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calaofnoldor · 3 years

Text

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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jerkbitchidjitassbutt · 4 years

Text

It Was You (Part One)

A/N: Jensen and Y/n are childhood best friends. When his agent informs him that his image could use some improvement for a role, will she help him? Or will her feelings get in the way?

A holiday (Christmas centric) Jensen x Female!Reader Best Friends to Lovers series for @spnchristmasbingo. Un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Header created by me with images from Google. Chapter word count: 3371

Series Warnings: break up; angst-ish at times (if you squint), but mostly all the fluff.

I consider this an AU, as Jensen is single in this fic. This is completely a work of fiction, and I wouldn’t want his reality to be any different, this is purely for entertainment.

The slight chill of a Vancouver December morning roused you from a peaceful sleep, making you snuggle further into the down blanket and comfort of your plush bedding. It was two weeks until Christmas and the weather was supposed to be a balmy high of 32 degrees today, so you had planned to stay in, do some shopping online, and stay by your cozy fireplace with every holiday movie you could find. Willing yourself to get five more minutes of shut eye seemed like a helpless feat as the wintry cold seeped into your apartment. You opened your eyes to the gentle prisms of light floating in through the adjacent window, the sunrise indicating it was time to get up for the day.

Sitting up to perch on the side of your bed and grabbing your wide-rimmed glasses from the nightstand, you slid your chilled toes into the warm slippers waiting and shrugged on your fuzziest sweater. It may be time for that fire sooner than you thought.

Padding into your kitchen to get a much-needed caffeine fix after last night’s dinner and drinks with the rest of the cast and crew, you took your favorite mug from the cabinet and loaded the coffee maker, making an extra cup or two for you and any visitors you might have a bit later.

Jensen’s apartment was down the hall, and if you knew him, he’d still be sleeping, but he’d probably wander over at some point this morning. Cradling the mug in your hands warmed them slightly and sent a shiver down your spine. Even your warmest pajamas and the heat from the thermostat did little against the Canadian winds. Laughing slightly to yourself, you’d thought you’d be used to it after six years of winters here.

You wandered towards the windows of your living room to pull back the long curtains. It was a favorite spot to have your coffee and gaze at the sights of Vancouver. Settling on the window seat, you felt a warmth spread through you as you noticed it had snowed in the night, and from the looks of it, it was a depth of fresh, soft powder – a type that you rarely saw growing up in Texas. People were bundled up tightly as they walked the streets, but a few people, adults and kids alike, were already out playing in the thick blanket of snow.

As your coffee began to warm you through, you couldn’t help the giddy feeling of joy that rose at the sight – it made the holiday season and the spirit of it even more intense than just viewing the lights of downtown and the large decorations everywhere. For some reason, snow just sealed it all up in a nice little bow.

Sure enough, about halfway into your second cup of coffee, you heard a key in your door and Jensen shuffled in, still wearing his pj’s with tousled hair, but he had thrown on a thick sweater too.

“Good morning.” You called, still seated at the large window.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.” He replied with a quick wave as he tossed his keys on the counter and waltzed into your kitchen in search of his mug, his voice still thick and gruff with sleep.

He mixed his cream and sugar and took a long sip, letting out a contented sigh after the steaming liquid entered his body. He was notoriously grumpy without his coffee, but he always met you with a sweet greeting when he came over. Walking around your kitchen island and into your open living room, he slumped into the recliner across from you and pulled the leaver to release the footing, allowing him to lean back with his feet up. He adjusted himself to get comfortable, careful to not spill the mug in his hand.

“What time did you get in last night?” you asked, taking another sip from your own cup.

He covered his eyes with his free hand, still obviously tired. “About 2:30. You know how Jared gets when we break for hiatus, he never wants the party to end. He was still talking to me as I was shutting my door.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Jared was the most social person you’d ever met and knowing that he wouldn’t be back to Canada and on set for a month, he would always soak up every little bit of time he had with the cast and crew. Even though Jensen was griping about it now, you knew he also didn’t mind. He’d probably be missing everyone, especially Jared, about four days into the break. You didn’t get home until about 1 a.m., and that was only because you were beginning to doze off in your cocktail.

“Tell Cliff thanks again for driving me home last night. I just couldn’t cut it.”

“Yeah, I know… Lightweight.” Jensen teased.

“Hey, you didn’t have a 5 a.m. set call yesterday like some of us.”

Jensen huffed a small laugh from his seat, still resting his hand across his closed eyes. His sweatpants hung low on his hips and his green Henley stretched across his biceps as he rested his coffee on his thigh. A slight 5 o’clock shadow and the bedhead he was sporting all combined into a handsome image. He may be your best friend, but you could still appreciate the looks the man was blessed with.

Seemingly close to falling back asleep, you called to him in a hushed voice, “Jay. If you want to go back to sleep just put your coffee mug on the table, okay?”

“Hmmmph. No, I’m up.” He fibbed, as evident from the way he blinked widely once he opened his eyes again. Forcing himself to stand, otherwise he would really fall back asleep instead of just resting his eyes, he walked towards you with his cup, dragging his feet slightly as his legs sluggishly pulled him across the room. His head was down and his shoulders were wilted, but he was trying to get his body moving.

When he reached you, you felt his chest bump your shoulder before he rested his cheek on the crown of your head, his arm dangling by his side as he slumped. He took a deep breath before rubbing his hand across your back and standing, smiling as you peered up at him with a grin.

Licking his lips, he finally peered out to the streets below and his eyes went wide, “Y/n!” he practically shouted.

You flinched, “What? What’d I do?”

“You didn’t tell me it snowed!”

Giving a huff and a giggle, you couldn’t help but be sarcastic, “I’m sorry, was I supposed to while you were falling asleep in my chair?! Besides… it’s Canada. It’s not like snow is very rare here.”

“Y/n! That’s, like, snow! The kind we used to wish for when we were kids!”

“I know, I thought that too.”

“Well, c’mon!” he said, setting his cup down on the ledge. “We gotta go!”

“What? Go where?”

Jensen was already halfway through your living room and heading for the front door but paused to turn and point a finger in your direction, “You, me, snowman. Now.”

“Jay,” You whined. “It’s cold and its early. You sure you don’t want to just watch Netflix?”

“Y/n!” he said once again, looking as excited as a 12-year-old on a snow day from school. “Snowman! Please?” he begged, waving his arms frantically as he gestured outside.

“Okay, okay. Fine. No need to use your puppy eyes on me. I’ll meet you outside in 15 minutes.”

With that, a huge grin broke out on his face and he took off down the hall, leaving you to go in search of your heaviest ski jacket.

Jensen knocked on your door soon after you shrugged into the puffy coat, dressed in thick snow pants, his own jacket, and a black beanie and gloves with a small bag in his hand. Straitening your scarf before locking your door, he barely gave you a moment to put on your knitted pom beanie before he was pulling you by your hand towards the elevator of your building and pushing you out of the revolving doors into the frigid air. Heading to the side where a large park sat adjacent to your complex, he looked around before tugging you along to a spot with a large open space. He nodded to himself, as if to say he’d found the perfect place for his snowman-building escapade. As your boots crunched beneath you, you each began gathering handfuls of snow to make a large base, then packed and sculpted two more spheres. Though you initially protested, you had to admit that it was fun, and the coldness against your cheeks wasn’t bad after a bit, particularly after seeing how happy Jensen was when his finished product towered over yours. He’d managed to gather the majority of the snow within about a six-foot radius of where his snowman stood before piling it high.

“Hey, hey… look at that. An accurate height difference!” He touted, teasing you.

“Oh, hush you. It’s not my fault that you were given the extended version of the human body.” You glared at him playfully.

He laughed as he bent to rummage in the bag he’d brought, producing two carrots. He wiggled them in his hands before handing one to you. He was just about to place it in a very telling place when you grabbed a handful of snow and threw it in his direction.

“Jensen!” You berated. “That’s not where the carrot goes! There’s kids out here!”

He stood up slowly, turning to you with a serious smirk, “Did you seriously just throw a snowball at me?”

Wiping your hand on your pantleg quickly, you gave him a mischievous grin, “Who, me? I’d never.”

“Oh, its on!” he declared as he bent to scoop up the little bit of remaining snow in his reach, that which he hadn’t used for his snowman.

Ducking behind your own, he threw and missed, sending the snow flying passed you. A quick grab from around you produced another snowball that you chucked from behind your shield, hitting him square in the chest. The fight lasted for a good while, the two of you trying your hardest to target the other as many times as possible and receiving some laughs and glances from passersby as they walked along the sidewalk. Finally, Jensen gave up and took off towards you, chasing you in circles before he tackled you into the plush ice, pinning you beneath him as he tried to bury you both.

“Jay! Oh my God, stop! Its freezing!” you yelled through your laughter.

“Truce?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in a challenge.

He was still on top of you, his nose and cheeks a bit flushed from the wintry air. He still had that devilish smirk on his face, but his green eyes were soft and something beneath them made your heart flutter slightly in your chest. He scanned your face quickly before glancing towards your lips, but you were quick to snatch another fistful of snow to smash onto his head. Scrambling out from underneath him, you ran as he said something about you being a cheater before he jumped to his feet.

After the war ended and a truce was finally declared, you both put the finishing touches on your snowmen after you found sticks for the arms and coerced Jensen to put the carrot in the right spot. He stood back proudly, admiring your handiwork.

“Hey.” He gestured to you, “C’mere.”

A bit warry that he was going to tackle you again, you came to his side as he pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and turned on the camera. Pulling you into him, he said, “Gotta have evidence of our masterpieces.” He reached around your waist and tugged you in close, framing both of you and your snowmen in the background. The cold air made the tip of your nose and the apples of your cheeks change in color, and there was still some snow in your hair from when Jensen wrestled you, but both of you smiled widely. Feeling the scruff of his short beard against your temple and his arms wrapped around you made you think about the way his eyes danced across your face moments ago, but the thought was quickly dismissed as he stepped away from you slightly after he made sure the picture wasn’t too blurry.

“Oh, crap. Is that what time it is?” he said, alarmed, looking at his phone screen. “I have to meet Stacy in an hour.”

Stacy was his publicist and agent, but he usually didn’t meet with her during the hiatus. “You’re meeting Stacy today? What’s up?” you asked, a bit confused.

“She wants to talk to me about this movie. Some sort of romantic drama she thought I may be good for.”

“Oh,” you replied, “that’s great! You didn’t tell me! Would you have to cut back filming the show?” While you were a bit surprised, you were genuinely happy for him.

“Stacy knows Supernatural comes first, so I hope not.”

“Well, let’s get inside so you can warm up and change. I was going to make my mom’s chili and cornbread for dinner tonight, if you want to join me after your meeting.”

The excitement on his face was palpable as his eyes lit up the moment you said it, “You know how much I love your mom’s chili. We’re just meeting for coffee near her office, so I’ll bring the beer.”

As you were walking back into the building, your phone rang. It was Stephen, your boyfriend of three months.

“Stephen, hey.” You said as you entered the elevator, not missing the slight eyeroll that Jensen gave.

“Hey, honey. How are you? I didn’t want to call too early, just in case you were still sleeping after last night.”

“I’m good, thanks. Actually, just got done building a snowman with Jensen.”

A short silence followed, until Stephen spoke up again. “Oh, that’s nice.” He said, his voice noticeably clipped. “Well, I’m going to take my lunch break soon. Would you like to meet up? I can come to your side of town.”

“Uh, sure. I’ll meet you at that café on 3rd in about a half an hour?”

“Sounds great. See you there.”

Shoving your phone back in your pocket, you ignore Jensen’s stare as the elevator climbed to your floor.

“So…” he pressed. “Stephen?”

“Yeah, Stephen. We’re going to meet up for lunch while you have your meeting.”

“Hmph.” He huffed.

“Jay, we’ve known each other our whole lives and to this day you’ve never liked a single guy I’ve ever dated. What’s wrong with Stephen?”

“I don’t know. He’s just kind of… meh.”

He wasn’t lying, if you were being truthful. Stephen was meh. He was cute and had nice eyes and dimples, but he didn’t make you laugh. He was a bit dull and your sense of humor didn’t mesh with his well. Still, you thought that it might get a bit better once you got to know each other and began to understand one another more. Your relationship was still very casual, but maybe it could go further? You weren’t really sure, honestly.

“What about you and Laura?” you asked, quickly changing the subject.

“I told you… that was nothing.” He quipped as you reached your door. “We went on like three dates.”

“Yeah, the last one being just this past week.”

“Yeah, and it just didn’t go well.”

You let out a small sigh. Discussing your dating lives wasn’t really something the two of you loved to do with each other. Maybe when you were teenagers, yeah. You’d asked each other for advice and gossiped a bit about the people in your high school, but as you grew into adults it just became a subject you both steered away from besides the occasional, hey I’ve got a date conversation. Neither of you had ever really found a person that the other approved of, each finding a reason to be picky every time.

“I’m sorry, Jay. I’m just deflecting.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I was pushing.” He said sincerely with a small smile. “Well, you enjoy lunch. My meeting’s at 1:30 across town, so I should be back by 4 at the latest. Pick out a movie for us, okay?”

“Sounds great. I will.” With that, he kissed you quickly on the side of your head and went into his apartment as you ducked into yours. You freshened up quickly and changed, grabbing a different peacoat, hat, and scarf as your others were still wet.

It was a short walk to the café, and they had good sandwiches. You were surprisingly hungry, so you were glad to see Stephen waiting outside for you. He gripped your hand tightly and gave you a quick kiss in greeting before leading you into the restaurant. You were seated and ordered quickly, knowing that he would have to return to work soon.

“So, how has your day been?” You asked as you shrugged off your coat, hanging it on the chair behind you.

“It’s been… good.” He muttered.

“Uh oh,” You said, getting his attention as he looked away from you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really. I was just surprised to hear that you were with Jensen today. You had mentioned you were going to stay home.”

Stephen smiled, almost in an attempt to let you know that he was trying to be lighthearted about it, but you could tell it bothered him.

“Yeah, when he saw it snowed last night, he just really wanted to make a snowman.” You laughed, trying to steer away from the subject. Stephan wasn’t overstepping, but he also wasn’t going to prevent you from spending time with Jensen. The two of you had been inseparable since, well, practically since birth. Your parents had been the best of friends, so you were pretty much raised together.

“Have you, um…” Stephen began, hesitantly. “I know you’ve been friends forever, but have you ever had feelings for him?”

His blue eyes shown with a slight jealousy as you felt a slight pang to your heart.

“No, of course not.” You managed to say with a steady voice and a smile as you picked up your napkin to place in your lap.

It was a lie, one that you’d been telling for years. At one point in your life, you were in love with Jensen. But, the past was in the past. If Jensen didn’t even know, why should Stephen?

Stephen seemed satisfied with your response for the most part, and the two of you had a pleasant lunch. When you stepped away to use the restroom, your phone chimed. Stephen tried not to even look towards your side of the table where your phone sat, but when he saw Jensen’s name, he read the text quickly before the screen dimmed.

Hey, sweetheart. Finishing up here soon and then I’ll be heading home. Do you need me to grab anything from the store?

Stephen knew the two of you were a package deal, and thought he could honestly be alright with it, but between working together and spending practically all of your time together, he was starting to wonder where he fit in in your life. He busied himself by checking his Instagram as he thought about what he should do and found that Jensen had tagged you in a photo from this morning. The caption was simple, just a few words about the filming hiatus and the first snow of the season, but the two of you were so close. Stephen found himself wishing that you could reserve a smile like that for him, but he had yet to see it.

It hurt, but he knew he couldn’t play second fiddle to Jensen. He cared about you, but perhaps it was better to bow out now.

“Hey, sorry about that.” You said brightly as you got back to the table, smiling. It still didn’t reach your eyes, though.

Stephen leaned forward on his elbows with a sigh, “Y/n, I think we should talk.”

To be continued...

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Jensen Only

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jusvibbbin · 4 years

Text

The Perfect Piece

Data x Reader Insert

You turned to look at the class. “See, was that so bad?” The class stared at the board and groaned. Your smile faltered and you looked back at the board. Maybe they weren’t ready for division. You checked the clock and the smile reappeared. Or maybe it’s because it’s 2:05 on a Friday. You decided to be merciful to the fourth grade class and let them out early.

“Well maybe that was kind of difficult,” you chuckled. “Why don’t we spend one more weekend on multiplication and next Monday we’ll pick the division back up. Class dismissed!” The children shot up and grabbed their PADDs before running out the door. You shook your head and walked over to your desk. Might as well get some grading done and call it a day. You were just as ready to go home as the class.

“Excuse me (Miss/Mister/Prof) (Y/L/N)?”

You looked up at none other than Lieutenant Commander Data. You felt your cheeks heat up slightly. The Commander had a reputation for talking for far too long and making situations unnecessarily awkward, but you found him cute and at times, quite funny. The two of you spoke very rarely; at holiday parties or on Picard Day, if he chose to accompany the ever-uncomfortable Captain.

“Commander! What an unexpected surprise!” you smiled, standing from behind the desk to walk around and meet him in the middle of the classroom.

“Is not every surprise unexpected?” Data queried, giving a slight smile to mirror your expression. You blinked and inwardly smacked yourself. Wow what an opener. You laugh it off, clearly embarrassed.

“I suppose that’s true. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Data looked around the classroom at the decorations the various classes had made to give the classroom ‘lived-in’ feel, away from the sterile and by-the-book Starfleet look.

“I wish to discuss your classroom.”

“What? Really?” you beamed, proud of the work your students had done.

Data nodded. “I would like to give my quarters more of a personal touch. I have observed that your classroom is decorated with the artwork of the children, regardless of if it is not well made.”

You choked on the air in your throat and started laughing.

“Mr. Data!! You can’t say that! It will discourage the children.”

Data looked around the room and out into the adjacent corridor. He looked back at you and met your eyes. You took in how close the two of you were, but did nothing to widen the gap.

“I apologize if I offended you but I did not see any children present to hear my comment. I am only curious as to why you put it all up despite the varying quality.”

“Well…” you smiled at him, never breaking the eye contact he established. “It helps show the children that the room belongs to them as much as it does anyone else. I even put a piece up.”

Data’s eyebrows raised at this.

“Which one is yours?” There was almost an excitement behind his eyes but you shook away the thought. Data doesn’t have feelings like that.

“You’ll have to guess.” you responded almost flirtatiously. Data flashed you a full smile and your knees nearly buckled. You placed a hand on the closest desk, hoping that your attempt to stabilize yourself looked more casual than it felt.

Data began walking around the room, looking at the pieces on the walls, the shelves and hanging from the ceiling. You smiled, knowing yours was on the complete other side of the room. Data stopped walking and turned to look at you, smirking with something like confidence. Good God, how much time did his creator spend on his eyes? It must have taken…

“(Y/N)?” Data said, confusion laced in his voice as he looked at your glazed over eyes.

“Oh gosh, Data! I’m sorry I must have been somewhere else.” You chuckled awkwardly as you cursed yourself for being so infatuated with the one man who could not return your sentiments.

“Which one did you pick?” you asked, desperate to get the conversation back on track. Data looked at you a moment longer before pointing at a painting hung up on the wall across from you. You grinned and shook your head.

“I thought you were the great Sherlock Holmes, Data!” You turned around and moved a desk into the corner behind you before standing on it. Data watched you quizzically as you took down a hanging model of a star made out of small spare parts from a broken replicator or a tricorder that you painted yellow. You stepped down from the desk and held it up to show him.

“I had not considered that your piece might also be objectively amateur,” Data said matter-of-factly. You laughed loudly and put a hand on your chest.

“Wow Data, you really know how to compliment someone! I know I’m not very good at art but it’s about having fun and being proud of what you make in the end.”

“So you think that I should decorate my quarters with my own artwork?”

You smiled at him and nodded as he continued to look at the star.

“Why did you choose to make it out of spare parts and slightly sharp things? Is that not dangerous?”

You looked at your model as you collected your words. “For starters, it’s very securely attached to the ceiling and no one sits under it. I made it this way to show that as stunning and beneficial as stars are, they’re also very volatile and powerful. Not a force to be reckoned with!”

Data held his hands out and you handed the model to him. You felt a sharp pain in your hand and looked down.

“If art is not your strong suit, perhaps I could teach-”

Data didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence as he looked up in time to see your eyes roll into the back of your head and he quickly caught you before you hit the ground. He set the model down on a desk and picked you up with both hands, gently cradling you against his chest before walking towards sickbay. He assessed you as he walked, looking for injury or signs of a heart attack or a brain aneurysm and finding none. He entered a turbolift as you came to.

“D-Data? What are you doing?!” you yelped, taking in your surroundings. His arms underneath you, pressing you into his hard chest. His eyes scanning your confused face, looking at you full of concern. I must be dreaming.

“You passed out in the classroom. I did not see a probable cause so I elected to carry you to sickbay and have Dr. Crusher examine you.” As he said all this you touched your right hand lightly to your left index finger. It felt wet and you remembered why you fainted.

“Data, we don’t have to go to sickbay,” you said as he strode out of the turbolift and into a busy corridor. You cheeks heated up and you added, “So you can put me down now!”

Data looked at you again and shook his head. “I am sorry (Y/N) but unless you have an accurate cause, I insist you are seen by a medical professional. It is best not to participate in physical activity until you are cleared for it. I do not mind carrying you to sickbay. You are not heavy.” He continued walking and you sighed, although you secretly loved the attention and care he was putting into making sure you were alright. He would do that for anybody!

“Data if I can tell you why, will you put me down?”

He stopped walking and looked at you, waiting.

You held up your slightly bloody finger, careful to not look at it.

Data looked at the prick on your finger then at you as you stared at the ground. He gently set you on the ground and gingerly took your hand in both of his so he could inspect the wound. You thought you might pass out again at his touch and you swallowed hard.

“This wound seems very superficial for you to have a head injury as a result.” Still holding your hand, he began walking back towards the turbolift. You were too starstruck to protest. He called for a deck number but you weren’t listening as you tried to form a sentence.

“I uh… I don’t like seeing blood. I’ve fainted every time since I was a kid.” You looked at your joined hands again and a small smile appeared on your lips.

Data’s eyes looked as though he was searching for something before saying, “Ah, vasovagal syncope.”

You nodded, slightly in awe of his processing ability. The turbolift doors opened and he led you down a couple of corridors before stopping at some quarters. These aren’t mine…

He pressed the control panel to the side of the doors and they swooshed open revealing a sparsely decorated room. There was a coffee table, a couch, a desk in the far corner with a huge computer and an orange tabby waiting by the replicator, meowing.

“I will feed you momentarily, Spot. First, I must attend to our guest.” Data led you to the couch and let go of your hand. You sat as he walked over to a storage cabinet and retrieved a medkit. He came back to you and used the dermal re-generator to mend the small cut on your finger. You looked at your finger and smiled at him gratefully. He set the medkit on the table and sat close besides you on the couch.

“Thanks Data. I really appreciate you taking care of me in my hour of need.”

“(Y/N) only twenty minutes have passed since you fainted.”

You laughed and leaned into the back of his couch. “It’s an expression, Data!” His puzzled look turned into one of understanding, but he said nothing as he also leaned into the couch and angled himself to face you fully. You once again took in your close proximity, debating on moving away. And again, you didn’t.

The two of you chatted for a little while about your work, about the new interpersonal subroutine he and Commander La Forge had created, about his pet, and then finally about art.

“So do you know what you might do with your room decor?” you asked with a smile, your mind still on what sort of things the subroutine had added. Maybe that’s why he wants his room decorated. Or why he took care of me today. You tried to expel that last thought from your mind.

Data was quiet for a moment, seemingly pondering what he was going to say.

“I believe I already have the perfect piece.” He smiled sweetly at you and you looked around the room.

“Where is it?” you asked, confused.

He leaned in so close that his mouth was nearly touching your ear before whispering flirtatiously, “Guess.”

#star trek #data #data x reader #tng

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Marvel Super Heroes Secret Wars #1-3

May, 1984

THE WAR BEGINS

Oof, here we go.

Just gotta replicate the pace that let me do the Hawkeye miniseries in one go, three times in a row.

This is probably too much effort considering its Secret Wars (or more accurately Marvel Super Heroes Secret Wars) and maybe there’s not going to be a lot of big changes from this in the Avengers book to really justify it.

But we’re getting Jim Shooter writing the Avengers and his non-consecutive runs were a lot better than I had remembered. And it continues the theme he had from the Avengers book.

It just makes sense in a nonsense way to cover this story.

Last relevant time in Avengers! Acting Completely Normal Vision warned the Avengers about some weird, possibly hostile energy surges right in time for an energy surge to surge energetically in Central Park.

When the Avengers went to investigate, they found a weird structure that looked like a techy coliseum maybe. When some of the Avengers wandered into it (apparently the most bankable Avengers? Sucks to be Vision and Wanda, shrug) they vanished.

In the next issue, after several days, these heroes returned, speaking of a secret war they fought. Weird stuff like She-Hulk taking the Thing’s place on the Fantastic Four happened. In other books, Spidey got a cool new suit.

Would you know more?

After being raptured in their various books, the missing superheroes all end up on one of those distinctive structures like the one that appeared in Central Park, except IN SPACE.

Its cool that the Avengers will have some company.

We’ve got a terrific 3/4ths of the Fantastic Four, the X-Men (including Lockheed but not including Kitty Pryde for some reason), the Avengers, Iron Man, Spider-Man, the totally Articulate Hulk, and hilariously Magneto is also here.

Maybe Secret Wars is just setting up the most awkward moment in the universe, as a prank show.

I think I’d enjoy a big event that turned out to be a prank show at the last minute. The fan discontent. Imagine.

Everyone introduces themselves to each other but mostly the audience and Ben Grimm claims his new codename as the Easter Bunny.

Checking, marvel wiki doesn’t have Easter Bunny listed as one of Ben’s known aliases. Cowards.

Looking up into space, Captain America spots another one of the totally cool constructs and Professor X scans that it contains EEEEEEEVIL.

Specifically Amora the Enchantress, Ultron, the Wrecking Crew, the Absorbing Man, the Lizard, VICTOR VON DOOOOOM, Kang the Conqueror, Doctor Octopus, and Molecule Man. Also, hilariously, Galactus is there.

I’m more convinced than ever that this is a prank show.

You know what would be more hilarious? If Punisher ended up on this construct.

The distribution of villains is kind of odd though. Galactus and Doctor Doom map to the FF. Doctor Octopus and the Lizard to Spider-Man. Ultron, Molecule Man, and Kang are Avengers foes. The Absorbing Man and the Wrecking Crew can go a couple ways but started off as Thor villains. And Amora is usually a Thor villain but supposedly has chilled out around this time or at least is less of a pain than her horny sister.

No X-Men villains. Because Magneto is chilling with them in the generally heroic pod.

Also, all the heroes were raptured from Earth while the villains were grabbed from Earth, from space, from Asgard, resurrected just to be here, or from the FUTURE.

I know marketing is wagging the dog but be consistent, secret organizer who we don’t know yet.

The Thing points out that Magnet is off-sides, re: being in the hero construct, and Magneto is like ‘hey, chill out dudes’ and denies specifically doing murders.

Magneto: “I know not what power transported me here from my secret lair, nor why I was placed among you -- but I find it more appropriate to ask why such as you were judged fit to be placed in my presence!”

Oof.

Burn.

Then the conversation is put on halt on account of the wildest shit any of them have ever seen.

An entire galaxy vanishes but probably not due to a wave of anti-matter.

Thor: “It’s gone! Gone -- ! Swept away like dust before some unseen, giant hand!”

And then around that last star left unswept, various chunks merge together to form some sort of world, perhaps for battle.

A nice touch for later is that you can definitely see that one of the chunks is a stray chunk of city.

Some of the villains start squabbling because close quarters, ego, etc.

But Ultron goes hey we’re allowed to fight? I’m the best at that.

Ultron: “I am Ultron! I do not understand the events transpiring! I do not understand how I came to be resurrected... nor how I came to be here! Nothing computes... Insignificant! I am Ultron! My purpose is to slay that which lives. You are all living things, ergo -- Ultron must destroy you!”

With the benefit of having read all the Avengers up to now, I feel that Ultron got up on the wrong side of the resurrection a little.

He’s not not like this but he’s not usually this turned on?

(Then again, maybe he just came back cranky)

DOOM grabs and shakes Molecule Man to do something about this because given enough time even the mighty DOOM might fall before Ultron.

Ultron is famously annoying to defeat, what with that adamantium.

But Molecule Man is in therapy after the Avengers kicked his shit and Tigra yelled at him for being a punk. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

So Doom with all his brilliant genius tells MM a cool way to help out that won’t hurt anyone. Directly.

Using his Molecule Man power over molecules to lightly toss Ultron into Galactus.

So that Galactus goes ‘who the fuck scuffed my boots’ and rips out all the energy in Ultron’s Ultron.

He can do that.

Why wouldn’t he? If he can do that to a planet, he can do it to a pissbaby robot. Even one apparently containing more power than an atom bomb.

Then, because this is one of those plots where things are always thenning, a rift opens in the nothingness of space and a heavenly esque light shines out. A warbly voice commands the action figures beat each other up.

I mean. Its more like

The Beyonder: “I am from beyond! Slay your enemies and all you desire shall be yours! Nothing you dream of is impossible for me to accomplish!”

But you have to admire that this toy commercial of a comic book is being honest and upfront about being a story where action figures bonk off of each other.

Galactus just hears ‘i can finally shake off these persistent forever munchies’ and flies off to demand prepayment for action figure bonking, with DOOM following behind him.

The Beyonder speaks up warning Galactus that hey, personal space. And that a guy that can effortlessly wipe out a galaxy is gonna have a sweet barrier but Galactus wants the hunger pangs gone and does not listen.

DOOM recognizes a bad idea when he sees one once in a while and hangs back but still gets blown out of space by the force of Galactus bonking off the Beyonder’s barriers.

Captain America: “They were swatted back like flies!”

Professor X: “To the Beyonder, even Galactus is less than a fly, Captain!”

Interruption dealt with, the Beyonder gets the show on the road and sends the two constructs to different parts of the patchwork planet.

The Marvel Super Heroes And Magneto land on some hill and quickly make sure that there are no villains excepting Magneto around.

With Magneto around, the non-X-Men raise an objection to Magneto being around.

He sank a Russian submarine with all hands back in X-Men #150 but he insists that it was self-defense and also they started it.

The X-Men’s position is ‘hey he’s a jerk but he’s our jerk plus we could use his help? The bad guys get GALACTUS, how is that fair?’

Well, they don’t say it but they’re probably thinking it.

And Hawkeye decides to be a little racist today.

Hawkeye: “You mutants stick together, huh? Well, sticking to a blood-soaked maniac like him doesn’t speak well of you, pal!”

Dude, Clint. Your dear old friend is Wanda.

Wait, why ISN’T Wanda here? Did the toy people really not want her? Fools. Her husband is toyetic as all get out.

Also, point of order, Wolverine? If anyone qualifies as ‘hey he’s a jerk but he’s our jerk!’ here its you.

Johnny “good life choices” Storm decides he’ll just kick Magneto’s ass and end the debate but yeah. Yeah, no. Magneto makes a fool of him.

And then Magneto decides eff this noise and flies off.

With Magneto alienated (good job, guys), Professor X decides this group needs some dang leadership and throws a nomination to Reed Richards. Reed defers since he’s thinking of Sue, left at home and not able to participate in the event.

Wasp, the cool leader of the Avengers, nominates instead Captain America.

Wasp: “We’re off in a strange land, up to our ears in a little secret war that may decide the fate of the universe! Some people don’t know me well! They might have doubts... and there’s no room for that!”

I’m baffled that there’s people here who don’t know Wasp who has been heroing since the 60s but sure. Cap(tain America) probably gets more crossovers and whatever.

I mean, heck, we’re talking a group of heroes consisting of the Avengers (who she already leads), the Fantastic Three (who she’s well acquainted with), and the X-Men (who I’m sure she’s met, although awkwardly its going to later be revealed that Wasp is in the Hellfire Club, but only the sex parts).

And I guess Wolverine’s extensive backstory with Cap doesn’t exist yet because Wolverine isn’t keen on him being the leader, describing him as the least of the assembled heroes. When Hawkeye is right there!

I kid because I love.

Meanwhile, DOOM wakes up adjacent to Galactus ankle and heads to a nearby fortress which he correctly assumes is where the villains have ended up.

Wait, the heroes get beamed down to a random hill while the villains get sent to an advanced fortress with weaponry and we later learn vehicles sold separately?

Kinda stacking the deck, the Beyonder.

You gave the villains GALACTUS and A FORTRESS PLAYSET right out of the gate.

The other villains tell Doom that they’ve (mostly) decided that he should be their leader. But Doom has bigger fish to fry than the prizes that the Beyonder is offering.

In typical Doomesque fashion, he wants the whole kettle. But the other villains what with their petty concerns think he’s too afraid to fight.

So he ditches.

He goes to steal-borrow a spaceship and even though he hates the thought, takes off to go talk to Richards. And then Kang shoots him out of the sky with a GIANT GUN THAT THE VILLAIN FORTRESS ALSO HAS? to stop him from allying with the heroes.

Said (marvel super) heroes see the distant explosion and fly as a group in the most hilarious way possible to check it out.

God, I have always loved this image. Its squished down into the bottom third of the page but its a delight.

They find Doom sprawled in the crash site, rambling that he’ll only speak to RICHARRRRRDS and about the Beyonder’s power. But Cap offends Doom mightily but offering him a hand up and because Doom sees pity in Cap and RICHARRRRRRDS eyes.

So he blasts the heroes and fucks off.

How very Bakugou of him.

And right as the heroes recover from that, a bunch of villains arrive to get this secret war started.

I have a fondness for this particular issue. For a long while, issue 1 was the only issue of Secret Wars I could find. So I just had the start of this story with all these non-Spider-Man non-X-Men heroes I barely knew cliffhangering into an attack by villains I really didn’t recognize except for Doc Ock and the Lizard.

It was a window into another side of the Marvel Universe. And for child me, this first issue worked perfectly to intrigue me. All these characters, the very straightforward conflict, all the complications that immediately pop up like Magneto, Galactus, and Doom. Alas, small child resources.

June, 1984

PRISONERS of War!

The heroes react slowly to the sudden villain attack but thankfully, the villains aren’t working together well. Unthankfully, half of the heroes were already knocked out by the first attack.

Meanwhile, over at Doctor Doom’s side of the plot, he flies back over to where Galactus just in time to see him finally rouse from being slapped down by the Beyonder.

Galactus floats to his feet and wanders off.

Doom: “He ignored me! As though I were a gnat buzzing at his feet! And so I am... Just as all of us, even Galactus himself, are but insects to the all-powerful Beyonder! Thus, the others have chosen to play the Beyonder’s simple game -- thereby, in effect, paying homage to him. Should I, too, pay homage? Should I worship at the feet of this god-like being -- or chose another path... one only Doom would dare!”

I think anyone that knows Doom knows which option he’s gonna choose.

He heads back to the villain fortress and finds Ultron’s deactivated body and decides Doom can use this.

Meanwhile, back at the first secret battle of the secret war, the heroes rally and start fighting back under Cap(tain America)’s leadership.

She-Hulk even gets a designated girl fight with the only female villain on the villain team.

I’d complain, I would. But at least She-Hulk isn’t the only heroine on the hero side.

She-Hulk: “Hiya! I’m the She-Hulk! You must be the Enchantress! Gee, I’ve heard so much about you -- ! You’re a not-nice lady!”

Enchantress: “A green woman? Is there no end to the varieties of mortals?”

The Enchantress magic slaps She-Hulk away and comments that she could crush She-Hulk physically but its beneath her.

Yeah, all Asgardians have some level of super strength, that’s right. Even the squishy wizards.

But all She-Hulk heard was, ‘someone I can really punch!’

She-Hulk: “I don’t often duke it out with someone solid enough to really unload on -- and slow enough to let me! Oh, wow! That was, like tubular, you know -- to the max!”

Uh. Jen, are you okay? Did you have a stroke? You don’t usually talk so much in Mario World secret world levels.

I think maybe Jim Shooter didn’t have a good grasp on her. I don’t think he’s ever written for her. And the other heroes mostly don’t vary too much from generic hero speaking patterns. Add some smart for smart characters, add some rude to Wolverine, and so on.

The battle wraps up with Kang, the Enchantress, and the Wrecking Crew captured and the rest of the villains fleeing when the battle didn’t go their way.

Cap sends Storm off to scout for a cool playset that they can use as shelter and she does so, noting that the winds on Battleworld are super easy to control. Like Battleworld was created to create ideal fighting conditions for everyone. Pretty neat, the Beyonder.

Storm finds a particularly rad fortress (”Bigger than fifty-four and a half Pentagons, I’d estimate!” Wow!) and the heroes move in.

I unironically enjoy how toyetic this story is with the fortresses and the vehicles and the weapons. Because I’m almost positive that Mattel barely capitalized on it.

There were only two playsets. Pitiful.

Over in their new headquarters, Reed stashes the captured villains in some form of psychostasis which “works by controlling aggression through brainwave modulation!”

He also sticks Enchantress in a healing pod to address that nasty case of being She-Hulked right in the face. Nothing will salve her ego though.

Captain America: “It’s no wonder that the name Mister Fantastic is renowned for compassion as well as courage! You give added meaning to the word hero, Richards!”

Whenever someone loudly announces that Reed is super compassionate, it makes me feel like they’re overcompensating.

Nobody ever makes note of, say, Captain America’s compassion.

With the prisoners (of war? Is that the whole reason for the title?) accommodated, Cap calls everyone for a meeting in a cool meeting dome he found which has a small waterfall for aesthetic and so everyone has to yell to be heard.

Wolverine yells that they should mop up the rest of the villains and get this over with.

Not mentioning that in order to “win it” they’d have to kill the villains, which none of the heroes have shown any interest in doing so far.

Cap(tain America) replies that A) planet big and they have no idea where the villains got to. And B) the remaining villains slash antagonists are Galactus, Doctor Doom, Molecule Man, Doctor Octopus, the Wrecker, the Absorbing Man, and Magneto. Not really people you mop up.

In a fun logistics bit, Cap sends out a patrol to make sure the area is secure but he also sends out two additional groups to find if there are any places in this fortress they can sleep and whether there's any... food.

Makes me imagine a Secret Survival War where the sides have to wrestle over limited resources.

Hours later, the villains that escaped the fracas arrive back at their fortress.

I’m sort of confused here.

Maybe it took so long because they had to make sure they weren’t followed. Or maybe because they didn’t have the sweet tripod vehicle anymore. But think about the flow of events of: everyone beamed down to Battleworld > Doom ditches the villains and gets shot down > heroes investigate and Doom ditches > villains show up for cliffhanger fight.

The villain fortress should be pretty close to where that fight took place. And then the heroes find a nearby fortress of their own so their fortress should be pretty close to the villain fortress. Maybe not in the same neighborhood but surely the same zip code.

Anyway, they find that while they were gone, Doom swanned in and renamed the place the Doombase.

If they have problems with it, they can talk to his Ultron.

Which I’m surprised he didn’t rename Doomtron.

Doom also tells them that he’s in charge now.

Absorbing Man: “Aw! Who gives a hoot! I need a meal an’ sleep! You wanna be in charge, Doom? Okay by me!”

If you think about it, this is just some steps added what the villains wanted all along.

They wanted Doom to be their leader but he told them he had bigger fish to fry and fucked off. Now he’s fucked back on and told them all that he’s their leader. They initially object before reconsidering due to Doomtron but, yeah, its all gone full circle.

Doom is a lot more cordial to Molecule Man though.

Doom: “Molecule Man... uh, Mr. Reece, I believe it is? I trust you were not inconvenienced.”

Molecule Man: “Well, being absolute master of molecules I can just assimilate molecules when I want, so I never have to be hungry, and I can just shoo away dirt molecules, so I’m always nice and clean -- but I am tired!”

Doom: “I have prepared a special chamber for you! I hope you like it!”

Molecule Man: “If not, I can always reconstruct the molecules -- !”

Heh.

Nice to see Jim Shooter able to follow up on the trajectory he sent Molecule Man on.

The rest of the villains head off but Doctor Octopus, the only other brain cell in this group, hangs back to talk to DOOM.

He wants to know what he plans to do about Galactus and then shows Doom on the biggest screen TV that Galactus is standing on a mountain glowing with an awesome power.

Doom just retorts that his plans are for his forces to triumph.

Doctor Octopus: Something tells me he’s got ambitions that dwarf merely triumphing in the Beyonder’s little contest! The question is whether he will destroy us in trying to achieve them -- or immediately after fulfilling them?!

Like I said, the only other brain cell in this group.

Meanwhile, while Magneto secretly sneaks into the hero fortress for Reasons, the heroes have a quiet moment that lets this Secret Wars biz really sink in.

Wasp: “I’d be having tea in my studio now, Jenny... And lunch on my patio tomorrow... This... um... situation we’re in... is kind of... much, you know? I feel there’s just a little thin wall inside me holding back a flood of despair!”

Its a nice touch, if intentional, that Wasp only admits this kind of thing now that she’s passed off the leadership responsibilities to Captain America. Its been a recurring character beat that she’s been keeping these sorts of worries to herself as chairwoman.

Over in another part of the fortress, Cyclops complains that he was right in the middle of his dang honeymoon when he was yanked into this event.

Cyclops: “I don’t know about you, Richards, but more than angry or afraid, I feel cheated! I -- I was on the verge of real happiness...”

Oof. This really sets the tone for his marriage with Madelyne Pryor.

Spider-Man and the Human Torch even have a little conversation.

Spider-Man: “You mean it doesn’t shake you, Torch, being here? What if we don’t get home?”

Human Torch: “The Fantastic Four have been off on space missions a couple of times, Spider-Man! We’ll get back! Believe me!”

I like when they’re friends.

So, I’m not sure what Magneto’s plan actually was. He was going to sabotage the fortress’ fusion generator as a distraction but Spider-Man’s Spider-Sense Spider-Alerts him to shenanigans afoot and he runs off to the power plant while Johnny Storm goes to get the other heroes.

Magneto decides to abandon whatever his plan was and captures Wasp as a consolation prize.

Gasp, another prisoner of war!

The Thing tries to give chase but inexplicably turns back to normal, smooth skinned Ben Grimm.

Also, Magneto escapes with the Wasp.

It’s like the aardvark says, you can get what you want and still not be happy.

Captain Marvel is holding the randomly anti-mutant ball for Hawkeye here and comments that none of the X-Men showed up to help stop Magneto.

Cap(tain America) tells her to belay that.

Captain America: “Let’s keep our minds on solving problems, not creating more!”

And they can’t even go after Magneto or rescue the Wasp right now because they have bigger problems: Galactus glowing with an awesome power and a massive storm that’s forming on Battleworld.

July, 1984

TEMPEST WITHOUT, CRISIS WITHIN!

The Beyonder has thrown in a nice stage hazard to keep things fresh in the form of a massive storm raging on Battleworld, with lighting that shatters mountains and winds that could tear someone’s limbs clean off.

Or perhaps its the unintentional result of just slapping a planet together out of random stuff you have lying around. The climate must be shot to shit.

I like it either way. Secret Wars has a lot of very toyetic collisions between groups of characters so its nice when Battleworld itself manages to be an obstacle.

Over in his giant U-shaped fortress, Magneto finally unwraps Wasp from the ball of random metal crap he has her in.

He lets her wander around until she finds him so that he can be all casual and eating a space scone.

Magneto: “Do not bother trying to attack me, my dear! My person is magnetically shielded!”

Wasp: “Well, la-de-da!”

Wasp: -blows up his space scone- “You think I have to strike at you directly to hurt you, monster?”

Hilarious spite, thy name is Janet van Dyne.

She also makes the point that magnetic shielding or no, she could bring this whole room down. Her being able to knock over a small house with her pew pew hasn’t stopped being true.

Magneto hastens to ask her not to do that because neither of them want to be out in the storm outside.

Besides, he just wants to talk! And flirt!

Magneto: “You are obviously a woman of intelligence and understanding as well as great beauty -- and I am not the monster you believe I am -- which is precisely what I wish to discuss!”

Wasp: “Oh? My intelligence, understanding and beauty or your non-monsterhood?”

Magneto: “Why... both!”

Back at the hero base (which is apparently ROUGHLY THE SIZE OF CHICAGO?? I want that playset), the storm has almost completely flooded the area, leaving just the top dome and such poking above the water.

The storm keeps dropping chunks of mountain at the base but Thor is standing on top, protecting it while grinning like a loon.

Captain Marvel even speculates that Thor could calm the storm but is whipping it up into a greater frenzy instead. Those storm gods, amirite?

Hawkeye is also standing by, with his explosive arrow, thinking to himself that if Thor fails, Hawkeye will totally save the day.

I don’t know whether that’s sad or endearing.

Mostly though he’s trying to distract himself from thinking about the new wife he left behind.

Cap, Reed, and Hulk are watching the villain base because apparently they do know where it is. The storm is keeping the villains in too but Cap figures they’ll pull one desperate attack as soon as the storm breaks.

They’ve already lost four of their dudes. Plus, Galactus isn’t a team player.

Spider-Man is just swinging around, enjoying how good for swinging the random technological pipes and tubes and whatsits are when he stumbles upon the X-Men having a secret meeting.

Professor X has decided, possibly on the basis of two (2) rude comments from Hawkeye and Captain Marvel, that the X-Men just don’t belong here and that they’d be better off going and teaming up with Magneto.

This... sure is a take.

Rogue comments that the Avengers don’t trust her because of that time she kicked their asses collectively. Which, hey, very possibly. They haven’t really had a thing to say about you though. They’ve mostly been grouchy about Magneto.

Which is kinda born out by the way he tried to blow up their base and definitely kidnapped the Wasp?? And is even now aggressively eating scones at her?

That’s the Magneto you guys want to go join because he’s more your people than the Fantastic Avengers and friends are?

You know, there’s a pattern I sometimes see with the X-Men where they loudly insist that the other superheroes don’t help them and don’t care about mutant stuff while at the same time doing shit like this.

“Should we get Reed Richards, smartest dick in the world to help with the legacy virus or the techno-organic virus Stryfe shot into Xavier? NAHHHH Beast can handle it.”

“Should we stick with the other superheroes or go hang with Magneto instead in a cool mutants only U-shaped fortress? Well, U is the coolest letter that isn’t X...”

If you squint, you can definitely see Krakoa all the way in the future.

Anyway, Spider-Man overheard all of this and goes ‘I’M TELLING!’

Wolverine tries to tell him that snitches get stitches but the thing is?

Spider-Man is ridiculous. He’s a ridiculously good combination of skills and powers which lets him make chumps out of entire groups at a time.

He’s embarrassed the Fantastic Four, the Avengers, and now he’s about to embarrass the X-Men.

After making them all feel foolish, Spider-Man gets away and goes to tell Reed what that doody-head Xavier said when Xavier uses his psychic powers to just wipe the entire encounter out of Spider-Man’s memory.

Yeah, it’s to cover their imminent blowing off but also? I don’t think he wants anyone else to find out how badly his X-Men just got stomped.

Psychics are too OP, I tell you what.

In fairness IN FAIRNESS, the X-Men kind of have the right to fuck right off if they wish. I don’t even know what it had to be in secret. In fact, doing it in secret is a massive dick move of its own for reasons.

What would the Fantastic Avengers have done if the X-Men had just said ‘hey we’re heading out’? Would they have put them in stasis tube jail? I doubt it.

Professor X made the decision to handle this the stupidest way for whatever reason. That scamp.

Speaking of Magneto, he’s over at the U-Lair turning down a partnership offer from DOOM. So, hey, he has standards.

Wasp has become less ‘i’ll blow up this room and your breakfast’ about him over the course of whatever the hell they discussed in their offscreen chat.

Magneto even starts to make out with her and Wasp is like ehhhhhhhhhh what the fuck why not.

Why is this happening?

I guess he has a...................... magnetic personality?

Eh? Eh??

No, but seriously, I do have a theory that I heard someplace but it’ll have to wait.

What’s weird is that there’s a Marvel What If about some spinoff babies that come about if the heroes and villains got stuck on Battleworld and never managed to leave.

Wasp has a son with Human Torch. Which is pretty weird and comes from nowhere. I guess a lot can happen during a massive time skip. My point being though, its weird that they didn’t have a Wasp/Magneto baby instead given the weird chemistry they have here.

Meanwhile, over at DOOMBASE, DOOM has some women in giant tubes.

That’s So Doom.

Doctor Doom: “All is ready -- ! This alien technology, so rich, so subtle... so easily harnessed to serve my purpose... Energy, tapped from the raging tempest... And two mortal subjects who dare to gamble for power -- knowing that to lose is death, for truly, here I shall test the limits of power a human body can contain! With the throwing of a switch... so -- the die is cast! Hear me -- ! Power must be seized -- ! Crave it! Welcome it! Drink it in, despite the pain... or it will destroy you.”

And thus are Volcana and Titania created!

Talk about lasting effects of Secret Wars! Titania is going to be around forever! Mostly annoying She-Hulk!

Where did Doom find two random women to give superpowers?

Denver, Colorado.

No, seriously.

That city chunk we saw as Battleworld formed? That’s Denver, Colorado, USA, EARTH.

Why isn’t there a miniseries or one-shot about a normal ass civilian from Denver having to deal with OH MY GOD WHERE DID EARTH GO?

I actually read an interesting thing re: this scene. It exists because Mattel asked Marvel to introduce some new female characters so Shooter wrote in these two and a third who I’ll get to when I do.

Mattel then promptly used none of these characters for the associated toyline.

The toyline, in fact, used none female characters at all. It made toys of characters who weren’t in the story but did not have a single female character.

So its very weird that they asked Marvel to introduce some but I’m not going to knock the results.

Doom introduces these two new characters to the other villains.

Hilariously, Absorbing Man guesses that Doctor Doom just made women from scratch. Because doesn’t it sound like something he could do?

Volcana and Molecule Man immediately hit it off, her being attracted to his sensitivity and him being attracted to... positive attention at all, I guess?

He muses that he could easily stop the storm outside, because molecules, but his therapist told him to let nature take its course. “Unless Doom asks me to!”

And Titania and Absorbing Man. They don’t hit it off. She either wants to hit him or hit that and its not clear and it might be both.

(Spoilers: Its both)

Titania: “You! Absorbing Man! You look like the toughest man here! Get up!”

Absorbing Man: “Whatcha got in mind?”

Titania: “I’m going to do anything I want to you! Everything I always wanted to do to everybody who used to be bigger and stronger than me! Maybe I’ll just play with you... or maybe I’ll make you eat dirt... or maybe...”

Absorbing Man: “Woman, if you got somethin’ to prove, prove it tomorrow against the guys we’re fightin’!”

Titania: “You’re backing down?”

Absorbing Man: “Nope! I just ain’t getting up! I got nothin’ to prove... to a dame!”

Would you believe that they become one of the healthiest and most stable romantic relationships in Marvel?

Speaking of weird relationships, back over at hero base, Thor goes and pops the lid on Enchanteress’ healing tube because he’s bored and wants to talk to a peer. A god peer.

Enchantress is at first more characteristically worried about what her face looks like after being She-Hulked.

But she then creates a portal so she and Thor can go have a chat.

Later, it’s morning and Hulk has been too busy stressing over losing his Banner smarts to actually keep watch or wake up Cap for watch like he was supposed to.

So when the villains ram an airship into the hero base, the heroes are not at all prepared.

Titania hurls a giant slab of wall through the room the Terrific Three are sharing, breaking Johnny Torch’s arm and ribs and knocking out the other two. He manages to get himself and co out of danger by melting through the floor.

Meanwhile, She-Hulk is carrying a big heavy as she’s been doing since the previous night and is caught unaware by Volcana who blasts her off her feet and then collapses the room on top of her.

Doctor Octopus knocks out Captain Marvel who is in the hot springs dome but gets chased away by Hawkeye, claiming that long-range firepower is his weakness.

I’m stunned at the implication that Doc Ock is one of Spider-Man’s most dangerous foes but could be scared off by Hawkeye while Spider-Man could pretty easily drop Clint’s ass. There’s some rock-paper-scissors nonsense at play here.

Spider-Man and Iron Man are also taken unawares by Ultron but manage to hide under some rubble.

Hulk leaps into the fray at Molecule Man and Doom but Cap convinces him to fall back to a defensible position.

The villains reconvene with all the captured villains freed except Enchantress (since she fucked off to have a chat with Thor) and the heroes scattered and buried under various rubbles. How the fortunes of Secret War turn.

Sure would have been nice if the X-Men had been around to help or if they mentioned they wouldn’t be. Sure would have been.

Doom: “We have accomplished much here today! And to finish it, we shall level this place so that no stone remains on stone!”

No wonder Mattel didn’t make a playset of this base! Dammit Doom, you’re ruining the merchandising!

Follow @essential-avengers for more of Secret Wars! At this same pace! Its sustainable! This is fine! Like and reblog too!

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loftec · 3 years

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Heyyyyy girl! We haven't talked in a hot minute, but I just finished reading I Will Follow Him earlier and hadn't had a chance to comment when a friend brought the nonsense anon tumblr drama to my attention. Anyway, I'll just say you handled it much more gracefully than I ever would (and probably have in the past, lmao). And I know you have a thick skin and this isn't something that would make you stop writing, but I still just wanted to let you know that I've missed your writing. I don't know if it's just in my head, but having been around the fandom for roughly the same amount of time as you have, I've discerned patterns in terms of the way people write and even what they respond to as readers, and the cliques that get formed around those things, so that to me it feels like even the fic itself generally has eras of writing styles? Like in my head I kind of cluster people together who seem simpatico in regards to the way they write IxM, but also how they express themselves and the way stories flow, whether there's depth of emotion or not, etc, etc. Anyway, for whatever reason, true or psychological, I find myself missing an era of fic that feels gone now. Not to say that there isn't any good writing anymore, just that it's simply a different vibe. So your new fic really brought me back to that old feeling. You always defy expectations when you adapt something into your own thing, so right off the bat I was pleasantly surprised that you, knowing Johnny Castle was not a completely accurate fit for Mickey because dancing/performing and also being a big man whore with the ladies (lmao), decided to subvert that and make him someone else. And Ian was Baby, but also not. My favorite thing though is the unspoken way you really showed Ian not feeling like he belongs anywhere. He has two families and none of them feel like home. I've felt that way my whole life and it's an emotional theme that's always been highly relevant. Makes you feel like there's nowhere you actually belong or anyone you really belong with. So I loved that aspect and look forward to it being explored more in the sequel(s). I thought your ending to this part of the story was realistic, even if I teared up and felt the loss. I could imagine a bit of a time jump and them meeting in completely different circumstances down the line. Again, totally unexpected that you wouldn't even include the big dance at the end, but fucking bravo honestly, because I couldn't picture some cheesy shit where Mickey dances with Ian in front of everyone for shock value and do the lift. Lolololllll... but yeah... do people honestly think Baby & Johnny lived happy ever after once the credits rolled on the actual movie anyway??? No way in hell. Lol. They were too different in ways that couldn't be overcome back then, sorry. He was meant to be her sexual/romantic awakening, and she went on to have a freer life. That's what I think. Ian & Mickey have a lot more in common, and although they have obstacles to overcome, they ultimately will be able to understand each other, and I think, get on the same page eventually. So please, think no more of any hate-adjacent crap you got or will get for this, because you'll always have a willing audience here, and we enjoy your voice so much. 💜

Hey my friend! It sure has been a hot minute, and this is so interesting! I hadn't even really thought about it, but I think you're on to something here. I haven't really read IxM fic in a good while and I kind of just figured that it was all on me because I have changed over the years, but it makes so much sense that the fic culture would change too. The characters are different, the tone is different, the fandom is different... it stands to reason that the fic is different too. I remember how fascinated I used to be with finding demarcations of time in fic, going back chronologically through the tag on AO3. Season 1 fic felt one way, season 2 a whole other way, etc. I suppose we're yet another ring in the ever growing oak tree of this fandom, lol. We're vintage, baby! You want some of those season 5 vibes? You know where to go, these angsty oldies over here writing increasingly absurd AU in 2021, they got what you need.

All of this means so much to me, you have no idea, especially knowing some of these ideas resonated with you personally like that. I've been thinking about this dang AU for several years at this point and I'm a little bit frustrated that I didn't find a way to give the actual writing of it the time it deserved, but I guess I gave it all the time I had, in the end. So that's something. I hope to muster some enthusiasm to go back and perhaps edit it a bit more soon, or at least start working on the sequels. I was traveling with my dad last weekend and I played some of my playlists for him, telling him about all my silly research and plans, and I now have three books about Soul in the late 60s to read. So you know the next part is gonna be real approachable! 😆

I think I somehow imagined that everybody knows and loves Dirty Dancing, too? I never talked to anyone about it when I was a kid, and it's only really the last four years or so that I have started meeting people who love it, like me. And turns out it's all my friends from primary school! It's all of my coworkers (at least the women), and it's so many of my tumblr mutuals... I was halfway convinced that every single person around me was just waiting to reveal themselves as another fan. Not so much, turns out! Writing a 60s dirty dancing AU is really weird, honestly! I expected two people to read my MiB AU, and I should have had the same expectations for this one. Because that's fine! I will write what I want to write and people will read what they want to read, as it should be.

Most importantly, though. I couldn't agree more with your Dirty Dancing analysis! To me, the dancing isn't the actual ending. To me, the ending is "guess we surprised everybody" and "I'll never be sorry" and "neither will I". The dance number is just a good note Johnny comes back to end it all on, but really, the honest final note is that "I'll see ya" *saxophone solo intensifies*. I just think it's so very bittersweet and good, and I only loved the movie more when I realised this. With Ian, everything became more complicated. Clayton is no Dr Houseman, and there can be no cheesy onstage dancing, and Ian has barely had time to wrap his head around the idea of having a future at all, being himself, let alone spending it with someone he just met. The Dirty Dancing AU needed to end this way for it to truly be a Dirty Dancing AU, in my mind. The next part will be something entirely different, and operate under a different set of narrative rules... Oooh well, look at me. I'm all excited about it. I can't wait to write it!

Thank you 💜💜

#manwhore johnny castle made me snort chuckle #also #I think it's only fair to mention #that while I'm extremely invested in being graceful or whatever when people come to me with criticism #I do not feel the same way when I see a friend in that situation #I get angry and defensive and ready to hustle #on their behalf #so I fully understand that reaction too

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

Text

I’m writing this scene between Lilith and Bruce right now, and I just cut a whole segue their conversation took because it derailed it too far from where I meant to take it and was more of a meta thought anyway.

So I’m just gonna verbalize it here so as not to waste that thought. You’re welcome!

But purely on a pet peeve note (and this seriously isn’t a response to something I read lately, I feel like people always think that’s what prompts everything I say but honestly, sometimes shit just pops into my head and this is one such instance lol) - anyway like, lemme just express real quick how much I LOATHE the term ‘mindrape.’

Like. Please stop forever with that, sci-fi and fantasy themed media and entertainment. That’s not a thing. Stop trying to make it a thing.

To be perfectly clear, like, the idea of a telepath or someone via some technology or magic being able to go into your head and view or pluck out your most private, carefully guarded thoughts? Abso-fucking-lutely something that can and should be viewed as a violation, in universe.

Its just....not rape. Its literally not.

I honestly do think that the rise of this particular term was because people thought about it and just HOW intimate and personal one’s thoughts can be, especially someone who is used to being closed-off and emotionally guarded, and when trying to come up with a way to describe this that captured the INTENSITY of the violation people were picturing when they imagined this.....that’s how people ended up linking it to rape as a way of conveying just how awful a violation it was?

But like.....rape is a very specific act, is the thing. It has specific context, it has specific catalysts, framing, fallout. Rape has its own name rather than just being described as a violating assault or an act of violation, because rape is a SPECIFIC act that carries its own connotations in our society. And those connotations aren’t something that entertainment should feel comfortable borrowing just to use as like, a benchmark for how awful a completely fictitious concept might be.

Because that dilutes the very purpose of giving rape its own name in the first place. The more its likened to an abstract sense of violation that feasibly encompasses pretty much anything that falls under the umbrella of personal violation.....the less it stands out as notably different from other forms of violation and calls to mind the things that MAKE it different, and thus warrant it being treated differently or approached in a specific way.

And here’s the thing about WHY rape has its own terminology:

First....there’s the fact that whether we like it or not, the simple reality is our society is obsessed with sex. We live in a very heavily sexualized world, where its often difficult to completely separate ANYTHING from sexual connotations. Its easier to make just about anything ABOUT sex than it is to make anything that’s remotely sex-adjacent about something OTHER than sex.

Now combine that with the fact that while rape is about power, and taking it from a victim or exerting it over a victim.....rape is INTRINSICALLY connected to sex. True, rape is not sex, its an act of aggression, not a sexual act. There is no way to engage in rape without simultaneously engaging in violence. There is no way for someone to consent to what is inherently by definition a stripping away of consent.

Rape is not sex. But sex is the VEHICLE by which a rapist takes or exerts power SPECIFICALLY. While at the exact same time, a HUGE part of why survivors struggle so much with getting the support they need in recovery.....is because due to how SEXUALIZED rape is in our society, in our media and just our very conversations of it, most rape survivors face the stumbling block of their assault and violation being viewed as more about sex than it was power.

Essentially, even though on the surface even most people ‘know’ that rape isn’t sex and rape is about power.....lots of people fall into the trap of looking at rape and thinking of it as sex gone wrong, or sex someone regrets, or tons of other thoughts that have more to do with sex than rape. Because from a pretty early age, anyone who doesn’t ALREADY have their own view and awareness of rape....has their view of rape then informed pretty much just by how its depicted and presented in media and entertainment. Where its of course heavily filtered through a very sexual lens.

So even while consciously KNOWING that rape isn’t an act of sex but one strictly of violence, entitlement and power....lots of people still have to contend with and push back against a foundation of it being more closely associated with sex in their minds, as the easily visualized IMAGE of what rape LOOKS like on the surface.....than other things it has more in common with once you look at anything OTHER than the visual of it, such as focusing on the motivating factors for rape and WHY rapists do what they do.

Theft, coercion, other crimes and concepts that more accurately reflect a rapist’s desire to TAKE what they were told was not theirs to take or to just degrade or humiliate someone in the most intimate way possible, or to turn a person’s very body into a weapon against them or to injure someone in a way that is meant to be more lasting or permanent in its effect on a person than just inflicting a physical wound.....any and all of these things have far more to do with why rapists rape than a simple desire for sex.

Rapists don’t rape because its the only way for them to have sex, even. Because even when rape is very much attraction based....its STILL not about just wanting to have sex with the person of their focus....its about wanting to have sex with them even despite being told no, or without giving them even the chance to say no. Even when a rapist ONLY targets a person because of their specific physical attraction to that person and their desires/fantasy to have sex with that specific person and not someone else.....the crime itself is still ABOUT stripping that person of their personhood in order to simply act upon them as the OBJECT of their focus/attraction...rather than any kind of a partner in a mutually beneficial or engaged-in act.

But despite all of that.....ask any non-survivor what springs to mind first when they hear the word ‘rape’....and chances are the resulting thoughts are more instinctively geared towards sex than power.

All of this is directly linked to our tendency as a society to view and treat and even talk about rape in terms of it most commonly being sex that got out of control. Despite the fact that no act of rape was EVER going to be an act of sexual partnership......because the very thing that turns something FROM sex INTO rape....is the MOMENT a rapist determines or feels that sex with a person is off the table or simply not what they’re interested in.....because they either don’t have or don’t WANT their victim’s partnership in what happens. They simply want to take. To steal. To use. To abuse.

Without exception.

Honestly, this got a lot more indepth than I was intending to go when I was just riffing off of a thought that popped into my mind about how I just really don’t like the term mindrape.....but a big part of the problem I have with the term is how indepth you basically HAVE to go in order to fully convey just why the term is so.....not a valid comparison to make to rape, with anyone who doesn’t already have an instinctive or reactive understanding of rape that’s more based on what rape TAKES than with how its usually depicted or talked about, where its in terms of what rape LOOKS like.

Because alllll of the above connotations and how important and central they are to any actual examination or discussion of rape....they simply do not carry over into a concept like someone reading your mind without permission.

Again, its not that such a thing wouldn’t be extremely violating IMO. It absolutely would be.

My point is simply that rape is always a violation, but violations are not always rape. SEXUAL violations are rape. But there’s a ton of ways a person or even something like a law or concept or even a freaking BUSINESS contract can be violated. And these aren’t interchangeable.

Are a person’s most intimate thoughts something incredibly personal, something no one should be allowed to take without permission? Sure. Absolutely. But imagine how else such a scenario could take place even in our real world, without needing a concept such as telepathy to make it feasible. Think about anything from someone reading a person’s carefully guarded or hidden diary or journal where they record thoughts they NEVER expect or want someone else to be privy to. Think about someone being tortured to give up information they’d be willing to give up their life to keep secret. Think about a burglar breaking into someone’s home when they’re not there and going through all their most personal belongings, leaving evidence that some stranger has been there and seen and touched all of that and you now don’t feel like you have the ability to keep anything safe and hidden from others, even in the safety and security of your own home.

Are all of these things different kinds of violation, most of which carry a great degree of intensity and personal betrayal or harm?

Absolutely.

But are any of them interchangeable with RAPE?

Or are they a bit easier to separate from from that concept once laid out to this degree, to see as completely separate and distinct things that may have some overlap but not necessarily even in the same ways or places they’re usually viewed as overlapping with rape as a concept?

Since I began this as a fandom related concept, lemme bring that back for a final thought.

Instead of likening other things TO rape, imagine if we did the same thing in reverse, and likened rape TO other things instead.

In terms of even just Batcharacters.....think about how often its been raised as an actual STORY point, that many Bat characters have shown a willingness or even tendency to cross all kinds of ethical boundaries and illegally surveil someone or intrude upon boundaries in the name of ‘the greater good’ or because they feel the ends justify the means.

Now imagine if all of those instances, no matter how large or small a violation....from a simple breaking and entering job to get inside a Rogue’s secret hideout in order to steal the location of their next crime....to putting bugs and cameras into someone’s home without their knowledge or permission and even just being able to spy on them naked or when revealing extremely personal information while thinking there’s no one else around to hear it, regardless of whether or not that’s what the character intends those to be used for or never actually uses them in that way.....

Imagine if all of THOSE violations were considered, viewed and talked about as not just breaches of privacy but as RAPE, specifically....with any relevant Bat-characters thus by extension specifically being rapists for having engaged in such violations.

And then, let’s flip the script back AGAIN, and now look at those instances where characters intrude, surveil, cross boundaries or invade privacies in the name of trying to save people or prevent tragedies or in the name of that always handy alleged ‘greater good.’

Try using that ‘in the name of [...]’ clause in regards to when and why a rapist rapes, and see how......not good that is. Has any of the above EVER been an ACTUAL justification for why someone rapes someone else? COULD it ever be? I know there’s the fuck or die trope and there’s more than a few variations of it in which one hero is forced to essentially rape another one or someone innocent or else the villain will kill them both, or kill the other person, or something like that....but even then, the actual RAPE is still on the villain or person exerting coercion, so no, not even then is rape being done in the name of saving/protecting someone or some supposed greater good. Its still the villain that’s doing the actual violating, that’s making the CHOICE to set up this scenario and limit the hero’s options to either ‘participating’ or signing someone’s death warrant....and just like sex is the vehicle by which rape occurs, the ‘raping’ hero is in this kind of scenario STILL just being used as a proxy by the actual person with the actual intent and desire to violate and assault the other person, and in being used in such a way, and in an inherently sexualized way themself.....it simply makes the ‘raping’ hero still not an actual rapist, but an additional rape victim of the ultimate villain as well.

See how complicated and messy this all gets, and how quickly?

And especially given that it doesn’t ever NEED to get there, in either direction, since there’s plenty of ways to describe varying types and degrees of violation with specificity, without resorting to ‘rounding up’ to refer to them as rape as a shorthand for expressing it was a particularly intimate or sensitive violation - and without losing sight of the fact that violations that result even in the THEFT of sensitive, personal information or secrets.....still only result in things like pieces of INFORMATION being what’s stolen, rather than someone’s entire bodily autonomy and personal agency.

Anyway, in conclusion the point is really just that we come up with the terms we do for specific reasons, and while language and contexts do evolve, grow, and even wholly change over time for a variety of reasons, it is important to take note of when that happens so we can determine if that change SHOULD be happening or if key contexts or connotations are being left out or overlooked in the process or wake of language changing.

And while I kept my point here limited to the example of rape and ‘mind rape,’ it applies to a ton of other stuff and topics as well. This just happened to be the one on my mind at the moment, but this kind of awareness can and should definitely be applied to a lot of other discussions involving sensitive or emotionally charged topics as well.

We come up with specific words and terms with INTENT. The creation of a specific term or phrase almost always involves having seen a NEED for such specificity in the first place, in order to denote key differences between something and other things it might be similar to but not fully described or encompassed by previously existing words or phrases.

Before treating concepts as interchangeable, we should always take care to make sure that they are, in fact, actually interchangeable.

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starredforlife · 3 years

Note

Hey star, do you have any tips for drawing werewolves? Though if you don’t feel comfortable answering this or don’t want to, I completely understand!!

Werewolves are just one of my fav monsters, if not all time fav, and I struggle with drawing them sooo much omg!!! I love your art sm, especially your most recent oc art! And your love for monsters really just brings a huge smile to my face bc fuck yea same

hello anon! i'm very flattered you're asking me this question :') i have a couple points I'd like to make, and they're all pretty long. bear in mind, they're also from a more animator-adjacent point of view as opposed to realist or illustrative:

-reference! never ever feel like drawing from reference is a cop-out, it's so important. for werewolves i've found that this is most important when drawing their hind legs and snouts at certain angles. it's a little tricky, so look up wolves or other werewolf art, find something close to what you want the angle to look like, and reference it while you draw.

-study human anatomy for their upper torso, wolf anatomy for their head and legs. once you've got a general idea of the shapes and structure, it's a lot easier to get creative and draw werewolves without reference and in imaginative poses. here's a good video on how to break down anatomy into volumetric, basic shapes (there are nude people in it bc it's abt human anatomy, but it still applies)

-what kind of werewolves do you like to draw? the smaller human-hybrid or the more wolf monster? both can look very good, and i would research lots of other people's art and renditions to see what balance you like best. that would also be a good time to draw each and test which type you'd like more!

-whatever emotion or personality you want to convey with your werewolf, make sure the pose you draw them in fits that, and make it nice and dynamic! if you're just drawing expressions, put their head in an interesting angle, or emphasize a part of their face (mouth and fangs, eyes, etc) to bring a viewer's attention to it. I like making the eyes prominent by giving mine eyebrows to emote with but that's just something i do out of habit lol. i like to study cartoon animals for expressions (think 101 dalmations, the jungle book, spirit) and i tend to pick poses based on how well they convey weight and movement. you want to make your werewolf look alive, essentially.

-On that note, keep your shape language streamlined: my werewolf, Lupa, is mostly made of wide triangles when she's in monster form, but her face and paws have some rounded qualities to make her appear a little friendly. (Most werewolves have triangular shape language to their design). This is one of my favorite videos on dynamic character design! Here's one that's a little more "intro to shape language" for beginners, that still helps me a lot!

-my personal details i love giving werewolves: manes along their necks and backs, droopy fur distribution along their joints and such (jawline, elbows, knees, etc), chunky teeth, bright eyes, and expressive ears. I draw my fur in licks, as opposed to tufts or a completely sleek design, but that's up to preference really! I just like making them fluffy, but not overly so. More like they look a little scratchy, furry, and warm

-if you love drawing something, it will show in the art. now this isn't real practical advice or anything, but sometimes i notice it helps me get across the appeal of a character a lot better. if i love that character, and understand them, i will be able to get across their features and personalities a lot more accurately and in a more visually dynamic way. so if you love werewolves, definitely pour all that love into them when drawing them! it will show, i promise.

I'm sorry that was so long! Character design is something I'm really really interested in and happy to talk about at any given point, especially about monsters, so thanks for giving me an opportunity to answer!

#star's asks #long post #monsters #glad we both agree monsters are fuckin. epic games #and thank you!!! im so glad you like my art it means a lot!

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level247-table-tech · 4 years

Photo

here are the sprites on their own! not all of them, but there are way too many to fit up there. i’m leaving the rest under the cut.

others include significantly asymmetrical sprites, as well as a bonus set. 8)

these don’t really clarify their relative heights. they are not adjusted to the bottom pixel i actually drew for sure, that’s not how i aligned them. i actually have a guideline in the file, but. i can’t really show that.

above are the regular sprites. it took ages to figure out what i wanted to do with virgil’s plaid, but it turned out going simple with it was the best plan. also it looked very bad until i figured out to use values correctly.

also, while we’re at it, i can tell you some things i changed between projects! this is a remaster of my last attempt at pixelology, and i do believe it’s an overall improvement.

virgil’s plaid, yeah, changed that, but also the colour of his hair, because the old one blended too much with his skin. glad that happened to virgil, because i was trying to keep the hair highlights the same for everyone, with differently-tinted shadows. i did give him a bat instead of the wings this time, because a, he seems like a bat kind of guy, and b, the wings sucked and i don’t think i could improve them. like, the best thing about those wings is that they were the ace flag colours, and since his general colour scheme is already like that, it’s not a spectacular saving grace. they also made the frame fit weird, but i don’t like drawing wings absurdly small, like why bother? i alos tried to be a bit more competent with the jacob lines in his shading. those are an indicator of fear so of course i wanted to keep them included, but last time i feel like i didn’t do great, and this time i think i improved. especially on the legs. it is kind of a pain how there are adjacent sections where the shadows are done in the same colour, but. that’s really who virgil is, let’s be real. wouldn’t be the same without the all-black clothes.

also, patton’s different skin tones were really bad, you could barely see the shadows, so i changed them. his overall shape also did not work, so this time i stylized it a bit more to fit with the pixels. also i gave him a different weapon. hopefully it’s still funny in its incongruity!

roman had very little change. like, i really like his original sprite! i did change some of the gold details, but the biggest thing is probably the pants. they’re white with a red stripe because, a, it looks very good, and b, it set up a parallel with remus.

and remus. most obviously in the first one, his different head angle super didn’t work. it was very bad! which, in his case doesn’t automatically rule it out, but this one looks way better next to the majority of these. i mentioned relative heights earlier and this one should actually be the same height as roman, you can align them by their chins. aside from that, i added a lot mor detail to his ruffles, i tried my best to maintain clarity on his torso, i got the sleeves just plain wrong, but it looks fine, and it happened to be very good art that led me astray on that, so whatever. i feel like his morningstar might have gotten worse between versions, but what can you do. maybe i accidentally put it at a slightly harder angle to make look nice. whatever.

logan! i don’t think i’m doing these in any real order, sorry. like patton, his shape has been changed to be more stylized to fit the pixel thing. like, a realistic taper on the legs, as it turns out, looks pretty bad! exaggerate it or make it just straight lines and it is better. i feel like i very much improved his hair, and i also added the belt that he wears which i forgot last time.

lastly, janus. well, lastly for now, but the next one won’t be a remaster of anything. i gave him his canon weapon instead of snakes, which, not sure what i was thinking gameplay-wise for those. [that’s a lie, i was thinking nothing about gameplay because i am no gamemaker. i’m not even an animator, much as i’d like to be.] when i made his last sprite, i forgot the lining of his cape is yellow. also last time i had not seen the magnificent longer cape from the game sections of svsr, which as i’ve mentioned elsewhere i am never letting go of, ever. so that features here. it kind of blends with the backgrounds i use for the vs character selection screens, but i don’t think that’s necessarily a downside. aside from that, i did remove some scales from his right hand because we have now seen it, and it’s proven bereft of those. as you’ll see in a second though, fortunately no such thing can be said of his legs. nor upper arm.

now for the bonus set. you may recognize this theme if you’ve followed this project awhile. 8)

some notes on these specifically:

-this is simply a complete set based on janus’ bonus sprite from the original project this is remastering.

-i tried to base the colours on their onesies. that proved harder than expected. remus and janus have no shown onesies, but

>i had janus’ previous sprite on hand, so that was him taken care of.

>virgil’s onesie didn’t really have multiple colours, so it’s just different shades of black, with some grey thrown in because white is already a base colour.

>logan’s, oh boy, i thought i remembered it having two colours, but i was wrong, it is just blue. and white, but again, that doesn’t work. so i gave him a couple of shades.

>patton’s, i didn’t really want to use grey as a colour, but it actually had two others, they were just in trace amounts. it was okay.

>remus. nghh. i wanted to use like, an inverted version of roman’s colours, but it turns out blue and yellow inverted is yellow and blue. so i used the orthogonal colours instead, and i’m not really sure it was a good look.

-aside from colour schemes, each of these has its own little variation, because i felt like having fun. aside from any kind of socks/leggings, because whatever, those are pretty variable anyway, each has one detail different. from most to least noticeable as i see it:

>patton has pants instead of a skirt. i just thought the look suited him better. the thing about patton is i always imagine him in Dad Fashion, which doesn’t have a ton of skirts in my mind. maybe that’s just my dad, but eh. i do think it’s a good look but i didn’t draw it very well.

>roman has a different crown. need i explain further? adding the others’ crowns was a bit of a pain considering how they interact with hair that isn’t drawn in anime style.

>virgil’s might not be too noticeable on its own, but the leggings kind of direct the eye there. he’s wearing his own boots instead of any variety of sailor scout ones. mostly because they are much, much cooler.

>logan has a different collar. closer to his usual polo than... whatever the sailor collar is actually called. he also might not have the same choker necklace as everyone else, but mostly you just can’t tell. still tied with a weird bow thing, though. how the hell do those bow accessories work?

>janus has a longer cape. again, need i explain further? he’s also the only one with a magical girl wand, because his colour scheme* was the most permitting and i really wanted to draw coily ribbons.

>remus is kind of like virgil with the leggings, but again, those don’t count, and with remus they draw attention away from his change. anyways, the different thing about his outfit is the sleeves. i only noticed long after i was out of the pixel stage that none of the sleeves are accurate, but his are even more not accurate, they do the poof thing. also his neckline’s a bit lower, but i mean, how could i not?

-i might assemble a full scene with these, if anybody asks. or nobody, i kinda just want to. it’s not too much trouble, but it won’t be animated this time, that took ages and i don’t think it even turned out well. i gotta find somewhere to actually get taught things about animation, though it also just does not gel with my medium.

-i can’t for most of these, but for janus i can talk about some improvements. his crown looks more visible, though that might just be compared to this side of his face. the skirt is not better and might be worse to be honest. also the bow on his chest. other than that it’s definitely better for the gloves actually being incorporated in this one.

*i do actually have set colour schemes for these. i tried to even limit the number of colours for each one. that said, most of them have exactly 17 instead of the nice power of two 16, and one of them couldn’t even fit that bill.

#sanders sides #tsfanart #pixel #my art #tabletech #8)

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comradelup · 4 years

Text

intertwined.

In the soft glow of Lup's bedroom, Lucretia finds herself talking more than she usually does. And Lup, she listens. What's the point of loving a woman to the point of prayer if you don't get worshiped in return?

ao3

The room is warm, in every sense of the word. The snow outside seems like it’ll never let up, so the heat’s been cranked. The lights strung around the room are shining in a sunset golden glow like fireflies. Music plays softly from a speaker on the shelf, a never-ending lo-fi radio that completes the atmosphere. It’s girls’ night, and the only two girls on the ship are hanging out.

Or… they’re doing separate things in the same room, that’s more accurate. Lup is seated on her bed, her long hair swept over her shoulder as she braids it, concentrating on her reflection in a mirror on the adjacent wall. Her back is to Lucretia, who is on the floor by the bed with a mirror of her own. She’s carefully applying makeup to her face, and she’s almost done. She tends to not wear it if she has no reason to, but Lup is insistent that there is one. She still doesn’t know what it is.

With a purse of her lips to apply the lipstick, Lucretia leans back to admire her reflection in full. It’s pretty, soft edges and cool colors. She finds herself smiling at her reflection.

Then Lup breaks the silence. “Lemme see.” She’s turned around to smile down at her like a kid at Candlenights.

Lucretia looks away from the mirror to present her face to Lup. Her smile softens and she says, “You look great, Lucy.”

Her heart flips in her chest. How can Lup just say things like that, nicknames and everything, and act as if her smile couldn’t make flowers bloom? Stars pale in comparison. Lucretia, a writer by trade, can’t conjure the words to describe the way she feels. She says, “Thanks.”

“It’s unfair, actually,” Lup says, hands pulling a hair tie around the end of her braid as she keeps studying Lucretia’s face. “You’re smart and pretty.”

Lucretia’s heart jump ropes now. “What?”

Lup chuckles. “You heard me.” With her hair done she slides over on the bed and pats the empty space. “Help me do mine.”

“Are you sure?” Lucretia asks, but she’s already gathering up the assorted products.

“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re good at it,” Lup says. She takes the stuff from Lucretia’s hands and their fingers brush momentarily. For all the flames regularly licking them, Lup’s hands are soft, incredibly so.

“Wait, lemme just… here.” Lup moves around, sweeping away brushes and pallets as she sits on her knees against the headboard. “Okay, I’m good.”

Lucretia lays out the makeup, giving herself time to think. She thinks about what look she’ll do— maybe sharp warm colors to compliment Lucretia, it certainly fits Lup— and she thinks about how she certainly won’t survive touching Lup’s face so much. The other crew members can have her things, let them use her journals for origami. They’ll see her when the next cycle begins.

Her hands move through the motions on autopilot but she hesitates right before touching Lup’s face. They’re close, knees touching. Lucretia’s vision is all Lup, Lup, Lup.

“Go ahead,” she says, voice low due to the proximity. “I don’t mind.”

So Lucretia goes, applying makeup on a face she’s trying very hard to not look at. She has to lean in a bit and tries not to think about it too much when she has to brace herself on Lup’s thighs.

After a few moments of music, Lup asks, “Are you having fun?”

“Of course I am,” Lucretia says immediately, the answer obvious. She cherishes every moment spent with Lup. Even before she developed these sappy feelings that turn her heart to a hummingbird and her legs to jelly. She likes having Lup as a friend.

“Oh. Cool,” Lup says, looking at the wall as Lucretia presses a sponge to her face. “You’re just being quiet.”

“I’m always quiet?”

Lup makes a well duh expression. “I guess I’m just used to being loud when I’m happy. I’m loud most of the time, actually.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Lucretia says, more of a mumble as she focuses on getting this right.

“I know. I’m trying to understand you, is all. Constant silence doesn’t really clue me in on your emotions, you know.”

Lucretia pauses, finally making eye contact with Lup. In a rare moment of vulnerability, she looks nervous. “Sorry, that was rude wasn’t it?”

“No?” Lucretia says, then again, “No.”

“No?”

“No.” Lucretia tilts Lup’s chin slightly up with her pinkie, then goes back to work. Lup looks away again, and Lucretia can breathe. “You’re not wrong. I just never thought about that. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Lup says softly, keeping her mouth from moving too much as the sponge is pressed around her mouth. “You have your ways of expressing emotion and they’re fine, just… different from mine.”

“How so?” Lucretia asks. She puts the sponge down and picks up a brush.

“Well…” She thinks of the words for a moment, eyes idly traveling the room. “I grew up around people who didn’t care much. Not Taako, we love each other, but our guardians. Aunts and uncles and stuff. Half of them didn’t want anything to do with us and the other half got annoyed. I had to get loud and obvious to get what I needed.”

Lucretia focuses on her brushing, feather-light across Lup’s cheekbones. The twins have mentioned their past before, in the rare times they’ve let their walls down. Lucretia always feels bad for them, but she knows they don’t want pity. They’re Taako and Lup, who would feel bad for two of the greatest wizards in existence? If anything, Lucretia is envious of their resilience.

“I see,” she says.

Lup makes a humming sound, the vocal equivalent of a nod. “What about you? How weird are emotions in Lucy’s head?”

Half of Lucretia’s mouth quirks up in a grin. Emotions, huh? Tricky, especially for her. “I’m an artist. The weirdest part is the result of my expression.”

“Really? I’ve only ever read your chronicles.”

“I’m not just a writer, even though that’s my passion. I paint, I draw, I make music sometimes.”

“Bragger,” Lup says, fixing Lucretia with a grin. Lucretia smiles sheepishly and shrinks away. Lup says, “Oh come on I’m only teasing.”

She pulls Lucretia towards her by the fingers, chuckling as she gets Lucretia in her face again. Lucretia lets herself be led— she’d let Lup lead her into battle, she could eradicate the Hunger with Lup looking at her like that— and she resumes her makeup application.

“Seriously though, how am I supposed to tell how you’re feeling? I don’t wanna assume you’re happy when you feel like shit.”

Lucretia shrugs. “I use art to deal with things. I don’t really have trouble with day to day emotions, but big stuff that really messes me up, I use art to get through it.” She nearly wrote a novel when she was accepted into the Institute. She paints night skies when she can’t bring herself to feel anything. She finds herself humming nowadays because she’s so head over heels for Lup.

“I should see more of your art then,” Lup says.

Lucretia nods. She’s hesitant to show people her art, it gets too personal, even if buried under metaphorical uses of colors and phrases. But… it’d be nice if Lup understood her as much as she wants to.

She puts down her brush and picks up a pencil. Eyeliner is… trickier. She has to get closer to get it right. Lup sees her fumbling and says, “It’s fine, I really don’t mind.”

Lucretia looks from the pencil to Lup’s face, uncertain. “Here,” Lup says, taking Lucretia’s wrists in her hands. She gently pulls, guiding her closer and closer, until Lucretia’s hands are placed on Lup’s shoulders.

Her hands move to Lucretia’s waist and the air is sucked out of the room. Lup guides Lucretia until she’s sitting in Lup’s lap, Lucretia’s knees straddling either side of Lup’s own.

“There, we’re all good,” Lup says with a smile. Now that’s just not fair. Lucretia’s been K.O.ed, let someone else into the ring.

Lucretia nods, one hand gently pressing against Lup’s face as the other starts to work the liner onto her lid. She goes slow, not wanting to mess up.

“Can I ask you something now?” she finds herself asking though. The curious part of her commandeered her vocal cords.

“That’s only fair.” Lup’s voice is even quieter. A combination of even closer and not wanting to mess up the pencil right near her eye.

Lucretia hesitates for a moment as if this question could pop the bubble they’ve slowly been blowing during this conversation. “Why did you have us dress up tonight?”

“Hm?”

“You said there was a reason we needed to get dressed.”

There’s silence for a moment, before, “I wanted to spend time with you.”

Lucretia pauses, pencil moving away from eyelid. “What?”

Lup keeps her eyes closed. “We don’t hang out enough. We should be closer.”

Lucretia is shocked for a moment. Lup wants to hang out with her for no reason? Like, sure, they’ve spent time together that both of them enjoyed, but there was always a reason for it. They’re teaming up for a mission, testing out spells together, doing chores. She thought this night was for a reason, maybe Lup wanted her makeup done by someone other than herself. None of the other crew members can do makeup.

But Lup wants to just be with her. Exist in the same space. It’s obvious that Lucretia felt that way, but it’s… it’s good to hear that the feeling is mutual.

“Oh. Cool,” she says, finding herself echoing Lup.

Lup smiles as Lucretia goes back to applying. She says, “It’s cool if you wanna do something else next time. I just thought this could be fun.”

Oh gods, next time. Doing this all over again sounds unreal to Lucretia. Partially because she doesn’t want this night to end.

“I’m up for anything,” she says, and she is.

“That’s good. We’ll coordinate next time,” Lup says, “I know it was weird for me to just walk up to you and ask to hang out.”

“It’s alright.” It’s more than alright.

“I just blurt out random things sometimes. I know you’re a lot different.”

That’s the understatement of the cycle. Lucretia makes sure that every word that leaves her mouth is as thought out as the words she writes. That sometimes leads to lapses of silence during a conversation as Lucretia thinks of what to say next, but the crew is used to it by now. They don’t think twice about waiting for her response.

“There’s nothing wrong with spontaneity.”

“There’s nothing wrong with strategy.”

Lucretia leans back again and Lup opens her eyes this time, smiling at Lucretia. She looks like an angel.

Lucretia kind of wants to kiss her.

…Okay, not kind of.

Lup says, “You should just say what’s on your mind sometimes.”

They don’t break eye contact. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Silence weaves between the sentences they say, letting a tense something build before each response. “Don’t think about my feelings. You don’t have to say it to me, just say it.”

“Why would I say something if I’m not talking to a person?”

“Some things just need to be said.”

Lucretia pauses. Her arms have fallen away from Lup’s face, and the pencil sits forgotten on the covers. Lup licks her lips and says, “You don’t have to practice for me, Lucy.”

Lucretia closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them. “Can I kiss you?”

Lup looks surprised. “Hm?”

“I want to kiss you.”

A beat. “Then do it.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. Her head leans forward and closes the distance between them, her hands following shortly after. Careful of the makeup, she keeps her hands to the back of Lup’s head. Her braid leaves the base of her skull bare and Lucretia cups it with her hands. She feels bone and hair and skin, such simple things to make up a person who makes Lucretia feel so complicated.

Lup kisses her back immediately, hands finding Lucretia’s thighs. She rubs her thumbs in small rainbow shapes that light her on fire. Lup is an evocationist, after all.

Lucretia hasn’t kissed anyone in a long time and can count on one hand the number of times she has kissed someone. She’s clumsy and inexperienced, but Lup isn’t. Lup, ever genius, ever gentle, ever perfect, takes the lead. Lucretia is happy to follow.

She was wrong, Lup isn’t an angel, she’s more than that. Lup is holy and Lucretia is devout.

The kiss breaks when they need to breathe, but they don’t go far. Lucretia still cradles Lup’s skull and touches their foreheads together. Lup's hands move, wrapping her arms around Lucretia’s waist. She smiles, soft, and opens her eyes to look into Lucretia’s.

“You’re amazing,” Lucretia says.

“Says you.”

“I mean it. You’re… powerful and beautiful and graceful and you… you make my life bright. You’re art incarnate, and you’re the brush it’s painted with.”

Lup looks stunned. She leans up and forward to kiss Lucretia again, though it’s much slower than before. It lingers. When she pulls back they’re not exactly eye level, Lucretia’s a little taller from being in Lup’s lap. She watches Lup think for a moment as she plans what she says.

“If I’m art then you’re poetry. You’re… intricate, you’re carefully constructed, you— fuck, Lucretia, I love reading you. You’re so different from me and I love it.”

Now it’s Lucretia’s turn to be speechless. She’s very rarely addressed with her full name, and it sounds like a prayer on Lup’s tongue. She kisses the corner of Lucretia’s mouth. “You have to appreciate yourself too, babe. You write about other people, for other people, all the godsdamn time. You’re art too. Treat yourself like it.”

Lucretia closes her eyes and sighs heavily through her nose. She doesn’t want to cry, not with a face full of makeup and effort. When she opens her eyes she notices—

“I got my lipstick on you.” Her voice is oh so soft and shaky. It’s almost completely drowned out by the long-forgotten music.

Lup smiles. “I can’t seem to care.”

Lucretia finds herself smiling too. “What about this?” She leans in and kisses Lup’s cheek, leaving a mark.

“Oh no, what ever will I do about that?” Lup says, not sounding at all bothered.

Lucretia giggles and kisses Lup again and again. Lips, forehead, nose, lips, cheeks, chin, lips. Lips, lips, lips. They have to break the make-out session, though, because they both keep giggling. Lucretia, at Lup’s lipstick-stained face, and Lup, at Lucretia’s reaction.

“You have the best laugh, babe.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah, if you like snorting.”

“Of course I do.”

They’re leaning closer, gravitational pull, about to kiss each other again. Their voices are so sappy and flirty. Lucretia loves it.

“Yeah, you would say tha—at.” Lup yawns mid-word. Lucretia giggles again at the sight. Lup has no right to be this adorable.

“Are you tired?” she asks, and Lup shakes her head as if the notion is ridiculous.

“No way, elves don’t sleep.”

“You and Taako sleep all the time.” Lucretia’s hands have migrated to Lup’s neck. She reaches a thumb up to massage under Lup’s earlobe, and she leans into the touch, eyes slipping closed. Seeing Lup so tired reminds her that she’s tired too, and a yawn escapes her too.

“Let’s get this makeup off and we can go to bed,” Lucretia says.

They do, taking the time to wipe it all off, still lazily kissing in between. After that Lucretia stays in Lup’s room, only leaving to grab a cap for her hair.

Is it… weird to share a bed with your girlfriend after just getting together? Are they even girlfriends? Sometimes people make out and it goes nowhere, is that this? She certainly doesn’t want it to be.

But those are questions for the morning. Right now, Lup is snuggling up to her, pulling the covers up to their shoulders. She buries her head in Lucretia’s shoulder, taking a deep breath in. Lucretia holds her close, running fingers through her hair as it’s falling out of its braid.

The lights stay on, the heat stays on, the music stays on. In this perfect atmosphere, with a perfect girl in her arms, Lucretia falls asleep thinking maybe she’s perfect too.

#taz #taz balance #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #lupcretia #i will revive the tag with my bare wlw hands #balance #lucretia #lup #txt #writing

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nomazee · 4 years

Text

Learning Process

kozume kenma x reader; kenma/reader/kuroo friendship

word count: 1900+

content: fluff, developing friendship/relationship, friends-to-lovers (but the lovers is like... hinted at? mainly?), kuroo pov (still in second-person pov but centers around his perspective of everything), HOPEFULLY-accurate depictions of kenma’s personality.

cross-posted on my ao3

(hiya! here’s a oneshot for one of my favorite boys in haikyuu! this is a work that i’m a bit proud of just because to me, kenma is a very interesting and complex character and i was excited to try and give my take on him as a person and how he would interact with the reader as a character. in this, i mainly focused on the dynamics between kenma & reader in the eyes of a third-party (i.e. kuroo) because i thought that would be a cool thing to do.

if you guys have any criticisms about how i portrayed both kenma and kuroo (because he’s definitely an interesting character too! and a bit difficult to write, too, in all honesty) please tell me! i always appreciate comments on how i can improve :)

without further ado here it is! hope you all enjoy!)

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

Kuroo always thought the way you and Kenma interacted was interesting.

He refrained from using ‘weird’--scared that it would come off as harsh and paint you two as alienated and make you feel disconnected from others due to your nontraditional dynamics. That certainly wasn’t the case--you and Kenma weren’t weird, just different, interesting, and so on and so on.

Kuroo liked to observe. It’s what he did. Especially when it came to his two closest friends.

Kenma met you in your first years of high school, where you two were in the same class. Contrary to popular belief (“popular belief” being the conclusions drawn by the others on the volleyball team who were close enough to observe the way you three interacted), you did not grow up with him and Kuroo, and at the beginning you and Kuroo were completely separate beings--completely separate types of a friend for Kenma.

So, the ravenette hadn’t known about you until well into the break between Kenma’s first and second year. Kuroo always had an inkling of a suspicion that there was someone else, someone different that was just as familiar with Kenma as he was (maybe even more so), but he never pushed the topic too much, scared to push Kenma too far and make him shut himself out due to Kuroo’s constant pestering.

Kuroo knew you were different when Kenma took the initiative to let you two meet. He was enthusiastic, even. It was an emotion he rarely saw on the younger teen’s face, only peeking through his calm facade when he was playing a particularly engaging game.

Kenma had made plans (something that was a really big tell in how close you were to him) in order to properly introduce you to his childhood friend. And Kuroo watched you stumble into a cafe, scanning the room with your eyes briefly before locking onto the two of them in a booth and breaking out into a light, airy smile.

(He soon realized why Kenma wanted to sit across from him rather than next to him like he usually did when hanging out in groups. You took the adjacent seat rather quickly, and comfortably, something that Kuroo knew was a familiar action to you just by the way you and Kenma sat only millimeters apart.)

From that day on, Kenma began to involve you in his plans with Kuroo more often. Of course, the two boys still had their own alloted time for themselves but Kuroo became familiar with hearing words of “Maybe we should invite [Name].” or “[Name] probably wants to go there, too.” whenever he suggested going somewhere with the boy.

He couldn’t find it in himself to get frustrated or annoyed with you for taking time away from his and Kenma’s “guy time” --he wasn’t that childish. If anything, he appreciated you--as a person, as a friend, and especially as a friend of Kenma’s.

The latter, mainly because of just how purely comfortable you made Kenma.

Kuroo never saw Kenma act so soft as when he was with you. The descriptor was laughable--but accurate. Kenma was so relaxed and languid in your presence. It was especially strange to see how low his guard was in crowds--a side of Kenma so foreign to Kuroo, because no matter how many years Kenma spent being forced to open up (in a good way, of course) by Kuroo, crowds and cramped public spaces would always sent him in a frenzy of looklooklookanalyzeanalyzeanalzyefocusfocusfocus , and Kuroo had to slowly become familiar with methods to calm his friend down.

(It’s safe to say crowded areas weren’t really visited very often anymore, and hang-outs were naturally restricted to one of their homes or malls unnaturally early, when it was the emptiest.)

But visits to the malls on weekend afternoons became frequent as soon as you were added to their equation. Kuroo watched you and Kenma walk into packed merchandise stores, fluttering about excitedly (the excitement was mainly on your part) and pointing out things of interest, hand-in-hand.

That was another thing. Hand-in-hand. It was kind of funny.

It was another aspect of yours and Kenma’s dynamic Kuroo found different but good. It was another detail of how comfortable the half-blonde boy was with you. More often than not Kuroo had caught the two of you touching each other in some way--intimate, but not sexual, of course. It wasn’t strange to see you two holding hands under the table in a diner or sitting particularly close to each other on the train or, more rarely, caught in each other’s embrace--which Kenma didn't hesitate to reciprocate .

He once teased Kenma about it (with no real malice because, again, he really couldn't find it in himself to be genuinely annoyed with how comfortable you made his friend even in typically uncomfortable situations), with a friendly jeering “how come you never hold my hand?”

He didn’t expect a response any different from the typical scoff and change of topic. But Kenma was quiet. eyes shifting away from his handheld game console and locked onto the floor--a subtle indicator that he was searching for an eloquent response.

“She…” he began, trailing off before trying to pick up his train of thought once more. “She’s really… nice. She makes me feel nice.”

Kuroo found that to be a breakthrough in both the relationship between you and Kenma and Kenma himself. Not only did Kenma think of you on such a high level, but you made him feel nice--a phrase that could be taken in many different ways but no matter what, the connotations were overwhelmingly positive.

You made Kenma feel good--in general. You made him want to go to the mall. You made him feel calm in crowded places. You made him stop the subtle, constant habit of picking at his nails when he was nervous and overwhelmed. You made him want to come to practice. You made him want to wake up early.

You made him happy. Slowly, but surely, you were making him happy, you were making him motivated, you were opening up new possibilities for Kenma, changing him in subtle, helpful ways.

Kenma was still Kenma --Kuroo knew you hadn’t purposefully changed him in drastic ways and you didn't seem to plan to, either. Kenma still acted bothered by his teammates, by practice--he was still adverse to most social interactions and still had a sarcastic bite to his words. But internally he was changing, in ways Kuroo hadn’t seen before, and in ways that maybe most people wouldn’t be able to see simply because they hadn’t known Kenma for as long as he had.

Kuroo smiled, sitting next to Kenma on the couch of the setter’s living room. It was one of those rare days where you weren’t involved in their plans--Kuroo had invited himself over and Kenma didn’t bring up your name in the middle of their hang-out, so he took it as is and just let himself relax in the presence of his younger best-friend.

Kuroo thought for a moment, eyes focusing on nothing in particular as he subconsciously tuned out the sound effects coming from Kenma’s current game in favor of the distant static in his head. Now that he thought about it, he never really thought of you as anyone more than a friend of Kenma’s, but the way you two interacted potentially insinuated that you two had something more.

He almost laughed at himself. Hand holding, hugging, all these things--and the thought never passed his mind that the two of you could be dating?

Maybe it was just that he didn’t find a need to label you two. It wasn’t his relationship in the first place. It was the bond between his two closest friends, which was still something to care about (sometimes he thought he cared about it too much--all in good spirit, though), but Kuroo really only focused on how content you and Kenma were with each other. The thought of you being each other’s significant others was certainly plausible--but not a necessary component of your relationship.

Kuroo knew this. Kuroo knew that you two could be more than friends but less than lovers. Kuroo thought you two could be soulmates. In whatever way the word could be defined.

Coming back to reality, Kuroo glanced to the side at Kenma, who was slouched over and staring intently at the screen, thumbs moving in blurs across the controller.

“Hey, Kenma.”

There was silence. Looked like he wasn’t done with the level just yet. A minute passed. A little chime of victory emitted from the console and Kenma moved onto the next level, not before uttering a “yeah?” of acknowledgement.

“You and [Name],” the ravenette began. “Are you two dating?”

Kuroo watched as his friend froze at the straightforward nature of the question. His character died and he huffed out a short sigh of frustration as he restarted the level.

Kuroo forced himself to remain silent and let Kenma gather his thoughts for a minute. As expected, the boy eventually spoke up with a response. (Kuroo found familiarity in this interaction, like the last one he’d had with Kenma about you. He laughed a little to himself at how the situation just seemed to constantly come full circle.)

“No.” He responded bluntly, then. “We’re not.”

That last addition seemed significant--he could’ve left it at a one-word response like he normally might, but he added a clarification even though it wasn’t really needed. Call Kuroo an over-analyzer, but he knew how to read his friend. You’d hope he did, after all these years.

Kenma’s tone was not flat, Kuroo knew, mainly from body language rather than the actual sound of his voice. His eyes shifted from the screen, to the floor, to the arm of the sofa, and back to Kuroo.

The two friends sat in silence, watching each other. Kuroo didn’t know what he was searching for in Kenma’s gaze, and he didn’t know what Kenma was searching for, either. Maybe he wasn’t looking at him with a purpose, maybe just absentmindedly--or as an unspoken affirmation of all the thoughts and possibilities running through Kuroo’s conscious mind.

Moments passed, and Kuroo huffed out a laugh of amusement, starling and confusing his friend.

“Maybe… tell her.”

There was no need for elaboration. Kenma didn't question him, and even as he turned back to his game Kuroo knew he understood entirely what he meant by that.

That night, as Kuroo made the short walk back home, he found himself opening up his texts and finding your name, deciding to ask a simple question. Maybe he was nosy. Maybe he was curious. Maybe he wanted a confirmation for the thoughts and potential outcomes swirling through his head.

Do you love him?

He received a response in seconds.

‘Love’ is a bit of a strong word. But yeah. I do.

He refrained from responding, viewing the three moving dots on the left side of the screen until they were replaced with a rather lengthy message.

I know how he is. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going to hurt him or pressure him or do anything to rush him into something like this. I’m his friend before anything else.

Kuroo found himself smiling yet again. You really did know Kenma. So well. Scarily well. That was good, though. You were good.

And Kuroo knew that everything was fine, when weeks passed and he saw that you two still held hands. Still sat close on the trail. Still hugged and still went to malls and cafes, the three of you.

He knew that things were even better than fine when he saw you in the stands at one of their games, right near the front, waving to a certain setter and calling his name with sheer, unadulterated excitement seeping through your pores and lighting up your eyes.

He especially knew that things were great when a smile--a true, wide smile found itself creeping up across Kenma’s face.

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu fanfiction #hq fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #kenma kozume #kozume kenma #kenma #kozume #kenma kozume x reader #kozume kenma x reader #kenma x reader #kozume x reader

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presumenothing · 4 years

Text

FICTOBER 2020 – PROMPTS #01 TO #05 – WTNV/FMA AU – GEN, NO WARNINGS

📻 PREVIOUSLY ON: episode one – pilot

“NO, COME BACK, said the spider to the fly, but we all know how the rest of that story goes.

“Welcome to Resembool.”

“TODAY, THERE IS THIS: a story about someone.

“This information is less helpful than you might think. All stories are about someone, in the singular or plural or uncountable. It’s what makes them stories, instead of disparate collections of facts and events loosely coiled about some narrative anchor.”

“HERE, THEN, are the particular someones this story concerns itself with – a man who is not large, and a man who is not small.

“Of course, this is only one way of describing them, and not even the one most people might use. Truth is not often equivalent to relevance, but for the purposes of this story it is close enough anyway.

“The man who is not large sits at a desk with a phone. The scene is not much different to anyone else sitting at a desk with a phone, and indeed not much different from his usual behaviour at all, except that he is frowning.

“This is, in turn, because his calls are not getting through.”

“AT THIS MOMENT, the man who is not small arrives. There is very little in common in the way of physical appearance between these two men, save for the possibility that if you ignore everything else about the situation, you might quite understandably think that both of their faces are made for smiling.

“Neither one is smiling now. The man who is not small crouches a little when entering the room, as some people who are not small are wont to do. No luck, sir? he asks.

“No luck, the man who is not large agrees, but not in a way that is frustrated.

“Or rather – it is true that he is frustrated, but that is not the most relevant thing. He taps his fingers, looks to the ceiling, and thinks.”

“WE CUT BRIEFLY AWAY from this story to the community classifieds.

“Item: Curtis Butchers is looking to hire an additional staff. The job requires comfort around cleavers and other large knives, but not butchery experience since you will find yourself learning rapidly on the job, and anyway that’s the easy part. What’s the hard part? Wouldn’t you like to know. To apply, head down to the store and challenge one person to arm wrestling. Who you choose will be the first part of your interview. Good luck!

“Item: Ice-cream truck found in the parking lot of Dark Owl Records, vacant but in good condition. If this is yours, contact Rebecca Catalina, owner of Dark Owl Records. If this is not yours, but you are interested, maybe contact her anyway. She has some interesting ideas about a joint venture of sorts.”

“AND FINALLY – item: Base to Phoenix, town square, ten o’clock. That’s… literally all this last sheet of paper says. No clue what that’s about, but doubtless the recipient must have understood the message anyway.

“This has been the community classifieds.”

“AND NOW, WE RETURN TO the story at hand.

“…so I figured it was worth a try, the man who is not large is saying to the man who is not small. I have a theory that– never mind, we’ll know if it’s true or not based on how this pans out.

“The man who is not small does not say anything aloud in response to this statement. The contemplative silence is uncharacteristic of him, or at least how people usually perceive him, but then again everything they are doing now is uncharacteristic of how people usually perceive them.”

“PERCEPTION, AS IT HAPPENS, can often be neither relevant nor true.

“He’s going to kill me if this actually goes through, the man who is not large remarks, in a manner all too cavalier for such a comment. Ringing him up just to talk his ear off.

“That didn’t stop you before, the man who is not small observes.

“The man who is not large laughs. It really hasn’t, yeah. But who wouldn’t be happy to hear my dulcet tones? Or, more importantly… the news of my beloved wife and lovely daughter!”

“THE MAN WHO IS NOT SMALL studies the stack of photographs that have been thrust in his face. She really is growing up well, he says, and this impression at least is true if not particularly relevant.

“Although it is very relevant to the man who is not large, judging by the breadth of his grin. You’re a good man, Major. Ever consider having kids yourself?”

“LET’S PAUSE HERE AND TAKE A LOOK at traffic.

“There is a woman. We will call her Emma, and I won’t tell you if that is her real name – or more accurately I can’t, for reasons that will soon become clear.

“Emma came to this town just over two years ago, bringing only her daughter with her. Old Woman Pinako, smoking a pipe on her porch near the car lot, would see her arrival and think privately that it seemed more like a fleeing.

“Then she would extinguish her pipe and come forward to offer assistance anyway. They would not form any kind of instant trust, because Old Woman Pinako had been right in her guess, but both are practical women, in the way that you tended to get when you are adjacent to someone who practices alchemy.”

“BUT THAT WAS THE PAST. This is now.

“Now, Emma listens to the radio, hears about the newcomers to town, and worries. Her daughter is older, now, and I will tell you nothing about her either, besides that she has brown braids and blue eyes and a smile like the sun. Sometimes, she plays happily with the dog that welcomes her at Rockbell Automail, like Den reminds her of a family pet she was too young to remember.

“Sometimes, out the corner of Emma’s eye, her daughter bears a different form, like she is not sure what shape she should have when no one is looking. Sometimes it reminds her of the shadowed shapes she saw in the basement lab, the ones her husband only smiled about when she asked, scared and desperate and furious: you did this? Is this also what you’re planning to do to me, to N–

“And so Emma wonders if she got them away from her husband quickly enough, and worries if the newcomers are looking to bring her back. If they suspect what her husband, the alchemist, had been trying to do.”

“THE GENERAL ANSWER TO ALL OF THESE QUESTIONS is that she did what she had to, and will continue to do so. The specific answers are yes, probably no, and no.

“The real answer is that none of these answers will be enough to reassure her, but at least they might help.

“This has been traffic. And now, the weather.”

“SO THAT’S THE WEATHER FORECAST FOR this coming week, but perhaps there was something you were more keen to hear about. A phone call, perhaps.

“Alas, listeners, I’m afraid I don’t much news for you on that front. You see, there are municipal regulations requiring enclosed booths around payphones to prevent undue weather damage to the equipment. As such, when the phone in the town square rang at ten, and a man stopped to answer it, there was a door he could pull closed behind him.

“However, the regulations say nothing about making the booth proof against eavesdropping, only rain, and so some parts of his words still drifted out anyway, stolen snatches of half a conversation: why did we let you choose the codenames? and yes, Eagle is fine, just itching to shoot something and I’ll report in as soon as I have something to–

“THIS LAST PART is said with forehead pressed against glass, eyes scanning the darkened streets outside, and presumably this is related to the way he stops suddenly, mid-sentence. A hurried murmur, too low to even guess at, and then he is hanging up and stepping out, pushing the door open.

“Who’s there? the man asks, measured in the way of someone who expects to be answered, and the words do not hang suspended in the night for long before a figure steps out of the shadows, hood drawn down around his shoulders.”

“THE MAN’S STANCE changes completely: he stiffens, and his tone is no longer measured when he says Marcoh? What are you doing here?

“It’s Mauro, the Sheriff replies, pulling his customary hood back up, and I could ask you the same thing, Lieutenant Colonel.

“It’s Colonel, actually, the man corrects, but not in a way that is actually meant to be a correction. I told everyone when we first arrived, it’s just for surveillance.

“The Sheriff says nothing, but the silence is loud enough anyway: that answer was unacceptable, try again.

“They’re planning something, and this town is standing in their way. Either it submits, or– you know what they’ll do. I can’t let that happen again, he finishes with an urgency that makes the words sound true, and relevant, and completely opaque to anyone else.”

“BUT THAT IS ONLY TO BE EXPECTED. This has been a story about someone, after all, none of which are us, and just because something is true and relevant to you does not guarantee that you will understand it at all.

“Stay tuned next for the crackling jingle of a blue truck parked by a records store, and the worried weight of a mother tucking her daughter in while wondering what will come tomorrow.

“Good night, Resembool. Good night.”

📻 TODAY’S PROVERB:

There are many things in this world worth an arm and a leg. If it’s not your own, at least.

(AO3)

happy inaugural fma day to me, and yes i’m celebrating it by putting out 100% self-indulgent content that is only borderline recognisable as fma because i can!! this also serves as a somewhat nonstandard fill to the first five fictober prompts, one for each section of the episode. i had to contort pretzels around myself putting some of them in, but it was a fun challenge anyway

this episode’s weather (which is arbitrarily decided by which 80s song is currently stuck in my head) was “eye in the sky” by the alan parsons project

characters introduced this episode, for those keeping score at home: maes as the man who is not large (who codenamed roy and riza as phoenix and eagle respectively for this op), alex as the man who is not small, curtis butchers as big rico’s, rebecca catalina as michelle nguyen, ex-mrs tucker pseudonym emma and nina as alive and well because to hell with shou tucker, and last but not least – marcoh as the sheriff of night vale, just because

#fictober20 #welcome to resembool #fma day #fma #fmab #wtnv #fanfiction #mine #the story about you episodes have always been fascinating to me #so here's a variation on that #me frantically texting anthrop: HEY I FIGURED OUT THE PLOT #that was a lie. there is no plot #only chaos

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mnthpprt · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1: Chance Encounter

It is far from my first time visiting the Louvre, yet I always seem to find myself utterly captivated by everything in it. While professional curiosity plays a big part in my attraction to the myriad of pieces on display, the sheer beauty and quantity of them makes me forget about my work, about the reason I came to Paris in the first place, turning me into another happy tourist that blends into the crowd.

Lost as I am in the careful brush strokes that form Napoleon’s coat, I am oblivious to the slowly closing gap between me and the tall man that’s shifting along parallel to the large canvas, just as absorbed by the scene it depicts. I realize how practically non existent the distance between us is when I turn and clumsily bump into him, the full weight of my bag and roller skates slamming against his hip and throwing him off balance before I can walk away to ogle another work of art.

“Désolée!” I exclaim as I grab the leash that hangs on my shoulder to stop the skates from violently swinging. “Est ce que je t'ai fait mal?” I look up at the man apologetically. Although he stumbled a little upon impact, he looks completely unaffected, his golden hair still perfectly in place and his elegant jacket still pristine. To my surprise, he smiles, and kindly switches to English.

“I am quite alright, thank you. And you, mademoiselle?” While my French is fairly decent, any native could tell my accent is far from perfect. As for his own, it’s hard to tell where it belongs to, although something about that ‘mademoiselle’ strikes me as undoubtedly Parisian, and rather old. I have spent enough time in this country to know no one under the age of forty says that anymore in an informal setting like this one. However, he does not look that old. At all. I awkwardly return the smile before answering his question.

“I’m fine. I’m so sorry about that, I really did not see you there.”

He tilts his head and eyes me with curiosity, as if he is having trouble placing my accent like I did his. This is a usual reaction to hearing me talk, so it does not bother me in the slightest, but the way he does it somehow comes across as polite. He looks at me with the same nonchalant wonder the tourists around us have on their faces.

Before I can say anything, he turns back to the painting and lets that charming smile return to his face once again.

“This is one of my favorite pieces in the collection,” he says, “although it is not exactly accurate. Or so I’ve been told.”

I raise an eyebrow at his comment. Just like that, he turns again and lets a resigned sigh escape his lips before offering me another disarming smile.

“I apologize, mademoiselle...”

“Anaïs,” I say, answering his unspoken question.

“Mademoiselle Anaïs. It has been my pleasure to encounter you, but it appears I must go.” He politely nods and turns around without telling me his name, and I am left wondering about that strange interaction. Before long, he is completely out of sight, and the bizarre spell I seem to be under finally breaks.

“Who the hell talks like that?” I mumble to myself. As I begin walking across the room, something tangles in my sneakers. I look down to find an expensive looking scarf, made of fine wool. Only one person in this room could have dropped it right here, and soon I am out of the arched door chasing after him.

Scarf in hand, I feel like I am looking for a ghost. After checking all the populated hallways and adjacent gallery rooms, I begin to resign myself to the fact that this mysterious man simply vanished. Just as I am about to give up in my search, I come across a door I have never noticed before. Wooden and ornate, it sits ajar in a deserted hallway. How did I get here? Regardless, it seems to be the only option, so I peek through the gap.

And there’s no one to be seen.

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #otome #ikemen #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire comte #ikevamp comte

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simonlovelazy · 5 years

Text

Unknown/MC (mysme)

Title: Bite the Bullet

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

Pairing: Unknown(Saeran)/MC

Tags: Mature (graphic description of death, sexual innuendos), contract killer AU

Word count: 2485

Summary: Some people have more reasons to complain about their job than others.

Written for @unknownzine Once again thank you for the opportunity, beta reading and all the patience!! With each turn, he wandered farther from the noise of the main street, and deeper into the forgotten parts of the city. The light from the scarce street lamps glided over the puddles and shook under his heavy boots. No one passed next to him in the narrow alleys, but he knew he wasn’t alone. Maybe this was what the prospective believers felt when he was running the “background check” on them – the intangible impression that a pair of eyes was fixed on their every movement, the rising sense of panic as they felt the phantom of his breath on their necks. But with the subtle difference that he couldn’t be more unfazed. “It’s a good place, don’t you think?” Unknown said, turning lazily. And there she was, his shadow, with her little mouth wide open in shock. Her hands, in turn, they didn’t even budge, the gun steady in their clasp. Unknown had to admit he was a bit surprised too – that a frail thing like that could have a reason and the nerve to try to eliminate him.

“Not much of a talker, huh? Or are you scared of me?” Carefully leaving the blind spot, and making sure his face was not exposed, he edged closer to her. The girl stood firmly with her gun still pointed at his head. Interesting. “I like it here because it never feels alone, you know?” She visibly faltered, but wouldn’t look away from him. He wasn’t dealing with a complete newbie. “Cameras. It’s the back of a pawn shop, after all.” Recognition lit up her eyes, and she peeked behind him, just to find the ruthless lens staring straight at her. He towered before her after closing the remaining distance in one leap. His one hand grabbed her chin in a way far from affectionate, while the other dismissively pushed the silencer aside. “You can’t shoot me here, sweetheart,” Unknown whispered in her ear. She yelped in surprise when he yanked the gun completely out of her grasp, twisting her wrist in the process. And he didn’t stop there, having tucked her pistol next to his own, he continued squeezing her bones even tighter, just for emphasis. “Give me one reason why I should let you live.” “It’s n-not personal.” Oh? Difficulties speaking with your jaw crushed? “Let me go, and I’ll tell them I finished the job. That you’re dead. Just lie low for some time,” she continued despite his increasingly apparent amusement. “Okay, listen, I know who’s next.” Lies, lies, lies. It’s even cute, in a way. She really thinks she can get away with this. “Who sent you?” Another squeeze. “I never met him directly. All I got was your photo, the date, and the place; all delivered to me by some unimportant minion.” “Do you think I’m stupid? They told you about other targets, but you conveniently don’t even know who you’re working for?!” “I don’t work for any organisation, but I do have ears, and I can put two and two together.” “That’s even better. It means no one’s gonna miss you.” There was a squeak, followed by the sound of metal slamming against the brick wall. “Hey, kids! Why are you snooping around in here? Get out!” All Unknown got to do was to rearrange his hold on the girl in a less suspicious way before he glared at the clerk standing in the door behind him. She stumbled back when he let her free. “I’d show you how it’s supposed to be done, but it’s not my call. We’ll go on a ride instead; I want you to meet someone.” “Are you serious?” “It’s really not the time to act like a princess,” her kidnapper hissed in annoyance. “I’ll kindly remind you that I have two guns, and you have none. Do you really think you’re in a position to make a fuss?” “But you can’t kill me, now can you? You still need to wait for your boss’ orders, sweetheart.” MC knew she was pushing her luck with him, and hell, he really did have two guns, but it was still worth a shot. He couldn’t do anything to her till they got there – wherever this “there” was – and the more information she gathered before that, the better. “I would be nicer to my future interrogator. And a bit more convincing – I don’t buy a word you’ve said so far.” There was no other addition, but a frown when he bent over the stick to cuff her. “So you just so happen to have handcuffs at hand. Wait, I see – you’re this type.” A stern warning lingered in his eyes. His hands were just as cold as they were in the alley, and not a tad more delicate. There was no point in fighting just yet. Soon, her hand hung limply from the handle at his car’s door as if she was trying to get some breeze under her armpits or whatnot. He reassumed his place behind the wheel, turning the key in the ignition. A little dice dangled from its end. Classy. “They weren’t meant for you.” MC smiled wickedly. “Ouch. That’s not what a girl wants to hear. You could at least pretend I’m special.” Her kidnapper turned to her quickly with a deadpan expression, before the car finally kicked in to the motion, and they left the parking lot with a crunch of gravel under the tyres. “Where are you taking me?” “You really don’t seem to get the situation, so I’ll spell this once more for you. You don’t get to ask questions.” He was squeezing the hell out of that wheel. “You’ve been following me for the whole day. Why?” MC looked down on the frills of her dress, trying to burn the whole thing with her stare. She had really gone through this dumb masquerade for nothing, didn’t she? “They said it’s 3 million wons extra for every detail about you. Where you go, who you’re meeting up with – things like that. I was supposed to wait with the rest of the job for the moment when you’re done in the city.” She could no longer recognise the landscape blurring behind him in the car window. He slowly shook his head, “It means they don’t even kno —” The momentary chaos was all too familiar – a gunshot and a jolt when the bullet pierced through the bodywork startling the driver, who almost lost control of the vehicle. MC lurched forward on instinct, tugging painfully at her right wrist. Obviously, it would still be too late to save her, had the shot been accurate. Not that she was the target. “Who are they?!” Her kidnapper’s voice was unusually high-pitched. She glanced briefly at him – and, wow, he got paler, if that was even physically possible. Then, sitting up a bit, she checked the wing mirror. A black, shiny beast – at least two classes better than their car – right on their tail, with a barrel sticking out from the driver’s side. “No clue! Gimmie my gun back!” “So that you can finish your job? No fucking way! I will lose them.” He stepped on the gas. “It’s just one guy, and he’s also driving – I can handle him. Just give me the gun already! It’s our best shot!” MC was jolted against the door as the car turned, screeching in the last moment. Getting herself in place again, she fastened the seatbelt, going below her hanging arm. The good thing was that the streets were unusually busy for this hour, the bad thing – well, their excuse of a car wasn’t exactly a racer. “How do they know I’m still alive?” her driver yelled over the engine, weaving between the cars. MC scratched her chin absently. “They could send someone to check on me, but it only happens when... just who the hell are you?” “Maybe you’ll live long enough to find out.” The way he said it, there could be a hint of a sardonic smile under his mask, but, really, there was no way of knowing. “Well,” MC started, looking behind, but there was no shooter to be seen. “The money they offered for you seemed a bit too good to be true. Or easy.” “Was it worth it?” “Let’s say I’m having second thoughts right now.” “Shit.” It was almost too late when he noticed the side road. The sharp turn didn’t send her flying like the last time, but the car skidded on the slippery surface, nearly crashing into the pick-up on the adjacent lane. The loud thudding of MC’s heartbeat accompanied the honking of the annoyed driver they left behind. Reckless as it was, it seemed that the sudden change of the route did the trick. They had been driving for at least 15 minutes without anyone trying to shoot them. Having got out of immediate danger, MC started to consider her options regarding the danger seated next to her. He turned into another desolate, outgrown road with determination that led her to believe that the meeting point with his boss was closer than she’d like. “We’re out of petrol.” Her kidnapper announced in disbelief. “That bastard must’ve got the fuel tank.” “How much more?” “Nothing. We’re running on fumes.” MC closed her eyes and put all the irritation that had built-up in the last 24 hours into a solid kick on the dashboard. He merely eyed the muddy footprint adorning his glove box. And then, the car stopped. The palms of his hands banged on the wheel as he exhaled heavily. He took the keys out and left without a word. MC opened the door on her side and straightened her back with a groan. It was dawning already; the plane of navy blue shyly paled on the horizon. There was nothing around except for the waist-high grass smothering the road from the both sides. And no one in sight. “Hey! Didn’t you forget about something?” She jingled her handcuffs. The kidnapper had already managed to walk away quite a bit down the road. “No, I don’t think so,” he replied, without slowing down. She cursed under her breath, looking around for anything to pick the lock with. But even if she found it, she still had no car keys, no clue where she was... “Wait! I know who’s next! And more things too!” If he said anything, she couldn’t hear it. �� “They said that when they’re done with you, they just have to deal with ‘the other one.’” With one foot on the asphalt and the other one pushing at the door, MC tried to rip off the handle in the final act of desperation. She turned her head to gauge his reaction. “Does it mean anything to you?” All she could notice from that distance was that he was facing her, motionless in the middle of the road. One quick movement of his hand, and the mask fell to the ground. He rubbed his face as if he were trying to wake up. But suddenly, something came over him, and he was running back in her direction. It took one glance behind her back to realise why he was in a rush. The hitman was back. “Hurry up! Faster!” Her kidnapper-turned-saviour was next to her in no time. “Shit. Shit.” He was visibly struggling with the little key. “Don’t think it changes anything between us. You’re still going to the questioning.” “Can’t wait." The car was getting so close, they could hear it roaring. There was no time to lose, but something with the lock was clearly off. It was an odd moment for an even weirder thought, the guy without his mask looked much younger than she had initially suspected him to be. He simply didn't belong here. Someone shut the door mere steps away from them. They were shielded by their own door, and now it was really a matter of seconds; he froze when MC snuggled against his torso, reached behind his belt, pulled the gun out, and leaning out of the cover, fired three silent shots. The man fell to the ground in an instant. She came up to the body as close as the handcuffs let her. About 35 years old, average-looking. She’d never seen him before. Two wounds – one in the shoulder, another in his neck. She could have done better, but it wasn’t half bad for a right-handed person under pressure. “Why?” MC took her eyes off the corpse. Her kidnapper leant against the side of his car. His dilated pupils were glued to her with a sense of restlessness. “Why did you do that?” When he spoke, there was a miniscule quiver to his lips. “Would you rather have him kill both of us, or...?” It was his first body. This discovery was surprising, considering how he’d been trying to intimidate her this whole time. He nervously grimaced. They were holding each other at gunpoint. Would he really be able to pull the trigger? "They will come searching for you,” he stated. “Not if I finish the job now.” “Don’t,” he said quickly, “you can work for me.” She couldn’t help but laugh. “What can you offer me? Health insurance? Early retirement?” “The person that hired you is one of the most powerful people in this country. And he already knows that you failed once.” He motioned to the steady trickle of blood seeping from the corpse and running downhill. “Do you really think he’ll take a chance that you haven’t made a deal with me?” Unbelievable. “So, what’s the offer?” “We can help each other. I could make use of your personal... talents, and in return, you will be more than safe in Mint Eye.” He stiffened when she moved her gun and put it back in its place. MC stretched out her left hand, “Deal.” He shook it with an enigmatic smile. "What are we doing about him?” “Well, no one is going to look for him, I can guarantee you this. My bullets are untraceable, but the car...” “That won’t be a problem,” he said, taking out his phone. “We’re not that far from Mint Eye.” With the body happily pushed into the grass, they sat on the bonnet and waited for transport. The relief was unreal when MC rubbed the red marks on her wrist. That is, until her new boss tugged her other hand and clasped it together with his. “You can’t be serious.” “Easy, princess, it’s just a cover story for when they come here.” MC raised her eyebrows, “Kinky.” They stared for a while at the sun languidly making its way up above the fields of green. Both of them tired of this day beyond words. “What kind of job do you need me for anyway?” He dragged on his cigarette with an expression of utter seriousness. “You will be my personal assistant.”

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