen into the lake (again) but instead all’s quiet. She can hear the soft bells hanging from Bessie, Sweetpea, and little Delilah, but she can’t see them through the orchard.

She doesn’t run, lest she startle anyone, but she heads towards the tree line as quickly as she can. As she approaches, she can hear her husband’s voice. She quiets her steps as she enters the dappled shade of the orchard, the apple and orange trees still dormant for the season, yet producing beautiful flowers regardless. A sweet spring wind guides some fallen petals towards her, beautifully framing the tender scene she sees before her.

Elliott sits on a stump, Miss Daisy, Bessie, and Sweetpea, grazing peacefully beside him. He and little Delilah, however, are looking down, enraptured with three small fuzzy brown and golden chirping fluffy chicks in the grass. The chicks are barely visible from her current distance, but as Elliott straightens up his long hair goes back into place, revealing a fourth little chick curled up in his hand, which he gives little pets to every once in a while.

“You’re not too different from the crab that once lived in my pocket,” the story crafter begins, murmuring to the little chick in his hand. The chick chirps in response, and Elliott chuckles. “I haven’t told you that story yet? Well, I absolutely should.”

Marie takes another small step forward, not wanting to encroach on the moment nor startle any of the beings involved. The more she watches the scene, the more she sees things she hadn’t before. Like how all the adult females stood firmly on the edge of the lake, prohibiting the chicks, Elliott, or Aspen from wandering too close to it. And a small – hopefully empty – milk pail sits next to the stump, as if her husband had finished a chore and then simply couldn’t be away from the chicks for much longer.

What gives her away is another small fluff ball in the grass, this one bigger than the chicks, a brilliant white that rockets out of the higher grass and directly into Marie’s arms.

“Aspen! Who’s a good boy?” she coos, on reflex. Miss Daisy looks nonplussed, as if she knew Marie was there the entire time, while Delilah startles a little and runs back to the safety of Sweetpea.

Elliott also startles, which startles the chicks, who all climb and jump up his pant legs and into his lap, chirping loudly until they can take cover in the safety of Elliott’s lap. “Darling! I didn’t hear you arrive!” He looks caught red handed, though with what, Marie’s not sure.

She walks over, Aspen tucked to her chest, and sees with no small amount of relief that the milk pail isn’t full of milk, but rather water. Now, she can also see a small basket, no doubt from Marnie, in which the chicks probably arrived.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to disrupt…you just looked so cute, babe! Everyone treating you nicely?” Marie leans forward, letting Aspen back down to the ground, and gives an affectionate rub to Miss Daisy, who wandered over searching for some treats.

Elliott blushes, visible even with the mid-spring flush he seems to always have on him. “Yes, quite. Everyone has been remarkably kind to me. Miss Daisy had to guide us home herself! I was, ah, a little preoccupied with the newest young ones.”

The wind picks up a little, carrying more flower petals through the air. Elliott’s long auburn waves glint caramel in the sun, unfurling to the side, revealing the turquoise earring usually kept tucked away. Marie had mined that turquoise herself; the earring had been a wedding gift from Clint, repurposing a stone Marie had sold him a few weeks prior to their proposal. (She had briefly wondered if maybe Clint and Elliott had been in on it together, as the timing was so perfect, but maybe she was simply overthinking things.)

Elliott looks completely at home, sitting cross-legged on the stump, worn down by spring rains. With the chicks in his lap and the errant flower petals in his hair, the man looks ever more like a regal prince from all the books and movies Marie had seen growing up.

“They’ve taken a liking to you,” she observes, reaching a finger in to give gentle pets to the soft downy chicks. They accept them, curious and cautious in their new home, but feeling brave under Elliott’s protection. “Have you thought of any names?”

Her husband looks up, green eyes wide. “Names? Oh, darling, I thought that was all you.”

“Nonsense! You picked them up, you should at least be able to name them. These ladies will need fine names, if they’re to live here on Shady Land. And you’re a writer, names are what you do!”

The chicks chirp in agreement, looking up at Elliott.

“Well…I was thinking this one could be Carmelina,” he murmurs, touching the lightest brown one. “Caramel, for the color, but the full name also means “vineyard of Yoba” so I find that fitting for the main exports of Shady Land, don’t you?”

Marie blinks. “You…knew the meaning of the name on the spot?”

“Of course! Clara was almost named Carmelina in Camellia Station, but I thought that would be too close to the title of the book, so I changed it. Still kept the C though.” He gets that wistful look on his face, a little lost in thought, as he usually does when trying to come up with next big ideas for his writing career.

The farmer giggles, giving more pets to Miss Daisy, who finally nosed out the cookies in Marie’s pockets. She gives one to her steadfast companion, looking at her husband with a newfound appreciation.

She takes a seat on the stump beside Elliott, looking up at him as they discussed further names for the chicks. The sun dripped down through the orchard’s branches, spreading dappled shadows up the short grassy expanse. Eventually, the cows and Miss Daisy wander back to their respective barns and stables, and the chicks doze off in Elliott’s lap. Marie delicately takes a couple – the newly named Carmelina and Dahlia – and heads off to the newly constructed coop to set them inside.

The chicks barely move when they’re set down in their new hay lined beds, clearly Elliott’s handiwork while Marie was tending to the house. The two of them hold hands, walking through the fields of Shady Land.

“You know, we could wash up and head to town. Get a late lunch at the Saloon, then maybe walk down by the beach?” Marie suggests, watching her husband for his response. She likes to spend as much time with him as possible before she loses him to his nightly writing routine, and there’s something a little tender about meandering down by the places they had fallen in love.

Elliott beams, nearly glowing with happiness. “That sounds delightful, dear. I’ll be sure to put on my best shirt.”

It’s not necessary to dress up for a 4pm lunch at the Stardrop Saloon, but Elliott likes to go the extra mile, and Marie can appreciate the little efforts to glamorize being a farmer’s husband. She kisses his dirt smeared cheek, standing side by side on the porch, and marvels at how far she’s taken the farm since her grandfather had worked the land.

Maybe someday she’d tell her husband about the vision she’d received a couple weeks ago, with her grandfather and the ultimate judging of her efforts so far, and the new, strange, blue flame candles on her grandfather’s shrine in the northwest corner of the farm. Someday. But not today.

“I wonder if Gus will have crab cakes,” she teases, stepping into their home, to the sounds of fire crackling in the fireplace and her husband enthusiastically waxing poetic about his favorite dish in the entire Valley.

Truly, it’s home.

#commissions #stardew valley commission #stardew valley #sdv #thedashasaproblem #i think after typing it so many times i NOW can read your url correctly #but i think it will always partially be 'the dashas problem'#hope you enjoy!! 💖💖💖

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uchiharunos · 5 years ago

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Well hello 👋

I dislike getting involved in Tumblr drama these days because this place just gets more tiring day by day and it’s been a long while since I have shifted to Twitter. However as it is, since the root of the discourse seems to be here, I thought I would give a piece of my mind here too as I have been sharing it on Twitter.

I consider myself a consumer and a minor producer. Yes, a producer because if readers/supporters can be reduced to mere consumers of “fan creators” then these so called people are the producers. It’s the only right thing to say in my opinion. That said, if people are bent on making fandom, a space where fans of an original work join and create/enjoy being together because fandom is supposed to be a place to enjoy, a getaway from reality, an escape where you make friends with people who genuinely share the same interests and enthusiasm as you and not some fucking business transaction where consumers are merely described as “people sucking off content creators” then fuck them.

While I do support the idea of leaving fan-authors reviews(I honestly LOVE getting even one review on my work) I do not support the idea of guilt tripping and shaming people to do so. As a girl who comes from a non English speaking country, I can tell you not everyone learns English and grammar from proper sources ( it’s mostly the tv shows, movies some books here and there because believe me it’s hard to even get classic best selling books here which are readily available in other countries) and the confidence to speak/write a second or third language. It doesn’t come naturally. It hard to not doubt your grammar, your use of words while communicating with a person who you don’t know personally or have never talked with one on one. It’s hard.

So no I don’t blame readers for not always leaving me reviews because I understand. Reviews for me are an added gift. A gift I don’t even think I always deserve because I do not think I am perfect, I do not think I deserve to be placed upon such a high pedestal by people who admire me because I have written some words on the internet (which I am sure have a thousand grammatical mistakes) I don’t know how anyone else takes this, but please, please know kudos/subscribe or favorite/follow means a lot too. You are NOT trash if you do those. I understand, because I have been there once too. I understand how you can have issues, I understand how you might find me intimidating, I understand my fanfiction not being you cup of coffee, I understand. I do not believe in give and take, in fact, I thank people who have even spared a little of their time to enjoy my art/edits and fanfiction. I may not know how happy my fic made you but the feeling you felt while reading my fic? That’s something important to me. Knowing something always doesn’t make it better.

Now, don’t ever feel sad that a fanfic author left fandom because that one time you didn’t review. That one time you didn’t appreciate them. No. Every creator starts off small, and I believe when they do start creating its because they need an outlet to share their love for their ship with other people. I personally write for sasusaku, and not anyone else. I love it when you enjoy, but to me, my readers are secondary to my love and need to write/draw sasusaku and to explore them in different settings/universes. So it’s a gift to me if you enjoy what I enjoy doing. THAT MEANS A LOT BELIEVE ME.

The fandom is NOT dying. Don’t take these tumblr randoms make you believe something it isn’t. Yes it is inactive on Tumblr (I think so because that’s what my mutuals on Twitter have been telling me and from what I see) but on Twitter? It’s active as ever. Not 2014 active, because lets be honest, when a series ends most people move onto different fandoms because they get different interests and it’s been roughly 6 years. That was bound to happen.

Thankfully, Sasuke Retsuden revived most of the fandom again. I would like to believe since then many people have shifted to Twitter (because I have been making lot of new friends lately haha who told me they shifted because this place sucks!) and all in all, if you know how to block those antis on Twitter, it’s a really neat place [I can say that people on Twitter have more brains than here] I would think that we are still the most active part of the Naruto fandom there, along with Japanese artists/fans. So if you are ever considering to shift there, (there’s so much more engagement for arts/fics there too) please do so?!

Also ( I forgot to add this before) but FANDOM ISNT A ONE PERSON THING. ALL OF YOU AND ME, SILENT READER OR NOT, CONTENT CREATOR OR NOT, REGARDLESS OF YOUR FANBASE/ FOLLOWER COUNT AND POPULAR CIRCLE OF FRIENDS KEEP THIS FANDOM ALIVE.

Anyways, this has to be the longest post on my tumblr that was posted by me. Lastly, I would say the thing which I have always wanted to, review from your heart, review something that actually made you feel and support only if you want to. Everyone is in a bad place somehow,not everyone’s life is all sunshine and rainbows. Don’t review because you would be shamed if you didn’t do so, not because your conscience would keep nagging you how bad of a person you are if you didn’t leave a review. It’s not the pity I need, it’s the love I would prefer. Always remember kudos/likes are enough too.❤️

#sasusaku #fanfiction #just my thoughts on this #idc what yall say #discourse #not really a keyboard warrior #but i said what i said

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jimlingss · 5 years ago

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Thank you, everyone, for your words of encouragement. In this short amount of time, I’ve been absolutely overwhelmed with messages of support. I want to reassure you all that I’m by no means as hurt as some of you think, or at least not after so much kindness. I’ve always encouraged all kinds of feedback!! From compliments to constructive criticism. And I’m (supposedly) an Adult™, so I can definitely take someone’s opinion.

Regardless, thank you to everyone who reached out to me. I want to respond to each and everyone of you under this post so I don’t flood other people’s dashes.

Anonymous said: about the anon who said your fics lack emotion, hmm i wouldn't quite agree tbh, i remember reading tears of a villian and deadass crying, it hurt me so much!! also, in "fall in hatred" their feeling are so well portrayed and i could understand why they acted a certain way! to conlclude, there is always some space for constructive criticism but your stories, are to me, something very attentively built and created, it's apparent that you completely enjoy writing, I can feel your enthusiasm!!

--to that anon; pls don't get this wrong way but it's just the way I see it and I've read quite a lot till now

nah deadass crying isn’t good enough anymore, anon. You have to be keening and violently sobbing until you’re brought into the ER for my fics to be considered to have emotion. lol I’m only kidding, thank you for the message.

peachiest-hun said: To that anon who said your work lacked emotions, I beg to differ! I have read Jungle Park so many times I know at exactly which chapter when the heavy angst starts happening and I read those parts when I just want to have a good cry (I still cry every. single. time)! Also Head Over Heels to Hell, The Colour of Our Voices, Love So Shallow (because I so relate with OC), and many more have given me the FEELS (happy and sad ones). 1/2

So what I'm trying to say is that Jimlingss is doing a great job in her craft. She does deliver emotions in her work and the reason I love it so much is that it's SUBTLE and not completely in your face. Sometimes emotions that are subtle and they hit you slowly, but powerfully it hurts even more for me. On another note, I'm loving Sugar and Coffee. In times of darkness which are often these days, I have something to look forward to every week to keep me motivated. So thank you Jimlinggs! 2./2

Istg Jungle Park is one of the most unexpectedly beloved fics on my blog but I love it hahaha I can’t believe you’ve read it to the point of knowing what chapter is what though. that’s an honour. There’s definitely stories of mine that are less subtle than others, but I’m glad that you enjoy the latter of them too :’) Thank you.

Anonymous said: This is my first time ever leaving a message on someone’s tumblr, but I just felt that I HAD to after reading that anon’s comment about your stories lacking emotion. I wholly disagree (in the nicest way possible, not throwing any shade at anyone). I’ve read all of your fics (for the past two years) and I look forward to when you release new material (the highlight of my Mondays right now after I come home from working at a clinic). Your stories have really lifted my mood during this pandemics an

Anonymous said: Sorry for that long tangent. Don’t even know if I made sense. You don’t have to respond to any of this, but you deserve to hear some positive words as well.

Oh my god. Did I just take your tumblr-message virginity? asdfghjkl I’m kidding. but thank you for reaching out to me. I can’t believe you’ve been around for such a long time and that I’m a part of your Monday routine :’)

Anonymous said: OK that ask about "constructive criticism" was def imo RUDE. You don't just anonymously go into someone's asks and bluntly tell an author that their fics "lack emotion". That is not the way to encourage someone to improve and continue to work hard. That's just flat out mean. That person clearly doesn't care about your feelings or the fact that you write and share your stories for FREE for us to enjoy. I love your stories and appreciate what you've shared with us. Thank you for your hard work ❤️

I like to give the benefit of the doubt to anons and anyone sending me a message online in general. God knows there were times I meant well but it was received wrongly. But anyway, my mind was more boggled than I was hurt, that’s one thing for sure.

joonie-mono said: + it was called love so shallow which genuinely made me see myself in a character, but my point was that your writing has a specific feel to it, it's made me laugh and cry (His Name personally killed me :] ) and that's my opinion. You and your writing are amazing and I'm sorry but that anon was just so wrong.

oof bringing out the evidence. be my attorney please.

Anonymous said: As someone who has read your entire masterlist (and going through it again) i will have to wholeheartedly disagree with that anon. The way you portray SO many emotions in your fics is *chefs kiss* and I honestly thought that the ones that “lack emotion” were meant to be that way, with an open ending, the idea that their love just started, soo.... yeah, I’ll have to disagree.

There are definitely stories of mine that are a bit looser on romance. Such as Kitchen Romance, The President’s Son, The Heiress’ Son, Arcadia, etc. But I have a loooot of fics that are quite emphasized in either despair/sadness or cute fluff.

ladyartemesia said: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! I am here to disrespectfully disagree with anon who probably doesn’t write effing ANYTHING and has no idea what it takes to produce the content you do. I have followed for months and I’m still not through your masterlist BECAUSE reading your stories is a bloomin EMOTIONAL EVENT. When I read Brass and Strings, I LOST A WHOLE DAY. Like I was so into it, my DAY was gone. Anon is prolly salty there isn’t more smut I guess. That’s whatever for them. (Part 1)

It’s subtle, deep, meaningful, and incredible and you’re one of my favorite authors. I can’t FOR A SECOND let that comment go cause it’s RIDICULOUS. You’re literally so gifted. You don’t need to change a thing. Every artist, no matter their medium, should continue to improve. So in that sense I wish you all the growth in the world as you work towards the perfection of your craft. BUT SERIOUSLY you’re an incredible writer. That anon is loony. I’m so sorry you had to even read those crazy words.

As I answer these messages, it’s starting to feel like I’m the third party mediator of a dispute and all y’all are just HAMMERING it to this anon, LOL. I’m not sure if the anon is necessarily requesting for more smut but if they are, they might be happy this Friday (*COUGH spoiler for those actually reading my responses)

Anyway, you’re too kind. thank you. I am definitely not as hurt as I was earlier.

((and tbh you’re hilarious, you’re actually making me laugh irl))

krystle1990 said: Woah!! Ok first that Anon is absolutely crazy. I literally stalk your page for new work being put out! I probably blow up your notifications daily. I've never been disappointed in any of your work. You always give a heads up if it will take time for the characters to realize their feelings which I absolutely love. It always leaves me ready for the next part and I am glued to my phone with every update. You're amazing and I can't wait to see how you grow with your work. 💜😘

ASDFGHJKL PLEASEEE if it’s someone who’s worried about blowing up notifications, it’s me. To those who have notifications on I sincerely can’t fathom how often I blow up people’s phones. I digress, I always give out warnings to keep people patient since I know slow burn can be excruciating haha thank you for the message.

kigurumu said: Also just want to add that saying you have good intentions or "don't mean to be mean" does not cancel out whatever offensive thing you just said. IT WILL STILL RUDE. Not saying all negative feedback is bad. Criticism can be hard to take no matter how it's phrased, but telling a writer to be more like another writer is like telling them their style isn't good enough which is NOT helpful. Your writing is your own. If the anon wants to read fics that are like gukyi's, they can read gukyi's fics 🙄

Also I've been waiting until Sugar and Coffee is done so I can binge it all at once but avoiding spoilers from all the asks is so hard haha! I keep seeing all these good things about it and I'm SO tempted to just read it now but I've already waited this long so I don't wanna give up kfnrjrofvjskdh guess I'll reread your other fics in the meantime

The message was fine on its own but I think dragging in another writer at the end was definitely not ok. When will comparing writers end. But regardless, gukyi and I are cool with one another - i mean we wrote 100k together so it’s gonna have to take a reverse Zuko arc for us to be on bad terms lol

Anyway, oooh you’re one of those bingers. Can’t say I blame you cause I love binging myself, so it’s understandable for readers to wait till the series is over. and since you were so kind in following up your original message with two more and expressing so much appreciation for me :’), I’ll let you know that the finale of Sugar and Coffee will be posted by July 20th! by then, the entire series will be completed.

Anonymous said: Tbh i think that neither you nor that anon is wrong. Some people like it more romanticised and cheesy, some people dont. I believe that your stories are more on the realistic side of life. People (whom your characters represent) cant always be cheesy and passionate for love, there are other things in life! Maybe you're just the type who's too realistic for any hopeless romantic things like i am and it's fine. Not all writers can write dramatic romance

Tbh, I agree. It’s a matter of opinion and there’s no one wrong in the fight of opinions. As I’ve said many times on my blog, the cringe factor varies between person to person. What someone might think is fluffy is absolutely cringey to another. What someone might think is a good amount of fluff is not enough for someone else. I’ve written a lot. And I’ve made sure to add lots of variations between the amount of romance in my stories. Indeed, some are definitely more subtle and “realistic” while others are completely cheesy and makes me gag from the amount of sugar in it lol I just think the anon should take a look at more of my stories before coming up with such a conclusive opinion.

Anonymous said: I’ve been reading your fics for over a year now and religiously follow updates every week. Why? Because they make me feel something whether it be joy from fluff or grief from angst. I’ll remember a story of yours months after I first read it and return to it just to feel those emotions again. I understand that emotional responses are usually subjective but I think that anon needs to read your works again, because they sure are missing out.

I replied to that anon that they should check out more of my fics and then come back to tell me if they haven’t changed their minds, so I don’t know if they’re missing out or not lol

I don’t expect my stories to elicit emotional responses or fanatic feedback for everyone. God knows there’s been other people’s writing styles that just didn’t resonate with me no matter how hard I tried to read their stories. But all I ask is that people try. It’s fine if you give up halfway but at least try reading. That’s fair to ask, right?

#Anonymous #peachiest-hun #joonie-mono #ladyartemesia #krystle1990 #kigurumu

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extrathordinary · 5 years ago

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wild palms- thor odinson

thor odinson/reader

word count: 1980

story type: hella angst (sorry)

characters: female reader, thor odinson, sam wilson, and Steve rogers

trigger warning: i curse like a sailor I'm so sorry

A/N: Hi, everyone! This is my first writing piece I’ve uploaded here- I’m trying to get back into creative writing and what better way to find my way than through Marvel fanfiction. I appreciate any and all feedback! Sidenote: I did Samuel Wilson so dirty here I am so sorry. Sam deserves the WORLD and I absolutely did not give it to him in this story, but I wanted to make this as heart-wrenching as possible. Thanks for reading!

“The second time I ever saw you I learned that what I had read in books but I never had actually believed: that love and suffering are the same thing and that the value of love is the sum of what you have to pay for it and anytime you get it cheap you have cheated yourself.”

-The Wild Palms, William Faulkner

The lingering touches, the stolen smiles from across the room, the late nights staying awake talking about god knows what for hours on end; the daily “I made you coffee because you were still asleep and I know you hate everybody and everything until you’ve had caffeine and I didn’t want you to wake up angry” cups of coffee on each other’s bedsides, the delicate “you’ve got something on your face, let me get it for you” touches that are just excuses so you have a chance to finally touch each other- it’s all too much and you can’t breathe.

The rational side of your brain screams at you to lock these feelings back up and throw them to the bottom of a lake somewhere inside yourself and never acknowledge they even existed in the first place, but your brain is getting increasingly smaller by the second and pretty soon you will not be able to tell the difference between good and bad- right and wrong, and god this is wrong. But you have been holding your breath for far too long and he feels like fresh air and it’s far too painful to deny yourself breath any longer than you already have.

You realized this the third time you had acknowledged your feelings for the God of Thunder: you realized that love and the sacrifices you make for it walk hand in hand and any time you do not have anything to lose, anything to risk, you have cheated yourself of what love should be. You, yourself, have absolutely nothing to lose. You do not deserve the love- the honest to God real fucking love you crave so badly. You have too much red in your ledger for someone like him.

Your world before the Avengers was confined to the walls of the Red Room, knowing rarely of life elsewhere. You weren’t stolen from your beloved parents, you weren’t kidnapped off of the streets- you don’t have- no, you don’t get a sob story. You were selfish. The reality of the situation is that you wanted to be something better- something bigger than what your life had to offer. Your greed and pride and lust for recognition drove you over the edge of insanity; you ran off to the Red Room of your own accord at the age of twelve, naïve to the life awaiting you inside its concrete walls. Your intentions were to become the best goddamn weapon the world had ever seen, morals be damned. And you achieved your goal- you had made yourself a name by the age of nineteen; hell, you even popped up on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar, finally getting at least some of the recognition you craved. But all victories come with a cost.

Your cost rang up to be watching your parents being lowered six feet underground, murdered by the very people who made you into the monster you wished to be. No weaknesses, right? After the murder of your parents, you went spiraling. You left the Soviet organization and turned yourself into S.H.I.E.L.D. Following months and months of training, therapy, and conditioning, you were again utilized as a weapon, but this time, for the good guys- for the Avengers.

Now, here you stand, gripping your glass of water so hard it might shatter, angry with yourself for believing for even a second you deserve to love and be loved by someone so kind and so… free, for loving someone you didn’t have to settle for. Clearing your throat, you set your damn-near-forgotten drink on the kitchen counter beside you. You press your back against the cool marble of the counter. Your hands go to your face as you take a deep breath in, trying to steady yourself from the crashing waves of nausea hitting your stomach.

Heavy footsteps echo through the hallway filtering into the kitchen where you are currently situated, cuing you to stand up a little bit straighter and look a little bit happier. Thor strides into the space, carrying himself as if he had wings. That confidence, that strength he possesses is something you’ve admired about him from the moment he stepped onto the grounds of the compound from the Bifröst years ago. The world could be crashing down around him and he’d still stand tall amid the chaos. His strong stature was and is formed by his kingship over Asgard undoubtedly; if not for himself, he must be strong for his people regardless of the circumstances. He never makes himself small.

“Good morning, little dove. Has sleep been kind to you in the night?” Thor’s tired, raw voice rings through the air as he mirrors your position against the countertop opposite of you. A small smile crosses your lips as you take in his sleepy appearance. A similar smile takes its place on his.

“Yeah, um…” your eyes catch his for a fleeting moment, waves of emotion threatening to spill over. You can’t have him, (Y/N). “You could say that…” you trail off. You shift your weight to your arms as you push yourself to sit on top of the counter. “How about you, dove?” you reciprocate with more enthusiasm, poking fun at the term he used mere moments ago.

The god lets out a breathless chuckle with a shake of his head, “Sleep is always no stranger to me.”

His looks, however, betray him. The darkness surrounding his usually-bright eyes, the shallow wrinkles making a home ever-so-subtly in the contours of his face not slipping your mind. It’s no coincidence thunderstorms paint the skies during odd hours of the night- hours in which only you are awake, or so you ignorantly presumed. They always let up before morning, of course.

You sigh, locking your eyes with the god’s.“Thor, you don’t have to hide from me-”

Your sentence is interrupted by the ding of the elevator opening just a few meters from you and the god. Neither you nor Thor move from your places, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer as you shift your attention to the pair of bodies stepping out of the elevator. You shut your eyes momentarily as your heart drops at the sight of Sam and Steve making their way towards you and Thor. How foolish of you to drift so far from your reality for even one fleeting moment.

“There she is! There’s my favorite girl.” Sam hooks his arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “How’d you sleep, sugarmama? I didn’t have the heart to wake you this morning when I got up. You just looked so peaceful and shit laying there.”

You clear your throat and plaster a smile of feigned affection on your face as you turn to look at Sam. “Just fine, thank you, babe.” Little did he know you had been fully awake as you pretended to sleep, your mind running marathons and jumping hurdles as you tried to figure out how to fucking get yourself together.

Steve’s hand makes contact with Thor’s shoulder as he laughs at something he said, Thor not paying much attention to him at all. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the interaction playing out between you and Sam, anger and jealousy and loneliness flooding his veins all at the same time. You, however, catch this- his change in demeanor. Before, the atmosphere surrounding the two of you was light and safe and now the tension is so thick between the two of you it can be cut right in half. Your eyes meet his again and you give him the saddest smile he thinks he’s ever seen and it just about sends him over the edge.

The god clears his throat and mutters a polite “excuse me” to Steve as he seemingly drags himself out of the kitchen and down the hallway, a small rumble of thunder shaking the skies; it’s faint, but it’s there and it hurts. The boys shake it off and start to discuss their post-run workout. You bite your lip and close your eyes, taking a deep breath in through your nose as all of your self control keeps you nailed to the counter. I’m sorry.

“Hey, (Y/L/N), wanna join us for the workout?” Steve’s voice snaps you out of your daze. “I promise we won’t go easy on you.”

Sam snickers, pulling at the baggy shirt hanging around your body. “C’mon, babe. Training’s always fun with the chococino...” Steve laughs at Sam’s remark as Sam wiggles his eyebrows at you.

Please don’t. You offer a small smirk, shoving your emotions further down your throat and into your stomach. “As tempting as your offer is, I think I’m going to take a rest day today, boys.”

You hop off of the kitchen counter and grab your glass of water. “Oh, okay, babe. I see how it is. I’ll just have to work for it today, then.” Sam snakes an arm around your waist once more as he speaks, pulling you in for a quick kiss shortly after. As your lips graze his, you feel like you want to vomit. Everything is suddenly too much and you feel as if you’re being hurled into the fucking Sun.

You’re quick to pull away and excuse yourself from the room only to find yourself standing in front of a bedroom door- Thor’s bedroom door. Before you can talk yourself out of what you’re about to do or calm yourself down at all, your knuckles rap one, two, three times on the hard wood of the door, the knocks seemingly deafening in the silence of the hallway.

“I am in no mood to converse at the moment, Rogers.” Thor’s gruff voice sounds through the door, muffled by the heavy wood of the door.

My god, you’re going to regret this. “It’s just me.” your voice comes out shakier than you had hoped it would.

Silence. There’s silence, but just for a moment. On the other side of the door, Thor has his head in his hands, gripping and pulling at his hair hoping to make himself just fucking snap out of it. He can’t have you. You. You. You. No. Thunder cracks and crashes against the sky outside. The best of him left as soon as Sam touched you.

You flinch at the sound, cursing your feet for bringing you where you obviously aren’t wanted. Your eyes fly shut. A shaky breath escapes your lungs as the doorknob twists with a creak. The door opens and Thor is met with your terrified expression. You’re not terrified of him, god no. You’re terrified of how you and he are going to get through this because you know damn well he feels the same way you do and you know damn well he’s just as scared.

“Oh, my love, come here.” Thor gently pulls you into him as he closes the door behind you, hiding the two of you from the whirring cameras lining the hallway.

You press your forehead into Thor’s chest, your hands going to his hips. One of his hands is solid on your back, the other weaving its way in your hair, holding you against him. Thor’s eyes flutter shut as he tries to memorize the feel of your body pressed against his, praying to all the gods above he gets to do this every day. How the hell is this so wrong?

“What are we doing here, Thor?” your voice breaks, loneliness and longing seeping through. Just like you hoped it wouldn’t.

“I don’t know, little one.” He tucks his chin on top of your head. “I don’t know.” The god presses a kiss to the crown of your head, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, silently saying “this is where your crown should be sitting, my queen”.

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jflashandclash · 6 years ago

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Traitors of Olympus IV: Fall of the Sun

Forty-Four: Reyna

I Ride a Cat into Battle[1]

Seeing her comrades almost overwhelmed made Reyna’s throat constrict. For a moment, Reyna remembered her old nightmares, about the earth overtaking New Rome and the villas and temples of her bloved home crumbling. When Axel punched through the earth that the Plague Bringer’s voice had weakened and she saw the destruction of Camp Half-Blood, Reyna had to wonder if this was Percy’s version of that nightmare.

While riding on the green avatar’s shoulders, she could tell Thalia and Calex had tensed at the sight of the camp. Despite seeing Kaos and everything else they had been through, she wondered if either of them was prepared to see their home in rubble. From their height advantage, they could see everything.

When Reyna saw her scattered troops succumbing to the chaos here, she had to hope Calex and Thalia could stick to their plan as they and Euna had hopped off.

Now, after calling out to her troops and commanding they keep their resolve, she couldn’t think about Euna’s, Thalia’s, or Calex’s fight. She had to focus on her own.

“Hold on,” the two-toned voice of Axel and the goddess said.

Reyna wanted to hang on to the avatar’s neck for stability, but couldn’t. She needed to keep in sight of the Romans. She had mustered what was left of her strength and courage to spread it to the others below. Her tattoo burned. They needed to see her as a symbol of power and hope.

Instead, she crouched, clutching on to the wide collared necklace that stretched across the avatar’s shoulders.

Axel—Reyna decided she had to think of the female avatar as Axel still and no one else—lunged a step forward. She dug her fingers into the jewelry, feeling the rush of air whip her hair and cloak about. Despite the size, Axel pounced with the same agility that he normally did. Only, this time, he smashed a line of ghosts that were descending on her troops in the strawberry field.

A cheer started from below.

“Thank the gods! It’s on our side!” one Roman called.

A relieved smile touched Reyna’s lips when she saw Hazel with a handful of Romans.

“Praetor Reyna has a new pet!” another laughed.

Reyna wondered if they would have the same enthusiasm had they known the Leonis Caput was inside.

She also wondered if Axel would appreciate being called her pet.

“I am no one’s pet,” Axel and the goddess said. The goddess continued with a savage grin in her tone, “Though, I do enjoy hunting a nest of mice.”

Axel leaned down, making Reyna brace again. He wracked the massive saber-like claws through the next line of ghosts. The glowing green blades shredded through the ground and destroyed a dozen ghouls along the way.

“Romans! To the barracks! We regroup now to make a defense!” she called.

The Romans rallied by Axel’s feet, following the order with continued cheer. Between the reinforcements and her imbuing them with hope and courage, the Romans quickly turned the tide in the mayhem.

A piercing whistle echoed throughout the camp. Two figures, looking like distant comets, blurred across the camp’s boundary line. Reyna almost shouted a warning into Axel’s ear until one of the approaching figures slowed down enough for Hazel to throw her arms up around it.

Arion—her amazing horse—had arrived. Hazel mounted and she and Arion crossed the battle field to help a rather groggy-looking bear fend off several ghouls.

Axel took a careful step forward, toward the barracks. With another sweep, he slashed a dozen more ghosts. The distance to the barracks, which had seemed so far and bulging with violent spirits, now looked easier than one of Frank’s training exercises.

Although Reyna had been skeptical to accept help from the foreign goddess whose avatar Axel wielded (especially considering Axel was typically paranoid and hateful towards any gods—he had trusted this one with suspicious ease)[2] Reyna had to admit she liked the Egyptian cat goddess’ style. Slapping enemies into oblivion? A+

Another cry of joy erupted from below as the troops by the barracks met up with the stragglers from the strawberry field.

Before they got too distracted by their minor victory, Reyna shouted, “ORBEM FORMATE!” Her troops followed instruction, the archers forming a line behind the loose circle of infantry. There must have been one or two Greeks down there, as some of her soldiers shoved a confused demigod into the proper formation.

Somewhere down below, she heard a scream of rage.

About twenty feet away, the goddess of Ghosts, Melinoe, stumbled to her feet. Whatever ghost she had mimicked now melted away to reveal her creepy half-charred corpse, half-mummy body. Axel must have swept her aside without realizing he’d even tossed a goddess.

At Melinoe’s cry, the chaotic mess of ghosts formed a line near her. They stumbled away from the rest of the Greek encampment, flooding towards Reyna’s troops.

Further in the distance, Reyna heard a squawk-like squeal from one of the giants battling on the edge of the strawberry field.

“I need to help my brother,” Axel said, “I cannot sustain this form much longer.”

Despite his size, Reyna could hear a tremor in his voice. Axel might have been nervous—he hadn’t been around Pax much since Axel had almost killed his little brother. Or, maybe, this form took more energy out of him than he let on.

Reyna sucked in a breath. She would be fighting the ghost of her father again. Melinoe would inevitably call upon him, or turn into him; she wasn’t sure what the goddess’ power entailed. But, she would rather it be her burden than that of her troops. At least she’d faced down her father before. She could do it again.

“Go,” she said, “We can show them the skill of New Rome.”

One of his hands—almost the size of her body—lifted to her foot height. Reyna jumped onto it, grabbing hold as he knelt and gently lowered her to the ground.[3] Her archers covered their movement, taking out a few scattered ghouls that were making their way over. With his free hand, Axel flicked another one, sending the ghoul flying through the air.

Once Reyna stepped off, he used a finger to gently caressed her cheek—quite alarming considering any mishap in pressure could decapitate her or knock her over in front of all of her troops. Plus, the avatar’s giant cat head made the interaction really weird. She was scared Axel would pick her up and lick her, a motion that might have been cute if he were normal cat size, but would just leave her in a gross, slobbery bath.

Instead, Axel rose to his feet and cracked his neck—did the avatar’s neck crack too?

“The glamour of Rome better not disappoint,” he teased.

Then he lunged towards Eris and Pax, taking out five or six ghosts with each step.

Reyna accepted a sword from Butch, one of the Greeks who had joined her troops. She turned to face the oncoming Goddess of Ghosts, watching Melinoe’s features twist into those of her father: Julian Ramírez-Arellano.

Reyna forced herself not to shake. Her troops would be nervous now that their giant cat mascot was gone. She channeled her calm and courage to the rest of them, feeling the tattoo on her forearm burn with a harsher intensity. “FOR ROME!” Reyna cried.

She and her troops charged forward.

Hey everyone! Thank you for reading! After this chapter, the battle should smooth out and be a little easier to follow. (I promised myself that I would do a big battle at the end, a la Riordan, but—uh—you might have noticed I’m shaky writing them T.T) Thank you for your patience with it and I hope you’ve enjoyed regardless! I hope everyone is enjoying summer break :D Stay tuned next week for Euna’s chapter, A Dream Catcher Would Have Been Easier.

Footnotes:

[1] Meow?

[2] Mel betacomment, “What? Can he say it’s a cat thing? XD” Jack response, “Cats know to be suspicious of each other. The ones that don’t get side-tackled. Why do you think cat owners are so paranoid?”

[3] Mel betacomment, “AWWW! What a gentleman!

Thalia, in the distance, “COULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT FOR US CAT BREATH!”

Jack response,

Calex, “Thalia! Quiet! They’re having a moment!”

#Heroes of Olympus #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #Traitors of Olympus #fanfiction #PJO #HOO #Reyna #Axel #Bast #Butch is one of my favorites <3 #Does dating Axel make Reyna into Furies? important questions

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broken-clover · 6 years ago

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ACC Day 1- #RedInstead

Oof, almost forgot to put this here! Welcome to this month’s writing challenge, courtesy of @uniqueaspergirl. I’m looking forward to this project, I think it’s going to be a lot of fun!

Starting out, I’ve got an ensemble piece for Guilty Gear, though Sin is the main POV.

Sin Kiske wasn’t the most observant person, but even he could notice the obvious.

As if to make it clear that no, he wasn’t imagining things, he noticed the other students in the lecture hall going quiet. Most of them turned their heads towards the front of the room.

“Good morning, students!” Dr. Faust announced in his typical cheery tone. He deposited his briefcase on the desk just like he did every morning, falling into his usual routine without a hint of awareness that anything was out of the ordinary.

“Uhh...Doc?” Someone raised their hand. “Did you...forget to separate your laundry?”

As opposed to his usual crisp white jacket, Faust had donned something similar, but instead bright maroon. Maybe for someone else, it wouldn’t have been as puzzling, but Faust wore the same jacket every day, regardless of circumstance or weather.

(Maybe wearing the same thing every day was weird anyway, but hey, it was Faust)

Despite the interruption, the man looked absolutely delighted. “I’m very glad you’ve noticed! I’m wearing red in support of myself and my peers for autism acceptance!”

‘Autism?’ Sin vaguely recalled the term from a textbook, but he didn’t remember anything about it. He raised his own hand, and was swiftly called on. “Yes, Mr. Kiske?”

“What’s that mean?”

Around him, a few more hands shot up.

“Isn’t it supposed to be ‘awareness?’”

“I though people used blue for that…?”

“Why do you-”

“Alright, alright, everyone settle down.” Faust went quiet for a minute, flipping through his papers. “Well, I suppose we’ve gotten a bit ahead on our anatomy lectures. I’d be happy to do a short lecture on the subject if you’d like?”

It seemed that the majority of the class were either intrigued on the current subject, or eager enough to skip more anatomy lessons. The professor was all-too-happy to oblige, tucking away his notes.

Sin watched with rapt interest. He was always eager to learn new words, regardless of circumstance.

Apparently, it was a disorder that had a lot to do with how people communicate and express themselves. Faust was quick to remark that it was actually a pretty common thing, and that most of them had probably met a few people who had it at some point. Faust himself had it, and when he asked if anyone else did, a few classmates raised their hands.

Sin had definitely met a few people who weren’t the most socially skilled. But as the professor carried on, he realized that it was a bit more nuanced than that. The more the lecture went on, the more of an odd little thought was bouncing around in his head.

Struggling with communication. Sensitivity to some stimuli. Preferring schedules and routine. Hyper-focus on certain interests. There were a lot of different symptoms, and not everyone with autism presented the same ones, but the ones that caught his attention felt way too familiar for him to shake the idea.

Once Faust was able to explain the condition, he moved onto the other questions. The askers hadn’t been entirely incorrect, as autism awareness was identified with the color blue, along with a puzzle piece motif. But the people who started that movement were generally considered a hate group by the autistic community, putting emphasis on autism as a burden and something needing to be cured instead of putting attention on the people themselves. So, by wearing the red instead of blue, it was a sort of retaliation by the community and a call for acceptance, instead of just recognition.

Before they knew it, the lecture block was over. Faust gave them a cheery wave and pulled out a box of red pins from his bag, if anyone wanted to take some.

Sin was quick to swipe a few from the container as he hurried out of the hall. He’d still been mulling on the same thought he had been for almost the entire lecture. He didn’t usually head right back to the dorms after class, but he was too curious to waste time.

When he unlocked the door to his room, he found his roommate in his regular spot, tap-tapping away at his laptop.

“Hullo, Sin.” Bedman greeted him, not looking up from whatever he was working on. “You don’t usually get back this early. Something happen?”

“Uhh, sorta?” Dropping his shoes at the door, Sin flopped over on his bed. “Faust gave us a weird lecture today.”

“Oh?” Though Bedman kept his attention on the monitor, Sin knew the other boy well enough that he could tell he was still paying attention as he worked.

“He showed up in a red coat today. Said it was for ‘autism acceptance.’ I didn’t really know what that was, but he explained it to us.”

The sounds of typing slowed. For a half-second, Sin saw a pair of eyes glance up at him.

“I thought that a lot of the stuff he was talking about reminded me of you. So I was wondering, do you have that?”

The typing stopped. The room was quiet for a good minute. Sin was going to ask if he had been heard, but he noticed that his roommate had gone a little pale behind the screen’s glow.

“I’m sorry, should I not have asked? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

“Sin, do you think I’m stupid?”

“Wha- no, why would I?” Sin tilted his head. “You’re like the smartest guy I know!”

“I mean…” Bedman wrung his hands together. “With people. O-or- I can’t think of how to say this, how do I…?”

Sin wasn’t sure, but he took a wild guess. “I don’t think you’re dumb or weird or anything if you do. It’s just different! Nothing wrong with that.”

It seemed he’d managed to hit the nail on the head. Bedman gave him a funny look, before chuckling. “Of all people to be worried about...of course you wouldn’t care either way.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how to reply, but he was happy that he’d managed to quell the boy’s fears. “Oh!” He fished one of the pins he’d taken out of his pocket. “Faust was handing these out at the end, want one?”

“Nothing wrong with being supportive, I suppose.” The key-tapping resumed, though only for a few moments. “Speaking of which, it seems Dr. Faust is holding a little picnic over in the lecture hall courtyard. Fundraiser for the Autism Self-Advocacy Network. You get a discount if you show up wearing red.”

Sin was already halfway across the room, shedding his shirt and digging around in his dresser. “I know I had something red in here somewhere…”

Bedman shook his head in dismay, but smiled nonetheless. “I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

“Well, duh!” The taller boy wiggled into a new shirt, just as quickly pinning the little button onto it. “Gotta support folks! You up for eating lunch outside today?”

After a moment of though, the laptop was placed next to him, and Bedman hopped off. “A bit of sunlight never hurt anyone.”

“That’s the spirit!”

++++++

Neither of them had been expecting the courtyard to be as bustling as it was when they arrived. Sin almost immediately noticed the two Valentines over by one of the picnic tables.

“Ram! El! Hey!” He waved, beaming brightly as he approached. “Good to see you guys!”

Elphelt looked just as chipper. “Hiya, Sin! Glad to see you could make it!” She’d put on a pretty red skirt, paired with another of Faust’s pins.

“Of course we would!”

Bedman offered a polite little nod. “Hello, Elphelt. Ramlethal. Your participation is appreciated.”

“No worries! However I can support my sister!”

Ramlethal blushed a little, smiling. “Elphelt’s been very supportive since I got diagnosed. Really helped me try and find ways to adapt.”

“Aww, of course, sillyhead! That’s what sisters are for!”

“Good afternoon, students!” Faust approached the group, holding a camera. “So nice to see more guests! I do hope you’ll stay and eat, the cooking students are working very hard today.”

“Man, it’s like half the campus showed up! This is awesome!” While trying to find the end of the food line, Sin caught sight of a few familiar faces scattered about. He almost bumped into a shock of white hair at the end.

“Wh- oh, hey, Sin!” He recognized Chipp from Economics, though the red vest was new. Before Sin could respond, the man leaned back to nudge someone in front of him. “Hey, An, this is the one I was telling you about!”

An unfamiliar fellow with a scarf wrapped tightly around his mouth turns and offered a cordial wave. “Ah. I know this one. Bedman talks about him.”

The person in question had started blushing by the time Sin turned back around to look at him, but fought it down. “Answer. I had my suspicions.”

“As did I. Kind of hard to not make assumptions after you gave the class an impromptu lecture on the meaning of ‘unbreakable.’”

“You’re the one who had a ten-minute tangent on the legality of hedgehogs.”

“Hey, hey, no need to fight!” Sin stuck his hands between the two. “We’re all here to have fun, right?”

“...Fair.” Bedman relented. “But just to be clear, Answer, your points were very compelling.”

Ram was too distracted by the odor wafting overhead to care about the bickering. Maybe it was hard to notice for others, but she was particularly sensitive to scents. “I smell burgers.”

And correct she was. Twenty minutes and fifteen dollars later, the little group found a place on the grass, just close enough to hear Jam chatting in response to Haehyun’s rapid sign language.

“Ahh, I really love the burgers they make here!” Sin chowed down happily, content with his food.

Nodding in approval, Ram seemed to down half of hers in one bite. Elphelt got started just as quickly, but Sin noticed that Bedman was merely watching the proceedings.

“Something wrong?” He asked. “Too loud?”

“I guess I’m just a little surprised, is all.”

“Surprised?...You lost me.”

“I know it’s a bit stupid.” He kept his eyes off Sin, meticulously picking at his burger. “I know you of all people probably wouldn’t judge me for being autistic. It’s simply...a concern I have with everyone. There’s always just that little bit of uncertainty. Everyone reacts to it differently.”

“Aww. We’re friends, man!” The blonde replied. “I have been living with you for months. It’s not like knowing you’re autistic changes anything about you. You’re the same person I just know a little bit more about the way you work now, is all.”

“Hmm…” Bedman offered a smile. “You’re more philosophical than I give you credit for, Sin.”

“Aww, thanks!”

“Do you know what that means?”

“Not a clue!...it’s a compliment, right?”

“...Yeah, it’s a compliment.”

“Oh good, you’re still here!” Faust was still carrying the same camera as he approached the group again. “Mind if I take a photo of you for the school’s media page?”

“Sounds fun!” Elphelt replied. “Sound okay, Ram?”

“Sure.” Somehow, she had already finished her food.

“Alright, so just scoot in a little more…” The camera was lifted up and positioned. “Smile!”

The next morning, Bedman found the group photo posted right on the front of the site. Elphelt had fallen over about a half-second after the photo was taken, and Sin was smiling so hard he almost looked cross-eyed. But they all looked happy.

’Spending Time at the Campus Fundraiser!’ The caption announced cheerily.

For as confusing as friends could be, Bedman was very happy that he had them.

#autistic creative challenge #writing #guilty gear #sin kiske #Faust #Bedman

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melodrqmas · 6 years ago

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This isn’t a call out post or anything but my back literally aches just thinking about the mental gymnastics it must take to see what happened in season five with Memori and to write it off as toxic, while still shipping Murphy/Raven.

Tl;dr: the biggest problem for me in this fandom, is not in fact the relationship between Murphy and Raven, but the fandom appreciation and oversimplification, along with the hypocrisy that comes with it.

Far be it for me, as an able bodied person, or anybody for that matter to tell anyone that it’s wrong or gross to ship Mur/ven. In fact, ship whoever the hell you want, regardless of their past, I don’t care. Murphy is not abusive towards Raven. Abuse implies that it is a continuous violence (either physical or emotional) is occurring repeatedly, which it is not. Thus, the relationship between the two is not “toxic” (as much as I hate the word) for that reason in itself. There’s been healing and forgiveness and they are even at a point where they can joke about what’s happened between them. I’m not saying they should, but more than once, much to my dismay, has Murphy made a few quips about her leg and Raven was visibly amused. She could get together with him if she so pleased, nobody in canon would bat an eye.

That in itself, is grounds for the fandom wide rule of “ship and let ship”. Shipping is taken way too seriously as it is. It’s cool to vibe with a dynamic, want them together romantically and even prefer them over a currently canon relationship (I’ll touch on this a bit later). The amount of interaction between these two is certainly enough grounds for a solid ship; I guarantee you are not alone and that there are plenty of transformative works for you to get your fix (some of my all-time favourite fanfics have Murphy and Raven as the main pairing). I personally don’t see it, but I’m not here to tell you what you are seeing on screen isn’t romance and you’re all delusional. I might have used to be that way, but I decided that I was a part of the problem I’m now trying to address. Like I said, fandom experience is so much more pleasant when you stop giving a shit about who disagrees with you (but if you asked I could redirect you in the ways of some A+ meta, debunking why a certain line/glance between the two, was not in fact code for “I love you. Have my children.” I digress.)

So we’re settled then. Mur/ven is not a toxic relationship, I’m baring it out because I don’t want to step on any toes in their tag, not because it disgusts me to even spell it out (if it did, I’d think of a not-so clever nickname like the rest of this fandom loves to do). A part of me, and I don’t think I’m alone on this, will always be unsettled at the idea of Raven cozying up to the person who disabled her; I hate the Shaw/Murphy/Raven cave scene a hell of a lot. But the relationship is not toxic, and it wouldn’t be even if they did hook up. I can’t use that as an argument. Fandom culture tends to label things they don’t like as unhealthy and toxic.

And that’s where I’m going with this. Memori.

I’m going to be the first person to admit where they were said to be within those last months on the Ring was Not a Good Place for a relationship of that magnitude. They were together over 5 and a half years, these problems could have been brewing for ages. In fact, I’ll even argue they have. 4x08-4x12 established their extreme codependence (”your home is with me” used to be a big favourite of mine but it has since left a more sour taste in my mouth), and 4x13 set up Emori’s enthusiasm about space contrasted against Murphy’s disdain subtly, but effectively. Both key factors in this big messy breakup.

But this notion that (M)Emori (because, misogyny.) is toxic has been around since 4x07, ever since she “put” fake!Baylis in the radiation chamber, under the pretext that “she’s a bad influence on Murphy”(uhhhhhh, lol..?). What happened previously to this same episode, you ask? Well, it was the climax to our new angsty, enemies-to-friends-to-hopefully-lovers! I’m not even going to pretend like this ship is baseless, because I do get it. They have history, baggage and their relationship is so! compelling! And it doesn’t hurt that Murphy and Raven are both very attractive and have excellent chemistry. What gets to me, though, are these manufactured, fandom wide mentalities, that make out one female character to be the villain, in order to boost another female character/ship, when the narrative is clearly showing us she’s not quite in the wrong.

You may not like Emori, her relationship with Murphy might not resonate with you. That’s okay. But throwing around big words such as abusive and toxic is not right. Memori are too on and off for you? Okay! I get that. There were a few missteps in their arc this season. That doesn’t make it inherently unhealthy, though. Emori “only wants Murphy when he’s healthy and happy”? That’s complete and utter bullshit. Point to me in the script where she’s ever said that. Interpretation is one thing, but don’t ignore canon when it’s right in front of you (that flies in fanfic; not meta). Because, as far as I’m concerned, she did not just drop him the minute his mental illness caught up to him. She says in 5.06, 24 minutes and 48 seconds in, that Murphy “pushed her away again, and again, and again.” So, clearly, she made efforts to help him and love him, but he was unable to accept it, thus causing a painful split for the both of them. The fucking thesis statement in Jasper and Octavia’s arcs have been “you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.” Tell me how this is any different.

Can you imagine how hard this was on Emori? The one person who she thought she could rely and depend on, turn on her when she was at her peak, without fully being able to explain it himself? You’ve heard all of the defence for Murphy, so I’ll spare you all of the sympathies about his mental illness, because I do love him and I want him to get better. But notice how there’s not a single person calling his behaviour towards her toxic. No one’s boycotting Memori because of how he mistreated her. You did not need flashbacks to see how he would berate her, (ha! actually that all goes away because she snapped at him and said something that hurt :( his :( feelings :(, right?) in front of everyone, how he was jealous. And we only got a tiny glimpse of that, a few minute segment. I’m proud of her from stepping away from that situation. She’s not the toxic-partner here, in fact, that’s the fucking opposite of toxic. That’s self-care. So rare is it on TV that we see this kind of positive representation, that loving yourself is more important than loving your SO. It’s raw, messy and real.

And of course, fandom has ruined it.

Basically, moral of the story is as follows: Murphy and Raven have come such a long way, have overcome their issues and are now in a place where the majority of the fandom can ship them guilt-free. Who would’ve thought two seasons ago, huh? So, why is Memori so “toxic” and to the point of no return in regards to their relationship, despite that clearly not what canon is trying to portray?

#good and fresh hot take i thought up of in class today #the 100 #the 100 meta #memori #john murphy #emori #raven reyes

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crownedfear · 6 years ago

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SHIPPING INFO !!

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER? Well when it comes to canon the only ship I do have for Jack is Jack/Sally. I enjoy their dynamic a lot !! They’re a cute couple, and considering how short the actual movie is we get a decent amount of them. They have a pre-established relationship as friends, which gives them some basis, and we can tell as much from their interactions. And while Sally admires Jack, she doesn’t have him put on a pedestal either, unlike the majority of the town. When she thinks something is wrong, she brings her concerns to him and tries to get him to listen to reason. He doesn’t, but that’s on him for being one-track minded. Jack thinks highly of Sally regardless: “Who else is clever enough to make my Sandy Claws outfit? I have every confidence in you.“ Sally pined for him but once Jack comes close to losing her, he realizes how he feels about her, and they come together as a proper couple. They’re a great example of friends turned lovers.

WHAT ARE YOU WILLING TO WRITE WHEN IT COMES TO SHIPPING? I’m willing to write almost anything is what I always say, but within reason. I won’t write abuse or anything extreme along those lines. I’d prefer not to have to compromise my interpretation of Jack’s character just to make a ship work. I like variety.

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE? I don’t have any reservations unless the other character is a sheltered minor. When it comes to Jack, no matter who he is with, there will always be a sizable age gap. He’s extremely old. But I think for my own sense of personal comfort, I would like whoever he is being shipped with to not only be legal aged, but mature !! I couldn’t ship him with someone who is, again, sheltered and naive of the world.

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING? Yes, especially here. Have you seen my faceclaim? Enough said !! It would be so easy to amass ships on this blog and for this muse if I wasn’t selective. Not to mention I don’t see Jack as necessarily the easiest to ship, considering who he is and what he’s actually like.

HOW FAR DO STEAMY MOMENTS HAVE TO GO BEFORE THEY ARE CONSIDERED NS/FW? When a heavy make out happens and seems to be leading to more, or explicit language is used.

WHO ARE OTHER THE CHARACTERS YOU SHIP YOUR CHARACTER WITH? I’m highly enjoying both Jack/Phoebe and the development of Jack/Ruby. Jack/Phoebe I saw the potential of with my friend before we even started properly threading. Now they read like a ship that could actually happen on the show !! He’s obviously Phoebe’s type, but underneath the circumstances we are having them meet it totally makes sense as to why he’s become so fascinated by her. As we know from the film’s canon, once something catches Jack’s interest, he sticks to it, he becomes consumed with understanding and appreciating and experiencing it. To be walking among mortals on Halloween in colonial times and run into a witch out in the open and wearing a mask ?? Of course that would intrigue him !! We have so much plotted out together. They’re interacting in the past but eventually going to meet in Phoebe’s present, or the future.

But the beauty of writing is always seeing where our muses lead us even with extensive plotting. Oh and I love Hades and would write with her anywhere.

We didn’t plot for it to be a ship, but the Ruby I’m writing with and I saw the click of chemistry straight away so we quickly established we were going to be shipping Jack/Ruby together. Ruby thinks he’s handsome and dashing, and Jack thinks she’s shrewd, helpful, and... interesting. And coming from Jack, that’s a compliment. We’re seeing where it goes, but I’m already invested in them as a couple and can’t wait to see how our interactions progress !! It’s another case of a thread reading like it could be plausible in canon too. Jack showing up on O.UAT and having his own storyline while crossing paths with Ruby at the diner ?? Doesn’t sound far fetched at all. And Sarah is another favorite writing partner of mine. I think they will surprise us but I’m looking forward to seeing their relationship.

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU? It’s a preference of mine, so yes.

HOW OFTEN DO YOU LIKE TO SHIP? It’s one of my favorite things to write aside from a good sibling bond. Anytime there’s mutual enthusiasm, I’m 100% for it.

ARE YOU SHIP OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS? That depends on my mood. I’m not doing much writing on this account aside from with a few people, but I’d be interested in writing platonic threads. Currently all my active interactions are romantic in nature, though. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to write Jack having more going for him.

ARE YOU MULTISHIP? Yes, like basically everyone is.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM? Jack/Sally considering it’s the only ship in the fandom I personally like.

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU? Ask me !!

tagged by: @ameliorenous not here but still tagging: @mightydontkneel, @prophetavit, and @passiondreamt !!

#♚ (ooc) ❝ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵇᵒᶰᵉˢᵎ❞

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thathopelessromantic · 7 years ago

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The Things We Don’t Understand

Fandom: Homestuck Pairing: John Egbert x Dave Strider Raiting: T+ Note: AU, In honor of 4/13, I don’t have time to write anything new until the end of the semester but I haven’t posted all of my hs on my tumblr yet so here you go

Your name is Dave Strider and there are very few things in this world that you don’t understand. Unfortunately for you, one of those things happens to be your very best friend-John Egbert. Like you, John is an enigma. Unlike you, who seems to baffle everyone you interact with save for John and your siblings, the only person who seems baffled by John is well…you.

Otherwise known as, in which the title and summary both make this story sound way more serious that it actually is or ever was supposed to be.

AO3: (x)

--> Your name is Dave Strider and there are very few things in this world that you don’t understand. Unfortunately for you, one of those things happens to be your very best friend-John Egbert. Like you, John is an enigma. Unlike you, who seems to baffle everyone you interact with save for John and your siblings, the only person who seems baffled by John is well…you.

It wasn’t as if you completely lacked any type of understanding of your best bro. It’s just that after all these years of friendship there were some aspects of John Egdork that you still could not fully comprehend.

You understand John’s likes and interests. You don’t quite know why they’re John’s interests but you know them and have come to appreciate the part of John they represent. You know that at least 70% of the time, John has poor character judgement and tries to befriend all sorts of whack-jobs. You know what John likes about and values of himself and even more what he doesn’t-though some of his insecurities still seem absolutely nuts to you.

But you can’t seem to understand the boundless amounts of energy the kid seems to have. Or how he almost never allows the smile to falter from his lips. It is frustratingly bizarre how blue his eyes are when you literally wear shades 98% of the time you are with him regardless of conditions or locations and all colors should have been muted by your tinted glasses.

And for the love of God, you could not figure out how someone whose entire life consisted of sitting in front of a gaming system, pranking people, and playing the piano could possess the choicest ass you had ever seen either side of Mississippi but he did. You had a pretty slammin’ hot bod yourself, not to be too vain, but you worked for yours dammit. Strifing took a lot of effort. John though-it was like the fucking Puberty Fairy came and gifted him with perfect…everything and then just got the hell out of dodge.

--> Your name is John Egbert and by this point it is no secret that your best bro has been “subtly” checking you out for the past few weeks. The only question was why. You tried bringing it up with Dave himself but he quickly dismissed it as your imagination and changed the subject.

Part of you was frustrated (sexually mostly) by Dave’s weird actions. Another part was a tiny bit thrilled. Most of your friends and schoolmates were familiar with your constant mantra of “not a homosexual” when you were thirteen. Then the past summer you had to go with some estranged great-uncle you had never heard of before, per your dad’s insistence, to help him out around his place. When you came back for the start of the new school year you were surprised to find Dave in the beginnings of something with a mutual friend you could have sworn was interested in someone else when you left. Strangely you found yourself deeply irritated by their new closeness and after many late-night, long-lasting “feeling jams” (as Dave called them) with one of your good friends Rose, the two of you came to one simple conclusion. You had some very deep homosexual-or at the very least bisexual-feelings towards your best bro and you had been jealous as hell.

You were less jealous now as you and Dave slowly fell back into your old routine and Karkat seemed less and less actually romantically interested in Dave. But recently Dave’s been acting really weird and though you usually can’t see his eyes behind his shades you can feel them on you a lot more than they ever were before.

You’re determined to figure out what’s going on but it’s become pretty obvious you’re going to have to do it all on your own. Dave of course acts like there is nothing going on and the only other one who might have any idea what’s going on is Rose. And you know better than to ask her for help with this kind of stuff.

--> Your name is Dave Strider and unfortunately, you’re at school. It’s your lunch hour which is slightly less painful that the rest of the school day but you still don’t want to be here. When you enter the lunch room you’re not surprised to see John already at the usual table alone. Though his back is to you and you tend to walk rather quietly, it’s like he has a sensor or something and can feel your presence. When you’re about half-way to the table John turns around and meets your eye. His eyes are still an unsettling bright shade of blue and when he sees that it’s you he smiles like you just made his day. You’re a Strider and Strider hearts don’t flutter especially at dorky buck-toothed smiles, but they just might skip a beat or two when caught off guard.

“Hey Dave!” John greets you like you hadn’t just seen each other two class periods ago but you can’t ever seem to be even a little bothered by his unbridled enthusiasm.

“Sup?” You give your usual greeting and slide onto the seat next to him.

“How was history?” John asks. It’s one of the few classes the two of you don’t share. You give a noncommittal shrug. You slept through most of it and John knows that but he always asks anyways. Before John can ask you anything else the table starts to fill with your other friends and John turns to greet them. Part of you wants to grab John and make him turn his attention back to you but you resign from doing something quite so embarrassing and sit there in silence, nodding hello to those who greet you as they sit down. John scoots his chair closer to you to make more room for whoever is sitting on the other side of him and you tense. The two of you are in completely different chairs but you can feel John’s entire thigh flush against your own and before you can even think about moving away from him before you do something stupid Terezi shoves a chair between you and Karkat, who’s arrival you’re not sure how you missed, leaving you absolutely nowhere to go. When you look up Rose is watching you and smiling like this was all part of her evil plan and everything is going just swimmingly. Sometimes you really hate your twin. When John finishes his greetings and whatever brief conversation he was having with Jade, he turns back around to look at you.

“Dave, are you cold?” John asks like he cannot believe how someone could be cold in the middle of April. Well it’s not your fault you’re originally from Texas and this damn school thinks it’s a good idea to blast the AC from the beginning of March to the end of the school year regardless of the temperature outside. Honestly you can feel your body heating up under John’s scrutiny and from how close he is to you but you’re not surprised that he’s asking with his leg pressed against yours. That boy is like a goddamn space heater.

“It’s fucking freezing in here, Egbert, of course I’m cold.” You complain, shifting in your seat. Somehow you manage to press your leg even closer to his and you try not to let your surprise show through on your face. John gives you a once over, taking in your skinny jeans and sweat shirt. He’s already changed out his jeans and sweaters for shorts and t-shirts and it’s not even to the sixties yet. You so don’t get this kid.

--> Your name is John Egbert and you might just be being a little bit mean now.

You hadn’t intended to spend your last three classes of the day purposely trying to get a rise out of Dave but that’s how it was turning out. You were blaming the behavior on what happened at lunch. You and Dave were best bros, there were lots of times when there was some totally platonic, full-on physical contact and yet you had never noticed him tense up like he did today at lunch. Normally Dave was totally cool and collected but for some reason today he got very easily flustered. He even stuttered a few times which he only ever did when he was super embarrassed or nervous. Honestly you found it kind of adorable but considering Dave would probably want to kick your ass if he heard that you never said anything about it.

But now it’s last hour, math class, and though Dave is in the seat in front of you, you can tell he’s embarrassed. First of all he’s blushing. All the way to the tips of his ears, which really is the only reason you can tell. He’s also tense, sitting a little more forward in his seat than he normally would. And lastly he still hasn’t responded to your note. The two of you had been passing notes for the better half of the class you last passed one to him nearly ten minutes ago and still haven’t received a response.

You were a little worried you had taken it too far. You knew Dave wasn’t entirely heterosexual, though he had never claimed a specific sexuality, but he didn’t know you were anything but just that. You didn’t want him to think you were just making fun of him. Good-natured teasing was one thing but it was just wrong if you actually hurt or bothered Dave. You also thought that maybe you were reading things wrong. Just because you wanted Dave to be interested in you didn’t mean he actually was and you’d rather pine from afar than screw up your friendship with your best bro.

The little paper square you and Dave had been passing notes on hits you square on the nose. Dave must have thrown in back while you were lost in thought. Trying not to be too obvious about it you unfold the paper a little too eagerly. The two of you had been discussing you hanging out at Dave’s over the weekend. It wasn’t an odd conversation; most weekends were spent together at your place or his. Discussing it seemed more like a formality than anything. You quickly scanned over the page, filled with sloppy blue and red chicken scratch to make sure Dave hadn’t gone back to an earlier point in the conversation and made a new comment. He did that sometimes. He also sometimes started drawing right over his words so that you had to convince him to rewrite whatever he was trying to say somewhere else so you could actually read it. And started random raps along the margins of the page. Everything seemed to be as it was when you sent the note so you finally look down to the bottom of the page where you really want to read. Your last message sticks out in oddly dark letters.

awesome! it’s a date! :)

Dave’s bright red, slightly-neater response is under it. You almost don’t want to look but your desire to read it is stronger.

you bet your ass it is gonna be the best damn date ever ill rock your fucking socks off egbert

You smiled, folding the paper back up and sliding it into your pocket. What were you thinking? This was Dave you were talking about. How could you be worried?

-->Your name is Dave Strider and you’re fairly certain strifing with your brother while avoiding his fucking puppets, Rose’s way too personal questions, and Roxy’s overly-affectionate behavior when she’s intoxicated all together is less taxing than having an extremely attractive, bizarrely happy, painfully straight best friend.

The school bell rang ten minutes ago. It’s Friday. You’re done with school for the week. Your best friend is coming over to spend the weekend with you. You should be excited. Instead you’re…nervous? You try to tell yourself Striders don’t get nervous but you’re really starting to think you are.

John’s walking a few feet ahead of you, chatting with Jade and Rose. He’s not concerned. He’s used to you dragging behind. You kind of think you should pick up the pace and walk with them so that you’re not in the prime position to be starting at his ass but you can’t bring yourself to move any faster. It’s John’s idea of warm outside so he’s in baggy khaki shorts instead of the tight jeans he wore all winter so there shouldn’t even be something remotely interesting about his backside but it’s like the image of John’s toned derriere in that dark denim is seared into your brain and you just can’t help but stare at it now. You consider the fact that you may need psychological help if your obsession with your best bro’s rear-end continues much longer. But you dismiss the thought a moment later. You know what your problem is and going to a professional-or Rose-would just be a waste of everyone’s time because you would all come to the same conclusion you had reached months ago when he came back from his great-uncle’s place tanned and toned and tall and gorgeous.

You have it bad for your best bro and it’s just getting worse as time passes. It doesn’t help that John hasn’t dated anyone, or even really shown interest in anyone, since he broke up with his freaky girlfriend Vriska in sophomore year and he recently has been way more…physical with you. But you have a bad feeling that even if neither of those things were true, you would still be just as far gone.

The three of them reach your beat-up pick-up truck and stop to wait for you. John digs out his car keys from his pocket and turns them over to Jade who would drive his car home. They were next door neighbors and John always gave her rides to school. She always drove his car home when John stays at your place unless it’s a big shindig with the whole group. Rose usually drove your truck home when you went to John’s. You finally catch up with them and all say your goodbyes. Your truck only has a single bench seat in the cab so you, John, and Rose all throw your bags in the bed of the truck and squeeze yourselves into the cab, Rose in the middle of you and John because she’s the smallest. Part of you almost wishes Rose wasn’t with you. The other part of you is glad Rose is there to keep you from doing something stupid before the weekend even starts.

The drive from the school to the house where you and your three siblings live isn’t too long. Upon arrival Rose immediately retreats into her bedroom, requesting not to be disturbed, and you and John claim the couch. If Roxy and Dirk are home, there isn’t a sign of them.

You and John waste no time starting what will most likely be a weekend-long “gaming extravaganza” (John’s dad coined the term back when the two of you were freshman and for some unexplainable reason it stuck) and for the most part you could ignore your usually painfully obvious crush on your best friend. Even with John’s entire side pressing intimately against your own so that you’re not only stealing some of his over abundant body heat but you can also feel every little vibration when he speaks or laughs you can pretend for a while you’re not seriously lusting over the big dweeb.

It has to be close to seven o’clock when Dirk appears, seemingly out of nowhere, to stand in front of the television, blocking specifically your view, and asks if the two of you want pizza for dinner. Normally you’re suspicious of Dirk offering up food like that without any prompting but since he tends to be slightly more behaved whenever guests are over (though with how often John is over you sometimes wonder if he really counts as a guest anymore) you both give him an affirmative and he sticks around just long enough for you to lose the current round and call in the order.

Grumbling about the loss, you pause the game as John gets up to go to the bathroom. As soon as you hear the bathroom door shut Dirk reappears in the living room.

“How’s it goin’, little bro?” He asks casually, leaning against the door frame. Immediately your eyes fly to him. You know that voice. It’s his I-know-something-you-don’t-want-me-to voice.

“Whatever Rose told you is probably bullshit.” You both know your lie is about as lame as they come but for some reason that doesn’t stop you from saying it.

“He is pretty cute.” Dirk continues, as if you had just gushed to him all the details of your sorry little crush. “Shame he isn’t wearing those nice jeans anymore. Those dark wash ones with the ripped knee, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a pair of pants cup an ass quite as nicely as those ones did save for those shorts his cousin wears.” Jake English, the only “cousin” Dirk could be talking about wasn’t really John’s cousin. He was Jade’s. But considering John and Jade were practically raised like siblings it made sense that John counted him as family. You hoped Dirk was planning to stop there but of course, probably just to torment you some more, he keeps talking. You look around the room, trying to ignore your brother. For once one of his damn creepy plush dolls isn’t hanging around. Unfortunately for you since if there had been one you would have promptly used it to smother yourself so that you no longer had to listen to your brother compliment your crush’s finer assets.

Suddenly you notice water running and realize John is almost done in the bathroom. Dirk is still rambling about his something-or-another. Your reaction? Throw the nearest thing at Dirk. It’s an empty cup and even if he hadn’t moved when you threw it, it wouldn’t have reached him but it got you the desired effect of him leaving so that didn’t matter at the moment.

John returns a moment later and smiles at you, reclaiming his seat at your side. Wordless the two of you start up the game once again. You only get through one round when the doorbell rings. You pause the game. From your position on the couch, or more accurately on the floor in front of the couch, you can only see half of your brother’s back and a small portion of the front door.

“Pizza delivery to the Strider-Lalonde Residence.” You and John can’t see the speaker but there’s no mistaking the accented voice hidden from view. The pizza delivery guy is Jake English. No wonder your brother was so willing to order you pizza. It isn’t really a secret to anyone that Dirk has a thing for Jake. Well you weren’t so sure if Jake had caught on quite yet but you at least knew your brother was as hopeless crushing on Jake as you were on John.

You and John exchange looks. One way or another, you were most definitely going to use this against Dirk.

Once Dirk keeps Jake way over the normal amount of time it would take for a simple pizza delivery, he drops off the larger of the two pizza boxes to you and John and stalks out of the room. Not wasting time with formalities or other needless things like plates the two of you dig in. You both get through about two and half pieces before disaster strikes.

You’re absorbed in the act of devouring your third slice of pizza when John swears next to you. You turn your head to see what happened. Somehow he had managed to drop his pizza into his lap, smearing sauce and grease all across the front of his shorts.

Your first reaction is to think nothing of it. Then John stands up, dropping the half-eaten slice onto the box and you can feel yourself stop breathing. You’re not quite sure if John realizes what he’s doing but there’s a hunk of half chewed dough and cheese stuck in your throat, effectively stopping any type of noise or warning from escaping as John unbuttons his shorts and wiggles out of them. In the middle of the living room. Right in front of you.

You are currently eye level with bright blue boxer-brief covered junk of your best friend and you honestly think your brain is starting to shut down.

“I’m going to go put some soap on this before it stains.” John announces like this is the most normal thing in the world and walks out of the room.

-->Your name is John Egbert and OOPS.

You are currently in the Strider-Lalonde residence laundry room trying not to panic. You don’t know what you were thinking, just stripping in the middle of the living room like that other than that you weren’t thinking. There was most definitely such a thing as “too comfortable” with someone or somewhere. Sure this wasn’t the first time Dave had seen you in your underwear but who just strips in the middle of their best friend’s living room? And you hadn’t even thought about your positions. Maybe if you hadn’t glanced down at Dave while you were in the living room it wouldn’t have occurred to you but you did and now you can’t seem to get the image of your best bro’s flushed face level with your crotch out of your mind.

You want to crawl in a hole and hide until, hopefully, Dave forgets the entire incident. Or drown yourself in the rinse cycle of the washing machine. Both sound like entirely reasonable options.

The door to the basement opens and you turn, horrified, to find Dirk climbing up the stairs. The older Strider takes one look at you, puts the pizza box he was carrying on the edge of the trash can, and promptly turns around and walks back downstairs. You feel your cheeks grow even hotter. Wonderful. Now exactly half of the household has seen you without pants on.

Grumbling and cursing to yourself for your own stupidity you start searching for stain remover.

Not a full minute passes before you hear a surprised, distinctly feminine “Oh.” from the doorway. You turn, but you’re pretty sure you already know who’s there.

Sure enough, Rose is standing, half in the hallway half in the laundry room, with a laundry basket cradled against her hip. Well shit. Might as well call Roxy down to the laundry room just to make sure she’s not feeling left out.

“This is an interesting new look for you John.” Rose finally breaks the silence, stepping fully into the room and giving you a small, knowing smile as if she’s already figured out exactly what happened.

Instead of acknowledging her comment you look back at the cluttered shelf above the washer and dryer with a small noise of complaint. “Do you have any stain remover?”

Taking pity on you, Rose puts down her basket and pushes around some bottles until she finds a dark blue one that proclaims ‘STAIN REMOVER’ in big white letters. You lamely offer to help but Rose brushes your offer off and very efficiently preps your shorts to be washed.

“I can put them in the next white load.” Rose says simply, laying them out over the top of the dryer and returning to her basket to bring it closer to the washer. “They’ll be clean and wearable before you leave tomorrow.”

“Thank you Rose you’re a life saver.” You sort of want to hug Rose but decide against it. It’s already a little weird hugging Rose; you don’t need to make things any more awkward trying to hug her without pants on.

You fidget around the laundry room a little longer, mostly because you’re a little scared to go back to the living room, but Rose eventually kicks you out with the threat that if you stay any longer she’s going to make you sort through the laundry to find her and Roxy’s “delicates.” Rose is great and admittedly you had a bit of a crush on Roxy when you were growing up but you really do not need to know either girl that intimately.

Before returning to the living room you stop in Dave’s room. The fourth drawer in his dresser is filled with your clothing, for impromptu sleepovers such as this one. You pull on a pair of pajama pants and go back downstairs.

Dave hasn’t touched the pizza since you left. The game the two of you had been playing before is still open to the paused menu screen. Dave doesn’t appear to have moved, even slightly, from the positon he was in when you fled the living room earlier. Nervously you run your hands through your hair a few times and adjust your glasses. When you move to return to your seat besides Dave you try to act as if everything is perfectly normal.

“Sorry about that.” You open, dropping back onto the floor and crossing your legs. “Didn’t want it to stain…new shorts and all that…”

At first it doesn’t seem like Dave even heard you then suddenly he nods, almost like snapping back to his senses and acknowledging you all at once.

“Right. Dadbert would’ve gotten mad. Wouldn’t want that.” Dave gives you a quick, signature, Strider smirk and just like that, things are back to normal.

-->Your name is Dave Strider and you’re still not sure how you managed to act normal after John’s little strip-show in the living room. Somehow though, you did it, and the two of you returned to your gaming until around one-thirty in the morning when Dirk showed up and shooed you out of the living room, insisting he had “shit it do.”

It didn’t really occur to either of you just how tired you were until you had to trudge up a flight of stairs to your bedroom. You hardly remembered to shut your door behind you as the two of you shuffled inside the dark room and flopped onto your bed. For a while you both just laid there in the quiet darkness. You were almost starting to fall asleep when you heard John start mumbling something about brushing his teeth and trying to sit up. Turning you head to face him you throw an arm over John, effectively stopping him in his tracks and he lies against the bed beside you once again.

“Break the rules once in a while, Egbert.” You mutter, your words partially muffled by the blankets beneath you. “Be all gross and stinky with me for a night and just forget about that.”

Its dark in your room without any lights and your shades still on but you can still see John’s nose wrinkle at the suggestion. But you don’t move your arm from around his waist and John never makes a move to try and leave after that.

You’re starting to fall asleep again when John reaches over and plucks your glasses from your face. Your eyes blink open in surprise, forced to adjust to the change in light all over again. John’s own glasses are still on his face, crooked from being pressed against your mattress and he looks ridiculous with his crooked glasses and messy hair and dreamy smile but he also looks unbelievably adorable in your bed and you kind of really want to kiss him.

“What are you doing Egbert?” You croak instead, reaching up one hand to rub sleepily at your eye. John keeps watching you with his dorky smile and bright eyes.

“Your eyes are pretty Dave. It’s nice to be able to see them once in a while.”

You freeze because on one hand you think you must be imagining things but on the other you are really certain you heard those words come from John. Then suddenly lips are pressed against your own and your eyes are fluttering closed and you’re thinking, oh great you’ve really gone off the deep end now actually acting on your desire to kiss John but it’s not you who started the kiss. At least you’re pretty sure you’re not the one who started it. Even if it was you, the one in charge now seemed to be John. He was the one who was shifting your positions so that your back was pressed against the mattress while you were chest to chest with your best friend, kissing like a couple of teenagers who mostly had no idea what you were doing.

When John breaks the kiss for air he’s all but straddling you in this position. His glasses are even more skewed than they were before. You can tell he’s scared, not sure what your reaction to the kiss is going to be, but he’s trying to smile at you like this is all perfectly normal.

You want to say something to him, anything really, but you can’t seem to find your voice. Instead you pluck his glasses off his nose as well. John squints at you in the dark, not quite sure what to make of that reaction and also because your image is now blurry. John’s about as blind as a bat without his glasses. You’re not sure how long you lie there under John, studying him in the pale light coming through your window. His eyes are still so damn bright they’re practically glowing. You can tell your lack of response is starting to make John nervous and he starts shifting uncomfortably over you. He opens his mouth to say something, and that’s when you strike. Burying your hand in his hair you pull him closer, pressing your lips against his own and shoving your tongue in his mouth before he can say anything. Instead he just moans into your mouth and the sound sends shivers over your entire body.

There were still a lot of things about John you didn’t understand but lying in your bed with his body flush against your own, in that moment it was perfectly okay.

#homestuck #davejohn #johndave #these boys are fucking embarrassing #and so is this fic #but oh well #i got my first piece of fanart for this one #and i love it still #au #dave strider #john egbert #rose lalonde #dirk strider #writing #fic #4/13 #rita writes

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