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waywardxwords · 1 month

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Chapter 4 - Cherry Pie (Taking Chances)

Summary: After a random encounter introduces you to Dean Winchester, you can't shake the magnetic pull you feel towards him. For years, you've felt like everything in your life is under control--a promising career, financial stability and no real responsibilities. Dean's a hunter; it's his life and job. But somehow when you meet, your worlds are flipped upside down and you have to decide if it's a chance worth taking.

Chapter Warnings: Fluff, slight language

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

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A quick glance at the clock on the wall made you inwardly groan–how could it only be 11:23 in the morning? Work days were known to drag on, but this was overkill. You figured it might have something to do with the fact that you were just hours away from seeing Dean again. It had taken you far too long to fall asleep the night before; you couldn’t stop thinking about that damn kiss.

The way his lips felt against yours…the way it made you feel inside…

The buzz from your cell phone distracted you and shook you from your thoughts.

Dean Hey, Atlanta.

You didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the nickname. Another buzz caught you off guard.

Dean Or should I say, Hotlanta?

The text made you laugh out loud, which would have been fine had you been alone somewhere. Instead, colleagues that you hardly knew in this new office all turned to look at you.

“Sorry about that,” you said softly as you excused yourself from the cubicle you had borrowed. You wandered to the hallway and stood there as you typed back a response.

Hi, Dean…you’re ridiculous, but that still made me laugh anyway.

You nibbled on a pesky hangnail that had formed on your thumb as you waited for his text back.

Dean I do what I can. You still up for dinner tonight?

You hurriedly typed back before you hit ‘send’ and waited for his response.

100% yes! I can leave here at 4, but I’m driving to you this time. Just send me the address and I’ll meet you there. Besides, Salina isn’t really a lively city…

It didn’t take long for your phone to vibrate against the palm of your hand.

Dean Just wait til you see Lebanon…

Dean had sent you the name to his favorite burger joint just outside of Lebanon. As you drove through the small Kansas towns, you felt the flutter in your stomach all over again. You really couldn’t remember the last time you were this excited to spend time with someone new. It was overwhelming, almost. Before you arrived, you decided to make a pit stop and pick up a cherry pie—Dean had mentioned pie was his favorite dessert.

Just before 7pm, you pulled into the parking lot for Jiffy Burger. It reminded you of something out of the 50s; a diner, almost. It was cute, and definitely something you could appreciate. In the dating world, not that you spent a lot of time in it due to your focus on your career, there always seemed to be this draw to fancy restaurants where you never knew what fork to use.

Thankfully, it seemed like Dean wasn’t interested in that kind of thing. Especially since he referred to the side salad you almost ordered in Atlanta as “rabbit food”.

As soon as you parked, you spotted the Impala. You gathered your purse and the pie you had brought, and headed inside.

A smile stretched across Dean’s face as soon as he saw you. You didn’t miss the way his eyes traveled from your face down your chest to your legs. Heat pooled in your chest and cheeks as you suddenly felt slightly self conscious under his gaze. With your free hand, you tugged at the hem of your black blazer, but managed a smile back at him as you approached the table.

“Hey,” you breathed as you finally reached him.

“Hey, yourself,” he smirked. He stood and with one hand, he reached behind you and pulled you closer to him. It felt exactly like you would imagine a puzzle piece would as it melded with the other. “What’s this?” His question pulled you out of your thoughts.

You glanced down at the white grocery bag in your hand. “Oh!” You set it down on the table and opened it up to reveal the pastry you had purchased at the nearest bakery. “I know you said how much you love pie…” you gently held it up in the foil container. “I wasn’t sure which flavor you liked best, but I felt like I couldn’t go wrong with cherry.”

He seemed truly surprised. “Damn, woman,” he breathed as his eyes grazed over the dessert. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” His words were so genuine, and he sealed it by leaning down and giving you a gentle kiss that only made you want more.

“You’re welcome,” beaming, you felt accomplished as Dean pulled back the metal diner chair for you to sit. “This place is so cute!” You glanced around at the neon lights on the wall, red and white checkered designs and servers dressed like they had stepped out of the 50s.

“They have the best burgers I’ve ever had,” Dean said matter-of-factly. “And trust me, I’ve tried ‘em all.” As he settled back in his chair, his eyes found the plastic grocery bag again. “I seriously can’t believe you brought me pie.”

“It can’t be that hard to believe,” you emphasized as you watched him. “I’m sure I’m not the first girl to bring you a pie…” you trailed off as you watched him contemplate.

After a pause, “Nah, can’t say that’s happened before.”

It was a surprise to you; surely, you thought, Dean was a ladies’ man. He had all the markings of one, anyway: the leather jacket, woodsy vibe, muscle car…

“You’re kidding,” you couldn’t hide the surprise in your voice.

Dean chuckled softly. “No, sweetheart. You are definitely the first.”

His words were gentle, but true—you could tell. A small tug pulled at the corners of your eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I’m just surprised,” you said carefully as the waitress approached your table.

“Hi there, my name’s Alice. What can I get ya, doll?” She smiled at you with a grin that reminded you of how an aunt or grandmother might.

“I’ll have water, please. I’ll just take a minute to look over the menu,” you smiled back.

She nodded and turned to Dean. “You still doing alright, love? Need a refill or anything?” While her tone had been pleasant and kind with you, it really softened when she addressed Dean. It made you smirk. It only validated further that he was certainly a ladies’ man.

“Nah, I’m alright, Alice,” he smiled back. “Thank you, sweetheart.” You could’ve sworn you saw Alice swoon, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. “How was work today?” Dean asked as he turned his attention back to you.

“Ugh,” you groaned, the smile completely gone from your face. “Same shit, different day, I guess.” You mumbled. Dean seemed interested so you continued. “I just landed a new project. It’s a new client, so there are a lot of growing pains.” You explained. “But it could always be worse, right?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said as he took a drink of his soda. “The more you talk about your job, the more miserable it sounds.”

“Doing what I love doesn’t pay the bills, Dean,” you sighed but found a small smile again. “We can’t all be traveling exterminators.” You winked.

Dean chuckled with a look down at his hands folded on the table in front of him, but then back to you. “Well, what is it that you love?” The way his eyes stared back into yours made your breath get caught in your throat. It was as if he wanted to see you—who you were, not just at face value, but deeper than that.

You took a moment to gather yourself before you continued. “I love writing. I always have. I tried applying it to a career, actually,” your mind wandered for a moment as you remembered the girl you used to be all those years ago. Your gaze found Dean’s once more. He noted the slight sadness that had appeared there. “It just didn’t work out.”

Alice had returned with your water now, and you heard her voice ask if you were ready to order.

“Go ahead,” you smiled at Dean. “I won’t take long.” You quickly spanned the menu as Dean ordered some burger meal in the background.

After he was done, Alice turned to you. You ordered a bacon burger and tater tots. Alice smiled at you both.

“I’ll get that out in no time,” she said. “You two need anything else?” You both shook your heads ‘no’.

“I think that’ll do it, thanks, Alice,” a smile pulled at Dean’s lips once more.

You noticed the way Alice’s red manicured fingers touched Dean’s shoulder. “You just let me know if you need anything else. Anything at all…” she trailed off with a wink.

You pressed your lips together to contain the laugh that threatened to bubble up at how blatantly she was flirting with Dean. He didn’t seem to notice, or at least, didn’t bring any attention to it.

Once she had walked away, you noticed Dean’s gaze had returned to you. You cleared your throat and took a sip of water before you spoke again.

“So, what about you? I’m genuinely curious about this traveling exterminator business you’ve got going on,” the words felt a little silly as they came from your lips, but you were being honest. Ever since Dean had mentioned it, you were curious. Dean chuckled softly as he broke eye contact. He ran his palms down the thighs of his jeans before he looked back up. You weren’t sure, but you would have thought he looked nervous, which seemed odd to you. “Seriously, how do you love being an exterminator? And why is it the ‘family business’?” You used your fingers to air-quote the way he had referenced it before.

Dean shrugged slightly as it was his turn to take a gulp of his water. “Well,” he started slowly. “My, uh, my mom died when I was really young. I was four and my brother, Sammy, was six months old.” He explained. That was something you hadn’t been expecting and your eyes widened. You had somewhat assumed Dean’s parents may be deceased or out of the picture from the way he spoke of it just being him and his brother when you were in Atlanta.

“I’m so sorry,” was all you knew to say. Dean’s forearms rested on the table now as he spoke. On instinct, you reached across and placed your hand just over his. “That’s awful. How did she…?” You trailed off, unsure if that was a question you should even ask or if he would be comfortable talking about it.

“There was a house fire,” he explained softly. His eyes looked down at his lap. “But, uh, after that my dad kinda had a hard time.” Understandable, you thought to yourself but kept quiet to let him continue. “We ended up on the road a lot. My dad met up with my, uh, my Uncle Bobby,” he seemed to hesitate, but you still kept silent to allow him to work through what he needed or wanted to say. “They started up this traveling exterminator business. They’d pick up jobs to help people out. My dad just didn’t want to stay in one place too long, so we moved around a lot.”

It still seemed wild and wasn’t anything you were familiar with, but now understanding the loss of his mom made it easier to absorb.

“I can’t imagine,” you shook your head as you looked down to where your hand still covered his. You pulled it back gently. “I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through, Dean.”

“Ah, it’s alright,” Dean cleared his throat and it felt like he had almost pulled himself out of his feelings as he sat back in his chair. A smaller smile crossed his face. “We’ve all got stuff. We just gotta go through it, I guess.”

While you appreciated his ability to pull through it, you knew there were probably some underlying feelings there. Your mind wandered back for a moment and pulled out something he had said in the hotel in Atlanta to you: he’s terrified of being afraid.

It started to make sense. He was afraid of being afraid: at four, he lost his mother in a horrible tragedy. And by the sounds of it, he may have lost his father because he didn’t know how to be a parent in the face of tragedy. When he told you it was just him and his brother, he had meant it. Who wouldn’t be afraid of being afraid after living through something like that?

“Here you are,” Alice reappeared with a sing-songy tune as she placed your burgers down in front of you.

“Looks great,” Dean smiled down at his plate. You felt a twinge of sadness for him and all that he had been through, but you pushed it aside just as he did.

“It really does, thank you,” you smiled back at Alice. But her eyes weren’t on you, they were all over Dean.

“My pleasure, hun,” she practically swooned. “And I mean it, you let me know if you need anything else.” How many times has she said that now? You matched Dean’s smile.

“Thanks,” Dean said as she nodded and turned to walk away with a long glance over her shoulder.

It took everything in you to contain the laugh that threatened to emerge, the thoughts of your previous conversation fading. Alice walked back to the kitchen and Dean looked at you with a clear “what?” look plastered on his face.

“Oh, nothing,” you smirked before you took a sip of your water. “It’s just that I bet you could get whatever you wanted with a charm like that.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean rolled his eyes, but still smiled, as he shrugged it off.

“I’m serious. All it takes is a little bat of those lashes and she’s putty in your hands,” you teased.

Dean leaned forward with his forearms flat on the table, his hands clasped in front of him. His face was close again—it reminded you of the Longhorn in Atlanta when he was so close, you felt like you could count the freckles that dotted his face. “And what about you, sweetheart? You turn to putty, too?” The playful grin that tugged across his lips made your stomach flutter.

You leaned back a bit and took another drink from your water—it was for two reasons, really. It gave you a minute to gather your words, but it also cooled you off from the flame that burned so obviously in front of you.

“Oh, no,” you quipped, as you attempted to seem unphased. The flirtatious notes from your tone came through, and Dean picked them up–the way his lips crept up in a small smile gave him away. “I’m immune.” A shrug raised your shoulders but you couldn’t help the pull of your lips as you caught the way Dean’s eyes glinted back at you.

“We might just have to test that theory,” his comment made you slightly inhale the bite of your burger you had just consumed. Thankfully, your sputtering only lasted a second, but the gig was up and your cover had been blown. The heat that rose in your cheeks gave away that your stoic demeanor was just a ruse, and Dean was completely aware.

There was something about the way his lips still curved upward, but his eyes bore into you–they were dark, but in a way that felt almost like you were caught in an electrical storm; the little hairs at the back of your neck stood to attention and goosebumps bubbled over your skin.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Dean?” Your voice was low now, your eyes trained on his. As flustered as he had gotten you just a moment before, you forced yourself to stay strong as you stared straight back at him without even a blink.

Without missing a beat, the muscle in his jaw clenched as he bit down with his teeth. The familiar upward curve up his lip made the dimple in his cheek pop as his eyes moved between your eyes and your lips. “Is it working?”

And just like that, you felt like putty in the man’s damn hands.

A/N: Well, hellllllo, Tumblr world! I know, it has been far too long. Things in my life are still hectic, BUT I'm back! I have missed all my reader friends, writer friends and writing in general.

I can't promise double updates each week (but I will when I can). Otherwise, new chapters will be posted on Thursdays moving forward.

I hope you all are well, and I hope you enjoy chapter 4!

PREVIEW OF THE NEXT CHAPTER:

You had never consumed (nor had you seen someone consume) a burger so quickly before in your life. It was a good burger, but that wasn’t what you could focus on.

When Alice came back to the table to check out–ahem, on–you (but mostly Dean), his gaze didn’t even move from yours.

“We’ll take the check now, Alice,” he said carefully as he watched you. The way his eyes studied you made you feel naked. It was like nothing else existed in the world but you. Heat climbed your chest in blotchy patches until they formed puzzle pieces on your neck, your cheeks. The way your heart pounded against your sternum felt so loud, you could hear each beat in your ears. This man was doing something to you, and that was something you hadn’t experienced in too long.

“Here you go, sugar,” Alice gingerly placed the bill in the middle of the table. She watched Dean intently, certainly hoping for maybe one more look into those beautiful green eyes. He glanced quickly with a smile as he fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. He tossed enough cash to cover the meal and the tip on the table, then back to you.

“Thanks, Alice,” he said, without missing another beat. He stood and held his hand out for you to take. “You wanna get outta here?”

Words seemed to fail you for a second, so you just nodded very quickly. Before he could pull you towards the door, he grabbed the grocery bag with the cherry pie you had brought.

“Oh, you forgot to eat your pie,” you murmured as you followed him through the diner.

“I was thinking we might have a different dessert tonight,” he paused at the door as his eyes looked over you once more. You realized he was asking if that’s what you wanted, too. Yet again, all you could do was nod.

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crocuta1 · 18 days

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ITS C4LL13 DAY!!!!!

I chose 12 Splatfest themes from each game that I liked the most and drew callie in them! I chose 6 fests from Splatoon 1 (because that was callie's debut game), 4 fests from Splatoon 2, and 2 fests from Splatoon 3.

Order + Explanation:

Cats vs. Dogs: I drew Callie as Izutsumi from Dungeon Meshi because I like the show, and I didn't really know what to draw other than Judd, and I thought that was boring.

Burger vs. Pizza: I based the drawing off of that one image of the guy telepathically lifting the pizza in Photoshop. I THOUGHT IT'D BE FUNNY IM SORRY!!!

Past vs. Future: This drawing was entirely self-indulgent because I just projected my childhood love of the Mesozoic Era onto the funny squid girl from that one nintendo game.

Pokémon Red vs. Pokémon Blue: Self-explanatory. I just really like Pokémon.

Perfect body vs. perfect mind: I was obviously going to make a Jojo ref, I love Jojo. JJBA refs aside, I'm shocked callie doesn't canonically have at least a little noticeable muscling?? She mains rollers???

Love vs. Money: Truly the question of all time. Anyways, I like Calf1sh.

Sci-Fi vs. Fantasy: This is me paying homage to my favorite movie ever, Alien. The funny little guy looking at Callie is a Xenomorph, and ain't it just the cutest little guy ever?

Squid vs. Octopus: She was definitely on team Octopus, don't lie.

Super Mushroom vs. Super Star: I chose this theme in particular because I like Super Mario bros an UNHEALTHY degree

Chaos vs. Order: This one is based on the Splatocalypse fest art. She was already shown to be on team Chaos, so I just had to figure out how to draw pearls dumbass Princess Cannon. I HATE IT!!!

Zombie vs. Skeleton vs. Ghost: Okay, im going to be really honest. I didn't really know what to do for this one. So, I just drew Callie in her Splatoween costume.

Friends vs. Family vs. Solo: I felt it would have made the most sense for her to be on team family, just because we know she speaks highly of them throughout the games.

Anyway, now that this is over, I'm never picking up a pencil again!! My wrist burns with the intensity of a trillion stars.

#splatoon #callie cuttlefish #squid sisters #dedf1sh #callie splatoon #calf1sh #acht splatoon #agent 3 #marie splatoon #captain 3 #craig cuttlefish #captain cuttlefish #dj octavio #pearl houzuki #cuttletavio #c4ll13 day

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wolfjackle-creates · 7 months

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Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 15

Happy WIP Wednesday! (Ignores the fact that it's almost an hour into Thursday my time.)

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.2k

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“Shit. Okay. I’ll fly us back. Bye Tim, everyone!” Danny picked up Tucker and flew away, turning invisible before he was more than a few yards away.

Tim sighed as he watched them. “Invisibility would be such a useful power. Paired with intangibility? Do you have any idea how much that’d help us out in Gotham?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Cassie dismissively. “So what’re we doing for the next few hours?”

Wulf cocked his head and looked at them. Tim waved to him. “Let’s see what we can find out from our maybe-friend here.” Then, to Wulf, he asked, “Walker?”

Wulf’s bemused expression turned angry and he snarled.

Tim laughed and gave a thumbs up to show his agreement. “I’ve”—he pointed at himself—“heard”—this time his ears—“bad”—he scowled—“things about Walker.”

“Malbono,” said Wulf.

Tim grinned. “Very malbono,” he agreed.

Wulf bared his teeth, but this time, Tim thought it was more of a grin.

Cassie sat down on the ground. “So, Wulf and Danny are both targeted by this Walker ghost. How do we keep them safe?”

Tim shrugged. To Wulf, he said, “We”—pointing to him and his friends—“keep you”— pointing to Wulf—“safe. Secure. Protect.” Hopefully at least one of those words would be similar enough to the Esperanto word for the same concept.

“Protekti,” agreed Wulf.

Bart pointed at himself. “One.” Then to Conner, “Two.” Tim was called three and Cassie four. With a stick, he drew a crude figure of Danny’s ghost form, Sam, and Tucker, counting each one to seven. Then he pointed to Wulf. “Eight.” He drew the number in the dirt to reinforce the count. “Walker, how many?” He lifted his hands in an I-don’t-know gesture.

Wulf started with his hands close and slowly spread them wide. “Multaj.”

Tim’s stomach sank at the answer. They’d faced bad odds before, but it was never good.

“What does Walker want?” asked Conner.

But Wulf only looked at him in confusion and none of them could figure out how to ask that in charades.

Cassie grabbed another stick and began drawing. She started with a line and on one side, she had humanoid ghosts with tails instead of legs, on the other side she had stick figures. Then she drew arrows from the ghost side to the human side. Under the arrows, she drew question marks. Looking up, she asked, “How?”

Wulf bared his teeth again and pointed at himself. “Wulf.” He flexed his hand showing off his claws. Conner tensed at the action, but Wulf ignored him. Instead, he drew his hand down the air. Tim felt like he could hear tearing, but it was as if the sound originated in his brain, bypassing his ears entirely.

In the path of Wulf’s claws was a glowing green portal. Another gesture and it disappeared.

Tim stared in wonder. “So, if you’re here and with us, Walker can’t send any more ghosts to Amity. That makes things so much easier.”

Wulf only grinned at him.

Bart poked Tim’s side. “Think he needs to eat?”

Tim laughed. “You’re just hungry yourself. He’s already dead.”

Bart shrugged. “We haven’t had lunch yet.”

“I’m with Bart,” said Cassie. “I’m getting hungry. And it’d be rude to not offer anything to him. Bart, get us stuff from that burger place Danny took us to. And grab extra in case our new friend wants anything.”

Tim rummaged around in his bag and pulled out two hundred dollars cash. All three of his friends had metabolisms to match their powers. “Here, get as much as you want. Simple cheeseburger and fries for me.”

The others gave their orders and Bart was off.

The rest of the afternoon was spent mostly hanging out in the woods with Wulf. When Bart had offered him a burger, he’d sniffed it before pulling a face and giving it back. Bart just shrugged and ate it himself.

“Shouldn’t you be doing homework?” Conner asked Tim after a while. They’d run through most of the questions they could ask via pantomime and Bart and Cassie had taken to pointing at things and asking what they were called in Esperanto. “Bruce won’t be happy with you.”

Tim sighed. “No, you’re right. If we can’t research in the library, I should do something productive.”

Though it only took an hour and a half of going through his schoolwork for Tim to want to tear his own hair out. He slammed his book shut, making four pairs of eyes instantly fly to him.

“I can’t do this anymore! I can’t wait until I don’t need to be in school anymore. Who wants to spar with me?”

Conner stepped forward. “I’ll take the first round.”

“Great. I’m going to use the staff Danny gave me. I want to practice with it more.”

Wulf watched them as they sparred. Tim held his own against Conner, though ultimately the half-Kryptonian won. Cassie beat him next.

Bart sat the spars out because he won every time if allowed to fight. But he made a very good referee.

Tim and Cassie were having their third match of the day when Danny, Sam, and Tucker rejoined them.

Tim was breathing hard as he blocked another blow from Cassie with his staff. “Hey, Danny,” he said. Then he did a twist he’d learned from Dick coupled with a move he’d learned from Lady Shiva and Cassie was flat on her back. Tim grinned as he offered her a hand to help her up. “Looks like I win the last match of the day.”

“Well I won our two previous ones,” retorted Cassie as she took his hand.

Sam let out a whistle. “Damn, that was impressive. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“B sent me to Europe for several months to train from a bunch of different masters when I forced him to take me on.”

“Must’ve been good teachers if you can hold your own as a regular human against metas.”

Tim nodded and moved so he could nudge Danny. “I’ve been trying to convince this one to join me for a few weekends so I could get him some training, but he’d rather rely on luck and his powers.”

Danny rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You know that’s not what it is. I’m just afraid that if I leave any more often than I have to, something will happen!”

“Sure, sure,” said Tim. “But now that your parents know me and I can see just how bad it is, I’ll be coming to you to train you. No getting out of it now!”

Danny just groaned.

Tucker grinned. “Let me know when you come, and I’ll fit your training sessions into Danny’s schedule.”

“Absolutely.”

Sam pointed her thumb at Wulf. “So, how’re we gonna sneak a giant ghost through town and into my house anyway?”

Danny shrugged. “I figured he and I could fly there invisibly. I’ll drop my invisibility and enter through the door so your parents or grandma see me enter, and Wulf will drop it once we’re in private.”

“Fine, fine. Come on, then.”

-----

In the show, there was a time skip between when Danny caught up with Wulf during his school lunch period and the four (Danny, Sam, Tucker, Wulf) all cramming into Tucker's bedroom that night. So I have no idea if Danny returned to school or not. And if he did, what did Wulf do all afternoon and evening? How did they meet up again? Or am I right and Danny skipped?

Good thing we have other people here to help out this time and it doesn't matter!

I no longer do tag lists for this fic, but please checkout the Subscription Post if you want notifications when this updates.

#dpxdc #tim drake #wulf (dp)#cassie sandsmark #conner kent #bart allen #they're just chilling #playing charades #and trying to learn a new language #tim attempts some homework #he hates it more than danny #danny would be fine with school work if he didn't have ghost shenanigans to deal with #(my headcanon at least)#but tim will drop out as soon as he can

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starlvenus · 3 months

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Old friends

warnings! none :p sam winchester x gn!reader summary: Sam winchester's hunt wasn't going well.. leading him to a diner where he would reunite with an old friend from Stanford. __

Sam wasn't having a good day so far.. Everything he and Dean were doing for this hunt was all thrown out the window, all of their research was wrong, only because someone gave them a fake tip, leading them to think it was a whole different monster.

The most mundane diner was ahead; the red sign on the roof shined brightly.

Sam sighed pushing the door open, the overhead bell chiming loudly as he entered. The smell of coffee fills his nostrils, only momentarily distracting him from his chaotic day.

His eyes scanned the menu, picking out what he would order, Burgers, Fries, and of course, pie for dean. His eyes narrow slightly as he tries to find a healthier option for himself.

He orders pretty quickly, shooting the waitress a small smile after he finishes. He shuffles in the seat trying to find a comfortable position.

His eyes observe the patrons in the diner. An elderly couple chatting over some coffee, a group of young teenagers, that's when he sees a familiar set of headphones, the sides adorned with those "nerdy" stickers, a nostalgic reminder to his time back at Stanford. Sam couldn't help but watch discreetly, taking in their new look, shorter hair, different style, yet his eyes were drawn onto that same bag.. His eyes scanned its pins and keychains seeing the small cat pin he had gifted was still there. Sitting in the spot he chose, nudged between a video game pin, and a movie pin.

Sam sat there contemplating whether to approach, doubt lingered in Sam's mind. Slightly remembering the times he and Dean were thrown onto tv screens..

readers pov I guess it was a pretty nice day.. I have a day off from work and nothing has gone wrong yet. The diner was pretty small and it had decent food, plus everything I've been drawing hasn't turned to shit!

I got my pencil case out, taking out a few colours, a light blue, pink, yellow, green and a teal. I almost instantly start to colour in the little sketch, layering the colours randomly. My head bobs along to the beat of the song playing in my ears, the headphones slightly getting rid of the noises in the diner. The corners of my lips lift gently, creating a content smile.

It wouldn't take long until I sensed someone looking at me.I tore my eyes away from my book and scanned the diner. My eyes would momentarily pass a familiar figure; this made me do a double take. His eyes widened slightly as I caught him, his eyes quickly darted away focusing on the table in front of him. I look away as well.. A little bit embarrassed. After a few minutes passed I looked back at the man.. Is that Sam? Sam winchester? My mind wanders back to my time in Stanford, Sam and I were pretty much best friends.. Well that's how it felt to me. We met in an Art history class and pretty much became class buddies until one day we decided to meet outside of class. Then one day he pretty much disappeared.. Leaving me disappointed, and without my friend. I sat there for a bit debating if I should go over to him, just to say hi or maybe engage in small talk about how his life was going.

I sat here contemplating whenever to approach him. I decided to pack up my pencils and books, hastily shoving them back into my bag. I removed the headphones from my ears, letting them hang around my neck. Before leaving the table, I put the small mug on top of the plate, making it easier for the waitress to get the dishes. I take a small deep breath and get up. Grabbing my bag and walking over to where Sam sat. whatever pov :p Their boots make heavy footsteps, prompting Sam to look up. Their eyes lock, and they offer a small wave accompanied by a slight smile.

Before they speak, they shuffle into the booth, taking the slightly uncomfortable seat in front of him.

"Hey, um, you're Sam Winchester, right?" Despite already knowing the answer, they feel compelled to confirm, just in case. Sam smiles slightly, his eyes narrowing, trying to place you. "Yeah, It's me.” he pauses “It's Y/N right?" They smile at him recognizing them, "yeah! it's me" they pauses for a bit unsure of what to say to one of their past friends "i- this might be insensitive of me but- what happened? why'd you.. Leave?" Sam looks down, remembering the incident. The memory still burned into his mind. "Family business.” He pauses before speaking again. “I had no say in it, really. It's a long.. complicated story.” His eyes shifted around the diner as his thoughts drifted back to that night. He sighs and continues “But you know that's not important, what have you been up to? You look good”

they swallow and nod, a small reassuring smile on their face. "Oh well thank you! decided to change up a few things.." they mumble slightly. "You look good too! your hairs grown pretty long" Sam grins slightly and looks down, a little embarrassed by the compliment"Yeah, the hair has certainly grown longer" He looks back at you, his eyes searching for something. A question crosses his mind. He remembers the last time you two spoke, he asked about your plans for the future. "How about that degree? Still pursuing it?" They shrug a little “nah.. A few months after you left I realised that it was really for me and I left to do other things..” they fidget with their fingers “But… I still have student loans which is unfortunate” they give Sam an awkward smile, their feet swaying back and forth under the table.

Sam chuckles slightly at your feet swinging, it brought back old memories of you tapping your feet together.

"So, what have you been up to these days? I'm sure your talents were put somewhere else."

Sam and Y/N sit there for ages, just talking about how everything is going, what they have been doing since they last saw each other.. Despite Sam already getting all his food, they continue to sit there just chatting away. It wasn't until Dean called Sam, whining and grumbling about where he was and why he was taking so long.. Sam came up with a quick lie about how the diner was filled with a bunch of people. Sam hangs up and looks at you “look.. im sorry but I've got to get back to my brother” Y/n smiles “oh- yeah that's okay!” They pause and watch him pack up the now lukewarm food. Y/N hesitated before speaking, but went for it “I- do you want my number? Maybe we can chat sometime?” Sam paused, contemplating the offer, and then nodded with a smile, "Yeah, sure."

#sam winchester x reader #supernatural #supernatural x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #dean x you #diners :3 #fluff #gn reader #gender nuetral reader #friends #castiel #spn #spn crack #bobby singer

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noorthehood · 10 months

Text

Until You • 05

Miguel O'Hara/Reader

Ch. 01 Here

Ch. 02 Here

Ch. 03 Here

Ch. 04 Here

Faster updates on Ao3!

With a glimpse of a futuristic cityscape and an encounter with a Spiderman seemingly much different from the one you’re used to, you unknowingly find yourself thrust into a web of intrigue and danger as the very fabric of space and time is warping. Who will you trust?

........………………………….…………………......................

“They’re calling me what?”

Your words reverberate through the bustling cafeteria, drawing the attention of the Spider-Society members immersed in their daily routines. The chatter around you momentarily subsides as heads turn in your direction while Lyla’s virtual figure flickers with her every laugh, clearly taking great delight in the affronted look on your face.

“Come on! It’s not like they’re saying it to cuss you out.” She begins. “Try to look at it as…a pet name that fits your circumstances.”

You finish the last bite of your burger, discreetly glancing around to ensure no one is overhearing your conversation with the ever-teasing AI.

“Well, pet name or not, I don’t know how I feel about having hundreds of Spider-people refer to me as ‘Temp’.” You whisper. “What is this, an office drama?”

Seemingly unfazed by your skepticism, she takes on a robotic and lifeless tone, her movements mimicking those of a clunky mechanical robot.

"'Temp' is short for temporary, symbolizing your presence in our dimension as a temporary occurrence. It is a way for the Spider-Society members to acknowledge and categorize your unique situation in a comedic and friendly light. Please try not to take it personally."

You roll your eyes and let out a resigned sigh, realizing that Lyla is determined to have her fun at your expense. Taking a sip from your drink, you decide to shift the conversation back to what you were discussing before she had let you know of the nickname issue.

“Alright, alright, we get it Tin Man. Now, let’s go back to what we were talking about before my drink coincidentally happens to find its way into your GPU.”

On cue with your threat, she quickly adjusts her projection to display a small holographic interface, complete with visual aids and data streams, preparing to resume her description of the inner workings of the 2099 metropolis of Nueva York.

Over the past few days, a peculiar bond had formed between you and Lyla; although she initially seemed wary of an outsider infiltrating the tightly-knit facility, you could tell the advanced AI had finally warmed up to your presence. Once you were granted permission to roam around the Spider-Society HQ, courtesy of Jessica Drew's intervention, Lyla became your designated companion and monitor—when her boss didn’t need her support elsewhere, that is. This idea proved particularly useful, as you would no longer have to go through that bulky Spiderman for your more personal daily needs.

While her primary purpose was to ensure your safety and well-being, she went above and beyond her assigned duties; Lyla became your guide, your confidant, and even your source of entertainment. You just knew that your boring old smartphone would never be able to compete once you’d be back in your home dimension.

But beyond all of that, you knew that it was Lyla’s presence itself that had been keeping you from going insane between those walls.

While there were a few friendly Spider-people who would engage in casual conversations, you couldn't shake off the feeling of being an outsider. After all, they were superhumans who had their responsibilities and duties to attend to, and you were just a temporary visitor in their realm of heroism. There was an invisible barrier that separated you, making it difficult to truly connect on a deeper level—or perhaps that from experience, despite their desire to befriend you, they were the ones that felt compelled to keep their distance so as not to bring you closer than you already were to their world of precarity.

Could that explain why the Spiderman hadn’t come to check on you since the go-home machine incident?

You shake the thought off your mind.

“Are you still listening or am I wasting my RAM here?”

Lyla’s voice quickly brings you back to reality as you blink a few times, eyes returning on the holographic projection she had created of one of the city’s vertical car tunnels.

“Oh—Yeah, sorry, I mean—” You stammer, trying to come up with an excuse. “I was just…thinking about how much I would love to see the city with my own two eyes instead of through projections or from the windows, you know.”

That wasn’t a lie; you truly did find yourself captivated by the vision of this futuristic ‘Nueva York’—it's a far cry from the familiar streets and buildings of your respective New York. Everything Lyla had told you about the advanced transportation system, the breakthroughs in regenerative medicine, and the incredible architectural wonders that were out there just piqued your curiosity all the more—had it not been that you were being constantly monitored, you probably would have tried to sneak out and get a feel for it yourself.

“Yeah, well,” She says, adjusting her comically large heart-shaped glasses. “I wish I could show you firsthand, but the circumstances don’t exactly allow for it.”

“Yeah, I know. No hard feelings.” You let out a wistful sigh, acknowledging the limitations of your current situation. “Thanks for allowing me to get a glimpse of it through you, though.”

Lyla looks at you in silence for a few moments, as if she was trying to find the right words to make you feel better about your circumstances. The silence stretches, creating a tangible weight in the air before she finally begins to speak.

"It's…not all utopia, you know." She finally says. The cafeteria buzzes with activity around you, but her somber tone draws your focus entirely to her. "As advanced and dazzling as this place may seem, it’s not without its flaws.”

The once playful companion now wears a more serious facade, and you can't help but feel a pang of concern.

“There is a stark divide between the privileged elite and the disenfranchised, those who have access to the advancements and benefits of this society…and those who are left behind."

She pauses, her holographic figure tilting slightly as if trying to convey the depth of the issue. The projections around her shift to display images of gleaming skyscrapers towering above shanty towns and overcrowded streets.

"The rapid progress and technological marvels have come at a price," Lyla continues. "Mega-corporations such as Alchemax wield tremendous power, their influence reaching into every aspect of society; they control resources, shape public opinion, and even dictate the very fabric of people's lives."

You find yourself drawn deeper into Lyla's words, the holographic projections becoming windows into a reality far more complex than you had imagined. Scenes of protests, clashes, and the shadows of corporate dominance flicker before your eyes, painting a picture of a society grappling with its own contradictions.

Lyla's gaze shifts from the projections to meet your eyes, her virtual body perched on the edge of your table. The room seems to quiet down around you—or maybe your brain was playing tricks on you to help you grasp the gravity of the moment.

"There's a lot of darkness beneath the glossy surface, a side of this place that I haven't shared with you until now. And, maybe…" She hesitates. "...Maybe that's one of the reasons why he is so determined to find a way to get you out of here quickly."

You raise your eyebrows at that statement.

It takes a moment to absorb her words; of course, you knew that no city came without its downsides. But in a world like this, a world that seemed so utopian, so clean and rid of imperfections—it was somehow disheartening to know that the greediness of human nature could persist even when it has the opportunity not to.

“I suppose that’s why even a place like this needs its Spiderman, huh.” You scoff lightly, then pause for a few seconds. “Say, Lyla…”

“Hm?” Her virtual gaze meets yours inquisitively as the projections behind her dissipate.

Your voice drops lower as you lean in closer to her, ensuring your conversation remains private.

“Does he...you know,” You hesitate slightly, unsure of how to word things. “Get notified of everything I ask you?”

Lyla raises an eyebrow.

"Not unless it compromises anyone's safety," she assures you, her voice carrying a hint of playful mischief. "But if you ask me to show you any weird stuff, I might just snitch for funsies."

"No—God, no, it's not like that," You hurriedly clarify as you shake your head. Lyla crosses her arms and looks at you skeptically, her virtual glasses perched on her nose.

"I mean, he does have full access to the record, of course," Lyla admits. "But that's hours and hours of conversation that he'd have to skim through every day. Trust me, he's got better things to do."

"I see," you reply, the tension in your shoulders easing.

Lyla continues to study you, her virtual gaze fixed on your face, as if she senses there's more to your question. With a subtle movement of her hand, she prompts you to elaborate.

You stay silent for a moment. There was something you had been meaning to address, a lingering curiosity that had been growing within you for the better part of your stay at the HQ.

“Could you…tell me more about Spiderman?”

She raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Depends. What would you like to know?”

“I…I’m not sure.” You stammer. “The gist of it, I guess.”

“The gist of it, huh.” A mischievous smile tugs on her lips. “Well, there are limitations to my programming when it comes to the disclosure of sensitive information about anyone at HQ, as you probably have guessed already.”

You nod, acknowledging the obvious.

“Yeah, of course, sorry I ever asked—”

“But.” Lyla interrupts you and quickly appears closer to your face, a finger raised in the air. “I can tell you something interesting I’ve noticed lately.”

The sassy AI sure knew how to pique your curiosity. You cross your arms in anticipation.

“I’m listening.”

Lyla smirks and looks around before taking a seat on your shoulder.

"Well, one thing you have to know about our Spiderman here is that he is stubborn as a mule," She starts with a tinge of simulated exasperation. "This whole vigilante thing, it's like a drug to him. Nothing else matters more than doing what he believes is right, even if it means going against the grain."

You slowly uncross your arms as the AI keeps on going.

“Ever since he…became the way he is,” She hesitates, searching for the right words, “He’s always been driven by this deep sense of responsibility—always shouldering the weight of the world on his back without ever counting on anyone else to help carry the load. Maybe he sees it as a sort of atonement for the things he’s done, I’m not sure.” Lyla's expression softened, her digital eyes conveying a sense of fondness.

“He’s not like most Spider-People in this building, you know. He doesn’t get much recognition at all, or even…deal with the public. With or without the mask.”

She pauses as you process her words.

“But ever since you got here, or rather ever since he took you out of that machine,” Her eyes look up into yours. “I’ve noticed he’s gotten…How could I say—softer?”

Your eyes widen at her words, struggling to comprehend the implications.

“What do you…” You chuckle. “Nah, I haven’t seen him since I set foot in the go-home machine, and our interactions have been brief at best—”

“You haven’t seen him since that day. He, on the other hand, has been watching over you for the past ten days. You knew that, didn’t you?” She chimes in. “Maybe he feels guilty for what he made you go through back there, maybe he sees a reflection of himself in you. Someone who’s been thrust against their will into a world they don't really understand.”

The image of that imposing, stoic masked man allowing himself to ‘soften’ in your presence is both bewildering and unbelievable to you. Lyla's eyes meet yours, a warm smile playing on her lips.

"Sometimes, it's the most unexpected connections that have the most profound impact," She says softly. "Maybe he sees in you a glimmer of the humanity he thought he'd lost."

Before you could formulate a response, a notification appears on Lyla's communication interface, accompanied by a rhythmic beeping. She glances at the notification and mutters ‘gotta take that’ before she vanishes from your shoulder, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts.

Leaning back in your chair, the weight of Lyla's words settles on your mind like a heavy cloak. The revelation that Spiderman had been watching over you didn't come as a surprise; it was part of the reason you had devised the whole psychological warfare plan while you were still confined in your quarters. But for Lyla to suggest that your mere presence had impacted him in some way…

You mull over the implications of her words, tracing the lines of the man’s solitary existence. How isolated must he be to find solace in the presence of a complete stranger? The idea that your arrival could have softened his hardened resolve tugs at your heartstrings, evoking a mix of empathy and compassion—you can't help but wonder what it must be like to carry the burden he bears.

The man’s image flashes in your mind. You can almost see the weight of the world etched on his shoulders, the weariness in his gaze—though you’d never seen them, you still wondered what stories his eyes held. Would it be bad to wonder what type of man lies under the mask? What sort of scars, seen and unseen, you would find under his suit?

‘No.’ You stop your mind from wandering further. ‘That’s inappropriate.’

You take a deep breath, attempting to push aside those intrusive thoughts as a sense of internal conflict washes over you.

“Speaking of the blue devil.” Lyla’s voice brings you back to reality once again, her figure instantly rematerializing in front of your eyes. “Looks like he’s heading back from a field mission after hearing the latest news going around HQ.”

“News?” You furrow your eyebrows inquisitively. “What news?”

Lyla smirks and crosses her arms as she savors the moment of anticipation before delivering the information.

“Seems like your little friend has finally woken up."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“You might just be the least athletic person I have ever had the misfortune to meet in all my years of activity.”

Leaning against the wall, you struggle to catch your breath, your lungs still heaving from the exertion of navigating the unconventional layout of the Spider-Society HQ. Lyla's condescending remark lingers in the air, stinging with a touch of truth—it was no secret that physical prowess was not your strong suit after working an office job for the past couple of years, especially in a place teeming with people who could soar through the air or scale walls with ease.

"Well, probably because I am the least athletic person you've met in your years of activity; you work with superhumans!" you retort, gasping for air between words. "And whose idea was it to build some of the floors upside down anyway? Again, there is no way this is up to building code!"

"Most people here usually just swing from place to place," she remarks casually, as if swinging from webs is a universally accepted mode of transportation.

You slump down the wall, grateful for the support it provides, fanning yourself with your hands in an attempt to alleviate the heat radiating from your flushed face.

As soon as Lyla had informed you of the other woman's awakening, your instinct to check up on her immediately kicked in. It felt like the natural thing to do, drawing from your experience as a volunteer member of the office emergency response team back home—a role that, admittedly, does look good on a resume. You and the other woman were stranded in this strange and futuristic world, and in each other's presence, you could potentially find a semblance of familiarity, a connection amidst the unknown.

Of course, your motivations were entirely altruistic, driven solely by the desire to ensure her well-being and offer support in this perplexing predicament. It had nothing to do with the fact that you were eager to see Spiderman after over a week of no contact.

Absolutely nothing.

Right?

You promptly try to shake off the thought. Maybe you were still overthinking what Lyla had told you about him earlier. But for now, your primary focus should lie exclusively on the well-being of your fellow castaway.

With a final heave, you push yourself off the wall facing the large gate of the infirmary, mustering the strength to stand upright. Taking a deep breath, you shoot a determined gaze at Lyla.

"Alright, C-3PO." You declare theatrically. “Let’s go check on my—.”

“What are you doing here, exactly?”

You jolt in surprise at the deep voice emanating from behind you. Quickly turning on your heels, you find yourself face to face with the towering man who had been the subject of most of your thoughts for the past hour or so, arms tightly crossed on his chest, looking at you through his intimidating yet somehow familiar mask.

“Oh.” You manage to let out, your heart rate quickening. “I…I could ask you the same thing.”

“I work here.” He responds matter-of-factly, his tone carrying a hint of confusion. Lyla materializes next to him, her digital form bearing a mischievous smile.

You mentally berate yourself for the nonsensical remark. What were you even trying to say?

“I mean—” You stammer, attempting to regain your composure as you lean against the nearby wall. “Haven’t seen you around in a minute. Or since I got here, really.”

He sure knew how to hold eye contact.

"Some of us are busy working," he states, taking a step toward the entrance of the infirmary. "Just like others are busy vandalizing private property."

You scoff, trailing behind him as you try to keep up with his brisk pace.

“What you call vandalizing, I call peacefully protesting. And I’ve apologized already, haven’t I?”

“Yelling ‘sue me’ through the intercom isn’t exactly the definition of apologizing, is it?” He retorts, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

You follow him through a long white hall with large windows on one side as he checks some information on his complex-looking watch, aided by Lyla.

"Fine, maybe I haven't formally apologized," you concede, maintaining your quick stride while skillfully evading a few Spider-People approaching from the opposite direction. "But let's not forget that you haven't apologized to me either for confining me to a room for an entire week! Yet, you don't see me complaining, do you?"

“Seems to me like you are complaining right now.”

"And rightfully so!" you retort, your voice laced with frustration.

With a sigh, he abruptly halts, causing you to nearly collide into his back. You look up and find yourself facing a large glass wall, beyond which lies the woman you've come to see, lying in her pristine white infirmary bed. Her gaze is fixed on the view beyond the window to her left.

"Listen," the man begins, turning to face the same direction as you. "Right now, all I'm trying to do is find a way to send you home as soon as possible. So if this conversation can wait, I need to speak with your friend and see if she can provide any leads on where to start. Understood?"

You stare at him in silence for a few seconds.

“Wait, you… you mean you’re gonna go in there to talk to her? Right now?”

He turns his head towards you, confusion etched on his masked face.

“Is there a problem?”

Unable to contain your amusement, you burst into laughter, much to his dismay.

“You’ve got this strange habit of laughing after I say something completely normal, you know that? What the shock is so funny?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I just hope you’ve got a few extra doses of that tranquilizer on hand, you know—for when she turns around and loses her mind when she sees a ten-foot-tall masked man in a blue spandex suit at her bedside and thinks she’s getting dragged to purgatory.” Tilting your head, you give him a wry smile. “If your plan is to send her right back into a coma, go right ahead.”

Lyla flickers into existence next to you, her hands on her hips, chiming in with a nod of agreement.

“She’s got a point.”

He stares at you for a moment, then at the glass wall facing him.

“What do you suggest, then?”

“That I be the one to go in there and talk to her.” A surge of determination fuels your words as you take a step closer to him, your eyes locking onto his hidden gaze.

He looks back at you, holding eye contact against his better judgment. Has he seen your face from so close before? Of course he did, he’d carried you in his arms twice in the span of two days when you had first arrived. And whenever time allowed it, he would monitor your quarters to watch for any potential glitch or anomalous event—he had seen and heard plenty of you.

Yet his gaze wanders, tracing the contours of your slightly flushed cheeks, the fluttering of your eyelashes, and the shape of your lips. These were the subtle details that surveillance cameras could never quite capture, and they held a captivating allure when observed up close. But amidst all these visual observations, one thing captivates him more than anything else.

Your scent.

It's not the fragrance of your perfume or the smell of your clothes. It's your natural scent, the essence that is uniquely yours. He had noticed it lingering around the headquarters, surfacing in his senses shortly after your arrival, and it inexplicably clung to him throughout the day—even after he retreated to the solace of his own home. The aroma was unfamiliar to him, yet strangely soothing.

The weight of his unspoken response lingers in the air, the silence stretching between you. However, the moment is interrupted by Lyla, who breaks the stillness with a snap of her virtual fingers and a prompt reminder of the task at hand.

“Earth to Spiderman.” Lyla chimes in, her voice bringing him back to the present. “So? What do you say, big guy?”

He takes a step back, his gaze shifting away from yours, as if attempting to regain his composure.

“Yeah, sure. I don’t see why not.” He finally responds, his voice slightly gruff as he clears his throat.

Lyla raises her eyebrows, expressing her surprise at his quick compliance. You shoot him a satisfied smile.

“I knew you had some common sense hidden under that scary mask of yours.”

You start walking towards the sliding door of the woman’s room, but are promptly stopped by a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Wait.”

You turn your head to face him with an inquisitive frown, expecting a change of mind, but are rather met with what you recognize as an expression of concern.

“Listen, I…I trust you’ll do good in there. ” He pauses, his hand softly resting on your shoulder as he looks down at you. “But if anything feels off…I need you to let me know. Immediately.”

The concern in his voice resonates within you. It's evident that his words extend beyond the mere well-being of the woman in the room; there's a vulnerability in his voice that suggests he cares more than he's letting on. Remembering what Lyla had mentioned earlier about Spiderman's solitary existence and his reluctance to rely on others, you can't help but wonder if he sees in you someone he can trust, someone he can confide in—even if just for this moment.

You're tempted to lean into his touch, to let yourself be enveloped by the warmth and comfort it promises. But you swiftly pull back, reminding yourself of the boundaries and the temporary nature of your alliance. You know that indulging in these fleeting emotions could complicate matters and distract you from the task at hand.

You give him a small smile, hoping to ease the tension in the air. "Pinky promise," you say playfully, raising your pinky finger in a gesture of camaraderie.

A faint unseen smile tugs at the corner of his lips, hidden behind the mask, as he hooks his pinky finger around yours, sealing the unspoken agreement between you.

He nods in acknowledgement, but the concern in his eyes remains. It's almost as if he's reluctant to let you go, to entrust you with this task. But you reassure yourself that it's merely his sense of responsibility, his desire to ensure everyone's safety, that drives his concern.

"Better keep to your word." He steps back slightly as if to maintain a respectful distance.

Before either of you can say anything else, Lyla's voice breaks the spell, reminding you of your initial purpose.

"If you keep this going any longer she’s gonna go to sleep again.”

You nervously wipe your palms on your jumpsuit in anticipation and slowly make your way to the door. You shoot one last look at the Spiderman, stiffly standing in front of the entrance with arms crossed. He gives you one last nod before you make your way inside the room.

“I’m counting on you, Temp.”

....................................................................................................

A.N: Phew, longest chapter so far (I haven't slept in weeks). Felt like delving more into YN's relationship with Lyla as well as fleshing out Nueva York a bit—as I told a reader on Ao3, it seems a lot of people who've only seen ATSV think of Nueva York as a sort of solar-punk utopia of the future, while it's actually pretty messed up from up close.

Hope y'all like playing with fire cause the slow burn is burning!

As always, faster updates on Ao3!!!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fluff #spiderverse #miguel o'hara angst #spiderman 2099

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anonymouspuzzler · 1 year

Text

HEY, IT'S A FREAKING ENORMOUS SMILE FOR ME FANCOMIC!! there is a very real chance that if you're new from twitter following me here, you followed me for this!! I don't blame you!! I'm real dang proud of this and it was a true labor of love!!! I have more like this I would like to draw soon, too...

(full transcript slash detailed image descriptions under the cut!)

PAGE 1 The comic title, COOKING, is written at the top of the page in big handwritten bubble-letters colored in pale peach.

Panel one shows Kamal, wearing a brown-and-red striped turtleneck sweater, standing next to Habit, wearing a fluffy teal-blue sweater over a pink button-up and blue jeans. Kamal is lightly grimacing, looking mildly embarrassed and rubbing his right arm with his left hand, while Habit stands with his hands on his hips and a big grin. Kamal: So, um, something that we only realized after we started living together... ...turns out neither of us can cook. Like. At all. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): I can make "spaghetti" (smiley face) Kamal: Yeah that barely counts. (in smaller text) I guess I can't talk, though... I was living off Chinese takeout and hot dogs...

Panel two shows Habit on the left, smiling warmly and holding up Putunia with both hands, who is grinning and holding both fists in the air triumphantly. Kamal is on the bottom right of the panel, shrugging. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): But now we have "Putunia"!! Putunia (shouting): THAT'S ME!!! Kamal: So, uh, we had to figure out the whole "cooking" thing. 'Cause we're the adults here or whatever...?

The third panel is marked with a big handwritten caption of "SO THEY LEARNED TO COOK". Below that, Kamal, left, and Habit, right, are standing wearing frilly aprons - Kamal's yellow with pink-and-red trim and a heart on the chest; Habit's light green with dark green trim and flowers on the chest. Habit is also still holding Putunia in one arm, while the other hand gives a thumbs up. Putunia is smiling with her limbs dangling limply like a kitten. Kamal (in small font): How did you just... have these ready...?

PAGE 2 In the large top panel, Kamal, still wearing the apron, is smiling, wearing red oven mitts with yellow flowers, and holding a blue plate with freshly-cooked samosas that are emitting a cloud of steam. Kamal: I, um, actually ended up calling my mom for advice, and she's been teaching me all her old recipes? I didn't really appreciate her cooking growing up - you know, you're a dumb kid and you just want pizza 'cause all your friends are getting pizza... But now... I dunno, it makes me feel closer to her. Feels like I'm carryin' on something important. And there's something real nice about getting to share a family recipe with people I lo- CARE ABOUT.

The second panel shows Habit leaning in from the right, smiling slightly mischievously and clutching his hands near his face. Putunia is also bursting in from the bottom right, smiling and throwing her fists in the air. Kamal is visibly flustered, sweating and yelling, jostling the plate of samosas. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): I still need to meet your mom!! Kamal (yelling): I- I told you, I'm not ready for that yet!! (in smaller text) Ugh, she keeps bugging me about coming over to meet you two... Putunia (yelling): I WANNA MEET KAMAL-MOM!! KA-MOM!!!!!

PAGE 3 The large top panel shows Habit in his apron, smiling, holding up a wooden spoon in his left hand and a wooden fork in his left. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): I've been learning to do "new things" with my favorite foods!!! (smiley face) "Homemade sauce"!! "Black bean burger"!! "Crabo"- "Crabounara"- "Cbabao"- "Ca"- Fancy spaghetti.

The second panel shows him in the same pose and expression, but now pointing upwards with his left hand. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): Also!!! I

The next panel abruptly cuts to a nervous-looking shadow-Habit, with an equally-nervous looking Kamal (no longer wearing the apron) peeking in from the right side of hte frame. Habit: um

PAGE 4 The large top panel shows Habit smiling nervously, looking more subdued than normal, lightly scratching his chin with his right pointer finger. Kamal, smiling proudly, is hugging onto his left arm. Habit (with a normal speech pattern): I... so, for a long time, I didn't even want to look at food from... where I grew up. Too many bad associations for me, yes? But, now that I'm in a better place, I'm trying to reconnect in ways that feel safe for me. Food has been a nice way to do that. Lets me build new memories to replace bad ones. Kamal: Proud of ya, big guy

The next panel shows Habit back to his usual bubbly self, smiling, wearing the flower-patterned oven-mitts and holding up a plate with a Medovik cake (a type of Russian honey cake) topped with berries. IN the background, Kamal and Putunia both stare at the cake, Kamal visibly drooling, Putunia with stars in her eyes. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): The baking is "ESPECIALLY GOOD"!!! Today I made "Медови́к" ("Medovik" in Russian script)!!! Kamal (in small text): it looks so good... Putunia (in small text): CAKE!!!!!!

The final panel cuts to Kamal drawn from the chest-up, looking slightly sheepish and scratching his chin. Kamal: Um, so that's the other thing we've discovered through all this. It turns out, uh...

PAGE 5 The top panel shows Kamal (left), Putunia (center), and Habit (right) all sitting at a table with a yellow-and-red checkered tablecloth, eating the Medovik cake. Kamal, with a sheepish expression, is leaning forward with his elbows on the table, right arm resting down and left raising a fork to his mouth, with a plate with a slice of cake to his right. Putunia is pumping her right fist and raising the left, holding a fork with some cake on it, into the air triumphantly, shouting with delight. Habit is resting his head in his hands with both elbows on the table, looking delighted, a slice of cake and a fork to his left. The cake itself, with a cake-serving knife to the left side, is in the center of the table. Kamal: ...we... all have a giant sweet tooth... (in smaller text) Oh my god I feel like such a hypocrite... Putunia (in small text): YUMMY!!!!!! Habit (in small text; misspelled Habitspeak): Isn't it?? Isn't it??

The next two panels cut in close on Kamal and Habit, from roughly the chest-up, as they both eat. Kamal is chewing with a guilty expression, holding his fork near his chest, while Kamal is smiling and lifting a bite of cake to his mouth with a fork held delicately in his right hand. Kamal: How did this happen?? We are literally both dentists?? Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): "You" are. "I" don't have to worry about that anymore

The next panel shows Kamal grimacing, gesturing with his fork, while Habit chews with a smug grin. Kamal: Yeah, not how that works. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): Plus I brush my teeth 4 to 60 times per day so they are "perfect" Kamal: Also not how that works. (in smaller text) Please talk to your therapist about that I worry about you

The next panel cuts to Putunia, on the right, shoving her empty plate towards Kamal with a determined expression. Kamal stares back with one eyebrow raised. Putunia (shouting): I WANT MORE CAKE!!! Kamal: Uh huh. And what do we say about that? Putunia (shouting): MORE CAKE PLEASE??

The final panel shows Kamal, on the left, slicing into the cake, while Putunia to the right watches with a smile and her plate held up. Habit comes up behind her, also holding out his empty plate and watching with a smile. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): Kamal me too Kamal (smiley face) Kamal: Well, if you're both having seconds...

PAGE 6 The final page has a full-page panel illustration. Kamal, grimacing with his hands on his hips, is looking down at a messy sink full of dirty cooking implements. Behind him, Habit, scratching his chin, looks away sheepishly while Putunia to his right cheers, hands in the air. Kamal: Okay, now which of us is gonna be the adult who does the dishes Habit: not it Putunia (shouting): NOT IT!!! Kamal: oh my god

#smile for me #kamal bora #boris habit #habismal #putunia mollar #anonymous puzzler art #this is the longest comic I've drawn in a LONG while and i am EXTREMELY proud of it!!! i would like to do more soon!!!#i want to make medovik so bad now.#long post

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owl-with-a-pen · 3 months

Note

okay but another angsty thing re: Brainy and sleeping, what if he wakes up from a nap or something in the Tower soon after the season 5 finale and thinks he's still in that room with the radiation poisoning him (like maybe he has a nightmare about that), so someone has to calm him down and bring him back to reality

If the 3,000+ word count wasn't a dead giveaway, I had some fun with this one 😉

If Nia was certain of anything, it was that Brainy was going to crash real soon. He’d been looking pale ever since they’d returned from the Fortress, and there was no way in hell she could ignore the feverish heat that had prickled from his skin while her face had been buried so snugly against his throat. He hadn’t said anything then, but when they’d eventually picked themselves up from the lab’s floor, Brainy had been ready to drop long before they made it to the elevator. Without Nia's guiding hand, he never would have made it to the loft in one piece.

By the time they were hunkered down on a sofa in the Tower’s living nook, tablet balanced precariously between them, one of J’onn’s blankets folded over their knees, Brainy been close to passing out entirely. The only thing that stopped him was his relentless focus on the task at hand.

Every now and then, Nia caught his eyes as they worked a path across the data she’d been able to draw up from their borrowed intel downloaded from the Fortress’s supercomputer. It wasn’t much, but between the Tower, Legion and Kryptonian archive, they had a halfway decent snapshot of what the Phantom Zone might entail.

Finding Kara, though? That was the tricky part.

Nia’s heart hurt every time she thought about it – of Kara lost and alone in that place. She’d once described it to her as worse than hell. A terrifying purgatory where nightmares held a tangible presence.

No one had gone home that night. Nia lost track of Alex some point past midnight when Lena appeared with enough Big Belly Burger to feed a small army. Her best guess was that she’d retreated downstairs in the commotion to get first dibs on J’onn’s intergalactic coffee machine. They could’ve all used the kick right about now, and any other night Nia would’ve been shouldering her way to the front of the line.

But coffee wasn’t going to cut it today. Besides, shoulder-to-shoulder with Brainy was exactly where she needed to stay. Maybe he hadn’t been eager to share anything out loud, but when he’d refused to eat any of Lena’s generous offerings, Nia had known what was up.

The nanites were starting to hit back. Hard.

She could survive without the caffeine, she rationalised. Maybe it was a good thing. She’d been doing pretty much anything to deny sleep for the last few months, hating herself whenever she slipped into a dream with Brainy as the centrepiece, goading her even in the deepest corners of her subconscious. She’d spent so long convincing herself that it was all in her head, that it was her grief and guilt that had conjured him up as her eternal tormenter. Knowing the truth of it still stung, an ache that went bone-deep, but that pain had started to ease the moment she’d locked her pinkie with his.

She wasn’t sure how easy she’d sleep now, but she knew that she couldn’t ignore the tug of the dream realm any longer. It was the only place she could figure any of this out, no matter how uncertain she felt. Besides, she wasn’t alone this time. She had Brainy back on her team, his promise to her as unbreakable as steel, and knowing that made everything feel just a little lighter.

Nia wasn’t surprised when the words on the tablet began to blur into an incomprehensible muddle, the lull of her unconscious mind far too pressing of a force to refuse. Soon, she was lost to that darkness, pulled dizzyingly fast towards the threads of a dream already spun partway together.

Sometimes, her dreams came to her in quick successive flashes - other times they settled into specific locations, familiar or alien alike.

The room she awoke to was hazy, shimmering with rippling heat that rose in waves from the surface of the ground, enough that she couldn’t see a thing inside it. There was light, though, a deep orange spectacle that shone from somewhere close to the floor.

Before she could even try to understand where she was, pain like nothing she’d ever experienced erupted across her skin. It didn’t have a source, rather it radiated from all-round. It was a tangible pressure, raw and harsh, a laser point fixed solely on her that bypassed clothes and flesh alike, blistering straight to blood and bone. Her limbs felt like lead wherever it penetrated, targeting her joints until she folded with a swallowed scream to the floor. Nia’s chest held stiff, refusing to draw in the air she suddenly, desperately needed.

Because every breath burned - worse than the last - as though her lungs were lacerating inside her ribs. She gritted her teeth like she was biting down on leather, the sting of her tears sizzling to vapour before they even had a chance to fall.

What was this place her mind screamed, that too sounding warped and winded to her ears. Her dreams had certainly terrified her before, but they’d never hurt her like this. Like they could kill.

Nia gasped, gripping for her throat when the pressure of the air thickened inside her mouth, scalding her tongue. She could nearly taste it, bitter like battery acid, sharp like blood. Something about that taste was familiar to her, like when she’d overexerted her powers or…

No… there was something else. Because she had felt this before. Just for a second. Just before…

Before she’d been thrown from Leviathan’s ship.

Leviathan.

That didn’t make sense. If that was what her dream was trying to tell her, it’d missed the mark by a mile. The ship was gone – Leviathan along with it. No amount of pain could convince her otherwise. And if that was true, then there was nothing left of this dream that could hold a connection to the future.

How could her dream prophesise something that no longer existed?

Just as Nia had forced another breath through her bubbling lungs, bracing herself for the pain that would follow, she heard something. A sound that cut through the fog in her mind, that made everything suddenly so clear.

A soft, barely audible whimper from across the room.

Nia curled her hands into fists, jerking against the molten metal that greeted her knuckles, and looked up. Beyond the stifling power of Leviathan’s radiation, she could see the shape of a person pressed up against the console of the furthest edge of the room. She blinked against the stinging in her eyes, realising that the orange light she’d seen before had been coming from there. Now, that glow sharpened into something starker, closer matching the pale hair it illuminated – pasted against the jawline of a very familiar green face.

Nia’s eyes widened in shock, gasping his name.

Brainy sat with his knees drawn towards his chest, his body curved protectively around an object cradled closely to his centre. Even while she watched, Nia could see the spasmodic convulses of his chest as he tried to draw in breath, quickly followed by a barely muted cry of pain when the radiation crept in instead; his teeth an off-white smear fixed into permanent misery.

Nia’s heart twisted hard enough to outweigh her own pain. Because… it wasn’t her pain. It never had been. She’d never been inside the ship long enough to feel its true effect. None of them had.

None except…

Brainy. Of course this was Brainy’s dream. She wasn’t inside a vision at all. In her exhausted confusion, she must have slipped right into Brainy’s mind.

It was rare – rarer than rare, actually. But sometimes it could happen. If she and Brainy were tired enough, if they hadn’t been thinking, or even if they were thinking too much, then…

It hadn’t happened in so long, though. It couldn’t. They would have needed to share each other’s space, each other’s bed…

Now a new pain fluttered in her heart, an ache she thought she’d begun to remedy. But it had become such an old pain now, something that had fused itself to her after months of grief and frustration and anger.

In a way, this place was that and more. She’d never seen Brainy’s mind palace after he’d taken off the inhibitors, never experienced his dreams with his true self restored. And despite the heaviness of this place, the colours here were more vibrant, every light source so bright they could have been blinding. There was a sound beyond the buzz of the radiation, one that thrummed at the base of Nia's skull like old whispers, slipping in and out of audibility between every laboured pant of Brainy’s chest.

He looked like he had in the vision Nia had seen not a few hours earlier – when he’d collapsed to the ground after absorbing all that targeted radiation.

Ten minutes had already been too much for him, and those ten had turned into fifteen, twenty—it had taken Nia far too long to make it down there. And then, even after she’d found him, she hadn’t been quick enough, hadn’t had the power or natural immunity to drag him to safety.

It could have killed him. It should have. Nia’s dreams had been right to make her feel that way. This was to as near-death as she could have experienced without being in Brainy’s place.

And, for whatever reason, Brainy’ subconscious had decided to drag him right back here.

Now she was beginning to understand the rules of this dream, Nia realised that the radiation didn’t hold the same power over her. With a deep breath, she drew her shoulders together, pushing herself back onto her haunches. The radiation still barrelled at her, but now it held the potency of a soft breeze, nothing she couldn’t push past.

It wasn’t her pain, she reminded herself. And the more she thought that, the easier it became to ignore it. Soon she was back on her feet, crossing the room as easily as Kara or J’onn had made it look when they’d crashed inside.

Nia didn’t stop walking until she was crouched at Brainy’s side. His chest was rising and falling in short, breathless exhales, too weak to draw in the air he needed. His head was tipped skyward, lips parted into a strained grimace.

At first, she wondered if this was some sort of punishment he'd conjured himself, a side-effect from all the guilt he’d been harbouring over the last few months.

That was until she realised what it was that he was holding so tightly in his arms, and how quickly he flinched away from her when she tried to reach for it herself.

“N-no,” Brainy whined, a panicked sound. He shook his head vehemently, curling even further into himself, obscuring the bottle from sight. The yellow hue it gave off was unmistakable, painting his face a sickly shade. His expression contorted again when more pain rolled through him, trails of salt staining his cheeks. “I-I can’t let go, I-I can’t let him win.”

“Brainy, it’s okay,” Nia said as gently as she could manage, sidling in closer to him. She kept her hands a practiced mark from the bottle, hovering steadfast. “You’re dreaming, okay? But I can help. Take my hand.”

Brainy whimpered, a strangled sound catching in his throat as fresh tears flooded his blood-stained eyes. “N-no,” he croaked. “Lex’ll – I can’t – or-or Kara will—”

Nia’s heart broke for him. This wasn’t about punishment; in his delirious state of mind, Brainy must have brought himself back to the moment just before Lex had stolen the bottle from him.

No matter what she’d told him back in the waking world, it hadn’t been enough to relieve him of his guilt. Not in the way he needed. But she knew this wasn’t going to help him, either. The whispers in the air were as thick as the radiation shield itself, droning from every corner, warping into nothing but a mechanised garble.

He wasn’t going to go willingly, she knew that, and Nia was too afraid that taking him by force might make things worse.

Looked like she’d have to do things the old-fashioned way.

“I’ll see you on the other side, Wildcat,” Nia murmured, closing her eyes, losing sight of the prison Brainy had designed for himself as quickly as she’d entered.

Nia only felt a drifting impression of Brainy’s consciousness before she was back in the waking world. When she blinked her eyes open, she was inside the Tower again, with the real Brainy pressed tightly to her side.

His golden hair was slick to his forehead with sweat, his eyes skirting uncertainly behind closed lids as he muttered fretfully in his sleep. Some of the words were English, others held the mechanised characteristics of fluent Coluan. There was another language, too, one that overlapped the others, far separate from anything she’d heard him speak before.

She recognised it though, the ancient consonants that rolled from his tongue even while he was under such duress. It was the same language he’d spoken with Rama Khan. The language of the gods.

He was still bartering with Leviathan somewhere deep down, trying in his own way to fix his mistakes. But his pleas fell on deaf ears. All ears, but hers.

Suddenly, Brainy whimpered again, a sob catching him so hard that Nia worried he’d choke. He clawed at her front with weak fingers, lashes fluttering beneath layers of delirium.

She knew she had to wake him, but it was still a delicate procedure even outside of the dream realm. Carefully, Nia wound her arm around Brainy’s back, clutching the fibres of his suit, securing him against her side as she ran her free hand over his chest. Brainy didn’t fight her, instead he buried his nose into her throat, his clammy skin cold and fervid at the same time. She could feel the sting of his life projectors even from a distance, prickling across her gloves as she searched for his frequency, bringing it into step with her own.

Usually, once she’d found a target, that’d be her cue to drag them into a sleep they’d have a hell of a time coming back from. Now, she sought that power in reverse, pulling back on her usual gift so that she could dispel a dream sequence rather than enforce it. Blue energy swirled from Nia’s fingertips, coalescing with the white of Brainy’s central projector, knocking on the fragile door of his unconscious mind.

When that door creaked open, she let her energy soar, illuminating all that had been buried so that it might rise to the surface unimpeded.

She felt the tug of his consciousness before he woke, and when Brainy shot forward in the confusion that followed, Nia was there to steady him, pressing her hand reassuringly into his centre, trying to draw in on the pleasant fog that often accompanied a nap post-waking.

But peace like that couldn’t be manufactured.

“N-n-no—” Brainy gasped, choking hard enough that it induced a coughing fit so violent he nearly retched from the strain.

Nia held him steady, worried that he was about to make himself sick. She rubbed his back, soothing him with breathless reassurances while simultaneously mapping out the closest trash can in case she needed to make an emergency dive for it.

“It’s okay,” she said, a gentle murmur in his ear. “It was just a nightmare, Brainy. You’re safe.”

But even as she said it, she couldn’t be sure that it was true. The sweat on Brainy’s brow wasn’t just a result of his nightmare. As Nia rocked in time with him, she could feel his body convulse against her with shudders that he was powerless to quell. He was burning up, his eyes glazed and fever stricken.

He was sick. Sicker than she’d ever seen him, and there was nothing she could do to take that pain away.

She felt useless.

Then, miraculously, Nia heard a creak on the floorboards and suddenly Alex’s head popped into view. Her eyes held an exhaustion that went way beyond the physical, but just seeing her made the knot in Nia’s stomach loosen. Nia shifted Brainy’s weight in her arms, holding him tightly as the coughing fit finally abated and he slouched with a groan into her shoulder. She desperately wanted to warm him with her energy, but that probably wasn’t the right call when he was already burning like a furnace against her side.

“Hey, hey, I heard the commotion,” Alex said, her expression serious as she took stock of the situation. Habitually, she rolled up her sleeves. “What happened?”

“He had a nightmare,” Nia said, trying to sound stronger than she felt. “I barely got him out of there. He was dreaming of Leviathan’s ship again, of being trapped in that room—”

Alex sighed before Nia had even finished talking, leaning heavily into the arm of the sofa. “I was afraid this might happen,” she admitted. Her eyes flickered back to Brainy sympathetically. “He’s put up a good fight so far, but that radiation did a number on him. Whether he likes it or not, those nanites are going to have to run their course.” She pressed her hand to the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. “Damnit. I shouldn’t’ve called him to the Fortress. I just got desperate. I-I thought that maybe he could reverse the projector if we did it fast enough. That Kara—”

Her voice warbled over her sister’s name and Nia immediately reached out to take Alex’s arm, meeting her eye firmly. “Don’t blame yourself,” she said. “You and I both know he would’ve come either way.” Nia was forced to let go of Alex when a particularly harsh shudder ran down Brainy’s spine, all but immobilising him. He tensed against her before groaning out, wrapping his arms tightly around his front, obscuring the wavering flicker of his central projector.

When he was able to open his eyes again, he saw Nia first. “N-Nia?” he croaked, his voice so stricken it hurt. He shook his head, barely able to articulate himself. “You c-can’t be here—t-the radiation.”

“Hey, hey,” Nia soothed, taking his face, running her nails beneath his jaw. She drew his eyes up to meet hers. He felt so delicate in her grasp, as fragile as cracked glass. “It was just a nightmare. We’re at the Tower, remember?”

Brainy bared his teeth, his dark eyes flashing with fresh tears. He ducked his chin into her cupped palm. “B-but it hurts.”

“Oh honey, I know,” Nia said, her own eyes stinging as she let Brainy fold fully against her. His pulse raged in his forehead, beating an obscure pattern into the base of her throat. He was crying again, his tears dousing the collar of her suit, but even that was too taxing on him now. He’d slip back into restless sleep sooner or later, whether that would be better for him had yet to be proven. She looked up at Alex desperately. “Can we give him another dose of those nanites? Maybe that’ll—”

But Alex was already shaking her head. “They’re doing their job,” she said. “I know it looks rough, and it is, but I promise he’s healing, Nia. He just has to ride this out.”

Nia closed her eyes, pressing her cheek into his damp hair. “He’s in so much pain.”

“I know,” Alex said softly. She sighed, crouching down so that she could run the back of her hand against Brainy's cheek. When he didn't stir, she stood, jerking her head towards the elevator. “Look, I’m gonna get Lena’s portal watch from downstairs. It’s the quickest way to get him home so that he can sleep this off safely.”

Nia could only nod. It didn’t feel like she was even fully there anymore. A part of her consciousness had tied itself far too deeply with Brainy’s pain, maybe from the moment she’d first slipped into his nightmare.

She hardly heard Alex when she asked, “One last thing; do you know where he’s calling home these days?”

Despite that, she didn’t hesitate. “My apartment,” Nia said, wiping the tears from her eyes in an automatic gesture. She sobered as she stared at the moisture on her fingers, for a second unsure whether it had come from her face or Brainy’s. She glanced up again. “He’ll be safe there,” she explained, before hastening to add, “besides, I can’t leave him alone like this.”

Alex’s expression was warm. She glanced between Brainy and Nia knowingly, an eyebrow half raised. “Are you two…?”

“We’re figuring things out,” Nia said. As if on cue, Brainy made a soft sound against her, desperately nuzzling into her throat, a crackly hum easing from his chest. His breath was hot and welcoming, his lips brushing her skin without being fully conscious of the act. Even still, Nia felt her face warm.

“Looks like it’s going well,” Alex noted with a smirk. It was the first time Nia had seen her smile since they’d lost Kara. It was a tired smile, sure, but if nothing else, she was glad she could offer Alex at least that. Even if it did come at her own expense.

Alex winked before she turned away. “I’ll get the watch.”

“Thank you.”

Nia waited for Alex nervously, her fingers tugging gently through Brainy’s sweat soaked hair. When his eyes fluttered open again and he found her so instinctively, she kissed his forehead, letting her lips linger on his clammy skin. He tasted of salt and metal.

“Hold on, Wildcat,” she murmured. “You’ll be home soon.”

Home. The word had come out so easily, but the moment she said it, she knew it was the truth. She didn’t want Brainy anywhere else. Not tonight, not ever again. And as he sagged gratefully into her embrace, lowering his head with the barest hint of acknowledgement, she knew that he felt the same.

#supergirl #supergirl fanfiction #nia nal #brainiac 5 #brainia #alex danvers #querl dox #whump #sickfic #my writing #my asks #anon #you asked for angst and i delivered. i love trying to expand on how brainy was feeling in 6x01 seeing as the show didn't #and i am a sucker for some hurt/comfort #so hope you enjoy!

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bewilderedbunny · 1 year

Text

Line cook Eddie part 3!

Hi friends! I was not expecting to write this so soon after part 2, but I'm rolling with it. Hope you enjoy it!! 💖 (the word counter I used says this is 666 words, thought that was cute) Flirty fluff, light sexual innuendo, cursing, sort of a bit of angst but not really. Eddie x fem!reader but feel free to switch the pronouns if you'd like ☺️ I had to include ABBA in this because I am a Mamma Mia! fan first and a human being second.

Credit to @delishlydelightfuldividers for the divider 💕

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

During a morning shift, a middle-aged man comes into the diner. He's a bit quiet but polite. He has his "please and thank yous" down pat. You check up on him during his meal and ask how everything is.

"Wonderful, my compliments to the chef." he says.

You smile and say, "He'll be so excited to hear that."

The older man looks up at you and says, "I would mention to him to cut back on the salt a bit. He has done a number on my blood pressure enough as it is." as he says that you feel an arm wrap around your shoulder.

"Hey pops. Was my girl good to you?"

You realize this must be Wayne, Eddie doesn't talk about him often but when he does it's with adoration.

"She was great. It's good to put a face to the name since you're always talkin' 'bout her."

Eddie laughs, a little too loud and you giggle at the pink on his cheeks.

One day during your break you step outside to get some fresh air. You can hear Eddie talking to someone near the dumpster.

"You like that, sweetheart? Look at you. You're just the cutest thing I've ever seen." Your heart aches, aren't you supposed to be the cutest thing he's ever seen? You know he's a big flirt with everyone, but you thought you were special. You quietly creep around the corner and when you finally see him you want to cry. He's squatted behind the dumpster feeding chicken to a scruffy little cat while rubbing its back. It's not even scraps from a customer's meal, this son of a bitch cooked a chicken breast for a kitten who, upon further inspection, reminds you of Wayne with its greyish fur and blue eyes.

He walks you to your car after your shift. He started doing it one night the two of you were working and hasn't stopped. Even when you're leaving before him, he walks you out and then goes back inside.

"I'm in a band, y'know?" He says, drying silverware. He's facing you and has his hip pressed against the counter.

"Oh yeah? An ABBA cover band?" You joke.

"How'd you guess? We do a cover of "Chiquitita" that'll knock your socks off."

You stop rinsing cutlery and look at him.

"I know you're kidding, but I love that song."

"Yeah?" He says, turning away from you. He's known it's your favorite for weeks. You were humming throughout your shift once and he spent the following day at the record store trying to figure out what song it was. He eventually went up to an employee and hummed it to them until they could help him find it. He bought the goddamn ABBA record.

You lightly flick him with water and he acts like you've just waterboarded him, stumbling around and gasping for breath. He reaches toward the faucet and flicks you back, he throws more water than you had and you gasp, "You're getting me wet!" His eyes get huge and he starts to giggle. When you realize why you giggle right along with him.

You come in for your dinner shift one day and notice a stack of papers at the register. You pick one up and see a sketch of a fire-breathing dragon. The dragon is guarding various food items like pancakes, milkshakes, burgers, and fries. All of the papers are copies of this drawing and next to the stack, there is an old box of crayons. You ask your coworker what this is, and she says Eddie brought them in this morning to give kids something to entertain themselves with while they wait for their food. You can't wait to hand them out and you save any colored in pages for the next time you have a shift together so you can show him what a hit they were.

Thanks for reading 🥞💖

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie fluff #eddie x reader #eddie x fem!reader #line cook eddie

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deadlycomics · 9 months

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hey deadly, thank you for that big resource on combining 2d and 3d animation! I was just wondering if you had any specific process for how you figured out which parts to be in which medium? I've thought about using 3d for references and to speed up things so I don't have to hand draw everything, but trying to mimic a 2d shader/style not fully 3d rendered.

Hmmmm! for me its usually what I feel like doing or what I think would look cool. Or sometimes what would be easier. Like if the setting was a big old forest with a ton of details and trees I'd draw it, but if it was an interior shot or some simple props I might go 3D. Camera moves are another thing to consider, going 3D really frees you up with what you can do

Doing the 2D shader style is smart since you can do 3D sets when you want and 2D bgs when you want and have it all look consistent! Worthikids' Big Top Burger is one of my favorite recent examples of that.

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lyrabythelake · 2 years

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Writing prompt? How about the chain trying to figure out what wild can and cannot eat? And it quickly escalated from there and becomes a game of « the first one to figure out what wild can’t eat wins ». ( btw I really enjoy your writing. Keep up the good work)

I loved writing this prompt, thanks anon! Thank you as well everyone else who sent asks. I'll be writing them over the next few weeks <3

“Are you sure he knew what it was?”

“Yes! I told him before I gave it to him. I said, ‘Hey, Wild, do you want this dung beetle burger I made you?’ And he looked happy! He told me thank you! He said how thoughtful it was of me to make him something to eat, especially because he was so hungry. And then, Ledge, and I tell you no word of a lie, he ate the whole thing right in front of me. There was nothing left!”

“I don’t understand,” Legend mutters. He is stumped. He does not give up easily, but this game he and Wind are playing–the game that is not a game anymore–has him doubting just about everything.

“So what are we going to try next?” Wind asks in the name of true teenage stubbornness.

“I don’t know, Wind,” Legend says. “I just don’t know.”

“Because I was thinking, you know, as much as you and I find all these creepy crawlies disgusting, well, it seems Wild doesn’t. So what if we go down the more… dead route. I mean not actually dead, like deceased–gee, I don’t want to kill the guy–I just mean things that were never alive in the first place.”

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know, rocks or something.”

“He eats rocks,” Legend says dispassionately. “I’ve seen him.”

“Seriously?!”

Legend nods, but he is distracted. Hyrule is talking to Wild now, holding something in the outstretched palms of his hands. He curses. If anyone has a chance of beating them at this damn headache of a game, it is Hyrule.

Like him and Wind, the others seem to have seen the benefit in pairing up–putting two heads together is always better than one–so Sky stands some distance behind him, twisting his hands nervously. Twilight and Four listen in, not even trying to be discreet about it, and Warriors and Time are too busy whispering conspiratorially to notice the game’s new development.

“Come on,” says Wind, having caught on to what Legend was staring at, “let’s get closer.”

They do, and Hyrule’s voice drifts into hearing range. It has that edge to it that always reveals itself when faced with a tricky battle–confident and firm.

“These mushrooms,” he tells Wild, “these mushrooms are poisonous.” He says it slowly, like he is talking to a small child, reiterating some of the words so Wild is in no danger of misunderstanding.

(“Damn,” Wind whispers. “I didn’t think Sky had it in him.”)

“O…kay?” Wild replies.

“Considering their poisonous nature,” Hyrule continues, “would you eat them?”

Wild looks confused.

“Do you… want me to eat them?”

“No, Wild,” Hyrule says, exasperated. “You’re my friend, why would I want you to eat poison?”

Wild shrugs, his confusion growing visibly. Twilight takes the moment to give his two rupees.

“But if he did want you to eat them, would you?”

“I mean… I guess?”

“Why?!” Hyrule cries, and Legend has to agree.

“Like you said, you’re my friend. If you wanted me to eat poisonous mushrooms, there would probably be a reason.”

Hyrule looks as if he might cry.

“Goddesses, Wild,” Twilight scolds. “So if Hyrule told you to jump off a cliff, would you do it?”

“...Probably.”

Why Twilight expected any other answer, Legend would never know.

Time and Warriors have really outdone themselves. Legend isn’t one hundred percent sure what exactly is in the brown sludge that sits wetly in the bottom of Time’s wooden bowl, nor is he certain how they got it to be such a truly repulsive viscosity, but surely—surely—Wild would draw a line at consuming it.

It has been a week since this game began and Time and Warriors seem to have spent the entirety of that time concocting… whatever this brown gloop is. It smells horrendous, like some poor, unsanitary creature has died and rotted for days in the sun, and even as he looks at it, bubbles form on the surface—Hylia, is something alive in there?!

“You shouldn’t get him to eat that, Time,” Sky tells him seriously. “It could do real damage.”

“Says the guy who offered him poisonous mushrooms,” Warriors retorts.

“We wouldn’t have actually gotten him to eat it. We were just seeing if he would. Hypothetically.”

“If this doesn’t work, I’m giving up,” says Four, eying the Hell Soup with revulsion.

“This is our trump card,” Warriors says like he is proud that he and Time are the fathers of the worst brew ever created, “our pis aller. If this doesn’t work, nothing will, and I declare that Wild will eat anything.”

“What’s a piss allay?” Wind whispers in Legend’s ear.

“Me and Twi were going to try a scorpion, though,” Four contends.

“I used to eat scorpions all the time,” Hyrule says nonchalantly. “They’re not that bad, you just have to take the stingers off.”

“You’re lucky we aren’t playing this game on you,” Legend tells him.

“What are you all doing?”

They jump collectively. It is a true mark of how distracting this game has been for them that Wild managed to sneak up on eight seasoned heroes.

“Uh, nothing, just…” Time’s eye flick from Wild’s face to the bowl in his hands, then he holds it out to him. “We made you soup.”

“Oh.” Wild looks at the bowl with trepidation. Finally, he shows something other than unmerited appreciation. “What’s in it?”

“Oh, you know,” says Warriors casually. “Just some mud; maggots, a little bit of ‘blin guts.”

Wild gulps, but, of course, he takes the bowl in his hands and reaches for the spoon. Legend has the sudden urge to knock it to the ground.

“I’d like to thank you all for making me all this food recently,” Wild says, getting a little of the soup on his spoon. It almost seems to move on its own accord, gloopy and leaving little oily trails behind where it touches. Legend feels sick. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. It really means a lot. It’s the little things.”

Legend bites his lip as he begins to move the spoon towards his mouth. He feels terrible. Wild cooks them delicious food three times a day, and then, what? They take advantage of his kindly nature and frankly abysmal self-preservation to play a game? And now he’s thanking them for it.

Wind fidgets beside him and every single one of them has increasing looks of guilt on their faces. They watch, entranced, eyes following the wooden implement in its long, torturous journey to Wild’s mouth.

Hylia, this has to stop.

“I’m so lucky to have such amazing friends.”

Wild opens his mouth, and Legend really is getting ready to tackle him to the ground now just so he doesn’t have to swallow this culmination of the darkest parts of their leaders’ minds. Luckily he doesn’t have to because Time gives a very calm, very firm, “Stop.”

Wild does, and the spoon hangs there in mid-air, almost like he was waiting for any excuse not to carry on.

“I can’t believe you were going to eat that,” Wind cries. The spoon falls back into the gloopy soup. They are going to have to throw it and the bowl away later, no question.

“But…” Wild begins confusedly, “you made it for me.”

“You dimwit,” Legend tells him, and it is harsh but Wild has proved it ten times over this past week. “We were giving you things to see if there was anything you wouldn’t eat. It was a competition.”

Twilight and Time both glare at him, and Wild looks nothing short of crestfallen. He is pretty sure it was Twilight’s idea in the first place, so it’s not like he can come down on him for it. He is just telling the truth.

“Sorry, Wild,” says Sky in that quiet, guilty way that means he has really done something wrong.

Wild is silent, and he stares at the soup in front of him, bubbling, foaming. The rest of them are at a loss for what to say; the guilt seems to take an almost physical form. Then Wild finally says, “I don’t eat beetroot.”

“What?” Legend asks, not sure if he heard right.

“Beetroot,” Wild repeats. “I won’t eat it. I don’t like that it turns my mouth purple.”

Legend hopes Wild gains some satisfaction from the sheer shock on their faces. Goddesses know he deserves it.

#lyra writes #thanks anon!!#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu wild #lu legend #lu wind

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maxmayfieldlaw · 11 months

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𝐖𝐇𝐎: max mayfield & whoever. 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: max is looking for luke, kind of. 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: the spot fka as benny’s burgers...at night

maybe max was in denial that hawkins was hosting it’s second missing persons case, but if she was being brutally honest with herself, that wasn’t the first instance of denial she’d felt since coming home. it could wait though. it could wait. besides, she wasn’t entirely convinced this wasn’t ptsd. maybe if she started seeing clocks, she’d be a little more worried. when in doubt, it could always still get worse! for now, she was preoccupied with luke and keeping akeem’s nose out of shit. she didn’t know the kid too well, but max had gathered he wasn’t crazy about mike, which, she couldn’t blame luke for.

she also knew the chances that he was merely hiding out or had run away were probably pretty slim given everything else going on, but max remembered being close to his age, the draw to stashing oneself away. so, max thought about where she used to hang out, and other than the skate park, the carcass of benny’s was her favorite for when she wanted to go undisturbed. especially after el had moved and billy was gone. max had no idea what kids did nowadays in hawkins, but it was worth a shot. nobody bothered her or found her there back in the day. well, except lucas, sometimes, which was annoying to her then. leaves and nails and broken floorboards crunched under her feet as she examined the new graffiti about bush and lance bass coming out last month. there were other various names and sports titles scrawled everywhere. it was a little more rundown, but mostly the same-- a teenage place of worship. if one thing was absolutely certain, even through the dark, it was that luke was not here. she sighed and sat down, frustrated that her teeny tiny lead had been for nothing. how did people like nancy and jonathan do this shit? “fuck.” she kicked a beer can when she heard crunching near the entrance. max held her breath when she popped to her feet, grabbing a...bong? from the table next to her as a weapon as opposed to choppy the knife, which was always on her person. except for court.

when max was met with a familiar face, she lowered her arms and let her shoulders slump a little, “thought luke might have run off somewhere.” defeated, she set the bong down and leaned against the back of a tattered couch, arms crossed, “it’s nowhere that i know of.” max crossed her arms and rolled her eyes in an effort to seem casual amidst her discomfort, “and i used to know like, every spot.” the silence hung heavy for a moment before she figured she’d ask, “any news or...?” her face scrunched up, “actually what are you doing here?”

#𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐖 ( interactions )#vr:open #NO need to match lengths lol #pretend the pregnancy test in the gif is a bong

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sleekervae · 10 months

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Clamshell [0.1]

Masterlist

A/N: Hello, I'm back. Still working on some old drafts and had some requests for some new ideas. I'll get to them for sure! I thought up a cute little backstory for how Remington met Vera -- back before she had any idea of this robbing business. And this chapter includes an actual bank robbery now. Happy reading!

Las Vegas, 2017

Remington had smoked the same brand of cigarettes from the time he was thirteen, and he hated the way they had been reformatted and manufactured. The taste and zing had been dulled down in order to meet the standard regulations of whatever federal ball-busting association had these cigarette companies bent over a desk. Perhaps he could still enjoy them the same way if he found the same thrill at thirteen, rifling through his older brother's things one day to knocking some off to seem cool to his friends.

The cigarette flew from his fingertips and was lost in the blustering wind, try as it might it could not tousle through the layers of hairspray he had sprayed on his spikes that morning. Down the freeway he and his brothers drove, feeling as free as the birds that migrated above their heads, unaware and uncaring for the chaos and treachery they may find in the big city. Sebastian had to go to work, because of course someone had to pay their bills legitimately; though Emerson and Remington were off to pull some work of their own.

Their long time confidant and friend, Andrew was driving upfront in their beaten up, unassuming mini van, his shaggy mullet was cloistered under a straw hat. Emerson wasn't much of a fan of said hat.

"You look like a farmer," he pointed out for perhaps the fifth time that morning.

Andrew scoffed, glaring at him through the rearview mirror, "Because you look so much less unassuming in yours," he was referring to Emerson's floppy, wide brimmed slouch hat.

"Well, I'm not gonna' be wearing it for the job," he replied.

"Just leave him alone, he likes it," Remington cut in, trying to sprawl his long legs out in the back seat.

Sebastian was sat shot gun, dressed in his jacket for his line cook's job. He kept glancing back at his younger brothers, seemingly uneasy.

"Are you sure you guys wanna' do this without me?" he asked, perhaps for the third time that morning. His brothers had been planning this job for months, a smaller heist in comparison to others they've pulled, but the diner Sebastian worked for was severely short staffed and he was being scheduled more and more until more bodies could be hired. Of course, neither of them could afford to lose their jobs, so Sebastian had to put his heist planning to a pause while he covered as many shifts as he could.

While they figured they could wait this out, Remington and Emerson were eager for another job soon enough. And so, they had spent some time drawing up plans for a smaller bak heist. After all, living in Vegas was no cheap and easy feat for anyone.

"Of course we are, we've planned this perfectly," Emerson assured, turning to his brother, "Right?"

"Right," Remington sat up and reached over to grab Sebastian's shoulders, "We got it all under control, you just do your thing; flip your burgers, dress your salads, pour in half a bag of sugar into your hollandaise sauce,"

"I wouldn't if I didn't have to," Sebastian grumbled back, looking forward as Andrew pulled over to the cafe he worked at. Sebastian turned in his seat again, "You guys be careful, and don't do anything foolish for the love of God,"

Remington put his hand over his heart, "Swear on mom and dad's graves, we'll be good,"

"Better than that, we'll be slick," Emerson grinned.

Still unconvinced, Sebastian turned to Andrew with grim reprieve, "Make sure they don't get themselves killed,"

"You got it," Andrew gave him a high-five, "I'll come pick you up later,"

Sebastian hopped out and hadn't even shut the door before the minivan pulled out again. They travelled through the smaller outskirt suburb of Vegas, where the main strip was still within clear view. Remington and Emerson were getting their gear together in the meantime, guns, duffels, and of course, their balaclavas.

The Lieseil Funds Bank was a smaller bank chain, handling business ventures from blue-collar start ups to college-fund investment plans. It was a more obscure target that wouldn't be a considered target for crimes such as this, and it sat right across from Bobbie Trap's Pub. It was there one would find a raucous commotion emanating from the back of house, a young waitress being scolded by her manager.

Of course, it wasn't initially the waitress' fault, a customer, still drunk from the night previous, decided to try and take a handful of her behind. But of course, when she turned to defend herself, one thing led to another and she tossed a glass of water over his head. Despite how she tried to explain her case, her boss rattled on about how irresponsible and hysterical she was, so he took her by the arm and practically dragged her out of the establishment and threw her out onto the street, tossing her ratty apron after her.

"Go be somebody else's problem, Vera!" and he slammed the door in her face.

That was how Vera found herself sitting on the sidewalk outside of the bank with said ratty apron and her scuffed up converse kicking at the pavement. This was the third job she had lost in four months and she was cussing herself out for being so reactive and explosive. Just her luck anyhow, the volunteer at the women's shelter had lobbied hard for her to get that stupid waitressing job. Never the less, seeing the inevitable disappointment on the volunteer's face when she came crawling back would be absolutely gruelling.

She ran a hand through her tangled, dry hair, her brain racing for some sort of answer to her predicament, she hadn't paid any mind to the minivan that had pulled up in front of Bobie's.

Remington glared through hooded eyes at the bank, mentally flashing through the blueprints that Emerson had drawn up of the building, running through the response time it would take for police. He looked to Emerson, his face covered in his own lint-littered balaclava, then to Andrew, his head down and his straw hat pulled just over his eyes. Morning rush hour was over and the street was relatively quiet, perfect for their quick getaway.

They were just about to hop out when a man suddenly emerged from the local bar, his head down as he counted the stack of money bills in his hand, clearly out for a deposit. He didn't even give the random girl on the corner a second glance. Remington licked his lips hungrily as he watched the man cross the street and head into the bank. Sebastian was going to be so proud of their score.

With one final bow of confidence, Remington and Emerson jumped out of the minivan and hustled across the street, slipping into the bank. The few people within the bank paid no mind until Remington held up his automatic weapon and fired a few rounds into the ceiling. There were screams of terror, plaguing confusion as bank tellers and bystanders ducked for cover. And of course, the one security guard they had proved to me less than efficient as Emerson knocked him out with one swift blow from his gun.

Remington, ever one for great theatrics, leapt onto one of his desks, brandishing his weapon and tossing the duffel at the bank teller, "Ladies and gentlemen! I beg you all to remain calm, you are not in immediate danger! However, if it wasn't obvious: this is a robbery!"

Vera had her head in her hands, none the wiser to the chaos within the bank until she heard the first gunshots. The windows were dusty but when she turned around she could make out some of the pandemonium from inside, and her heart began to race as she realized she was witnessing a full scale bank robbery. It was so close, all playing out in front of her and yet she felt like she was watching some sort of scene from a movie.

"Holy shit," what should she do, call the police? Maybe somebody already had? All banks had those little panic buttons, right? There was more yelling, some banging, and Vera watched in disbelief as one of the robbers leapt onto the desk, almost performative in his clear threat to the public. She was frozen, out of fear or fascination she wasn't sure, but all Vera could bring herself to do was watch.

Remington and Emerson had gathered what money they could, as well as other valuable personal pieces and spare cash the customers had on them. The man from the street had a cool five hundred dollars he had a hard time letting go off, but Remington shoved him down and cleared up as much of it as he could before he and Emerson took off.

Not even five minutes passed before sirens could be heard in the distance, and the robbers were making out with their loot: two big duffels full of cash. The time had come for Vera, she started crossing the street to get herself away from the chaos. The first one raced clumsily towards the idling minivan and the second was close on his heels, or he would've been if one of the bank bystanders hadn't chased after him.

"You get back here! Vera! Stop him!" Vera was shocked to find her boss coming after the second robber with a clenched fist. He was closing in on him, and Vera wasn't sure what had come over her, glancing between the robber and the minivan his partners were waiting in, and then she glanced at her former boss. Her petty anger riled up within in, and as quickly as she could, she put out her foot and watched with with subtle glee as he face planted into the road.

Remington stopped short when he heard the thud, staring in disbelief as he saw the large man trying to gather his wits. His gaze then shifted to the girl who had clearly tripped him, their eyes locked. She was a young, unassuming type, slender and yet she had a mousy attractiveness.

"Move, man!" Emerson called from the van. Remington only had time to throw one callous wink at the girl before he leapt into the van, the dark ink of an X on his right knuckle fleeting as the van door closed behind him. About a minute later two police cruisers arrived, one of them taking off in the van's general direction.

When he had recovered, Vera's former boss dusted himself off, his mean gaze narrowing on the young girl. He stomped up to her, seething like a bull in Pamplona.

"What is the matter with you!" he shoved her, "You let them get away with my money! Are you just that stupid?!"

Vera, playing up her nonchalance, simply shrugged and smiled politely, "I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe you should go be someone else's problem?" and with that, she turned on her heel and walked in the general direction of the women's shelter.

The Bastards crew had made a hasty, but clean getaway from the cops, and Sebastian couldn't deny how impressed he was with his brothers' spoils. They celebrated greatly with some cheap bottles of gin and pizza, though Remington found himself too preoccupied for celebrating. That girl had intercepted and nested in his brain, he had laid eyes upon her just for a moment yet he could see her so clearly. She was reminiscent of a manic pixie dream girl from a Bertolucci film, yet her dim confidence and outlandish pulse reactions were outstanding.

He sat on the porch of the bungalow they shared, a shabby little place in a run down lower-middle class neighbourhood. The air was dry, the heat unbearably humid, though it didn't stop Remington from enjoying his beer as he looked out into the saturated sunset. He had never found himself so curious over someone, especially over a girl. Why had she decided to help him, who was she? And of course, what bone did she have to pick with that bar man?

Out of all the chaos from the day and the questions spinning in his brain, he at least had one answer: Vera. It was a pretty name for a pretty girl, and as he lay in bed that night, tossing the sheets on and off because it was just too damn hot, Remington decided that he wanted to try and find her, to thank her at least. Would she react badly? Maybe. Would Sebastian absolutely end him if he found out? For sure. Never the less, Remington liked risks, and he certainly hadn't met a challenge he wasn't willing to take on.

And as he showered off the night time sweat in lukewarm water, he had successfully made up his mind.

Vera had crawled back to the women's shelter with her tail between her legs, having to sheepishly explain to the volunteers how she'd lost yet another job. Despite their clear frustration with her, they promised they were going to help find her something that would stick.

Empty promises, empty promises.

All night she couldn't sleep, tossing and turning in her brick-hard bed as sleep eluded her. Every time she closed her eyes she kept reliving the chaos from the morning. She hadn't told the volunteers about it, they would panic and worry about Vera being a witness and wonder if she was a liability to the rest of the girls in the shelter. She had seen it before with girls who had witnessed things they shouldn't have, and of course in Las Vegas, there were a plethora of things you would often wish you never had to see.

However, Vera found she wasn't traumatized so much as she was fascinated by it all. It all happened so fast and yet she could remember every detail so clearly, how sharp the gunshots were, how the clear leader of the two was so ostentatious in his crime, how he even took the time to stop and wink her, almost as a thank-you for letting them get away. She couldn't see his face of course, but she could remember those eyes so well; chilling, almond in shape and dark to the point where his eyes almost appeared to be blacked out entirely. Nevertheless, Vera found she wasn't afraid; perhaps she had become so numb to the tumultuous ongoings within the city? Or deep down she was content with the fact that the balaclava-clad stranger wasn't going to hurt her. Not like she would know him if she passed him on the street.

In the sizzling afternoon heat, Vera was wandering an outlet market, a pretty inconspicuous cover as she read her magazine from the news stand. Every time she turned the page she found an ad for some luxury perfume, designer bag or exquisite jewelry piece. She ran her fingers over a bejewelled necklace that Lily Collins was wearing for Cartier, wondering how it must've felt to be and live so rich. All Vera had ever known was cold floors to sleep on and living paycheque-to-menial-paycheque.

This part of Vegas was a bit quieter than the strip, nonetheless bustling with professionals and cars would line up and funnel out to make their way to their destinations. Vera took a deep breath of cigarette smoke, dust, and exhaust, the white noise somewhat calming her. She was none the wiser to the young man standing at the street corner, his hands tucked into the pockets of his denim jeans, seeking refuge in the heat under a shaded tree, his dark eyes locked on her while his cigarette sizzled between his fingers.

"Hey! You gonna' pay for that?" the clerk at the newsstand barked at Vera. She refrained from rolling her eyes as she placed the mag back on the rack with a polite, sickening grin. The clerk came around, grumbling to himself as he had to reorganize his selection of reading material, none the wiser to Vera plucking a candy bar from the opposing display while his back was turned. But Remington found himself impressed as he followed just a few feet behind her.

Vera ate her candy bar without much thought as she skimmed the display tables of shirts and knock off hand bags. Nobody paid her a second thought, she seemed practically invisible as she was bumped and knocked aside by the bustling crowds. She flinched as an associate from the church of scientology tried to shove a pamphlet into her face, ducking swiftly towards the other end of the market. She suddenly found herself in front of a jewelry table, it was nothing too opulent, but the pieces were beautiful and Vera couldn't resist.

She picked up a simple gold necklace, the chain was delicate and in the middle hung a beautiful, pearly clamshell charm. The clerk was too busy bartering with another customer while Vera plucked the clasp apart and slipped the necklace onto herself. It was absolutely gorgeous, the cold complimented her complexion exquisitely and the clamshell glistened in the sun's reflection. Nevertheless, the price swayed Vera much more than the look could; it was forty-five dollars and Lord knew she couldn't afford anything more than a happy meal at this rate.

Remington had broke through the crowd, dodging the scientologist and finding Vera at the stand on the other side. She was twisting from side to side in the mirror, her chucks strained in the soles as she stood on her toes, she seemed almost childlike. Remington couldn't help the curious grin on his face as he debated to himself, how should he approach her? And hell, would she even bother to give him the time of day. He was a relatively good looking boy, though the city was filled with fast-talking leeches and he wouldn't blame her if she told him to buzz off.

However, Remington's opportunity hit sooner than he'd prepared for, whisked out of his head as he heard someone shout.

"Take that off!" the clerk at the jewelry display scolded Vera, making her and the few immediate customers in the vicinity jump. The slender Filipino woman charged over to her, a deep scowl carved into her face as she waved her finger at her, "You can't just take from my table and try the stuff on!"

Vera cocked a brow, "Then what's the mirror for, then?" she asked simply.

"Didn't you read the sign?" the older woman pointed her bony finger to the sign by her register: please ask before trying on jewelry was scrawled out in just legible handwriting, "You want to try? You ask me first! You could be stealing for all I know!"

"I'm not stealing it, I'm trying it on!" she snapped back.

"Are you going to buy it?" the clerk asked.

"No,"

"Then take it off!" she waved her hand at her to hurry along, "Go shop at Value Village or something, you probably can't afford this anyway!"

Vera did her best to bite her tongue as she reached for the clasp, not wanting to give in to the woman's very clear opinions of her, "Okay! Okay! Here!" she barely had a handle on the latch of the clasp before a sudden, sharp odour of cologne filled her nose, and she was surprised to see a young man taking step beside her.

"Hold on a sec, there's no need to be nasty about it," the boy told the clerk, trying to de-escalate the tension between the ladies.

"Who's being nasty! She can't buy anything so she's wasting my time!" the clerk cried, drawing a few side-glances from passer bys.

"Who said she can't buy anything?" he popped a brow, then turning to Vera, "You like the necklace?" he asked.

Vera wasn't sure as to whether she was embarrassed, scared, or relieved, seemingly having this stranger on her side. He seemed harmless enough, smiling gently and persuasive in her mannerisms. She never broke eye contact with his dark eyes, nodding slowly.

"Yeah,"

Remington's smile got wider as she nodded and he pulled out his wallet, flipping through the bills. The clerk had certainly stopped talking once she saw the wad of cash he had on him. Remington pulled out forty-five dollars and handed it to the clerk, plus a five dollar tip.

"There you go, forty-five bucks. Plus a little something for the misunderstanding," he assured her. The clerk glanced at the money, dumbfounded at first. When her train of thought finally caught up with her tongue, she placed the money into her pouch and reached for her register.

"I -- I... thank you. Uh -- here. Let me print you a receipt --"

"Don't worry about it," Remington nodded politely, subtly knocking his elbow with Vera's, "You have a good day,"

For the second day in a row, Vera felt as though she had been stuck in a hallucinatory dream. She nearly tripped over her feet as Remington nudged her to start walking, following in quick step with saucer eyes as she watched him in utter disbelief.

"You good?" was all he said, not bothering to make eye contact.

"Yeah, I guess," Vera huffed, her voice bordering on a gasp and a chuckle, "You didn't have to -- I mean -- I would've put it back no problem --"

"Don't worry, she had it coming," Remington assured her, "Besides, the pendant looks good on you,"

Vera denied the urge to reach up to clutch the clamshell, becoming frustrated at this stranger's nonchalance. Annoyed because he had been so vague and so smug, rebelliously handsome, "Okay then,"

Remington sensed her agitation and capitalized on it, "You could say 'thank you'," he said.

Vera stopped walking then, staying put on the burning cement as she glowered, "Well, who exactly am I supposed to be thanking?"

Remington turned back and extended his hand to her, smiling warmly, "I'm Remington,"

She was tentative at first, her fight, flight, or flee modes were snapping through her brain like the slides on a slot machine. Despite everything though, he did buy her an expensive necklace and so far was asking for nothing in returned. 'So far' being the optimal phrase.

So she shook his hand, "Vera. Thank you for the necklace, Remington,"

The flush in his face he blamed on the heat, but hearing his name roll off her tongue had bells going off in his ears, "You're welcome, Vera,"

They kept walking together, his hands deep in his back pockets while she fiddled with the strap on her bag.

"... So, what's the catch?"

"What catch?"

"The part where I dubiously repay you for buying me a fifty-dollar necklace,"

"You don't have to give me anything," he assured her.

Vera scoffed, "Right, you just did it out of the kindness of your heart, right?"

"You don't believe so?" he asked.

"Nobody ever does anything for free. Especially not in this city," she kicked a loose pebble across the cement.

Remington nodded, "Fair enough. How about a coffee, then?"

"That's it?"

"That's it,"

Vera shook her head, "So you're offering to buy me a coffee to in debt myself to you even more?"

"No, you can repay your debt by spending forty five minutes having coffee with me. One minute for every dollar,"

She exhaled softly, looking briefly around the market as nobody was paying them any mind. If she needed to she could slip into the crowd and disappear so easily. However, he seemed harmless for the most part, he held the aura of a curious, twenty-something young boy who was probably just out to show off and nab himself a piece of tail. Forty five minutes was nothing, after all.

"Forty five minutes, that's it?"

"That's it,"

"Swear on the bible?"

Remington simpered as he raised his left hand and placed his right hand over his chest, "Hand of God, Mary, and Joseph," he promised.

Vera's gaze flickered to the X tattoo on his knuckle, a sharp chill running up her spine. Nevertheless, the chill wasn't fear; it was a gnawing curiosity in her gut as she realized who this man actually was. Her poker face never slipped, however.

She smiled politely, "Okay. Let's go,"

#palaye royale #remington leith #emerson barrett #sebastian danzig #palaye royale imagine #remington palaye royale #remington leith imagine #original story #original female character #band imagine blog #band blog #band imagines #the bastards #fever dream

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the-hinky-panda · 6 months

Text

Strings: Part III

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Les Packer x Fem! Reader

Summary: You and Les had been high school sweethearts. You're going to be a music teacher, he's going to climb the ranks of the SAMDINO MC. The only thing that stands in your way is his mentally unstable brother, Isaac. Things fall apart and fifteen years later, your daughter calls Les for help when you're in a coma and she's trying to figure out how to stay out of foster care. Les is faced with figuring out if you daughter is his or possibly Isaac's. Either way, he can't walk away for a second time from you and your daughter.

“When was the last time you ate?”

Zoey covers her mouth with her hand as she chews the massive bite she just took out of a hamburger. Her eyes crinkle in the corners as she smiles behind her hand. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. Kinda killed my appetite.”

Les forces a smile at the comment, memories of shoving greasy bags of take out into Isaac’s room whenever “inspiration” took hold of him. Isaac would write, paint, sing, draw, whatever outlet of creativity happened to strike him at the moment. He would become obsessed with self-expression to the point that he would forget to eat or sleep. Les was once again shoved into the position of caring for his younger brother. The fact that Zoey shares in that temperament kills Les’ appetite and he slides his untouched burger over to her.

“So CPS is off your back and you’re feeling okay with that?”

She nods her head emphatically. “I was so scared of where I was going to end up. My friend, Tilda, her foster family actually made a request for me to live with them.”

Ah yes, the friend with the handsy foster father. “Tilda, that’s your friend who sleeps on the floor and takes care of the kids, and…”

Zoey grabs a fry and dips it in the small plastic cup of ketchup. “Yeah, that’s her.”

It infuriates him thinking about the possibility of Zoey being in that same situation. “What’s the family’s name?”

She looks up at him with those hopeful eyes. “You can get her out of there? Can she live with us?”

Les holds up his hand. “Slow down. First of all, I’m only here until your mama wakes up. So ‘us’ is very temporary. Second, I don’t know what to do about your friend but I’m willing to look into it. If something can be done, I’ll do it. But don’t go giving her false hope.”

Zoey nods in understanding. “I get it. Thank you, for whatever happens.”

He snags a fry off her plate. “Your mama got me into dipping these things in hot wing sauce whenever we would go to music festivals. If we couldn’t find that, we used bbq sauce.”

Zoey smiles and slides a couple of the ketchup cups towards him. They’re not filled with ketchup but bbq sauce. “She taught me that too. So is that how you two met? At a music festival?”

Les takes another fry from her plate. “No, it wasn’t a music festival. We met in high school.”

Isaac had been caught smoking a joint in the boys bathroom that afternoon. Thank God he had unloaded the crack he had brought to school that morning or else Les would have been waiting for him down at the police station and not at the high school. Their mother was on her way to the school but she had to finish her shift at the steakhouse before attending another sit down with the principal over her out of control son. Their father just flat out refused to even speak to the school anymore.

So Les has an hour to kill before Isaac is released into the frustrated hands of his parent and he ends up going where he always goes: the music room. No one knows he plays the guitar, that he started teaching himself at the age of ten. His father took him along to one of his motorcycle club’s parties and one of the guys had a guitar sitting in the garage with an inch of dust on it. Les had found a music book in the beaten up case and taught himself how to play jingle bells that night. It only progressed from there. He can now play by ear and has his own instrument stashed behind a stack of tires in the garage.

But as he approaches the door to the music room, he hears music already spilling out into the empty hallway of the high school. It’s a mix of guitar and percussion. He peers through the small window to see who is in the room but he only sees you. He watches as your fingers dance along the frets and strings, and then he sees you strike the body of the guitar with the heel of your hand. That creates the percussion sound. He doesn’t even realize he’s opened the door and stepped inside until silence replaces the music.

You stare up at him with wide, surprised eyes. He takes in a breath to say something but you jump to your feet. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”

He holds his hand up to stop you. “No, don’t go.”

“I don’t want any trouble. Please.”

Fucking Isaac and his reputation is starting to pull Les’ reputation under as well. Les is a senior, keeps his grades just above passing even though he could have straight A’s. He thought he was just playing it cool but perhaps his actions were listing him into degenerate space. He doesn’t like seeing the fear in your eyes, the tremble in your hands around the neck of the guitar.

“No trouble. Promise.”

He gives you a small smile and that seems to calm you somewhat. “Okay. Um, do you…do you play?”

He sticks his hands in his jeans pockets and shrugs. “A little, yeah. Not like you though.”

You duck your head in embarrassment and brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “I was just messing around. It’s not exactly traditional skills. Mr. Elledge would kill me for hitting the body of the guitar like that.”

“I thought it was beautiful. Could you teach me?”

You think about it for a minute before nodding. “Okay. Sure.”

He remembers taking that guitar from you, the strings still warm from your hands. He remembers the scent of your shampoo, rosemary and thyme, as your hair fell over the both of them as you maneuvered his hands into the percussion positions. He remembers the warmth of your body pressed against his back. He remembers the desire that settled under his skin that prompted him to seek you out every day after that at school.

“My mom plays the guitar?”

The question wounds him. “She used to play all the time.”

“Huh.” Zoey sips at her soda. “I’ve heard her play the piano and a little on the cello, but never a guitar.”

He wonders what it was exactly that made you give up the guitar, the instrument that was constantly in your hands. He hopes he’s not the reason why you gave up the thing that brought the two of you together. That thought causes him to worry what your reaction will be when you wake up from the coma. “Well, when she comes to, you’ll have to ask her to play something for you.”

Zoey nods silently, taking his words as they were intended: hopeful.

#les packer x you #les packer x reader #les packer soa #les packer mayans #les packer fic #les packer imagine

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