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bloomyagi · 3 years

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bleed me dry (m)

summary: where Itadori is your bottom-loving boyfriend and Sukuna reluctantly learns this vessel is the real curse. or: where seduction is a dangerous game, and the King of Curses loses.

pairings: itadori x f!reader, sukuna x f!reader

warnings: subby itadori, sub sukuna (yeah you read that right), light bondage, blindfolds, sukuna’s havin a whole ‘reconsidering life’s meaning’ moment, lotta swear cause u know sukuna things, coming untouched, he faints (yeah you also read that right) and is actually unabashed about it, all things considered

length: 1,432

notes: what? me? obsessed with jjk? that doesn’t sound like me at all!

His vessel is in love.

The word curdles in his mouth, tastes like ash. He has never known such a thing. It is part of his nature, he muses absently. Hardened from centuries of death and decay. Of destruction and war. He revels in it. Feels the most alive amongst the chaos.

But that’s the point. Curses can feel. They can have emotional attachment. Can’t you see? In so many ways, they’re not so different from us. He thinks you’re too loud. Your thoughts and beliefs are too loud. They’re also pointless and naïve, and he likes to pop by just to drive it home.

Hello, Sukuna. Where is the fear? Where is the resentment, the anger? The disgust? He enjoys it. But you—you just sit there and coax him into conversation like he’s another one of your classmates. Like he can’t crush your windpipe with a single flick of his hand. Like he isn’t the slow bleed of a death sentence for your lover. Like he isn’t anything at all. Like his titles and powers are stripped. What is he beyond it all? Who is he?

You ask about him sometimes. He rarely gives any indication he’s listening, but he does. Of course he does. There’s not much to do, bound and locked in this pink-haired boy. He lounges on this throne and watches his vessel pine and blush.

Sukuna watches his vessel fuck his fist and mewl your name every night.

It’s sad. “Brat,” he hisses. “Grow some balls. This is just pathetic.”

Itadori swallows. “Oh. Can you—?”

Sukuna shoves him off the ledge. A faint yelp travels, followed by a large splash. “Fuck her already. All this sitting and plotting is making my ass itch. If you won’t, I will.”

“You wouldn’t.” Sukuna tilts his head to peer down. Itadori’s eyes are narrowed, uncharacteristically solemn.

His lips bare into a slow grin. “Try me.”

Itadori blinks once. And then vanishes.

Fuck. It’s the only coherent thought his muddled mind can pierce together. He gazes down at his palm, opening and closing languidly. His vision is blurry, spine tingling. He raises the other hand, reaching for his palm.

Mmm. He shakes his head firmly. The sharp tinge of metallic and iron coating his tongue clears the fog a little. The pain fades quickly, muted from his years of conquest and ruin.

Every nerve is on fire. His skin, this flesh cage, burns, an unfamiliar heat curling in his lower stomach. Sukuna is no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh—is well-acquainted, spent much of the centuries indulging in his vast harems. In the haze of blood and carnage, there is the memory of writhing bodies, of soft thighs and breasts, of glazed eyes and cries of his name. Of women fucked into wanton abandon, bred and lost in the worship of his cock.

But this. This heat is foreign in every sense. In its strange intensity and all-encompassing hold. All his senses are heightened but laser focused on the other pair of hands mapping his body. On the addicting sensations they’re inducing.

Can you—? Yes. Yes, he fucking can. He can feel everything and he wants to wrap his hand around your throat and squeeze.

His eyes roll back. Ngh.

“Fucking wench,” he snarls. You’re a fuckin’ tease and if you edge him again, he is going to murder—

“Ah, ah. Watch your language, Sukuna. Ask nicely.”

He jolts. Finds his eyes cloaked in darkness, arms tied to his back and legs spread. Bare, save for a pair of briefs that’s slick and restricting. Kneeling. The sheets bunch beneath him. Every muscle in his body is tensed, body coated in a thin layer of sweat.

This position—!

“That brat—mmph!” Is that a fucking—gag? Did you just gag him? He struggles harder against the binds, but he feels your lips curl into a smile where you’re suckling against the column of his neck.

“You’re powerless here. The binds will restrict you for the next twenty-four hours … unless you can be good.” You trace the thick knots, smiling only growing at the way he lets out a muffled growl.

Every fucking sense is heightened tenfold. He’s on firefirefire. The flames consuming him inside out, like he’s being exorcised from within.

It’s humiliating. It’s exhilarating. It feels—

“King of Curses. I want you to beg.” You’re a witch. You’re enthralling. Temptation incarnate. His head falls forward, chest heaving.

“Mmmmf!”

“What a dirty mouth,” you murmur, and his struggling is renewed when he feels your fingers dig into his thighs.

Oi, brat, he growls. What the hell is this?

His vessel is silent, but the back of his mind prickles. He’s watching. That freaky little shit.

“So stubborn. Let go. You’re good at that, aren’t you?” Fuckfuckfuck, you’re palming his cock over the thin fabric. Maybe it’s been a while, maybe there’s a little more truth lurking beneath it, but he vaguely notes he’s never been so hard before.

You—! You’re fuckin’ burning his briefs off. Ash tickles his nose. A small part of him thinks it’s hot. His cock throbs, and even without visual confirmation, he knows you’ve paused at the sheer size. His mouth curls into a lopsided smirk, dark pride making his chest swell. What was he so worked up for? You’ll just end being another one of his breeding bitches, fucked stupid by his thick, long cock.

But then you pinch his left nipple, twisting harshly. Electricity courses through him and a sound he’s never heard in his absurdly long life escape his lips, muffled by the gag. His back arcs, head hitting the mattress beneath him.

His mind blanks, eyes rolling back as white noise fills his ears.

He rouses slowly.

He blinks lethargically at the ceiling, gaze unfocused. Everything feels muted, limbs heavy like he’s swimming in a pool of ink. But he’s not restrained anymore. There’s a blur of movement in the corner of his eye.

He turns his head to peer at you, half-lidded.

“That’s a very nice expression,” you chuckle, moving to sit by his side. The mattress dips lightly. He lifts a hand to tug at the hem of your outfit, expression twisting at the staggering movement.

“That’s a very nice look on you,” he murmurs in response. You’re wearing one of his vessel’s dress shirts, the oversized fabric falling mid-thigh. It simultaneously swallows you and presses against your curves. Something inside him stirs. His throat feels shot, even though he knows he hasn’t had much of a chance to speak.

You help him sit up, propped against the headrest, before offering him a glass of water. His lips lift into a half-smirk and you sigh, shaking your head but acquiescing. You take a mouthful before kissing him. Water dribbles down his chin.

You wipe it away with a half-fond, half-exasperated expression. His chest tightens.

“How long—?” He tries to move, but you stop him with a firm hand. He’s conflicted at the way his body responds immediately to the touch. His temperature flares despite his obvious fatigue.

“A few hours. I asked if Yuuji would keep you out until you woke.”

There’s a pause, and the knowing look in your eye tells him you know he’s mulling it over.

And then—

He reaches for you, and you set the glass aside to climb on his lap.

He bares his fangs. “Then let’s make the most of it.”

As you press him into the bed, tongue stroking his in such a manner his brain is starting to haze over again quickly, he thinks, brat, we’re going to have a long talk after this.

Sukuna doesn’t expect an answer after his vessel’s continued vigil, so he starts when Itadori replies, she’s ours.

I don’t share, he slurs. He thinks he sees a flicker of Itadori’s grin.

You’re going to have to. Because you like her, too. And she’s the one in control, not either of us.

Dimly, Sukuna acknowledges he’s right. You might be the one bouncing on his cock, but he’s not the one fucking you, you’re the one fucking him.

Fine, he gasps as you run your nails down his abdomen. Deal.

Good, his vessel says. Because I’m next, and you better not get in the way.

He growls, eyebrows knitting.

Your smile only grows.

#jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #itadori x reader #yuji itadori x reader #itadori smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #sub!sukuna

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rin-hanarin · 4 years

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I’ve been thinking about dirkjohn a lot recently, so I conjured a wall of scattered thoughts because I have a terrible need to share them.

I love how versatile they are when it comes to the way you can portray them. I enjoy tenderness and fluff a lot, but I equally like darker scenarios and personal drama (which should be obvious because I enjoyed Homestuck at all lmao).

The general idea for me personally boils down to ‘huge bitch and nice guy’ where Dirk and John are both because they have multiple sides to them. Keep in mind that everything below doesn’t include post Credits content, I’m aware of it, but I prefer to have a clean slate.

John is genuinely caring and empathetic, but he can be insensitive and mean at times, and I feel like flaws make him more alive and give him a relatable human qualities while simultaneously making him contradict his character traits. I think his character is flexible enough for a huge amount of interpretations to be reasonable, regardless of what I personally do and don’t like. My image of John is that of a person who tends to escape and disregard their worst moments and emotions instead of truly getting over them until they explode, and it’s proven to be the case with his violent outbursts. Things make him mad and he isn’t a saint all-forgiving guy because that’s how people work, and I don’t believe his being supportive but also telling people to fuck off contradict each other. John isn’t faking being nice and loving his friends and family, but he also refuses to acknowledge his own issues and can be a brick wall sometimes. You can explain John’s multiple sides in his love for pranks: they are jokes, but their entire purpose is to cause someone distress for someone else’s enjoyment, and it’s up to individual to decide if they like it or not.

Dirk on the other hand comes off as an arrogant and self-centered even without his multiple questionable selves, but he also has a lot of love to give and keeps getting hurt and disappointed because of it. On the surface he seems to be the opposite of John, when in actuality they both struggle to be completely genuine and vulnerable because they know they’ll get hurt if they do (it’s also growing up in a ‘normal society’ for John, you can imagine the consequences.)

When it comes to their potential interactions (which sadly never happened), I can see them teasing and making fun of each other mercilessly, but they also can eventually lower their walls a bit if they realise that it’s okay to trust someone and be vulnerable with them. I think that’s why the most common scenario in dirkjohn fiction is Dirk seeing John at his lowest without judging him because on some levels he’s the same: they can’t judge each other without reflecting and throwing their own personal issues at themselves at the same time, if that makes any sense. They also have no actual expectations of each other because they lack a personal connection other than ‘friend’s relative’, which doesn’t mean shit. John has his friends’ expectations placed on him, and Dirk’s literally the only person out of the whole human group that doesn’t have some sort of image of John, other than his alternate universe self and vague things Dave told. Dirk had expectations for his friends and that backfired horribly, but he has the most vague idea of who John Egbert is, and I feel like he learned or at least has the potential to learn to keep his expectations in check.

Basically dirkjohn is full of possibilities because of how unexplored it is in any official material. They can be anything you want them to be, and you get a special kind of creative freedom if you have barely anything to work with. John likes Dave’s comics and is totally comfortable with Rose’s interests, he just vibes with Strilondes a lot when it comes to their sense of humour and on-brand posturing; Dirk’s really familiar with the extreme versions of stubborn deflecting and bad taste and he’s completely okay with is, but he also uses Cage memes to fuck with people because he’s ironically a haha funny guy in his own special way. I think they should be friends.

#dirkjohn #hs #did you know that i love them #long post

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latremoille · 4 years

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THE BASICS !

&&. announcing her grace, ( iéna sélène la trémoille ), the ( 31 ) year old ( duchess ) of ( alsace ). she is often confused with ( zoë kravitz ). some say that she is ( idealistic & stubborn ), but she is actually ( casual & curious ). ( ooc: anne )

THE STORY !

iéna la trémoille. she’s been many things throughout her life. the math nerd, the half-american, the little duchess, the artist, the eastern bitch, the lazy classmate... iéna has gone as many phases as the moon has. she has always had a great need to be everything and everyone at the same time. her curious nature made her rather unstoppable. it’s why iéna knows a little bit about everything but never enough to be well-versed in anything.

the first years of iéna’s life are as idyllic as they just can be. her parents spend all their time on her and dote on her. she learns to read around the age of four. all because her mother likes to teach her. a tragedy strikes just a month after iéna has turned six. her mother dies in a car crash, leaving the family of four nearly paralyzed. her younger brother is too young to really understand what’s going on.

a few year pass and her father remarries. the woman is nice. likable. but she isn’t a worthy replacement. iéna spends most of her time doing hobbies. and she has a plethora of them. on mondays she paints. on tuesdays she’s riding horses. on wednesdays she’s learning german. on thursdays she’s trying to become a contemporary dancer. on fridays she’s playing tennis. she was an active child, there’s no denying it.

only after her step-sister is born, she starts spending more time at home. the mansion begins to feel warm again. she’s gotten used to the new woman. iéna ditches every other hobby except for dance and art. she’s finally getting good !

then it’s time for her to go to uni. it’s difficult to choose what to do. iéna has never had difficulties finding a thing she is interested in. she has always had trouble choosing. so she listens to her father’s advice and picks political science. so she moves to the states for that. she’s got money so why not ? she gets to spend more time with her mother’s side of the family too. it’s a win-win. she gets her bachelour’s and decides it’s for the best if she takes a break. life’s too short for her to spend her best years on political theory.

so she moves to paris. spends her days doing absolutely nothing. it’s fun. she gets into dancing and art again. the next year she starts studying art in a parisian university. it’s just a fun degree to have !

she doesn’t finish the degree on time though. she starts her master’s studies during the third year of her art degree and just can’t find the time to actually do anything. she finishes both of the degrees at the same time. it’s 2016. she returns home to strasbourg, her father is not feeling very well and needs her to take over.

she spends 2016 and the first quarter of 2017 trying to figure out what she’s supposed to do. then her father passes away and she has no time to figure out anything. she just has to do. time is money, time is important. no one will wait around for her to figure things out.

iéna’s politics have been based on tight cooperation with germany. the majority of alsace speak german, german culture is very prevalent in alsace. hell, iéna herself finds german customs more familiar than french. she’s sick and tired of the king’s ambitious plans. she’s sick and tired of having to navigate through difficult questions. she’s sick and tired of having to defend his majesty while simultaneously condemning his actions. it’s been hell trying to keep alsace from going under since most of their business is with germany.

it’s why iéna takes germany’s actions very personally. she’s done nothing but tried to keep things civil only for germany to grab strasbourg for themselves. it’s something she can’t forgive them for.

THE QUESTIONS !

1. what has been your greatest achievement ?

“ my first year as a duchess. i didn’t screw up. i managed to see through a project my father hadn’t managed to finished before passing away. people like me based on 2017. it’s quite something. it wasn’t an easy year. fucking terrible if we’re being honest. but i managed. ”

2. what kind of a role does religion play in your life ? how do you feel about faith ?

“ i’m jewish so it definitely plays a role in my life. sometimes it matters more, sometimes less. my mother was pretty religious and she liked the community. she’s the reason i haven’t steered away from faith. judaism keeps me connected to my mother, i suppose. my mother cared a lot about our religion. she made sure i know all there was to know about judaism. but not even she could follow every rule. she was a bit too selfish for that, but hey, most 24-year-olds are, can’t blame her. she married my father. a very catholic man, publicly catholic anyways. my father was an important figure in alsace so the church had made him into their superstar. my dad couldn’t have cared less about god and the church. i think he would have converted for my mother if it had been an option for him. but to answer the actual question, because of my mother, i have appreciation for religion. i like the idea of a higher power. it makes the world more likable, i think. the community’s great, they keep me rooted. it’s so easy to connect with other people through religion. it’s what i’m thankful for. but i don’t think there’s any point in following the rules blindly. it’s more important to do what’s right by you. ”

THE EXTERIOR !

#hshqintro

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tsarinastorm · 4 years

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Season 7-Adam Sackler/Reader-Chapter 2

Word count: 3.5k

Ratings: Explicit.

Chapter 1

Adam watches you walk away stunned, and he is fuming at Jessa. He feels like breaking something. Right now. Fuckin’shit. He gets up to leave, pushing his chair out aggressively, once outside he screams. He turns arounds and sees the last person he wants to be near right now: Jessa.

“She was a fucking bitch. I did you a favor. It never would have worked anyway,” she says as she cools takes a puff of her cigarette.

“No, Jessa you’re the fucking bitch here! You only think of yourself and you need to make sure that everyone around you is just as fucking miserable as you are! Dammit! You destroy everything you touch!”

He punches the closest brick wall, and his hand begins to bleed. That is going to hurt in the morning, he thinks. Jessa throws the cig down, and grabs his injured hand with one of her hands, then touches his face with her other hand.

“Listen, Adam. We have a connection, something that no one else has or understands. That has to mean something, and you know it.”

“Jessa, the only connection we have is common unhealthy behaviors, Hannah-hating, and fucking. The only thing we’ve had left out of those for a long time is fucking and now we won’t have that! You’ve humiliated me, which tells me everything I need to know about how you really feel about me!”

Jessa looks like she’s trying not to cry while simultaneously being infuriated. Adam stalks off thinking to himself that he’s blown his chance with his dream girl. Jessa runs after him saying, “Adam, come back!”

“I should have said this long ago: I never want to see you again Jessa!”

Apparently the last comment was enough to stop Jessa from trailing behind him. He hadn’t been this tempted to drink in years. He reminds himself that he has auditions coming up and he can’t risk his career, or it will all be worth nothing. He’s sure him becoming a drunk mess won’t help him win over Y/N. Imploding the rest of his life won’t fix the situation. He then remembers that he has Y/N’s number, and he smirks. He won’t call Y/N tonight or tomorrow because she probably needs time to cool off, but he will get a hold of her, hope is not lost.

It had been four days since your explosive conversation with Adam. For the first two days, you had heard nothing and that was oddly comforting. The silence allowed you to work on forgetting how you had felt about him, and gave your attraction to him time to cool. All of that was lost on the third day, when he began calling you. You know it was him because he’d now left you eleven voicemails asking to talk, or for you to call him back, both requests were accompanied by streams of curse words and the sound of things breaking in the background.

There is a part of you that wants to breakdown and reach out to him, to see where this connection goes. But the rational part of you refuses to go down that road. If he could do that to Hannah, he could do that to you. You know tons of details about his relationship with Hannah because of her writing, and you know it was full of issues. Then there was the apparent soap level drama of Adam and Jessa, then throw Hannah into the mix, and you’d be asking for a load of headaches. You also considered just hooking up with him because you had never felt such a raw desire for a man, you tried to convince yourself that you could fuck him and get it out of your system. You subsequently reminded yourself that you’d likely not be able to stop at just one time, and you’d be directly inserting yourself into that mess. You could be just friends with him, but you knew you’d likely only feel stronger about him than you already did and you’d end up getting hurt.

You put your internal dialogue aside as you adjust your skirt, and make your way from your first meeting of the day: your editor. The conversation went as it did typically. She had suggestions for your work that is about to be published, and you made notes from her grammar checks. Now to meet with your agent, even though you knew what that meeting would consist of: planning the new book tour, promotional schedules, paired with strong hints for you to immediately start writing your next work.

“Y/N! Y/N” You hear and turn around to see Adam following you. Great, guess there goes your whole plan of ignoring him and continuing to repress your feelings. He catches up to you easily.

“Are you stalking me? How did you know I’d be here?” you say in an annoyed voice. You’d read Hannah’s works and you knew all about how he would just turn up in places she’d be. Now you think that you must be his new target. How were supposed to ignore him and move on when he refused to give you space.

“I googled you and I found out who your agent was, and figured there was a good chance that you’d be around her office.” He says as he keeps walking with you, your attempts to outwalk him fail because his long legs make it easy for him to keep pace with you. He keeps on talking as you say nothing.

“Look, I am so sorry for what Jessa did. That’s a bad situation but it’s over now. It has been over for a long time. I should have told you who I was to begin with, I’m sorry for that but I was afraid you’d shut me out. I was right about that part.”

“Adam, I really don’t want to be involved in your melodrama. It’s not my thing. It has never been my thing, and it will never be my thing. You must know that this can go nowhere, I’m friends with Hannah, and I know way more about your relationship than anyone should. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” You walk away. Once you’re a reasonable distance away, you look back and notice that he stopped following you. You feel bad and you kind of wanted him to keep following you, but you know it’s for the best.

After being pushed away by Y/N, Adam goes to the only person he thinks can help. And one of the people who doesn’t want to get involved: Hannah. He figures maybe Hannah can give him advice, console him or something. Now, he’s sitting her apartment again watching as Grover plays with some baby blocks. Hannah hands him a glass of milk and sits down.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on, Adam? Or do I have to guess?”

“Hannah, I really fucked things up with Y/N. I saw her today and she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

“Having one of your ‘exes’ drop bombshells on her in a public place is probably not a good way to start a relationship. I’m sure she’ll cool down with time. She’s really guarded, I’m her friend and I never know what she really thinks or feels. I’ll get hints from her writing but aside from that, she usually keeps it all to herself.”

“I know if I could just get her to talk to me, or really listen, things could work. Hannah, I know I’ve only known her for a short time and only scratched the surface, but I already feel things for her that I never thought I could feel. I’m going fucking insane here.”

“Look if you want to talk to her, or more precisely, talk at her: we have writing group tomorrow. Just stop by after. I’ll be there and maybe that will make her more agreeable to hear you out.”

Adam nods his head and thinks that may work, or it may make Y/N think he’s more a stalker than she already does. He supposes that’s a risk he’ll have to take. He can’t get her off of his mind.

“But before we agree to go through with this, are things really over with you and Jessa? Because I’m not going out on a limb to get my friend to give you another chance if you’re going to run back to Jessa in a few months after your first fight.”

“It’s really over, I let it continue for too long anyway. I told her that we had no real connection and I never want to see her again. I’m pretty sure she’s skipped town like she always does when she’s fucked things up.”

“I’m holding you to that Adam. I’m doing this because you deserve to be happy too. I meant that when I told you at my party. I also think you and Y/N could be really happy together, but she is very stubborn so you’ll have to deal with that.” Adam can’t help but laugh at that. Both Hannah and Jessa were extremely stubborn and so was he. He knew he could work with stubborn.

You pull your jacket up closer around your neck as the wind blows and gives you a slight chill. You listen to Hannah go on and on about her current life dramas (something about a girl she knew from undergrad who’s been published, you think) and about how she worries about Grover. At least being around Hannah gets you out of your own head for a while as you were instantly sucked into her issues. When you look up, you see Adam walking your way. He must really be stalking you. You grit your teeth in response. Hannah speaks first.

“Hi, Adam!” Adam grumbles something in response to her as he focuses on you instead.

“Y/N, will you please just listen to me. We can talk over dinner or something. Whatever you want to do. If you never want to see me again after that, I’ll stay away.” Adam begs. You desperately try to look away. You can feel Hannah watching you, and you wonder why she is being so quiet about this. It’s her ex-boyfriend, begging you to spend time with him. Her silence is then broken as she turns to face you.

“Look, Y/N, just go to dinner with him. Even if you don’t want to, it may be the only way to get him to leave you alone.”

“Are you sure it’s okay with you? It’s not weird for you, or anything?”

“It’s totally fine. Adam and I are friends now. You and I are friends. I want you to go. Go, and have fun.”

Hannah waves you away and she goes in the other direction, leaving you and Adam alone. You look at Hannah as she walks away, then set your gaze back on Adam, “Fine. One dinner. Take me to a place that still serves breakfast. Breakfast food is my favorite, in case you care to know. And you have to promise to leave me the fuck alone after this if I ask you to.”

“Pinky promise.”

Adam nods, and offers you his pinky. You shake your head and start walking. Every time you think you have him figured out, you learn something about him that throws you for a loop. You and Adam make your way to a small diner in his part of Brooklyn. Neither of you talk along the way, but the tension can be felt in the air. The diner is certainly not what you were expecting at all. Adam said it’s one of his favorites, and you could see why. It looked homey, like the type of place you could find in any small town in America. It was a nice change from the normal tempo of New York’s restaurants. You order coffee, and a breakfast platter of bacon, and pancakes. Adam orders biscuits and gravy. When the waitress goes to the next table, you raise your eyebrows at Adam and say, “So start talking. Make me understand your past relationships and why I should give you a chance. Because I really don’t understand this insanity.”

He recounts his history with Hannah, the start as fuck buddies, and how that blossomed into a relationship. You’re shocked to learn that he was hit by a car while trying to get away from Hannah after she decided she didn’t want him to move in and blindsided him with the news at Jessa’s surprise wedding. She had left those details out of her writing. He talks about a girl named Natalia that he briefly dated who called him out in public but he probably deserved it, the next tale is him helping Hannah with her OCD, followed by his first role on Broadway, and Hannah’s unilateral decision to go to Iowa. Then he gets to a woman named Mimi Rose from Hannah’s time in Iowa and how she dumped him, and he gets to Jessa. You ask him to sum up his emotions for both of them. You can’t help but worry that he’ll one day go back to Jessa or Hannah, and if you’re going to move forward in anyway, you need to know his feelings. You sat and listened to quietly until now, and you were entitled to one question.

“Can you tell me how you feel about both of those relationships now?” You finally ask in a voice that’s soft, not combative.

“What Hannah and I had was real and intense. Because of the intensity, I think we both held on longer than what was healthy, or at least, I did. I assumed what if it was real, it meant it was forever. I liked that she needed me, and she’s a bit self-centered so as soon as I did my own thing, she checked out. We both were attached to ‘us’ for the wrong reasons and ultimately kept each other from growing.”

“I actually understand that. It’s easy to think that because you feel something real it can’t go away or change. And it’s understandable that the intensity of your feelings can blind you to reality. Happens to people all of the time.”

“Has it happened to you, too?”

“Since you’ve been honest about this, I’ll be honest too. Yes, there was a guy I fell for, hard. We were on-again, off-again. It was real love: passionate, poetic, and raw, et cetera. It didn’t work out, we were always on different pages, but for the longest time I thought it would somehow last, that somehow it would all work out in the end. Then once I was outside of it for long enough, I realized it wasn’t healthy and you can love someone deeply and they can still not be the love of your life, or the one you’re meant to end up with. Tell me about Jessa.”

“Jessa and I bonded over our addictions right after Hannah dumped me. We understood each other and we both wanted to screw over Hannah. We encouraged each other’s bad habits; it was like when two fucking hurricanes meet. Or fire and powder as Shakespeare would say. I mistook our similarities for compatibility. It was like seeing yourself in another person and it seemed right for a while, but I was really seeing all the worst parts of myself being reflected back at me. I ended our relationship a long time ago but she would turn up at my place, and I would let her stay, regret it, then the cycle would repeat. I let her stay because it was easier than finding something real, or something good with someone else.”

“And it was easier than being alone, right?” He looks at you and nods. You feel the warmth of the back of his hand gently brush yours. Still feels like electricity as it had when he touched your knee that night in the bar. You find your hand moving towards his without permission. The waitress then sits down the check in between you and that action breaks the spell, you move your hand away swiftly.

“So what are you guys now then?”

“Nothing now, we’re completely over. I told her I never want to see her again that night at Hannah’s party after what she did. She’s skipped town like she normally does once she’s ruined someone’s life.”

“How do you know that you won’t end up in the same cycle again with Jessa or Hannah?”

“Because I only want you. I know what better is now.”

“Well my opinion is still the same. I don’t want that drama and I won’t ruin my friendship for a man. But maybe one day it will work out. I’ll stay open to that possibility, just not now. I mean we can still talk and stuff, just no relationship.” He walks you back to your apartment, your shoulders can’t help but bump into each other along the way. He begins singing some ridiculous song that he said he had to sing once at an audition. When you arrive at your building, you turn back to him and give him a weak smile.

“See you around, Adam.”

“See ya around, kid.”

You’re running later than what you’d like, but it’s a Saturday morning so you decide that it’s not that big of a deal. As you exit your building, you see a tall, broad shouldered man with dark hair leaning against the gate. You think he looks a lot like Adam from behind but you think it can’t be him. Adam would have no reason to be here. The man turns around when he hears you approach.

“Adam, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, obviously. What are you doing today?”

“Just errands…what is your deal? Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“You know what. Waiting outside my building to see me.”

“I happen to really fucking like you and I want to spend time with you. I want to know more about you and you said we could still talk,” he informs you in an exasperated voice as he moves his hands to emphasize his point.

“I’m not interested in anything romantic. I just can’t do that. I can’t sacrifice who I am. But we can be friends, I suppose. And I did say we could talk… You can join me if you promise to behave.”

“Scout’s honor”

“Were you even a scout?” He laughs and shakes his head no. The two of you begin your day. You go to the grocery store where you learn that he really loves milk for some reason, and you tell him that you have no domestic skills at all as you pick up some microwave dinners. You buy yourself a bouquet of flowers, then he pulls out one bloom and puts it behind your ear so it rests against your hair. When you’re looking around at a market, he mentions again that he can make furniture. You sit down at a little café and you each grab a quick sandwich. Then he asks you why you ghostwrite when you’re already successful.

“As a matter of fact, I happen to ghostwrite because it gives me a change of pace, and a way to get out of my own head for a while. It’s a great cure for writer’s block. It also pays well and I happen to like the supplemental funds in my bank account…Now I can ask you about your career since you opened up the door.” You say as you take a bite.

“That is how a conversation typically works, Y/N…SHIT! They put mustard on my sandwich.”

You ignore his outburst and continue with your question, “How do you choose your roles? You clearly don’t do traditional or mainstream.”

“I look for something that makes me feel something, something that’s real. You know the kind of thing that people can watch, feel it deep down, and it stays in their minds for a while. For me, that is art, and isn’t that the point of it all?” You ponder that answer for a minute before moving on.

“What’s your biggest fear?”

He thinks about his answer for a minute he leans in towards you as he reveals, “To live a life that’s meaningless, to sell myself out.”

Wow, you weren’t expecting him to go that deep, you lean in, putting your elbows on the small table in front of you and look at him to decipher if he was being a sarcastic ass or being serious. His hands shake your arms and he looks you straight into your eyes with his amber ones as they bore into you, he adds, “What’s your biggest fear, kid?”

“Kid? Are you ever going to explain that nickname? I fear failure more than anything. I also fear that one day I’ll wake up, be old, and realize that I’ve never did all things I wanted to do and it’s too late.”

“Then make sure you do all of those things now.”

You slowly make your way back to your apartment building as the two of you chitchat the whole way, you don’t want the conversation to end. You enjoy Adam’s presence more than you would ever openly admit. Today was a really good day. When you get to your door, Adam catches you off-guard by leaning in and gently kissing your forehead. He then turns and walks away. You’re half infuriated that he kissed you, thereby breaking the friend thing you’d agreed on, and the other half of you wanted to melt into him or chase after him for a real kiss. Instead, you turn the door into your apartment.

You feel Adam’s cock thrusting into you from behind, his pelvis grinding into your ass, while you’re on your hands and knees below him. His finger crush into your hips so deep that you’re sure that you’ll have bruises there for the next few days. Then as one hand remains on your hip, the other hand slaps your ass with a whack! You can’t help but moan and ask for another one, harder than the first. He switches hands and slaps the other side of your ass. You can feel your orgasm building as the pleasure increases and you feel your hips buck back into him as his hips slam into yours, forming a rhythm. You hear him groan in your ear, and it sounds delicious. He reaches his hand down to play with your clit, and you moan loudly and place your hand over his as you rock into his cock and hand. Your climax is moments away and you can feel your muscles clench, and you swear you can taste the pleasure.

Then you wake up, alone in your bed. You’re dripping wet from your dream, and you have your thighs pressed together for some friction.

Jesus

, you think, you need to get this out of your system. Isn’t it enough that Adam has taken over your waking thoughts, but now he’s taken over your dream conscious as well? You knew you shouldn’t have gone to dinner with him, you knew this would happen. You were falling for him, and you couldn’t stop yourself.

@og-selene @shesakillerkween

#adam sackler x reader #adam sackler #adam sackler smut #hbo girls #girls hbo #girls fanfiction #lena dunham

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star-linedsoul · 4 years

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Happy Birthday, Erica Winchester!

Born June 17, 2016, my Supernatural OC Erica would be four years old today!

So, I thought I’d share a moodboard featuring the father-daughter relationship between Dean & Erica and was inspired to write a passage centered around the special day, which can be found beneath the Read More due to length.

It includes Daddy!Dean, fluff, & a cameo from the Colonel (because Sam & Dean should have kept him and you CANNOT change my mind!)!!!

This was written all in one sitting and given only a moderate proofread, so any mistakes are mine to be ashamed of later. 😅

I hope y’all enjoy!

As always, my ask box is open for questions or requests to be added to a taglist for Legacy!

Taglist: @wordspin-shares

This is perfection.

An open highway stretched between rolling pastures, the asphalt shimmering in the heat of the mid-June sun. A black Impala cruised over the blacktop, its rumbling engine accentuating the guitars wailing from the radio speakers as Dean Winchester drummed on the steering wheel in sync with the bass line. Sam Winchester was not reclined in the passenger seat, however. The car wasn’t cruising along a highway somewhere on the far side of the country, making its way toward a town in the midst of being terrorized by one of the many creatures that went bump in the night. So what gave Dean the idea that this casual drive through the farmlands of northern Kansas was the epitome of idealism?

He looked up at the rearview mirror with a grin. A baby-faced girl with curly blonde pigtails sat in the backseat, secure in a purple, high-backed booster. She kicked her feet in time with the rhythm of the music, weaving her head side to side as she babbled her own made-up lyrics from a mouth stained snow-cone blue while her hands were busy gently stroking the ears of the aged German Shepherd with its head in her lap.

“Erica Jo!” Bright green eyes immediately met their match in the rearview mirror as Dean called the girl’s attention. “What is today?”

She grinned, her teeth as stained as her lips. “My birthday!”

“And how old are you today?”

“Four!” she squealed, raising one hand as she turned her thumb in to display the appropriate number of fingers.

“That’s right!” Dean confirmed, hitting his brakes and his blinker simultaneously as the pastures on either side of the road were replaced with lines of business-fronts. “And do you know what that means?”

“We’re having a party!” Her attitude was infectious as she clapped her hands in delight.

Dean felt his own grin grow into a full smile as he turned onto a street lined with modest houses, seeking out a familiar blue two-story with a wide front porch that already had several cars parked in front. As he wheeled into the driveway, he spotted his brother standing in front of the garage, already lifting the door so that the Impala could be parked inside. Erica was unbuckling the car seat before Dean could shift into park.

“Uncle Sam!” The birthday girl threw herself from the car as he opened the door, giggling as she was swooped into long arms and lifted high in the air.

“There’s my favorite niece! Happy birthday, kiddo!” Sam brought Erica down and rested her on one hip, stepping away from the car to give Dean room to get out. “Perfect timing, man. We’ve got all of the decorations up and I’ve got the grill ready for you.”

“Hey, I’m just glad I got the easy job!” the elder Winchester returned. “Keeping the birthday girl occupied for the afternoon was cake. We had fun, didn’t we, Slugger?”

Erica grinned and nodded. “Are we gonna have cake now?”

“Soon,” Dean promised. He then looked around at the cars lining the driveway and the street. “It looks like just about everyone made it.”

“Almost,” Sam agreed. “We’re waiting on…never mind.”

The brothers watched as a yellow Gremlin turned the corner and slowed to a stop at the curb in front of the house. Sam suddenly found himself in possession of a particularly wiggly four-year-old who took off for the car as soon as he returned her to the ground.

“An’ Carlee!” Erica cried as she raced across the front yard as fast as her legs would carry her.

The redhead who had climbed from the driver’s seat of the car quickly crouched down to catch the little girl in a hug. “Hey! How’s my favorite Winchester?”

“What’s up, bi—best friends?” Charlie greeted the brothers as she walked across the lawn hand-in-hand with Erica, quickly correcting herself as she side-eyed the birthday girl.

Dean was grateful. Erica was in that stage where she was a sponge for new words or phrases, and he & her mother had already had the trouble of explaining why she couldn’t call her little brother a “son of a bitch” when he took her toys. It had not been an enjoyable experience, nor had the lecture he had received afterward about watching his mouth around the kids.

“Hi, Charlie,” Sam said, pulling the redhead in for a warm hug.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest with a mock pout. “I thought I was your favorite Winchester.”

“That was the past,” Charlie returned with a melodramatic sigh. “I’m ‘An Carlee’ now. The times have changed.” She dropped the act for a wide grin, joining Dean in a tight embrace before holding up a Star Wars-themed gift bag. “So where does this need to go?”

Dean quickly ushered everyone into the house, sending Charlie and his brother on to join the rest of their guests while he steered Erica into the kitchen. There, they found the most beautiful woman in the world arranging food trays.

“Mommy!” Erica cried, surging forward to wrap her arms around Cameron at the legs.

The blonde smiled as she stopped her work and wiped her hands on a towel before returning Erica’s embrace. “Hey! I thought that was you guys I heard…did you and Daddy have fun today?”

Dean could feel himself smiling like an idiot as he watched the exchange between two of the people most dear to him as Erica gushed about their afternoon of fishing, snow-cones, and the park while Cameron listened with rapt attention on their daughter. He still didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky.

He had thought the evening plans might be derailed when Erica protested changing into the dress Cameron had picked out for the princess-themed party, but Cameron had quickly cut off the threatened tantrum before it could begin, waiting for the strong-willed little girl to disappear up the stairs before looking at Dean and releasing a long-suffering sigh.

“Don’t look at me!” Dean said, holding his hands up in surrender as he leaned against the counter. “She gets her stubbornness from you.”

“In your dreams,” Cameron returned with a scoff as she approached him, cupping his face in her hands and looking him dead in the eye. “That is one hundred percent pure Winchester, my love. God help us when she’s sixteen.”

Dean smiled down at the woman who had so readily built the home he had always wanted but never felt he deserved. “Aren’t we lucky?”

“Every day we’re breathing,” Cameron returned easily, offering a wide smile of her own before pressing her lips against his.

Before Dean could consider taking her captive and sneaking away from their own daughter’s birthday party, Cameron had pulled away and was disappearing upstairs with the order to start the grill before their hungry guests began to mutiny.

The evening passed in a blur of laughs and smiles shared between the gathered crowd of family and friends-that-had-become-family. Erica had been quick to grab the spotlight once she joined the guest in her princess dress and crown—though Dean was quick to notice she was in sneakers rather than the glittery sandals Cameron had painstakingly picked out. They had learned there were some battles that simply weren’t worth fighting. The guest of honor danced between the throng, accepting their birthday wishes with the charismatic enthusiasm reserved for happy children. Dean was happy to fade into the background and let her shine. He retreated to a corner of the yard, sharing a beer with Sam and relishing in this moment he had rarely dared to imagine in the days when his life had been focused around the darkest corners of the world.

“Did you ever think we’d be here?” He ventured aloud, trusting his brother to know what he meant.

“I’d hoped we would,” Sam returned. “Even when we were at our worst, I hoped we’d find a way back.”

“And we did. We made it, Sammy. We’re home.”

Sam clinked the neck of his beer bottle against Dean’s. “Yeah. We are home.”

The soft rushing of little feet through the grass alerted the brothers to the fact that they were no longer alone. In the same motion, they shifted and crouched, catching the two girls recklessly charging forward and swinging them up in the air.

“Just what do you two think you’re doing?” Sam demanded, lightly shaking the girl in his grip. His daughter dissolved into a fit of giggles, so he looked to his brother. “Uh-oh. Mine seems to be broken. Can you get any information out of yours?”

“Mama says it’s time for cake!” Erica reported immediately, unafraid where she hung slack in her father’s grip just over his head.

“Cake? We don’t have any cake over here, do we Sammy?”

“Nope. Just raspberries!” Sam blew against little Mary’s cheek, making her shriek and laugh.

Erica groaned, kicking her legs as Dean still held her in the air. “No! You gotta light the candles!”

“Oh! Well, why didn’t you say so?” Dean swung her back down to the ground as Sam did the same with his daughter. Taking the pair by the hands, their moment clearly over, the brothers returned to the party.

Dean lit the four candles of the birthday cake as everyone gathered their phones and cameras. Stepping back beside Cameron as the singing began, he watched the shadows dancing across Erica’s excited face in the candlelight. She screwed her eyes shut as she made her wish. Dean relished in the knowledge that he’d been able to give her a life where she was able to make the normal wish a four-year-old made over their birthday candles: a pony, a house made of candy, or a trip to the moon.

This was perfect.

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roonil-wazlib-at-221b · 4 years

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A Handmaiden’s Lies: Part 3

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Tom’s honestly shocked when you show up at the camp the next day. It’s quite impressive you were able to find your way back through the thick trees and brush. The girl with the white hair scowls as she trails after you, but you’re back to being a statue as you stride past bigger, bulkier men without batting an eye. They all watch you go with barely concealed resentment bubbling in their eyes. Tom made it clear that you were not to be touched, and nobody’s going to go against Tom, no matter how much a few of them might want to.

Tom won his position as leader fair and square, no matter how bloody. Nobody wants to be the next stain of red on his hands.

The sun is high in the sky and shade hard to find. Scarce a wind blows to challenge the heat. Tom pauses in sharpening his sword and lifts his sweaty curls off his forehead, relishing the feel of fresh air on the overheated skin.

Midday patrol was just sent out, though Tom doubts they’ll find anything. Only other rogues and bandits ever occupy the forests, and most parties know not to mess with Holland’s gang. The rest of his crew mills around the camp. He knows they’re murmuring, resentful he’d called off their crusade of destruction. He tries to keep the majority happy, but they also need to remember that he is leader and that what he says goes.

If they want to challenge him on it, they can.

You don’t gloat or anything when he catches your eye. Without a change of expression, you step over a pile of horse droppings smoothly. Tom appreciates the good grace of that while simultaneously cursing the poop boys for not staying on top of their work. Behind you, the blonde has less grace; her nose wrinkles at the sight of the mess.

You stride right up to Tom. At his side, Paddy tenses. Last night Tom’s inner circle was informed of the situation, and Paddy took it as well as could be expected.

“What do you do for fun?” you ask without preamble. Behind you, the girl rolls her eyes.

Tom blinks. “Pardon?”

“Fun,” you repeat slowly like he’s not right in the head. “What do you enjoy, apart from robbing civilians and destroying property?”

As if he can’t help himself, Paddy has to open his mouth: “Better question is what you do for fun. Watch paint dry?”

Your lip curls as you look at the younger boy. “I’m sure you meant for that to be a much more cutting insult.”

Paddy flushes.

“What I don’t do for fun is insult my friends and family,” Tom says pointedly. Your eyes slide to the ground before snapping up. “And to answer your question, I enjoy riding and dueling.”

Your eyes light up at the mention of dueling and it dawns on Tom that this is your olive branch. He’d nearly rejected it by telling you off but thankfully he’d saved himself.

“Duelling looks like a useful skill,” you say.

Tom nods.

“I was never allowed to learn. It’s considered improper.”

“Everyone should be taught how to defend themselves,” Tom says. “What if you have to protect the queen?”

The girl with the white-blonde hair clears her throat and you kick her. It’s such a moment of warm familiarity that Tom has to smile. “Sorry about Henrietta,” you smile. “She considers it improper as well.”

The girl, who must be Henrietta, casts her eyes to the sky. Tom can recognize the look of someone praying for patience; he’s seen Haz wear that expression often enough to have it memorized.

“Well, you should learn,” Tom informs you.

Henrietta laughs after a brief moment of awkward silence. Your eyes widen a little as you stare at Tom, obviously waiting for him to say something, but his mind is blank. What’s neutral territory here? If he changes the subject it’ll be obvious but not as awkward as the silence. Do you want to continue talking about duelling? Is there a coded message in your abrupt question and trailing sentences? Why are you making Tom’s head spin? He’s never been this nervous around girls before.

Paddy mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Dear Gods.” Then, louder, he says, “Y/N, would you like Tom to teach you how to duel?”

Tom’s eyes widen as you smile and nod—almost shyly? He hadn’t considered you would ever be bashful about anything. “Yes!” he exclaims. “Uh, Pads, take Henrietta to, uh… Zendaya. I’m sure they’ll get along great. And, Y/N, we can go… duel. Together. With swords,” he finishes stupidly, internally cringing but unable to stop himself.

“Mmm-hmm.” You clasp your hands in front of your body and follow Tom to the makeshift armory. Most camp members just carry their own weapons, so the armory doesn’t have a wide selection to choose from. They’re all spare weapons.

Tom picks up a thick sword about the length of his arm and tests it. It’s heavy—probably too heavy for someone that’s never wielded such a weapon in her life. Life in the castle tends to have such perks.

Tom stashes that sword and pulls out a slightly shorter and thinner sword. You should be able to wield it.

Tom unsheathes his own sword from his belt and demonstrates how to hold the weapon. You take his instructions easily and sometimes anticipate them. Your eyes may be untrained in duelling stances, but they’re still sharp, keen to focus on every little difference between Tom’s stance and yours.

You’re not good at duelling. Not at first. Tom can tell you don’t want to admit you’re struggling but the sword trembles when you hold it up. Your muscles obviously aren’t used to such exertion, which makes you slow. Tom suggests a break after a while and you seize the opportunity for a rest. You’re obviously not the type of person to admit to weakness.

After the break you return to practice with renewed vigor. You practice a basic parry in slow motion until you’ve got it and only then do you instruct Tom to speed up.

It takes hours (and a few more breaks) by the time you’re able to parry at a speed remotely close to the speed of duelling, but you look so pleased with yourself Tom can only applaud you.

He can see you applying that unholy determination to any skill in your life. Tom can’t imagine you’re incapable of doing whatever you set your mind on.

“Can all of your men duel like you?” you ask just as the sun begins to set. The trees are already casting long shadows on the ground.

Tom shakes his head. “The skill variety is wide. What swordsmen do reside in the camp are impressive as well, though none have trained as long as I have.”

“Do you not tire of not having a home?” you ask again, reminding Tom of those leading questions about duelling before. He narrows his eyes slightly, wondering where you’re going with this, but replies easily enough.

“I do have a home.” He looks to his tent.

“But a permanent one,” you press. “Your skills—all your men’s skills—are impressive. Surely there are positions for men such as you in the kingdom?”

“What, so eager for me to stay now, is that it?” Tom teases. There was no home for Tom when he was a child here. Why should now be any different?

“Become a soldier for the queen,” you urge.

Tom just stares at you.

“A war is coming,” you add. “The only thing more dangerous than being a group of rogues scant forty men with no allegiances travelling between kingdoms is being the leader of said group whose soulmate is influential in a castle. Your group cannot fight off Thanatoia alone. You’ll be slaughtered. Or worse—you’ll be tortured with the hope that I’ll give up valuable state secrets for you.”

“Yes, because you wouldn’t, would you?” Tom asks bitterly, sheathing his sword.

“I’m trying to protect you,” you snap back, eyes slits of anger. All traces of comradery brought on by sparring are gone.

Tom ponders the treeline until you sigh and dash the sword to the ground, perhaps petulantly. Without even a good-bye, you take your leave.

Tom doesn’t watch as you do.

~~~

He doesn’t sleep.

Is Tom really prepared to serve a kingdom that threw him away as a child? Is he prepared to take a final side in the budding conflict?

Is he prepared to be away from you for a whole year again—maybe longer, if war is declared; barricades can be constructed, hostages taken, innocents murdered.

Is he prepared to leave his men behind?

No, Tom decides in the morning, he’s not. He won’t leave his men. He also won’t leave you without the guarantee that he’ll see you again. If his men truly decide that they would rather wander than enlist, he’ll go with them, but not without you. He’ll kidnap you if he has to. Sure, you’re stubborn and loyal to the queen and you’ll probably hate him at first. But you’ll get over it, and even if you don’t, at least Tom will know that you’re safe.

~~~

“We’ve lived for years like this!” Anthony argues. “Thantoian troops won’t dare to find us in the woods in our own territory.”

“Deesee is neutral in this budding war!” a short, squat boy with a hundred pounds on Tom chimes in. Beady little eyes peer at his leader with resentment from underneath thick eyebrows and a protruding forehead. “Worst comes to worst and we could stay there. They’re not about to drive us out.”

“And hide from the fight like cowards?” Sam argues back.

“It’s not our fight to begin with!”

Tomas swears and spits on the ground, drawing his sword. The familiar shink of metal on metal has everyone backing away. Everyone except Tom. He clenches his jaw, hand resting on his own sword.

“What are you doing, Tomas?” Harrison asks cautiously, one hand held out as if it’ll help diffuse the situation.

“I’ve had enough of Holland’s pansy ass leading,” Tomas declares, leveling the point of his sword at Tom’s chest despite being a good ten feet away. “Fight me like a man, unless you’re too much of a bitch.”

Someone in the crowd laughs nervously.

“Are you sure about this, Tomas?” Tom asks slowly, drawing his own sword.

“‘Course I’m ready,” the other boy scoffs. “Ready to skewer you.”

“I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me,” Tomas laughs, “I won’t be the one getting hurt. And after this, I’ll take the bitch that suggested this stupid idea to my tent.” He leers.

Iron meets iron in a clang that makes a few people flinch. Tom’s eyes narrow at the other boy’s strength as he pushes against Tom’s sword. Tom takes a step back, testing the waters. As expected, Tomas follows him.

“You know what I’m going to do to your bitch, Tommy?” he taunts.

Criminals. Tom keeps the best of them in line, but a few dishonourable rogues find their way into every camp. He grits his teeth and smashes the hilt of his sword to Tomas’ hand, relishing the other boy’s grunt of pain. “I don’t imagine you’re going to do anything to anyone after this, Tomas.”

Tomas lunges, his sword missing Tom’s chest by a hair. Tom barely jumps to the side in time. Before Tomas can rebalance, his arm is gone from his shoulder.

The crowd sucks in a gasp. Tomas screams.

Tom doesn’t like to leave loose ends, so he runs him through with his sword.

“Would anyone else like to complain?” he asks, eyes blazing. Tomas is dead now, but his words—what he’d said about you—they run around his brain, echoing and echoing and he wishes he could kill Tomas all over again for even thinking them.

No one says a word.

~~~

You arrive at the camp a little past high noon. You march in with a scowl on your face, obviously ready to fight even if you don’t know how, but what you see stops you in your tracks. For a brief moment, pure shock flits over your face as you stumble and your fists unclench.

The whole camp is silent. Those who had quarreled during the discussion don’t dare to do more than glare after Tom had officially shut down the debate. Little more than ten tents remain erect. All the boys and girls with rolled-up tents sit on their packs, eyes glued to your form.

The winter had been harsh and they’d lost a few men to the cold, not to mention the worry about the upcoming war that had plagued the camp, but Tom hadn’t expected quite this many people to agree to work in the castle. Not a single camp girl refused the invitation. Only the bitter men, content to suffer only to spite the kingdom that threw them out, refused. Anthony, one of them, spit on the ground by Tom’s feet and called him a traitor. It stings.

In the middle of it all is a boy lying face down on the ground. It doesn’t take a genius to tell that he’s dead. You don’t balk at the sight or even doubletake. Your eyes seek out Tom’s and he almost wants to drop the gaze, expecting shame or disappointment, but you’re inscrutable as always.

He almost feels dirty when he remembers what Tomas had said about you. Those words will always be etched into his memory, much as he doesn’t want them to be. What would you say if you knew what one of his followers said about you? What would you do if you knew that some of the men you’re taking in might have been Tomas’ friend?

If you had been expecting more or fewer men, you don’t let it show. You don’t even hesitate before calling out, “In exchange for the queen’s protection, land, food, medicine, and all other services, will you agree to be a worker in her castle? Will you clean, cook, and fight without complaint?”

“Yes,” Tom says after that anticlimactic ending. He’d expected a few more words and you’d even hesitated at the end like you’d been searching for more to say.

Harrison takes his lead: “Yes.” Soon enough, everyone that has packed has agreed and you nod, satisfied.

“The queen will go hungry before you will,” you add. “All she requires is your loyalty.” And with that, you turn to go. Tom scrambles to catch up.

“The queen won’t really…” He trails off awkwardly. That’s simply not how royalty works.

You shoot him a glare out of the corner of your eye. “The queen is connected to her kingdom, Holland. You’ve just become a part of it. She protects her own.”

“But she wouldn’t starve to death to let a soldier eat,” Tom presses. “Not without leaving behind an heir. And she’s younger than me. There’ll be no heir for a long time.”

“She has a younger brother. He’s prepared to take the throne as well,” you point out.

Tom shakes his head. He thinks you’re exaggerating your queen’s greatness a little bit, but he has to trust you. Right?

“You forget the queen’s curse.”

Tom scoffs. “That magic myth? She’s connected to her kingdom or something?”

“Not a myth,” you say softly. “You also forget that nobles are representatives of the areas they govern. Whatever the majority of that area decides on, they must support or be replaced. Marvel is not as Deesee or Thanatoia.”

Tom has to admit he doesn’t know much about how Marvel is governed. He didn’t live in the kingdom long enough to learn. He’d just always assumed it was similar to its neighboring kingdoms. Of course, resentment had kept him from studying Marvel whenever he came to ransack and destroy.

Properly chastised, he closes his mouth.

You sigh dramatically at his side and reach into the pocket of your skirt. Out comes a delicate handkerchief.

Tom’s stunned when you take his face in your hands and wipe it gently. The handkerchief dips down to his neck before you retract, showing off the red smears on the once-white surface before shoving the ruined object back into your skirt.

You say nothing about the blood or the body, but Tom knows that you know what he did. He just doesn’t know how you feel about inviting a killer into your palace. He doesn’t know how you feel about your soulmate being a murderer.

You are frustratingly unreadable.

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Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight@andreasworlsboring101

Let me know what you all thought or if you’d like me to put you on a taglist!

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rollercoasterwrite · 4 years

Text

I’m So Curious [Chapter 1]

Part 1 of my story written for Jjong’s Month and for my lovely Dee @jjongyyu

Here are the ones I wrote last year : Just For A Day & Love Is So Nice

Prompt : Jjong is a college student with tight money, but manages to get into a prestigious uni where he becomes friends with Taemin. One day, Tae asks him to go out on a blind date with his cousin Jinki, a notable lawyer who still hesitates about dating someone. Jjong refuses, but the amount of money Tae offers is a sight he can’t ignore. Jinki adores him immediately and after several dates, Jonghyun falls in love with Jinki, but he doesn’t know how to tell Jinki about his agreement with Tae.

Pairing : Jongyu

Genre : romance, some fluff, probably angst, smut eventually XD

TW : I don’t know if it’s really triggering to anyone, but Jjong curses a lot in this one and is kinda crude so yeah at least you have been warned. XD

Word Count : 6500 ~

Links : AFF & AO3

Special thanks to Cheryl for being my beta and making it possible for me to release part I before the month ended.

"What's your type?'' The blonde cocked an eyebrow. ''What has that got to do with anything?'' The brunette shrugged. ''Just wondering...'' He said, giving his straw another mindless chew before going on. ''I've just never seen you show interest in anyone.'' The other frowned, confused.

''Again, why did that pop up in your mind just now?'' ''Jeez, can't I just ask a question?'' the younger one retorted, frustration now edging his tone. '' I know you, Tae,'' the blonde immediately clapped back. ''You never just ask a question.'' His statement had the other snorting in indignation.

''Is that really what you think of me, Jjong?'' ''Yes,'' the blonde squarely replied before taking another sip of his iced coffee. He watched as his friend settled into grumpy mode with a scoff and a determined cross of the arms. He couldn't help but puff out laughing at the childish display. ''I know you'll eventually spill it…'' Jonghyun taunted, lopsided smile dancing on his lips. ''I hate you,'' Taemin spat with spite that only manifested when he didn't get his way. ''Good luck with that,'' Jonghyun replied with a chuckle. A sense of victory swelled in his chest as he watched his friend struggle to come up with a comeback. The silence gave him some time to look around the nearly empty café they regularly visited to get some school work done or chat. He could never stop himself from taking in the peaceful setting, even though he’d probably seen it a million times now. With its white-framed casement windows that let the natural light in, its bare white walls opening up the space, the various-sized potted plants adding life and color around them, and the rustic furniture that contrasted so perfectly against all the light, it just felt to him like his little corner of paradise. It was even more beautiful now that the setting sun bathed the space with dancing lights of pink and orange. If the moment wasn't already perfect, the warm and full aroma of fresh coffee filling up the space left not even a modicum of place for discontent. Jonghyun felt good, and not even the sight of his friend's disgruntled expression was going to change that. ''Can I order us another round of coffee or are you just going to storm out like a little bitch and leave me hanging?'' he half-asked, half-baited. Taemin's gaze narrowed at the jab. Jaw tense, he replied, ''Call me a little bitch one more time and that coffee will end up in your face.'' '' I'll take that as a yes for the coffee then, '' Jonghyun concluded, not at all fazed by the other's threat.

He knew of his friend's evil ways, but for some reason, the latter seemed to know there was no point trying anything with him.

As soon as they received their refill of iced coffee, the younger one seemed to relax and, soon enough, he was back on topic. ''Jjongie...'' he cooed, shifting into his characteristic charmer mode. ''No.'' Jonghyun didn't need to hear the rest. He already knew he wasn't going to like it. ''You don't even know what I was going to say," Taemin whined with pouting lips. ''Right, but I already know my answer.'' ''What if I was just going to ask for a ride home?'' the fluffy-haired brunette argued. ''But you weren’t, so cut the crap,'' Jonghyun bluntly dismissed. He caught the glare that his friend shot him before he took in more caffeine.

The younger one's frustration soon turned into a desperate sigh, signalling he was about to crack open. ''Look, I need a favor,'' he finally revealed. ''Ask Kibum,'' Jonghyun indicated. The younger one scrunched up his nose in disgust.

''Ew, no. Just imagining them...'' The retching gesture that followed wasn't enough to distract the blonde from what he had just caught in the other's unintentional admission. ''Them?'' he echoed, confused. ''Who is the other person?'' Taemin froze at that, the only movement perceptible being that of his furious blinking.

''Tae??'' Jonghyun called out as confusion and nervousness simultaneously grew inside him. ''Yeah, um...'' the brunette cleared his throat. ''The other person's my cousin,'' he finally said. Jonghyun frowned deeply.

''What's your cousin got to do with anything? '' ''He has to do with the favor I need from you,'' Taemin outlined before deflecting his attention to his chewed-up straw. ''The fuck?'' the older one exclaimed as he stared incredulously at his friend. It was a few more seconds before the other stopped his balancing act of chewing on plastic and drinking. ''You know my cousin, Jinki, that I sometimes talk about?'' Taemin started. ''You mean, that you always talk about, '' Jonghyun rectified, not without an edge of annoyance to his tone. ''That is not true,'' the other instantly countered. ''Riiight,'' Jonghyun derided. “I must be imagining all these times you've been going on about something he said or did.''

''No, you're not. But it's definitely not all the time.'' If there was something that Jonghyun had come to learn about the beautiful young man he spent a lot of his waking hours with, it was that he was incredibly stubborn. Jonghyun had seen that attribute work in amazing ways, especially when it came to his dancing skills. But he had also seen it work in the most annoying and infuriating ways, and this moment was definitely more proof of that. ''Whatever,'' Jonghyun brought himself to say to avoid any blood being shed on the beautiful table between them. ''Anyway,'' Taemin went on. ''Jinki's been feeling lonely and I thought I should help him out a bit, you know, since he's helped me so much throughout the years.'' ''Are you going to suck his dick or something?'' Jonghyun couldn't help but voice. ''Eeeeew,'' the younger one all but yelled. ''He's my cousin!!'' ''The way you get all excited whenever you talk about him makes me wonder sometimes... '' ''You're fucking gross, Kim Jonghyun.'' That made the blonde's eyebrow cock. ''Interesting...'' he mused. ''What?'' ''Seems like I hit a sensitive cord,'' Jonghyun noted matter-of-factly. ''Stop that,'' the brunette said in his most authoritative tone, which didn't feel that convincing to the other. ''Don't worry about it, Tae. Apparently, that happens between cousins more than we think.'' The death stare he received made it hard for him to keep a straight face, the tickling edge of laughter bringing a twitch to his lips. ''I swear... '' Taemin grumbled as a visible clench graced his jaw. He forced himself to roll his tongue in his mouth a few times like his mom had taught him as a kid before resuming. ''I need you to go on a date with him.'' ''No. '' Jonghyun didn't even need to hear more. He wasn't going to entertain any of it.

His response had the other sighing deeply. ''I knew it would play out this way,'' Taemin indicated as he looked straight into the older one's eyes. ''That's why I'm ready to pay.’' ''Excuse me??'' Jonghyun loudly exclaimed. The other's silence and serious expression only got him more riled up. ''Do I look like a fucking prostitute to you?'' ''I'm not asking that you have sex with him. I just want him to get back into the dating scene,'' Taemin calmly explained. ''That's cool and all, but why me?'' Jonghyun had no choice but to ask, bewilderment splashed all across his face. ''I feel like you two could get along,'' Taemin answered. ''Plus, he's always had a thing for petite guys.'' ''I'm not petite,'' Jonghyun growled, gaze turning dark. ''Fine, you're a fucking mountain,'' Taemin conceded with a slight eyeroll to spare himself a pointless argument. ''Look,'' he quickly followed with. ''You just have to go on one date and in return, you won't have to be so stressed out about money all the time.'' The tension that had settled on the blonde's face morphed into another look of disbelief. ''Are you actually hearing yourself right now?'' ''Yes, I hear myself just fine,'' Taemin replied without shame. ''Sex or no sex, what you are asking of me is still prostitution,'' Jonghyun pointed out bluntly. ''No,'' Taemin squarely countered. ''I asked for a favor and you said no, so I'm adding money into the mix so that it's still a win for you in the end.'' ''I can't accept your money.'' ''Yes, you can, and you will.'' The blonde gave him a wide-eyed stare.

''The fuck?'' The brunette sighed.

''I know you've worked really hard to get to where you're at, but you deserve to have some space to breathe. That's what I'm really offering you,'' he added for emphasis. Jonghyun was at a loss for words. He knew Taemin meant well, but that whole deal didn't feel right. On the flip side, getting some extra money would definitely alleviate the burden he carried with him all the time. Getting into his dream school had been a big part of the battle, but actually being able to pay all the fees that came with studying there was a strenuous challenge in itself. He could only do so many hours of work without it affecting his grades and he had already reached that limit. ''Like I said, I only ask for one date,'' Taemin reiterated. ''And you can consider this whole semester dealt with.'' If Jonghyun's eyes could've grown any bigger, they would have at that moment. ''You're tripping...'' That made the younger one laugh. ''I've actually had time to think this through,'' Taemin informed him. ''So I understand if you need some time to think about it, too.'' ''I...'' Jonghyun's eyes darted towards his half-filled cup as his mind mulled over the offer. He knew he should stick to his no, but Taemin had effectively spoken to the part of him that ached for some relief. ''I'll think about it,'' he finally said as he brought his gaze up once more. Taemin grinned. ''Thanks, Jjong.'' In that moment, a lump of nervousness formed in the blonde's throat. He realized he had just sealed the deal.

***

I can’t believe I’m doing this, he thought as he stared at the restaurant’s elegant façade.

It was probably now close to ten minutes since he had parked on the other side of the street, building up the courage to follow through with the offer his evil best friend had made him.

He still couldn’t believe he had agreed to it, but here he was, all dressed up, black dress shirt and black pants sticking to him like a second skin and the shaggy bangs that usually covered his forehead now slicked back with some gel to make himself look a bit more presentable. He had even traded his worn-out pair of converse shoes for polished leather loafers. The only thing that had been a non-negotiable for him was the tie. He felt like a fraud, but having agreed to do this, he wasn’t just going to half-ass the task at hand. Despite everything, he still didn’t want to make a bad impression on his best friend’s cousin.

He hated to admit it, but he was nervous. He didn’t know what to expect or what to do, or even what to say. This could be a whole disaster, and if it was, he knew Taemin would never let him hear the end of it. He didn’t do dates and he didn’t do formal wear. But again, here he was, getting ready to play the part.

I’m fucking pathetic.

He dropped his bare forehead onto the steering wheel, rapidly losing all resolve he had mustered up on his way there. He could’ve pretty much stayed in that position for the rest of night, but the sudden buzzing of his phone in his pocket jolted him back upright.

He looked at his screen and his heart jumped. He couldn’t hide anymore.

''Hello?'' he answered as his body temperature jumped up a few degrees.

''Am I speaking to Jonghyun?'' the voice at the other end uttered.

The blonde froze for a moment, taking aback by the soft but deep tone that had just graced his ear.

''Hello?''

''Y-yes, it’s me,'' Jonghyun stammered despite himself.

Fuck. They hadn’t even met yet and he was already screwing this up.

''Hi, it’s Jinki. Taemin’s cousin,'' the other man went on.

''Ah, yes. Nice to- I mean, um-''

He cut himself off, realizing whatever would come out of his mouth now would just further embarrass him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His obvious clumsiness was apparently amusing to the other one because he suddenly laughed.

And that laugh did nothing to help Jonghyun recover brain cells.

''I’m already in the restaurant. Are you here yet?'' Jinki asked.

''Um, yeah… Well, I’m just outside. I’ll be right there,'' Jonghyun answered.

''Okay, well I’m in a dark grey suit and I’m wearing glasses,'' the other informed.

''Cool,'' Jonghyun uttered as he tried to form an image of what the other looked like.

''So…''

The sound of the other’s voice brought him back to reality. He instantly gave himself a mental kick for getting lost in his thoughts.

''Yes, um, okay, I’ll be hanging up now,'' he indicated before doing exactly that.

Okay, Jjong. You’re already making a damn fool of yourself. Get it together.

He took a few deep breaths before finally turning off the car’s engine and stepping out into the mild weather.

For a moment, he thought about bailing out and getting back into the car, but he knew how much of an asshole that would make him feel like. And he definitely was no asshole. Plus, he couldn’t help but think about the money involved.

Well, maybe that made him an asshole.

He managed to push back all of these thoughts in favor of finally getting himself past the entrance door. Hand on the handle, he pushed it open and stepped inside, relinquishing his fate to the wicked hands of the universe. He barely had time to look around when his eyes fell on a sight he was sure he’d never forget.

Jonghyun froze midstep as his gaze took in a gorgeous man whose clothes fit the description he had received a few minutes earlier.

''Jinki?'' he managed to utter despite feeling like his whole nervous system was about to collapse on him.

The man’s face lit up at the sound of his name and as soon as their eyes met, he flashed him a stunning smile.

''Jonghyun!'' he reciprocated enthusiastically as he took a few steps towards him.

It took Jonghyun everything not to step back and run out through the door. This was definitely worse than he had expected. The man was… A few words popped up in his mind, all of them just making it harder for him not to lose his composure.

''Happy to meet you,'' the brunette said before bowing before him.

Jonghyun returned the gesture, bending further down, since he was the younger one.

''Happy to meet you, too,'' he echoed once he rose back up.

He tried a smile, but it felt too forced, too staged. If there was something Jonghyun wasn’t good at, it was definitely acting.

''Have you ever been here before?'' Jinki promptly asked.

''Um, no…'' Jonghyun answered, slightly embarrassed.

He had done his research earlier that week when Taemin had sent him the address only to learn that this restaurant was one of the finest in the area. He could barely afford the essentials so there was no way he had any extra to be visiting these places. Nor did he ever really have any interest to.

''Ah, it’s okay,'' Jinki reassured with a softer but equally dashing smile. '' I’m glad this is your first time. ''

Jonghyun froze again, eyes wide, as his mind ran straight to the gutter with the other’s words.

The latter seemed to notice as he suddenly chuckled nervously, ''That probably didn’t come out right. I’m sorry.''

Jonghyun’s eyebrow cocked as he stared at the other. Is he for real?

The subtle blush he caught on the taller one’s face told him that it was indeed an honest mistake.

''I’m- I’m sorry…''

Jonghyun instantly felt bad. He was the one catching double entendres where there was none.

''Don’t be, please,'' he implored. ''I’m sorry, it’s me… I’m being a little weird …''

The brunette seemed to relax at that. Retrieving his smile, he said, ''This is a little never-wracking, huh?''

''Yeah,'' Jonghyun admitted as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

''Well, it’s nothing a little alcohol can’t fix, right?’' Jinki playfully remarked.

That made the blonde laugh.

''Definitely.''

Any words he would’ve said next died in his throat as the brunette’s eyes zeroed in on him in a focused and extremely unnerving way.

''Um… should we go to our table now?'' he found the courage to say as he deliberately avoided the other’s intent gaze.

That fortunately was enough to snap the other out of whatever trance he had been in.

''Yes, of course,'' he replied, quickly clearing his throat.

They first stopped at the front desk, Jonghyun just tagging along as Jinki gave the elegantly clad lady before them his name for the reservation. She then led them into the restaurant, walking them past the tables until they reached the back where a beautifully set table awaited them.

Along the way, Jonghyun had stolen glances around, taking in the contrasting elegance of the furniture with the robustness of the ceiling-to-floor pillars that gave the space more character and charm. He was even more pleased by the warm lighting that completed the portrait like icing on a cake, giving the room an intimate vibe.

Once the lady had finished setting the menus on the table and another came in to fill up their glasses with water, they sat, finding themselves alone.

''So, what’s your poison?'' Jinki immediately asked.

The blonde’s brow cocked.

''Shouldn’t we be ordering some expensive wine or something?''

''We could, if that’s what you want, but I’d rather you tell me what you like,'' Jinki indicated.

For some reason, that was enough to make Jonghyun’s heart jump inside his chest again.

''Um, well… I don’t drink often, but I really like rum,'' he shared as he tried not to linger on his body’s unsolicited reaction.

''Great,'' Jinki exclaimed as his face lit up even more. ''That’s my favorite.''

Immediately after, he gestured to one of the waiters in sight and ordered two glasses of a brand of rum Jonghyun was sure he had never tasted before. The order was served to them a few seconds later, the golden-brown liquid swaying beautifully inside the clear glasses.

Jinki was the first to pick up his glass.

''To a beautiful evening,'' he softly said as he lifted it.

''To a beautiful evening,'' Jonghyun reciprocated with a small smile before they both brought their glasses to their lips.

The taste that graced the blonde’s tongue was a perfect mix of strong, velvety, and sweet, making it impossible for him not to moan from contentment.

''That is the best rum I’ve ever had,'' he enthused, before realizing the other’s gaze had changed again.

He didn’t know what it was, but he could definitely feel himself tense up because of it. Fortunately, he didn’t have to speak this time for the other one to get back into conversation.

''I would have to agree with that,'' Jinki finally said with a smile.

''I’m guessing everything here is great, huh?'' the blonde gathered.

''Yeah, I’d say so,'' Jinki confirmed. ''Although…'' he went on immediately after, ''I pretty much always order the same thing, so I’m probably not the best person to ask,'' he admitted in a somewhat apologetic tone.

''What’s your order?'' Jonghyun asked with genuine interest.

''Their duck confit.''

The blonde stared blankly at him for a few seconds as his mind tried to figure out whatever that could be.

His confusion must’ve shown clear because the other chuckled before saying, ''It’s basically duck cooked in its own fat.''

Jonghyun grimaced at that.

''That doesn’t sound very appetizing to me.’'

''I can understand,'' Jinki said with another soft laugh. ''So what kind of food do you usually enjoy?''

''Um… pretty simple stuff I guess,'' Jonghyun answered, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

The brunette acknowledged those words with a nod.

''To be honest, I just love to eat, so give me anything and I’m in.''

The blonde snorted out a laugh at that.

''Sounds like Taemin.''

He was answered with a broad smile.

''I guess we have some things in common.''

Yeah, a stunning face seems to be one of them, Jonghyun replied in the safety of his mind.

''By the way, I’ve been curious to know how you two became friends,'' the older one went on as he picked up his glass again.

''Oh, that…'' Jonghyun uttered mindlessly. ''I don’t know if it’s a funny story or if it’s just really cringy…''

''Now you have me even more intrigued,'' Jinki prodded with a grin.

''Well, if you must know,'' Jonghyun started, realizing this was another chance for him to get back at the little brat. ''I first met him at a school party last year. I didn’t want to go in the first place, but a friend of mine insisted, so I tagged along. When we arrived there, my friend quickly abandoned me for a girl, leaving me alone in the midst of hundreds of strangers. At that point, I was just going to leave, but someone approached me. At first, I thought he looked cute, but as soon as he started talking, I could see he was pretty far gone. He said a lot of things, things that could’ve gotten him in deep shit if he had said them to any other guy. ''

''Oh god,'' Jinki suddenly interjected as a look of worry settled on his face.

''Don’t worry, this ends well,'' Jonghyun reassured with a small laugh.

''Good, please continue.''

''So, like I said, I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t help but fear what might happen if I left him there. I ended up asking him to follow me and we got out. Then I asked where his dorm room was, but he never managed to tell me, so I brought him back to mine. I got him into bed and he immediately fell asleep before waking up a few minutes later and puking all over the floor. He didn’t even seem to notice though, because he went right back to sleep after that. And then the next morning, once he was alert enough that I could walk him through what had happened, he apologized, thanked me a million times and hung around for the rest of the morning. I still didn’t understand what his deal was, but it felt weirdly comfortable to have him there. And then, I guess it just picked up from that.''

''That’s Taemin’s charm for you,'' Jinki acknowledged with what seemed like a prideful smile.

Jonghyun snorted again, ''Yeah, I guess.''

A full laugh rolled out of the brunette.

''You’ve obviously seen all that comes with that charm, too.''

''Definitely,'' Jonghyun replied immediately.

Jinki laughed some more.

''Well, thank god you were there that night and that you’re still in his life. You seem to be a good influence on him.''

The blonde’s brow cocked.

''A good influence?''

''Yeah,'' Jinki validated. ''Tae talks about you all the time and one of the things that always comes back is his admiration for your passion and work ethic. You seem to have rubbed off on him because I can see how serious he is about things now.''

Jonghyun was trying to keep his face under control, but he knew he was failing at hiding his surprise and utter shock.

''He’s never…. I didn’t know he…''

And he was also failing to verbalize any coherent thought.

''Taemin will never outright tell you this, but what I know is that he doesn’t hang out with someone if he doesn’t really love them.''

''Yeah… I guess,'' Jonghyun admitted as he unconsciously rubbed the back of his neck again. ''What about you and Tae?'' he inquired to get the focus off of himself. ''You two seem pretty close.''

He was first answered with a beaming smile that turned his mouth dry. He quickly reached for his glass and took another sip.

''Yes, we are. It’s just always been like that despite our age gap. I’m an only child so my parents would bring me to my aunts’ and uncles’ houses a lot and I always had the most fun with Taemin. He was always so joyful and full of life, and that always made me feel happy. As we grew up, that bond deepened and now, I just see him as my little brother.''

''That’s… really nice,'' Jonghyun said, feeling touched despite himself.

''Yeah,'' Jinki agreed. '' He’s always bringing good into my life.''

Their eyes locked at that and Jonghyun’s heart did another somersault.

''Um, so… shouldn’t we order or something?'' he uttered as his eyes darted back to his glass.

''Shouldn’t you look at the menu first?'' Jinki pointed out with a teasing edge to his tone.

Shit.

''Uh, yeah. Of course.''

After looking at a bunch of items that didn’t make any sense to him, he finally settled for the swiss chard and goat cheese cannelloni. He was pretty sure a pasta dish wouldn’t disappoint his taste buds.

Once their orders were placed, the conversation lulled for a bit, leaving Jonghyun time to assess everything that had happened up until now. He couldn’t say things were going badly. On the contrary, but that just made it all the more confusing for him. Without thinking, he brought his glass to his lips again and downed the rest of the liquid, which he immediately regretted when the fire that suddenly blew up in his throat made him cough uncontrollably.

''Are you alright?'' Jinki asked as he gave him a worried look.

Jonghyun nodded through his coughing fit. It took a few more seconds for his airways to clear out and bring him back to a peaceful state.

''I’m sorry… I…''

''Are you okay?''

The genuine concern he could read on the other’s face made him feel even more self-conscious and stupid. He couldn’t help but look away.

''Yes, I just…''

He didn’t even know what to say. And he couldn’t even use his glass as a distraction anymore.

Dammit.

''Can I tell you something?''

Jonghyun looked up again, curious as to what that thing might be.

''Yes?''

''I haven’t been on a date in years,'' Jinki shared.

Jonghyun blinked at him in surprise.

''Seriously?''

''Yes,'' the brunette reiterated with a sheepish smile. ''I’ve never really made time for anything that didn’t have to do with work.''

''So, what’s changed now?'' Jonghyun couldn’t help but ask.

''Hmm…'' Jinki pondered. ''Well… I guess I’ve finally realized how much I was missing out on.''

''Oh, well, from what I’ve heard you’ve made a pretty good life for yourself already,'' the blonde pointed out.

''I guess in terms of social status, yes, but in my everyday life, things were starting to get…'' he paused, looking nowhere in particular. ''Repetitive.''

''Oh, and here I thought lawyers had the most exciting lives,'' Jonghyun mocked without thinking.

His eyes instantly grew wide as he realized what he had just said.

''I didn’t mean to-''

Jinki laughed, ''I get it. I could try to defend my job, but being a corporate lawyer really isn’t exciting.''

''So why do you do it?''

''Because that’s what was expected of me. And I’m good at it,'' Jinki laid out openly.

''But… ''

Jonghyun couldn’t even begin to understand how someone could just go about a job without being really passionate about it. He had fought all his life to be able to pursue music as a career because, in the end, there was nothing else he could see himself doing.

''It's alright,'' Jinki laughed off. ''I dodged having to go into the medical field, so that's a win in my book." Jonghyun was tempted to dig further, to understand why the other had settled for a life without much agency, but he didn't feel like it was his place. ''Have I just lost you?'' the brunette inquired. Jonghyun caught the flash of fear that went through his gaze and felt his chest tighten. ''No, not at all,'' he instantly reassured. ''I'm just... intrigued,'' he chose after a moment of thought. ''Okay." A second after, the brunette picked up his glass and downed it just as he had a few minutes before. The gesture surprised him and even more so the absence of coughing that followed. ''Let me order us another round of rum and you can ask away," the older one indicated before doing just that. What followed was a pretty intimate exchange on how they had been brought up, an exchange during which the blonde found himself revealing a lot more than he would have ever imagined. They had just met and there he was talking about how the only good thing his mother had ever done for him was kick him out. By then, they were both half-way through their meals and the place had become even more crowded, but that did nothing to distract them from one another. ''She kicked you out?" Jinki exclaimed, eyes growing wide behind his thick frames. "Well, yeah. She couldn't have a defiant son disturbing her peace all the time," Jonghyun intoned with full-fledged sarcasm. "That's horrible," Jinki voiced in shock.

''Yeah, but it turned out for the best,'' Jonghyun observed. ''Living with my sister helped me get my shit together and get me to where I am now." Silence followed his words as the other looked straight into his eyes. Jonghyun felt a shiver run down his spine. "You're incredible." At that, he was pretty sure the man before him was out to kill him. His heart raced as the words rang loud in his mind. "I'm sure I wouldn't have had that resolve if I were in your place," the other then noted. The blonde wanted to argue and dismiss any credit the other was attributing him, but the dark chocolate orbs he was plunged into took the words right out of him. A little voice in his head told him to stop staring, but he felt paralyzed. He was praying the other would break the spell by looking away, but he didn't. "Do I have something on my face?" Jinki inquired, titter vibrating in his voice. Yes, your face. "No, I'm sorry... I just zoned out..." Jonghyun excused as convincingly as he could. "I get it. I would zone out, too, if we were talking about my painful memories," Jinki remarked, offering him an apologetic look. "It's fine, really," Jonghyun quickly replied as to not blow his cover. "Even so, why don't we move on to lighter stuff now?" the older one proposed with a broad smile that crinkled his eyes. Or perhaps, could we move to a bed? Jonghyun couldn't help but think as the sight before him awakened a part of him he usually managed to keep under control. "Yeah, sure," he said, reciprocating with a smile of his own. The conversation went on from there to discussions on their favorite things, like books, movies, and music. Even though they didn't always share common knowledge or taste in these things, their openness to each other made the rest of the evening go by pleasantly. "Did you enjoy your meal?" Jinki asked after the table had been cleared. "Yeah, it was pretty good," Jonghyun genuinely answered. The brunette grinned. "Glad it was. Do you want dessert?" he then offered. "Hmm... I'd say yes, but I'm pretty stuffed," Jonghyun admitted with a breathy laugh. "We can share," the other proposed before crossing his arms over the draped table. "Their crème brûlée is fantastic and I'd love for you to have a taste." Jonghyun felt his mouth go dry. Even if he would've wanted to say no, the eagerness he could hear in the other's tone had him do the contrary. "Okay, sure," he uttered, hoping his answer came off as nonchalant. He received another eye-blinding smile before the other took the lead again and ordered the aforementioned dessert. It was a few minutes before a small ceramic dish was placed between them. Jonghyun stared at the caramelized crust with interest before his eyes went to the utensils. There was only one spoon. "Um... They forgot a spoon," Jonghyun indicated as his eyes flicked up to the brunette. " I'm not averse to sharing a spoon, so you can eat first, " Jinki naturally settled before picking up the spoon and handing it to him. Jonghyun took it, feeling somewhat uneasy. "Have as much as you want," the other then added with what was meant to be a reassuring smile. But Jonghyun just felt more unnerved by it. All the attention was on him and even though that was something he relished in regards to his music, it wasn't something he loved getting in any other context. Especially not right now, when the attention was coming from a man who seemed to know just what to do to get him riled up. "Please, eat," Jinki urged as his smile grew wider. At that, Jonghyun had no other choice but to comply. He scooped out a spoonful of the creamy custard that hid under the thin crust and brought the spoon to his lips. A subtle flutter graced his lashes as he had his first taste. The sweet eggy flavor mixed with the creamy but light texture felt like a true gift to his taste buds.

"So? Do you like it?" Jinki inquired as a soft smile danced on his full lips.

" Oh, yeah, so good," Jonghyun drawled as his eyes zeroed in on the dent he had made in the dish.

A full laugh rumbled out of the brunette's mouth.

"Enjoy."

Jonghyun met his eyes for a second before he plunged the spoon right back in. The second bite felt even more divine than the first and before he could let himself think, he went in for a third, fourth, and fifth spoonful.

It was only when his mind caught up with his stomach again that he realized that more than half of the receptacle was empty. His eyes widened.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," he apologized as he put the utensil down and lowered his head like a child awaiting punishment.

He missed the expression of confusion that splayed across the other's face, but heard his words loud and clear.

"You have nothing to be sorry about. This was for you."

Jonghyun dared look up, inheriting the confused look in turn.

"I thought you wanted to share," he pointed out.

The brunette shrugged.

"I've had this dessert a million times. I'm not missing out."

"Still, I-"

"You can have it," Jinki interrupted purposefully.

Jonghyun blinked at him for a few seconds.

"Is it because of the spoon? I can ask-"

"No," the brunette interjected again. "I just want you to have it."

Jonghyun searched his face for any sign that he was lying, but found none.

"Plus," the older one went on, "I've put on a few pounds from stress eating so you'll be doing me a favor if you finish this," he ended with an embarrassed smile that leaned into an airy laugh.

Cute, Jonghyun’s mind prompted without notice. The thought had the blonde looking at the dessert again, not trusting himself one bit if he kept his eyes on the other man facing him.

Best that I just eat this so that I can get out of here.

Jonghyun did just that and soon enough, one of the waiters brought over the bill, immediately handing it to the brunette.

"Shouldn’t there be two?" Jonghyun immediately inquired as he furrowed his brows.

The older one let a pleased smile stretch wide across his face.

"Should there be?"

A shiver ran boldly across the blonde’s spine at that.

"Well, yeah… I mean… "

"I brought you here, so it’s on me," Jinki settled gently.

Before Jonghyun could slide in a word of protest, the brunette made his move and gestured to the same waiter that had lingered nearby. Jonghyun just watched as he felt robbed once more of a parcel of his dignity.

A few minutes later, they were finally heading out, the now cooler breeze of the evening meeting them upon their first step out of the restaurant. A moment of shared silence grew between them as they stood before the entrance and gazed into the half-busy street.

"So… " Jonghyun trailed off into silence.

He really didn’t know what to say at this point. The reality of this only being a one-time thing suddenly loomed in the forefront of his mind.

"Can I be honest with you, Jonghyun?" Jinki suddenly asked as he turned a bit more towards him.

The blonde felt himself tense up a bit at the additional proximity, but composed himself enough to nod.

"I would love for this to happen again," the older one instantly voiced.

His expression seemed serious enough for Jonghyun to believe his words, which only made his heart leap and his stomach flutter.

How does he do that? he couldn’t help but wonder as he felt all control seep out of him through now sweaty hands.

"Me, too," he agreed before time stretched too long between them.

Jinki smiled wide and bright.

"Glad to hear that."

Jonghyun made it a point to keep holding his gaze and return his smile, despite his main effort being on keeping himself together.

"I’ll be texting you soon, okay?" Jinki asked, his tone soft and easy.

"‘Kay," Jonghyun replied as he retreated to his nervous habit of rubbing the back of his neck.

"Did you come here by car?" the brunette then verified.

"Yeah, it’s right over there," the blonde indicated as he pointed towards an early 2000s white Corolla across the street.

"Good," Jinki acknowledged as his gaze followed. "I’ll let you go then. Goodnight, Jonghyun," he offered as departing words before flashing a last smile that read as soft but straightforward.

"Goodnight, Jinki," Jonghyun echoed as his face broke into a bashful smile.

They parted ways right after, Jinki heading farther down the street while Jonghyun headed straight to his car.

The blonde settled quickly into his seat, his head yearning to find the comfort of the steering wheel again. A big sigh left his lips as his forehead hit the sturdy surface.

As his eyes closed, his mind immediately formed an all too vivid image of the man he had spent the evening with. He could once again see his coiffed, but oh-so-soft looking hair, his beautiful bushy eyebrows under which thick frames sat perfectly on a proud nose, and his full lips that didn't waste a chance to stretch into one of the most beautiful smiles Jonghyun had seen in his life. The image could've trailed further down, but Jonghyun knew to draw the line there if he didn't want to make his pants any tighter.

He wasn't going to fool anyone, especially not himself. He was wildly attracted to this man.

And that was a problem.

***

#jongyu #jjongsmonth #jjongsmonth2020 #jjongsmonth3rdedition #sarastuff:jongyu #jonghyun #onew #taemin #kibum #minho #shinee #shinee fanfic #yooo I don't even know how I've written stuff these past few weeks but hey at least got something done before the month ended #please let me know if you read and enjoyed it or didn't enjoy it haha #oof

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johnandrasjaqobis · 4 years

Note

4 14 29 31 45 52 69 for sweet vic

4: if they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be? I’m limiting it to cantrips bc A: that is legit something I have thought about thanks to Feats and B: he currently has Zero magic, baby steps but even then it’s...very tough to pick between the usefulness and the nostalgia. On one hand, Vic learning Spare the Dying would be extremely poetic and fitting, and he’d love to be able to help someone long enough for the real healers to get there. On the other......Dancing Lights was Illy’s most frequently used spell, enough so that Vic still has the verbal component memorized. It’s very utility and it’s very familiar to him and it would be. nice.

(The rest under the cut!)

14: what is something they love about themself? He feels like he is someone people trust easily. Whether as like, watching their backs in a fight or as confidant or just a helping hand wherever he can. He is Reliable. He also does genuinely love the echo abilities. Feels they’ve been well-earned and they just. Feel like a piece of home.

29: who would they save? who would they be saved by? aaahaha is “everyone” an appropriate answer for the first bit, because Vic would like it to be everyone. Specifically, though, his friends, without question. Even more specifically, Nol, without hesitation. (and i know, i know because dnd is evil like that, there will come a day when somehow he has to prioritize who to look after and it will Hurt Me) for the second bit....tbh I think it’s gonna be a tossup of whether Nev or Anthe breaks through his very stubborn defenses first. But once all that inevitably comes crashing down it’s just going to be the party as a whole. Having people around this time who won’t let him bottle everything back up again, people who look after him when he won’t look after himself.

31: they’re given a blank piece of paper–what do they do with it? Might start some sort of stream-of-conscious journaling type writing. and then definitely, methodically, ripping it into very tiny pieces.

45: how do they hug people? With every bit of that 18str babey He is realizing how long he went without like. Real affection (not even two years, really, but that is a long time considering how frequent it was before) and the fact that he has people who will hug him now is just. Very Good. Vic puts a lot into hugs, because he has definitely learned to make that sort of thing count. (Hey fun fact, before that hug with Anthe during KirGate? The last genuine affectionate contact he’d had was uh. Illy. Shortly before. u kno.)

52: from whom do they seek validation? once again, does Everyone count? I mean like. Not everyone I guess, he really couldn’t care less what people like Thelyss think of him (other than in a “is he going to try to arrest me” sort of way). But also Vic was a young soldier selected for a very rare and kind of literally iconic skill training. The echo knights are kept as much a secret as they can be from the Empire, but they’re somewhat revered among the Aurora Watch and he wanted to live up to that so badly. He wants to be good at his work, and maybe that work has changed a little now, but. He still wants to prove (to someone, to everyone, to himself) that he can do his job.

69: how would they describe their party members? what an excellent question, a somewhat incredulous laugh would probably be the first thing, but

Anthe - Absolute little spitfire. She’s small (though he’s met smaller) and has somehow condensed a frankly scary amount of whoopass into that tiny frame, and he loves it. Also surprisingly...insightful once you get past that. Always watching people, always picking up on things, always asking things, which can be. Fun when directed at him. But Anthe gets it, and she’s always ready with healing or a safe night’s sleep or weird conversations with skeletons.

Nev - Somehow simultaneously the softest and toughest person he’s ever met. She’s absolutely terrifying in combat (which is great for them, not so great for the demons) and so kind and considerate and thoughtful any other time. Nev is the type to just. Check up on people. Offer a listening ear. Offer advice you didn’t even know you needed. Maybe unfamiliar with the specifics of new places but never really comes across as naive? (also doing all this literally blind, which he so often forgets)

Nol - that’s his wizard, folks. His wizard is a bitch and he likes her so much. She is also extremely complicated, has a frankly fucked up history when you get down to it, but the important part is that she is here, now, and seems to be actively trying. Nol is on their side and holy shit is that a good thing for them because she is terrifying. Absolutely terrifying and fascinating magic involved all the time. He would not call her Nice, not in any sense of the word, she is in fact an asshole to most people most of the time, but beyond that is just. She is Nol and nothing is going to happen to her.

P.A.T. - Very....very confusing. Vic didn’t pursue higher education but he’s pretty sure most professors aren’t like this. It’s interesting, someone who was literally created to do one specific job, but it’s also something he feels is beyond his ability to really understand. PAT has some handy moves when it comes to boosting or protecting the others in a fight, and that’s appreciated. PAT also has a very intrusive very creepy little dog that Vic does not trust with personal matters at all.

Raelian - Fast as shit. Like come on, she is faster than he is, she is taking his status as the humanoid blender. There is not bitterness there, really, he legitimately wants to see her fight more, and there’s some martial class solidarity there. There’s also the weird...ghost arms? Which are cool and also very weird. Raelian is someone he’s still working at figuring out, but it is probably a good thing to have someone else who’s into all the book research shit, especially if they need to break that spell.

(and the MIA kids, in shorter bits)

Ziggy - There are Very Complicated feelings around here. A genuine very good friend, and also a friend who just up and left with just a note to explain it. Jhe - She was...confusing. Bizarre. But also weirdly charming. And whatever she was, she did not deserve whatever it was that happened.

#THANK YOU BEE #WHAT GOOD QUESTIONS THESE ARE FUN #viconis #dreamteam #yahooanswer

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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years

Text

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Ten | B. B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: All Ages

Word count: 2,975

Chapter 10/24

Warnings: Just a bad word.

AN: This chapter is. . . not my favorite. Mostly because I’m a stubborn bitch and finished this up in the middle of a migraine; I apologize in advance for my less-than thorough proofreading. It’s very heavy on information, but it’s necessary to set up future chapters and I feel like it shows growth. Don’t worry, I threw in lots of fluff and cute moments for ya. Forever appreciative for those of you reading!

Also, my 1k Followers Celebration is still going on! I’ll start posting the drabbles tomorrow, requests will remain open until Sunday. Y’all are the greatest followers ever! 💕

Chapter Nine

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Bucky crams two fingers into the collar of his dress shirt, tugging at it for an attempt at relief in the sweltering New York heat. Pushing open the door to the skyscraper housing the VA’s Regional Benefit Office in Manhattan, he steels himself for this meeting. There were few things he hated more than dressing up in a monkey suit.

As soon as this is over I’m burning this tie.

The office is overflowing with men dressed almost exactly the same as him. Every seat in the waiting room is taken, presumed veterans stand elbow to elbow in what available standing room is leftover. There had to be at least 20 of them crammed into the small space. Fighting every instinct to turn tail and run from the room radiating nervous energy, Bucky politely checks in with the secretary before finding the last unoccupied spot by the window. This was a good thing. A step in the right direction. . . right?

He can’t help but inspect the window’s cleanliness, noting that the brushing technique was sloppy, leaving streaks behind. Gazing beyond the glass he imagines you working in your office today completely focused on your work. Wishing he really was watching you while he washed windows he remembers the huge smile on your face when he’d shared the news that he’d finally gotten this job counseling appointment. The thrill that lit up your eyes, the pride when you squeezed his arm. . . that was reason enough to stay put and wait.

After reading a spare newspaper entirely and watching what felt like every other person on earth walk in and out of the office, his name is finally called. He nods and steps forward to indicate that he indeed was James Barnes before following the weary man with the clipboard.

“Carl Baines, nice to meet ya. Alright Sergeant Barnes, how can the Department of Veterans Affairs help you today?”

“I, uh, was told I could get job counseling.” Following the man’s lead, Bucky sits opposite of the man, his desk piled with paperwork between them.

“That is correct. We have a questionnaire you can fill out that will give us a sense of direction on what you have an aptitude for,” the employee was already rifling through files, opening and closing drawers before placing a stack in front of Bucky.

“Sorry - I already have an idea of a job, I just don’t know where to start. Can you help with that?”

“Oh,” he blinks. “Yeah, you’re the first person I’ve talked to in days that’s said that. Uhh. . . what’re you thinking?”

“Working with cars?” “Okay, I can steer you in the right direction. Hold on.” Swiveling his chair to the filing cabinet behind him he mutters to himself as he cards through various files. “Automotive service, here we go.” The file lands on his desk with a plop before he’s flipping through it.

“Alright, looks like there’s lots of options. Best place to start is by picking up service manuals from manufacturers - they crank them out every year for mechanics to stay up-to-date, your local shop may have a few around. Manufacturers also usually have training courses if you agree to work for them. There’s also a lot of training conferences held if you get a job at a garage first. The library might even have a couple film rolls on auto mechanics. Looks like there are a few evening classes the public school system is offering. Another option is a private trade school where you’d stay until your training was complete. Or you could take a correspondence course, work in a shop at the same time, theory and practice together is always a good idea. Thoughts?”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to blink. “Uhh. . .”

The man smiles apologetically and leans back in his chair. “Sorry. I understand that was a lot. We’ve been so busy, I forget to slow down sometimes. But the VA is offering to cover tuition for college or trade school up to $500 per year. Book, supplies, all of that is covered too. Plus you’ll get a cost-of-living stipend so you can focus on getting through school or training.”

Bucky nods, the idea of a future right in front of him somehow both thrilling and paralyzing. “Wow. Okay. Where’s the nearest trade school?”

“Let me check,” his finger trails down a list. “New Castle School of Trades, Pennsylvania.”

“How long would I be there?”

“Most schools are condensing their programs because of the influx of students. Maybe six months?”

Bucky is already shaking his head. “I don’t think I can be away that long.” He knows he can’t be away from you that long.

“It says here that they have a correspondence course. You’d receive assignments from instructors through the mail. You could finish in the same amount of time and only have to be there for a month of training halfway through the program. And they recommend finding a job a garage in the meantime. I have a friend who’s a mechanic and from what he says it pays to learn as much as you can as fast as you can. It takes constant studying, but you’ll be ahead of the curve if you work at the same time.”

“Okay,” Bucky stares at his hands folded in his lap, trying to think quickly. He didn’t want to be away from you, Steve, or his family for any length of time, but one month was better than six. And the sooner he could start something of his own, the better. “I think that’s the way I wanna go.”

“Let’s make it happen. Here’s an application for their school, get it in the mail as soon as possible so you can get started. Here’s a letter to attach stating that the government is covering all charges. While you’re here, I can get the paperwork started for your cost-of-living stipend.” More paperwork is pushed around the mess of a workspace as Carl pulls out a checklist. “You never enrolled for unemployment benefits, correct?”

“No, I was able to find a job pretty quick.”

He checks a box, “Okay. No dependents?”

“No.”

Another box is checked. “That combined with your service record will be about. . .” Carl slides a finger across a graph before tapping the paper twice, “$75 a month while you’re training plus an additional two months after you’re gainfully employed. Sound okay?” Bucky opens his mouth to answer but Carl didn’t give him the chance to respond. “Also if you’re looking for funds for a business or home, you’re eligible for a guaranteed loan whenever you apply, zero down with low interest. Lots of people are leaving the city and building houses on the outskirts of the city. It’s probably just a phase though. Any questions?”

“Not right now.”

“Well if you do have any, you’re welcome back anytime. We’re here to help.” Carl stands before shoving a pile of paper into his hands, simultaneously herding him toward the door. Next thing he knew Bucky was back in the waiting room that didn’t feel any less crowded. Thinking only of escape, Bucky doesn’t stop moving until he was outside the building.

Looking at the mess of paperwork he held, he sighs.

“One step at a time,” he whispers to himself, hearing your voice in his mind.

----

“How could the class sizes have grown so much since we graduated?” Bucky mumbles in Becca’s ear, pressed together in the masses of families seeking seating for the high school graduation ceremony. Baffled by the sheer number of people, he was quickly realizing the goal of everyone sitting together was futile.

The Barnes family shuffles through the crowd, searching in the chaos of the Brooklyn Stadium. Even being head-and-shoulders above most of the crowd Bucky couldn’t shake nerves ticking away in his chest. When they do find a clear bench in the stands they quickly discover the five of them don’t have a chance to fit together.

Rose gasps in dismay, “Oh, and I promised to save Robert a seat. If it was just us I’d say we could squeeze together but between when John gets here, my belly, and Robert. . .” she lays a self-conscious hand to her ever-growing midsection.

Becca gently grabs her sister’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, y’all take these seats. Bucky and I can find a spot together somewhere else. We’ll meet you afterwards.” George and Winnifred having long ago taken their seats, Rose joins them - sitting strategically to save seats for Evelyn’s beau and her own husband.

The idea of crawling over people to cram into a seat with little-to-no way to exit swiftly made Bucky’s anxiety heighten. Before Becca can move up the bleachers she catches her brother’s eye, catching the subtle tilt of his head toward the bottom of the stairs. Their remaining family being thoroughly distracted by the hubbub of the event, they weren’t noticed as they move down and away from the dull roar of the crowd several yards away from the bleachers.

“You alright?” Becca probes. Not taking his tight nod for a good enough answer she asks quietly, “Too many people?”

“Yeah. Still don’t like loud, crowded places.”

“Makes sense,” she says, more to herself than to Bucky. They stand together and people-watch, making comments about peers they recognize from their old high school days or teachers they couldn’t believe were still working 10 years later.

Before long their brother-in-law joins the family in the stands, sending a wave their way before kissing his wife on the cheek. But then a young, rail-thin young man approaches the Barneses, sheepishly accepting their warm welcome.

“That him Rose is fawning all over?” Bucky nods toward the situation. Becca cranes her neck before nodding affirmatively. “God, he looks 12 years old.”

“Bucky.”

“And he’s older than her?”

Becca narrows her eyes in his direction, “Only by two years. He’s just about finished his teaching training, should be able to start working in the fall.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t sound so unimpressed, you were the one bent out of shape about him having a good job. Teachers are in demand, you know that.”

Bucky rocks back and forth on his heels “How have I not met the kid when they’ve been dating for almost a year?”

“You only got back around the holidays.”

“But Evelyn only brings him around the house when she knows I’m not going to be there. Why?”

“Could be a coincidence.”

“You’ve turned into a shit liar the last few years, Becs.”

After a good-natured elbow to his ribs, Bucky’s shoulders relax ever-so-slightly.

“Evelyn’s gotten under your skin, huh?”

“I just don’t like it.” A hand makes contact with the back of his head and he jerks to face his sister, her face glowing with stern righteousness. “What was that for!”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m lost.” Bucky hold his hands up in surrender, not even sure what he’s surrendering to.

“As much as Evelyn doesn’t act like it, your opinion matters to her. Plus she doesn’t want you scaring him off.”

“If he scares easily he’s not good enough for her.” Bucky shifts his feet, eyes zeroing in on the gangly boy sharing a laugh with his mother.

Becca scoffs at him. “Have you seen yourself when you’re trying to be scary? Let alone when you aren’t trying? He’s a solid guy, Bucky. Give him a chance.”

A sigh escapes Bucky before he makes an admission. “The whole family has gotten to know him. I know y’all like the kid and don’t have a problem with them getting married, but-.”

“You’re hurt that you haven’t been given that chance.” Bucky tries to protest but is quickly shushed by his sister. “I get it. You and Evelyn are too similar for your own good. Show her a little respect in her choice, give her the chance to make a good choice.”

Bucky can’t formulate a reply before the ceremony commences, the long line of graduates marching out onto the football field. The event is efficient for a such a large class - a record-breaking class at that-, even after the family cheers and whistles as Evelyn Barnes receives her diploma early on. The moment the ceremony comes to a conclusion hoards rush to their graduates on the field, whereas the Barneses hold back, waiting for Evelyn to find them.

George, Winnifred, Rose, John, and Robert gravitate to the spot where Bucky and Becca had watched with pride.

“Well, our girl did it,” George gives a rare smile as Evelyn finally pushes through the crowd so the family converges together at the same moment.

“Congratulations, sweetheart!” Winnifred wraps her youngest in a delighted hug.

“Thanks, Mom. Hi, Rob,” Evelyn blushes deeply and accepts a kiss to the top of her capped head from her beau.

“Proud of you, Evie.” Bucky sidles up to give her a hug from the side before facing Robert, Evelyn’s panicked face causing a twinge in his heart. Becca was right. He has been too harsh on her.

“Bucky, right? I’ve heard wonderful things about you,” Robert extends a hand, delivering a surprisingly confident handshake despite the sweat developing on his brow.

“Likewise.” Bucky says with forced optimism. This is why I was a soldier and not a spy, he thinks ruefully.

----

“So you actually approve of Robert?” Even over the phone Bucky can practically see the surprise on your face.

“Can’t believe I’m saying it, but yeah. Becca gave me a whole speech before I met him, made me back off of the protective brother bit slightly.”

“Oh, only slightly?” you tease.

“Yeah. Turns out Becca was right.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to get along with her.”

His heart flutters at the idea of you anticipating, even looking forward to, meeting his family. “Anyway,” he sighs dramatically, adjusting his grip on the phone before observing New York City bustling outside the phone booth. “How was your day, Sassafras?”

The sound of your groan crackling through the receiver triggers Bucky’s grin. “Don’t you even start with me. Between you and Anderson-”

A strange voice laced with an Irish accent abruptly enters the conversation. “Is anybody on the line?”

Bucky holds the mouthpiece away to avoid deafening you with a bark of laughter.

“Yes, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy,” you breathe with exasperation. “We just started talking.”

“Oh. I see. Well I need to call my sister, dear - with the weather getting so warm I’m worried about her and-”

“Okay, okay, we won’t be too long, I promise.” Even in your frustration you remain kind, a quality Bucky was beginning to deeply admire.

He hears a tell-tale click before you sigh. “The joys of party line service. What was I saying?”

“Something about your boss.”

“Oh yeah. He’s been in rare form this week. I’m starting to wonder why he’s the executive and I’m the typist when I’m drafting the original letters myself.”

“You have been pulling a lot of long days this week.”

“Apparently his time is better spent in the file room with the new secretary which sticks me with all the work,” you spit out bitterly. “And he gets to take credit for my flawless products, the pig. He makes my skin crawl.”

“Because he’s a corporate-climbing jerk or for another reason?”

“Well. . .” your hesitant voice hints at something else. “He’s forward and brash while being underhanded at the same time. It’s. . . unsettling.”

As Bucky opens his mouth to question further another click sounds off and the now-familiar lilt echoes back through the handset. “Is the line open now?”

“Still here, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy. I’ll be off in a few minutes.”

“You can’t tie up the phone line all day, young lady.”

“We all pay for the service. Check again soon.” Bucky bites his lip to contain his amusement at your firmness. A car horn goes off for several seconds, drawing the attention of several passers-by.

In confusion you ask, “Where are you calling from?”

“Payphone outside of Steve’s.”

“You’re paying that much for this call, Bucky? Jeeze I would’ve stopped talking ages ago, I’m sorry.”

“S’alright. Worth hearing your voice. I know I sound like a lovesick teenager, but not seeing you for a few days has been hard.”

“I know. But I’ll see you tomorrow. Any news today?”

“Yeah, I got my first assignment and textbooks for my training course.”

Your squeal makes his heart grow two sizes. “How exciting! Have you looked through it?”

“Not yet. Wanted to give it a good look when I had time. Also got my stipend in the mail.”

“That’s gotta feel good. When’re you going to give your window washing team notice?”

“I dunno. Don’t wanna leave them high and dry.”

“That was a horrible pun, Barnes. But I’m sure the boys can handle it.”

“We both know that’s debatable,” he revels in your giggle. “I better go chat with Steve.”

“You still haven’t talked to him?”

Even though he knows you can’t see him, he waves a flippant hand. “Nah, but it’s Steve. It’ll be fine.”

“And you’re sure about all this?”

“Very sure.”

“Okay. Hope it goes well. Tell me all about it tomorrow?”

“See ya tomorrow, sweetheart.” Before Bucky can hang up he hears Mrs. O’Shaughnessy once again, “Well he sounds handsome.”

Your unbridled laugh sends warmth through his chest as he replaces the handset and exits the booth. A block later, Bucky knocks on Steve’s door, army rucksack over his shoulder.

“Hey Buck,” Steve greets, eyes quickly flitting from the bag, to Bucky’s hands, before meeting his gaze.

Bucky gives a smug grin, holding up the envelope with his stipend nestled inside. “Spare room still open?”

“Nope.” Panic grips Bucky, that being the last thing he expected to hear. “Never was a spare room. Been yours from the start.”

Breathing out the fear, the brunet groans. “You’re a real jerk.”

“I know. Come on in.”

Chapter Eleven

Tags:

@moderapoppins @lookwhatyoumademequeue @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @thinkwritexpress-official @fearless2tobeme @laneygthememequeen @past-perfect-future-tense @drhughgrection @promarvelfangirl @marvelous-avengers @connorshero @anditwasjustus @lucyyannabel @p3nny4urth0ught5 @usernamemingmei @the-canary @thorfanficwriter @blueskiesbleakeyes @silverwing2522 @satansmushroom @nerd-without-a-cause @barnesrogersvstheworld @firewolf-marvels @reginaphlanageadams @kiliakit @forsaken-letters @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @part-time-patronus @biavastarr @ellaenchanted91 @ihopeyousteponarosepetal @bloatedandlonly @barnestruck @itsbuckysworld @captainsbuck @writemarvelousthings @havanaangel @animeflower26 @igotkatiepowers @clockworkherondale @mcueveryday @buckybarneshairpullingkink @cassianpeia @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @abovethesmokestacks @ursulaismymiddlename @sarcasm-ing @hiddles-rose @thisismysecrethappyplace @palaiasaurus64 @fanfic-diaries @fangirlfictionmain @majesticavenger @creideamhgradochas

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #1940s Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #beka writes #marvel fanfiction #All We've Got is Time #Chapter Ten

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ainsleymorgan · 4 years

Text

『MARILYN LIMA ❙ DEMIGIRL』 ⟿ looks like AINSLEY MORGAN is here for HER SOPHOMORE year as a COMPUTER SCIENCE student. SHE is 20 years old & known to be ORGANIZED, BENEVOLENT, INDECISIVE & OBSTINATE. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ lexi. 23. pst. she/hers.

we’re back at it again folks! this gal has been bopping around my head for a good long while now - i apologize if this is an incoherent mess. give this a little like and i’ll slide into ur dm’s to plot smth ok ily

stats

— background. (death tw, grief tw, cancer tw)

The Morgans have a long, complicated history. Margaret and Callum meet near the end of college (she’s studying English, he lives in town) and fall rapidly in love. The only problem? Margaret’s engaged to her high school sweetheart. When Margaret ends up pregnant, she pretends like it’s her fiancee’s and has a shotgun wedding. Callum goes off to join the army and pretend like his heart wasn’t just shattered in two.

Years pass - Margaret gets her PhD in English and has another kid (this time with her actual husband). Callum leaves the army, gets married too (and widowed a few years later), has some kids of his own. But then they run into each other at a bar in a city far away from the last one they were in together, and it’s like nothing ever changed.

The two get married almost immediately after the divorce papers are signed, and have two more kids almost immediately after that. Margaret becomes an English professor, and Callum’s content with taking care of the gaggle of children their blended family has produced.

Five years after the last set of kids, Ainsley and her brother Tristan are born. They’re just as unplanned as their eldest sister was, but no less loved.

They quickly become the apple of the entire family’s eye, doted upon by their army of older siblings. The twins are late to walking, so they get taken to the pediatrician, who says that they’re so used to being carried everywhere by their family that they haven’t felt the need to walk yet. They’re set down more often, and quickly catch up to be able to run after their brothers and sisters.

Ainsley and Tristan are attached at the hip. Despite the attention from the rest of their family, the two maintain that specific bond only twins can. They make up a language that only they can understand, and throw tantrums whenever they’re out of eyesight of each other.

They’re happy kids, bright and bubbly. And loud. The house is always filled with screams and laughter. It’s an idealistic life, a perfect family.

DEATH TW // There’s an accident when the twins are nearly five. Nobody knows what happened - they swear they were watching the kids splashing in the lake - but suddenly, Tristan’s gone. His body is found in the water later that day. // END TW

GRIEF TW // Ainsley’s too young to understand what’s going on when they bury him. She gets quiet and shy, a once bubbly little girl drawing in on herself. All she knows is that her best friend is gone, and now there’s nobody to actually talk to.

They move soon after, to a town called Lovell, when Margaret gets a job at the local university. It’s something the family needs, after Tristan, and they hope that the change will help Ainsley open back up again.

She doesn’t, not for a while. She’s thrust into kindergarten, in a new town without her twin there to keep her grounded. Her teachers worry about her social skills - she seems to prefer painting or doodling to playing on the playground with her classmates. But slowly, surely, she starts opening up again as Lovell becomes home. // END TW

The Morgans decide that they like Lovell, and that they’re going to stay. They buy a nice house in a quiet neighborhood, with big trees for the kids to climb on. Ainsley breaks her leg falling out of one when she’s seven (she still has the scar on her knee from where a branch snagged).

As the kids get older and start moving out of the house, Callum decides he needs a project. He’s always loved cooking and restaurants. So he decides to buy one. Calls it the Main Street Diner (not very creative, but it tells you right where it is!), and starts really integrating himself into the Lovell community.

Ainsley spends nearly every afternoon there, sitting at the corner of the counter after school. Her siblings are old enough to babysit, but they’ve hit their moody teenage phase, and Ainsley wants nothing to do with it. Her mom’s either teaching or grading papers or reading, and that’s boring to a nine-year-old. So diner it is.

She spends most of her time at the counter drawing or painting. Each one is proudly displayed on the wall, marking her progress over time.

Sometimes she helps with little tasks, like sorting silverware or wiping down tables. Eventually, when she hits high school, she graduates to waiting tables to make some money of her own.

When it comes time to think about college, Ainsley decides she wants to go as far away from Lovell as possible. She knows everything and everyone in town - even some of the Radcliffe students who frequent the diner. Ainsley wants something new and interesting.

She looks at schools in California, eventually gets accepted to UCLA. Ainsley packs her bags and flies across the country. She learns to miss the comforts of home, but enjoys the independence being on the other side of the continent gives her.

CANCER TW // Halfway through her first year at UCLA, Ainsley gets a call from her mom. Dad’s sick, she says. Cancer.

Ainsley drops everything and moves back home. She takes a semester off of school to help take care of her dad while her mom continues teaching. He gets better, goes into remission, but there’s still the lingering fear that it’ll come back, that it’ll be worse, that she’ll lose him too. // CANCER TW

So she decides to transfer to Radcliffe. It’s local, in case anything happens, but she can still live in the dorms to keep some semblance of independence. And she gets to go for essentially free. She starts working at the diner again, to keep an eye on her dad, though she claims it’s just to make money. It’s a good set-up, for now.

— personality.

Ainsley is super artistic. Literally constantly drawing or writing or doing something creative. There’s usually paint somewhere on her clothes, regardless of how new the clothing is.

Also has this Thing against making her hobby her career, which is why she’s a computer sciences major rather than an arts major. She grew up watching her mom and dad turn their passions into their jobs, which seemed stressful and like it took some of the fun out of it. So she said no thanks.

She still really enjoys computers and coding - mainly web design. Hopes to become a full-time web designer after college, while throwing in some of the graphic design portions of web designing to sprinkle some of the artsy aspects of her personality.

Despite being a computer sciences major and pretty good with technology, she definitely prefers going analog in most of her life. Writes everything down rather than typing it into her phone or laptop, and goes through a million journals (also owns a million more blank ones).

This bitch definitely bullet journals.

Is a fairly organized person, but her room? An absolute mess. Ainsley says it’s an aesthetic mess (it’s not).

The only part she takes care of is the collection of plants on her windowsill. One of her notebooks is dedicated to their care schedule, and notes on how they’re doing.

Her bag is basically Mary Poppins’ tote, but make it a beat-up Fjallraven she bought during a 50% off sale three years ago. Has literally anything you could ever need in it. Paper, pens, snacks, water, first aid kit, you name it. Need some superglue or a needle and thread? Ask Ainsley.

Is simultaneously super indecisive and super stubborn. Will take a thousand years to decide on something, but once she’s picked it, she’s stuck on it.

Will die on any hill she feels remotely attached to.

That being said, she’s not a super aggressive person. Is actually pretty calm, still quieter than she was before Tristan. The human equivalent of a warm blanket.

Also super gay. So so gay.

(But she’s never been with a girl bc she’s got issues w feeling worthy of romantic attention!! Or any attention!!)

This bitch needs to go to therapy.

— wanted connections.

aka the part im so bad at

Where my Lovell locals at?

Friends - pls give this cinnamon roll ppl to fawn over she loves her friends !!

Enemies - idk if she’d think of them as an enemy but let ppl be mean to her so she can be kind of mean back

Crushes - either on her or ppl for her to crush on !! she will pine until the day she dies !!

idk what else im bad at this just love me and love Ainsley

#radintro #// god this is long and probably incoherent im so sorry #death tw #grief tw #cancer tw

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c-is-for-circinate · 5 years

Text

Ten episodes into Critical Role (starting with the second season, and NO SPOILERS PLEASE), and okay yeah, I get why people like the show.

There’s a lot to talk about and I’m sure most of it’s been said before, but I’m just in love with how nuanced and contradictory these characters are. And contradictory is exactly the right word, not just because of how they oppose each other (though goddamn that is fun), but how they oppose themselves, how every single character is this mess of characteristics that don’t match up on first glance, except they actually fit together to create such rich characters.

Like Fjord, okay, start with him--he’s not the leader because this group is too much of a disaster to have a leader, but he’s the most consistently calm, solid, reliable, and generally sensible person in the whole group. Which is not usually how you’d expect your party’s half-orc to behave, but that’s fine, that’s just messing with race expectations, that’s easy. What’s interesting about Fjord is that he’s so clearly the group’s token decent guy, the honest man. He has an eldritch nightmare and actually tells the others about it, which nobody else in that fucking crew except maybe Jester would. He’s a straightforward guy who seems like he was maybe actually normal once, again unique in this group, who also happens to be a warlock with very clearly eldritch powers he doesn’t understand. And he has no problem whatsoever with using and expanding those powers, or with killing, or with stealing and conning and enjoying any ill-gotten gains the group may collect. His objections to the team’s plans are almost always practical and logistical (the ‘this seems very complicated and also is likely to end in this very obvious disaster when this logical hole gives way under us’ sort), not moral. It consistently feels like, if he hadn’t had whatever disaster shipwreck eldritch sea-beast warlock pact experience set him off on this path, he out of the whole group would be obeying laws and being generally decent to the people around him and working a simple, honest job with some hard labor involved, and he’d be happy with it--but he’s on this boat now and he’s in completely, and he’s just as forthright with that loyalty as he is with everything else.

And Jester is flighty and silly and fun and describes a childhood that horrifies the entire rest of the group in blithe, carefree tones, and I love it so much because it makes so much sense. Sure, she was isolated, secluded, and hidden from the world for years--but it was important for her mom’s business, and her mom loved her, and it was normal, and it was fine. Because that’s normal to her. And she’s completely carefree about her childhood, just like she makes a carefree game out of slaughtering gnolls and being entirely willing to kill guards or other sentient people, with the same level of fun as she gets pulling minor pranks. She would happily and generously give away pastries or money or healing to anyone, and then turn right around and fuck up their entire day just because it’s funny, and not even see a conflict there. Except that every once in a while we get a glimpse of just how desperately lonely she’s been for so fucking long--and it only comes out when she’s talking to or about the Traveler. It’s never when she’s talking about home, or the brothel, or the room when she was locked in, because those things were normal and fine. What’s not fine is the idea that she might lose contact with the Traveler, or maybe her mother. And of course that’s it. Because everything that was normal and fine and happy and funny had to be okay, because it was life, and that’s just how it was, but the Traveler and maybe her mother were the things that made it all okay, and if she loses them, she loses everything.

And I haven’t even begun to figure out Nott yet, Nott who seems in many aspects like the most straightforward member of the whole crew--not in the Fjord way of directness and honesty, but in the easy, tropey, simple-to-classify way. The goblin rogue who loves picking pockets and collecting shiny things, quick and sly and easily intimidated, with quick fingers and a bit of a background in alchemy, it all makes sense. Nott makes sense. Except that if you take a step back and look around at context, Nott makes no fucking sense at all. I have no idea why she’s out here, adventuring with these losers, instead of back home with the other goblins. We have seen zero other goblins out and around populated places so far. Even her partnership with Caleb straddles the line between ‘oh, of course’--a couple of criminals who met in prison and helped each other escape and decided it was more practical to stick together? sure! makes sense for a goblin!--and ‘wait, what the fuck?’. Why was Nott in any sort of prison that Caleb would ever be in to begin with? If she was arrested by humans, why didn’t they just kill her outright, given the attitudes most humans we’ve seen seem to have to goblins? She is so friendly and ready to hang with the rest of the group, is so delighted to play with Jester, she’s such a social creature, so how did she ever end up playing sidekick with this socially awkward human disaster to begin with?

And right, speaking of Caleb, the man is a goddamn mess, even putting aside all of his stubbornness and his mysteries and the actual literal mess of him. He’s shy and awkward and anxious and scared around people, except for when he decides to very intensely threaten somebody with murder and disembowelment, just as a matter of course. He’s anxious about everything, but he’s okay with monster-hunting. And he’s fine with murder, so long as it isn’t done with fire, he’s one of the first to go in for robbing corpses, he straight up does not give a shit about the people he and Nott rob, he doesn’t trust or even particularly like the rest of the Nein, he doesn’t (appear to) care about other people at all--except that he would do anything for Nott, full stop. And he has strong feelings about parents and kids and families, and he gave Jester the money he swiped from the spider lair because he got angry at her for being an apparent spoiled rich girl and wanted to apologize, and because it seemed important to her an he cared. And all of these truths hang together around the central figure of this one guy with a fucked-up past he doesn’t have words for, who prefers books to people and doesn’t really know what he’s doing, in the world, in general, even at the fairly low level he thinks he does.

And of course Caleb keeps clashing with Beau, because Beau is simultaneously so self-invested and yet also somehow more interrogative of the whole world around her than anyone else in the group. Beau wants to know all of Caleb’s secrets. She wants to know everybody’s secrets, but she wants Caleb most of all, because he’s spent the most effort trying to keep them that way. And she’s so curious about her party members, so curious about things going on in the world--she asks more questions about random shit than anyone, she’s currently spearheading both the investigation into the Gentleman and, with Fjord, the Zadash revolutionary’s club, because she wants to know. Except Beau never gives off the impression of actually liking anybody or anything she discovers. (Fjord trying to give her lessons on complimenting somebody without making it sound like a backhanded insult was amazing.) She has ‘chip on my shoulder’ writ so large across her it might as well be in neon. She is Out For Herself; she hates the system but she’s not going to go looking for ways to take it down, not when she can drink and fight shit to get cash that she can spend to drink with. But she can’t stop asking questions. She Doesn’t Care, but she can’t stop trying to learn more. And right, the constant back and forth of ‘yes she cares’-’no she’s a self-interested bitch’ could feel wishy-washy, but instead it just feels right, because Beau is very young and very angry and very impulsive, and she is very bad at effectively caring for the things and people she cares about, and it is so clear that she’s been treated so badly and had so little power to fight back. And now she’s got the power to fight back so she lashes out and she hits things and she’s constantly mean, and she chokes out the little girl she got arrested to protect two days earlier because nobody ever taught Beau how people actually take care of other people, did they. She needs to know Caleb’s secrets because Caleb having stuff going on that he won’t talk about means that there are factors at play that can affect Beau’s life that she can’t control, can’t even know about. All I know about her parents so far is that they had enough money to pay a temple to take her away when she caused too much trouble for them. Which actually appears to say pretty much everything that needs to be said.

And fucking Mollymauk Tealeaf, the one goddamn spoiler I had for this show before I started it and I am simultaneously gutted over him from day one and grateful to be prepared because I do not think I would take losing him well as a surprise. Molly is so fucking good. He’s a good character, and he’s such a good person, except he would cheerfully deny it with a grin if anyone ever accused him of it. He is such a tremendous cynic. He has been all over and he believes that people in groups of any size are stupid, dangerous, probably corrupt, generally bigoted, probably lazy, and out for themselves at every turn. No horror anyone does can surprise him, and yet he’s blithe and easy about it all. Of course people are terrible, that’s just how people are, no sense getting depressed over it. He’ll just slide his way in with a smile and a deck of tarot cards and a bit of flash and dazzle, use people’s vices against them, maybe run just a bit of a con if it looks to be profitable, and slide right back out again. Except that by god, Molly cares every bit as much as Beau does and unlike her, he actually knows it. He was ready to go to the mat for any- and everyone in that circus, called it a family and held on to it as hard as he possibly could even as everyone in it bickered and hated each other and were ready to jump town and leave each other behind. He is so kind to people with less than he has. And he’s never forceful about it, he never pushes his care forward, he just makes a few gentle comments to Jester about expectations and disappointment that might help ease the crushing blow he so clearly sees coming her way, without actually calling her out or starting an argument. He just suggests to Nott that there exist people in the world that shouldn’t be robbed, not because they’ve no money worth stealing but because those people can’t afford to lose what little they have. At some point he took it upon himself to be the person who keeps an eye on everyone else in the party, whether to try to defuse an argument or pick someone up when they’re down or corner them and take them to task, quietly, out of earshot of all the others. It’s impossible not to get the sense that Molly is already more invested in this group working and staying together than anyone else here, and he takes that fact as a given, and he’s ready to put in the quiet background work to keep it in one piece. He’s already brushed off or buried whatever mourning he did for the broken circus family he so clearly loved so well, and it should be a contradiction, but mostly it just feels like Molly is too used to being ready for things to go south and people to leave, because life is just shit like that and you take what you can get. He treats love exactly the same way he treats money: a thing that’s hard to come by and well worth collecting if you possibly can, to be enjoyed and played with to the very fullest while you have it, because soon enough it’ll be gone again either way.

At any rate, I’m really enamoured of this show that has characters so nuanced by ten episodes in. (Granted, ten episodes clocks close to 40 hours, but shhhh. D&D time is different.) I chalk a ton of it up to, ‘oh, shit, this is why voice actors are the perfect people to put on D&D as a massive serial fiction adventure’. Every single person at the table makes a living out of putting nuance into characters with just their voice, so of course they know what they’re doing, and they’ve all played zillions of characters (their IMDB pages are so long, jfc) with plenty of nuance to begin with. They know how to do this shit.

The other thing, I think, is that everybody at the table feels safe with the idea that they’ll have enough time to draw these characters out all the way to the end. Everybody in this group has so many secrets, so many of the linking pieces that lay out and explain the layers and contradictions, and nobody is rushing to pull any of them out on the table right up at the start, because everybody there is totally secure in the idea that they’ll get 500-odd hours to tell this story and it doesn’t all have to happen yet. Character death is always a risk, but the only healer isn’t going to up and move to another state, and nobody is going to get married and have no time any more, and the DM’s manager at work isn’t going to suddenly start assigning Thursday night shifts and all of the sudden scheduling is a disaster for so long it never gets fixed. Nobody is going to decide they don’t care any more and just stop showing up. They’ve been at this together a long, long time, and also they’re making an actual show about it that they actually get paid for, and they can take as long to tell the story, and make it whatever story, that they want. It’s a really different kind of energy than any D&D game I ever managed to play, and even different from most shows that never know when the ‘cancel’ hammer might come down from the network.

It’s pretty cool. I like it a lot.

#critical role #yes I am blacklisting that tag #that I just used to tag my own post #NO SPOILERS I AM SERIOUS #driveby meta attack #just can't help myself with the wordspew sometimes #that final Farscape post is still a mess of a draft #so many thoughts #so little time

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side-effect-of-the-meds · 5 years

Note

Is Erin still bipolar in your fem ‘verse? If so, any hcs/fics about that? (Btw so sorry if this is a duplicate, tumblr crashed when I submitted it the first time so I wasn’t sure if it went through :/)

Thanks so much for the ask, love! Y’all ask about some crazy interesting things that I never would have thought about. I feel like this got a bit long but I just really really like talking about Erin. So here you are, little anon!

Idk if bipolar is the correct term for Erin but I think I understand what you’re talking about.

The truth is, Erin has always felt things. She’s just usually really good at hiding it. However, ever since Ania first barreled into her life, Erin’s been having a hard time keeping it together. She used to tell herself that it was a side effect of the meds but some part of her knew the truth

It’s terrifying. A pretty face and a filthy mouth were all it took to shatter the carefully constructed persona Erin had built herself as a defense mechanism.

For the first time in years, Erin wants. I mean really wants. Every time she sees the flash of Ania’s sharp grin she can feel her legs starting to tremble. The foxes usually attribute it to her withdrawal. Those are the only times Erin is thankful for the smokescreen of her drugs. But no. Erin sees Ania out on the court and she can feel her heart wrenching every time she gets slammed against the walls. There’s nothing she can do though. It’s just the way the game is played and she has to stand there, forcing herself through withdrawal while watching her family get pummeled.

It’s always hurt to watch Aaron getting trucked by men far bigger than him but watching Ania face off against men like that makes it feel like there’s someone ripping Erin’s heart out of her chest. She knows what Ania faced back at Millport (if you haven’t read my og post on the girls, Ania is a victim of rape. Some stuff happens while she’s on the run and then Hernandez catches the captain of the Millport team taking advantage of Ania and gets him expelled. It’s the reason why he recommends Ania for the fox line) and she knows that Ania is afraid of men too.

When Erin comes home from Easthaven and finds out about Christmas at Evermore, every single nerve in her body is screaming. She left Ania for one month and came home to find that her junkie spent two weeks getting beaten, bruised, and raped by the same psychotic whore Erin promised to protect her from.

She is fully prepared to fly out to Evermore and kill Fem!Riko herself but Ania insists on breaking her first. As much as she still wants to end Riko, Erin’s want, need, to please Ania is far stronger. If Ania told her to walk off the edge of the roof, Erin would do it. She stuffs her anger deep inside her and tries to piece her apathetic facade back together.

That’s when things start getting too much for her. Seeing Ania working so hard to pretend that Christmas hadn’t happened ends up chipping away even more at her. Erin knows what it’s like to have to shove her past aside. She knows what it’s like to try to forge ahead despite it all. Sometimes Erin catches herself staring at Ania and feeling a deep sense of…. Erin doesn’t know what. Spoiler alert: it’s empathy. Erin is learning to feel empathy. She just doesn’t know how to express it.

And then Ania asks her about sex. She asks how Erin can sleep with Ronnie after everything that she’s been through. The truth is it’s hard. Erin had to shove all her doubts deep down. She had to let herself want and its so hard. That was then, but now? With Ania around, Erin feels like she’s suffocating.

Erin tells her as much. Not the suffocating bit. She’s not ready to admit that bit but she thinks Ania already knows. She’s already told her she’d eat her out. There’s no hiding anymore. She tells her that if she wants to get better, Ania must learn to let herself want. She has to learn to love herself. Erin might never get to love Ania the way she deserves to be loved but she hopes that at least Ania can learn to do it herself.

One thing leads to another and Erin isn’t 100% sure how it got to this point but she finds herself getting the only thing she’s ever truly wanted. She starts spending most nights between Ania’s legs and it’s so much better than she ever imagined. When she sends Ania away so she can finish on her own, she feels so cold. It isn’t just her body that Erin misses, though. Every time Ania leaves, she takes a piece of Erin with her. Erin’s chest feels so cold and empty when Ania’s gone.

Alone in her car, Erin is full of anger. She’s seen the way Kevin winds an arm around her shoulders when the others aren’t watching. She’s seen the way their pinkies intertwine when they walk back to the dorms from class. She’s seen the way Ania buries her face in Kevin’s neck as he carries her, scolding her for nearly blowing her legs out. Erin is just a phase and one day Ania will leave her, or so she believes. Erin spends far too many hours thinking about Kevin and Ania’s exy prodigy children. Tears sting her eyes at the thought of Ania asking her to be the maid of honor at their wedding. Erin drives out to a field in the middle of nowhere and screams at the top of her lungs and cries until she can’t anymore. At practice, she aims her rebounds at Kevin’s head or makes him run the length of the court to fetch the ball.

Her feelings only intensify with each passing day. Baltimore happens and something inside Erin breaks. She’d been hiding her feelings from Ania this whole time. Maybe if she told Ania the truth she’d stop running. Or maybe she’d run faster than ever.

By some miracle, Allison decides to stop being a bitch for once in her life. She convinces the rest of the foxes to leave Ania and Erin alone at the cabin. Erin scowls at Allison sly smirk but thanks the universe for this opportunity.

Erin helps strip Ania and has her lay on the bed. She spends the next two hours kissing, licking, and nipping at every one of Ania’s old scars. She trails feather-light kisses over the new ones and draws patterns across her ruined skin with light fingers. She kisses away the tears streaming down Ania’s face and lavishes her with as much care as she can muster. Erin can not tell Ania she loves her so she pours every ounce of her love into her actions, hoping, praying, that Ania will understand.

She does. Ania matches Erin’s care by kissing over the scars racing up and down her forearms. She runs her hands over Erin’s thighs and lays her head on her stomach because she knows Erin is self-conscious about them.

Letting herself feel these things is simultaneously the best and worst thing Erin could do. In doing so, she released a floodgate of emotions in general.

Following the death of Riko, Erin feels so much more than she thought she could.

She’s still growing accustomed to the love that fills her every time she sees Ania when the others start. She sees Aaron and feels pride welling in her heart. She sees Nicky and feels appreciation flood her senses. She sees Kevin and Allison and is overwhelmed by her admiration for them. When Erin sees Dan, Matt, and Renee she can not deny how grateful she feels knowing what they do for Ania. Wymack is the worst of all. When Erin sees Wymack she feels safe. It’s disorienting. Men have only ever hurt her but his presence soothes a savage part of her soul.

Unfortunately, Erin also discovers a wide range of negative emotions. Anxiety builds whenever her family so much as leaves her line of sight. Jealousy blinds her whenever Katelyn makes Aaron smile, something Erin has never been able to do for her brother. Bitterness cuts through her almost good mood at the thought of having to untangle herself from Ania to get to afternoon practice.

Erin somehow manages to convert them all into the emotion she’s the most well-acquainted with: anger.

Ania bears the brunt of it.

If Erin isn’t directing her anger at an exy ball, she’s channeling it into hurling objects across the room and snapping at whoever dares come near her. Ania is no longer a Wesninski by name but there is no denying that she is her father’s daughter. Of all the things that Ania had inherited from him, his fiery temper had caused her the most trouble.

When Erin snaps at Ania, she can never stop herself from snapping back. Fights between the two are more common than people expect. Wymack, however, is not surprised. The two of them combined have the communication skills of a sack of potatoes. Most of Erin and Ania’s communication is non-verbal. Their emotions manifest in the darting of their eyes, the twitch of their fingers, and their unconscious movements. Blinded by rage, neither of them picks up on the others’ cues, severing all communication between the two.

They make up quickly though. Erin can’t ever stay mad at Ania. Ania can’t ever stay away from Erin.

There are times when things do get too far out of hand.

Stress has been building up in Erin for weeks now. Ania can see it in the tension coiling in Erin’s muscles and the harsh glint in her eyes. She doesn’t know what’s wrong so she simply offers Erin her space. It doesn’t work. If anything, it only riles her up even more. After two and a half weeks of Erin snapping and snarling at everyone around her, Ania caves and decides to take the bull by its horns. She tries to talk to Erin about things that don’t matter but Erin isn’t having it. Ania can feel her blood boiling. She knows that there are times when Erin needs to sort things through on her own but she isn’t even trying this time. She’s just being stubborn. As her anger builds, she starts to slip. Neither of them remembers what exactly Ania said. They just know that one minute Erin was sitting at her desk and the next she had Ania by the collar of her shirt, her other hand raised in a closed fist.

In that moment, Ania forgot who was holding her. She saw only the flash of blonde hair and the fiery glint of hazel eyes.

“Please, Mom! I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I swear,” Ania sobbed. The hand holding Ania’s shirt released its grip and Ania scrambled backward. It took her a few minutes to calm down enough to remember where she was. As she came back to herself, Ania saw who it was that grabbed her.

Erin was standing there, staring at the hand she had raised. Tears streamed down her blank face. “Ania, I-,” she choked.

“Erin? Erin, it’s okay. You didn’t mean to. I know you didn’t mean to” Ania said as she started to crawl back to her. Erin saw Ania moving towards her and stumbled backwards, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe.

“I was going to- I- I was going to hurt you,” she whispered. Erin backed into a corner and slid to the floor. “I was going to hurt you.”

The girls sit in their respective corners, Ania staring at Erin, Erin staring at her still curled fist.

“Erin?” she said softly. Erin pried her eyes off her hand to look at Ania. “Erin, come here.”

“No.”

“Erin-”

“No.”

It takes them another half an hour before either of them move. When they do, Erin grabs her keys and heads for the door. Ania goes next door to find Kevin. She tells him what happened and he looks ready to cry. He ushers her inside and drags his computer out to the living room. They curl up on the couch and watch exy reruns until Ania falls asleep, curled in his arms.

The next morning, Ania returns to her room to find Erin getting ready for morning practice. She refuses to look Ania in the eye. Ania plants herself in her path.

“Erin,” she pleads.

“Stop.” Erin leaves Ania lone in their room. Erin refuses to speak to Ania for the remainder of the week. She crashes at Wymack’s place and he doesn’t pry. On Saturday night, Erin breaks. She tells him about what she did and by the end of it, she’s crying hysterically. She lets him wrap his arms around her and hold her together the way he did after the Binghampton game.

He leaves her wrapped in a blanket on the couch with the t.v. on to make a call. Bee shows up twenty minutes later with Erin’s favorite hot chocolate mix. They spend the next few hours talking about healthy coping mechanisms for stress. They talk about all the emotions Erin’s been feeling and how to manage them.

It takes all the courage Erin can muster to return to the dorms that morning. She opens the door to find Ania laying in Erin’s bed. In her hand, she clutches one of Erin’s sweatshirts. Tear stains mar her face.

“Ania,” Erin says. Her eyes immediately shoot open.

“Erin,” she replies, her voice choked with emotion. Erin knelt down beside the bed and cupped Ania’s face in her hands.

Pressing their foreheads together, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Erin still gets mad sometimes. She still picks fights with Ania but she never bottles her emotions up like that again. It’s not that she cares about emotions eating away at her. No, she just doesn’t ever want to scare Ania like that again.

#just a pipe dream #erin minyard #ania josten #reveal to me your deepest desires #aftg au #tfc au #all for the game au #all for the gay #all for the game #the foxhole court au #the foxhole court #the foxes #the monsters #fem!andreil

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emma-whoisleft · 5 years

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GENERAL INFORMATION ➤

Full Legal Name: Emma Esmé Vanity

Emma = “Whole, universal”

Esmé = “Esteemed, loved”

Vanity = “Excessive pride in or admiration for oneself”

Nickname(s): n/a and don’t even try it Age: 18 Gender & Pronouns: cisgender female; she/her Sexuality: Greyromantic and bisexual with an outward preference for men driven by her traditional values and life plans. Date of Birth: March 27th Horoscope: Aries

Strengths: Courageous, determined, confident, blunt, passionate

Weaknesses: Impatient, moody, short-tempered, impulsive, aggressive

Likes: Comfortable clothes, taking on leadership roles, physical challeng individual sports

Dislikes: Inactivity, delays, work that does not use one’s talents

Hogwarts House: Slytherin Nationality: English on her father’s side; a quarter Moroccan via her mother’s. Emma grew up just outside Yorkshire and is very vocally proud of the region, flawed accents and all.

Occupation:

Emma is currently a student, but she has big plans for her future and no doubt that she’ll be able to accomplish them — which isn’t a surprise to anyone who’s ever met her. Not many seventeen year olds purchase, renovate and successfully run a Quidditch camp as a summer project, and very few others have done simultaneous Ministry internships.

Ultimately, Emma wants to work at the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Magical Games and Sports. This is made easier by the fact that her father is the Vice Head of the department and her godfather is the Head, but she genuinely wants to build her career upon her own merits. She plans to start as a Junior Regulations Analyst with a seat on the International Event Coordination team. Her goals are currently to change the relationship the Ministry has with corporate sponsors and private companies to increase the funding ceiling and strengthen key partnerships.

Then, within five years, her goal is to create her own, new position (Executive Liaison, final title pending!). Through that, she believes she would run her own staff as a department-within-a-department and be the official point of contact for team owners, sponsors, donors, private partner companies – such as her camp and similar programs – and key suppliers of equipment, uniforms, brooms, balls, etcetera.

She plans to use whatever downtown is leftover to work on the Department’s overall public relations strategy and inter-Ministry reputation.

Summarized in One Word: Headstrong

APPEARANCE ➤

Faceclaim: Phoebe Tonkin Height: 5′4″ Hair Color: Brown Eye Color: Brown Noticeable Features: Resting bitch face, and the ability to instill a primal fear in someone with nary a glance.

Typical Outfit or General Fashion Sense: Emma is usually dressed for capital-B Business. her wardrobe consists of black, grey and other neutrals and she opts for simple lines, minimalist looks and the simple intimidation of clear wealth. Streamlined, with hints to reclaimed masculinity; she has more blazers than any eighteen year old should, but she can seriously rock a little black dress, too.

HISTORY ➤

Hometown:

The Vanity family has always have a longstanding history of residing in the North Country of England, on the outskirts of Yorkshire and the Humber. Although grand in scale like most pureblood manors, the inside of the estate is considerably warmer; it features dark-paneled wood instead of marble and walls painted in warmer hues than one might normally see. The untouchable artifacts that one might find in other homes have largely been replaced with Quidditch memorabilia, family photos, and bookshelves.

There is a grande ballroom for throwing events and the foyer is invariably pristine, but the layout contains several dens stocked with comfortable couches, ever-burning fireplaces, and shelves of whiskeys and wines brought up from storage in the basement. Everything is sleek and kept up to a standard of perfection, but the family and all those who lived there before them worked hard to ensure that the place seemed approachable to newcomers. Charms ensure that the house always smells of sharp vanilla, burning wood, and pine.

The grounds feature a lake surrounded by willow trees and a trail that leads through a hedge maze into what used to be a prized garden and have since become home to a miniature Quidditch pitch used by Emma as a child learning to fly; the hoops now stand only as tall as she is, but it remains there as a tribute as the flowers grow back around them.

The home is conveniently located only two miles from the practice grounds of the Appleby Arrows, the former team of Eoin Vanity and a family favorite for the last eight generations.

Financial Status: Upper class Spoken Languages: English, and a little bit of German. Enough to have a conversation, but not enough to consider herself fluent. She’s working on some Arabic, having taken an interest for Antonin and Tazie’s sake. Dream Job: Decision maker of the entire world Bad Habits: Emma will tell anyone who asks that she has none...because of course she will. What she means by this, however, is that she has no "traditional vices” like smoking or drinking. Bad habits, though, she has plenty. Despite holding herself to a strict schedule, she is late for nearly everything. She is also a bit of a packrat; her bag is filled at all times with disorganized papers and lists that make perfect sense to her, and that she won’t just get rid of on the off chance she one day needs them again. She’s also a fairly close-minded person. She’s not curious and prefers to stick to what, who and where she knows best.

FAMILY BACKGROUND ➤

Mother: Yvette Vanity Father: Eoin Vanity (neé Shaper) Sibling(s): n/a Pet(s): n/a Cousin(s): Amycus and Alecto Carrow (second cousins)

MAGICAL ABILITIES ➤

Wand: Alder, 9 ¼ inches, mermaid hair core, inflexible. Information on the core can be found here [x] and here [x]

Patronus (and which memory they’re currently using to cast a patronus if they can, or which one they’d use if they could):

Although she has not yet been successful in casting it, Emma’s patronus would take the form of a camel. Camels are symbolic of perseverance and stamina. People with this patronus are often superbly adapted to their own situation and personal element, but clumsy or inflexible in situations that are unfamiliar. The camel is a symbol of a strong work ethic and a stubborn attitude. While those with a camel patronus are often short tempered with small annoyances, they have almost limitless patience for life’s most difficult hurdles.

Eventually, Emma will use the memory of holding her firstborn son Gus in her arms to cast the most successful patronus she’s ever been personally capable of. For now, her selections oscillate between Quidditch Cup wins, opening day of her camp and her New Years Eve vacation to Russia with Lucinda.

Boggart: An oversized, string-bound marionette doll. At face value, it is a very real fear of hers: dolls have caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up since she was a child. Even as a little girl who had not yet discovered the joys of Quidditch, Emma wouldn’t allow dolls of any sort to be allowed in her playroom– including, to the dismay of her mother, the collection of Victorian-era china dolls that she was supposed to take under her wing. On a deeper level, however, the boggart represents so much more: the fear of not being in control of her actions, of being a puppet of her family, of everything in her life coming with strings attached.

OWLS: Ancient Runes, History of Magic, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Potions, Arithmancy, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures NEWTS: Transfiguration (A), Arithmancy (E), Herbology (E), Defense Against the Dark Arts (E); Charms (E); History of Magic (O); Potions (INCOMPLETE)

What Kind of Magic do They Excel at: (OOC NOTE, this ended up becoming more of a pro/con thing than an ‘excel’ thing, but I like it so I’m keeping it oop)

Emma’s grades have always been stable and in the mid-range. However, she’s always known that her career path leads through to the world of sports somehow and that knowledge is enough to bolster her through any lower points in her academic career.

Nonverbal spells are Emma’s specialty, as she has never been one to show her cards and depends on the elements of mystery and surprise when she’s looking to make an impact. She is heavily guarded when it comes to her arsenal, and so she stared making nonverbal spell-casting a priority. Her constant need for control over situations has lead to her holding her wand too tightly; it makes her wrist movements less fluid than they should be.

Along those same times, the type of magic she is most gifted at is defensive magic, an interest that’s only increased in the current political climate. She can pull a shield, she can deflect, she can make herself a smaller and less easily seen target. It’s not about winning for her; it’s about surviving, just knuckling down and making sure that the crossfire doesn’t decimate her. These spells being largely nonverbal is an added boon for her safety; they draw less attention and can’t be as easily combatted.

Personality wise, Emma is abrasive and that’s a quality that has carried over into her magic; when she tries spells, they are a bit harsher than intended. For instance, she knows a thing or two about first aid spells but if she had to heal a teammate’s broken nose on the pitch, there would be more of a crack to it—and, likely, leftover bruising—than if anyone else had tried.

Outside of dueling/magic situations, when Emma is on the offense, she prefers to do it through soft influence: with her words, with her power over people, through other channels other than violence. She knows her limits as well as the limits of others, and she’s never been able to stomach using violent magic against someone else…not that she’s ever tried, to date.

If she ever did have to make a show of physical power, her years on the Quidditch pitch have given her a predisposition to do it with actual physicality, not her wand. She has no problem smacking an unwelcome hand away or giving a well-placed shove.

In terms of subjects she does NOT excel at, Emma is terrible at cooking and by that same logic she is terrible at potions. She doesn’t have the precision, intuition, or gentle touch for the subject.

PSYCHOLOGY ➤

MB Type: The Logistician

Few personality types are as practical and dedicated as Logisticians. Known for their reliability and hard work, Logisticians are good at creating and maintaining a secure and stable environment for themselves and their loved ones.

Yet Logisticians can be easily tripped up in areas where their practical and methodical approach are more of a liability than an asset. Whether it is finding (or keeping) a partner, learning to relax or improvise, reaching dazzling heights on the career ladder, or managing their workload.

As parents, people with the Logistician personality type are often the most comfortable. Their sense of responsibility and honor blends well with a tradition that has been in place since time immemorial: to raise one’s children to be respected, contributing members of home and society. As with most commitments, Logisticians do not take their roles as parents lightly, and will make it their work to ensure that this tradition is upheld to the highest standard.

Logisticians approach relationships, as with most things, from a rational perspective, looking for compatibility and the mutual satisfaction of daily and long-term needs. Blind dates and random hookups are not Logisticians’ preferred methods for finding potential partners. The risk and unpredictability of these situations has Logisticians’ alarm bells ringing, and being dragged out for a night of dancing at the club just isn’t going to happen.

Logistician friends are not spontaneous. They are not talkative, or particularly playful in their affection. What Logistician friends are is loyal, trustworthy, honorable and dependable. Logisticians are a very methodical personality type, and this loyalty isn’t given away lightly. Often slow to make friends, Logisticians usually end up with a smaller circle, but they consider that circle to represent a promise to be there for the people they care about, and Logisticians’ promises are not easily broken.

When it comes to the workplace, Logisticians are almost a stereotype for the classic hard-working, dutiful employee. In all positions, the Logistician personality type seeks structure, clearly defined rules, and respect for authority and hierarchy. Responsibilities aren’t burdens to Logisticians, they are the trust that has been placed in them, an opportunity to prove once again that they are the right person for the job.

Enneagram: ISTJ [read more]

ISTJs are responsible organizers, driven to create and enforce order within systems and institutions. They are neat and orderly, inside and out, and tend to have a procedure for everything they do. Reliable and dutiful, ISTJs want to uphold tradition and follow regulations.

ISTJs are steady, productive contributors. Although they are Introverted, ISTJs are rarely isolated; typical ISTJs know just where they belong in life, and want to understand how they can participate in established organizations and systems. They concern themselves with maintaining the social order and making sure that standards are met.

+ Perseverance + Planning + Detail Orientation – Stubbornness – Tactlessness – Resistance to change

Moral Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Archetype:

45% Athlete - The Athlete's focus and drive are unparalleled. Staying healthy and being fit are paramount to them (as for winning, that doesn't hurt, either).

44% Royal - When the Royal walks into a room, they command attention. They are the one in charge, and they enjoy reaping the rewards of their hard work.

11% Intellectual - The Intellectual is the ultimate dinner-party guest. Engaging questions and thoughtful debate are their trademarks.

Temperament: Choleric

#tag: inspo #tag: character development #plot prompt friday #***#tag: headcanon

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ssaalexblake · 5 years

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No but the aunts in caos are so brilliantly written like, Zelda’s entire aesthetic and self image is based around being a bad ass bitch, Zelda Spellman? She’ll kill you, she’ll threaten to do something horribly disfiguring to you and you buy it because you know she’d be willing to go through but... In actuality she’s not actually Good at doing it, despite her willingness to throw down at any given moment.

Who is good at it?

Hilda.

Why?

She has to be, actively Because she does Not look or seem like she will be willing to throw down at any moment.

Zelda very much is that bitch she wants you to think she is, she didn’t care about straight up beheading a dude and she was willing to work her way through whoever volunteered to be next, but like... She’s never Really had to be that person who is good at petty revenge.

She was the popular older sister in school with the cool brother Edward (like, probably, she talks about him like he’s an older sibling), she's the Super Devout child of night, she displays herself in ways that align perfectly with the ideal in that culture and actively revels in said culture, until she became a teacher she had quite clearly never been the proper target of actual childish bullying before. She threatens Shirley in response, talks big, but none of her own threats pan out (and tbh, buttoning her lip and eating her familiar's legs isn’t that harsh contextually, i mean, Nick literally staked the weird sisters’ feet to the ground and they’re still fans of him, so i really doubt a little lip buttoning is considered super awful), but Hilda’s ideas? They get Used and they are brutal.

Hilda suggests to Zelda what to do her attempted tormentors, she stands over her and watches to make sure Zelda gets the magic right, too, implying Hilda’s experience and Zelda’s lack of it and that Zelda also acknowledges this fact. Hilda also tries to steer Zelda away from her more eclectic revenge methods to her own, Significantly scarier methods. She also manages to banish a vengeful ghost like it’s child’s play.

Hilda says it in part one to the ghost kids, and when she says her harrowing at zelda’s hands was brutal (gonna assume there were Traditions involved here bc i’ve not seen evidence that zelda’s actually any good at that type of thing when thinking spontaneously), that she’s good at revenge, after all, she’s had the practice where Zelda hasn’t.

Hilda’s not devout, Hilda attended Sabrina’s catholic baptism as a witness, was excommunicated for it and didn’t actually care for religious reasons (it was Inconvenient to not have access to the church when their lives went to hell, but that was about it), Hilda dresses and acts like a bubbly over-loving aunt from one of the Cutesy fairy tales, she does not fit in aesthetically or personality wise into that church, and people react to her because of this and she’s had to learn to be brutal and vindictive and like the type of person you would meet in Grimm’s fairy tales.

Whereas Zelda is content to react to Shirley’s antagonizing with creative magic and threats, Hilda? Hilda straight up murders her. No mercy, no warning, no sympathy or empathy, she fucked with Zelda and will die. Hilda, also, immediately murders a dude who gets handsy with her even though it will pretty much, really, just result in her own death because of exactly who the man was. She stabs the fuck outta satan (so does Zelda tho), decides to perform an exorcism b/c why not right???? Manipulates the shit outta the weird sisters when they have Ambrose, is ruthless enough to just set a demon on those witch hunters and therefore be the Only one present in the entire area unharmed by the hunters at all and like, more badass stuff i’m sure I’ve forgotten.

But honestly, i think the Most indicative thing as to what utter Steel Hilda is that... She’s the one Sabrina actually listens to. Sabrina who has inherited Zelda’s inherent sense of extra-ness and stubbornness, who has every ounce of her biological father’s arrogance and pride and pretty much blithely ignores every directive Zelda emphatically tells her (Like, sometimes Zelda Is being extra and gotta say it, occasionally petty, but equal so to the times she is not, either way, Sabrina does not listen), but... Sabrina seems obedient to Hilda, more worried about her wrath than with any other character on the show, arguably even Satan, sometimes (Before she realises exactly what getting on his bad side can mean, anyway).

And i think that is Incredibly telling to the subtle power dynamics in the family, when Hilda puts her foot down, Sabrina is more likely to actually fall in line and examine her actions. Sabrina is weary of crossing that line in ways she is not even slightly with Zelda, and it is So So So So telling.

I just think this genuinely makes Zelda and Hilda a nuanced display of sisterhood and parenthood than most like, Actual parents on TV. Normally you’re given the hardass parent and and friend parent and that’s it, that’d be the dynamic. But Hilda and Zelda function as both elements simultaneously, frankly making them better parents than most parents on TV too, tbh, even if at the start you think you’re being fed this usual dynamic, the show slowly shows you Zelda’s soft edges and Hilda’s hard as steel edges, while simultaneously giving you the reasons for them to have such characteristics.

and like, i Still can’t believe that the most nuanced character writing i watch at the moment is on the trashy satanic soap opera whose plot i can pretty much guess totally accurately as i go along @ other shows care about character work pls

#caos #i love the aunts SO MUCH #i rlly love that i can SEE sabrina was raised by them in sabrina's character but Also her bio parents too??? kids in shows almost are #never noticable products of their parents and that's so ridiculous #hilda spellman #zelda spellman #i love them so much lol #i love that zelda talks big AND means big but isn't actually super Good at being so #i love that hilda does not talk big but is INcredibly good at being a hardass #they are Such sisters #so much more similar than u think at first glance

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hencethebravery · 5 years

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TITLE: Bad Vibes (1/1)

SUMMARY: Emma had tried to forget about her time with Neal for years, so it comes as something of a nasty shock when she suddenly finds herself unable to take a quick ride in her own car without thinking about all the unfortunate, emotionally traumatizing sex she’s had in it.

NOTES: For @stardustednymph for the Hub Secret Santa! I profusely apologize about the lateness of this. It had started out as one thing, and then became something entirely different after engaging in some life-changing conversation with @justanotherwannabeclassic and @distant-rose. I hope you like it! xo

This is a canon-divergent fic that takes place sometime during that S4 hiatus where most of us can agree Emma and Killian boned for the first time. As such, there is some mild sexual content.

Rather predictably (and not without a somewhat inevitable feeling of frustration), Emma Swan was one of those people who had never put much stock in the notion of “vibes.” She had a “freaking superpower,” according to Ruby, which allowed her to suss out the truth about people, but as soon as Ruby suggested that the same might be true of certain places, Emma had chuckled, as if it was some unheard of thing.

“Man, you can be the absolute worst sometimes, do you know that?”

Ruby often spoke in vaguely mean, hyperbolic jest; all the same, it could occasionally needle Emma, as she was, admittedly, one of the most sensitive assholes on the planet, and should anyone discover the truth she would, almost certainly, lose all physical form and melt back into the earth as God intended.

“Considering the fact that my ‘superpower’ has a near 100% success rate, I tend to think it’s more reliable than whatever you’re talking about.”

“Ya know, like, energy,” Ruby continues, attempting to drunkenly elaborate, “sometimes you just walk into a place and—” shuddering, “...you just know something fucked up happened there.”

“Do you?” Emma asks, both inebriated and skeptical in equal measure.

“Yes, bitch!” Ruby laughs, giving Emma a light punch to the shoulder. “It’s a thing. I swear.”

In the harsh light of painful, sobering day, she could silently admit to herself, that yeah, maybe Ruby had something like a point. Especially when she considered all those foster homes she’d been dumped in—those thin, foul-smelling mattresses she had slept on in miserable, state-funded orphanages.

Who slept here before me, she’d think, her small, frightened mind reeling. Were they scared? Were they here long? And would they, she anxiously wondered, pass their bad luck on to me?

The older and more stubborn Emma grew, the more her belief changed from, “I’m cursed, it’s hopeless” to, “Life is chaos, I’m gonna do whatever the hell I want and screw the rest.” So she did have to admit, somewhat reluctantly, that at one point in her life she had been something of a believer. When you’re a kid, the idea that the universe might have a plan for you could be comforting, but as an adult it just made you kind of angry and helpless, and if there was one thing Emma absolutely despised, it was helplessness.

“Do you think that a place can feel a certain way?”

Emma loved the diner when it was empty. Granny had, thankfully, after a very irritating half-hour grumbling about wanting to go to bed, given Emma the key and told her to lock up when they were done (not without a pointed and frankly, unnecessary, raise of her eyebrow). She relished the lack of eyes in her proximity; the idea that most of the town was asleep, that it was just her, Killian, and the soft sound of their voices.

“I rather tend to think so,” he replies after a moment’s silence, “why do you ask, love?”

“Just something Ruby said the other day.”

“Ah,” he says with a knowing smirk, “she can be a rather… creative woman, can she not?”

“It’s just—” she starts, trying to find the right words to explain her own muddled thoughts, which seem to have become more and more contradictory these days. “How is it that I could see, and—and know about so many improbable… things and still find it within myself to be so… so—”

“Stubborn?” he interrupts, still with the grin she simultaneously adored and despised.

“Ugh,” she groans, smacking a hand over her eyes (and hopefully her flushed cheeks).

“None of that now, Swan,” he says gently, tugging her hand away from her face, “you are far too hard on yourself.”

“You’d just think I’d have gotten over myself by now.”

“While I might not know precisely what she said, I suppose I can hazard a guess,” he surmises, taking a healthy sip of his coffee.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Clearly.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, her heart growing lighter in the face of his indomitable optimism when it came to her. Lord knows he had a dark streak, but should she ever dare to fall down the rabbit hole herself, it was as if he became temporarily possessed by Snow White Brain (if not without a healthy dose of reality that she treasured).

“You’re an obstinate woman to be sure,” he begins with a touch more sincerity, “but never let it be said that it was one of the things to dislike about you.”

Finding the prospect of gracefully accepting a compliment too daunting, she could only scoff. “You mean there are things to dislike about me?”

“Swan.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she blushes, pushing some errant hairs behind her ear. “I just can’t help but think that I’m making things harder than they need to be.”

“Well—”

“Shut. Up.”

In a manner befitting a man as absurdly eloquent as Killian, he allows their mutual laughter to dissolve before blindsiding her with a more serious comment, her name falling off his tongue with a stern gentleness.

“Emma, any halfway intelligent person would be able to understand why. It’s not shocking that you might be slow to act in matters of faith.”

“Even after all this time?”

“What, two years, Swan? If that?”

She shrugs. Like Ruby, she knew that he had a point, logically, and in contrast to the first 28 years of her life, it hadn’t been that long since she had learned about this whole other world; this whole other life, but she couldn’t turn off the part of her brain that was insisting otherwise—the part that kept replaying Ruby’s throwaway comment over and over again.

“Hey,” he says softly, his hand coming to rest atop hers, “try not to fret, Swan, you’ll get there.”

“Promise?”

He sits back, a finger running back and forth across his chest. “Cross my heart, darling.”

With her multiple insecurities momentarily quelled, she was finally able to focus on the topic of places and how they “felt.” Granted, most of the places in town were relatively new to her, and she wasn’t planning on going back to her apartment in Boston anytime soon, which left her with one conceivable “place” in which she might test Ruby’s theory. Arguably once considered to be her home, her car had seen more of her life than most people, and as she sat in the driver’s seat one particularly cold morning, her lips turning blue waiting for the heat to kick in, she found herself thinking of only one, miserable thing: She’d had truly regrettable sex with Neal in this car.

Her brain couldn’t be counted on for much, but at least it could be relied upon to obsess on one seemingly inconsequential detail until she felt physically sick about it. It was becoming nearly impossible to drive a few minutes to the store without thinking about her ill-advised sexcapades in the back or front seat of her car. She’d been intimate with other people aside from Neal, but considering how important he was to the story of her life—the amount of pain he ultimately caused, it was those particular trysts that seemed to have indefinitely baptized the thing in her mind.

Killian’s shoved half a glazed donut into his face when she says it.

“So, I’m pretty sure my car has bad sex vibes.”

He coughs, as elegantly as he can, obviously, and spares her a droll look of surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“Remember when were talking about how places can feel a certain way?” She pauses, maybe he needs more of a reminder. “I had a... mild existential crisis?”

“...Sure.”

“I was thinking about it and I think my car might be one of those things.”

“Do you mean to tell me you were able to… in that… contraption? My God, Swan, the sheer… agility that would require.”

Was he being serious? “You’re a pirate.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Clearing her throat, she feels herself begin to fidget and wonders if she hasn’t gone horribly wrong somewhere. “Anyway, you can, and I have, and it was with Neal, multiple times, and now it’s the only goddamn thing I can think about.”

It’s only after she’s brought it up that she feels mild regret. After all, they’ve both refrained from engaging in that particular act themselves, and now here she is, talking about sex with her problematic ex. They are friends, right? They can talk about stuff like this.

At his silence, she flushes, tugs her sleeves over wrists. “Sorry, if that makes you uncomfortable, I just—yeah.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I just, um, I don’t, uh—”

For someone who often struggled to keep his thoughts to himself, it was somehow both worrying and charming that he seemed to be so at a loss for what to say. Probably struggling with not wanting to suggest or imply sex with him, while also being sensitive to the possibility that it’s not an appropriate conversational segue and if anyone is going to be mentioning sex-having in this relationship it should be her, and the poor guy can’t even seem to finish the donut he’d been so excited to eat only moments before.

“I know that you probably have some gentlemanly idea in your head of how… ‘us,’ will be,” her words come out in a rush, and she is aghast at the sudden onset of loudmouth bravery she seems to be conjuring, “but I really need to get this car thing taken care of. I have too much going on to not be able to drive my car.”

He looks somewhat offended, which, rightfully so. “How romantic, Swan.”

“No, that’s not—” she tugs on her hair, suddenly not so proud of the straightforwardness she had just miraculously exhibited. “I promise that’s not the only reason, I want to take that step with you, but ya know, we’re not like… blushing virgins. It doesn’t need to be…”

“...Special? Again, Swan, never have I felt so spectacularly wooed.”

This was not going the way she had intended, and with every word that passes through her lips she feels herself sinking further and further away from the point, which is that—

“The Bug is important to me. You’re important to me. I want one of the few places I’ve called mine to be… mine.”

A gentle look of understanding finally crosses his features and she breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Of the many traits she’s come to admire about Killian Jones, his ability to translate unintelligible Emma speak is one of her very favorites.

They make the somewhat treacherous journey to a small clearing that overlooks the town. Not many people know of it, and she feels confident that they won’t be stumbled upon in one of the absolutely nosiest towns on the planet. It’s a bit difficult to get started at first, not that lack of passion was ever one of their problems, but the whole idea of driving somewhere specifically to do it creates all kinds of awkward roadblocks to the moment itself.

It’s only after she’s climbed into his lap and accidentally tapped the horn with her foot that they manage to laugh and forget about any lingering awkwardness that comes naturally with first times. She thanks God and whomever else might be listening that he’s modernized his wardrobe, if only for the fact that getting him out of leather pants in such a small space was unimaginable.

Her heart races in a pleasant way she had forgotten was possible, and despite the fact that she can recall this kind of agile maneuvering being easier as a younger person, she can’t remember it being quite this good. Clumsiness and all.

By some miracle of physiology she does manage to speak while he’s still inside of her, which is, given the impending orgasm she’s about to have, astounding.

“N-not as difficult as you were imagining, Captain?”

And, Jesus, she needs to start exercising more. She should not be this breathless. What kind of overcome, fairytale princess is she? There’s a slight lift of his hips in response, and she curls her fingers tighter, somehow, into the fabric of his leather-clad shoulders.

“Not quite so,” breathing the words against her neck, his own fingers applying a bit more pressure to the bare skin of her waist.

In the fleeting slowness before she’s totally lost her senses, she manages to open her eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of the empty backseat—impossibly neat, when years before it had been filled with blankets, canned goods, spare cash—Neal. It seems to her a vision, a brief moment of clarity in which she watches the dregs of her home; her youth, disappear. She realizes, with the smell of Killian overwhelming her every thought, the feel of his hand on her skin, that she has somehow forgotten what Neal had felt like, and suddenly her past is precisely that. Past.

“Alright?” he whispers, his hand coming up to give her neck a tender squeeze.

“Better,” she answers, sleepy and smiling, wondering in the back of her head if she can convince him to be a little less chivalrous for the moment and finish. She’s actually surprised at herself, most of the time she couldn’t really be bothered either way. But he knows what she means to say before she says it, he says what she needs to hear before she even realizes she needs to hear it, and never in her life has she been made to feel this precious—not to be that person, but… if she were to need a metaphor, she imagines it’d have to be something along the lines of treasure hunting, which feels lazy, but it’s not as if she’s ever claimed to be a poet.

She moves, rising and falling, pulling his ear lobe between her teeth, and she feels his chivalry slip with a satisfying gasp.

“So, you might’ve had a point.”

Unlike Killian, Ruby rather inelegantly chokes on the frozen margarita she’s been rapidly sucking through her straw as if someone was about to steal it from her.

“Uh… about?”

“How places have certain vibes.”

“Oh?” Ruby asks, looking unbearably smug, “What changed your mind?”

“I don’t know,” she answers innocently, her mind straying to fogged up windows and stiff necks. “I just gave it some thought and decided that maybe you weren’t full of total shit.”

“Wow, thank you so much for your generosity, Emma. I’m sure that was very hard for you.”

The two of them laugh, and drink, and Emma is reminded once again of how grateful she is to have friends. To have a night out. To have a home to go back to, and a warm bed to sleep in. She thinks about the yellow Bug parked outside—all of its lovely dents and scratches; it’s small imperfections that have led her here, to this place, and these people. And now, when she looks in the rearview mirror it’s not the pangs of first love she feels, but the warm, blossoming hope of the future.

#ouat ff #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan #cs: shit is breathtaking bro #@hencethewriter #i can't believe i managed #to squeeze out another cs fic #legit incredible #anyway never forget #emma is a mess and i love her

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