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goldentournesol · 3 years

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The Receptionist and the Profiler (Six)

Chapter Six: Lifted Burdens

(Spencer Reid x f!Reader)

Series Masterlist

General Masterlist

The word reverberated around her brain for days after she heard it. Her brain was mocking her and she knew it.

Girlfriend. Girlfriend. My girlfriend.

Over and over again.

A heartbroken Y/N went home that day to an extremely livid Penelope. Y/N was the one calming her down instead of the other way around.

“How could he be so stupid?! I mean, he’s a genius, but he’s still the stupidest person I’ve ever met! Oh my God, I’m gonna kill him! A girlfriend?! He’s out of his mind!”

And although Y/N agreed with every single word Penelope’d said, there was little she could do about it now. She had shown Ashley around just like she had with every other new agent. It would have been a lot easier to hate her if she wasn’t so...nice. You know, even though her father was a serial killer and all.

She was so normal. And Spencer seemed happy around her. That’s all she could ever ask for, right? So why was it still so painful every time the three of them were in a room together? Why was avoiding all the team members’ apologetic stares as they witnessed a moment between the couple turning into a sport? Well, she knew exactly why, but she didn’t really want to give that thought the time of day.

Derek was almost as livid as Penelope when he’d learned of the new relationship. It took everything in his power to not chew Spencer out.

Spencer, on the other hand, was convinced that this was the only way he’d ever get to get over Y/N. Besides, she’s married now, what’s everyone so upset for? Is his happiness too much to ask for? Although, he did find it odd that Y/N wasn’t wearing rings on any of her fingers. He would have thought that a newlywed wife would have been much more excited to show off her ring. It was also quite strange to hear that Anderson transferred to a different unit. But he stopped himself from thinking about her too much anyway. Stopped himself from thinking about how much her eyes stopped twinkling as much as they used to. Or how her smile always seemed a little less bright than he was used to.

Stop, Spencer. You have Ashley now. He reminded himself.

Ashley was a nice girl. They’d met a few times before they began dating. He first met her when Rossi took him to the Academy to speak with some of the recruits who were interested in joining the BAU. Then, after that, he’d ran into her while he was guest-lecturing at her university. She’d been taking extra classes to get her degree faster and ever since then, they’d kept in contact. They’d met again while Spencer was on his medical leave. He had practically begged Rossi to take him to any lectures. Despite being a homebody through and through, Spencer had had enough of sitting at home waiting for his knee to heal. He needed to get out of the house and do something. Ashley had been the one to suggest a date and Spencer was shocked to say the least, but he accepted. Who was he to deny a pretty girl a date when the love of his life was already married?

Coming back to work was exciting to say the least, even if he wasn’t authorized to go into the field yet. The rest of the team still had to go though, which made the bullpen kind of eerily quiet.

He tried to spend most of his time in Garcia’s batcave to be able to be a part of any video calls with the team, despite the fact that Garcia could barely look at him without wanting to crush the rest of his bones (it’s all in the name of love, she swears). Him being in Garcia’s cave made it practically impossible for Y/N to go in there as often as she normally would. She’d normally spend her entire breaktime with her, they’d chat, eat, and watch kitten videos on repeat. But now Dr. Genius was occupying her space there and it left Y/N sulking out in the empty bullpen.

Now, Spencer wasn’t completely oblivious to the way the team was acting around him. He’d noticed a decrease in Penelope’s affectionate terms, he’d noticed Derek’s disapproving stares, even JJ was being short with him. Maybe it had something to do with him dating the new agent.

“Hey, Garcia?” Spencer asked from his seat next to her, he was currently going over a case file as she sorted through VICAP.

“Yes, Reid?” She asked, obviously not paying attention.

“Do you guys um, not like Ashley or something?” He asked tentatively, fiddling with his pen between his fingers. That got her attention because she turned in her chair and looked at him.

“What gave you that idea?” She asked with signature Garcia concern.

Spencer shrugged and pursed his lips together, “I don’t know, you’ve all just been acting super weird since I got back and every time I’m with her around you guys it’s super awkward.”

He saw Garcia take a deep breath and she slumped her shoulders, “No, Reid, we do like her a lot. I guess you can say we just weren’t expecting it. I mean, you’d just gotten shot and then came back with a girlfriend, it was kind of...surprising.”

“Why is it so surprising? Is it so surprising that someone actually finds me interesting?” Spencer almost scoffed, that had come out way meaner than he’d intended.

“No, of course that’s not what I meant, you know that!” She exclaimed, tears already threatening her eyes, “It’s just...we all thought it would...y’know, take you a while to get over Y/N.” She tiptoed around what she really wanted to say. Spencer held back a roll of his eyes.

“Well, I am. So...so you can all stop being so weird. Besides, what does it matter how long it takes me to get over her? She’s married now, remember?” Spencer said, not even trying to hide the bitterness behind his voice.

Garcia’s face drained of all emotion all at once, “What?”

Spencer analyzed her expression before shrugging, “What?” He asked, feeling like he was missing something.

Suddenly, she began laughing in disbelief, “No, no, no. There’s no way.”

Spencer’s impatience and irritability grew, “What are you talking about?”

“Spencer! Y/N has been living with me for the past 3 weeks, you big idiot! I’m not saying anything more to you. You need to be talking to her right now, not me.” He felt as though his brain took ages to process what she’d told him.

“What...why would she be living with you?” He asked, his brain raking through all the possibilities. Garcia shook her head and refrained from speaking to him for the rest of the day. The dread set in as he realized.

He’d only seen Y/N at her desk whenever he had to leave the batcave for something. Most times she’d just send him a polite smile but they rarely engaged in any conversation. Her energy has been cut in half lately.

Near the end of the day, Spencer trudged all the way to the kitchenette on his crutches to make himself a fresh cup of coffee. While reaching up to grab his mug, he tried to balance on his crutches but was still very wobbly. The result of his wobbliness was a shattered mug on the floor of the BAU’s kitchenette. Spencer winced at the sound and sighed a deep sigh.

He heard quick footsteps to where he was, “Is everything okay? Are you hurt?” Y/N stood in front of him, taking in the scene. He hadn’t heard her voice in days, it was the closest thing he’d felt to relief hearing from her again.

“I-I’m okay, I just dropped a mug while trying to make a cup of coffee.” He huffed frustratedly, upset that his mobility was compromised.

“Spence, next time you can just ask me or something--or someone else, it doesn’t have to be me, but I mean, I don’t mind doing it, if you asked.” She stumbled lightly on her words, cheeks reddening. Spencer smiled in response and nodded, touched at her kindness, “Now, step back and let me help you clean this up before someone gets hurt.”

Spencer took a step back, the feeling of guilt overwhelming him as he watched her pick up the pieces and sweep the floor, “I’m sorry...about that. You didn’t have to help me out, thank you.”

Her face cracked a smile and Spencer felt the hunch in his shoulders loosen slightly, “Come on, it’s really nothing. How’s the um, knee?” She pointed slightly as she brought down another mug and began to fill it with coffee for him.

He sighed, “It’s not great. It hurts sometimes, like a lot, but it could have been worse I guess.” He shrugged, unable to keep his eyes off her captivating face. If he thought the science of reading microexpressions was interesting, reading her face was on a whole other level.

“I’m sorry, Spence, I really hope you feel better soon.” She spoke while adding the perfect amount of cream and sugar. He could tell that there was something weighing on her heavily as she seemed to drift further away as she watched the swirls of the cream dance in the mug.

“Thanks, Y/N/N. Um, what about you? Are you okay?” He asked, noting the way she immediately snapped back into shape almost as if she’d been caught slipping. Her facade was back on as if it hadn’t slipped for a nanosecond.

“Yeah! I’m great.” She smiled, not meeting his eyes, Spencer was about to ask about her current living situation when she spoke quickly, not leaving a pause, “How about I walk this back to your desk for you?”

“Um, you don’t have to do that. I can take it.” Spencer frowned, feeling already guilty enough.

She giggled slightly, purposefully glancing at both his hands wrapped around his crutches, “Got a third hand I don’t know about, Spence?”

Spencer grinned in defeat, realizing what she meant, “Right…” He sheepishly began to walk back to his desk, is Garcia needed him she would call. She set the cup down and flashed him a smile before turning around and walking right back to her desk where she stood for a few seconds as if contemplating something then continued on in the direction of Garcia’s office.

“Garcia...I did something bad.” She confessed sheepishly stepping into the office and closing the door behind her, feeling somewhat like a child who hadn’t followed instructions.

Garcia turned around in her chair, “Oh no, sweets, what happened?”

“I talked to him…” She flopped down onto the chair next to Garcia’s and pouted. Garcia couldn’t hide her smile and shook her head.

“And…?” Garcia looked expectantly at her.

“I don’t think I can ever get over him, Pen.” She suddenly frowned, picking at a frayed thread on her skirt.

“Well it’s not gonna happen overnight, sugarplum. Tell you what, why don’t we have a girls night out when the team gets back tonight. Maybe you could get a little lovin’.” Garcia added suggestively but Y/N rolled her eyes and huffed playfully in response.

“Yes to girls night, no to getting any “lovin’”, I don’t think my heart can physically handle anything else.”

“Ughh, alright. But um...there’s something you should know…” Garcia began.

“What is it?” Y/N pushed.

“So...you know how Reid is a certified genius and stuff...yeah...he’s quite possibly the most obtuse man I’ve ever met.” Garcia spoke.

“Yes, we know this, what is it, Pen?” Y/N asked, growing more impatient and anxious.

“I found out today that he had absolutely zero clue that you called off the wedding.” She said.

“What do you mean? How did he not know?” Y/N almost laughed at the absurdity.

“I guess no one told him. I think we all got so caught up with him getting shot that no one told him. Y/N, I’m telling you, up until 1:22 pm today, he thought you were married to Grant Anderson.” Y/N almost grimaced at the mention of her almost-husband.

“Well, what good is it now, he’s got little miss Ashley, who, by the way, IS NOT invited to girls’ night.”

But she was, of course she was. But it wasn’t just her, oh no, the entirety of the BAU had invited themselves out.

Everyone was stuck in their own little conversations around the table and Y/N felt like the odd one out. She looked up from her glass to see Rossi and Hotch deep in conversation, Derek and Penelope were in the middle of a story to which Emily and JJ were listening intently, and finally, the cherry on top, sitting directly across from her, was Spencer and his precious Ashley sitting practically glued at the hip with his arm around her shoulders. This was supposed to be a girls’ night out, and here Y/N was, feeling as miserable and insignificant as ever.

“I’ll be right back.” She said to no one in particular as she got up from the table, not that anyone noticed or heard. Spencer caught her leaving out of the side of his field of vision but Ashley quickly began telling him another story. Y/N had almost made it out of the bar when a familiar voice stopped her.

“Y/N, hey!” She turned to see none other than Anderson himself, looking quite put together and smiling very largely at her.

“Hey! Um, you out here too?” She smiled awkwardly and looked around for his friends.

“Yeah, came out for drinks with the guys from the White Collar Crimes division. Hey, you should come say hi.” He nodded his head towards a table full of men. Y/N glanced back at her table and saw that no one was looking for her so she shrugged and agreed.

She sat at the table and they all immediately brought her into the conversation, which made her mood lift significantly.

Had Grant always been this funny? She thought. As the guys settled down after their stories, Grant turned to Y/N.

“Can I get you a drink?” He offered nicely and she thought about it. She spent 11 years with this man, what could one drink possibly do?

As they sat at the bar and chatted, Y/N noticed that Grant was being extra gentlemanly and just...nice.

“So, yeah, this is my life now.” He tilted his beer at the table they were at previously.

“They’re really nice guys, I’m glad you’re happy at work.” She smiled and nodded. Grant smiled back and studied her for a moment.

“Um, so...I was wondering...I mean, do you...are you still sure about all this?” He gestured between them, “It’s just that we get on so well and I um, really wouldn’t mind doing it all over again for you.” He ended his sentence with a genuine smile.

Y/N’s smile faltered from a grin to a sad smile, her eyes flitting across the bar to look for Spencer, who had been keeping a close eye on her since she left in case she was in trouble. Their eyes met for a moment but nothing longer.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” She nodded with finality. Grant followed her eye-line and felt some jealousy stirring up inside.

“Wait--is this all about Reid?” Grant stared at her incredulously.

“What?! No! Of course it isn’t. We weren’t working out, I already told you.” She defended quickly, but Grant was unconvinced. He gave her a look and she avoided his eyes, “Me and Spencer are just friends, I promise. We kissed like, once, it didn’t even mean anything.”

“You kissed? When?!” Grant’s eyes immediately filled with rage, looking across the bar.

“It doesn’t matter, look, can we just step outside for a second, get some fresh air?” She tried to reason with him but before she knew it, Grant was out of the bar stool and marching his way over to the BAU’s table. Y/N followed him quickly, trying to minimize any damages.

“REID!” Grant yelled in the small bar, quickly alerting all the agents. Spencer’s worried eyes flitted to Y/N’s.

In one swift motion, Grant lunged forward to attack a still-seated Spencer, eliciting a frightened yelp from Ashley next to him.

But thankfully, Derek was much quicker than Grant and effectively took him down yelling, “What the hell is wrong with you, man?”

Hotch and Rossi visibly relaxed upon watching Derek drag a livid Grant outside the bar. Mortified, Y/N grabbed her things and ran out, unable to meet any of their eyes. She flagged a cab and tried to stop the sobs from tumbling out of her.

Needless to say, the next month was the most awkward month she’d ever been through. Anderson was lucky he’d only been suspended without pay and not actually arrested for attempted assault of an FBI agent. She was downright mortified after what had happened at the bar and had fully retreated into herself, having finally moved out into her own apartment. Her pickiness ended when she realized she couldn’t stay with Garcia anymore.

Even JJ had tried multiple times to set her up with one of Will’s friends, but Y/N always refused. Invites to bar nights were turned down and ignored. Her days consisted of waking up, going to work, coming back home, pretending to unpack but in reality avoiding it and ending up sitting on the couch with a pint of ice cream. The entire team felt for her, but Spencer especially felt for her as well as felt like an absolute moron. Not about what had happened at the bar, he didn’t really care if Anderson had beat him up, maybe he deserved it for making her feel this way.

He watched curiously from his desk as Derek and Penelope walked through the glass doors of the BAU and stood at her desk. Penelope placed a heavy cookie tin on the raised part of the receptionist’s desk, the sound making Y/N look up from her computer.

“Morning, lil’ mama.” Derek grinned at her.

“Morning, D. Hey, Pen. What are you two up to?” Y/N’s gaze shifted between them suspiciously, “And what’s this?” She referred to the cookie tin.

“Oh, you know, just your favorite homemade chocolate chip cookies.” Garcia said with a smile. She watched as Y/N’s face lit up and immediately reached for the tin but Penelope held it securely.

“Uh-uh-uhh,” Derek taunted with a smirk.

“What? Why can’t I have the cookies?” Y/N huffed.

“These, my love, are a bribe and I’m not afraid to admit it.” Penelope said with a dramatic upturn of her chin.

“Oh no.” Y/N said.

“Oh yes.” Derek and Penelope both said. When Y/N rolled her eyes and was about to refuse, Penelope opened the top of the tin and Y/N took a peek and was hit by a whiff of heavenly chocolate chips.

“Fine, I will listen to your offer, but no promises.” She tried to stay strong even though the scent of the cookies was already driving her mad.

“We thought you might say that, which is why the entire tin is the bribe.” Derek said smoothly and Y/N’s jaw dropped.

“That is low, chocolate thunder!” She exclaimed and Spencer unwillingly smiled at her reaction.

“Anyway, you get this entire tin of cookies IF you agree to come to Rossi’s tonight.” Penelope offered and Y/N paused to think about it.

“I don’t know, Pen…” Y/N began.

“Come on, pretty girl, we miss you. You haven’t been out in ages.” Derek tried. Y/N’s heart pulled in her chest, maybe she did miss them too.

“Alright, fine, fine! I’ll come.” Y/N crossed her arms, trying to hide her smile as Derek and Penelope celebrated with a hug and a cheer, “Now, give me these!” She stood and grabbed a cookie, quickly taking a bite and visibly melting back into her chair from the taste.

“See? I told you that would work. No one can say no to my cookies.” Penelope whispered to Derek as they separated to begin their days.

She finally got some motivation to empty her bags and boxes when she returned to her apartment. It was mainly because she had to look for an appropriate outfit to wear. Ever since she’d moved, she’d been picking out her work clothes and pajamas from her suitcases, rewearing all the blouses and skirts that don’t need ironing, but it’s time to start taking care of herself again. Perhaps she felt like the clothes she was wearing didn’t belong to her anymore, she decided that she’d take herself shopping soon. After a relaxing shower, she picked out a black satin blouse and tucked it into a pair of fitting blue jeans.

Arriving at Rossi’s, she took a deep breath before ringing the bell.

“Ciao, bella!” Rossi graciously greeted, hugging her tightly, “We’re all so glad you could make it. Come on in, dinner is almost ready.” Rossi’s warm greeting eased the anxiety that bubbled in her chest. She was also greeted warmly by everyone in the room when she walked in. Penelope pulled her to sit next to her immediately.

“You look stunning!” Penelope complemented, making Y/N blush.

“I agree, you are looking hot as hell, mama.” Derek chipped in, making her laugh.

“Oh, hush, you two.” Y/N rolled her eyes and accepted the glass of wine that Emily offered her. She sipped on the wine, glancing at Spencer over the rim of the glass. He caught her eye and sent her a small smile. Y/N sent him a small one back before feeling herself shut down as everyone around her started conversations. She hadn’t noticed just how much she depended on Spencer for conversation in outings with the BAU until his attention was taken away. He would always stick to her side but now he had someone else’s side to stick to. With no Anderson and no Spencer, she really had to fend for herself. All night, she felt this indescribable weight on her shoulders. She did everything to try to get rid of it.

Soon, one glass of wine with dinner turned into two, then somehow turned into two rounds of whiskey. Before she knew it, she was up dancing with Derek and Penelope in the middle of the garden. They all had migrated into the backyard after dinner, where most people were chatting and eating dessert.

“Spencer, are you listening to me?” Ashley’s voice cut through Spencer’s daze.

“I’m sorry, what?” Spencer turned to her, he’d been caught up watching them dance, secretly wishing it was him she was grabbing onto for support instead of Derek. If it wasn’t for his damn knee, he would have joined them in dancing.

“I asked you if you wanted another slice of cake.” Ashley said, with a small smile on her face. She was nice, but she wasn’t her.

“Oh, no thanks, I’m good.” He shook his head and reverted his attention to the dancing trio. She was finally smiling, he hadn’t seen her smile that wide in so long. Her laugh was heard across the garden and somehow it seeped right into Spencer’s bloodstream. The familiar feeling of jealousy creeped up on Spencer as he watched her twirl herself in and out of Derek’s arms.

“See? Aren’t you glad you came out tonight?” Derek smiled as she twirled back against his chest.

She nodded and smiled, a tad bit too tipsy, “Yeah, I guess.”

Penelope grinned and pulled her away from Derek, “Alright! Quit hogging her, I wanna dance with her too!” Y/N laughed and wrapped her arms around Penelope, burying her face in her shoulder.

“Thank you for everything, Pen.” They swayed and Penelope squeezed her harder.

“Anytime, sugarplum.”

“Alright, I’m just about beat. I need some dessert.” Y/N said, pulling back and dragging them both to where everyone was.

While eating dessert, she watched as Spencer continued to converse with Ashley and felt her blood boiling beneath her skin. Or maybe that was the alcohol, she wasn’t sure. It was like a cloak of clarity cascaded upon her. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of everyone and speaking loudly, loud enough to halt the ongoing conversations. With her eyes on Spencer, she only ever had her eyes on Spencer.

“Spencer, I called off my wedding because of you. And now we’re not even friends. You were my best friend, the closest person to me. I don’t know what happened, but I miss you. I don’t want things to ever be this weird between us again. And--and I shouldn’t have been with Grant, I know that. There were so many reasons not to marry him, but the truth is I was ready to ignore every single one until I met you. I asked myself why I waited so long to get married and I thought I just wasn’t ready but I knew I didn’t want him,” she paused to swallow, her tears blurring her vision, “I want you. And now you’re with someone else, and that’s fine. She’s wonderful and she makes you happy and that’s fine,” A few tears escaped and she realized what she was doing, “and I think I’m drunk and I shouldn’t be driving home so if someone could drop me off that would be great.” She dropped her plate on the table and quickly made it inside, leaving a group of agents completely stunned.

And just like that, the weight she’d grown so accustomed to seemed to dissipate from its place on her shoulders.

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

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Utakata Hanabi

Prompt: Festival | AO3 link here. Connect with me on Twitter. Happy SS Month everyone! 🌸🍅🥗 @ssskmonth

Funny how things change over time – from Uchiha Sasuke, youngest heir among the biggest clan in Konohagakure, most handsome, the brightest, the one with highest potential to Uchiha Sasuke, the traitor.

It has become difficult to stay beside Haruno Sakura, the girl who bugged him to no end at the academy but now the world-renowned medical ninjutsu specialist, the peak flower of the Hidden Leaf Village, the most beautiful and the strongest but also the woman he loves.

Her admirers flock daily to the village’s hospital where she is the head of medical corps, and to her and Ino’s newly established mental facility. These so-called patients have a unique array of illnesses which often end up with a scolding prescription rather than a real medical certificate. He wonders if he deserves to monopolize her affections.

These thoughts stay with him even if she spends nights in his state-sanctioned apartment, her steady breaths against his chest, and her hair splayed between his fingers, even if she prepares him bento boxes for lunch as he gets ready to spend the whole day briefing the council of elders of his missions, even if she kisses him in the shower before leaving. No one knew they were even together. This is a burden he had to carry – the stigma of his name, the inability of society to forgive, the consensus that he doesn’t belong.

And so it catches him off guard when Sakura brings up the summer festival. “I already picked out a fabric for my yukata. It’s so pretty I don’t want it to go to waste.” She bats him with her puppy eyes impression – her emerald irises jumping at his defenses.

“Sakura,” he starts as he reaches for her hands on the couch. “I want to but you know how it is.”

“And you know how I don’t care about any of that, right?” She looks at their intertwined fingers, and she blushes, quite not used to with their intimacy although they are already quite far in that particular journey. “I just want to see the fireworks…together.”

“We can see the fireworks together. They’re on the same sky anyway.”

Sakura lifts her fingers away from his grasp. “I’ve spent countless summers watching them alone. Now you’re here, and you don’t even want to go. I think I’m gonna sleep early.”

She’s angry. Sasuke finishes creating new storage scrolls and climbs on the bed with her. He hugs her with his lone arm and breathes in the fading lavender scent on her hair. “Maybe I can compromise.”

Sasuke apologizes with a fancy dinner the next day, and by dinner, that meant miso soup, grilled mackerel, kani salad, and her favorite – blueberry muffins. Sakura beams seeing the freshly baked dessert on their table. She also sees two masks on the edge, the compromise he talked about while she was already drowsy in slumber.

He holds them up – a fox and a dragon – and he is rewarded with a grin. “Wear your yukata tomorrow, Sakura.”

--------

She is beautiful, she has always been, and he loved her long pink hair ever since they met. When she cut it off in the Forest of Death, he felt a slight of pang of loss, even more so when it was because of him. Finally grown to her waist, she lets them down for the night in a long single braid adorned with cherry blossoms and her fringes clipped to the side with two butterfly pins. Her yukata, white and adorned with stars, fits her like second skin. She is beautiful.

They walk together hand in hand in the lantern-lit street filled with the crowd. No one actually pays them attention, everyone is too busy catching fish, playing shooting games, and trying all food stalls. They find a space on the riverbank, and they sit together on the grass, hands still clasped with each other.

“Are you happy?” Sasuke asks behind his mask. He slightly regrets this arrangement since he cannot see her expression, and Sakura has these charming microexpressions, like she wears her heart on her sleeve, an open page for everyone to read.

Before she could say anything, a pair of young men also dressed in yukata taps her shoulder. Sasuke immediately lets go of her hand.

“Dr. Haruno! We were right to come tonight. You never fail to go to summer festivals.”

Sakura takes off her mask and smiles back at them. “How did you know it was me?”

“We can spot your pink hair anywhere, Ma’am.”

“We can immediately see you in the sea of crowd. Do you need company?”

“It would be sad to see your outfit go unappreciated.”

Sasuke can feel a headache coming on. He is never the jealous type but the audacity of these kids to hit on Sakura.

She tilts her head, and her voices takes on an apologetic tone. “I’m actually with someone.” To drive the point further, she reaches for his hand and returns her fingers to where they were before they came. “You can enjoy the rest of the festival.”

Sasuke eyes them through his mask, and true enough, they are unperturbed because why would Sakura spend this important social evening with someone hiding behind a prop. But they eventually leave, knowing when to respect her wishes and knowing what happens if they don’t.

More people start filling the riverbank, indicating the start of the fireworks. Sakura eases in closer to him and wraps her arm with his. To their surprise, an elderly man sits beside Sasuke and waves to Sakura.

“Dr. Haruno.” He surmises this must be a previous patient of hers.

“It’s nice to see you with company this year. I was actually thinking of introducing my son to you later this month.”

Sakura chuckles, sensing the annoyance ooze out from Sasuke. “Oh my, there’s no need.”

“I see that. You look happy, happier than I’ve seen you in the past years,” the old man remarks then he fixes his gaze on the man beside him. “You.”

Sasuke slightly shifts to face him and bows in respect. “Good evening, Sir.”

“I’ve seen this girl come to the summer festival every year without fail. She would sit on the riverbank, her hair done up, with some makeup on, and wait for the fireworks. And when they finally light up, she would allow herself to cry, hiding her tears in the celebration, thinking no one looks beside them when the sky is showered with beautiful explosions. I sometimes think why the hell would a gorgeous girl spend the festival like that and watch fireworks with her eyes on the ground. And this year again, she’s here. You better not make her cry.”

“Oji-chan, you can stop now. You’re traumatizing my date,” Sakura lightly protests. She gives him a smile and words a soundless thank you.

“My child, he deserves to know. Anyway, I’ll leave you two and my knees are starting to hurt again.” The old man starts to get up, but he stares openly at Sasuke, piercing the mask barrier with a glare. “I’m serious though, you better not make this girl cry again.”

Sakura laughs and pulls Sasuke tighter. “Of course, he won’t. You come visit me tomorrow Oji-chan so I can prescribe you some meds. Okay?”

The old man pats the top of Sakura’s head and walks away into the crowd. The countdown starts from the opposite of the riverbank, and they hear the explosion. Colors burst into the velvet sky, and her emerald eyes follow the bright traces of the sparkling lights.

Sasuke slowly lifts off his mask and places it on the grass. He foregoes the sight above and focuses on the one beside him, memorizing every line on her face, committing them to his memory, savoring the awed glint in her eyes. He stays like that for the duration of the show without care for anyone who might have recognized him.

She finally notices his look and shifts her attention. He lets go of her hand and allows his fingers to tuck a stray strand behind her ear then he brings her closer to him and plants a soft kiss on her lips, their first public kiss, shrouded comfortably by the distracted crowd and the ephemeral lights above.

“I love you,” he whispers against her ear, and she responds by leaning against his chest with his arm around her, enjoying the last seconds of the show, a giddy smile on her face.

Links for Utakata Hanabi: Youtube | Spotify

#ssm21 #sasusaku month #sasusaku #ssm21d2 #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sasuke #sakura #fanfic #anime fanfiction

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chalkrevelations · 3 years

Text

SO, Episode 28 of Word of Honor was a roller-coaster ride.

(Spoilers, as ever, so scroll away and come back later if you want to see it unspoiled.)

They managed two entirely separate scenes in this one that had me going “Did … did that just happen? Is this really happening?” Let’s get this one out of the way first: The scene of Zhao Jing in his serial killer lair with the altar and memorial tablets and his serial killer trophies. Y’all. I swear, scene opens with a shot from behind of drunk Awful Yifu in his Fantasy Ancient China underwear staggering through a set of doors into a room with candles and draperies, and before I was able to register the rest of the set design, my brain gave a terrified squeak and started rabbiting around like, “Oh my god, please do not let this be Xie’er’s bedroom. Oh my god, they wouldn’t actually go there, not even hinted, surely that would be too far!” Then my eyeballs caught up and registered the set, so I thought I was safe, but that didn’t even turn out to be the moment in the scene that had me going “Is this really happening?” (Although I do think the fact my brain immediately jumped to that scenario speaks to the creepy vibe the show has managed to build between Awful Yifu and Xie Wang). So, Zhao Jing is a sloppy drunk and absolutely shitfaced, stumbling around and yelling at his dead brothers, and I’m sitting here watching him, feeling like I need a shower, with my skin a little bit trying to crawl off my body, and then he picks up Rong Xuan’s memorial tablet and pours an entire stream of alcohol out of the pitcher all over it, and I say, out loud, to the screen, “Oh my god, they just had him figuratively piss on that tablet.” Only, no, they didn’t, because there was no need to have him do it figuratively because then, he literally whips it out of his pants and takes a piss on the tablet, complete with sound effects, and I’m open-mouthed, thinking “Is this really happening?” As some background, I grew up in mainstream U.S. culture where ancestor veneration isn’t formally practiced - although it isn’t an entirely absent part of our cultural mythos, it’s just that now when I when I offer cultus to the Patres Patriae, it’s deliberate and intentional – but I’ve been doing ancestor work in my particular flavor of polytheism for long enough, and intensely enough, that I had a visceral reaction of disgust and horror to this. Hand literally clapped over my mouth in shock, even after watching all of his ranting at his dead brothers and spitting at his dead shifu and just generally being a disrespectful asshole with delusions of grandeur building up to it. So, yes, show, you have indeed convinced me that Awful Yifu is the worst, even in an episode that also devoted that much screentime to Prince Jin.

Fortunately, the other “Is this really happening?” moment was at the other end of the spectrum, somewhere in the face of how married Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing are, which I cannot believe passed censorship. I know I keep saying that, but every time I think I’ve adjusted to how far they’re going to go, the show laughs gay-ly as it pushes the envelope another mile down the road. Truly, this show is the gift that keeps on giving where these two are concerned, and not just because of Zhang Zhehan’s face. I realize I had to spend 50 episodes deciphering Lan Wangji’s smallest microexpression (not that I’m complaining), but I can’t believe how expressive both Zhang Zhehan and Gong Jun are in these roles, with Gong Jun’s little sadness eyebrows when WKX wants ZZS to humor him, and how soft Zhang Zhehan’s face gets when ZZS looks at WKX, and how great they both are at making all this look like a pair of adults who are in an established relationship and confident of each other. I’d be as weak as Wen Kexing if Zhou Zishu pouted at me the way he does when he tells Chengling that he can’t do anything to help decorate the Manor except observe and direct because he’s oh, so injured and frail, poor him. Wen Kexing can laugh at Zhou Zishu when ZZS pokes at him by saying the papercrafter was such a beauty! (Compare this to his reaction back in the day, when ZZS deftly manipulated him out of bringing A-Xiang along on their honeymoon adventures by calling her a beauty and implying she might draw attention away from WKX!) Wen Kexing waves kitchen knives at Zhou Zishu in (somewhat fond) exasperation! Zhou Zishu now accepts Wen Kexing piling his plate with food at the table as perfectly normal! There’s no crying in Spring Festival! They send their kid outside to watch the fireworks so they can have sex some alone time! (Merciless killers. How the fuck so adorable?) Someone must have backed up an entire truckful of money to the house of someone very important to get this aired, because what is the heterosexual explanation for … any of this?

Other thoughts:

We continue to get small things that maintain the parallels between Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishou and Gu Xiang/Cao Weining, including the mirrored theme of finding a home with a welcoming family, shown through family dinner, and expressed through WKX’s description of his former self as a “lonely ghost,” echoing A-Xiang’s self-description (to Shen Shen in an earlier ep) the same way.

HAN YING! Listen, I am stupidly attached to this bit player, and not just because he’s a familiar face (because half of Wen Xu’s screentime in The Untamed was just a disembodied head hanging at the entrance to the Unclean Realm, so it’s not like there was time to get … attached). And I say stupidly attached because ever since we first saw the way he looked at ZZS with big puppy heart-eyes, I knew he was going to be a goner. I just know they’re gonna fridge him for the next step in ZZS’s journey, because something has to pry ZZS out of Four Seasons Manor, as much as I, personally, would like nothing better than to see 8 more episodes of wedded bliss for two gay dads and their son. (OK, one thing I would like better would be if their daughter and son-in-law came to live with them, too.) At least it looks like Han Ying will get to die taking a figurative bullet for ZZS, which will make him happy and might prevent him from finding out the Glazed Armor he’s so proud of bringing is actually pointless, because don’t think that didn’t hurt to know while I watched him being so proud of managing to get his hands on it. But I’d prefer he didn’t die at all, show. Also, why on earth are there only two (completed) stories under the ZZS/Han Ying label on AO3? Because yes, I have looked. I have the search open in another tab right now. Why haven’t more people taken advantage of this guy’s utter devotion for ZZS? How are people looking at the way Han Ying reverently brushes his fingers over the single white blossom on the wall mural in ZZS’s rooms back in Prince Jin’s palace and not falling all over that?

Xie’er, oh, Xie’er. You’re killing me, here. I need someone to rescue you, you desperate affection-starved little sociopath. So, to recap, last time we met, your Awful Yifu finally let it slip that he was never ever going to acknowledge your existence in public. So now, you’re being a very clever boy, setting up a scheme to manipulate him into having to publicly acknowledge you if he’s going to claim credit for your successes (because I’m sure you can’t even contemplate failure) in service to Prince Jin. So clever, but I hate to tell you, you’re clever at everything except learning from your mistakes when it comes to your Awful Yifu. You really learned nothing from Beauty Ghost, did you? Ugh, your sad little face as you watch your hot mess of an Awful Yifu while you wait for the maids to make tea – it hurts me. Please tell me you’re playing some kind of long game, and you’re just a really great actor. Because he’s sloppy drunk, and right now, watching your face journey, I think maybe you think that makes what he’s saying true – that he’s not guarding his words, and he means it when he tells you that of course he loves you and would never leave you. “Are you still angry with me?” Awful Yifu literally asks. “Alright, I’ll apologize. I was just mad. It didn’t mean anything. We’re together in this. I’ll always stand by you.” Xie’er, you have got to stop believing gaslighting abusive men who shovel that BS. This is what they call the honeymoon period in the cycle of abuse. Seriously. This is textbook. Please stop making the same mistakes over and over again. Maybe think about the fact that your Awful Yifu is, single-handedly, the reason the Department of the Unfaithful actually exists in the first place. He is THAT AWFUL. I would like to think actually seeing his serial killer trophy room will make a difference, now that you have some confirmation of what Tragicomic Ghost told you and not the ability to wave it off as part of some he-said, she-said situation where how could we ever possibly know the truth, despite the fact that Zhao Jing has shown he’ll stab anyone in the back in his quest for power? But, then, I also thought maybe learning last ep that he never planned to publicly acknowledge you would make some kind of difference. Are you going to roll the dice again, gambler? Because I’ll tell you right now, the house always wins. (Not that you’d listen to me anymore than you listened to Beauty Ghost.)

(Also, wait wait waitwaitwait. Waitaminit. This is pure speculation and probably way too out there to be true (oh, but, someone’s going to write this AU for me, right?) Hot-mess drunk yifu tells Xie’er that they’ve been depending on each other “ever since I picked you up and brought you back home.” I can’t remember if we know anything about Xie Wang’s background at this point, but it does sound like Zhao Jing might have literally yoinked him off the street to raise him. He … he doesn’t think Xie’er is actually Yan’er, does he? Only he kidnapped the wrong orphaned urchin by mistake? I’m just sayin’, thinking back to Shen Shen’s reaction to finding out Zhen Yan was still alive, it would be exactly the kind of thing Zhao Jing would do, to keep this kid that his brother(s) wanted to find hidden right under their noses.)

Chengling and the chicken. I can’t, y’all. And Zhou Zishu’s face as soon as he realizes what Wen Kexing is telling Chengling to do – he knows this is going to be a show.

Prince Jin, you are almost as bad as Xie’r and his awful Yifu combined:

Prince Jin: Zhou Zishu, you mastermind, your super-secret spy network continues to spread everywhere, including into my very own palace. Oh, the things you must be plotting against me!

Zhou Zishu, chillin’ at Plum Blossom Manor, day-drinking, dressing up in pretty festive robes, taking advantage of his disciple’s unpaid labor so he doesn’t have to raise a finger for himself, and providing his husband with sex so incredible he is never required to actually cook: “OK, my gay husband and our son-with-two-dads, how about we just stay here together forever and be happy?”

Also Prince Jin: *Creeps on Zhou Zishu like a gaslighting m’fker*

Anyway, if Prince Jin always knew what Han Ying was up to all along, is the letter about ZZS’s father a plant, with false info? It was just kind of suspiciously hanging out in the open on Prince Jin’s desk.

#zhao jing #xie wang #zhou zishu #wen kexing #gu xiang #cao weining #zhang chengling #han ying #prince jin #word of honor #word of honor episode reax

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thirium-fiction · 4 years

Note

Could I ask for Simon, Connor, Markus and RK900 reacting to their shy S/O/threader trying to flirt with them but instead getting really flustered and trying to awkwardly stutter out the line but then giving up and just asking them to kiss her?

A/N: Changed this one just slightly and made it pre-relationship because who doesn’t love a little embarrassment with their crush??

Warnings: Little bit of swearing, some fluff with some suggestiveness as well

Simon -

You had no idea how you were going to do this.

Simon was Simon and you were just...you.

He was one of the head people of the revolution right alongside Markus for god’s sake. How were you supposed to muster up the courage to be able to flirt with him? You know, other deviants don’t tell you the terms and conditions of what comes along with having feelings. It just made things more complicated. Couldn’t you just be friends with the pretty blonde android? Your mind wanted to say yes but every single other biocomponent in your body said no (specifically your thirium pump). Is that what humans feel? Gross.

Maybe he just saw you as a friend. Yeah, that could be it. Forget all this.

“You’re overthinking.” A voice came from the right of you, scaring you out of your internal rant. “It’s written all over your face.”

You shifted awkwardly in your spot as your gaze still rests on the particular blue-eyed PL600 model. “North, I don’t think I can do this.” A light bulb suddenly went off in your head. “Maybe you can-”

“I’m not passing the message off for you.” She laughed, crossing your arms before a slight cringe falls upon her features. “That would be weird.”

Letting out a breath of air, you shook your hands and jogged in place like you were getting ready to wrestle. “You’re right.” You said, giving a nod to her as she watches you with a judgmental yet amused look on her face. “I got this. I got this. I got this.” You repeated the phrase multiple times, trying to convince yourself.

Rolling her eyes, North pushed you forward and caused you to almost trip yourself. “Just go.”

Once you regained your balance, you began to walk forward while staring back at North who was giving you a supportive thumbs up (or her best attempt at one). You were so busy watching her that you didn’t realize you already made it to your destination and bumped into Simon.

“O-Oh! I’m so sorry, Simon! D-Didn’t realize you were standing there!” You laugh nervously, internally swearing at yourself non-stop for being such a klutz.

The man gave you a kind smile that made your synthetic heart swoon. “It’s not a problem at all, (Y/N).” He was about to go back to whatever he was doing before you began again.

“Um, I was just wondering-” You trailed off, your eyes falling everywhere but his. “I couldn’t help but notice how much you’ve done for me.” Your (Y/N) orbs widen and your gaze snapped to him. “J-Jericho! Jericho, I mean. Not me, specifically.”

Simon furrowed his eyebrows, a look of concern dawning on him but there was still a small grin across his lips. “Are you alright?”

“Of course!” You squeaked a little too quickly before clearing your throat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He blinked once before his smile grew a little more, curious as to what you were up to. “I don’t know...” He muttered, tilting his head, observing your microexpressions. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

You practically became jelly right then and there. You weren’t cut out for this. Your mind was whirling with too much and you just had to get out. Too bad your mouth spoke first.

“Because I want you to kiss me.”

You immediately gasped and covered your mouth. You almost stumbled over yourself trying to get away with a bunch of apologies but you were stopped by a gentle hand on your shoulder.

And a soft peck on your lips.

“You could’ve just led with that.” He whispered, his unbelievably warm hands cupping your face. “North was right about your face giving you away.”

‘Damn you, North.’ You thought, barely able to process what just happened. He began to leave feather light kisses all over, leaving you feeling more comforted than you ever have been.

‘But also, thank you, North.’

Connor -

You needed help fast. You knew Hank wanted nothing more than he already could handle with the robot. So, desperate times meant desperate measures.

“GAVIN!” You slammed your hands on his desk, knocking his cup of pens and pencils over.

“FUCK!” The detective shot up from his previous position of using his arms as a pillow. The bags under his eyes were darker than ever. It must’ve been a rough couple of days. And that definitely meant he wasn’t going to be in a jolly mood. “The hell do you want this time?”

Case and point.

You pulled up a chair and sat next to him, your chin on your hands with a cheeky grin which caused a look of both disgust and annoyance to be directed at you. “I need your assistance.”

Gavin raised a brow before scoffing, “Assistance?” He shook his head and leaned back in his chair, trying to stretch his aching back. “You spend so much time with that shit for brains that you’re even starting to sound like it.”

“Please?” You beg, knowing it would inflate his already huge ego.

There was a pause before he heaved an overly dramatic sigh and gestured for you to continue.

You bit your lip, trying to think of a way to phrase it. “Now, let’s say there was someone in the office you’re, um, interested in? How would you get their attention?”

Gavin’s head laid limp near his shoulder before it fell back so he could stare at the ceiling. “Ugh, I don’t fuckin’ knowww.” He grunted before throwing his arms up. “Flirt? Like, you know, a normal person?”

Flirting? You weren’t exactly the biggest expert at that. Well, maybe it won’t be too bad considering Connor was quite different than the average male. Unless he had to ability to have standards. Oh, god. What were his standards?

“Alright.” You replied, slowly getting up from your seat next to him. “Guess I’ll give it a shot.”

But, a hand raised mid-air forced you to stop in your tracks.

“Don’t tell me it has something to do with….” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his energy for handling anything quickly dwindling. “...WALL-E over there.” Your heavy silence made him grab the trash can from underneath his desk and begin to gesture from his mouth to the container. “I’m puking right now.”

You turned around and walked away from his childish antics.

“This is me puking!” He called out after you until you couldn’t hear him anymore before putting it back and going back to his nap.

Eventually, you made your way to Connor’s desk and noticed him scanning through files at a rapid pace. “Hey, Connor…” You began, causing his brown eyes to fall upon yours.

“Yes, (Y/N)? Did you need something?”

You were about to tell him never mind but you knew this was something you had to do.

“Could you come with me to the other break room for a second?” You watched as he glanced between you and his work before getting up with a small ‘okay’ and following you.

When you got there, you closed the door and silently fixed yourself a cup of coffee to look like you needed something from the room despite not being thirsty nor needing any more things to make you antsy.

“Were you able to look at the thing I sent you?” You asked, taking a small sip from the piping cup of joe.

He blinked, puzzled at first before raising his eyebrows. “Oh, yes! I found it very enjoyable. I don’t think I could ever get tired of all the dog content you send me!”

‘Do I really send him that much?’ You thought as you put your cup down, not really interested in it.

Connor pursed his lips before slightly squinting. “Why did you ask for me?”

Oh, right. The flirting. You cleared your throat before slowly approaching him. “You’ve been here for awhile, Connor.” You whisper, trying to look at least a little seductive.

“Yes, I have.” He stated, your efforts going right over his head.

Your fingers crawl up his suit jacket slowly. “Has anyone c-caught your eye?” You flutter your eyes, smiling.

What were you thinking?

“U-uh,” He stuttered as well, unsure of how to handle a situation like this. A situation where he had no clue what was going on. Or, maybe he did. He wasn’t sure if that’s what it was though. “I don’t understand, (Y/N). Could you care to-”

“Goddammit, Connor I’ve liked you for a long time and would really appreciate it if you just-”

The android slammed his lips to yours, his hands hovering over your waist, not knowing what to do past this point. You quickly broke it and you could see there was a brief flash of worry across his face.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”

A couple beats passed until you giggled a bit, making him look at you. “I can’t fool a detective.” You giggle before pulling him back in again as his arms wrapped themselves tightly around your torso, never wanting to let go.

And maybe it was just your imagination from being on cloud nine but you could’ve sworn you heard,

“Puke! Everywhere!”

Markus -

You really didn’t want to say that you had gained feelings for him over time but you knew you couldn’t deny it for so long. Even Carl could see it. He secretly would try and coordinate when you could come over and when Markus visited. Despite the artist’s health deteriorating, he still wanted to make sure the two of you were happy.

“Alarms deactivated. Welcome home, Markus”

An evil grin made its way across Carl’s tired face when you froze at the alarm system’s voice. “Go talk to him.” He said, patting your back to make you get up from the edge of the hospital bed. “I’m over watching the two of you tip toe around each other. Work your magic.”

Hesitantly, you got up off the bed but you nervously wringed your wrists, afraid of doing something you’d regret. “Maybe you’re right, Carl.”

“Of course I’m right. Now, go! I need to get some rest anyway.”

You ran your hands up and down your arms as you made your way out of the room and down the stairs, trying to calm your rising nerves. You didn’t see him at the entrance so he must’ve made his way to the main living room. Once you reached the doors, you put your hands on your knees, feeling as if you had already ran a marathon. Working up the courage before something like this really takes a lot out of you. Nodding, you hyped yourself up before taking a couple steps forward and causing the wooden doors to slide open.

Markus was placed right in the middle of the room on a couch, a book in hand as he slowly fingers through it. After becoming deviant, he’s taken his time when it comes to appreciating literature and other forms of art. Even if he could read it all in a millisecond, he wanted the material to really resonate with him. A minute or two passed by before he finally looked up in your direction and noticed you. Almost instantly, he sprung up from his sitting position and closed the book.

“(Y/N).” Markus breathed, disappointed in himself for not acknowledging you sooner. “I-I didn’t hear you come in.”

You shrugged, walking around the couch so you weren’t speaking to him from across the room. “It’s okay. I didn’t exactly do anything to make you notice I was there.”

He glanced discreetly between you and the book he was reading, stepping in front of it to block it from view. “You don’t have to do much to-” He began, but quickly lost his confidence. He led a whole revolution but couldn’t do this one simple thing. Maybe it was a little too human for his liking.

“What was that, Markus?” You asked softly, setting yourself down next to the spot where he was sitting moments before.

“It’s...nothing.” He muttered, a smile on his face as he shook his head. “How have you been?” He quickly changed the subject and placed himself next to you, perhaps a little closer than originally intended.

“I’ve been - okay.” You didn’t want to be too upfront about your feelings and how he was on your mind a lot. “Just caught up in work and all. Don’t really have a lot of time to rest.” You crossed your legs and rested your hands on top of your knee. “I’m sure you know all about that.”

You subtly pinched your hand after that came out of your mouth. ‘He doesn’t rest, (Y/N). He’s an android! Just, ugh, stop talking!’ You thought, painting a kind expression over your panic.

“Yeah, I do.” Markus chuckled, a hand placed over the book so you couldn’t read the title.

There was a long heavy silence and neither of you had the courage to break it. But, someone had to speak.

“What’re you reading?” You leaned over, trying to see what he was keeping so close to himself.

He proceeded to move the book further out of sight. “Oh, just something Carl gave me.”

You eyed him suspiciously, his lack of being forward with you only making it more intriguing. He couldn’t get away that easily. You decided, and without even thinking much first, that you should dive for the book. Markus clearly wasn’t prepared for this sudden change in energy. He used his forearm to try and push you away, his other hand still grasping onto the cover, blocking you from seeing it.

“(Y/N), please!” Markus shouted, a giant grin plastered on his face despite having to fight you off. “This isn’t going to get you anywhere!”

You ignored his pleas and still tried to reach for the item, crawling all over him and doing your best to push his strong arm away. What you hadn’t realized was the compromising position you put yourselves in. When you finally paused to catch your breath, you noticed how you were practically on top of the android as he still held the book above his head. A heavy blush returned to your face but you didn’t try and get up.

“S-So,” You whisper, still out of breath as you stared into his eyes. “I guess you could say I fell for-” You immediately choked, not being able to finish the pun. Maybe it was the lack of air to your head or the impending doom of embarrassment.

You gulped, your gaze falling on his lips. It was now or never. Your voice was incredibly shaky as you let out a small whisper, “C-Could I-”

You didn’t need to tell him twice. Your lips meshed together perfectly as the two of you moved in sync. So, this is what happens when you tip toe around someone too much. The book dropped from his grasp and his hands found their way into your hair to deepen the kiss while own fingers slid down his chest and made their way underneath his shirt.

You never did find out what he was reading.

RK900 -

You’re insane.

Have you not realized by now that this android and anything to do with genuine emotions does not go together?

Like, at all?

Anything that shows just a sign of weakness would be a no from him. He still didn’t understand why he was paired up with you as a partner for work. You were one of the shyest there was while he, on the other hand, was one of the most blunt and up front beings ever. Seriously, someone could be having the best day and all Conner had to say was one single thing and he could ruin it all. But, it’s what made him an excellent detective. Plenty of deviants have cracked under the enormous pressure that he puts them through. Guess you could say you were like a good cop and bad cop duo.

And maybe because he was the complete opposite of you, it made you all the more attracted to him. He never showed hesitation when it came to something and you admired him for that. Even if he could be the biggest dick about some of the things. You couldn’t really blame him, though. You knew CyberLife had to fix the “mistakes” from his previous model, the RK800, which was showing too much emotion.

So, uh, what made you believe he could change things around for you?

You. A young detective that’s just trying to make a living and pay the bills to get by. What about you would make Conner interested? To go against his programming?

Thoughts like these never really helped you when it came to your confidence about the topic. You wanted to believe you could make him feel at least something but you knew it was going to have to take a lot of work. You tried though. Over and over again, you would give him small compliments on his process of handling things. Yet, he’d merely dismiss whatever you’d say.

“I merely do what I have to do in the most efficient way possible.” He’d tell you, focused on whatever he was doing at the time. “It’s not about it being good or bad to others.”

You didn’t know why he couldn’t just take a compliment. Could it have been because they made him feel better which was different from the normal way he saw himself? He was more comfortable with just doing his job without someone mentioning anything about it? Most likely. As mentioned, anything to do with a change in his feelings was a no from the android.

It still didn’t stop you.

“Why do you do that?” Conner asked, coming off as incredibly harsh yet being genuinely curious.

“W-What do you mean?” You stuttered in reply, suddenly becoming overly nervous from being unprepared for such confrontation.

He glared intensely at you, leaning his head as he slowly walked up to you. It was incredibly intimidating, to say the least. “The compliments.” He began to walk around you in circles, almost as if you were his prey. “The flattery.”

“I-I just-” You could barely get a word out without messing it up.

Eventually, he stopped right in front of you. “Why?”

You tried to take a step back from him, seeing how close he was, but you were stopped by a surface against your back. Great, you were stuck.

“I don’t know.” Your eyes were everywhere but him. “I just a-admire the way you do things. Efficient, I guess.”

Conner seemed to enjoy that word. Efficient. It didn’t have any ties to it. It wasn’t good or bad. Much like he was in your opinion. Maybe your use of the word here would make him back off.

He scoffed a bit, approaching you a little more and removing the small distance you had. “Admire?” It was extremely evident that he was mocking you. “Why me? Do humans usually attach to things they know they can’t have?”

Ouch.

“You’re an asshole.” You hissed, tears starting to well up in your eyes. “I can’t believe I-”

“You what?” Conner whispered, looking down at you because of his height and his chest was just barely touching yours.

You remained quiet, your glare pointed at the floor but you couldn’t help glancing up at his faces and to his lips for just a split second before looking away from him again. You don’t know why you thought you could get away with it.

“Ask me.”

Furrowing your brows, you looked up into his eyes that never once strayed away from your own. “What?”

The RK900 glanced down at your own lips just like you did with him before returning back to your gaze.

You couldn’t believe what he was implying. It just didn’t seem like something he’d do. “Y-You’re being ridiculous.” You huffed, trying to move past him until his arm stopped you from moving any more.

“Ask me.”

Crossing your arms, you faced him fully once more. “Alright then…” You began, gaining a whole new burst of courage. “Kiss me.”

You were roughly pushed up against the wall behind you and you just barely let out a yelp before his mouth crashed itself into yours. Your brain could barely even process what was going on before he pulled at your waist to bring you even closer to him. His tongue dragged itself across your bottom lip before grabbing it between his teeth with a slight pull. You couldn’t help but respond with a moan before digging your fingers into his practically perfect hair, messing it up.

For someone so bland, you had never thought about what he could be behind closed doors.

You obviously weren’t complaining though.

[masterlist]

TAGS:

@six-ninths-deviant @stars-with-citrus @polimollykari @t0ranu @timedthyme @aproxied

Please join my S/O reactions taglist [here] to keep yourself updated along with other stories!

#detroit become human #detroit become human x reader #dbh connor #connor x reader #dbh markus #markus x reader #dbh simon #dbh simon x reader

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kendrixtermina · 3 years

Text

So, someone recomended me to check out this blogger and while he clearly finds some types more charming than others (was his ex gf a particularly arrogant 4? That, or his least favorite parent...) there is some rly useful info in this guide actually...

1s do indeed not smile unless theres a reason...

i dont know any 2s well enough to confirm the observations here but it rings true...

3s do indeed quickly start talking about their projects and sometimes you can indeed spot them from just the smile. We had that one presenter in our uni course that was very, very obvious.

Formulated more diplomatically, if a pronounced introvert shows up with bristly guarded energy & makes some contrarian comment, they’re definitely a 4 cause 9s don’t typically do this

I would describe this as being somewhat more absolute in their judgements, like my friend would say, “ppl who wear fashionable makeup are shallow!” as a blanket statement, where I would’ve slapped some qualifiers on it so as to as not to say something incorrect (Some are shallow, especially the particular ppl we were mad at, but every single one? Probably not, and besides, I don’t know every single person with fashionable makeup well enough to speak confidently of their character.) - it needn’t even be a strong opinion; She’d just be incensed about the shallowness in society at that particular moment & having an emotion about it.

I had made some collages & a video which I considered sending in once i came by some $$ but i think i can save myself the trouble cause when i looked at the video watching for these criteria (the clip was made before i looked at this list, of course), i noticed that i did the supposedly 5-typical side glance, topic changes and interspersed jokes so darn often i might get self conscious about it... also, off pointe? rude! ...laugh at my nerd jokes please i dunno how else to make light conversation

this sounds like his gf is a 6.

...that one 6 i know does giggle a lot though

and talk in a shrill voice when complaining, but we usually deserve it for overstraining her patience

i have to watch for the “microexpressions of surprise” next time we meet in meatspace

very little stuff on 7s here though.

the 8 stuff is pretty useful actually, particularly that bit about how they talk less & more short/direct compared to a cp 6 - i think i know exactly whats meant here

theyre on a crusade to raise awareness of more strongly introverted 9s - but, those are definitely a thing. hm. ill need to watch for all this...

its definitely true that you dont find out their opinion unless you wait/ask for it, or they’re very frustrated.

thats definitely another distinguishing point vs. type 4. If they have opinions about video games or some elaborate fantasy it would be one of the first things you hear/ a go-to conversation topic, whereas with a 9 with the exact same hobbies you might see them playing games or offhandedly mentioning fantasy stuff but you won’t hear the contents until you’ve known them a good while, if you put in the work to level up your friendship level, and even then they’ll narrate instead of rant unless they’re very frustrated. thats cause it serves mostly an internal purpose while the 4, as an image type, would show it (though they prolly wouldn’t consciously think of it as ‘showing’ & more as bursting out because whatever thing that sucks sucks so intolerably)

i admit im not the best bodylanguage observer i dont notice this stuff unless its obvious or i already know to look for it, with some of the points i cant identify what they mean. This is probably immensely more useful if youre a Sensor on the mbti

EDIT: The podcast liked on their site is very good!

#enneagram

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starkerism · 4 years

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Title: Kiss Me

Summary: Five times Peter and Tony almost kiss and one time they did.

The next few weeks around the compound leaves Peter feeling strung out and exhausted.

It felt like every time Tony enters the room, every molecule in Peter’s body bursts into flames. He’s hyper-focused on everything; Tony’s breathing, his movements, his voice. Each sound sends a new wave of fire coursing through his body and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t tear his eyes away from his mentor.

In a room full of superheroes with the ability to catch onto microexpressions, Peter could’ve stood on the nearest table and screamed about the situation and it’d be less obvious.

But if anyone notices, they say nothing. Mr Stark says nothing – in fact, not only does he say nothing, he refuses to acknowledge Peter’s presence all together. No greeting, no friendly pat on the back, no smiles. Just glances that seem to stick just a little too long. And the really, really sick thing is that it just makes Peter want more.

They’re all spread across the lounge, drinks in their hands, a gentle hum of music playing in the background. It’s a rare day where no one was on any life-threatening missions, no one was brooding. Despite Peter’s awareness of Tony throughout the whole night, he felt comfortable. At home. With family.

Peter watches as Tony spreads an arm across the back of the sofa, his forearm brushing against Steve’s shoulders as he lets out a laugh. His legs stretch out in front of him, jeans pulling tight across his thighs. Peter’s mouth goes dry and he chugs back the rest of his beer, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth to catch the rogue drops. This action brings Tony’s attention to him and even though he’s nodding in agreement to something Steve says, his eyes are trailing across Peter’s body.

God, Peter curses inwardly and his body moves on its own accord, legs spreading, head tilting back, mouth parting. Mr Stark’s eyes darken and whatever Steve’s saying is forgotten. The sounds in the room around them fade out, replaced with a buzzing in Peter’s head, the room blurring around everything but Tony.

A hand on his shoulder jerks him out of his stupor and he immediately straightens up, splashing a small drop of beer onto his leg in the process. He looks up at Nat, who’s watching him carefully, head tilted to the side. Instead of acknowledging her, he glances back over to Mr Stark, who’s gone back to talking to Steve like nothing had happened.

“He’s twice your age, you know,” Nat says quietly, propping herself onto the arm of Peter’s chair. Panic shoots through Peter, straight down his spine and then back up again, right into his chest.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” Peter stammers and even he doesn’t believe his own voice. Nat snorts softly, sipping the martini in her hand.

“Remind me to sign you up for lessons in lying, Parker. Pretty sure it’s superhero 101.”

Peter swallows, a hard lump appearing in his throat. His eyes flicker around the room, making sure everyone is occupied enough to not pay attention to their conversation. He leans closer to her and drops his voice to a whisper.

“Is it that obvious?”

Nat smiles gently at him, taking a sip of her drink to delay the time before she answers, pondering how to reply.

“I want to say no, just to save you the crushing embarrassment, but that would be cruel,” She smirks at the look of horror on Peter’s face. She smacks his chest with the back of his hand. “Hey, if it’s any consolation, Tony’s not being as discreet as he thinks he is either.”

Peter’s gaze snaps straight to her, mouth falling open slightly, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

“Jesus, Parker, you’re supposed to have super-spidey senses. You telling me don’t know bedroom eyes when you see them? I’m perfectly human but even I can pick up on that.” Nat tips back the rest of the martini into her mouth and taps her nails against the empty glass. She’s watching Tony carefully and Peter follows her gaze. He’s still talking to Steve, but sends the occasional suspicious glance their way. “Listen,” Nat says, standing up, “He’s a piece of work. Pepper got out of there before he dragged her under. But this – whatever this is – that you two have going on, you better be sure you know what it is you want, because I’m pretty sure Tony won’t be able to handle having his heart ripped out again.”

And then she leaves, and Peter’s left wondering whether she’d just told him to stay away for his own good, or whether she’d just given her stamp of approval wrapped up in a ‘hurt him and I’ll hurt you’ warning.

Peter has to get out of there. As the evening goes on, Mr Stark strips one layer off and leaves himself in just a tank and baggy sweatpants that keep sliding down, and Peter can’t take it. He ducks into a nearby storage room, a single dim light sending an orange glow across the wooden shelves stocked with wine, bottles of beer and spirits. He rips off his jumper, leaving him in a too-baggy t-shirt that slips off of his shoulder when he grinds his palms into his eyes.

He can’t take it. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s never really had strong feelings towards someone, or because of how everything in his body had been amplified after the spider bite, but every little action Tony takes is driving him crazy.

A finger across his lips, a brush of his hand against his own thigh, a flash of a smile, a look through half-lidded eyes, arms stretching above his head and showing a patch of skin just above the waistband of his sweatpants.

It’s too much and Peter’s groin aches. His chest hurts, his lips are dry and twitching, waiting.

He’s trying to cool himself, his head pounding and throat scratchy and dry. The alcohol hasn’t helped – it’s sent his body into a hot overdrive, limp and pliant. The cold of his palms against his eyes is soothing and he keeps them there, head tipped back against the wall and chest heaving. He doesn’t even hear the door open over the sounds of his distress.

“Pete?”

His breath catches in his throat and his hands snap back to his side, attempting to right himself. He can’t though; Tony’s here, he’s at the door, in the dark, and Peter breathes in, takes in the lingering smell of alcohol and aftershave coating the air between them. His breathing comes out heavier, his skin prickles down his back, and then Tony’s in front of him, hands grasping his shoulders.

“Snap out of it, hey, Pete, come on.” Tony shakes him gently and it knocks Peter out of his trance just enough. Peter grabs Tony by the arms and flips them round quickly, a small grunt forced out of Tony’s mouth when his back collides with the wall.

Peter dives forwards, pressing his forehead into the side of Tony’s neck. It’s warm, soft, smells delicious.

“What—” Mr Stark starts, words trapped in his throat when Peter’s lips press hard against his pulse. Peter can feel the shiver that runs through him. “Pete—”

“Please,” Peter croaks against the skin underneath Mr Stark’s ear. “I—I messed up, I know, back in the lab,” Peter rolls his head onto Tony’s shoulder and brings his hands down from Tony’s shoulders to grasp at his hands. He presses them gently against the wall and feels Tony’s breath hitch. “But I can’t—I want—” Peter moves his head from Mr Stark’s shoulders, cheek brushing against stubble, until their mouths are so close Peter can feel when Tony stops breathing. He brushes their lips together, fingers tightening in their place around Tony’s wrists, still pressing them firmly against the wall.

“Fuck, kid, you—” Tony tilts his head back against the wall, breaking their not-kiss, to let out a breath. “You’re really putting me through hell. I’m not really one for self-control, but god—“ He cuts himself off with a groan when Peter leans forwards to bite at his earlobe. There’s a few beats of silence, their heavy breaths creating a muted bubble around them.

“My skin feels like it’s gonna burst whenever you’re in the room,” Peter admits, whispering brokenly into Tony’s neck. “I can’t stop thinking about kissing you, doing… things to you. I don’t know if it’s the spider bite but everything is so intense and it almost hurts, Mr Stark, I just need to…” He trails off to press their foreheads together and neither of them are looking anywhere but each others mouths. It goes quiet and Peter’s scared, he’s absolutely fucking petrified, because he’s going to take the kiss even if Tony doesn’t want it—

But Tony stretches his head forwards and closes the gap between them. He presses his lips hard into Peter’s, forehead creasing, and Peter’s soaring.

The fire flares up, and everything in Peter’s mind focuses on that one point of contact. They’re still, just their lips pushed together, but then Tony tilts his head to the side, nose nudging across Peter’s, and opens his mouth and Peter loses it.

His hands leave Tony’s wrists to snap to his head, fingers burying themselves into Tony’s hair to deepen the kiss, prising Tony’s lips open with his own and slipping his tongue inside. Tony’s moan reverberates through Peter’s mouth, down to his chest, then to his toes, and then Peter’s being flipped over himself. Tony crowds in closer, pushing him tightly against the wall, hands finding the base of Peter’s neck and the back of his head. Tony’s taking it now, mouth sliding easily across Peter’s, and Peter whimpers, legs going weak.

They part to take a breath, Tony’s tongue leaving a trail of glistening saliva across Peter’s bottom lip, and they stand in the dim light, panting into each others mouths, hands gripping different parts of their bodies.

“This is a real bad idea,” Mr Stark whispers and the feel of his breath across Peter’s sensitive mouth sends a shiver down his spine. The burning need in Peter has sizzled into a simmer now that he’d felt it, tasted Tony’s lips on his. He brought his hand round from the back of Tony’s head to his cheek, eyes flitting between both of Tony’s. He’d felt it, and he was never going to let it go now.

“Didn’t feel like it,” Peter replies and he grins when Mr Stark lets out a huff of laughter in response. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Miss Romanoff gave us her blessing.”

Mr Stark looks less shocked then he should. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, subtlety isn’t my strongest suit.” His fingers find the back of Peter’s hair and he tugs a little, eyes darkening when Peter lets out a tiny gasp.

“Or self-restraint, apparently.”

Tony’s eyes dart back down to Peter’s mouth and he leans forwards, closing the distance to press a surprisingly tender kiss to Peter’s mouth. When he pulls away, he’s taking in Peter’s face like it’s the last time he’ll see it.

“If we do this, it’s for the long haul,” Tony whispers, voice trembling slightly. Peter’s heart thuds, hard, at the confession. Peter thinks maybe he should take a second, to think it through, wonder about the future. But he doesn’t. He leans forwards, the space between them shrinking until their lips are pressed together again. One, two, three kisses.

It’s a promise.

A knock at the door makes them jump apart, Peter’s heart beating a million miles a second.

“If you guys don’t mind, I’d rather you took it somewhere away from the beers,” Sam’s voice calls out from the other side of the wood. Heat rushes to Peter’s face and he shares an uneasy smile with Tony, who doesn’t even look embarrassed, more surprised.

“Guess even the dumbasses could see what was going on,” Tony says into the silence, and Peter snorts. Tony reaches down between them and grabs Peter’s hand, firm and warm. Grounding. He reaches across to the shelf and takes down an extra pack of beers. “Definitely leaving here with a lot more than I thought I would.”

Peter surprises himself – and Tony – when he surges forwards and takes Tony’s lips again, the bottles on the shelf rattling when Tony’s back pushes against it. He takes, and takes, and takes, mouth pulling back and diving back in against Tony’s, hands brushing down Tony’s chest, his arms, his waist, his ass—

Peter pulls back, breathing heavily, and Tony’s staring at him with that same look; the one that makes Peter feel like he’s alight.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it,” Peter says through panted breaths. Tony laughs and pushes himself up off of the shelf.

“Yeah, we’re gonna need to keep you doing that to a minimum or I’m pretty sure we’ll christen every surface of this tower within a week.”

The implications of that sentence makes Peter flush, but he nods in agreement and takes Tony’s hand, surprised at his own boldness. Tony entwines their fingers together and nods towards the door.

“Best go face the music,” He says, heading towards the door. Peter doesn’t hear it. He’s looking down at their hands, small slender fingers against rough, thick ones, and he feels good. It feels good.

Five kisses, Peter thinks, staring at Tony’s face as he pulls open the door to the storage room. He trails his eyes down his face, past his stubble, down his neck, his chest, back to their hands. A small smile twitches around his lips. And more.

#starker #tony x peter #mine: fics #i can't remember who i had to tag for this #and it's like 4 months late lmao #and im seriously out of practice writing fics #but here ya go!!!#pls tell me if there's any errors

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xoruffitup · 5 years

Text

AITAF’s Broadway Show

WHERE DO I START? Okay, at the beginning, I guess - Deep breaths!

First, I want to describe the beautifully diverse group that came together for this extraordinary evening. It started with me and two amazing girls I met at SNL. (One being @reylonly <3) We sat together during the SNL dress rehearsal, exchanged phone numbers afterwards, and we’ve had the best group chat going ever since. My veteran dad came for me and @reylonly’s military ticket admission, while our third SNL friend had managed to connect with a colleague’s mother, who was an army nurse. The vet nurse loves theater and brought her husband as well, so we were a pretty inspiring group of all ages and backgrounds, and shared amazing conversation throughout the night.

The evening started with a very classy reception. We saw Joanne floating around talking to people and she looked stunninggg. The reception area wasn’t that big though, so we soon went down to the theater to find our seats.

We sat in the 5th row!! So when Adam came up to the front of the stage to give an introductory speech at the beginning about the inspiration to start AITAF, their 10-year anniversary, and to thank everyone who made the performance possible, I was just sitting there basking in awe and the fact that he was really THERE. TALKING. SO CLOSE. No, I would not get over it even at all for the following 2 and a half hours... :’)

I’ve read a bit of Sam Shepard but never seen True West performed live, but wow you could not ask for two better actors to play the main characters: Brothers Austin (Adam) and Lee (Michael Shannon). They said before they started the reading that they’d only rehearsed that afternoon, which is nothing short of INCREDIBLE, given how well these two played off each other. This play is full of furious, dark humor and there’s an edge of potential violence undercutting almost every scene, building the tension more and more until Austin finally tries to strangle Lee in the final scene. These two pushed and pulled at each other, getting in each other’s faces and needling each other with sharp words and insults. It was like the actors had been playing off each other for months; They knew just how to drive each other to the breaking point, and they were each brilliant in depicting the moments of rupture.

Adam highlights: There was an amazing section when Austin gets very drunk. Adam sang twice, the second time a hilarious mix of singing and shouting. He started the play wearing a blue t shirt with a grey sweater on top, but during this scene he pulled the sweater over his head, dragged it off, then bundled it up and stuffed it under his shirt. He walked around like that for a good five minutes. He half-fell against a wall and dropped to the floor, only to do a handstand and kick his feet up against the wall. (!!! This was AMAZING ahaha) At some point he did an INCREDIBLE coyote yelping noise. Another point, he talked with an entire mouthful of water and it fountained everywhere hilariously.

Lee bets Austin that he couldn’t steal any household appliances even if he wanted to, not even a toaster. (Lee steals a television early in the play.) This results in Austin stealing the entire neighborhood’s toasters and collecting them in their kitchen. (“There’s a lack of toast in the neighborhood this morning!” “You need breakfast... How about some toast?” “I love the smell of toast in the morning... it makes me feel like anything’s possible.”) All of Adam’s toast-related jokes were just killer. :’)

Obviously, Adam always looks stunning in person, but this time the highlight was unquestionably THE HAIR. The lush, long, majestic hair. There was a portion in the play when he knelt down at the front of the stage and put his head down on the floor, and !!!! THAT HEAD OF STUNNING STELLAR HAIR WOW. There was also A LOT of pushing his hair back with his hands and it got me every. single. damn. time. Be still my beating heart. (it never does when Adam’s involved...)

After the play ended, the cast stayed on stage for the Q&A, joined by the Director. Adam facilitated some discussion among the actors on their previous participation in AITAF events, and the differences between acting on stage and in film. Then he opened it up for questions from the audience.

Q&A highlights:

Someone asked how Adam manages to create a sense of intimacy in all his scenes, even when working on big films. The title “King of micro-expressions” was used, asking whether that aspect is intentional. Adam first reacted with his typical “what-me-talented?-crazy” look of skepticism, but then LOL he just bust out into every ridiculous face he could think of, to show off those micro expressions. It was SO PRESH AND FUNNY.

A few questions later, someone asked what advice he would give to his younger self while he was in the Marines, if he had a chance. Adam’s initial joke response was just: “Microexpressions” and everyone lost it.

Okay this was hands down the purest moment! The cast on stage couldn’t really see up into the balcony because of the lights, so at first Adam shaded his eyes and squinted real hard when a woman in the balcony started her question with “Hi Adam, we crossed paths back in Mishawaka a few times.” Then Adam saw who it was, grinned, and told everyone it was his high school drama teacher!! As she then began her question, she suddenly got extremely emotional and I couldn’t see it, but heard in her voice she was already or would shortly start to cry. After a moment she managed to finish her question - Whether the people Adam meets and performs for when he travels to military bases talk to him afterwards to thank him for sharing his talent and the gift of his craft. It made me a little choked up too, not gonna lie, to hear someone who knew and had some role in Adam’s earliest forays into theater, be overcome by seeing how far he’s come and all the manifold ways he puts his singular talent to use to better the world around him.

I ASKED A QUESTION AND I WAS SO CLOSE THAT HE AND I TALKED DIRECTLY TO EACH OTHER, HE LOOKED STRAIGHT AT ME AS HE ANSWERED AND IT WAS LIKE HAPPY FIREWORKS GOING OFF IN MY WHOLE BODY AHHHHHHHH. I asked him about how he’s seen attitudes change towards AITAF’s work throughout its whole 10-year journey, and I’d like to think he appreciated the question for his reflections back to their first performance and how far they’ve come since then. Video here because my friend is amazing!!!!

A SECOND BULLET DEDICATED JUST TO MY AMAZED DISBELIEF THAT ADAM SPOKE TO ME. Like, he responded to words that came out of my mouth and I somehow managed to speak said words while speaking directly to him?? SLAP ME IM DREAMING :’’’D How did I actually manage to keep myself together while in close proximity to him?! Let alone speaking directly to him?!!! I SURPRISE EVEN MYSELF. But then again, Adam seems to make the impossible possible :’)

I frequently watch theater, but tonight was really a thrilling surprise. I KNEW Adam would be stellar, of course, but I didn’t know if any of the play’s power would be lost with it just being performed as a reading. To the contrary, the performance style may have even made it better! There’s a lot of raw, angry energy in this play, and this stripped-down reading was performed with an immediacy and visceral energy I’ve rarely ever seen on stage. The movements weren’t all blocked out and planned; There was no shuffling of people or props on or off stage; There were no protracted pauses or fancy stage effects to build an atmosphere around the actors; They created everything with just their voices, words, and bodies.

I’m so, SO immensely grateful I got to attend tonight, because this might have been even better than seeing Adam in a full play. Tonight was unfiltered and instinctive, Adam just going for it and throwing everything into the part for a solid, uninterrupted 2 hours. It was equally stunning to see him just remove himself from the whole 2-hour buildup of angry tension as he started the Q&A. (Though there was a laugh among the audience when Adam turned to Michael Shannon for the first time in the Q&A, like “sure you guys really don’t want to strangle each other?”)

Tonight was wonderful and wholesome, moving and inspiring from start to finish. From the people I shared the evening with, to the frank dialogues that occurred during the Q&A about negative stigmas sometimes attached to the arts within the military, to testimonials of how AITAF’s programming guided military families into shared engagement with the arts. It was wonderful to hear the military audience around me responding with genuine enthusiasm to Adam’s initial introduction, applauding and voicing agreement. I appreciated the chance to hear Adam speak so candidly and enthusiastically about his passion project; Just as much as I appreciated slapping @reylonly’s leg and whispering “Why are his feet so cute?” and “Look at his HAIR.” :’)

TL;DR TAKEAWAY: Adam is truly insanely talented and his selfless commitment to AITAF’s goal of bringing theater to military audiences as an enhanced outlet of self-expression is so, so admirable. This man is never in it for himself, and only puts himself in center stage when there’s a larger utility for doing so. You could see that tonight, when he’d realize he was the only one answering two or three questions in a row and would look around self-consciously to his fellow cast members and say “I feel like I’m monopolizing the conversation” or “Feel free to stop me anytime... jump in anYTIME, GUYS, ANYTIME.” (<Increasingly anxiously)

SOMEHOW, Adam succeeded in the impossible tonight: Making me love him even more. But perhaps having him gazing right at me as he spoke to me was sure to have that effect :’D

Nope, still have no fucking clue how I managed it or how I survived. :’’’)

#Adam Driver #AITAF #Sorry for the grainy pics but I still wanted to use them #Please feel free to ask me anything at all about the event!#Would love to talk about it moreee : D #Would love to talk about it forever!!#Arts In The Armed Forces #driverdaily

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gdrawsthings · 6 years

Text

When you play with fire you get burned, they say (ValdemarxReader one shot)

Rating: K+

Pairing: ValdemarxReader

Genre: Romance, Humor

Warnings: no warnings for this fic uwu

Word count: 2430

“I am going to kiss you”, Valdemar tells you one day, out of the blue. You’re baffled, shocked even, by their sudden statement. Not exactly orthodox, telling you that they’re going to perform an act universally recognized as a romantic one with such a cold voice. Still, you can’t help but feel the tiniest bit flattered that they chose to perform it on you of all people.

“You mean, right now?” you ask.

“No,” Valdemar says, to your surprise. “But I will. At some point.”

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

“I decided to make use of our recent… association, as one may call it… in a fruitful way. You see, you humans seem to be particularly affected by what you call “anticipation”.”

Valdemar interrupts their thought and looks at you until you arch your eyebrows and break the uncomfortable silence.

“... Well?” you say, waiting for an explanation.

Their head sways slightly to the side in amusement and Valdemar smiles. They got you.

“To tell you the truth,” they continue as they regain their composure,” I must say that I have always been deeply fascinated by human behavior under the effects of that emotion. If you will allow me to, I would like to experiment with the concept for a period of time.”

You start to connect the dots, and Valdemar knows you unamused expression well enough to understand that you will pose resistance.

“Are you saying that you’re gonna tease me for who knows how long like a rat in a cage until you’re satisfied with the results?”

“There’s nothing that you can do about it, now, can you?” they shrug.

They sound so confident in their plan that you can’t help but want to accept the challenge. “Well, I could force a kiss on you right here and right now and be done with it,” you try to retort, and put on the smuggest expression you can pull off, hoping Valdemar doesn’t see through your bluff. But they probably know as well as you do that this wasn’t exactly the strongest counterattack.

“I know you won’t. First kisses are something of a sacred thing among you people, and you certainly wouldn’t ruin ours in the name of pettiness. Besides, there’s no telling I won’t be affected by this experiment too.”

“Oh, you can bet that you will,” you tell them, defeated in the battle but not in the war, and in that moment Valdemar is positive that letting themself fall for you was the smartest decision they made in a long time.

“I will make sure to take notes.”

------

A few days later, you’re strolling together in the Palace gardens, near the fountain. Valdemar isn’t really talking about anything, and neither are you, except for the occasional comment of this or that plant you’re walking by. Just being together in silence side by side has its charm, you think as you enjoy the quiet of the blooming garden.

Blooming…

Now that you think about it, most of the flowers in the garden are indeed in full bloom. You think of something. This would be the perfect setting for a kiss, right here between the placidly flowing water of the marble fountain and the sweet smell of roses…

You catch yourself mid-thought, mentally scolding yourself; your thoughts are so easily controlled by Valdemar’s mind games. You should pay more attention to yourself.

With your side vision, you steal a glance at your companion in order to read any subtle intention of putting their plan into motion.

You stiffen. This is it, isn’t it? They’re finally going to kiss me, that’s why they brought me here. Very clever, Valdemar, props to you. And also, unexpectedly romantic, you praise them, impressed by the impeccable choice of setting but still confident in the fact that you were able to predict their move.

It’s only a matter of moments now. In your excitement, you discreetly chew on your lower lip in an attempt to make it softer for the contact that is soon to come. You’re ready.

…

A few minutes pass, and nothing happens. On the contrary, Valdemar at some point has started to talk about the types of special corn that they harvest for the Countess on a hill behind the Palace, possibly the most boring conversation topic they have ever picked since you first met, seemingly unconcerned. When your stroll comes to an end, you are deeply dissatisfied to say the least.

“Well then, see you this evening for dinner, my dear,” Valdemar smiles and leaves without waiting for you to respond, and you gape at their retreating form.

…

That piece of… It was all on purpose!

------

Anticipation…

Your and Valdemar’s arms brush as you are working side by side, and your breath catches in your throat every time they do.

Everything Valdemar does reminds you of that stupid little game they’re playing, and the fact that whenever you’re in their presence you can’t seem to be able to think of anything else angers you immensely. You just can’t focus on anything anymore.

When you’re in the middle of writing an important letter, their mere being inside the room distracts you to the point that you have to give up trying to figure out what damned word has been on the tip of your tongue for the last ten minutes and you slam the pen on the table. What even is their purpose in being here? They’re literally sitting on a chair doing nothing!

Irritated, you look at their face once or twice; at those tasty looking lips that now you can’t get out of your mind to save your life. You’re livid.

With a huff, you leave the room.

Valdemar chuckles as you do.

------

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Why, I’m reading a book,” Valdemar answers from their comfortable position on the armchair near the fireplace. “I may have to interrupt the activity to take a look at your eyes if you can’t see a book from such a short distance, though.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, the experiment you mean?” Valdemar asks, feigning innocence.

They’re unbelievable!

“Speaking of, I am certain you will be pleased to know that, from what I gathered in these past few days of observing you, I am already very pleased with the results.”

The outrage that you feel must be evident on your face, because Valdemar looks at you and lets out a small laugh. But you’re determined not to give them the satisfaction. If they can play, I can play too, you think. You change the topic.

“… So, what are you reading?”

“Ah, this is just a medical book. This particular chapter is about the process of draining blood from a cadaver for embalming, but I’m going to need the information for other practices.”

“Sounds interesting. Let me take a look,” you say, and, giving Valdemar no time at all to process how close your face is suddenly getting to theirs, you lean on the armchair, dramatically shortening the distance between your bodies. You may just be dreaming it, but you swear that, for a flickering moment, you heard a soft gasp escape their throat.

You put a finger on the page Valdemar is reading, leaning forward from the armrest, and you know that, from that position, the scent of your hair products can reach their nose now.

“They say here that you should place a drain tube and an angled forceps on the vein to facilitate the drainage, but what’s an angled forceps, Valdemar?” you ask, turning your head so that now you can ask while looking directly into their eyes.

“It-… It’s those long scissors I’m always using,” they reply. You see them breaking eye contact for a fraction of a second to look down at your lips. You force yourself not to smile.

“Ah, I didn’t know they were called that.”

After a couple of minutes, spent asking questions you don’t really care about just to see how the microexpressions on their face change as you enter and utterly destroy whatever concept of private space Valdemar has, you’re standing up again.

“Well, I think I’ve bothered you enough with my questions, for now. See you at the lab?”

“O-of course.”

You turn away and make sure they can hear you close the door of the room when you exit.

You’re about to declare absolute victory on your side, but not before putting your ear to the wooden door and waiting for a few seconds. You cover your mouth with a hand, suppressing uncontrollable laughter, when you can hear all the confirmation you needed in the single word Valdemar pronounces.

“Fascinating.”

You’re so proud of yourself.

------

Weeks pass, and waiting for The Thing to happen has become almost unbearable. You could cut the tension with a knife, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to work for much longer if Valdemar keeps this up, even if it’s not like they are actively doing anything to put you on edge. At this point, you’re not even sure if they’re still experimenting on you or if they just got bored and forgot about it, and, if possible, the thought makes you feel even more humiliated.

As a last, desperate, strategy of self-defense, you resolve to just put it all in the back of your mind and eventually forget about it too.

To your unawareness, Valdemar has not forgotten. They are determined to continue, as a matter of fact, but they can’t pretend they don’t realize that their reasons for doing so are not quite the same as when they had started it all.

It seems like their interest has shifted, in a way; or maybe it’s just that they see your behavior in another light. Some time after the beginning of this experiment of theirs, though they are not sure when, you started to appear in their eyes more like the effective perpetrator of the torture than its victim, and this turn of events has Valdemar grinning, paradoxically captivated by their own loss of control.

Knowing that, sooner or later, they will initiate a kiss with you has made them acutely aware of your presence whenever you stand close to each other. Or just whenever they look at you, or hear your voice approaching from down the hall.

They reflect on the possibility of your body emanating pheromones as a result of your own anticipation, when they try to find a sensible explanation for the undeniable effect you have on them. For the way they find themself inadvertently stiffening when, as you hand them a scalpel, your fingers touch through the work gloves.

For when, a couple of hours later, they’re helping you down from a ladder and, when you rest your hands on their shoulders and they gaze up at you and at their hands circling your waist, they seriously consider the possibility of holding you in their arms and ending the experiment right then and there.

Valdemar knows that now it’s just a matter of admitting to themself they’re avoiding the unavoidable. They hate to say, the anticipation has them positively shivering now.

How interesting indeed.

------

A couple of weeks later, you’re sitting on the floor your office, trying to make sense of the mess of documents that your employer, in their usual lack of concern for orders and paperwork, has failed to sign and send to the Countess for the past three months.

There are so many words you don’t understand, half of them are specific medical terms you’re not yet acquainted with, while the rest is mostly just bureaucratic gibberish. You shouldn’t be the one to handle these documents, you decide, it’s not your responsibility nor your area of expertise, and, when Valdemar knocks on your door to enter your office, you immediately stand up from the pile of papers to be ready to tell them exactly that. Your abrupt upward movement, along with the opening of the door, generates enough of a current to make part of them fly around you, under some furniture and generally away from your grasp. A lock of hair falls over your eyes in defeat.

Exasperated, you address the doctor.

“Quaestor-,” you begin to say, but you can see that Valdemar has just now made a decision by the way they are suddenly moving towards you, their hands in their usual steeple pose, their eyes unblinking.

“W-… Val-…?”

“Hold on for a second,” Valdemar tells you with a lowered tone. Uncaringly, they step on the sheets of paper here and there as they approach you, and you find yourself not caring either, much more enraptured as you are by the sudden feeling of their hand now covering your left side in the soft space between your ribcage and hipbone.

“You are allowed to breathe in my presence,” they tease, and as a result you let out a sigh that you didn’t know you were holding. So much for forgetting about the experiment.

Valdemar gently takes away from your hand the document you were holding and, with an elegant movement of their wrist, lets it float to the ground with the rest of them, not even bothering to look at its contents as its pages all fall down in different directions.

This will be a mess to reorganize, but you don’t really want to think about it, especially now that your heart is pounding so violently inside your chest. You feel like if you were any warmer you could straight up burn in front of the doctor, and you can tell in Valdemar’s expressive eyes that they are also pleased by the few points of contact between your bodies. The hand on your side slowly traces its way up to the back of your head, where it rests, their slender fingers tangling in your hair.

Your noses are so close that they are touching now, and you are so flustered that your ears ring.

You’re just so close, but Valdemar stops in their movement downwards to ask permission.

“I hope you will allow me to pronounce this experiment finally concluded,” they say, and you can feel Valdemar’s warm breath on your cheek as they caress your lower lip with their thumb.

This is their roundabout way of admitting defeat. Not bothering to point out that you both lost this game for now, you give them a happy, eloquent nod in response, and close your eyes as Valdemar bends down to finally meet your lips with their own.

I hope their teeth won’t hurt too much.

#this wasn't as easy to write as i first thought #and i'm also not entirely happy with it but it still took me a few hours #and i don't want that time to completely go to waste so here you go #g has a pen #valdemar #quaestor valdemar #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana (game)#the arcana fanfiction #kind of OOC tbh #but i had fun with the concept

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 6 years

Text

Lena & the Winchesters, Part 6a

Kara follows the woman to the diner. She doesn't go in, instead detouring to the coffee shop across the street and finding a corner to to hide in as she focuses her hearing on the single table in a crowded restaurant. As she tunes in to light hearted teasing and significant conversation, her fingers fly across her phone, sending a text to Alex. Kara: I need eyes on Lena. Now. Three voices hum in appreciation as burgers, steaks, and milkshakes are delivered to their table. Alex's response is swift. Alex: Secure in max. Alex: Whats wrong? Kara feels her stomach churn. Kara: Eyeballs or video? Alex: Stand by "What's the pie situation?" the woman asks, voice muffled by two walls and four lanes of traffic between. The lilting timber shoots a bolt of fire through Kara. Her hand tightens dangerously around her phone, making the casing groan in protest. "Pecan," one of her companions responded around a mouthful of food. The slurp of his milkshake grates on Kara's ears, but she doesn't dare tune it out for even a second. "Chocolate?" "Nah." A disgruntled hmpf follows, and then there's nothing else but the sounds of chewing. Kara's phone rings. "Is she there?" she asks breathlessly. "Yes. Our guy has physical eyes on her. She's in solitary, Kara, she's not going anywhere." She can hear Alex dismiss someone on the other end of the line. "What's going on?" Kara exhales. She was mistaken. It's like when she lost Krypton and she mistook an FBI Agent for her mother. She's just seeing things. There's a smack of skin on skin across the street, and Kara snaps her attention back to the diner, where the woman has caught her companion's wrist in one hand, inches from her plate. "Reach for my bacon again and you'll wish you hadn't." Crazy. She's going crazy. "Kara!" "It's nothing. I think. I'll let you know if that changes. Thanks." She hangs up before Alex can ask anything further, and silences her sister's attempts to call back. Then she waits. As their meal draws to a finish, the taller man at the table brings up a new subject. "So," he says in a low voice, "I found the warehouse. It's just inside the town limits in a secluded area. Doesn't look like anyone's been there in a while, so I figure if we wait until dark before making our way over we'll avoid most attention." "Then we get in, get out," the bacon-thief chimes in. "No funny business." "Why are you looking at me when you say that?" the woman drawls. "Because you're the wildcard." The tall one grimaces sympathetically. "He's kind of right..." "So not my fault." "Not the point. We need to be careful. We have no idea what might be waiting for us." Maybe it's the mysterious, unspoken intent of their visit to this unknown warehouse. Maybe it's the audible wariness-- a marked departure from their light hearted dinner talk. Or maybe it's the heavy pall that follows that urges Kara to follow. Whatever the reason, follow she does. She tracks them with blocks of buffer space, just to ensure they don't spot her. She doesn't recognize the men, but the woman... It can't be Lena. It can't be.

And yet... Her face is more relaxed than she ever remembered Lena's being. Her smile comes so effortlessly that it takes Kara's breath away. Her shoulders are unbowed by the burden of responsibility, and her companions treat her with none of the careful deference the rest of the world treated Lena. There's not a single shred of the manic intensity that lived in Lena for months before her arrest. She doesn't bear much resemblance to that Lena. This woman looks like Lena after their last wine night-- more than a year ago now. She looks like the morning she woke up after falling asleep on Kara's couch, boneless and smiling. She looks like the part of Lena that used to bleed away as the sun rose higher, pulling the world and all its troubles into their momentary haven. But that Lena never went sneaking to creepy abandoned warehouses in the dead of night. This one, this not-Lena, does. Kara tracks them to the warehouse. She hovers high above out of sight, until she hears the tell-tale chime of breaking glass. Taking her cue with practiced ease, Kara slams into the ground hard enough to dent the dirt under her boots.

Three guns swing towards her, but then swivel away as soon as the beams of their flashlights illuminate the symbol on her chest. Kara smirks.

“Evening,” she greets sharply. “Forgot your keys?”

The stockier of the two men creases into a disarming grin, lowering his gun entirely. “Yeah, actually. Our uncle owns the property and asked us to pick up some things now that he’s in hospice. Of course, the key isn’t where he said it was, so--”

The words roll off his tongue like syrup, but Kara knows better.

“The cops are on their way,” Kara gives a fib of her own. “If you don’t fancy a night in the town jail, you should turn around and go home.”

Kara has to admit his grin is charming. “Wow. That’s pretty generous.”

“It is. You should take advantage of the offer before it expires.”

“Right.” He almost turns to leave, then shakes his head. “I’m curious though-- does National City’s resident superhero have jurisdiction all the way up here?”

His companion steps between them, her eyes flashing in the dark. “Dean? How about we don’t antagonize the woman who can heat vision you a new haircut.” She turns then to Supergirl. “Look, I’m sorry. We’re not here to make trouble.”

“So that window was just asking for it?”

“No, but-- it’s hard to explain. I’m not even sure if you’d believe me.”

Kara regards her for a long moment. She can see more differences now, more things that set this woman apart from the one she’d apprehended almost six months ago. The dusty boots, the denim jeans stressed and worn at the pocket corners.

The knives in her sleeve, waistband, and bootleg.

“What’s your name?” Kara asks finally. She picks out the sound of her heartbeat, and listens carefully.

“Lucy,” comes the swift reply. The pulse in Kara’s ears remains steady. Truth. “Lucy Campbell.” The hitch is nearly imperceptible: Kara can barely hear it. But she does. False.

Real first name, fake last name.

“These are my cousins, Sam and Dean.” Sam gives a stiff wave, while Dean clicks his tongue and gives an expressive shrug of his eyebrows.

Also a partial lie. Whether the lie is their names or their relation, Kara can’t tell.

She sighs. “And what does Lucy, Sam, and Dean have to do with a rundown warehouse in Midvale?”

Lena glances at her ‘cousins’; they exhange their own pointed look, then with a myriad of microexpressions, yield control to Lucy. She turns back to Kara. “We think something bad happened here,” she says, words slow and deliberate as she strings them together. “We’re trying to find out what.”

It’s a deliberate truth, and therefore not the whole truth. But it’s the truth.

“Okay,” she says finally. “Let’s check it out. If you’re telling the truth, I’ll put a good word in with the sheriff. If not, you’re on your own.”

All three nod their agreement. Kara breaks the rusty lock with a single tug, and superspeeds to the switchbox anchored to the nearest upright. The lights flicker and hum, then groan to life as Lucy, Sam and Dean cautiously enter behind her.

There’s nothing. It’s just a normal warehouse. Kara supposes some secrets might be hidden among the dusty old papers strewn across the floor, but the others were apparently expecting something more forthright. From the corner of her eye, Kara sees Lucy’s shoulders slump-- from relief or disappointment, it isn’t quite clear.

Dean shoots Sam a silent, pointed glare.

“This is the place, Dean,” his cousin argues.

“You’re really going to say that with a straight face?”

“Yeah? I think I’d remember where we picked up a--”

“Dude!”

“Boys!” Lucy’s shout cuts though the budding shouting match and silences them instantly. It doesn’t stop the glares or rude gestures. Lucy doesn’t notice. She looks back at the door they entered from, then to the far wall.

Wheels turn behind her eyes, and her expression is the same as Lena’s when she’s puzzling over a new prototype. It clues Kara in to the odd space around her, and it clicks instantly.

“The room is too small,” she says. Lucy nods. Kara scans the wall, trying to peer beyond it. She can’t. “It’s lined with lead.”

“This place is old,” Sam says, “but not that old.”

“Only that wall is leaded.”

Kara speeds across the room, and punches through the wall. On the other side she immediately scans for danger, but comes up with nothing but odd shapes and-- oh. “You guys should see this.”

Three bodies pile in after her, blinking through the dust with hands on their weapons. As the air clears, Sam scoffs a laugh. “Think we found it.”

Pages and pages of notes and calculations plaster the walls, newspaper clippings announcing decades old comet sightings interspersed between bizarre iconography painted in bold, dark swipes. Some were painted with brushes, but others look messily smeared by fingers and hands. Eerier still are the candles that cover every flat surface, white and blood red, all burned low with blackened wicks. Then there’s the altar, improvised from an old table saw with the blade removed.

The center of the table is devoid of candles, and Kara belatedly realizes that the negatives spaces forms the vague outline of a person lying prone.

Someone had lain on that table, surrounded by open flame and dripping wax like some sort of sacrifice.

Or honored celebrant.

“Luce?” Dean’s voice turns sharp. Kara pivots to see Lucy’s face eerily devoid of tension, eyes unfocused even as they scan the room. Her heartbeat is loud and erratic in Kara’s ears, and jolts again when Dean calls out once more. “Lucy!”

Blinking, Lucy turns towards Dean as he closes the distance between them. His hand brushes the outside of her arm, gentle with concern. “Need some air?”

“No,” she responds, just as soft. From the way her eyes flash to Kara, it’s clear she hasn’t forgotten that superhearing is one of Supergirl’s many skills. “I’m good.”

“You sure? If you want to wait outside, Sam and I can--”

“We both know I need to be here, Dean.”

Kara turns her gze back to the room as Dean nods and draws away. He resumes his slow walk to inspect the room, but keeps one eye on Lucy as she does the same. Kara joins them.

There’s something familiar about the symbols on the walls. Kara stares at them for long, frustrating moments before it falls into place.

“This is Enochian.”

The others freeze, and three pairs of eyes turn to stare at her. Sam is the first to break the silence. “Excuse me?”

“Enochian,” Kara elaborates, gesturing to the closest sigil. “It was a precursor to Kryptonian. Well, not a precursor. It’s foreign to Krypton, and completely dissimilar. But we found markings like this alongside our earliest known writings. Fully developed, while we were still establishing an alphabet.”

Kara doesn’t remember much about them-- she was too focused on moving forward, moving into the Science Guild and too intent on taking it to new heights to even consider looking that far to the past. She isn’t sure there was even that much to remember.

“Enochians… were-- are-- aliens?” Sam reiterates.

Kara nods. “Yes. What few mentions of them we could find referred to them as visitors. They weren’t of Krypton.”

Silence answers her. When she turns from the markings to face the cosuins, she sees shock, awe, and fear. Lucy swallows. “Dean…”

“CAS!” he bellows, booming in the confined space. “Get your feathery ass down here!”

“Dean!” Lucy’s harsh scold catches in her throat, as she and Sam brace themselves for something-- or someone to appear. Kara tenses in readiness, but nothing happens.

Sam rounds on Dean. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Don’t start with me, Sam--”

“She just told you Enochians are aliens! Don’t you think maybe we should stop and think before we call one down here?”

“Well what else did you have in mind?”

“I dunno, man… but can we just tap the brakes for a second?”

Dean’s mouth opens to fire back, but once again Lena stops the racket with the gentlest of voices.

“He touched me, Dean.” Dark green eyes lift, riveting Dean in place. “He called himself an angel and went rooting around inside me, looking for a soul. He says he didn’t find one. What would have happened if he had?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

“Until we know more, no one prays, summons, or invokes angels. Got it?”

Sam nods readily, followed shortly by Dean.

Kara stares between them all, dumbfounded.

“Who are you people?”

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Interlude, Part 6b

#i wrote dis #lena and the winchesters #xover #fic #read more #lena luthor #kara danvers #dean winchester #in which kara gets involved #and we get hints of supercorp #rejoice

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