#i got the same style question wrong on the test so rip
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Hey there, can you write Byleth having the ability to make fertile land when eats and Rhea learning about this forced into immobile blob with nice big moobs and thick thighs too?
Well this got ridiculously long ajbsnsjbs
Kinda tried this in my former like style of describing time passing instead of doing like snippets now. And kinda enjoyed it and might do it some more for other requests. I hope you enjoy it!
Warning: This is a fetish story!
“Rhea, I insist that you reconsider. These delusions must stop,” Seteth stares at the Archbishop, expression stern as he awaits her hopefully repentant response.
The Archbishop of Fodlan’s chambers vacant save for three individuals, the large room’s doors are completely sealed. Despite the tense nature of their companion, the other two remain impassive as they usually are.
“All I plan is for an experiment of sorts. If I am proven to be wrong, then I will cease looking into this matter. Do you not find that fair?” Rhea holds her hands together, smiling at her personal aid.
Seteth scoffs and adjusts his collar, as if affronted by the very question —which he very might well be considering his observant, impartial nature. He gestures over the last occupant of the room; a less concerned occupant who is more concerned about finishing the food —a plate of grilled herring that had been recommended to him both by Seteth and Rhea before becoming a favorite of his as well— in front of him than the conversation that should concern him the most. “And what of Byleth’s opinion? Have you asked him about his thoughts, Rhea?”
Byleth finishes his current mouthful before responding, at least aware of some common decency after fully awakening. “I don’t really care,” Noncommittal shrugging, the always stoic hero simply follows what is asked of him. Though his own near rapturous state in which he simultaneously stuffs himself while trying to savor each and every bite shows his real stance of only satisfying his cravings. Paired with Byleth’s current state of being rather heavyset, his body saddled with a generous amount of flab from the onslaught of dishes he’s imposed on himself, his true stance on the issue if even more apparent. Byleth’s upsized clothes handle his shapely figure well. So well that they accentuate his new, curvaceous shape. A sizable tummy added to his former stick slim figure, the flabby ball of fat that is outlined by the taut draping fabric of his top helps make the large newly grown breasts seem even larger. Byleth’s soft, doughy chest warps the pink design on his upper chest; the triangular shapes pushed to the side by breasts that are clearly a size too big for the current apparel. The rest of Byleth’s larger upper half is concealed by his oversized jacket. His lower half similarly spared by his oversized, draped jacket, the bit of his thighs that are exposed do reveal his hourglassed shape, Byleth clearly having the same body as both the archbishop and her assistant. His girthy left thigh even pushes the slit of his top further to the side. Unlike most of the rest of his concealed figure, his high collar does squish his pudgy neck, the bunched up flab drawn attention to as well as his softer, more rounded out face that’s paired with a set of flabby cheeks that have lost all sense of angularity to them; Byleth’s cheeks now have a flabby curve to them, now rounded out as if mimicking his usually stuffed appearance now.
“Then I believe that solves this matter,” Rhea speaks, smiling at Seteth after easily winning their argument.
Byleth crams the last few forkfuls of food into his mouth and eats the rest of it as quickly as he can with a stuffed mouth while also following Rhea.
“Fine, as long as Byleth consents then I guess I can have no qualms about this,” Seteth clears his throat, willing to rip the bandaid off and ask the second most important question. “And when do you plan to test your hypothesis?”
“Now,” Rhea seemingly glides from her position, heading for the door.
The doors now open, Seteth holds back any comments and simply walks with them in silence.
All in the monastery leave the three alone. The trio are only briefly interrupted by passing greetings and thanks. It takes the three only a few short minutes to reach the edges of the monastery’s grounds; the area barren of its former lush, green beauty, all that remains is the dirtied, scorched soil from the war. A scant few dry yet new patches of grass that try their best to grow are the only things that accompany the burnt, lifeless area.
“And what is it that you propose to prove your theory, Archbishop?” Seteth standing beside Rhea, the tense grip he has on his crossed arms loosen ever so slightly as Byleth walks forward without so much as a response from the overweight male.
Byleth takes a few steps towards the Eastern edge of the area, where a massive stone planter manages to have a single lead budding from a tiny almost withered stem at its edge despite its surroundings. Focused on his earlier, private conversation with Rhea, Byleth simply focuses on his task. He completely fails to notice the touch of greenery that sprouts under the heel of his boot.
Seteth’s eyes widen. Arms now at his side, he offers a glance at Rhea who only continues to stare at Byleth with a knowing smile. By the time he looks back up Byleth, the man has already joined them, face impassive even after reviving the withered plant enough to sprout another few leaves and plants.
“Come, I’m sure we have much to discuss in my chambers,” Rhea heads back without another word or glance at the other two.
Seteth turns back to look at Byleth, being met with nothing more than a shrug by him before walking off as well. Left alone for a quick respite, he huffs to himself. He stares at the results in front of him, the bleak, ash gray area revitalized by the slightest newest additions of grass doing nothing but to reaffirm the results of the experiment. Rhea’s suspicions confirmed true —as well as his own despite how much he wished to be wrong— Seteth only gives one last glance before heading back.
And when he enters Rhea’s chambers, he holds back a sigh at the sight in front of him.
Three others already discussing with Rhea, not a single one of them holds a single concern or issue. Hanneman, Manuela, and Alois all part of the monastery staff for several years even before the war, all three of them are already privy to the true nature of Byleth along with Rhea and Seteth’s.
“Seteth, now I can explain my plan to all four of you,” Rhea gestures for Seteth to join them, which he does so with hesitation. “As you are all now aware, Byleth has inherited the goddess Sothis’ ability of creation. Granted, his are much more limited in scope as it seems so far,”
Hanneman is the first one to break up Rhea’s explanation. The older gentleman has his personal notebook, the prior page already scattered by barely legible notes before he switches to an empty one that he immediately begins to take more notes on. “So Sothis had the ability to create vegetation from her size?”
“No,” Seteth intercedes on Rhea’s behalf. “Remember Byleth’s strange circumstances regarding his birth. Any ability that he could inherit from Sothis is bound to be affected in some strange ways. Though, this is certainly bizarre. Ah, where is Byleth by the way?” Seteth finally notices the strange absence of the one at the very center of the situation.
“I passed by him on my way here. The man seemed to be in a rush as he entered the dining hall,” Alois heartily laughs to himself, remembering the sight of the not so usually nimble man.
“He has taken to his new duty very well then. As I was getting to, I plan for us to take Byleth around all of Fodlan now that we have confirmed his newfound ability,” —Rhea gestures to each individual as she continues— ”Hanneman will be in charge of researching and understanding the extent of Byleth’s new ability. Byleth’s health, not that there should be any complications, will be Manuela’s task. Alois will stay and protect Garreg Mach. And Seteth will help with protecting everyone in the off chance we need protection since we will be leaving immediately,” Rhea stands up after doling out everyone’s role.
“Wait, Rhea. You can’t possibly—” Seteth is pulled back as someone loops a thin arm around his shoulder.
“Oh come off it, Seteth. You of all people should know how the Archbishop gets when she sets her mind to something,” Manuela leaves with a mischievous smile, the expression followed by laughter.
Seteth sighs. Manuela and Hanneman have followed after Rhea. “I would rather not indulge her behavior,”
“Come now, Seteth! You heard Archbishop Rhea. It is your duty to ensure the carriages are safe. Let us be off to honor her wishes,” Another arm wrapped around Seteth’s shoulders, Alois leads him down to the ground floor and to Garreg Mach’s Eastern entrance. The area is the very same where Rhea tested Byleth’s ability.
By the time the two arrive, Alois’ eager insistence is far from rushed. The entire area is already set up with carriages and with drivers ready for the voyage. The two carriages at the very center stand out amongst the rest; the two large vehicles are clearly designated as Rhea’s, though the other carriages still carry the emblem of the Church of Seiros and are far from being throwaway carriages with their own large sizes. The entire area is devoid of many actual Knights of Seiros, only a couple required with Fodaln peaceful enough now with the eradication of those who slither in the dark.
“We will be using my personal carriage. Our route should allow us rather common lodging along our many stops,” Rhea gestures to her carriage; she waits to enter last, ready to give the command for the voyage’s start. Alois waits in the distance, doing his best to hold back his tears from being unable to join despite having his own important task in Garreg Mach.
Seteth stops after the other two board the carriage. “And Byleth? He—”
Some heavy wheezing and huffing sounds out behind him. Byleth appearing after his light lunch, the man’s belt is completely undone around his waist. His stomach audibly gurgles from his feast; his belly wobbles with each tired step he takes, the slow pace accompanied with a blushing face. Already heavyset, Byleth appears even larger than he did before his lunch. Extra pounds added to his frame, Byleth’s clothes completely struggle against him. His side of his stomach is exposed on the side where his top drapes over him. The soft, jiggly mass shakes with his tired, full waddling. Byleth no longer wears his coat. He has the black coat draped over his arm, the fabric swaying back and forth much like his jutting stomach. Byleth’s top is close to shredding from his even larger breasts, the black fabric closer to a transparent gray from its tautness. Byleth’s pants sturdy, he has them unbuttoned. The open flaps to his pants are barely visible under his belly. Byleth has no expression besides looking ready for a food coma despite having gained a not so insignificant amount of weight. He steps into his own carriage —with assistance getting up by a knight— without speaking a word to Rhea or Seteth. Byleth’s carriage is much larger than the rest, but no one questions. No one but Seteth.
“He will need space to grow along the journey. How else will he be able to restore the destroyed areas of Fodlan?” Rhea answers Seteth's bubbling question without bothering to explain Byleth’s sudden growth. “Knights of Seiros! Today marks our expedition to assist all of Fodlan. Our fellow people are suffering along with the land and we will see to it that we ease their pain. Let us be off, for Fodlan!’ Her miniature speech finished, Rhea drags Seteth into the carriage, the entire entourage now on the move to fulfill Rhea’s mission.
And so, the group’s mission begins in earnest the instant they step off the holy grounds of Garreg Mach and into the rest of the Fodlan. Byleth’s ability weaker the smaller he is, the journey starts off in the relatively undamaged Leicester Alliance. Rhea somehow having the foresight to plan her expedition even before confirming Byleth’s strange ability —whether from actual understanding of the situation or from being another one of her bizarre, unethical ideas— the focal point of her plan is well taken care of. And extremely well fed.
Byleth is fed nearly around the clock. Not that he needs much encouragement; Byleth rather ravenous a few days into unlocking his ability, the growing swordsman greedily devours every last morsel handed to him. Told to stay in his tent at all costs, lest he waste precious calories that could go to his waist, Byleth happily complies. The minty haired man allows his already flabby figure to become absolutely ruined. A fact that is hidden from the rest with Byleth always shrouded in the comforts of his enormous carriage. Only those who bring him his meals see his enjoyment. Those being Rhea and her trusted helpers: Seteth, Manuela, and Hanneman. Their assignments nothing more than false advertisements, even Manuela and Hanneman are barely required to do anything despite having the more important tasks. Hanneman’s leisure comes not from his own decision, the elderly scholar forced by Rhea to be patient and wait to return to Garreg Mach before starting his research in earnest. Instead, all four stand by to do nothing but hand Byleth his meals. But even that task is mostly taken care of by Rhea. The Archbishop does all in her power to ensure a prosperous voyage. Byleth the way to achieving such a thing, Rhea treats him like a prized hog all throughout their journey.
By the time they reach their first main stop, Daphnel, Byleth is already a rather hefty 400 pound. The visit by the very Archbishop comes as a shock to the county. But with budding gardens and crops that lose their former pallor, their surprise turns into amazement over Byleth’s talents. The people’s words and rumors spread quickly, even faster than the entourage can move the growing Byleth. Their exploits and talents in the Duchies of Reigan and Goneril, arrive at their last stop in the County of Ordelia. The church is welcomed with even greater excitement than usual, Ordelia facing the largest issues from bordering the Adrestian Empire. And so, while the church helps rebuild the destroyed homes and structures, all Byleth needs to do is sit back and eat.
Now 500 pounds, the obese formerly slim war hero is nothing like his former self. Byleth wears a pale imitation of robes, the white fabric draped around his enormity and pinned in the back. Walking around to spread his gift of fertile land, the flabby, wobbling man is welcomed with banquets of food that each town can offer up. Not a single ounce of food goes to waste. By the time Ordelia is far better off than before and the group leave for Adrestia, Byleth’s cart is chock full of offerings.
The Adrestian Empire takes the longest for the group to travel through. Not quite as welcomed as when they traveled through the Leicester Alliance, Adrestia the loser of the war they started, it doesn’t take very many stops before the attitude changes. A change that correlates with the environment. The route along the coast allows Byleth the numerous, near endless opportunities to try the hearty seafood cuisine presented to him. Byleth packs on a staggering 200 more pounds a little less than halfway through the journey. And still, his sheets for clothes are only expanded upon by more bolts of fabric pinned to the existing drapery. Byleth an absolute beast of a man, his breasts and thighs remain the most impressive thing about his figure. His thighs make it especially difficult and tiresome for the morbidly obese man to walk around. With each thigh large enough to smother a chair and then some, each ponderous step Byleth takes is followed by heavy wheezes and the profound shaking of his entire body. His breasts are offered no support by the fabric. The two pendulous breasts sway even as Byleth sits in the comforts of his increasingly cramped carriage, each bump in the road sending his figure into a jiggling mess.
The fervor for the incredibly fat hero only grows as his waistline does, the land growing in its abundance along with his figure. By the time the group manage to finish their entire route through the Adrestian Empire, the numerous offerings for Byleth compounded with Rhea’s enhanced food leaves him nothing more than an immobile mess. A tremendous 1,000 pound man is far from a shock to anyone as they enter the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. The naturally cold climate of Ferghus able to nip at unaccustomed foreigner’s skin, Rhea’s route thankfully has them travel through the emergence of Summer. The still chilly Spring’s snow only lightly dusts the countryside’s roads and forests. Byleth so incredibly fat now, the immobilized man has nothing to worry from the light cold. His own mass of blubber warms up his obese figure. So large now, the grass along their route leaves a trail for them; the very edges of the road seem even more revitalized than before, the now stronger soil leaving nothing but potential for later. The visibility of their route only increases as they travel more of Faerghus. The shock of a half ton man is only replaced by amazement soon after seeing Byleth's innate abilities. So much food is handed out at every stop they take. With Byleth so fat that he can no longer feed himself, the group takes turns staying with him. Rhea takes the longest shifts, insisting upon feeding such a large man that now struggles to even fit within his carriage now.
Byleth’s carriage has to be restructured after only two thirds of the way through Fearghus. Parts of the wood carefully are torn off to give him room; the only structures that remain afterwards are a single plank of wood on each side and an oversized tarp to give him some privacy. Byleth mindlessly eats throughout the entire remodeling process. Byleth’s massive thighs prove to be a struggle for the carriage the entire rest of the journey. Despite being magically reinforced by Manuela and Hanneman, Byleth’s enormous thighs that are large enough to serve as their own personal bed take up the entire width of his carriage. They press against the wood, the planks bent and warped around the avalanche of flab that still grows by the day. Byleth’s thighs eventually sag off the sides of the carriage, bits of his creamy bundles of lard held by the sturdy tarp that tries its best to contain such a large man. Byleth’s thighs are ridiculously large; the two immense legs seem to even rival his surging stomach. Byleth’s knees are caked in a heaping layer of flab from his thighs, the joints completely inflexible like the rest of his enormity. Even his ankles and feet are swathed in flab, Byleth resembling more a round blob of lard that he is more than the war hero he used to be. Byleth’s stomach is still respectable in its own right; the mass of fat is large enough to be used as a personal seat for a couple of people to use comfortably.
By the time the group reaches their very last stop of Fhirdiad, Byleth’s carriage is a creaking, groaning mess that seems lucky to still be in somewhat working condition every day. And yet, Byleth feasts throughout the entire day, his body only being forcefully stopped by needing to sleep. And Byleth makes up for the lost hours of food. Each breakfast he has lasts him more than enough time to go right into lunch. And lunch is almost the same, his light lunch —consisting of food that even four men would probably be unable to finish in the time it takes Byleth to— followed by periodic snacks that eventually lead to his dinner and dessert. Byleth’s ability is further enhanced by his enormity. Unable to leave the caravan more than a thousand pounds ago, a sweeping vicinity around Byleth is affected by his potent ability. So fat now, the soil itself sprouts even without the assistance of any seeds whatsoever.
Weighing a ton, Byleth no longer resembles himself anymore. Not that most recognize him for his physical feats anymore, all now thinking of an immense blob of fat upon hearing his name. Not when Byleth weighs more than an entire ton of pure lard. The journey back to Garreg Mach is one of near frenzy. The group moves the fastest they can, several horses needed to haul Byleth’s immense self. The tarp to his carriage is completely blown out and distended, his encroaching flab held back by the fabric. As if with the Goddess’ blessing, Byleth’s carriage makes it through the entire journey back.
“Lady Rhea!” Completely unfazed by the bulging tent of fabric for a carriage, Alois rushes —with as much propriety he can muster— over to the Archbishop. “The construction you asked for is complete. We can-”
The sound of wood groaning catches everyone's attention. On its very last breath, Byleth’s carriage gives out as if recognizing its finished journey. Despite the harsh cracking and breaking of wood, Byleth emerges completely fine after people rush to remove the tarp off of him.
Completely exposed, the swordsman is completely unrecognizable. The only similarity he shares with his former self is the bright, minty hair. Not that many can spot the pop of color against a near landscape of lard. Byleth’s mass blankets the ground around him, fat surging in all directions from no longer having to be so confined. Byleth’s stomach is a blanket of flab. His large gut churning from his multiple meals, the turbulent mass of flab is still wobbling from his fall. His gut alone nearly rivals the rest of the group’s carriages, the huge pile of flab still yearning for more food. Byleth’s breasts show off his ability of fertility; the two enormous breasts practically rival the size of his gut. The sagging chest has a surprising amount of shape to it despite the rest of his expansive rolls that line his entire corpulence. His breasts seemingly lurch forward, the two tits that are larger than an entire person now forced to sag down Byleth’s large figure by gravity. His breasts even manage to make the way and almost touch the very upper rising bits of Byleth’s thighs. His thighs are the largest feature about him. Each hedonistically sized thigh is large enough to need three carriages put together to just barely hold him. So many rolls riddle his thighs that the boundary of where his legs and stomach flab end and start are near indiscernible. Byleth’s ass rises high behind his figure. The enormous rear is composed of two meaty bedframes of flab. His ass has the barest semblance of a shape, the distended, rounded out sagging flab large enough to almost reach as high as Byleth’s arms and face. His arms are almost the same as his thighs; the two enormous pancake stacks for arms are forced to the sides of him. The two massive piles of flab have a small indent at the top of each, right where Byleth’s sunken hands are, the digits so fat he can no longer even move his fingers. The two piles of flab are parted by another pile of flab that makes up his neck and face. Byleth’s neck is now a ring of fat; his neck is buried under hundreds of pounds alone, his multiple chins also not helping. Two bulging cheeks round out the mound of flab making up his neck and face. His face wobbles as he still continues to eat with regard, a magical feeding tube now immediately inserted into his mouth with no longer having to worry about the carriage.
Into the newly constructed open structure in the distance. Byleth transported to the newly created farmland, he is at the very center of the acres of field. “We will allow him to rest and enjoy himself here first before we set out again,” Rhea’s words are always final, and she heads over to Byleth.
Along with Byleth’s size is his ability. Directly touching the ground, the very land itself immediately responds to his presence. Already nicely kept grass grows longer and fuller, the area close to resembling overgrown. The out of season flowers bloom, a myriad of flowers packed to the brim in their planters.
“Stellar work Alois. I knew I could depend on you,” Without so much as telling the rest about her plan, Rhea uses her magic. The soothing faith magic envelops Byleth. The very air itself warmer, as if the ambience were light and airy, Rhea warps Byleth away.
Byleth already eating away, his half lidded eyes don’t even bother shifting attention away from his feeding tube. Instead, he guzzles away at his food, the farmland already growing and reacting from its generous —and generously sized— patron, Byleth all too happy to embrace his new ability.
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we gettin on the sweat tonight lads
i'm sick without really feeling sick (test results pending lol), so tonight, we're gonna see just how fast i can bust out a finished piece >:)
there will be no consequences! because i wont be infecting my client at work tomorrow!! :D
im talking a bust portrait of a character with a simple face angle, simple expression, simple lighting, that otherwise fully rendered and polished
and im going to log-- (OH GOD I SPELT LOG WRONG WHAT THE FUCK)-- the *actual* time i spend on the piece because i found out that clip studio can tell me how long ive had the canvas open, but i'm sure that i leave canvases open for entire days without touching them, so... that is not accurate enough for me
anyways; the reason? a friend and i were talking about art commission pricing and the habits we've noticed in the art community, and i got curious: what would *i* price my stuff if i were to hypothetically sell it?
through some basic maths and reasoning between us, i have discovered that the key to making a good rate is skill at speed
(it's not as bad as it looks, my american friends, i am using aud :) currently, 1usd = 1.50aud, 50aud = 33.28usd)
we talked about how much is a fair price for the product vs how long it takes to make, and i discovered that if you're quick at making a character bust lineart of moderate quality for $15, and can do one in 30 minutes, accounting for *only* time spent drawing, you'd be making $30 an hour, which is pretty cool considering it'd only be bust lineart. ($20 for bust lineart would yield $40/hr, but i'd only charge that of my skills and precision were reliable and en pointe. it could even be pushed to $25, but i wouldnt go more than $30 unless some super complex shit was happening and i happened to be very very good. at which point you still want to be as fast as physically possible)
there was a plot twist though: rendering times.
hypothetically, if i charged $20 for bust lineart, extra $10 for flats, extra $10 for shadibg, and extra ($5 to) $10 for extra finishing details (little backgrounds etc), that would be $50 total for a fully rendered bust. if i took 4 hours to do it (which i think is reasonable time (for me) to do most things by hand), all of a sudden, that's made my $30-40/hr into $12.50/hr.... which is kinda (very) shit lmao
with this in mind, i have one question: just how fast can i make stuff, and what quality will it be? what would i theoretically be paid for my fully rendered bust pieces?
i usually an very VERY slow partly coz i cannot stay focused on a piece for long enough chunks at a time, or, if i can, i will stop halfway through and leave it for several weeks or months, leading to a turnaround that is at such a leisurely pace even *snails* would be envious
ALTHOUGH. last year, my friend (same as above) alerted me to a built-in time-lapse feature in clip studio. i was intensely curious. for whumptober that year, i had a very clear vision of a piece i wanted to do for one of the prompts, so i used that to test the feature. i sat down at about 1700, stopped only for dinner, and had the whole thing exported and posted to tumblr at around 0100, about 7 hours. i have a sneaking suspicion that was the fabled beast called hyperfocus lmao. the [piece] was a roughly rendered full-body shot with a dynamic pose, both hands exposed, and a more complex expression, not bad considering that my pride piece took 10 months :)
bust portraits are my most comfortable style of piece, so i will experiment with those, especially since my character profiles need them, and also i want them all to look cohesive, which means i will re-draw all of my current ones (rip pete, timmy, and kate lol)
(hm, if i took 3 hours instead of 4, that'd be $16.70, if i took 2, it'd be $25... still not even close to that tasty tasty $30-$40/hr... so the solution would be to up the price of rendering since flats are easy. extra $20 (instead of $10) for rendering, since it's as complex as anatomy with lineart, bumping the total price to $60 (which is starting to *really* push the envelope of what i think people would pay for my art). so if i took 4 hours at that price, that'd be $15/hr, 3 hours would be $20/hr, which is better but still kinda shit for all that extra work, and any faster might reduce the quality to a point where it isnt worth that extra $10...)
......... i'll let u guys know the results lol
#emc's shit#not whump#procrastinating from the thing im using to procrastinate from the other thing 💯
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Test Day (Jason Todd x Reader)
This means I have officially written a quarantine fic. What a weird time to be alive. I also hit 500 followers so thank you for that!
Request for anon: Fluff #7 “Oh, would you look at that? There’s nowhere to sit besides my lap.” with Jason
Word Count: 1,900
Tags: @idkmanicantenglish
When your alarm went off, you wanted nothing more than to turn it off and curl up against Jason’s warm chest and pretend you didn’t hear anything. But instead, you had to be a diligent student who actually studies so you quickly shut off your alarm and try to creep out of bed, but Jason already heard your alarm go off.
“No,” He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you tightly.
You sigh, leaning back against Jason for a moment, relaxing in his hold.
“I need to study,” You tell him.
“Five more minutes,” He mumbles into your neck. “It’s too early to study.”
“Any time before 11:30 is too early for you,” You remind him. “My test is today, I’ve got to cram.”
Jason grumbles, tightening his arms around your waist.
“Jase, come on,” You start trying to uselessly wiggle out of his grip. “I’ve been procrastinating this whole week.”
He sighs but releases his arms. You climb out of bed, but turn and pull the blankets over Jason’s chest again and kiss his head.
“Go back to sleep,” You tell him.
He waves you off.
“Yeah, go study for your test,” He grumbles.
You can’t help but giggle at his grumpiness but quietly creep out of the room and brew a cup of coffee. Once setting yourself up at your kitchen counter, you begin the long haul of learning as much organic chemistry as possible. While you weren’t completely helpless, the quarantine forced your classes online and completely destroyed your motivation. You’d been lightly studying throughout the week, but today was grind day.
An hour later, Jason emerges from your bedroom, still looking sleepy and a little grumpy.
“Nice sweatshirt,” He comments, pressing a kiss to the side of your head then pours himself a cup of coffee.
You grin, tugging on the strings of Jason’s hoodie that you’re currently wearing. It’s warm, big, and smells like Jason. Honestly, at this point, it’s providing more emotional support than physical comfort.
“I’m surprised you’re up,” You comment, glancing at the clock over your oven which reads: 8:09 AM.
Normally, you and Jason didn’t even acknowledge the outside world until after 10 o’clock unless absolutely necessary.
“I don’t like sleeping in an empty bed,” He admits to his coffee. “I don’t sleep as well.”
Your heart flutters at the comment, but you ruin the moment when you look back at the practice test open on your screen. Oh, you’re still here. You squint your eyes at the old tests as if it deeply offended you (which is has by existing, thank you very much).
“Did you eat breakfast?” Jason asks.
“Not yet.”
Jason nods then opens the fridge and begins making eggs while you keep cracking away at old tests. He wordlessly sets a plate of food down next to you, kisses the top of your head, then sits on the couch to quietly watch TV and enjoy his breakfast.
A few hours pass as you keep doing practice problems and drawing figures and formulas on your little whiteboard. You’re starting to feel better about the test, but you’re still unsure. Knowing your professor, he’ll ask a question that you have all the information to solve, but no idea how to do it. Your stomach grumbles and you decide you should probably eat lunch.
When you get stressed or “in the zone”, your brain tends to shut off your appetite. You’d never noticed it until you started living with Jason and he pointed it out after watching you study for a final. Luckily, he’s helped you become more aware of it.
Speaking of Jason, he disappeared back to the bedroom about an hour ago, probably to read a book or do research for his next mission with the Outlaws. As a thank you for making breakfast, you fix him a sandwich along with your own and walk it back to the bedroom.
You find him on the floor, one of his dresser drawers open, surrounded by shirts. He brightens when he sees you walk in with food.
“How’s studying going?” He greets.
You shrug, handing him his plate.
“It’s going. I’m starting to feel better about it, but there’s still a lot to go. What are you doing?”
“Cleaning out some stuff,” Jason looks at his various piles. “I never really built my wardrobe back up after I came back, so a lot of this stuff doesn’t fit me.”
“Are you going to order some new stuff online?”
Jason frowns.
“Maybe? I don’t like buying clothes online.”
“You don’t like buying clothes period,” You correct with a smile.
“After all this is over,” Jason vaguely gestures to the air. “I’ll be more than willing to go clothes shopping for at least the first week when quarantine ends, so I’ve gotta make it count.”
You chuckle.
“We’ll go on a shopping spree,” You promise. “Well, I gotta keep studying--”
“Wait, why don’t you eat lunch with me?” Jason asks. “Take a break?”
“This is me taking a break,” You gesture to him. “I gotta keep going.”
“Come on, babe, you’ve been studying since 7 this morning. You can afford to stop and eat lunch.”
“The longer I wait to get back to it, the harder it’s going to be to start,” You shrug. “Sorry, Jase.”
He frowns, watching you leave the room to keep studying.
Two hours later, you’re still going strong-- strong as in you’re still looking at the material, but you keep getting the same style question wrong and you can’t figure out why.
“Okay, an amino has one nitrogen, so you add one, but an amide has one site of unsaturation so you subtract two which then makes it 2n+1,” You scan the possible formulas. “None of these answers have odd numbers,” You groan then flip through your notes, knowing you’re not going to find the answer because you’ve been looking for it for the past fifteen minutes and still found nothing.
Jason emerges from the bedroom again.
“Hey, babe, how’s it going?” He asks, getting something to drink out of the fridge.
“I can’t figure out how to do these stupid problems,” You groan. “I could do them on the last test, but now I can’t do them with amino or amide groups because Dr. Meades never told us the corrected formula.”
Jason frowns, and rounds the counter, looking at the various scribbles and cross-outs on your whiteboard and open notebook.
“Maybe you should take a break,” He suggests, rubbing your back. “You’ve been going at it now,” Jason pauses to look at the clock. “For roughly seven hours.”
“But my test is in three hours. I’ve gotten figure out how to do these problems because there’s always five of them on the test and if I mess up one, I’m going to mess up two,” Your jaw tightens as you feel the burn of tears building in your eyes.
Oh, hell no. Organic chemistry is NOT going to make me cry. While you care about your studies, it’s not enough to make you cry. You take a deep breath, blinking a few times to force back the tears of frustration.
“Some fresh eyes might help. Just take a few minutes to shut your brain off,” Jason tries to urge you but you brush him off.
“I’m okay, I promise. I’m going to see if I can find some example problems,” You start typing on your laptop again, scrounging old tests.
Jason frowns but leaves you to work.
Two hours later, you get up to go to the bathroom. You stare at the blue walls of your bathroom feeling drained and exhausted. You hate organic chemistry and you hate online classes. Why are you even taking this class?! It’s stupid!
After washing your hands, you glance at the clock on Jason’s nightstand-- one hour until you take your test. Sighing heavily, you walk back out to the kitchen to continue studying, only to find every seat at the kitchen counter and small dining table have been taken by a varying amount of objects including but not limited to: a tall stack of folded laundry, a pile of what you were guessing to be Jason’s shirt rejects, a stack of plates from the cupboard, and Jason’s ammunition bag that he takes on missions.
You stare at the chairs then glance over at Jason only to notice he stacked your textbooks and DVD collection on the loveseat while he is pointedly sprawled across the other couch. He casually reads his book, pretending to not notice you.
“Hey, Jason?” You ask.
He hums in response.
“What is this?”
Jason looks around the room then sets his book down, placing a hand on his cheek in mock surprise.
“Oh, would you look at that? There’s nowhere to sit besides my lap.”
He opens his arms invitingly and you can’t help but laugh.
“Jason--” You start to say, not moving toward him, despite the tempting offer.
“No,” He cuts you off. “You have been studying all day. You need to take a break and you’re going to take it now.”
“My test is in an hour.”
“Honestly, if you don’t know it by now, you’re not going to know it for the test,” Jason tells you bluntly. “You’re going to be fine. Please, just take a break,” He looks at you pleadingly.
You glance back toward your laptop which you notice Jason had shut then sigh and walk over to Jason, letting him pull you down onto the couch with him. You land between his legs with his arms wrapped tightly around you.
“You’re going to do great,” He promises.
You snort.
“It’s organic chemistry, “great” does not exist in its vocabulary.”
“Shut up, it’s going to be great.”
“I got a 66 on the last test,” You remind him.
Jason pauses for a moment.
“You’re going to pass,” He fixes, making you laugh.
“There we go. That’s the realistic prediction I need to hear,” You grin, tucking your chin under his head. “I just want the semester to be over.”
“Yeah, I know doll,” He kisses the top of your head. “But you can’t keep trying to do your classes like this.”
“Yeah, I know,” You sigh, playing with his fingers.
You two stay like that until it’s time for you to log on and take your test. And what do you know? Jason was right, you did pass.
“Told you,” Jason grins, kissing your cheek as he looks over your shoulder at the screen.
“Yeah, yeah,” You roll your eyes, closing your laptop.
“I’m just saying that you should listen to me more,” He points out.
“Oh really?”
“Uh-huh, cause clearly, I’m a genius.”
“A genius you say?” You turn your chair so you’re facing Jason.
“Yep,” He grins, stepping between your legs while your arms go around his neck. “I could put Tim out of business.”
“I’m sure,” You roll your eyes. “You’re very humble about it too.”
“Oh of course,” Jason flips his hair dramatically. “Not only am I a genius, but I’m also smoking hot.”
You start laughing, shaking your head.
“You’re a dork,” You grin, kissing Jason.
“Yeah, but I’m your dork,” He murmurs against your lips.
“Damn right,” You grin.
The quarantine sucks, but at least you have a good company.
I had a test on Tuesday, can y’all tell? (I did pass)
#Jason Todd#Red Hood#Jason Todd x reader#Red Hood x reader#jason todd headcanon#red hood headcanons#quaratine fic#dc#batman#request#organic chemistry sucks#based on true events#aka my struggle#i got the same style question wrong on the test so rip#but i passed!!!!!#can i have a jason who reminds me to eat cause this is what i do when i get stressed??
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Chapter 96 thoughts
This chapter made me want to not be alive so uh let’s talk about it, group therapy style. Spoilers under the cut, obviously.
This was easily the worst chapter in a long time, but it was a different type of pain than the last bad chapter I flipped out over (Hagusa’s first appearance in 88-2). This was more like a slow, burning feeling of dread. I’m not quite sure how to describe it but this chapter definitely made me feel no less than 7 new emotions.
Things started off poorly with Yuka seeing Hiyori as being similar to her mom. Which, as we learned a few chapters ago, means the type of person to keep pushing away her pain and inconvenience with a smile. At least I’m glad Yuka decided to make her breakfast anyway.
The comparison isn’t entirely one-for-one though. Yuka and Haru’s mother was also the type of person to completely close herself off from her surroundings, not really doing anything to prevent her kids from being hurt. We know our Hiyori would never let that slide--I’m fondly remembering the multiple times she’s gone after trash dad despite how he keeps finding new ways to hurt her.
On that note, I still don’t think Yukine’s father is alive, but if he was I would love for Hiyori to kick his ass too.
Anyway, the anecdote about Haru forgetting their dad’s birthday was already rough for me. I’d forget too, if I had someone like that holding it against me every time. And of course it shouldn’t surprise me he was cruel enough to force his children to sleep outside at night, but somehow it’s just another horrible, horrible thing we were forced to learn.
Adachitoka’s really pulling no punches with Yukine’s backstory, man. Every time I think we’ve heard the worst of it, they come back with something new and equally horrible.
I’m really not sure what to make of Yuka’s “This isn’t something to talk about just after waking up” statement. What was she implying was happening to Haru? My first thought was that she realized he’s in danger somehow, and is afraid he’s going to die, but if that were true she’d be urging the girls out the door to go look for him. Feel free to tell me if it was obvious, but I was confused.
I still have no idea how Nora and Hiyori are gonna explain what happened to Haru, but I feel like Yuka will just catch a glimpse of him and realize, somehow.
I also feel like when they meet, Yukine will turn his anger on his sister at first, but hopefully Hiyori will be there to mediate things. I can’t wait for her to get some action, provided things don’t go belly-up again (they will).
Okay so I was completely NOT expecting to get the letter revealed this month so I felt blindsided.
I remember speculating the letter would be something normal, like what Yato saw in those fragments when naming Yukine. But boy, was I wrong.
He never got any of her letters, and didn’t Yuka also say she never got any of his?
Anyway, my first thought when I saw that final letter was that their dad forced him to write it, but looking at it again now I’m not so sure. I think the paneling is meant to imply their dad read out all his letters, and that was the one he was holding when the POV switched to a flashback. I also misread “I can’t take it anymore” as a sort of suicide note, but I think it was just frustration.
Either way, there’s a conspiracy going on that their dad was behind. Somehow, he got hold of all Haru’s letters, and likewise prevented Yuka’s from ever reaching him. So the two siblings wrote to each other and never got a response, each believing they had been abandoned.
It’s also horrifying that Yuka wrote about mundane things out of concern for her brother’s life and safety, yet Haru was openly writing about how much he wanted to run away. Perfect fuel for their dad’s story once he went missing, huh?
This also shows he wasn’t, like, handing the letters to his dad to mail off. He was sending them by himself, in secret, yet they all got returned one day. So like, was their mom hoarding his letters to prevent Yuka from getting them? What exactly happened here? I’m wondering if their mom was so committed to putting everything behind them that she kept all of Haru’s arriving letters and hid them away, hoping the siblings would forget about each other. But then, did she send them back? Why would she do such a thing?
I mentioned this a while ago, but nothing about this whole letter business adds up, and now there’s a whole new layer to it.
Anyway, on to what was, for me, the crux of this chapter--the page with just the “thud” and “smack” sfx, followed by an unnerving silence. This was, as is shown later, the final abuse that Haru suffered. His father got hold of the letters, ripped them up in front of his son, then beat him up and dragged him to the mountains where he dumped him in the fridge, already concocting his story about how Haru ran away. Now we know why Haru was barefoot and in his pajamas when it showed the fridge door shutting. Good lord.
This page had a deep impact on me, because though Adachitoka is not one to shy away from direct depictions of abuse (think Father smacking Yuuki against a pole or setting wolves on a crying Yato), everything about this was deeply unpleasant in a new way. I think it’s because we already knew that everyone ignored what was happening at the Tajima house, as well as the consequences of that specific instance of abuse.
I think it was @eerna who said this page goes straight to the compilation of pages that make me feel like I’ll never be happy again? bc yeah.
I gotta stop talking about this before I cry so I’m instead pivoting to taking another break from being mad at Kazuma because he was actually doing good stuff this chapter. Seems like he’s finally come around and agrees they need to get Yukine back, and is offering his help to Yato.
Poor Yato, though, remembering how their last exchange before Father named Yukine was Yukine renouncing that name in a fit of anger. I don’t think calling Sekki would work at the moment, but certainly when Yuka, Hiyori, and Nora help Yukine see reason, I can picture Yato summoning him back and away from Amaterasu.
So, they better all get their butts moving, because Father’s about to do a test run of Hagusa’s fury against those gods unfortunate enough to be in his way. Pleaaaaase let them be in time. I don’t have it in me to go through a box incident again.
If memory serves, Arahabaki is also in the area, meaning Shiigun may face off against Yuuki. But their time is running out, so Yukine’s fractured mental state will likely interfere with that plan.
One last thing before I close out this very long post. Father drew a clear parallel between himself and Yukine with their shared feelings of despair, yet the visual puts him in the same place as Yukine’s father, and Freckles as Yukine. Makes me wonder if she received similar treatment from Father as Yato and Nora did. Was their relationship not quite so “star-crossed lovers” as Father would have us believe? Was he perhaps partially to blame for her death?
In any case, seeing Yukine’s father carrying him to what will be his grave made me feel violent. I really hope that bastard is long dead, because I don’t want Yukine to become a murderer even though it would be completely justified after seeing incident after incident of the environment he grew up in.
Always questions, questions, and more questions. Feel free to send your own thoughts! See yall in October~
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Jaune: (Walking through the forest with Yang, Looks at a wanted poster on a tree) Hey, Yang, who's that? She kind of looks like you.
Yang: That's Raven Branwen, the supposed "Bandit Queen" around here. Don't bother getting involved with her. She'd just make you look stupid. (Sighs, Looks away) It wouldn't be the first time.
Jaune: ...Right. (Touches her hand) Yang, you know I love you, right?
Yang: ...Yeah, I know. (Holds his hand, Doesn't look at him) Even if you don't deserve someone like me.
Jaune: (Pulls his hand away) What do you mean? Are you saying I'm not good enough for you?
Yang: (Looks at him) What?! No! I know we've only been dating for a few months, but it's not like that! If anything, it's the other way around!
Jaune: (Angry) So you're saying you're too good for me now?!
Yang: No! Argh! You are so annoying right now! What I meant was- (A loud thud is heard nearby, Gunfire explodes in the distance) What was that?
From the treeline, a band of armed thugs barrel out waving their weapons around, hooting and hollering, roaring and barking as they circle the couple. A tree falls, it's trunk sliced clean as a woman with black hair and red eyes walks forward. She sheathes her sword as she sways her hips. She looks exactly like the woman in the wanted poster, becauseshe is the woman from the wanted poster; Raven Branwen.
Raven: Don't waste your breath with her. (Stops in front of the couple) She never understood true power, even when it stared her in the face.
Jaune: Wait, you're-
Raven: Raven Branwen, Bandit Queen. (Bandits roar and cheer until they're silenced by Raven's extended hand, She leans forward into Jaune's face) And you are just my type.
Jaune: (Blushing) Uh, you look just like my girlfriend.
Raven: Well, she is my daughter.
Yang: Stop leering at her, you perv! And you, I thought you didn't want anything to do with me!
Raven: I didn't, but when Tai told me about this boy you're dating, I had to see for myself. He reminds me a lot of him. (Licks her lips) I bet he tastes the same, too. Shay! Vernal!
Shay & Vernal: Yes, ma'am!
Raven: Make sure she doesn't interfere. I want to play with my food right now
Shay & Vernal: Yes, ma'am!
Raven: What's your name, handsome?
Jaune: Uh, Jaune. Jaune Arc.
Raven: Mm, short, sweet, and rolls off the tongue. I bet the ladies love it.
Jaune: Uh...
Raven: If you didn't hear, I'm Raven Branwen. But, the only thing you'll call me from now on is either ma'am or mommy.
Jaune: (Chuckling) That's funny. I like you, Ms. Branwen!
Yang: (Thinking) What is she doing?! Is she... trying to steal Jaune?! (Shakes her head) Whatever! Jaune loves me! He won't surrender to her! ...But we did have that fight just now. He might actually leave me for her. ...No! I just have to put my faith in Jaune! I know he'll stay with me!
Raven: Now, Jaune, what say we have some fun?
Raven unsheathes Omen, taking a combative stance in front of Jaune, who, in turn, unsheathes Crocea Mors. Raven swings at Jaune, holding back her strength as she tests Jaune's skill. Soon, Jaune is beading with sweat as Raven lazily parries and swings at him. Jaune slips into her guard, forcing her to jump back. She chuckles as she watches him pant.
Raven: Not bad, boy. Not bad at all.
Jaune: This... This is too much! I can see why you're the Bandit Queen now.
Raven: What are you staring so hard at me for, boy? You want me? Here, (Takes off her armor, Her perfect-fit clothing underneath leaves nothing to the imagination) have a closer look.
Jaune: (Stammers, Looks to Yang)
Yang: Stop showing off like that, Mom! Why couldn't you just stay out of my love life like dad? In fact, why don't you just stay out of my life?!
Shay: Hey, kid, settle down!
Vernal: Queen Raven ordered us to keep you in place, so that's what we're going to do.
Yang: And having your goons keep me from kicking your butt?! You're the worst!
Raven: Your boyfriend doesn't seem to think that. Just look at how he's panting just from being near me. (Jaune gulps) Tell me, Jaune. What do you like most about me? Is it my lovely hair? My intoxicating scent? Or is something else catching your eyes?
Jaune: C-Can we go back to fighting, please?!
Yang: Why are you dodging the question, you creep?! (Thinking) I'm losing him. It's subtle, but... There's no doubt about it. It can't end like this. Not after everything we've been through!
Raven: Remember this, Jaune; there's a difference between a girl and a woman. Allow me to show you the difference.
Raven swings with more intent this time, forcing Jaune to block and dodge with more caution, as she now kicks at any opening she finds. Jaune slips into her guard again, forcing the two to lock blades. However, Raven takes advantage of this to blow a kiss at Jaune, who flinches and jumps away. Raven follows up with thrust, parry, and slice combination. Jaune noticed Raven switched to a two-handed style, and decided to respond in kind. The battle became more even as Raven began sweating from the effort she was putting in. Jaune leaped away, panting, and stuck his sword into the dirt.
Jaune: Okay, I'm done! I've had enough, Ms. Branwen!
Raven: Aw, what's the matter, baby. Are you losing focus from watching me move so gracefully? I'll bet you have so many nasty thoughts running through your head right now. (Rips open her shirt a little, revealing her cleavage) You want me so bad, don't you?
Yang: (Tears streaming from her eyes, Thinking) That's it. I've lost him. There's no way he doesn't want her after that. It's how she tricked Dad into loving her. (Crying) But, he can't just leave me for her! She just wants to use him as a plaything. If he left me, I at least want to be sure he'll be safe from any harm, but she... It's all my fault. All because of that stupid argument, he's going to leave me all alone!
Jaune: Ugh! Just shut the fuck up already!
Yang: Huh? (Realizes Jaune's holding her)
Raven: Excuse me?!
Jaune: I'm sick of hearing you talk! You're fucking weird, the way you talk to me makes me feel like a baby, and the fact you're putting down your own daughter just to impress a stranger like me, (Glares at Raven, Grinds his teeth) it makes me so fucking furious, I can't stand it! How could you say such foul shit about your daughter?! (Takes a deep breath, Holds Yang close) I love your daughter. I only love your daughter. I mean, yeah, you're attractive, with your nice-smelling hair and your curves and your swordplay, but that doesn't matter. But I wouldn't even be fawning over you if I knew how horrible you really were! (Feels Yang hugging him, Sighs) I'm sorry, baby. I just... I just got so upset when you said I wasn't good enough for you.
Yang: (Sniffs) I wasn't talking about you not being good enough; I was talking about me not being good enough for you. I got so worried that you'd abandon me, I couldn't bear it. I'm sorry it came out wrong to you. I just think you're so amazing, okay? You always rise up against any challenge, even when you know the odds aren't in your favor. You fought bullies, Grimm, my dad, and even the White Fang! You have so much confidence, I can't imagine why you would think you're not good enough! (Sobs) I love you, Jaune! I feel like if you left me, I would literally die!
Jaune: (Shushes her, Pets her hair) I love you, too, and I know what you mean. I feel like... It's like our souls are connected, you know? (Chuckles, Tear rolls down his eye) I'm sorry I'm so corny, and for our fight earlier.
Yang: (Chuckles) It's okay. I like us being corny, and I love that you can be so honest with me.
Jaune: (Chuckles, Kisses the top of her head) I'm so lucky I have you.
Raven: (Holding herself, Panting and squirming) Oh, this feeling~.
Jaune: (Looks up) Huh? (Looks over, Sees Raven half-naked and steaming with a dangerous aura) Uh...
Raven: Oh, Tai hasn't made me feel like this in such a long time~.
Yang: (Gulps) Raven?
Raven: But you, Jaune, (Lewd and wide smile, Sultrily chuckles) you're a whole different breed~! (Points Omen at him, Drooling) You're a man who knows how to put a bitch like me in her place and shows love to his girl after some tramp disses her! (She looks down, Hiding her face) It might be the bare minimum, but... (Looks up, Hungry eyes) I just have to have you! Now pick up the sword and listen carefully, because if you lose this fight, I'm going to make you my new slave! (Chuckles) Who knows? Maybe in a few years, you'll make for a fine bandit.
Shay: Wait, we used to be something before being bandits?
Raven: You can't refuse this, handsome, otherwise I'll kill Yang and give you no choice.
Jaune: Shit. Yang, this doesn't look good.
Yang: Hey, now, that's not the Jaune Arc I love! (Hands him Crocea Mors, Kisses his cheek) Kick her ass for me, okay, baby?
Jaune: (Takes Crocea Mors, Smiles) You got it, baby!
Vernal: Listen up, everyone! Our queen is about to go all out! The odds of her leaving us alive grow slimmer by the second! Know that all of you have been like family to me!
Shay: Even me?
Vernal: Shut up, Shay.
Raven: By the way, handsome, I don't want this to be over too soon, so keep that sword of yours in it's longsword form to keep it interesting. Because this shit's finna get nutty!
Raven wastes no time attacking Jaune, forcing him to block. He's pushed back several feet before side-stepping away. Raven continues until a red portal opens in her path, and she disappears into it. Jaune loses sight of her and barely has enough time to duck as she flies in from behind to strike. He rolls away, but Raven charges again, striking wildly with swings and thrusts. Jaune's muscles ache as he's forced to block and parry. Raven runs towards him again, disappearing into another portal. He looks behind, but doesn't see her. Yang warns him of the strike from above, and he leaps away in time. He notices a golden necklace on the ground, recognizing it from one of the bandits. Unfortunately, Raven was relentless as she continued her assault, and Jaune couldn't afford to stop and think. He decided to go on the offensive this time, clashing with her. When she was pushed back, he charged forward, but ran into her portal, and right into Vernal. The bandit lieutenant jumped away as Jaune thrusted, and he apologized as he she did. He turned in time to catch Raven's blade, but she disappeared as she retreated, using her portal repeatedly to confuse him. Jaune dropped his sword and stepped forward to the golden necklace. He tossed it into the air, forcing Raven to dive to him with her blade extended. She cackled with mad glee as she forced him to fall backwards, only to reel in pain when he kicked her in the face and away from Omen. Raven sprawled and climbed to her knees, looking at Jaune from the wrong end of her weapon.
Raven: (Panting) Jaune... That was... amazing... I feel so... exhilarated... You sapped me of all my juices. Or, well, at least half of my aura, anyways. I know you won, but couldn't you please reconsider and join my family?
Jaune: I don't want you! Damn! (Throws Omen aside) I'm with your daughter because I love her! I love her hair! I love her smell! I love her curves!
Raven: W-What are you saying?!
Jaune: I'm saying I love big-tittied bitches! Mostly your daughter, but the others are cool, too, I guess!
Yang: (Snickers, Covers her mouth)
Jaune: Also, you just let "your family" almost die in our fight! Who the hell does that?!
Raven: (Scoffs) The family knows the tribe is nothing without their queen. If they were worthy, they would be willing to die for me. (Stands up, Shakes her head) Such a sentimental fool. No wonder you're together. (Picks up Omen, Walks away with her tribe) You can have him, Yang.
Yang: ...Thank you, Raven.
Jaune: Wait, that's it?
Raven: Yeah, I don't need any bleeding hearts in my tribe. But you have my blessing, whatever that might mean to you. (Thinking) Fuck, now I'm thinking about him again. I should go chat with him. It has been a few months since our last "reunion."
#rwby#jaune arc#yang xiao long#raven branwen#shay d man#vernal#friday night funkin#mommy mearest hd#dragonslayer#tairaven
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Demons of the Past
Pairings: Poppy x MC (Bea Hughes)
Warnings: Mature language
Word count: 3074
Ch.1 Stranger Danger
Poppy Min Sinclair had to arch her slender neck to see her reflection from over the shoulder of Chloe, who had been testing her new artistic vision on her for a good few minutes. For some time now, Poppy had become a canvas for Chloe's magical hands as she tried her luck at running a beauty salon, along with Veronica, who was doing her best advertising.
"What do you think V?"
Veronica tore her gaze away from her phone and looked towards Poppy wrinkling her nose slightly. She usually did that when she was seriously considering something. "As far as I'm concerned she could use some plastic surgery."
"Asshole," Poppy laughed hurling a pillow at her friend, which missed and knocked over a decorative vase standing nearby. Three girls looked in that direction and soon the three of them burst out laughing loudly, curling up on the floor.
"Enough, enough!", Chloe began to shout when she noticed that Poppy wanted to wipe her eyes from crying, and she caught her hands, looking at her with a chastising gaze. She wouldn't let her hard work be destroyed so easily. Poppy rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face remained constant as she silently teased the shorter girl along with Veronica. "Why am I hanging out with you guys..."
"You love us," whined Veronica hugging a reddened Chloe with one arm, who lowered her gaze quickly to her hands nervously playing with the hem of her skirt.
Poppy made the sound of displeasure she made whenever the two girls started acting too cute. She was glad for their happiness, but deep down she felt an incredible jealousy, because she herself would like to share her life with someone too.
The couple sort of understood the blonde, pulled away from each other and looked at her docilely.
"Don't worry Poppy, I'm sure you'll meet someone at the party tonight. From what I heard Zoey invited some cutie from the old days...", Chloe smiled as she tried to convey positive energy with her words. "Besides, you're wearing my makeup, no one will be able to resist you!"
"Cutie you say..."
Ch.2 Party Fever
She was the most beautiful girl in the whole room.
No.
She was the most beautiful girl in the entire world.
Bea watched from a dark corner of the room as Poppy twirled effortlessly to the beat of the music, attracting the stares of drooling people with her movements. Her tiny skirt didn't leave much to the imagination either, but that was Poppy Min Sinclair's style; if she wasn't the main attraction, what was the point of her presence?
"You're acting like a creep," she was snapped out of her observation by Zoey who magically appeared next to her, making her almost gasp.
"You should have some kind of bell around your neck, Wade," Bea rolled her eyes at her friend's laughter.
"Wow, she has nice ass... Ets, yeah, nice assets," Zoey smiled innocently seeing her friend's murderous gaze. "You'd better come over to her eventually,"
Her gaze went back to the dancing blonde. "It's been five years, what should I say to her?"
"Maybe something like; Heya Pops I already have money, maybe you want to come with me for a little Macarena?", the black-haired squirmed as Bea's fist landed right in her stomach, almost knocking the air out of her lungs. The slight pain she felt didn't stop her from laughing at the tomato-like look that appeared on her friend's face. "Come on babe, she's at the bar now, this is your opportunity."
Bea nodded and straightened up, ready to attack. "You finally said something with sense."
Ch.3 Deja-vu
"One Old Fashioned and Sex On The Beach."
Poppy turned behind her with a ready biting remark, but her voice froze in her throat when she saw the person standing behind her. And it was none other than Bea Hughes herself, her first drink, crush, kiss, sex, love, but also her first heartbreak. She stood before her as casually as if those five years of separation between them had never existed. Her short brown hair, now shoulder-length, was whiter than snow itself. Her childlike facial features had sharpened and she could see tiny wrinkles appearing from the overworked late nights. Her style had also changed, from boyishly sporty and bad girl to formal and important. She looked like a millionaire ripped straight from the cover of Forbes. She no longer resembled the person she once was.
"You remembered what I drink," the blonde choked out as the first wave of shock left her and the lump in her throat loosened. Talking to her seemed so unreal that she felt like she had lost consciousness and was now dreaming.
Bea smiled in response, though it was more of a tired smile than the beaming howl with which she had greeted Poppy daily in their school years. "There are some things that are hard to forget Pops," the white-haired girl shrugged her shoulders sheepishly as she slid the hundred across the counter towards the bartender, who with renewed vigor reached over and ran to prepare the drinks, nearly tipping over his own feet.
"Feeling generous tonight?", Poppy chuckled as she watched Bea tuck a rather thick bundle of bills into her pocket. In their teenage years, the white-haired girl had barely been able to make ends meet, but Poppy had always admired her ability to live from day to day and enjoy herself, even when an eviction order from her home hung over her head.
Bea laughed a throaty laugh that sounded almost like a cough. She nodded and tilted her head to one side, the way she did every time she got into a thoughtful mood. "There's nothing wrong with supporting the littles."
Poppy's insides tightened to ask where she'd gotten all that money, but by some miracle her strong will managed to curb the urge and nip it in the bud. That would be tactless, and lack of tact is a trait that should not be associated with Min Sinclair.
"You can ask me anything you want," Bea looked her straight in the eye, making Poppy stop seeing anyone else but her. It was as if she had cast a spell on her and moved them far away, enclosing them in a safe bubble illusion. Even the music became just a distant rumble as the white-haired woman looked at her that way. The same way she had looked at her five years ago.
"I don't understand," the blonde cursed herself when she heard her own words, which sounded more idiotic than some of Chloe's wisdom. Bea seemed unmoved, by her clumsy attempt at pretending, in fact, a cocky grin appeared on her lips that she, oh so much, felt like tearing off now.
" Don't play games Poppy, we're not kids anymore," Bea reached for the drinks that had finally been brought in and handed one to Poppy, completely casually, fingertips brushing against the skin of her palm. "Drink up, it'll help you relax, and I know you have a lot of questions."
The blonde lowered her gaze to the drink and took a moment to look at the colors that danced on the surface of her liquor. How was Bea able to read her like an open book after all these years. Everyone said she had changed, but could it be that the change wasn't so great after all? And why was she always questioning herself in her company?
She was pulled out of her reverie by Bea, who unnoticeably slipped her finger under her chin and lifted her face so that they were looking at each other again. This time, however, she was closer, much, much closer. Poppy could without much difficulty smell the expensive perfume that didn't match the Bea of her memories, but did match the woman who sat before her. Just as in years past, Bea's thumb involuntarily stroked her cheek.
For a brief moment, the blonde let her selfish thoughts consume her and savor the touch, but it didn't last as long as she wanted it to. "N-no," she whispered and using all of her strong willpower she moved a safe distance away from the white-haired woman, who didn't object to her reaction. "I can't do it like this," she said as she walked away, escaping as quickly as possible from this cursed place, from this cursed past.
Ch.4 When It Rains, It Pours
When she left the building, it was already dark and chilly outside, and a light rain was drizzling from the heavy clouds hanging in the sky. At this point, however, she didn't care about ruining her expensive and designer clothes and makeup that Chloe had sat on for dozens of minutes. She needed to get some fresh air, cool down, and let her thoughts flow.
Why had she come back just now? Now that Poppy had put her life back together, without her and without thoughts of her.
"Sinclair!"
"You've got to be kidding me," she snorted under her breath hearing Bea's loud voice behind her, who as usual wasn't giving up. At least that hadn't changed. "What do you want Farmsville?"
Bea squirmed at that old nickname, but quickly imposed a stoic expression on her face and shoved her hands into her pockets. Even in this gentle rain and illuminated only by the slightly penetrating moonlight, she continued to look like a goddess, which annoyed Poppy immensely.
"You ran out so suddenly, I thought something happened and I thought..."
"Oooh now you thought?" snapped the blonde, who nervously shifted from foot to foot, almost ready to throw herself at the white-haired woman's throat. Years of pent up rage bubbled through her veins, making her skin almost burn with living fire. "Forgive my surprise, but I would never judge Bea Hughes for her ability to think!"
The white-haired woman watched her in silent contemplation, answering nothing. Her silence irritated the blonde a hundred times more than anything she could say. The atmosphere between them was becoming strained to the limit and all it took was one wrong move, one misspoken word, and the catastrophe was certain. The rain intensifying around them wasn't helping either.
"I don't understand what happened. We were talking calmly like we used to, and suddenly you run out and do one of your tantrums..."
"Ha! Like we used to...," she interrupted her again in mid-sentence, mimicking her and almost bursting into maniacal laughter, but her mood had nothing to do with amusement. "I guess you've already forgotten that you left me for five whole years and now you're back and you expect us to talk like old friends?", her voice wavered between anger and tears. "Someone paid you to come back here? That's where you got the money from, right? You were hired to get revenge on me..."
"What," the astonishment in Bea's voice was almost palpable as she stared at the blonde shaking with anger with her eyes wide open. It was Poppy's nature to explode and make arguments for any reason, but what she was saying now sounded irrational, even for her. "I'm the CEO of my uncle's company, that's where I get my money from," she corrected.
"What," this time it was Poppy's turn to be surprised and her face even softened. "What do you mean, what about your dreams of becoming a music star?"
Bea scratched the back of her neck nervously and lifted her face up, letting the raindrops wash her face of any negativity that had accumulated. When she felt ready enough not to explode, she looked back at the blonde and sighed, her face looking more tired than before. "Those were childhood daydreams. A music career would never make me the kind of money an accounting firm would."
"Childish daydreams? You spent your first earned money on a guitar and an amplifier, how can you call that childish daydreams...", the concern in Poppy's voice was sincere, probably one of the more sincere feelings she had felt in recent times.
"I needed real options and real money," Bea replied dryly, ignoring any emotion from the blonde, who was looking at her with a worried expression on her face.
"What for? Why did you need the money?" she asked, not yet knowing that she would light the fuse from the bomb with that question.
"What for? Is that really what you're asking?", Bea's so far calm expression bent into unnatural anger, her eyes misting over from the emotions gripping her. "And isn't that what you wanted? A girl who can fulfill your every whim, with a stable life, a job and a mountain of money?", a realization and simultaneous remorse appeared on Poppy's face, but it did not satisfy Bea. "Yes Poppy, I heard your conversation with Veronica the other night when you thought I was sleeping."
Poppy blinked several times, unable to formulate a response. She replayed that conversation in her mind, all the words she'd said then that she hadn't really meant, but under the onslaught of people around her, her perception was distorted. "It's not like that..."
Bea raised a hand to silence any explanation from the blonde. She didn't want to hear it. "No Pops" she shook her head, her hair wet from the downpour sticking to her face, masking any tears falling. "It at least gave me the motivation to change my life, for that I will be grateful."
Ch.5 Irreplaceable
"You understand that she still had the nerve to be mad at me? Like it's my fault for changing for her," Bea had been lamenting to Zoey for about an hour, who, like any patient friend, silently let her rant.
"And she's telling me that she changed for me... After all, I didn't ask her to!", Poppy nervously walked around the living room almost already trampling a path in the tiles. A worried Veronica and Chloe watched her in silence, letting her get all the negative emotions out.
"I know she didn't ask me to do this, but I wanted to finally be worthy of her, you know? I wanted to give her the future she deserved, and she wouldn't have it with me if I continued to follow my dreams," the white-haired girl slumped helplessly on the couch next to her friend, dipping her face into her hands. "After all, to a gorgeous girl like Poppy, it wouldn't be enough that I...”
"After all, she knew full well that she suited me the way she was, why did she take away the one person I..."
"Love."
"I wish I could be mad at her...", Bea muttered lifting her face and looking straight at Zoey who seemed to be in deep thought.
"But I can't," groaned Poppy leaning against Veronica's shoulder, who reflexively began to stroke the blonde's back, which slowly began to twitch from her silent crying. Chloe moved to the other side and snuggled into Poppy to give her her full support, knowing that no words could heal these wounds.
Zoey nodded and patted the white-haired girl's shoulder giving her silent support. Bea relaxed from her friend's touch. "Haven't you thought maybe it's about time..."
"To move on and find someone new? It's been five years," Veronica felt Poppy's whole body tense up and prepared for a burst of anger, from the blonde, but the blonde only raised her head and furrowed her eyebrows."
"No. She's irreplaceable."
Ch.6 Where Something Ends, Something Begins
It had been a week since the memorable meeting.
Since then, Poppy hadn't seen or heard from Bea who had sunk like a stone into water. Such disappearing without a word wasn't her style, but the blonde wasn't sure what her style was anymore. The days she lived as she always did, and the nights she sat curled up on the couch with a glass of wine and reminisced about old times while talking to herself.
"Thank you for coming Poppy."
Poppy slipped her sunglasses off her nose and looked over at Zoey who was warming her hands with a mug of hot coffee. "Believe it, I was surprised myself that I agreed," she lied. She agreed without hesitation because she knew it was about Bea, and inside she was dying to know what was happening to her.
Zoey giggled at the blonde's nudge and shook her head. Although her words were biting, there wasn't an ounce of incivility in them. Such a habit between them. "You can probably guess why I met with you."
"Is it about Bea?", Poppy tried to sound as formal as possible and not show that she was thinking about it day in and day out, almost unable to focus on anything else. How pathetic it would be if someone found out she couldn't control her feelings.
The black-haired woman sighed grimly and nodded her head. For a moment she began to search through her backpack and pulled out a strange little bundle. Poppy tilted her head and looked at the colorful paper that only her Bea could choose. She smiled at the surge of positive memories.
"The day she left, she told me to give this to her. I honestly thought about it for a long time, against all odds I wouldn't want you to suffer any more than you already have," Zoey's gaze drifted somewhere behind Poppy's back as she couldn't stand the pain in the blonde's eyes that grew with every word she said. "But I think this will help both you and her close a chapter in your life" Zoey pulled money out of her pocket and placed it next to the empty cup. Without a word, she placed a hand on the blonde's shoulder, who stared at the package as if mesmerized. She squeezed it tightly and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
With trembling hands, she reached for the bundle and prepared to open it. Somewhere deep inside she knew exactly what she would find, but she hoped that it was only an illusion and that it would not really contain what she had in mind. Unfortunately, hope is the mother of fools and when she opened the package, a velvet box appeared before her eyes.
She opened it with tears in her eyes.
"Maybe in another life and another time we would have had a chance, but I will love you always."
#my mood is weird#poppy min sinclair#poppy x mc#veronica x chloe#queen b#choices#playchoices#choicesfic
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— take me home
Characters: Dazai Osamu/gn!reader (+agency members)
Genre & wc: fluff — 1.9k
a/n: happy Valentine’s Day!!! Normally I was gonna make this one big thing but my writing style for all this so far and “the second part” don’t carry the same vibe. (Also it was getting v long) Anyways, enjoy. I still suck at naming fics. — part 2 !!
“You could feel the bomb going off and suddenly-“ Doctor Yosano stops looking at the clock, “Oh it’s been that long already? I shouldn’t keep you waiting for any longer” she motions with her hand to you with a smile.
“It’s alright, I enjoy hearing your stories.” You smile back. “If it’s alright with you and no new cases show up, would you like the finish the story tomorrow at my place? Maybe over a cup of tea or a glass of wine?”
The glint in her eyes tell you the answer long before. “Only if the infamous pastries Ranpo cannot get enough of are there!” Yosano says with enthusiasm and all you can do is nod and share the excitement.
As she proceeds to get her coat and bag, you decide to wait until you hear someone else speak up.
“I thought you didn’t like to have people over?” Atsushi asks standing behind you with a stack of papers and files.
Eyes closed, you hum “True, true… But I make an exception for some, dear. Where did you think we baked all those for Kyouka?”
Stopping for a second to recall that day Atsushi scratches his head. The moment of realization comes to him fast, apparent from the sudden change of expression and the wide smile on his face “Oh! You’re-“
“I thought you didn’t allow anyone in the kitchen!” Ranpo exclaims rather loudly, slamming the newspaper he was reading moments ago onto his table.
Tilting back and forth from where you’re standing and occasionally looking for Yosano to come back, you turn to where his voice came from. “That rule only applies to you, I’m afraid. No matter what an amazing detective you are, cooking and baking simply aren’t your forte.” With one hand in the air as if offering the plainest of truths, you say.
“However you’re still my most trusted taster, so please don’t make that face?” You finish with an apologetic smile and hearing a low rumble coming from him, you let out a breath thinking you’re off the hook.
You thought wrong.
As Yosano’s heels clank against the surface, you can feel a persistent gaze on your back, already sensing what’s to come next. Before you can make an attempt to the door however, Dazai announces your name, in a whine no less, coming a little too closer than you expected right behind your ear.
Slowly turning back to see his smug face, right in your personal space just as you guessed, you refrain from rolling your eyes. “What was it Dazai? Is something the matter?”
Coming all the way from wherever he was previously , he couldn’t be here now for anything other than to bother you. You just hoped Yosano would show up and drag you away before your patience was tested again.
Raising his arm and resting the back of his hand against his forehead, eyes closed and mouth open, as if a he were a character straight out of a tragedia, Dazai opts for the dramatic route. “Yes! I’ve just been informed of horrifying news!”
“Which is?..” you leave the statement unfinished, already knowing what’s to come.
“That you never invited me over to your house! And we’ve been friends for the longest time! What our live have come to, have we driven so far away from ea-“
“Enough with the antics Dazai, we’re busy, can’t you see?” Your savior, Yosano cuts in putting a hand over your shoulder. Turning to look at her, you mouth a ‘thank you.’, and you think she has never looked as beautiful as she does in this moment now, with the golden sun behind her setting, the lights illuminating her face, making her look like those heroes painted to be immortalized.
As you step out, you hear Yosano stop and say: “And for the record, I’ve known them the longest.”
The day spent with Yosano goes better than you could accept. By the end your face hurts from laughing, your stomach full from all the food and drinks you’ve consumed, times flies away like a plane and by the time Yosano makes way to the door, it’s dark and you’re both dragging your feet.
Despite the enjoyable day off, Dazai’s recent behavior starts to make you question if it was worth inviting her over so publicly.
At any chance he gets, he tries to get you to give away something about your location, who has been over before and how many times, what type of hosts you prefer and ‘oh maybe we never got the chance because of our schedules, you should invite me over some time’, ‘don’t be so shy, we’re friends after all! Oh is it your place you’re ashamed of? Worry not, I won’t judge!’, ‘hey are you free on a Thursday night?’s met with ‘No, I don’t want you over.’, ‘Yes, I have a very good reasoning.’ And almost a slip up of a ‘I’m free- Oh wait, I have a date with Sergio, sorry no can do!’.
For each cheeky smile he offers, you give back a grunt or a snarl, one time almost yelling right in front of the director and another time you stomp out of the office in fury while Atsushi watches in horror.
Fifth time of your hiding in the café and you find yourself wishing for a crisis to surface, the carefree Dazai to be replaced by the serious and logical man that manages to impress you no matter how hard the case, counter measure after counter measure, even if he takes reckless risks once in a while.
Inhaling the sweet smell of your tea before taking a sip, your wish seems to have come true partially, from the set of steps approaching you in a determined yet unrushed pace.
Taking a long sip, savoring the taste and the warmth of it, you slowly place the cup down and open your eyes to see Dazai standing in his neutral and calm state.
The two of you stay like that for a while, like a photograph, the café empty and the mixed smells of coffee and tea lingering in the air, not quite looking at one another but not dozed off either.
When he opens his mouth, it doesn’t feel like the moment has been broken, not even a clearing of throat or a quite mumbling under his breath beforehand, yet his voice flows along the smells despite the absurdity of the topic of conversation.
But you beat him to it. “If you’re going to be standing for so long, you might as well sit down.”
He settles down as you reach for your cup again.
“So, how are things with Sergio?” He says the name with a hint of hostility.
It takes everything in you not to spit out your tea laughing. “Sergio is a street cat I take care of.”
Composure and crossed arms off, Dazai’s eyes widen. “But- you said that-“ “A date with Sergio, yes, for his yearly check up at the vet.” You finish for him.
“That was just an excuse to get you to stop bothering me.” You add.
“Fair enough, I deserved that.” He chuckles “but you did mention you had a very good reasoning for not inviting me over. I know I pestered you enough about that…” he trails off, reaching for your hand with his. “And yet, would you be so kind to tell me why?” he asks, eyes locked into yours.
“My cat doesn’t like you.”
And this, you think, is the exact moment the atmosphere is ruined, the photograph ripped apart in the middle.
Dazai just stares at you, still holding your hand.
Blinking few times, rather unimpressed, you notice a waitress by the counter, probably there to rearrange something.
“Alright, I’ll be off now if that’s all!” You say a bit too cheerfully, pull your hand before Dazai can do anything, pay and leave as soon as you can.
Dazai just blinks, hands still in the air, stays frozen like that until Kunikida drags him back to work.
Bad decision after bad decision seems to follow you wherever you go because after that interaction at the café, it gets worse.
You thought Dazai was like a fruit fly before? It gets more irritating than an army of them. And on top of that, Kunikida scolds you to undo whatever you’ve done on Dazai, his already poor work ethics now on the floor, getting on Kunikida’s nerves and yours.
Hearing your name spreads terror in you now, the second your ears catch the familiar tone of Dazai’s voice, you fleet for your life.
Coming clean and explaining your statement from earlier would be the logical way to end this but fate disagrees as it laughs you in the face.
“Why wouldn’t your cat like me? I didn’t even step foot into your place before!”
“Hey Dazai, remember the day you wouldn’t get off my back? Trying to embrace at any chance and I gave up in the middle of the day at one point?” Resting his hand under his chin to think, as if his face doesn’t make it obvious he remembers the day crystal clear, he lets out a “hmm…”
With a snap of fingers and a “Ah! I remember now! You were so comfortable, I almost fell asleep.” He grins.
With a shake of your hand, trying to dismiss the memory of how he basically trapped you to the couch, you cough and continue. “That evening, when I got home, my clothes must have reeked of your smell.” He nods, good, so far he seems to follow. “My cat just sniffed the air once and stayed in the living room until I washed those clothes and took a bath.”
Hands resting on his hips, he keeps nodding and humming in understanding. “I see…”
You let out a breath, thank god it’s over.
“Nope! Still makes no sense.” Hs exclaims suddenly, turns away and leaves. You just stare at his back, now it’s your turn to blink in ‘unbelievable, is this real?’
The loud chatter and pestering doesn’t stop however and with each word, it gets more ridiculous.
“Is your cat perhaps jealous of me? That you secretly love me and they don’t want competition?”
“The cat is just another excuse, isn’t it! Admit it, you have a secret! It must be something you’re afraid I won’t like.”
“Is it Chuuya? Did you take pity and let him rent a room?”
“I don’t even know a Chuuya…”
“Maybe a weird collection…” he gasps and says your name. “Are you a hoarder? Is that why you won’t let me in? I told you already, I would never judge your lifestyle!”
“Dazai, please stop-“
“No, no, I got it this time. It’s a shrine of me! Isn’t it? Your face tells it all, it is a shrine! Ah, I must say I’m flattered, if not a little scared now.”
If anger could set a fire, you think Kunikida would be arrested of arson right now. You just rest your head in your palm, trying to ignore Dazai’s ongoing nonsense.
“Is there really a-“ Kenji begins a question as Ranpo ends it with a firm “Nope!”
Getting up from your place at last, you grab Dazai by his coat and drag him out.
“There is No shrine, no other human, no hoarding or weird collections. It’s just me and my cat who scrunches his nose when I bring home a file that sat in your desk all day!”
Before giving him a chance to reply, you walk away.
The next day, and many other days to follow, goes uneventful, Dazai’s never ending bickering about your house seems to have reached a stop. Everyone, especially Kunikida, enjoys the newly achieved peace of going back to normal. You hope this marks the end of this whole nonsense, and that the Dazai everyone knows with a little mix of annoying and impressively serious has returned back to his sense of regular.
Tags: @atsumusdomain @celosiiaa @ywanfen
#bungou stray dogs#dazai osamu#gender neutral reader#fluff#bungou stray dogs scenarios#bungou stray dogs x reader#dazai osamu x you#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu scenarios#osamu dazai#dazai osamu fluff#bsd#bsd fluff#bsd x you#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs fluff#Yosano akiko#reader insert#kunikida doppo#ranpo edogawa#haikyuu x reader#bsd scenarios#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai fluff#dazai scenarios
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Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.1
Type: (mini)-series, Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)
Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 5600
Summary:
Stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.
You knew for a fact that it was a load of BS. The truth is that words can break your heart. And that realization hits you full force the day you have your last exam to earn your bachelor degree.
If you pass, it will be a cause for great celebration. Spoiler alert: it’s not.
A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the series. Will be in two (or three) parts. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.
Warnings: I did something in here which I’m usually trying to avoid at any cost; in this story, I used Y/N Y/L/N. Does that count as a warning?
Warnings II: name calling, humiliation, panic attack!, bad poetry, mentions of vomiting and alcohol, the briefest mention of self-harm, angst, swearing, threats of violence
Story masterlist
⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰
You released the breath you had been holding, all your willpower put into not sinking into the chair in relief as Professor Phillips announced your grade – one that meant that you hadn’t failed.
In fact, you had just passed your last exam of your bachelor program so you were entirely in the right. In your head, an overexcited monkey started playing cymbals and you didn’t mind the noise despite how sleep-deprived you were from the past few days. A barely contained mad smile fought its way to your lips instead.
Mind you, as you thanked Professor Phillips and rose to your feet – your knees almost giving out, because HOLY SHIT YOU JUST GOT YOUR BACHELOR’S – you would swear you saw a brief smile on the professor’s face too as if he was amused at your antics.
But who cared if he was having fun at your expense?! You PASSED! You had been losing sleep, terrified of this exam, because everyone knew Phillips was a hard-ass – a fair one, but still a hard-ass – and you just passed his examination!
Time to pop the fucking champagne! The one Penny had been saving at the dorm from yesterday when she had finished her own degree; she insisted that she would wait for you, because you were in this together.
You couldn’t leave her waiting any longer and you didn’t have any intention to do so.
Leaving the room and walking into the empty hallway – because of course you came the last as if to prolong your torture – you breathed in and out and deliberately let the grin finally spread on your face fully.
You were free, you were ready to take on the world despite not being ready at all and you had Steve, who you suspected would be proud as hell and would celebrate with you tomorrow, graciously letting you and your roomie do it first-- and gosh, life was beautiful.
Making your way down the corridor, with a grin ever-present, a leaflet that hadn’t been there before caught your attention. It appeared a handwritten note, styled in a regular column – a poem perhaps.
Still smiling, the curiosity took the best of you and you walked to it, peripherally noticing that along the walls, there was even more.
You froze in your step when your gaze fell on the first line; your very own name was staring back at you and it confused you at first, a brief surge of excitement lighting up your body, a naïve belief that perhaps Steve somehow decided to surprise you.
But Steve’s last name came next, which you found strange.
And then came the word ‘whore’ and your heart stopped, your gaze automatically flickering all over the page.
Your stomach made a painful somersault, your mind turning blank.
You couldn’t take your eyes off of that nightmare materializing in front of you, reading and re-reading the poem that almost resembled a twisted nursery rhyme over and over.
Y/N Y/L/N
Rogers’ whore
Bet she’ll get
The highest score
For sucking dick
Having fucked her ass
Let’s hope she’ll soon
Be eating grass
Darkness battled to cut off your vision, the world swaying off of its place. Involuntarily, your trembling hand reached out and touched the paper, smooth under your fingertips, your frantically beating heart and the vertigo threating to overpower your sense of balance tying you to the reality, screaming at you that this wasn’t just a really fucked-up dream.
You tore the paper down, lump growing in your throat as you looked around for watchful eyes in sudden paranoia of being followed, only to find the hallway deserted aside from you.
Just you and many papers hanging on the walls.
As if you were just a puppet to a spiteful master, your feet carried you to the next leaflet, tears filling your eyes as you found the very same words written on it; a precise copy.
Your breathing picked up a furious pace, your chest crushed under a weight of an invisible elephant stomping on it. The corridor swam in the dampness of your eyes, your mind too quiet and yet screaming with millions of question marks and exclamation points, panic squeezing your lungs, nausea attacking your stomach.
What the hell was happening? Who would do that? Why? What was the goal? Was it just to ruin your triumph?
Because if that was the goal, it was a roaring success; the thousands of questions swirling in your head and the unexpected sting in your heart turned the fact that you had passed an exam into a faint memory.
All you saw was the words.
Rogers’s whore
Was that what you were? Was that how people who knew about the relationship saw you? Was that how Steve saw you?
The highest score for sucking dick
Was that what you were doing? Using Steve’s position to your advantage? Was that how you got through every exam including the one today, even if unwittingly? Was that what Phillips’ little smile had been about?
Hope she’ll soon be eating grass.
Was that a threat? Was someone wishing that happened to you or were they actually about to hurt you? Why?!
Hearing your own wheezing and feeling your fingertips prickling, your foggy mind did the only reasonable thing it could come up with; it led your steps into the nearest bathroom at lightning speed with no regard for how shaky were your feet.
You stumbled into the open stall, smashing the door shut and leaning onto them with your suddenly damp forehead, feeling the cold beads of sweat gather in your hairline, your cheeks drenching in tears.
When did you start crying so hard?
When did the trembling in your limbs begin?
What the fuck was happening?
What-how--why-but-
Your palms rested on the door as you desperately tried and failed to ground yourself and take control of your breathing. Your temples were pounding irritatingly, your gut painfully clenching--- and exactly in that moment that could have lasted a second or an hour, your fingers brushed over a piece of paper stuck on the door.
Darkness curled around your brain like a treacherous friend, another wave of nausea twisting your stomach.
It took you one blurry glance at the paper and you knew precisely what it was, choking on your sob, ripping the offensive poem off and tearing it to pieces which you blindly threw to the toilet, the flushing sound deafening to your ears.
Your shaky legs finally gave out, knees buckling, your body sliding down the stall wall, fingers pulling at your hair as you felt the dizziness engulfing your head, a bitter taste in your mouth.
You gripped tighter, hoping that the pain on the surface would overpower the pain and gaping hole inside, as another violent sob erupted from your throat.
⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰
An eternity later, you felt your whole being float.
Your breathing was still frantic and interrupted with sobs, but a sensation resembling serenity spread in your very core—or perhaps it was just numbness?
You couldn’t seem to be able to tell the difference anymore.
The creak of a door made you cover your mouth to muffle the noises still escaping your lips for the fear of being caught – either being found in this state in general or found as in found by the person who wrote---that – being stronger than the subdued power of your previous breakdown.
It was probably too late for the newcomer to miss your presence, but over the slowly fading ringing in your ears, you could hear a few steps that came to a halt and then they sounded a bit quicker as the woman left.
Thank FUCK. You couldn’t do human interaction of any kind right now.
You removed your hand and breathed out shakily, blinking away the tears.
Shaking your head wildly, you gritted your teeth in a feeble attempt at bolster yourself. You had to get up off your ass and leave before there would be no longer way of avoiding a confrontation – god forbid a confrontation with Steve, who was probably still in a class, testing his own students.
You climbed to your feet, wiping the remains of your tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand and went to fix your ruined make-up, hopefully enough to look little less suspicious when walking through the campus.
It was probably a vain effort, because you were a walking epitome of a mess.
Rogers’s whore, sounded in your ears and you shook your head again, inhaling sharply through your mouth.
It was time to run and then break down again at the dorms. With Penny preferably--or did she think you were a whore too? You were fucking a professor after all-
Stop that!
Penny wasn’t like that. She understood. She’d be willing to listen all about this outrageous act of terror and would sympathize. Right?
Yeah, you’d talk about it with Penny, your amazing friend, who needed a celebration and a very generous amount of alcohol, which happened to be exactly what you needed too.
Yep, that sounded pretty good.
With one last determined glance on your horrible reflection in the mirror, you headed out.
The door nearly hit you in the face on its way back as you threw it open and froze in the doorway.
You did not expect to see someone so soon after leaving your improvised safe space… let alone him.
“Prof-professor Wilson,” you choked out, clearing your scratchy throat as he stood there, unmistakably waiting for you.
Because that was what you needed at the moment. The university counsellor and professor of psychology in one person.
Fuck.
He said you name in a mild tone, almost as if trying to tame a wild animal, but not quite – all his voice made you feel was shame at getting caught. And a bit of anger at the whole fucking world, because why couldn’t you have a tiny piece of peace after seeing that? Just a little shred of luck, huh?!
Oh, right, you were a whore who were only using Professor Rogers, paying for it in sexual favours.
“Mind if we talk in my office for a bit?”
“Not like I really have a choice…” you mumbled automatically, the realization of how rude it sounded dawning to you oh too slowly, your brain too tangled up in a web of self-pity and self-loathing. “Sorry. Of course. Lead the way.”
“Good. Thank you,” he replied, appearing unoffended. “And for the record, you do have a choice.”
Hadn’t you been a wreck with burning tear-stained cheeks, your face might have felt hotter at the kind remark.
At the slowest pace possible, you followed Professor Wilson to his office, dread and exhaustion filling every fibre of your being.
You noticed however that the walls that had been lined with odes about you, put up for everyone to see, had disappeared; possibly Wilson’s own work.
Somehow, it didn’t make you feel much better, the image of the previous addition to the corridors’ decor stuck in your brain. But hey, it was supposed to be the thought that counted, right?
And Professor Wilson was a nice guy. He offered you a drink – sadly a non-alcoholic one – attempted a joke saying that no, it was no trouble getting you one, which was the reason he offered.
Generally, he treated you as if he wanted to provide you with a safe space.
And then he kindly told you that he knew about the poem, because his cousin who’s in her first year here at the uni, texted him what the heck was the e-mail she received on her uni account about.
In other word, he gently broke to you that whoever had done this possibly sent it to every student in the database too.
You nearly threw up hearing that; the pit you had climbed up from and of which edge you were balancing, deepened. But you didn’t fall back there.
Yet.
It was probably because you were still too shocked at the information.
“I hate asking that question, but do you have any idea who did this?” Wilson asked quietly and you had nothing but a helpless shake of a head for a reply. You felt your vision blurring, dizziness fogging your brain again. “Can you think of anyone who holds a grudge against you for some reason?”
A scoff escaped your lips, cynical as you found the answer obvious from the verses.
“Besides dating Steve, you mean?” you noted sarcastically. Wilson waited for more, his eyebrows twitching in surprise and expectation before he got it under control. “Sorry, I meant Professor Rog-“
“Hey, you can call him Steve,” he assured you, so damn sweet and diligent. “I met him, you know, I’d go as far as calling him a friend. And right here, right now, he is not your professor, but your boyfriend. I’m talking to you as a counsellor so feel free to call me Sam if you’re comfortable. And to answer your question, I assume that it is as good motive as any, but the fact that the two of you are dating is practically a public knowledge at this point, so it doesn’t really narrow our field of suspects.”
Despite his openness and kind approach, you once again could only shrug, growing desperate by the minute. The urge to leave – because suddenly it made even more sense, him taking you here, he was friends with Steve, he was stalling – became unbearable.
You didn’t have the strength to see Steve now. You couldn’t. You would question every gesture, analyse everything and perhaps came to the conclusion that he agreed with the author of the poem and you desperately didn’t want that. You needed to forget about this, preferably with an unhealthy amount of alcohol, you needed to cry some more, you needed ice-cream and a hug and to bitch about everything and you needed a fucking nap that would last at least a week.
“I don’t know who hates me that much, I swear. Can I please go now?”
Sam cocked his head to side, a minute frown creasing his brows. “Is that what you want?”
Do you really want to leave before Steve gets a chance to get here?
You should probably feel guilty. You wanted to feel guilty, because that was you being a coward and it was downright mean to Steve, who would no doubt learn about this very soon and from someone else, but you didn’t have the capacity to think about anything at all besides feeling like you were going to explode any second.
“Yes. Thanks for being nice and all, but I—I’d rather go.”
“You have a roommate? A friend you live with and who’s in?” he fussed, voice gravely, amiable chocolate eyes observing you with worry. Did he think you were about to hurt yourself? Did you look like the type? Were you? You mentally shook your head. Jesus.
“Yeah,” you creaked, already rising to your feet, endlessly grateful that he was letting you go. “Penny. We— uhm, we were supposed to go celebrating.”
You nearly choked on the last word, feeling like everything but going out tonight. The idea of going out and facing all the stares cause by the widely-spread e-mail made your stomach clench.
You kinda lost the appetite to celebrate anything to begin with; all the relief and joy, which had filled every last bit of your being post-learning your grade, vanished and was replaced by a dark sticky substance filling your lungs, your gut, your veins, muffling the outside world.
Perhaps Penny would agree to a loud night in?
“You can still do that, that’s up to you. But please, get some sleep and don’t be alone. Here,” he stood up as well, handing you a card. “My number, even if you just need to talk to a sort-of outsider and word-vomit all over someone, okay?”
You couldn’t argue with his offer – you had a feeling you’d vomit soon, either verbally or literally. Still, you charmed a shaky smile that probably turned out a grimace.
“K. Thanks… Sam.”
“Any time.”
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Of course, Wilson’s unspoken question about moving quick to avoid an encounter with certain professor was painfully on point.
You bailed on Steve whom you were supposed to wait for even if just for a hug and congratulations, practically running to the dorm, your unsteady feet and tears still clouding your vision be damned.
You ignored the ringing of your phone, assuming it was Steve himself; bile rose to your throat at the idea of hearing his voice at that moment. He tried twice before you smashed the power button and threw the phone back to your purse, breathing out in relief and wanting to puke at the same time.
You truly couldn’t find the capacity to deal with him momentarily – you needed to be alone and safe from any prying eyes, preferably in the comfort of your shared dorm with Penny. You cried harder when you finally reached it, your feet hurting from attempting to run in heels.
It wasn’t hard to figure out that Penny somehow already knew, probably from the e-mail – it was written all over her face. And hadn’t her expression been enough, instead of a celebratory champagne she handed you a shot of a transparent liquid the moment you opened the door.
You turned it bottoms up without questioning it and asked for another. Penny grabbed the bottle of vodka waiting on the shoe rack and poured one for you and one for herself. You didn’t bother clinking the glasses.
Though the burn in your throat felt pleasant, it did nothing to sooth the burn in your eyes and heart. Penny’s embrace made it a bit better.
So did the third shot of vodka.
You didn’t switch on your phone that day again – and when it was nearing midnight, after a four-hour nap, you convinced Penny to go celebrate to the Freddy’s as you had originally planned to do. You pretended that no one stared at you and instead you danced and drank until your mind was swimming enough for the sorrow and anger to drown.
You were one lucky bitch to have Penny walk you home.
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Steve was sitting at his desk at the faculty office he shared with Bucky and was working hard at what he excelled at for these past days despite his genuine efforts at not doing so; getting absolutely nothing done at all.
His hands had grown somewhat unsteady, a reflection of how he was feeling, how torn and absurdly broken he had become. He was spilling drinks on a regular basis, items kept falling from his flimsy hold. His brain felt foggy these days as well, most likely a consequence of the shitty sleep he was getting.
His bed felt too big despite his rather large frame and too cold despite his body temperature usually running almost too high; the sheets smelled strange and foreign despite being his own and the bed screamed with emptiness on a volume that kept interrupting his already deficient sleep.
Four days.
Four days since one stupid poem knocked his world out of its orbit and everything that mattered crashed down. Well, perhaps not everything, Steve happened to like his job too and he still had it, but such detail seemed insignificant; it certainly did in comparison to the fact that he had been attempting and had failed to reach you.
Calls.
Texts.
Few e-mails when he felt particularly helpless and frustrated.
His messed up sleeping and eating schedule and the irregularity that came with the exam period would make a perfect case of him losing any notion of time – yet Steve knew about every second without you, practically counting them.
He could still see Sam Wilson standing outside the classroom he had been testing students’ knowledge in as if it happened yesterday. He could recall with painfully stark clarity the unreadable expression on his face and the ominous “Steve, man… we need to talk.”
Steve still remembered Tony Stark waltzing in the next day with a baby in some sort of a front backpack, agitated that someone had gotten into the database, let alone to send all the hate-emails, and how he announced he found the culprit and their accomplices in an hour, which apparently happened to be too long to his liking.
Steve would smile at the memory of the technical genius’ antics, but the gaping hole in his chest caused by the deafening silence from you prevented it. Hell, not even the vivid picture of Carol Danvers from the faculty of law, moonlighting like a member of the legal department of the university, made the corners of his lips rise.
And hadn’t it been quite a show, a downright uplifting experience.
Steve was watching the screen with a frown, a stone-solid clench to his jaw and a firm clench to his fists.
It was almost amusing really; Bucky kept going about Fury being a creep and not a spy, but despite the lack of a one-way glass, the space Carol and the girl was in – just like two other rooms, each with one man – resembled an interrogation room. Steve never had been more grateful for audio and video feed in his life, but he sure as hell wasn’t laughing in delight at being proved right.
In fact, it had been taking all of his willpower not to burst into those rooms and give a piece of his mind to every single person guilty of being involved in hurting you. In causing his life to collapse on itself.
Steve couldn’t quite recall the brunet Carol was roasting, but he suspected he had seen her in one of the classes he was teaching. She didn’t stand out from the crowd of students and he didn’t see anything special about her worth remembering; then again, he tended to forget to take notice of other pretty faces ever since he had laid his eyes on yours.
And right now, all he saw was a face of a vicious bitch who forced you into pushing him away and a single look at her had his blood boiling.
Steve truly wanted to punch the living daylights of her and that said something, because he prided himself in having moral objection to hitting women, especially from sheer anger.
However, the desire was growing with each piece of information he learned. Because Yvonne Whatever-Is-Her-Name was a piece of work for fucking certain.
She talked a guy number one, whom she was attending Introduction to Social Studies 101 and who had a very apparent teenage-like crush on her, into reaching out to his friend, guy number two, whom he often played some online video game with, into hacking the database, sending the e-mails and finding out when and where exactly your exam was, just so Yvonne herself could redecorate the corridors and bathroom and make sure you wouldn’t miss her work of art.
Carol was alternating between visiting each of the ‘suspects’ and man, did they sing like birds.
Steve wanted to strangle them all, but fuck, the hatred for Yvonne Burton specifically was already consuming him and gnawing at his very soul; yes, he found out her last name just so he knew his mortal enemy. He was going to burn her to the ground, one way or the other… not that Carol hadn’t been doing a fine job so far.
That damn brunet had tears running down her face, sobbing occasionally, but still rarely sassing back. Somehow, seeing her like that wasn’t half as satisfying as Steve hoped, because his mind kept wandering to you and wondering if you looked about the same and every time such picture formed in his head, he hated Ms.Burton a fraction more.
She had used a guy who liked her, which Carol blatantly pointed out. The lawyer didn’t seem to hold back her own snark if the question about how the culprits met – via some forum for bruised ego, was it? – was anything to go by.
“I might be a lawyer, but I’m begging for every art professor and author I know – stay away from poetry. What you wrote is a child’s rhyme really, but like every writing, it says a lot about who you are. And it gives me a plenty of ammunition. We have two names, one full, one last name pointing out a specific person from the context. If I play my cards right, we have defamation on our hands, libel to be precise. Congratulation,” Carol remarked in a surprisingly calm voice. The other woman visibly paled. Good. “And what about the last line? Is that… is that a threat of violence? I can make it harassment, but if I try hard enough, perhaps we can consider it something more serious…?”
“You don’t get to threaten me! You’re lying! I’ve done nothing wrong and so serious!” the girl – and really, in Steve’s eyes, she was nothing but a stupid girl who somehow managed to kick his life in its balls – exploded, jumping to her feet.
Carol levelled her with a glare and an irritated hiss. “Sit down.” Burton did, clammy hands curled up in trembling fists. “And you’ve done more than enough.”
“You don’t understand!”
“Oh don’t I? Be my guest then. Explain it. Your motivation, the legal side, anything. I’m all ears.”
“I love him!” the girl exclaimed and Steve grinded his teeth as a surge of rage shooting through his veins.
Like fucking hell she did. He didn’t remember even talking to her if he ever had to start with and she loved him?!
Was that really what this was about? This girl somewhat liked him and got obsessed? Decided to wreck his girlfriend? To what end? To drive the two of you apart? To make you hate him so he would run to her? To simply ruin your future? What the fuck was wrong with her?! She was a damn kid with hurt pride and zero efforts put in so far, because he couldn’t even remember her-
“Oh you really don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have done this,” Carol responded with a cold edge to her voice, apparently agreeing with Steve’s thoughts and being equally unimpressed with Ms.Burton dramatic confession.
“I’m fighting for him! Ain’t nothing wrong-”
Oh Steve would argue with that so hard. He could feel Sam watching him from the corner of his eye, but neither of them said anything as Steve gripped the edge of the table the monitors were on.
He was sure he was going to be sick, the edge of his vision doing something he only read about; as if truly turning red, crimson with hunger for blood. He never ever craved tearing someone in half, not a single one of the guys who bullied him in school, not the girls that laughed at him when he said he liked them; and make no mistake, he had always felt mad enough.
But right now, he tasted undiluted rage and it tasted like acid with a bitter aftertaste of iron and copper, searing hot on his tongue and spreading through his body, turning it heavy and nauseatingly light at the same time.
“No, you’re ruining his life,” Carol emphasized, leaning onto the table and glaring murder at the girl. “If this is your idea of fighting for someone, it’s pretty twisted. You could have done literally anything to make him notice you, hell, pick you, but leave if he still said no, because that’s a sensible thing to do. But instead, you hurt someone he cared about. And that means you hurt him too – not to mention that his name is in there, possibly putting a scrap on his reputation. If you did love him, you’d want him to be happy.”
Steve gulped and looked away, unable to bear the weight of Carol’s words, feeling the jab on his own person. Because he was familiar with being accused of ruining someone’s life and future despite seemingly loving them. God knew that on a rainy day, he wondered about his own ‘love’ and its purity too – and now, it was fucking pouring and Steve had been forced to question everything he knew.
Was this little brunet Satan a godsend in fact? Was she supposed to tell him to stop lying to himself about not being your doom? Just what kind of a mess this stunt would have made had you been working a steady job and this got to your employer?
A gentle hand reached for his shoulder, a silent support, and Steve found himself torn between irritated, grateful and deeply ashamed.
No matter how much he hated it, he should be on the list to get punched for hurting you too.
“So, sorry to break it to you, but you don’t love him,” Carol continued and with Sam’s palm on his shoulder, Steve forced himself to watch the scene, the grand finale. “You’re just a little girl with attitude issues, a crush that got out of hand, and a ton of luck for knowing a guy willing to help you. Guess what – you just ran out of that luck.”
Heavy silence fell on the interrogation room and Steve’s eyes slid shut, hearing Carol and Yvonne’s parting words.
“And just so you know, she didn’t get the highest score. She got a B.”
Steve didn’t even know that and despite all the shit they were in, he felt a surge of pride for his g- hopefully still his girl.
At the same time, the fact that he learned it from Carol and not from you as he still couldn’t reach you, felt like a punch to his solar plexus.
Carol entered the monitoring room with a discontent expression on her face, wordlessly telling Steve and Sam that the conversation, no matter how harsh, wasn’t satisfying enough.
Still, Steve glanced at her and nodded with severity.
“Thank you, Carol,” he rasped, surprised by how hoarse his own voice sounded; for the burn of rage in his stomach and the tension in his muscles, he almost forgot about the lump gradually growing in his throat with each hour of silence from you.
“My damn pleasure,” Carol huffed with slight irritation, one clearly not aimed at Steve. She subtly raised her eyebrows. “I kinda want to punch her, but I guess I’m not the only one, huh?”
Steve sighed and closed his eyes, his hands almost shaking with the said need. Still, it was surprisingly relieving to be called out on that and to learn that he wasn’t the only one. And when he opened his eyes again, the look on Carol’s face told him that she wasn’t blaming him one bit.
“You have no fucking idea, I- Jesus, I never wanted to—to-- so much in my life.“
The rise of one corner of her lips was sympathetic. “We’ll handle this, Steve. I know it’s hard to hear, but you can’t really help us here. Go home. Rest.”
The lump in Steve’s throat grew nearly suffocating at the idea of going to the empty apartment, where his uselessness became even more evident. Steve eyed Sam, searching with hope for any sign of a better advice, but the counsellor only nodded to second Carol’s thought.
“Go home and try to call your girl. She’ll pick up eventually.”
At that time Steve had done exactly that – however, the result had remained identical to those with his previous attempts. You hadn’t picked up and he had left a voicemail and a pathetic text that somehow seemed to be reflecting all of his insecurities and doubts about your relationship and it hadn’t turned out at all as he had planned – and then it had been too late to take it back.
He had sent another and another, almost hour after hour and he was gradually realizing that he was forgoing all hope and his faith in what you two had and what it could become in the future; and god, did he want the future so badly.
But he couldn’t always get what he wanted, could he? He thought that a miracle had happened when he had first met you and later heard your yes to the date. But here you were.
Four days from that terrible incident.
Did Steve even believe that you two were supposed to be together? He didn’t even know anymore. Perhaps it was an intervention from some higher power and you two breaking apart was meant to be, saving you a heartbreak and disillusions which were about to come later.
He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought and the sensation that felt like a punch to his gut, his insides cramping.
That was not true. You two loved each other. You had found something truly amazing in each other and you were about to reach out to him any minute so you could continue to your brighter future together.
…right?
Except a minute passed by and nothing happened, the phone Steve was toying with remaining silent.
No received text or e-mail.
No incoming call.
Another minute and then another ten, the phone still spinning in his hand in almost a reflex at that point and still not lighting up.
The knot in Steve’s gut turned tighter and tighter, the tension in his shoulders and jaw growing, his mantra of you surely contacting him gradually falling silent.
Finally, he came to the decision that only fools kept doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.
He was supposed to do that a long long time ago, the moment he had convinced himself that coming knocking on your dorm could be considered harassment… and would break his heart in case you’d shut the door to his face telling him you were done with him.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve swept through his contacts and dialled your best friend and roommate in one person.
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Part 2
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Thank you for reading!
Let me know what you thought! I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ doing something with randomly timed shots to a series, so… you know. I’m a bit nervous. And I guess that this is very different from what this series was so far too, so I hope it’s okay. Thank you :-*
#marvel#fanfiction#steve rogers x reader#professor steve rogers#steve rogers imagine#college au#professor au#modern au#steve rogers x you#captain america x reader#captain america x you#captain america imagine#steve rogers#bucky barnes#captain america#mcu#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers fanfic#au#captain america au#attached#anika ann
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Manipulation and Mechanics
A Murphy McNully Smut
Warnings: NSFW 18+
You had no idea what you were getting yourself into when you first decided to start teasing Murphy on the daily. One week you had accidently missed doing your laundry, leaving you with a tiny selection of clothing for you to choose from. Most of the items you wore on the daily were comfortable sweaters, something cozy and laidback. However as you shuffled through your unimpressive amount of clean clothes, you were forced to wear a slightly more risqué top than you usually did. Having to wear it didn’t bother you, but you did miss the simplicity of your common style.
At some point when you were wearing a low cut top and hugged Murphy you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lingered on your chest as you dipped down. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his wandering stare only amplified every time you chose a plunging neckline over any other. It became incredibly fun for you to bend down to give your handsome boy a kiss, his cheeks glowed a cherry hue each time you did so. This newfound discovery felt like a superpower, and Murphy was beginning to grow more and more frustrated, watching as you so effortlessly turned him on day after day.
Murphy was always a sweet and giving lover, but you wanted something more. You wanted him to absolutely lose control over you, but he remained composed no matter how many times you teased him. No matter how low or tight your shirts became he would stare but otherwise he went on about his day like normal.
Nevertheless, when Murphy returned home one day, you went to give him a kiss as usual; the blouse of the day was low cut red silk. The color and fabric made you feel powerful, even if you were starting to question your effect on your favorite boy.
You bent at the hip to kiss him and was about to pull away until you felt his strong fingers rake through your soft hair, making you gasp as his fingers tugged at your hair, holding you face close to his. Murphy’s soft gray eyes were dilated, his glare was so intense that you let out an involuntary whine. He hummed at your expression and smirked knowingly.
“What little game do you think you’re playing, my sweet?”
His words were loving like always but his tone was downright condescending as he licked his lips and once again ogled over your ample chest. The sweet boy that would always treat you so kindly was replaced by something stronger, something darker.
You were about to answer him, but his hand trailed from your hair down to the base of your throat, he started to test the waters a bit as he gripped lightly. Murphy pulled you in by your neck, just ghosting his lips over yours.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I’ve been watching you all week, love,” he chuckled lowly which made your eyes roll back, his grip tightened a bit making it even hard for you to catch your breath. “You are stunning, my girl.”
Even though your mind was buzzing at the words he was saying, you revealed to him a gentle smile at his compliment. He pulled you to him and kissed you deeply yet so slowly. This flip in him was everything you wanted from Murphy and from his smug expression, you could tell he was living for it.
“But you already knew that,” his voice growled as his lips took the place of his hand, his teeth grazed at your neck which only made you even more desperate.
“Murph-“
“What do you want?” He groaned at the way your chest was heaving each and every time he nibbled on your collarbone. “Cause I won’t go any further until you tell me.”
And like that he rolled back from you, almost making you tip due to your wobbly knees and racing heart. He looked so cocky, slouching in his chair with his head tilted to the side as he awaited your answer. Every second that passed where you tried to collect your thoughts was filled by his hungry eyes as they took in the sight of you.
“I want you to touch me,” you admitted with a tiny smirk, looking bashful yet flirty. This was so new and exciting, you never wanted it to end. And it had barely even started.
“Do you want me to make love to you?”
His answer was met with silence as you took a moment to breathe, ultimately shaking your head no.
“Interesting,” he began to nibble at his lower lip while staring at you admiringly.
Your body grew warm under his gaze and while you loved the intensity of what was happening, you needed more of whatever he was willing to give you.
“So what I’m hearing is you want to get fucked, yeah sweetheart?”
Without hesitating you nodded your head, eyes glowing at his question. His words were unbearably nasty, each word and lustful look made it harder for you to stand. It made you feel dirty, but so incredibly empowered at the same time. Maybe it was because it was Murphy saying all of this that made you believe every word.
“Okay, honey. I can do that. But don’t think you’re off the hook for teasing me all week. If you wanna get wrecked, we’re doing it my way. Understand?”
Once again, you nodded enthusiastically, almost shaking at the boy’s crude warning.
“Good. Now, I want you to be ready for me: go to our room, strip down entirely, and lay on the bed.”
You all about ran to your bedroom, tearing off your clothes as quickly as possible. It wasn’t everyday where Murphy got so domineering. Shaky hands ripped at the debauched low cut top that started this whole game. Once every thread of fabric was on the floor, you lied down on the bed, trying your hardest to catch your breath. Your body felt like it was on ice as you shivered each time a gust of air passed over you.
After a few minutes of waiting for your boy, he returned with a tempting smirk once he noticed your bare body wanting and ready. It made you groan, just seeing him creep up on you with nothing but pure lust in his eyes.
“Good girl, baby,” he cooed as he rolled himself to the side of the bed closest to you. “But let’s not forget how badly you’ve behaved all week.”
Murphy bent down to collect the discarded red blouse and he waved it in front of you, “I don’t want this to go to waste. Hands up, love.”
You were surprised by his command, with a shaky breath you complied and brought your hand over your head, resting them on your pillow. Murphy then took your shirt and used the sleeves to tie your wrists together and then to the headboard. It wasn’t too tight, but tight enough for you not be able to escape. Your eyes widened when you gave an experimental tug, whining at thought of not being able to touch your strong boy. In this position your breasts were pushed higher, begging for the attention of your boyfriend.
�� He looked so damn good, smugly staring down at your chest which made him wiggle in his chair. Air was harder to come by once he began placing gentle kisses to your cheek, grabbing at your jaw to hold you steady.
“I want this to be good for you,” his harsh façade dropped for a second, his thumb rubbing at your bottom lip, “If at any time things get too intense, you’ll tell me, yes?”
You nodded lazily at the beautiful blonde boy, but that wasn’t enough.
“Use your words, darling,” he mocked lightly. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” you gasped as his calloused hands began to trail down your throat, then down your collarbone, barely grazing your hot skin.
“And you remember the stoplight system?”
“Green means go, yellow means slow down, red means stop,” you gasped as he began to kiss at the side of your breast.
“Good girl, my perfect little slut, huh?” A shiver spread throughout your whole body once his arrogant persona returned.
It felt wrong to be entirely naked while he was still fully clothed, his light blue shirt was pulled taut around his strong shoulders. His hair was perfectly placed and if your hands weren’t bound to the headboard, you would surely be gripping his biceps or tugging at his blonde locks.
“I’ll have you know, darling, that because of you, I have a newfound appreciation for some things that are muggle,” he chuckled as his teeth nipped beneath your breast, admiring the way your hands struggled against the binds. “The muggles really have some fascinating inventions that I had to get my hands on.”
You had absolutely no idea what he was going on about, the only thing you could focus on was his dark gray eyes that bore into your own as he rubbed your hardened nipple with his nose. Before you could enjoy the small touches, he pulled his head away from you entirely.
From behind his back, Murphy revealed to you a bright purple vibrator, which made you squeeze your legs together in order to get any bit of friction. This was not something you’d ever imagine your boyfriend picking up on his own and you moaned at the mere idea of what the strategist was planning for you.
“Grabbed this bad boy when I went into town the other day,” he chuckled as he placed the toy down on the bed before lifting himself to lean beside you. Having him pressed against you was sinful, and you could do nothing to him. “I’ve been fantasizing about using this on you.”
He grabbed the toy once again, turning it on and pressing it against your stomach. The vibrations were already so strong and your hips bucked at the feeling it brought. Murphy held himself up on an elbow, laying on his side as he watched your body’s reactions and chuckling every time you shook.
“This whole week you’ve been parading around the flat, looking positively gorgeous,” Murphy groaned, dragging the toy further up your chest, resting it between your boobs. “I’ve wanted to rip off those goddamn shirts you’ve been wearing. You know how much I love your tits.”
You whined loudly once he held the tip of the vibrator against one of your nipples while Murphy wrapped his perfect lips around the other and started to suck gently. Once again you pulled at the restrains, you would do anything to touch him and yet knowing he was in full control made your head spin.
“Is this what you had in mind, my good little whore?”
He laughed against your nipple at your relentless wiggling beside him, you looked exquisite with your chest turning red with his biting and sucking. Like a masterpiece.
“Can you,” your breath hitched when he brought the vibrator down between your legs, just not where you needed it.
“Can I what, sweetie?” Murphy started trailing the toy along your inner thighs, tortuously allowing you to feel the vibrations without being able to enjoy it as intended. A rather surprising bite to the underside of your breast caused you to scream out his name, which made your boy smirk cockily.
“Please, baby, please take off your shirt,” you gasped as he started biting at the side of your neck, not caring if little bruises would be left behind for everyone to see.
“Yeah? And why should I do that?” He taunted, “Do you think you deserve it after what you’ve been doing to me?”
You didn’t deserve it, but god, did you want it. His body was gorgeous and it felt even better when you could grasp and scratch at his skin, unfortunately that wasn’t going to happen tonight. This was supposed to be your punishment, and after teasing him like you did, you knew you didn’t earn it.
With a pout you shook your head sadly, crying out when he brought the vibrator back up to play with your nipples, “No, baby, I don’t deserve it.”
He hummed approvingly at your answer and dipped down to nibble below your ear, “That’s right, sweetie. You don’t.”
God you hated how badly he was teasing you, and yet you prayed that it wouldn’t end anytime soon. Seeing him so confident and in calculated made you crave him even more. It was like how he commanded the whole pitch when he announced a game, he spoke with such assurance and skill that it was impossible to not be charmed by him. That also meant that you couldn’t help how turned on you were becoming at his gruff tone.
“But since you asked so sweetly, I think I’ll award you this one thing,” he sat up for a second, before smirking darkly at your needy body.
Murphy took the vibrator and laid it between your legs, letting the head of it press up against your clit. You yelped loudly, arching your back at the sudden sensation after being denied for so long.
“Fuck!” You moaned as you thrashed your head to the side, watching him as he slowly began undoing the buttons of his crisp shirt, his eyes never left yours. It was sensory overload, with him displaying more of his toned chest and strong biceps as the toy teased you mercilessly.
“Like what you see, darling?” He asked as he pressed down on the vibrator once his shirt was off, reveling in the way you screamed out. Your moans sounded so frustrated and needy, which only spurred the boy on even more.
“Yes, fuck,” you could hardly breathe with how impactful his small acts were on your body, crying out as he was now holding the vibrator in one hand as his other cradled your face.
“God you’re such a pretty mess, aren’t you?” he mocked as he dragged his thumb across your bottom lip again, except this time you greedily took into your mouth and began to suck on it. It was the smallest act of defiance you could display given your position, and you felt alive once his eyes rolled back at your sucking lips. The move made him growl lowly at you, which felt like electricity against your skin.
Before you could celebrate for long, he took the vibrator away from your clit, making you whine at the loss. Murphy loved when you got like this, so pretty and pouty as your hips tried to find the toy.
“What is it, baby?” Murphy laid back down, his now naked chest pressed against your side as he held your wrists in one of his large hands. He smirked down at you, your skin was glowing and sticky, burning up from head to toe as he committed to teasing for as long as he wanted. “You have no idea how hard I am for you, honey. Seeing you so wrecked from this little toy is perfection.”
He brought the toy back down to your clit, holding it there firmly, which made you cry out from the teasing. Murphy chuckled next to your ear, sending sparks down your body. You didn’t think it could get any better; that was until he started nibbling at the base of your neck as he rubbed the vibrator in tiny circles against you.
The constant vibrations and biting was overwhelming, a tear had escaped your dazzling eyes; you hadn’t even noticed you started crying, but Murphy did. When he saw the mascara drip, he brought his attention back to you, wanting to check in for a moment.
“Are you enjoying this, my love?” His eyes were heavy, drunk off the pleasure he was able to bring to your body. This was punishment, sure, but he needed to know that you were okay.
“God, yes,” you began to chant breathlessly, which eased any concern in your dominant boy.
“Good,” he grinned down at you cheekily, “cause, I think it’s about time you cum, yeah?”
All you could do was nod, your hips were already bucking, trying to get as close to the torturous hum that the toy provided to you. It was a marvelous sight, seeing how Murphy’s muscles flexed with each ministration he made to the toy. You turned your head to press soft kisses to his hard chest, moaning against his skin as the vibrator kept bringing you closer to the edge.
“That’s it, baby doll. Roll your hips for me,” he whispered in your ear, leaving no room for disobedience. “I wanna see my beautiful girl cum for me like the dirty little plaything she is.”
It was too much. His words, the smell of his skin, and the rumble of the toy against you made your back arch, moaning desperately as you came with a cry. Your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest, it felt too good.
But Murphy didn’t stop. He grinned confidently, finding the look on your face when you came the most beautiful sight in the world. And he made it his mission to see it again.
“You didn’t think I was done with you did you?” Murphy tutted at you as you pulled against your binds. He placed one final kiss to your lips, enjoying the moans you let escape as he shuffled down the bed, resting between your legs as he removed the toy from your clit and began rubbing the wet toy along the insides of your thighs. “No, darling, I am going to worship this sweet pussy until you can’t take it anymore.”
And he lived up to his promise, wrapping one of his strong arms under your thigh using that hand to hold the vibrator against you while the other hand rubbed up and down your wetness. His smile was beautifully wicked, elated in the way you couldn’t stay still even for a second.
“Baby, your dripping for me. You might be enjoying this too much,” he groaned disapprovingly, once again removing the vibrator from you. But before you could protest, he dropped his head and nudged your clit with his tongue. He braced himself, lapping at your clit lick a starved man as he brought the toy up to your breasts, teasing one nipple at a time. “Wanna feel you squeeze my fingers, sweetie.”
Your back arched almost painfully, his fingers now pumped into you, hooking and rubbing filthily as he sucked on your clit and played with your tits. Never before had you felt so taken care of, so wrecked by the hands of your love. The familiar feeling of another orgasm was quickly approaching and you couldn’t stop yourself from tensing your legs around Murphy’s head which made him growl into you, making you shudder. Chanting his name like a prayer was the only thing you could do, his name was all you could remember as he took his tongue off your clit to bring back the vibrator.
“Shit you’re gonna cum again aren’t you? Dirty fucking angel, you are,” he smiled sweetly despite how brash his words were. “Let me see you cum again.”
Looking down at him in between your thighs was a mistake. The boy was staring at the way your tits were bouncing from your bucking hips, which only made him crave your release that much more. It was sinful how gorgeous he looked as his fingers kept massaging you perfectly as he rubbed the toy expertly against your clit, continuously encouraging you to let go. You wished you could take a snapshot of this moment to relive at another time, but you couldn’t think about that for too long as you could feel yourself growing too sensitive.
After a few more rubs at your clit and swears from your sweet boy’s lips, you grabbed at your restraints, and let go. Murphy found the image of your shaking and writhing body both the most delicious and dirty thing he had ever witnessed. He turned off the toy and began to massage your legs, helping relieve the tenseness there after how hard you had come.
Focusing on anything but the regulation of your own breath proved to be hopeless. The way Murphy knew how to tease and tweak your body never failed to amaze you, and you had to will your body to calm down.
Murphy began to shift up the bed, placing kisses to both sides of your hips before biting down on the soft flesh and then calming the bruising skin with baby kisses. He continued to pepper kisses up your stomach, between your breasts and to the muscle in your neck. Murphy hummed against your sticky skin, inhaling the scent of you as he turned your head to kiss his neglected lips.
It was soft and languid, the way your kisses molding into each other. You couldn’t touch him, but you angled yourself so your aching chest pressed against his. Murphy held your body firmly against his own, loving how you instinctually hitched a leg over his hip and began to rock against him.
“Damn, darling,” he choked as you started to grind over his trousers. “You truly are desperate aren’t you?”
At this point, you should’ve been done; called it a night after getting off twice Your body was already tired and sore from his unbelievable teasing and yet you craved him more than ever. It didn’t matter how often you got off on his tongue or in this case a toy, you yearned for him to claim you.
“Fuck me, Murphy,” you whimpered, getting lost in the friction of his pants against your naked body.
His eyes widened at your demand, and within a second his soft kisses disappeared and instead he grabbed your chin firmly, enjoying the way your lips pouted the more he squeezed. “Oh, trust me,” Murphy growled against the column of your throat, “My plans always included pounding your pretty little pussy into the mattress, baby.”
“Goddamn!” You whined, it was extraordinarily filthy the way he could effortlessly turn you on with his words alone. His body was an extra bonus, and you couldn’t help but marvel at it.
Murphy released you from his grip and began to undo his belt, quickly chucking his clothes off. Your eyes fell to his strong thighs, the sharp v-line that led to your favorite sex toy. No manmade thing could ever compare to the way his cock could rip countless orgasms from you.
Your staring didn’t go unnoticed, so Murphy gripped himself with his strong hand, slowly beginning to pump himself. The most desperate and almost jealous whine escaped you which made your boy chuckle against your throat.
“I bet you wish you could be the one touching me right now. But unlucky for you, but fun for me, your just a bit too tied up.”
His joke made your eyes roll, but the sound of his low groan only reminded you how badly you wanted to feel him again. Murphy’s body was an addiction.
After a few more strokes, he brought your leg back over his hip, pulling his body flush against your own breathless one. He was so close and yet so far.
“I think it’s time, my love. I need to fuck you. God, I’m gonna fuck you so good.”
Without missing a beat, he positioned himself at you, just grazing your pussy which felt cruel. It wasn’t enough. Your desperation hit an all-time high, so you used your leg to push him further into you. The feeling of him was perfect and even Murphy couldn’t take his own teasing anymore. The game was over.
With your hands still tied above you, Murphy grabbed at your back, making you arch your chest onto his wanting tongue. He nipped and bit and sucked on your breasts like a man starved while you rocked yourself against him. You adored how overwhelming his love was, it was in everything he did. But you didn’t want his love at the moment. You wanted Murphy to wreck you.
“Please,” you whined as another tear escaped you.
“Please?” his eyes darkened even more as he groaned against you. “Please what? Does my pretty little slut want more?”
His charming smile was cut short by your harder grind which made his whip his head back. Given the opportunity, you latched your teeth into his skin, hoping your act of disobedience would get him to lose all inhibitions.
“Fuck. Alright, my girl,” he chuckled, “If my baby wants to get fucked, then who am I to deny her?”
One of the arms that was wrapped around your back now grabbed at your soft thigh, bringing your leg up higher, giving him the leverage he needed to fuck you the way you needed. His usual never ending dialogue halted as he placed all his attention to the rhythm of his thrusts, noting what made you scream his name. He didn’t stop for a second, his own need to get off battling with his want to tease you.
It was dirty, quick, and rough, something that you didn’t know would be so earth shattering. But your quickly returning high was building back up, and it was almost unbearable how good he felt fucking you like he promised. It was so intense that you didn’t even notice Murphy untying you. Your arms just instinctually wrapped around his strong shoulders as they flexed after every thrust. He couldn’t use his legs to help bounce you on his cock, but his impressive upper body had no issue grabbing at your shoulders to drive you deeper into your high.
Your eyes rolled back, whines dripping from your mouth which made Murphy smirk with pride. His hips were reckless, doing his best to hit that spot that made you beg and pout for him. You almost complained when he let go of your leg until he told you to hold it up yourself. Denying him was not an option, since your orgasm was so damn close.
“Let’s get you there, my girl,” he moaned in your ear. Without warning, you screamed at the buzzing vibrator that once again returned to your overstimulated clit. The only thing you could do was run your fingers through Murphy’s hair to grip as he toyed with you so well.
After a few more pumps, your back arched into him, shaking in pleasure as he chased his own high. He looked beautiful as he did it: his mouth was panting, searching for air as he continued to buck into you wildly. You were almost too achy for him, but you wanted nothing more than for him to get off.
With a few more slaps of skin against skin, he came down whining with his lips around your abused nipple. Murphy was breathless, moaning against your chest as you raked your nails through his now ruined blonde hair.
Both of you were left speechless which was more surprising considering your boy could talk for hours on end, spewing stats and percentages. But right now, you admired the way he nuzzled his face on your chest, using you as a pillow with a satisfied smile on his face. It was such a stark difference to the boy who taunted and mocked you earlier; he was now opting to hearing your calming heartbeat.
“Was that good?” he sighed against you with a smile.
A tiny giggle sounded from your sore throat, “Baby, that was unbelievably good.”
“Perfect. And now we have a fun toy that we can bring out whenever, darling.”
You hummed at his excitement, bringing your hand to cup his tired face, “You know, we can always pick up more if we need to.”
( @kc-needs-coffee I hope this lives up to your expectations wifey. Had a lot of fun with this one.)
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5e Rell, the Iron Maiden build (League of Legends)
(Artwork made for Riot Games.)
I SHOULD BE MAKING AKALI RIGHT NOW :))))))
I did a coinflip with Rell: it was either her or Akali and she ended up winning. I’m honestly super hyped for Rell which is odd because I don’t really play tank supports. I find Leona and Nautilus boring as sin, though I do enjoy Galio and Maokai on occasion. I guess I’ve just been playing in top lane a lot more and I want a big bulky tank who I can dive into teamfights with as a support.
Also the memes for this champ are freaking golden.
But Rell presents a very unique kit that has a lot of potential in D&D. Basically I get to make a character other than Nunu & Willump who rides a mount and I get to stick everything I can remotely justify as being Ferromancy onto this character.
GOALS
Run ‘em all down - Rell is the third champ to have a mount. Aren’t horses just the best?
We fight together - Your outside may be cold but connecting to people is how you move on from trauma... or use that trauma for a massive stun in a teamfight.
I’ll bust you down to scrap! - Rell’s quirk is Ferromancy, the magic of manipulating metal, most specifically through magnetism. Fucking magnets; how do they work?
RACE
Rell is a human... but we can’t always go for Variant Human, so let’s spice it up a bit! She may not have divine blood but I’m sure someone at the academy had healing magic. So since she’s a support with eyes aglow with energy why not go for an Aasimar? More specifically a Scourge Aasimar. Your Charisma increases by 2 and your Constitution increases by 1.
Your glyphs give you a big mix of magic from your friends back at the academy: Darkvision for darkvision, Celestial Resistance for resistance to necrotic and radiant damage, Light Bearer for the Light cantrip, and Healing Hands for a bit of healing magic. Your Scourge subrace also gives you Radiant Consumption at level 3, which I’ll cover when you get there.
If you’re set on playing a human: A Variant Human (+1 CON, +1 STR) with either the Mounted Combatant feat or Heavy Armor Master feat would make sense. There are other feats to consider but these would be the most in-character for Rell.
ABILITITY SCORES
15; STRENGTH - Iron stands eternal, and iron is heavy.
14; CHARISMA - You may be a grouchy teenager, and you may also be incredibly awkward when hitting on people, but Charisma is considered as “inner strength” in 5e. You’ve certainly got plenty of that!
13; CONSTITUTION - You are a tank after all, and with the +1 from our race that equals a 14 for a nice boost to HP.
12; DEXTERITY - As heavy as iron is you were trained for peak physical condition. DEX is tied to many things, notably Initiative which is very important for a frontliner.
10; INTELLIGENCE - You went to an academy, but it was a Noxian war academy. Still it’s possible that you got some history lessons.
8; WISDOM - You’re a hothead in both the metaphorical and literal sense. You think asking questions is on the mind of a teenager who’s angry with the world?
BACKGROUND
There’s a lot of backgrounds that would fit Rell, though unfortunately nothing edgy enough like “Test Subject Turned Human Superweapon.” But considering your lifestyle of roaming the Noxian countryside Outlander is probably pretty accurate. You get proficiency in Athletics and Survival and while you’d normally get a Musical Instrument I’d actually suggest you grab Smith’s Tools instead because... yeah duh. You can also learn a Language of your choice so pick whatever you think would constitute Noxian.
Your Wanderer background feature will make sure you survive and thrive on the Noxian countryside. You always remember the general layout of the land, and you can find food and fresh water for yourself and up to five other people each day. And you can even rip some iron out of the earth to make them bowls and cups to eat and drink with!
(Concept art by Riot Games)
THE BUILD
LEVEL 1 - PALADIN 1
Starting off as a Paladin because even if proficiency in Wisdom saves is weird we need the Heavy Armor proficiency because... yeah duh. Speaking of proficiencies take Intimidation because you’re a murder-hungry metalmancer, and I dunno Medicine would make sense since you’re a support and all.
You also get Divine Sense, as the magic in your veins helps you detect celestials, fiends, or undead. And because you’re a support you can use Shattering Strike to heal thanks to Lay on Hands. I could explain both these abilities in detail, but I’m also an angry teenager who’s sick of explaining abilities with insanely long descriptions that you can read for yourself.
LEVEL 2 - PALADIN 2
Second level Paladins get their Fighting Style, and of course for a tank support Defense would be best for more AC. You also get some Ferromancy Spellcasting. (Well technically Divine spellcasting but don’t tell anyone that.) You can prepare a number of Paladin spells equal to your Charisma modifier plus half your Paladin level:
To sharpen your lace (or more realistically pike) a little more Divine Favor will make every blow hurt just a little bit more.
Heroism will help in times of strife to let your anger take over any fear.
To manipulate armor to block some more blows Shield of Faith will increase the target’s AC for a time.
To stun with Attract and Repel Thunderous Smite will do damage and knock enemies prone, making them easier to hit and forcing them to spend time getting up.
But of course you can just as easily ignore all of that in favor of Divine Smite, channeling all your magic and hatred into a burst of Radiant damage on your weapon attacks. Particularly effective against undead!
On Rell’s weapon: I’d suggest a Pike over a Lance because a d12 isn’t worth Disadvantage in melee range, even if you will eventually be performing mounted combat. Feel free to have a lance as backup for when you do start riding a horse.
LEVEL 3 - PALADIN 3
At third level you can choose your Sacred Oath, and I know how much you hate Noxus but Oath of the Crown actually has some pretty good abilities for our purposes. Yup of all the champions to break out the Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide for it’s Rell.
You get two Channel Divinity options: Champion Challenge makes enemies unable to move more than 30 feet away from you for a Magnetic Overload, and Turn the Tide will heal everyone of your choice for a d6 plus your Charisma (if they’re below half health) for some Redemption saves.
But both of these Channel Divinities are admittedly situational, so if your DM allows Tasha’s rulings then Harness Divine Power will also let you recover a first level spell slot. Speaking of spells as a Crown Paladin you get Command to twist your enemy’s armor to your whim, and Compelled Duel for a single-target Concentration version of Champion Challenge.
And as a Scourge Aasimar you get now get Radiant Consumption. As an action you can unleash the magic within you, glowing violently and doing Radiant damage equal to half your level to everyone around you. Additionally, once on each of your turns you can deal extra radiant damage when you damage an enemy with an attack or a spell. The extra radiant damage equals your level. You can only go all out just once per long rest, so if your ever wonder why anime protagonists keep their ultimate attack until the end of the fight: it burns you so much you can only use it once.
LEVEL 4 - PALADIN 4
4th level means another Ability Score Improvement but instead we’re going to be taking a Feat. You’re probably thinking we’re going for Mounted Combatant, right?
WRONG! We’re taking Heavy Armor Master, because you can literally control your armor to make it stronger! Your Strength increases by 1 and any damage you take from non-magic weapons is reduced by 3!
You can also prepare another spell, but we’ll wait for...
(Concept art by Riot Games)
LEVEL 5 - PALADIN 5
5th level time for Extra Attack. Two attacks in a turn to pretend you’re the ADC!
Also time for HONSE! Find Steed lets you summon a Warhorse, and others but a Warhorse is probably the most accurate representation of your mount. The steed is considered a celestial, fey, or fiend (your choice), and its intelligence is set to 6. It can also understand one language you can speak, which is good because you can speak to it telepathically.
You can make any spell that only targets you also target your steed, and when it drops to 0 hit points, it disappears, leaving behind no physical form. You can dismiss your steed at any time as an action, causing it to disappear. In either case, casting this spell again summons the same steed, restored to its hit point maximum.
And thanks to your subclass you also learn Warding Bond to bond with an ally, and Zone of Truth to get the Black Rose to admit to what they did. Technically speaking you can’t put a ring on your horse, but as a DM I’d probably allow you to make a 50 gp platinum horse shoe to give the honse a Warding Bond.
LEVEL 6 - PALADIN 6
6th level Paladins get Aura of Protection. You and everyone within 10 feet of you gets a bonus to saving throws equal to your Charisma modifier, because iron stands eternal and so does teenage angst.
You can also prepare another spell like Aid to steel your party’s resolve for any danger. Metal pun unintended.
LEVEL 7 - PALADIN 7
Here’s why we aren’t taking Mounted Combatant. 7th level Crown Paladins get Divine Allegiance, allowing you to use your reaction to take damage for a creature within 5 feet of you. They take no damage, but the damage you take can’t be reduced or prevented in any way.
Sure a 5 foot aura is just objectively worse than the Redemption Paladin’s 10 foot Aura of the Guardian that does literally the exact same thing (pro tip: ask your DM to just increase the range of the aura), but you know what’s always within 5 feet of you? Your horse. So feel free to take hits for your trusty mount. And if an ally is nearby you should probably tank for them too.
LEVEL 8 - PALADIN 8
8th level means an Ability Score Improvement. We’re still riding around in big bulky armor so more Strength to carry that armor would be nice.
You can also prepare another spell like Lesser Restoration for some Tenacity.
(Concept art by Riot Games)
LEVEL 9 - BARD 1
How’s this for a surprise? Multiclassing into Bard gives you proficiency in one skill, and one musical instrument. Take Animal Handling because you literally summon a horse for yourself, and a Noxian War Drum.
Bards get Bardic Inspiration: d6s equal to your Charisma modifier to help support your allies. They can add the d6 to an ability check, attack roll, or saving throw they make. Buff up their armor, or weaken the enemy’s armor!
But of course as a Bard you get more Spellcasting! Check page whatever-it-is for how multiclassing works. You get two cantrips from the Bard list: Mage Hand will let you magnetize an object closer to you, and Vicious Mockery will let you yell angrily at the enemy not to hurt your friends.
You can also learn 4 spells from the Bard list: you are a support so you can take Cure Wounds for some Summoner: Heal. Disguise Self will help you if Noxian police are looking for you. And both Earth Tremor and Thunderwave will help you manipulate the metal beneath your enemies’ feet and sunder the ground beneath them.
LEVEL 10 - BARD 2
You have a little bit of everything in your glyphs which means Jack of All Trades will always be able to help you. You can also recuperate after a long night on the Noxian countryside thanks to Song of Rest.
You can also learn another spell but we will wait for...
LEVEL 11 - BARD 3
Third level Bards can choose their Bardic College and you did go to the academy to become a weapon after all. College of Valor Bards are instruments of war with Combat Inspiration, letting allies use their Bardic Inspiration to hurt more with their swords or defend themselves better with their armor. “Fight like you mean it. Die for something that matters!” You do also get some skill proficiencies but... you already had them.
You do get Expertise in two skills however! Intimidation comes naturally to a living weapon, and even though it’s technically not a living animal in LoL you still need Animal Handling for your mount from Find Steed.
And finally you can learn spells. If you want the honest truth the only reason we took Bard levels is for Heat Metal, the obligatory Ferromancy spell. But you can also grab Hold Person to lock a foe’s armor in place.
LEVEL 12 - BARD 4
4th level means an Ability Score Improvement, and since we’re now investing in the spellcasting side of things I’d recommend some Charisma to make that better. Remember that more Charisma does mean more Paladin spells, so be sure to hop back there to prepare more.
Because I’m not going to tell you what to prepare, as we need to concentrate on your new cantrip! You are the ferromancer, so Mending is kinda obligatory. You can also learn another spell but again we shall wait for...
LEVEL 13 - BARD 5
5th level Bards get Font of Inspiration, letting their Bardic Inspiration come back on a Short Rest. Which is good, because your Bardic Inspiration increases to a d8!
You can also learn third level spells now which means we can finally take Mass Healing Word to further our support role, and Hypnotic Pattern for a massive team-wide stun.
(Artwork by @Cookie3v3 on Twitter)
LEVEL 14 - SORCERER 1
You were born with magic after all, so I’d have to go into Sorcerer at some point. It’s just that the other levels were more important, and this kinda ends up being more for flavor than anything. Regardless you get your subclass at level 1 as a Sorcerer and hey I actually get to use the Clockwork Soul for a Ferromancer. You can Restore Balance at level 1, denying Advantage or Disadvantage and turn it into a straight roll.
Oh and hey: more Spellcasting! But this time with a side of Clockwork Magic for Abjuration or Transmutation spells. Since both the spells you’d normally get a little iffy I’d suggest replacing them with both Absorb Elements and Shield for some Magic Resistance and Armor.
You also get four cantrips and two leveled spells. Fire Bolt lets you fling a piece of molten metal at the enemy, because you may as well have a ranged weapon. For some basic metal sundering from the ground Mold Earth will let you manipulate small pockets of iron in the soil. Message will let you coordinate with your teammates without yelling everything in /all. And because you’ve got a ridiculous amount of cantrips you may as well grab Prestidigitation for basic magic manipulation.
For your leveled spells Magic Missile will let you fling metal with the utmost precision, and Burning Hands for burning metal addressed to “whom it may concern.”
LEVEL 15 - SORCERER 2
Second level Sorcerers get a Font of Magic. You get 2 Sorcery Points that can be converted into spell slots... for now. So basically you get another first level spell slot!
LEVEL 16 - SORCERER 3
3rd level Sorcerers get their Metamagic. These are features that use your Sorcery points to augment your spells: to make sure that no one lives to hide the tale of the academy Heightened Spell will give an enemy disadvantage on their first saving throw against one of your spells. Alternatively if you want to both stab and smash Quickened Spell will let you cast a spell as a Bonus Action, to really maximize your APM.
You also get more Clockwork Magic, but since you already have both Aid and Lesser Restoration I’d instead suggest taking Levitate for some reverse-magnetism, and a little spell from Elemental Evil called Maximilian’s Earthen Grasp.
If your opponent doesn’t know how magnets work then Blur can really mess with their ability to hit you. And you know I haven’t taken Flash yet so... Misty Step!
LEVEL 17 - SORCERER 4
Fourth level Sorcerers get an Ability Score Improvement and well we did invest in 3 different spellcasters, so increasing that spellcasting with more Charisma would probably be smart. Remember that more Charisma means more Paladin spells! As well as a stronger Paladin aura and more Bardic Inspiration.
You also get another spell known and honestly there are a lot of great ones at second level of Sorcerer but Shatter is the best for ripping through metal. You also get another cantrip because I guess Sorcerers don’t have enough cantrips: if you get surrounded you can sunder the ground as if swords were bursting around you... in a Sword Burst... yeah...
(Artwork made for Riot Games)
LEVEL 18 - SORCERER 5
5th level Sorcerers get third level spells and I’d hate to admit it but both Dispel Magic and Protection from Energy from Clockwork Magic do make sense for Rell.
But you know what we don’t have enough of? Ground-based attacks. So take Erupting Earth, because your magic is Ferromancy. Not Fireballs or Haste, both of which would probably honestly be stronger. Honestly feel free to drop some of your early Sorcerer spells, because you’ve got more than enough spell slots for the big stuff.
LEVEL 19 - SORCERER 6
6th level Clockwork Soul Sorcerers get the feature we kinda went into this subclass for: Bastion of Law. As an action, you can spend 1 to 5 sorcery points to create a magical ward around yourself or another creature within 30 feet.
The warded creature gets a number of d8s equal to the number of sorcery points spent to create it. When the warded creature takes damage, it can expend any number of those dice to roll them and reduce the damage taken by the total rolled on those dice. This is going to be one of your main supportive features... atop of all your other “main supportive features.”
Oh and you’d get more spells but I kinda want...
LEVEL 20 - SORCERER 7
7th level Sorcerers can learn 4th spells like Sickening Radiance for some good old-fashioned war crimes, and Fire Shield which was added to the Sorcerer spell list thanks to Tasha’s! Clockwork Magic also lets you weaponize your horse with Summon Construct, but I’d suggest grabbing Banishment as your other spell to lock the weak away like they did to the Null.
FINAL BUILD
PROS
Fighting together? Guess it's not too bad - You’ve got plenty of good assists. Bardic Inspiration and Bastion of Law shields, and a big pile of spells to help the team.
Nothing gets in; no one gets out - Turns out that manipulating metal means very little can get at you. Strong AC, very good range with Reach to play keep-away in melee and a horse to run around, and of course Aura of Protection to turn your weakest save into a +5! And decent HP to boot!
This is who I am now - It wasn’t my intention when making the character but... turns out Jack of All Trades does in fact make you a jack of all trades. Decent skill checks all around and a crazy good Intimidation check means that while you maybe won’t be the first choice you’ll always be up for the task.
CONS
“Excellence is measured in sacrifice”... or whatever - Three way multiclassing gives you a lot, but not a whole lot of it. Your spell slots go all the way up to 8th level but your best spells max out at 4th level. Smites exist and you can always melt down your spell slots, but perhaps it would’ve been smarter to lessen the number of classes and get more value out of what you have.
That's... that's cool... I'm cool... - Ever heard of the concept known as “choice paralysis?” With so many spells to choose on top of subclass features that take your actions it can be hard to pick what’s right in every scenario. Woes of playing support, where you need to think of everything at once. Can’t just run in and stab.
The helpless fight; the hardened live - Jack of All Trades is good for skill checks... not for combat. You can fight, heal, and sling spells decently but don’t really stand out in any particular area. You’ve got a hundred different tools to deal with the rabble but when your friends go All Out you’ll likely be stuck getting assists.
But you’ve got all a girl could ever ask for: a cute pony and enough armor to survive a ballistic missile. You were built to be a weapon and a damn good weapon you are: as sharp as you are sturdy, and as versatile as you are resourceful. Who cares if you’re a little rough around the edges? You’re sixteen! You’ve got your whole life ahead of you! Minus the lingering trauma of being tortured by your own mother... Eh. Who doesn’t have a tragic backstory nowadays?
(Artwork by @dreadstardraws on Twitter.)
#dnd#dnd 5e#dnd build#dnd guide#League of Legends#League of Legends Rell#Rell#ferromancy#dnd paladin#dnd bard#dnd sorcerer#fuck#Noxus#bisexual#iron stands eternal
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deadfic: Get Out, Get Gone
Yet more deadfic for @goodintentionswipfest! And also another giftfic I never finished, because that’s just who I am as a person! \o/
@ghostfiish did this truly excellent art of Danny’s transformation rings as a galaxy way back when that I promptly lost my whole entire shit over, and also took it as an opportunity to get some kind of manic with the writing style. That, combined with my sort-of accidental, sort-of intentional smashing yet more rad headcanons into it until the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. Still, I remain very fond of this one and what I was trying to do back in 2014, so here we are. 8.7k’s nothing to sneeze at, at least.
Oh, and! While we're at it, have an old Danny playlist I never got around to sharing that fits the mood this fic is going for. Title comes from To Kill a King's "Bloody Shirt (Bastille Remix)," which is unfortunately not included on the Spotify playlist.
=
There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. You’d think with your powers—
(and doesn’t it feel strange to call them that, when you shake and shiver at the sight of your bones under your meat, when you walk down the stairs and your feet don’t touch anything at all)
—you’d weigh less, be less. A thing of smoke, and ectoplasm, and all that awful electricity arcing through your nerves. But that's not what happened.
You remember that day with a surreal nightmare quality, memories fuzzing and skittering like white noise in your skull. Pain and green light and being so, so certain that had been it. Zap! That’s all she wrote. But it wasn't, and here you are, hovering three inches off the grass and praying no one will see, that no one will know.
You aren’t less for all that’s changed, for all that’s changed in you. Tucker and Sam haven’t said anything about it, and it’s clear they don’t have a clue. Your first—
(disastrous, embarrassing)
—fight against the Lunch Lady knocked you right out. They had to carry you all the way home from school after you failed to stop her. It’s a wonder nobody stopped them, dragging your sorry carcass across town. If either of them had noticed, if either of them could have noticed, they would have told you. Or worse, they wouldn’t have managed to get you home at all.
You noticed it when you changed. Not the first time, in the shadowed, silver throat of the Portal—
(electricity cooking you from the inside out, the Portal writhing, burning, tearing itself into existence, a physical hole ripped so cleanly between realities even your parents don’t understand it and they built the damn framework, boiling ectoplasm splashing on you, over you, inside you, changing you forever)
—but after. Changing back and forth without any control, cringing behind dumpsters and hedges, tossing desperate prayers skyward that nobody had seen the light, that nobody had seen you change from kid to freak. So much of you changes when this strange, alien light stretches across you, not just your clothes and eyes and hair, no, you’re different now down to your cells, down to the very structure of your DNA. You know, you’ve checked. So much of you is different, it’s a wonder you didn’t figure it out sooner.
When you change, you’re heavier. Heavier. Not like ten pounds or something any normal kid might stress over. You become the kind of heavy that leaves brushstroke smears in asphalt, reduces sturdy brick walls to dusty rubble, punches craters through solid ground. It hurts when you fall, god does it hurt. But your bones never shatter. Your guts never liquefy. Your brain never dribbles out your ears. How? How can you possibly survive the beatings every new ghost is so eager to give you?
Ah, but there's never any time to think about it though, not really. No time for anything but a raw, thready panic and clumsily scrawled homework copied five minutes before the bell. Your chance to tell your parents came and went, and now there’s always another ghost attacking the city.
Mom and Dad are so happy now. You’ve never seen them happier than this, with the stuff of your grade school nightmares on the rampage. It’s proof they aren’t crazy, proof they haven’t wasted their whole lives on a pipe dream, proof that everybody who ever called them quacks were wrong. Good for them, you guess. Meanwhile you’re picking yourself out of the wreckage of another storefront, glass needled all down your spine, and you can’t help but marvel at the damage your body has done. Can do. Will do.
Because you’re stronger, you’re getting stronger every day. The weight in you that your Sam and Tucker don’t—
(can’t)
—notice grows more noticeable, and after a few fights you're quicker, too. And perhaps you're changing still, perhaps the accident isn't done with you yet, because one day there’s sickly green light at your fingertips, and in no time at all you can manipulate the energy buzzing inside you—
(the electricity and hot ectoplasm from the accident screaming through you, out from your palms and striking down the things that used to scare you as a little kid, back when door knobs and faucets were out of reach of your tiny fingers and there was so much dark in your big big house, and now your hands trail light like after images from staring at the sun too long, now you can patch your hurts up by the light of your own blood, now you're learning that you don’t need to be afraid of what hides in the dark anymore)
—in ways you never thought possible. Sure, lots of what you do is learned the hard way, mid-battle against sizzling green things with teeth like hunting knives, running on instinct and adrenaline and terror all tangled up in your throat. Lots more is later, when it’s quiet and safe again, practicing things you’ve seen other ghosts do again and again and again until you can mimic it, improve it, make it yours.
But no ghost you fight has the same heaviness as you do. No improbable weight that defies the logical mass of their ectoplasm. If it’s big, it’s heavy. If it’s small, it’s light. Unexpected logic from creatures that defy logic in every other way.
There’s a lesson you learn the hard way, testing the strength of these invaders against your bruised and splitting knuckles. You learn caution. You learn restraint. If you punch them hard enough, some ghosts, the little formless ones your parents have captured once or twice now, burst like water balloons—a hard pop of searing green, an overwhelming smell-taste of citrus and hot pennies. Too much of your supernatural strength pressed into the soft hide of a monster and the end result is a glowing puddle where someone used to be.
You learn this lesson quickly. You learn that even when you’re fighting for your life, you’ve got to hold back. You defend, you protect. Death scares you too much to risk killing—
(is it killing when it’s already dead, where does a ghost go when it dies, is there something more to the Ghost Zone than what you’ve glimpsed with your own eyes or is that it, is that all, have you erased someone from reality forever, these are the questions that make your stomach hurt, that make it hard to breathe, that make it hard to fake a smile when Jazz asks if something’s wrong)
—something so much like yourself. Even if it’s got teeth like hunting knives.
You think you’re an anomaly, a freak, the only one stupid enough to walk into a Ghost Portal and zap yourself full of juice that by rights should have killed you—
(and a little part of you wonders if that isn’t just what happened, if you’re just a dead thing walking around in your body, wearing it like a meatsuit and waiting for the rot to show, but it’s been a month, it’s been months, and you eat more and you sleep less, not because you don’t need it but because there’s never any time, and you’ve grown another inch and there’s new definition to your muscles, and that all must mean you’ll be okay, that you are okay, it has to)
—until Wisconsin. Until Vlad.
He’s in the same boat as you, plus twenty years of experience and enough self-made loneliness to turn him bitter and crazy and dangerous. He wants Dad dead and Mom his, like she’s some kind of carnival prize he can win if he throws his weight around enough. Swing the mallet, hit the bell, and congratulations! The woman you haven't spoken to in twenty years who has made her own life without you is now yours to take home! Ugh.
But god, he can hit hard. Lightning, real lightning, nothing like the weak little zaps of electricity inside you, rattles at his fingertips like a living thing, furious burning strikes of pain, and he knocks you aside like he’s bored. You have a thousand questions, but he won't give you a single answer unless you concede defeat or whatever he wants, so it looks like you’ll just have to beat the answers out of him instead. Who cares if he’s got twenty years on you? He’s not out most nights pummeling wayward ghosts back into the Ghost Zone. He’s not out most days saving people from ghosts with bloodthirsty, power-hungry vendettas. What you lack for in time and experience you make up in rooftop fistfights and stolen first-aid kits.
Sure you managed to outwit him—
(barely, hardly at all, he just wanted to save face in front of Mom, if he hadn’t cared about that, if he’d just tried overshadowing Mom instead it all could have turned out so differently, and doesn’t that thought make it hard to sleep the first few nights back home)
—but you can’t stop thinking of what it had been like to fight him, of what it was like to see another person do all that you can and so much more. You remember every second of each fight, like it’s been burned across your eyelids. You replay it all every time you blink for days, for weeks. It’s easy as thought to recall the light arcing around his waist as he’d transformed. Just like yours, and yet nothing like yours. The color, sure, that had been the obvious difference. When you change it’s a white light, sharp and searing enough to leave stars in your eyes if you look at it. His transformation—
(black like cave darkness, black like a power outage, black like the vastness between stars, sucking in light like a hungry thing, like it’d swallow you whole if it had had the chance)
—had been like a punch to the gut even before he’d buried his fist in your gut. You’d known without words, known in some primitive bit of brain that still looked up at the night sky and thought magic before science, you had known. You and Vlad were made out of the same mess, but maybe, just maybe, those twenty years were stacked against him.
Trouble is, the transformation is so quick you can’t make much out but the light/non-light of yours and his, and luckily—
(unluckily?)
—he’s all the way in Wisconsin so you don’t have many opportunities for a closer look at his. You ask Sam and Tucker to take pictures and videos, change back and forth so often you almost forget which side of you is which, but the quality is never good enough to see what you know is there—
(but can’t explain, not with words, even though you try for the benefit of your friends because they’re the ones there for you when everything else has gone topsy-turvy, but you’re just a kid who leaks green when dead people hit you too hard, just a kid with bad grades and a lot of questions to evade, and what you’re trying to pinpoint frame by frame is something so beyond your vocabulary you can only shrug, can only say you want to know more about your powers and hope this is one of those white lies nobody catches you in the act of)
—so you stop.
Do you give up? No, but there are more important things to focus on. It isn’t shelving your questions so much as putting them on the backburner. There are ghosts to deal with. Ghosts that want to hurt you, ghosts that want to hurt humans, more and more ghosts with strange and terrifying abilities pouring out from the Portal all the time. Closing the Portal doesn’t slow them any, which doesn’t make any sense to you. Then again, Dad was up to his elbows in most of the Portal’s guts and wiring, so applying logic to any inch of it is pretty pointless. You’ve learned not to ask too many questions about anything with a Fenton sticker slapped on it.
You’re busy now, busy all the time, bruised and burned and even stitched up all the time. Super strength is only so good when you’re fighting things with teeth like hunting knives. But it’s whatever, it’s no big deal, really. Because you’re keeping people safe. You’re learning more about the Ghost Zone and the things that inhabit it. You’re learning more about yourself; your powers, your weaknesses, how quick you can be with a snarky quip. Yeah, your parents are aiming guns and questions at you. Yeah, teachers with red pens and detention slips are hounding after you. And yeah, you’re fourteen years old bare-knuckle fighting monsters and no one ever says thanks because they think you’re just like every other ghost out there or maybe that you’re some human-loving freak—
(and when you think of your life like this, in lists of who wants answers and who wants to see you bleed, it sounds so bad, it sounds like you should be one inch away from a complete breakdown, but is it weird to say you’re happy, is it weird to say you couldn’t imagine your life any other way)
—yet you grin through a mouthful of red-and-green and keep going. Elated? Maybe, sometimes. Scared? Absolutely, sometimes. You’re just a kid with eyes that flare like headlights when somebody’s pissed you off.
It’s only right to be scared, sometimes.
Still, it’s the weight of you that keeps you grounded, keeps you human when you need to be. Sit in a chair, walk across a bridge, it all makes the same creak under you as it would for Sam and Tucker. But take one of Skulker’s shoulder rockets to the face, you leave a crater in Central Park so big they decide to just turn it into another duck pond. A permanent new addition to the park, and all your face gets is a nasty bruise Dash takes the credit for. You let him, because Lancer overhears. Dash is the one getting detention for once, and there’s a nasty satisfaction to be found there.
You and Jazz share a bathroom, and she’s got a scale she keeps in the towel cupboard. Curious, you take it out one day after school and try to weigh yourself. Last time you checked, you were somewhere near 120, puberty stretching you faster than your appetite can keep up. This time, the numbers whirl past 280 pounds before the scale makes a metallic groan and crumples like tissue paper under your sneakers. Sheer reflex launches you into the air, and you bounce off the ceiling with your knees hugged so tight to your chest you can hear tendons creak, your heart a thundering jackhammer in your chest. Thank god you’re home alone, because you hover there for who-knows how long, too scared the floor will crack under your illogical, impossible weight, too scared you’ll plummet straight down to the hard steel of the lab if you try to stand, too scared you might plummet even further.
When you finally do scrounge up the courage to touch down, an air bubble in the old linoleum crackles under your heel and you damn near jump out of your skin. After that, all you can do is laugh and laugh until your sides hurt. You throw Jazz’s scale out in a dumpster a block away and never tell her what happened to it.
What does this mean? Is the weight of you optional? If you think about it too hard, does it become real? What about when you’re fighting, causing all that property damage the city hates you for? You’re not thinking of the strangeness of your mass during a brawl, you’re thinking in terms of survivability. Punch this hard to win, get punched this hard to lose. What about when you’re thinking about it at school? Why don’t you break your desk, or the floor, or the stairs?
You don’t know. Your parents might be able to figure it out if you told them, but you don’t. Knowing about you, about what you really are—
(a freak, a monster, an accident, an anomaly bleeding out energy with every burst of green light you bury into the spiny hides of other monsters, who knows how long until your white rings burn black, if one day you’ll look in the mirror and be no different than Vlad, not because you didn’t try your hardest but because there was never any biological choice, what kind of choice can a species of two even make)
—would just scare them. It’s easier, keeping them in the dark, even if it means they’re trying to hunt you down and take you apart molecule by molecule any time you’ve got white hair.
But it’s not just flying and invisibility and energy you can summon with a thought—
(ray or bolt or fire, you don’t know what to call your power, you never really did pay attention when your parents got going even before you had to worry about all their blinking tech going nuts around you, but sometimes your green light is cool and wispy and other times it's hot and sizzling, sometimes you know which one will bloom between your fingers and sometimes it’s a surprise, sometimes it’s almost like your body knows what to do in a fight better than you, sometimes it’s easier to stop thinking and just let it happen, to just be the freak that you are, to burn white-hot and damn the consequences)
—you have to worry about. You’re stronger every day, stranger everyday too. You feel a little bit more at ease as a ghost as time goes on. It stops being a strain and starts being an ease, even a comfort, and some days you dread the thought of going to school because a ghost might not attack and you’ll be stuck as a human all day.
That kind of thinking should worry you, probably.
But so what? You could sneak into your parents’ lab in the middle of the night and try more tests, more experiments, but really, what would that do? You’re a freak, plain and simple. You and Vlad poked your noses in places you shouldn’t have and paid the price, and that’s that.
Eventually you get sick of worrying and just let it be. You’re a freak who can walk through walls, disappear, and fly. You’re the freak protecting a town full of people who pretty much hate you. Really, what can you do? The same old same old, that’s what. Try and get a little more sleep outside the classroom, maybe. As for the townsfolk? Well, you can’t always avoid the property damages, but you can at least save a few lives along the way.
People even start to say thank you, even if it’s from a distance, even if they think you're some crazed vigilante ghost, and doesn’t that make this whole superhero thing worth it?
But then of course something has to come along and ruin even that much, ruin this budding chance at gratitude, at finally feeling like a real life superhero. And it isn’t a ghost this time. It’s a human. You hadn't ever considered humans to be dangerous the way a ghost can be.
Freakshow happens, and all that hard work is undone in just a few short days. Days you can’t remember with any clarity, just blurs of color and noise, your hands full of stolen money and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t let go, you couldn’t stop. Attacking the cops when they pursued, terrorizing any humans that got too close, puppeted by that grinning, painted maniac who treated you and the other ghosts like animals, like slaves—
(minions, he’d called you all, and he didn’t even bother to learn your name before he sunk his fingers into your brain, and you never did find out who any of those other ghosts were, what their names were or who they had been before that crystal ball had pulled them under, and they were gone before there was a chance to even ask)
—and tanked Invis-o-Bill’s reputation to a whole new low. Trashing nearly every car the Amity Park Police Department has and robbing the city blind at the behest of a psychotic ringmaster would have done that even if you’d been considered the hero you try so hard to be. Oh well. At least nobody was hurt in all that, unless you bothered counting Mr. Lancer getting left in the custodial closet for a weekend. You mostly don’t feel guilty about that. Mostly.
Sam says you ought to count yourself too, but you try not to think about any of what happened—
(all that time spent exhausted and hungry, he never let you rest, not once, because ghosts don’t need sleep, ghosts don’t get tired, ghosts don’t need friends, but it’s over, it’s all over now, you don’t have to hear yourself laugh as the little humans scream below, you’ll never have to watch Sam fall and wonder if your body will listen to you in time, you’re yourself again, you’re in control again, everything’s alright, you’re alright, you’re safe, you’re home, you’re yourself again)
—and try to pass yourself off as fine afterwards instead, just confused, just tired, just sorry for everything that’s happened.
For weeks after the police shoved Freakshow into the back of a car, your dreams are red. Not with blood, thank god for that. No, it’s like a filter. A stain. Strawberry candy red, saturated fire engine red, the color Sam said your eyes were when you were under his control. It doesn’t matter if you’re having nightmares—
(more common than you’d like, but you’ve never been one to shout after a bad dream and you don’t intend to start now)
—or regular old brain dump dreams. It doesn’t matter if you’re dreaming of broken bones and monsters or forgetting to study for a test; it’s all filtered through that darkroom shade of red.
What does it mean? You don’t know. You don’t bring it up to Sam or Tucker. They’d just worry, and they worry about you enough as it is. Besides, you’re fine. The Circus Gothica billboard is up for two weeks after Freakshow’s arrest, and it doesn’t do anything to you, not like before. You don’t lose time, you don’t say anything creepy. Your eyes stay blue or green, depending on whether or not there’s a ghost in need of wrangling nearby.
It’s just a weird, harmless after effect, that’s your best conclusion. Then you do your best to stop thinking about it. Who you were under Freakshow’s control wasn’t you. It wasn’t. You tell yourself that until you almost believe it. Eventually, you dreams return to their factory settings. Huzzah.
Meanwhile everywhere you go, people badmouth Invis-o-Bill like they’re getting paid to do it. They call him—
(you)
—thief and monster and dangerous, they call him—
(you)
—a menace and a bad influence on the children. A liar. Traitor. Conspiring with other ghosts to earn the trust of humans to terrorize Amity Park all the better. Kids at school spread awful stories about Invis-o-Bill, say he—
(you)
—was probably the ghost of a troubled teen who got in too deep with bad people and paid the price, and now he—
(you)
—spends his afterlife seeking revenge on humans and ghosts alike. They say a lot of bad things about you, for a while. You try not to pay much attention. You’re getting pretty good at that.
After Freakshow, there’s a lull. That doesn’t mean ghosts don’t stop attacking or causing havoc, it just means that, for a handful of weeks, it’s just the little ones. Hungry animals and disoriented blobs and the Box Ghost. Easy stuff. You actually have time to unwind, time to let the tension bleed from your bones, time to catch up on all your late homework and even squeak your grades up to passable. It’s nice. You’d almost call it relaxing.
Of course, the lulls never last. You know this, you’ve learned this, they made you understand this from your very first—
(disastrous, embarrassing)
—fight with the Lunch Lady. You have one fight with Sam the wrong ghost overhears, and everything that’s happened is wished away. You are wished away. For a couple of days, you never walked into your parents’ ghost portal. You were never torn apart and melted back together by heat and light and pain. You were never Phantom at all. Worse still, you have no memory of your erased past, not so much as the slightest disquiet to niggle in the back of your brain when Sam walks up to your locker and starts going on about imaginary monsters like they're real.
Sam Manson—
(a stranger, a total stranger, just a bottle-black pretty girl you stare at because you’re fourteen and desperate for a connection you’ve never had and don’t understand, she’s nobody else, she’s nothing else to you but a chance at your first kiss and later you will hate yourself for thinking of her like that, not as a girl because of course she is that, but as a prize you might earn, and who cared if she was crazy because she just might have kissed you for some unfathomable reason, and Sam is so much more than the sum of her body, Sam is worth so much more than that, Sam is worth so much)
—is the vehement Goth girl who's in half your classes and is [unfinished]
=
In those stumbling, halting days of dismissal followed by doubt followed by a desperate curiosity to believe that there might be more to life than growing up and settling for less, that movies haven’t lied and there really is something beyond the disappointment growing up has been for you so far. Sam’s purple mouth is a thin, grim line of—
(worry, guilt, fear, shame, envy, panic, uncertainty)
—complicated emotions you can’t parse as you zip up the jumpsuit your parents got you for your birthday. You’ve never worn it before, the fabric stiff and reluctant to bend at your joints. You don’t know how they’re comfortable wearing theirs all the time [unfinished]
=
Sometimes after a fight wears you out, leaves you bruised and smeared with shining green, you don’t fight the transformation. Not because you can’t, but because it feels good to have that fake pulse vanish, to hear real blood pounding in your ears. The weight of you shifts too, and even though you’re so much weaker when you’re human, it’s easier to sink your fingers into the dirt, to haul your meat out of the mess your ghost left behind, easier to duck out of sight before the news vans and curious bystanders get too close. Nobody ever sees you. Nobody ever puts your bruises and Band-Aids and the trashed Dunkin’ Donuts together. It helps that nobody’s ever heard of a half-ghost, that Vlad was cunning enough to hide his powers. Everybody’s heard of the Wisconsin Ghost, but Wisconsin is a big damn state and unlike you, Vlad and Plasmius hardly look like the same man.
Everybody at school just thinks you’re the football team’s personal punching bag, which is definitely true. Thing is, after spending a couple months fighting ghosts, a gut-punch from a junior is kind of a joke. You’re getting ganged up by a bunch of guys in letter jackets behind the auto shop and you have to mime pain to get them to leave you alone.
Is this real life? Yup, and it’s hilarious.
Time passes, as it does. You get stronger, faster, heavier. You hone your powers. You stop losing control, mostly. New ghosts terrorize the streets. Old ghosts do too, they’re just smarter about it. They all know who you are by now. Hell, a whole other plane of reality knows your name by this point, knows who Danny Fenton really is. Funny though, none of them ever spill the beans to any humans. What better way to take down the one person standing in their way of world domination or an army of hypnotized teens or whatever they’re trying to score than to oust his secret identity?
You don’t ask. Maybe they haven’t caught on that humans have no idea you’re trying to keep a secret. Maybe there’s some kind of code among ghosts; don’t spill a guy’s weakness, even if you hate his ectoplasm. Maybe especially if you hate his ectoplasm?
You’ve had a couple more run-ins with Vlad too. Each time he changes, transforms, you breath hitches, because you can almost see it. Whatever makes up the both of you, piecing the mystery together through the differences—
(light and dark and it’s cliché as anything, it’s so transparently Star Wars, but maybe there’s something to clichés, because you might be the one wearing mostly black but he’s the one with a sucking core, a void, something more horrific for its absence, like he used to be full of stark white light too but it’s all been burned up and whatever’s left is just playing through the motions, pretending at being something else, who knows what it means but you know that it scares the hell out of you)
—between you and him. He goes on and on about how you’re more like him every day, but he’s wrong. He’s so wrong. You’ll never be like him, and it isn’t just a matter of morals.
What you are, down to the complex disaster of your DNA, is different than what makes up Vlad, and you don’t need to slide a piece of him under a microscope to see that. You thought differently once, but now you know better. A glance is all you need. What you are and what he is, has become—
(powerful yes, but ugly and hating and cruel, the rings that flash at his waist are just shadows reflecting light, trying to hide a black mouth brimming with hungry teeth)
—well, you might as well be different species.
Vlad’s crazy and Vlad’s a jerk, but he is right about one thing. There’s so much about the Ghost Zone you don’t understand, and it’s this ignorance that just might get you—
(or somebody else, and isn’t that an old favorite in the nightmares)
—killed. You don’t know if it was fate or a simple coincidence that your parents were working on the Ecto-Skeleton when Pariah Dark woke up. You’re fourteen years old and you can shoot lasers out of your fingers; you don’t have the wherewithal for philosophical theology. You’re just glad they got it functioning in time to stop the King of All Ghosts from overrunning the city, even if the stupid thing nearly kills you.
You don’t fret much about the Ecto-Skeleton vanishing after you pass out. You do, however, remember Pariah’s nasty grin—
(having that much power, it’s a burden, isn’t it child)
—when you stumbled under the strain. You don’t know if he meant what the suit enabled you to do or if he meant the power in your own two hands. Either way, you remember those words, like they’re branded onto your brain, and you don’t have a choice but to hear it over and over every time you try to sleep. They rang in your head like bells in the days after you’d pushed him back into that sarcophagus, stuck in bed aching and weaker than you’ve ever felt in your life.
Because it is a burden. Everybody hates and fears you, but at the same time they happily expect you to protect them from hordes of skeletal ghosts. Sometimes you panic, so aware of how young you are, of how little comic books and video games have prepared you for a life like this, hiding bruises and spinning bold-face lies to everybody from your parents to the U.S. government. Teenagers are supposed to rebel, sure, but if you ever come clean you’d be thrown in a cell and they’d never, ever let you go. Not just because you’re a criminal—
(and you are, thanks to Freakshow and thanks to dozens of ghosts, and you’ve left an imprint of your tiny, impossibly heavy body all over the city, and you’ve done your best to protect everybody but you leave rubble and shrapnel wherever you go, ambulance sirens wail through the streets every day, and everybody’s just as scared as you are, just as fascinated as you are, and yet so many students and teachers have left Casper High, so many faces you used to see everyday in the hallways have vanished, so many business and restaurants and homes sit empty, gathering dust and graffiti, and it’s your fault, if you hadn’t walked into the Ghost Portal none of this would be happening, none of this would ever have happened at all, and you’re too much of a coward to show your face, to tell anyone but your best friends what kind of a monster you really are)
—but because you can phase through solid objects, you’re considered a monster with less rights than a dog.
Sometimes you wish Sam wasn’t a budding ghost-rights activist. You’d probably have an easier time studying if she didn’t rattle off all these statistics and news articles, stories of government agents in white suits quarantining whole city blocks to purge the ghosts inhabiting them, of ghost attacks stopping all at once in little towns after strange men with guns and knives and felonies like grave robbing and murder slunk through in the night. Ghosts are dangerous, there’s no questioning that. But so are bears. So are people. Just because something is dangerous doesn’t mean it should be destroyed.
Maybe that’s why the ghosts have never spilled your secret. You’ve never tried to kill them. You just want them to leave Amity Park alone. Who knows for sure though? You don’t have the guts to risk asking any of them.
Still, this whole mess is worth it. It is. You can fly, for god’s sake. If you’re careful you could juggle minivans, mimic all your favorite action movies and outdo even the craziest Hollywood stunts. What kid hasn’t dreamed of doing any of that? But you’re not being selfish. You’re not. It’s like Dad says; you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Progress is a disaster when you’re living it, when it isn’t past tense, when it isn’t all tidied up in a few short paragraphs in a high school history book. What’s happening now is worth it, for the future.
If you ever do tell Mom and Dad—
(you’re not afraid of what they’ll think, you’ve never worried about that, not really, they’re your parents before they’re scientists, and any experiment or test would be to ensure your safety and your health, because that’s what parents do, that’s what good people do, and they’re the best people you’ve ever known)
—you know they’d be able to break down your powers into reams of clinical data in no time. They’d figure out how you survived the accident, how your abilities generate and develop in power, maybe even pinpoint the how of your strange, mutable weight. They’d tell you what that light is, when you change, that light that reminds you so strongly of the stars. After all, just because they’re too oblivious to realize their son is the infamous Ghost Kid doesn’t mean they don’t know what they’re doing. They aren’t known as the leading scientists, engineers and weapon smiths in the paranatural fields for nothing. Mom’s practically got more letters after her name than there are in the alphabet, and while Dad may only have a fraction of that he thinks like nobody else out there. Most Fenton tech are his designs, wild and absurd and covered with stickers of his beaming face, and Mom’s the one who works out the bugs with fond exasperation.
Still, they have to get their knowledge from somewhere, and you’ve seen what they do down in the lab to the formless, red-eyed ghosts, the ones too weak to do much more than snarl wetly. Sometimes they snare something bigger and stronger, something fond of curling prickly tendrils around the nearest human and squeezing. More often than not it’s Dad that’s the unlucky one, always so eager to parse the secrets hidden in each fanged little beastie they’ve fished out of the Ghost Zone. He’s got nearly as many as bruises as you do, some weeks, but he’s never happier than when he’s holding a bag of frozen peas to his head.
After a good wrestle with something that wailed and whistled like a boiling kettle, Dad’ll limp up to the kitchen and settle heavily into a chair, grinning and running his mouth nonstop, talking about how much progress they’ve made today—
(wait ‘til the boys over at the GIW hear about that one, he’ll say with a bray of laughter, makes the piddly little Class Threes look darn near cuddly, didn’t it Mads, why Danny you should’ve seen the fangs on this fella, nearly bit through the exam table in one bite, y’oughta come down to the lab more often, Danny, seeing these spooks up close and personal’d be a great way to help you get over that silly fear of ‘em, and there you are, smiling meekly and holding up your hands and making up any excuse you can think of off the top of your head to keep you out of the lab when your parents have all their equipment up and humming, just in case, aw Dad I dunno, I’ve got this essay due, not today Dad I’ve got like six pages of algebra I haven’t even started yet, sorry Dad I’m sleeping over at Tucker’s tonight and his mom insisted I come early for dinner)
—and every time, Mom will smile indulgently, like she’s falling in love with Dad all over again. She’ll push him back into the seat and tell him to quit fidgeting so she can clean up the nasty cut behind his ear, and every time you smile behind your hand and think, how could Vlad ever hope to break your parents up? They only thing they might love more than each other would be you and Jazz and ghosts, and you’re all so much of their lives they can’t help but love you all completely. How they love each other and their kids and the ghosts they’ve studied all their lives, well, that’s like saying they love breathing. They love each other because without each other, they wouldn’t be themselves. It’s sappy as hell and like any kid you hate seeing your parents get all lovey-dovey, but you can’t help that secret smile as you walk out of the kitchen to give them a little privacy.
Seeing Mom and Dad so hard at work, so happy at work, is why you don’t tell them. They think you’re slacking off, they think you’re getting bullied, and they’re worried about you sure, but better they think their son’s lazy than a freak. If they knew what you did, what you could do, if they knew you were the one facing up against ghosts that made the ones they picked apart in their lab look like kittens, if they knew you’d heard all the awful things they want to do to Phantom once they finally nab him—
(you know they wouldn’t say it if they knew you and him were one and the same, you know you know you know, but sometimes you can’t help but be hurt anyway, to see all that fierce dedication focused on seeing whether or not Danny Phantom has bones, and if he does, how much pressure could they withstand before breaking)
—they wouldn’t know what to do or say or think. They’d be so eaten up with guilt, why hadn’t they known, why hadn’t they realized, what if they’d finally gotten a lucky shot in, what if one of all those cruel ghosts had gotten a luck shot in, what if what if what if—
(and you’ve pictured it a hundred times, it’s so easy to imagine the looks on their faces, the horror the shame the fear, and you know they’d love you all the same, you know this like you know the distance between the Sun and every planet, even little Pluto they just declared wasn’t a planet at all, but you’re young and selfish and definitely some kind of stupid because sometimes you can’t help but feel they’d shun you for the freak you are, turn you over to the GIW because they couldn’t bear to look on the thing their son’s become, and you know that couldn’t ever ever ever happen but still, it’s so easy to imagine)
—and you couldn’t do that to them. You won’t do that to them, no matter how many times Sam or Tucker try to convince you otherwise. How it is now, secrets and lies and detention slips and broken curfews, can’t last forever. You know that. But until then, it’ll have to do, and you’ll have to parse all your growing weirdness without all of Mom and Dad’s knowledge or experience, fingers crossed that their ticking and glowing machines won’t reveal your secret before you’re ready to do it yourself.
=
But you’re turning out stranger in ways you can’t even recognize, and for all that Sam and Tucker are by your side to help you as you change and burn brighter and hotter and faster and heavier, they don’t see it either. Jazz is the one who points it out, one day not long after the Spectra… thing, all out of the blue. She’s been noticing lots of things lately, and acting so strange, like she might have pieced it together. But she can’t have, of course not, you’re so careful, you are always so careful. Jazz is just clever, Jazz got all the brains and you got the leftovers. Everybody knows that. Even you know that.
She comes into the kitchen one morning with a curious little spin to her step, craning her head around and around like she’s running late for school and can’t find her keys, but it’s a Saturday. You’re there by the fridge, cobbling together something that might resemble an edible breakfast, moving slow because you’ve got a bruise all down your right side that makes it hurt to do more than breathe shallowly or raise your arm more than a couple inches. You sniff the milk and instantly regret this decision, and while you’re pouring the lumpy mess down the sink Jazz asks if the kitchen’s always been on the second floor.
You stare at her, too tired and baffled to give her the proper what the hell a question like that deserves, but she drags you over to the kitchen door and pushes it open, and since when has there been a door to the kitchen and oh my god the kitchen is on the second floor.
She gapes at you and you gape right back, and the rest of that morning is spent going over every inch of the house and seeing what else has changed compared to your shared memories.
Everything has, in some way or another. Doorknobs have shifted, cupboards have lowered, doors moved from one part of a room to another. Even chairs have changed their heights. There’s a whole new door neither of you can remember ever existing before connecting the upstairs bathroom directly to your room. Thinking back—
(staggering through your open window, mouth thick with the hot penny burn of ectoplasm and blood, your right hand pressed against the throb all down your side, and aren’t you grateful for your weight, your sturdiness, because before you finally peeled the faceguard off of Skulker’s exoskeleton and sucked that little jerk into a Thermos he got a good shot in with a rocket that hit you hard right in the ribs, and if you’d been normal there would have just been a dark wet hole where your torso used to be but lucky you, you’re every inch the creepy little freak Spectra called you, so you get to limp home and clean up as best you can on your own since it’s four in the morning and no way are you gonna wake Sam or Tucker up again, and you have to be quiet, you have to be so quiet, biting down pain, you can’t make a sound or Jazz might hear, grabbing the first-aid kid from your underwear drawer and slipping into the bathroom, and for once the hinges didn’t squeak, thank god, you think, thank god)
—you hadn’t even noticed last night or even this morning that a door had sprung up where there’d just been NASA and Nat Geo posters before. And your windows have moved, and your bed has moved, and you and Jazz just stare and stare. Why had neither of you noticed any of this until now? Why haven’t your parents? How long has this been going on?
What could cause something like this?
It takes half an hour to convince your mom that something’s off about the house, and even longer to get your dad to grasp what you both are trying to say. Their eyes just keep glazing over the differences, even something as huge as the kitchen being on the wrong floor. Once they finally do see though, it’s a whole other story. After the initial shock, they drop all their experiments and spend the next week measuring and scanning every inch of the house.
Their conclusion, a week and some change later? The Ghost Portal leaks.
Even with the huge steel door locked up tight, it seems there’s enough residual energy slipping through to warp, literally warp, the house. Somehow. The way your mom’s lips thin as she says all this means she’s not satisfied with this conclusion, but she puts on a wide smile when Jazz asks if you’re all in any danger. A smart question, one you think you might’ve asked yourself. Y’know, if you still needed to worry about something like exposure. Your dad just laughs big and loud and says not to worry about it, says if there were going to be any creepy side effects they would have manifested by now. Everything’s fine, they assure you both, but you look at the crease between your mom’s eyebrows and you wonder.
Later, when they’re out taking readings from the ectoplasm-damp wreck you and the Lunch Lady made of a McDonald’s and Jazz is studying at the library, you creep down to the lab and pull up all their documentation of the house. Most of it is dry as dirt; neatly typed spreadsheets and tidy, color-coded graphs (clearly your mom’s handiwork), but there’s also nearly a gigabyte’s worth of photos. Clicking through them, you can see Dad’s sloppy angles and the occasional square pinkie slipping into the frame. Most of the first hundred photos have been untouched, but the two hundreds have been filtered all to hell, like Mom and Dad went through the house a second time, trying to find something the human eye can’t see. Just shy of 300, the photos turn a dusty black and white, splattered in places with an all-too-familiar starkly glowing green.
No. Not splattered. A few spins of the scroll wheel zooms in on a crooked picture of the kitchen. There’s green all over everything; the fridge, the microwave, the drawers and cupboards, cluttered thickly at the kitchen table. These aren’t splatters. They’re handprints, slapped in layers and layers over themselves, like somebody dipped their hands in neon paint and went to town.
Every photo taken in that black and white filter shows the same thing. Handprints on doorknobs and railings, footprints on tile and carpet, green smeared and stamped everywhere, tracking the movements of something—
(somebody)
—for what must be as long as the Portal’s been active.
Why didn’t Mom and Dad say anything about this? Why haven’t you sensed it? There’s a ghost, an entity, some thing lurking around your house like it has every right to be there! Green gathered on the couch, on every table and sink, even the upstairs shower and your room and—
(the pictures of jazz’s room are nearly clean, the pictures of Mom and Dad’s room are spotless, but your room is practically bathed in green from floor to ceiling, your bed and desk nearly washed out by a poisonous haze, and no wonder Mom had looked so worried and no wonder Dad had laughed so loud, they know something’s wrong with you, they’ve always known you were messed up thanks to the accident but now here’s irrefutable proof, how can you lie your way out of photographic evidence, how can they look at you and not see you for the freak you are)
—oh.
You close the files, power down the computer, and walk quietly out of the lab. That’s… that’s all you can really do. Sooner or later your parents will knock gently on your door and ask you to come downstairs. Just a few tests, they’ll say. It’s for your own good, they’ll say. We’re worried about you, they’ll say.
But they’ll find out. They’ll find out what you are, and it’ll go one of two ways. They’ll either accept you as the freak you are, or hate you for the freak you are. Either way, there will be no more hiding. It’s… it’s almost a relief, to know the other shoe is finally going to drop.
Except it never does.
You wait, quietly, patiently, expectantly. They don’t treat you any different. They never say a word. When they call you down to the lab, it’s just to show off the latest in Fenton ghost hunting technology. Why? Why don’t they ask? Why don’t they administer tests, if not on you than on the house and the Portal? Why does nothing change?
=
They’re wrong on nearly every count, sure, but you’ve got hurts aplenty to hide. Sam and Tucker have seen the lightning splashed across your skin dozens of times by now, and when they hear the A-listers spreading this bad joke of a ghost story and see you laugh, they laugh too. There wasn’t much chance of hiding it for long from them, after all, when it’s so much easier to patch up the nastier cuts when you’re bleeding sluggish ectoplasm instead of blood pumped by a heart full of adrenaline.
The first time Sam had insisted on unzipping your suit to get a good look at the slash on one shoulder, Tucker cracking a half-hearted attempt at a dirty joke with hands shaking so bad the first aid kit rattled like a live thing, they’d both stopped cold. For ten long seconds, they just stared, pinning you down with matching expressions of horror. It was the longest ten seconds of your life. You’d been scared before, of being found out for the freak you are, of being overwhelmed by powerful ghosts, but this, you’re pretty sure, was the first time you were ever terrified.
But then Sam hugged you, and Tucker had smiled and squeezed your good shoulder, and that had been enough. There wasn’t anything to worry about after all.
They understand now why you gasp when your ghost sense goes off—
(shock like plunging feet first into a frozen lake, shock like drowning with a chest full of dead air, shock like electricity buzzing hot and cold and terrible through your nerves, leaving you breathless and tingling, your fists clenched so tight your knuckles burn white, teeth clenched and grinding as you dart for the nearest lonely corner to gather up your heaviness and summon the starlight in your heart)
—and they know why it took you so long to realize you don’t have a heartbeat when you’re a ghost. The first few times you changed, you’d felt it, felt it like a rush of blood flow to a sleeping limb, but it took weeks to put it together. To realize the stinging, cool pulse radiating from your hand to your chest wasn’t your heart but something else altogether. All that star-bright scar tissue pulses. Involuntary, but without any reaction to how much energy you exert. A constant, steady [unfinished]
=
Breathing is optional too, when you’re a ghost. You’d found that one out the hard way, choking on mud in that stupid duck pond and tangled in one of Skulker’s nets.
#danny phantom#my writing#deadfic#past me did present me dirty with all these FUCKING italics#you can take my 'danny's got serious anxiety' headcanon from my cold dead hands
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immj2 01.04.21 lb
lmao, guess i'm back on my bs.🤷🏽♀️🤷🏽♀️🤷🏽♀️
vansh don't know shit about "his" riddhima, if he thinks she'd “bina soche-samjhe pee jaati” esp. after that paralyzing crap he pulled. she should tell him that and prove it's the real her.
can he stop answering every question with another question?????? so annoying.
this whole scene is so fucking dumb. anyone with a brain cell can tell it's obviously truth serum, coz he can't kill her and needs the truth.
“tum pregnant nahi ho kyunki tum riddhima nahi ho.” coz................. only one woman on the planet can be pregnant at a time? amazeballs logic, sir.
gotta say i love R 2.0 and her completeeeeee refusal to abide by V's fuckery.
WHAT THE FUCK HE JUST TACKLED HER TO THE GROUND JFC MAN EVEN IF SHE’S NOT PREGNANT THAT CAN’T BE HEALTHY FOR HER BONES
hahahahaha she's like "you want riddhima? i'll give you riddhima, bitch" and JUST plants one on him.
ofc he's the kinda weirdo who keeps his eyes open while being kissed.
lmaoooooooooo he lost himself in it. riddhima’s got a magic tongue huh? that proves her identity like some kinda biometric, but also soothes angry husbands into submission.
lollllllllllllllll he's having a real crisis of faith. coz if this is riddhima, man has he fucked up BIG TIMEEEEEEEE. if it isn't riddhima, he's still fucked up big time, by letting humshakal girl tongue-kiss him into oblivion.
he's so fucking stupid, why won't he just get a DNA test...................... WHY WON'T ANYONE IN THIS SHOW GET DNA TESTS WHEN PPL WHO LOOK LIKE OTHER PPL SHOW THE FUCK UP OUTTA NOWHERE ACTING FUNNY???
oh wait. does he think this is riddhima after all? coz he's ranting about dhoka and all............ if she's a doppelganger then kaahe ka dhoka????
ofc, aryan walked by and heard the rant. abbe yaaaaaaaar.
WHO THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK DOESN'T LOCK THEIR LAPTOP WHEN THEY WALK AWAY????? VANSH-I-WANT-ALL-MY-SECRETS-KEPT-FOREVER-RAISINGHANIA THAT'S WHO. MAIN TOH SUSU KARNE BHI NA JAAOON WITHOUT LOCKING MY COMPUTER. I’M NOT LEAVING MY SHAMEFUL INTERNET HISTORY OUT THERE FOR THE WORLD TO SEE.
oh ghar mein naya siyaapa yeh hai ki siya went off somewhere, despite vansh locking her up in her room. man, wtf he's really turning into some 90s movie villain dad.
ishani happy and vansh realllllllll unhappy about siya joining ishani's ranks of being a “bitch” (which is what this show calls all women who have a mind of their own............)
anupriya, you shoulda saved all this momming for the shitty boys you raised, instead of pushing patriarchal bs on the girls.
“siya vansh raisinghania ki behen hai, koi uska baal bhi baanka nahi kar sakta!!!!!!!!!” uh...............................
ppl would wanna murder her PURELY for the reason that she’s YOUR sister, dumbass.
ugh this sasta!vansh and his ganda saxophone playing (always the same irritating tune). nahiiiiiiiiiiii chahiyeee humeinnn. mujhe mera kabirrrrrr do wapassssssssssss!!!!!!!
siya has taken vihaan bhai's “taadna is free of cost” motto to heart and is drinking the shirtlessness in. i'd be all for it if it was literally anyone else other than her own brother-dad's clone.
he’s like does your mom know you’re here, does your family know you’re here? she’s a fucking grownass woman, vyom. a dumb bitch who shouldn’t be out here unsupervised, but........ she grown.
OMFGGGGGGGGGGGGHE KEEPS SAYING “CHERRY” AND I LEGIT THOUGHT THAT WAS FAKE!RIDDHIMA’S NAME TILL NOW.................... I JUST GOT IT IN THIS SCENE, THAT HE WAS ACTUALLY SAYING THE THE FRENCH WORD “CHÉRI” AND THAT’S HOW HE REFERS TO ALL WOMEN.
her parvati bani poo parivartan is khaali looks mein haan, she still calling him AAP and talking like a coy little baby.
LMAO EMBARRASSED FOR WHAT???????? HAVING A TINYASS UNNOTICEABLE RIP IN HER THICKKKKK DENIM JACKET?????
yeh banda shirt hamesha paas rakhta hai, par pehnta nahi. it’s like his version of a fire extinguisher. if it’s being used, things have gonna hella wrong.
alskdjalskjdlaskjdlaksjlk he’s made a new saxophone dhun named after her. height of romance!!!!!!!!!!!!!! vansh bhai, kuch seekho. nahi, aapko toh hamesha biwi ko paralytics ya zeher ya truth serum pilaana hai, ya baat baat par goli maarni hai.
ishani is right, siya really needs to get out more, coz if she’s falling for this kinda basiccccccccccc bullshit..............
aryan has brought dadi to see riddhima waala proof. it doesn’t need to be April 1st to know that iska bohut bada popat banne waala hai.
yup vansh is here to dunk on him nice and good. oh aryan......... idk why you even try.
sassy vansh is the ONLY tolerable vansh.
oh daaaaaaaang aryan real mad, calling him bastard and all. show OTT pe aane ko wait kar raha tha aryan, taaki asli gaali bulaa sake.
dadi: “kisi par ilzaam lagaane se pehle dus baar soch liya karo.” coz............. that’s what YOU did, before you put everything that was happening in this house on riddhima’s head? even though you had zero proof???? i really think vansh needs to take dadi for a MRI or some shit coz her behaviour is just bizarre these days.
ofc he’s gonna answer it like WOH ZINDA HAI, MERE DILLLLLLLLLL MEIN.............
ok “yaadon mein”, same difference.
ishani, a spouse is for more than just sexual gratification. lord. everyone in this show needs so much couple’s therapy.
WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU HAVE YOUR LOCATION ON FOR HER TO TRACK, ANGRE??????????? OMG YOU’RE THE WORST SECURITY PERSON FUCKING EVER. KHANNA BHAIYYA BHI ITNE BEWAKOOF NAHI THE.
asakdjlaskjdlaskjdlksajdfkjsd angre legit contemplating leaving his boss ka most valuable asset unattended coz his wife wants to fuck.
riddhima’s like yeah go, mujhe nahi mil raha toh kya, tum toh at least mazze le lo.
angre is convinced this is riddhima bhaabi. giving kasme vaade of even dying for her.
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha he thinks vansh/riddhima were IDEAL COUPLE...... dude, isse zyaada ideal toh biryani aur ketchup waala combo hai.
godddddddddddddddd anyone with a brain cell has by this point deduced ki this is real riddhima and she’s doing all this to save vansh from vyom in some way. stop taking the audience to be as idiotic as the main characters, show.
lmaooooooooooooooooooo vansh was all I’LL FIND SIYA and now he’s just sitting in the living room with his angry bird face till she decided to waltz in the front door. sooooooo.......... ishani can track her hubs, but you telling me vansh doesn’t have a tracker on siya????
what hulia??????? everyone’s ragging on siya’s new style while ishani and riddhima and that lollipop chick can wear whatever the fuck they want? what nonsense.
lmao everyone’s horrified to find out that siya’s learnt the basic definition of feminism. itne saal tak they kept her in the house so she wouldn’t know, but hawa lag hi gayi ladki ko.
precap: lollipop girl rubs up against vansh warning him ki aryan knows his secret. aryan and angre haathapaai as the former tries to shoot riddhima. they’ve framed the scene like he got her, but i bet he didn’t. koi aur aa gaya hoga saamne.
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Salt Chapter Two
Ocean
In which Y/N and JJ catch some waves.
{Chapter One- Accepted}
Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader (mentions of John B. x Reader)
Summary: Starved of love, JJ struggles with the realisation that he’s falling for his friend. Hard.
In This Chapter- JJ and Y/N hit the waves and stir up some feelings they’d prefer were left well alone.
Word Count: 1.3K+
Warning: suggestions of smut, but be prepared for angst, fluff, and smut in the future
A/N: Thank you for the response from the first chapter! We starting to get into the story now my guys, I hope you enjoy xox
You wake the following morning spread over the sofa in The Chateau. Tangled in blankets and drenched in sunlight, you open your eyes warily against the brightness. Kie sleeps softly beside you, and you can’t help but smile at the content expression playing over her sleeping face. The sunshiney morning makes it hard to believe that there is a category 3 storm headed your way. You peer through the smeary window as you pad barefoot to the kitchen. You notice JJ swinging in one of the hammocks in the yard and wonder how long he’s been awake for.
You curse as you accidentally kick an empty beer bottle, sending it spinning across the floor. You’d had a night of heavy drinking. You groan inwardly, feeling the ache of a hangover building up behind your eyes. Moving away from the window, and holding your head in your hands, you survey the room. Kie had managed to wrap herself up in your blankets as well, and the soft snores of John B. and Pope could be heard coming from the bedrooms. You move to the sink, running the tap until the water runs cold. Moving as quietly as possible you fill two glasses and make your way outdoors to the hammocks.
JJ watches you walk across the yard towards him. You tread carefully, navigating the stony ground with your bare feet, stubbing your toes nonetheless. He struggles to conceal a smile as you grimace your way over to where he sways in the gentle breeze. You wordlessly pass both glasses to him and scramble into the hammock next to him.
‘Nice t-shirt’ he mumbles, passing your water back over, and continuing to stare out onto the marsh.
You self consciously pull the oversized shirt down over your thighs.
‘Oh, thanks, it’s John B.’s’ you reply brightly- too brightly for the headache you’re sporting.
It turned out you hadn’t left any spare PJ’s at John B’s, and subsequently had ended up rummaging through his drawers to find an old shirt to sleep in. You’d been pretty drunk when you’d discovered this, and it looked like you chosen a garishly coloured Marvel themed number. No wonder this had been right at the bottom, you thought, it was hideous.
JJ doesn’t respond, instead he absent-mindedly flicks his zippo lighter and holds the glass of water against his bottom lip without drinking. You watch him, wishing you could see inside his brain. You want to rip that cap off his head and rummage around in his mind, unravelling whatever is troubling him. His face is frozen in a frown, and it could be a side effect of his own hangover, but you doubt it.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ you say after a few more moments of unbearable silence.
His eyes flick over to you suddenly, as though he’d forgotten you were sitting beside him.
‘Let’s go surf.’ He states abruptly, jumping down from the hammock and leaving you sat in a bewildered confusion. You scramble after him, sloshing water down your front.
Back in the Chateau you change into your swimsuit in the bathroom and brush your teeth vigorously, scrubbing the stale taste of alcohol from your tongue.
When you go to wake Kie, JJ stops you.
‘They’ll come when they’re up’ he says briskly, grabbing both your boards from the porch.
~
It was nice just spending time alone with JJ for a while. Since he’d been acting off you wanted to get some time alone, some time when he couldn’t really just storm off. You had been so close for ages and it felt a bit hurtful that he was obviously not telling you something.
JJ was the one who had taught you to surf in the first place, all those years ago, and he still couldn’t help himself but nit-pick on your style and form. You’d been out on the surf for a while before you both came to a natural pause, sitting astride your boards next to each other. You bobbed in the current silently for some time, slightly out of breath, enjoying the sounds of the ocean. The waves were high today, forecasting the incoming weather.
You close your eyes and bask in the warmth that the sun casts over you. You can already feel the salt drying on your face.
‘Y/N’ JJ says, breaking the relaxed peace and quiet.
You hum in response.
‘Are you still sleeping with John B.?’
You nearly slide off your board and his hand reaches out instinctively to steady you.
You laugh incredulously, but when you look over at him, a hand shielding your eyes from the sun, he looks deadly serious.
‘Oh my God, JJ, no!’ you look at him, shocked.
He doesn’t seem convinced, screwing up his face and looking out onto the horizon.
‘JJ, I mean it, that was years ago.’
You try to manoeuvre your board, so you are face to face. He can’t help but smile at your ungraceful attempts.
‘Is this what you’ve been worrying over?’ you ask, when you’ve finally got yourself opposite him.
He nods bashfully, rubbing his face in his hand.
‘JJ, John B. is my friend, nothing else, just like Pope is just my friend- it’s the same thing.’
You don’t really know why you use Pope as an example rather than JJ himself, but for some reason it feels more truthful.
‘You’re a Pogue now Y/N, just wanted to check you were following our rules.’ He grins at you, now satisfied with you answer.
You feel a rush of relief as his weird silence on the boat yesterday, his questions about your sleeping arrangements, and his despondency over the clothing you had decided to sleep in, suddenly made sense. He was just worried that you and John B. had slipped back into old habits. You also feel a twinge of – is that disappointment?- that he seems so set on those ancient ‘No-Pogue-on-Pogue-Macking’ rules. It seems so silly to still be living by the rules of some kids. But you go along with it because you hope that will make him happier.
‘I know, I know, and I wouldn’t wanna jeopardise any friendships- you know that.’
You smile cheerily at him, and his grin falters slightly. You feel like you’re in a test and you got the easy answer wrong. It’s quite clear that there are feelings between you that are slightly stronger than friendship. A magnetic pull dancing dangerously, one that you dare not explore. He squints his eyes against the sun to look at you again. His eyes are so brilliantly blue in the morning light. They have such a depth to them; and the ability to turn dark and stormy as suddenly as his temper. It’s funny, you muse, how like the ocean they are. There is something deep inside them, something you can’t quite put your finger on. Is it regret? Longing? Hope? This sun-soaked boy with eyes just like the waves he conquers. You are trapped in his gaze for what seems like an age- swimming there, treading water. You notice how the salt is starting to crystallise on his broad shoulder, sparkling in the sun and the reflection of the sea. His hair is pushed back and glowing like spun gold, a dripping halo. You realise you have never really looked at him so honestly before. With such a raw acceptance of how you are absorbing him. The sound of the waves lapping against your boards, and the gulls overhead, are dream like.
He’s suddenly distracted by something behind you, and, pulled from your trance, you twist around to see your three friends running down the beach towards you.
‘Hey -JJ, Y/N! Save some waves for us!’
And just like that- the dream is over.
JJ shoots you one last smile, before paddling off to join the others in the water. The smile is small, and slightly sad, with an overwhelming sense of defeat and knowing. It leaves you feeling even more confused than you were before. Because there was nothing you wanted more than to spend the whole day just sitting there, in the ocean with the blue-eyed boy, marvelling in his existence. And you couldn’t shake that ache he left you with, the feeling that you needed more.
[Chapter Three: Smoke]
~~
Tag List:@danicarosaline @sspidermanss @teamnick (message me or respond to this post if you wanna be in the tag list x)
#jj maybank#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank x y/n#outerbanks fanfic#jj maybank outer banks#outerbanks#john b. routledge#kiara carrera#pope heyward
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September 1: 3x06 Spectre of the Gun
Okay so, it might be a little early to declare myself a S3 apologist, since there are still a lot of eps I’ve never seen, but I feel like I’m pretty close..
This ep was so good!! Honestly I think it’s one of my faves. And perfect to usher in Spooky Season.
Honestly, this show really is my happy place. Just all the characters together on the bridge, on some kinda adventure, looking at weird space buoys and investigating stuff.
Again, this buoy looks like a Windows 98 screensaver.
Kirk keeps referring to Spock as “Science Officer.” Is he mad at him? Full of some particularly intense longing that requires him to put extra distance between them?
Excuse me, you address US as aliens? YOU’RE the aliens.
Hmmm, so it seems they’re not friendly.
It’s addressing them in different languages!!! I love it. Love the reminder that Uhura’s first language is not English,also.
“True telepaths are dangerous.” As opposed to fake telepaths like Vulcans lol?
The Melkotians withdrew immediately. They invented space travel, they saw space, and they said “not for us” and they turned around and left. McCoy would like them; they’d have a lot to gripe about together.
The welcome mat is NOT out.
“Unlike Mr. Scott’s transporter, this unit is not functioning.”
It legit looked like Spock put his hand on Kirk’s back there. Like he clearly raises it, but not far enough to be seen above Kirk, so like.. what was the point? Where did it go?
LEE CRONIN--oh no, flashbacks lol.
“We come in peace”--immediately pulls out gun.
I should have watched this when writing my Western fic.
Just bits and pieces of a Western town... and a completely red sky...
The guns are “crude but dangerous.” If only Sulu were here; he’d love this.
An announcement with a specific time and place on it--that’s a very precise detail to just pull from their minds. Must have come from Kirk’s, that nerd. Maybe Spock. But probably Kirk.
“Because my ancestors pioneered the American frontier.” I mean did they really get to the frontier? Or just... the Midwest?
Maybe it’s actually because he’s a cowboy at heart?
Aliens using his own ancestral sins as the pattern for his own death for breaking their law IS a great (possibly partially unintended) idea. Oh also, if they think that Kirk and co. are here to ‘tame’ or colonize them, then the Western setting makes even more sense--you’re no different from your ancestors, you came somewhere new and brought lawlessness and violence and death, but not this time!
Can you believe Kirk knows all of these details about the OK Corral? NERD.
Spock is so proud of himself for knowing the phrase “had it out.” Look, I used slang correctly!
These are some creative aliens.
“We know death is real here.” Or is it? They’re literally telepaths guys.
Hmmm, this building doesn’t need a roof I think. - The aliens probably
Can’t believe Scotty thinks his usual is his actual usual lol. You’re going to drink bourbon and like it!
Kirk and Spock look so good together.
They’re obviously Chekov’s disapproving parents.
“The day is still young, Ensign.” I don’t remember the exact context of this but Spock is SO judgmental.
What is Kirk doing? This guy is a hallucination; he won’t be convinced by touching some cloth. There’s nothing to convince! He’s only a Concept.
“Have you seen clothes like this?” / “Yes.” / “Where?” / “On the Claytons!” Comedy gold.
Kirk really thinks he can charm his way out of anything. Hmmm, maybe if I just talk nicely to the Earps, they won’t kill us.
“In small amounts, it [bourbon] was considered medicinal.” Lol.
Scotty is becoming a bourbon guy!
“Mr. Chekov is inVOLVed” lol. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?
“A lot of people and things have tried to kill me.” No need to brag.
THAT’S how you make a city limits sign. Put a dead animal skull on top. I live quite close to a city limits sign and I think it could use a cow skull.
Western Cossacks!!
Poisonous snakes and cactus plants. That really distills the Aesthetic down to its core.
This is a good Kirk episode. He’s really being a good Captain: coming up with different ideas, being creative, pushing his crew to brainstorm.
Bones and his tranqs again.
Bones meets his old nemesis: Old Timey Medicine.
Why was Doc Holiday just...chilling in his own dentist chair? (My mom suggested: power nap. Let’s go with that. Power nap + ability for optimally dramatic entrance.)
Also I can’t believe McCoy just goes into this guy’s practice and starts helping himself to all the serious drugs.
Chekov definitely isn’t the marrying kind.
RIP Chekov.
Bones does not sound very sympathetic here. Jim, get over it, he just died, whatever.
And then two seconds later he turns around and tells Spock he’s not sad enough! You can’t win.
“We all knew the risk when we joined the service.”
“My feelings are not a subject for discussion.” !!!!!!! This line!!
“You worked closely with him.” Yes! Chekov is his protege!
“Bones, Scotty, stop bullying Spock.” <-- not an actual quote but it might as well be.
If this were AOS, Spock would already be choking Bones out.
Whoops, no one told Chekov he wasn’t supposed to die!
“Let’s organize! Let’s form an anti-Earp union!”
“I can’t kill them!” he says in a mad rage.
I mean, it is important, though. That’s not what he does.
Kirk is /disgusted/ by lawlessness and frontier justice. What a Rebel TM.
I feel like Bones was waiting for the gotcha moment when Spock compliments him. “Saying nice things about me? That’s not how this relationship works!”
“Nothing can go wrong.” / “Up to now, everything has gone wrong.” He has a point.
That pause before Spock admitted it hasn’t been tested lol--they don’t want to admit it.
“[The bourbon’s] for the pain.” / “But this is painless.” / “You should have told me that before.” The unexpected comedy stylings of Scotty and Spock.
It doesn’t work--guess Spock’s got to take back that compliment now.
“Captain, you don’t understand--they’ve been telepaths the whole time which we already knew!”
“We’re not going to move from the spot.” * is immediately in a different spot * Well I mean at least he’s trying. He’s doing his best!
Love the OK Corral sign also. Weirdly creepy. With its accompanying horse.
Spock doesn’t have any hips for the holster to rest on.
“What did Chekov die of?” / “A piece of lead in his body.” That would do it.
If the tranquilizer should have been effective, does that mean Scotty is actually passed out right now?
Honestly, this is all so spooky. TRUE Western Horror Ghost Vibes.
Also very trippy. If you don’t believe it... it’s not real... some kinda weird chicken and the egg argument regarding our belief in the truth of physical laws idk but it sounds good. Spock brings it home.
Even with the wind whipping around him, Kirk is SO in love. His absolutely adoring expression... So soft...
“Very well, Sir, I’ll meld with you again. Not that I particularly want to. It will be a sacrifice. But I’ll manage. Even though you’re such a dynamic individual haha ha I’m fine I’m cool.”
I feel like Scotty is NOT into the mind meld. He looks terrified. Maybe he should have saved the bourbon for this occasion.
I know the mind meld is supposed to be a replacement for on screen hypnotism...but is this not hypnotism? Like even more than past uses? In this case, Spock is leaving them with suggestions that he wants to continue AFTER the meld, as opposed to, like, efficiently sharing information or giving immediate suggestions. And the scenes themselves are very creepy and...hypnotic.
Kirk’s patented move: WHOLE BODY ATTACK.
Well, we wrapped that up right quick.
Did they... never actually leave the bridge? Or even navigate past the buoy? This actually brings up a lot of questions as to when the aliens started the hallucinations, what their bodies looked like to the rest of the crew, and how they woke up--since there’s obviously been a bit of a time skip, as Bones is already examining Chekov.
Lol at Chekov, saved by horniness. “Nothing but the girl was real to him.”
“A vast alliance of fellow creatures who all believe in the same thing...”
Kirk’s vision of the utopian future is so powerful, he’s effectively gotten the welcome mat put back out.
A personal question? Kirk is intrigued.
Ah, but it’s just another excuse for Spock to be a hypocrite--how did humans survive? How did VULCANS survive? And for the show to remind us of its utopian vision of the future... we will move past violence, we will prove ourselves attractive to and worth of new alien friends.
Then McCoy walks out so Kirk and Spock can have their Moment. He undoubtedly knows what’s up.
So this ep was shown one day before the anniversary of the shootout at the OK Corral AND on Halloween week. It is very much a spooky season episode. So surreal and strange. Ghostly.
I know using sets rather than on location shoots, and not even building whole sets, was a budgetary issue but tbqh I think it worked in the ep’s favor. It added to the alien feeling of it and was an accidentally creative way of showing that these images were pulled from Kirk’s mind.
This felt like a very Classic S1-ish ep to me. I think it’s because Kirk was foregrounded as the Captain/hero and we get to see not just his intelligence and creativity and leadership but also his compassion and his moral core. He IS the values of the series, personified, and that was clear here.
But we also got to see lots of him and Spock, casually working as a pair, and the use of the rest of the landing party crew was very deft also. I loved that there was time to mock Chekov’s horniness, to talk about Spock and Chekov’s professional relationship, to joke around with Scotty, to show more of the Spock and Bones dynamic.
Again, great sci fi concept. I think this would have been another possible inspo for my Pirate AU if I’d seen it in time (although I think I picked a good mission-concept ultimately). I’m fascinated by the Melkotians: who are they? What do they really look like? Do they communicate any other way but telepathically? Are they corporeal? What is their planet like? And most importantly, what experience lead them to be so isolationist? They specifically refer to the aliens as “disease” coming into their home. And it’s when Kirk shows himself to be fundamentally nonviolent even in the face of his own death, they let the Enterprise through.
Basically, I always enjoy hints of alien societies that bring up more questions for me than answers. I love speculating about it.
The next two eps I’ve seen and remember well and I know they’re classics. I’m really looking forward to them!
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𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘪𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘧𝘰𝘺
𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺: @spideyboipete
𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵: fake dating au
𝘢/𝘯: i tried out a new style of hc, so let me know if you like this version or my old versions better tysm <3
- -
you and scorpius are those friends
you’ve got that type of friendship where something clicked and suddenly you were both attached at the hip for years
because apparently having the same brand cauldron in the beginning of first year with the same exact hole in the side means best friends ride or die in first year culture
like what even is this? some psychic shit??
but anyway, with you being absolutely intent on making friends, scorpius couldn’t get rid of you if he tried but pls he could never survive without you anyway :p
since then you’ve both been best friends for life! well, ever since the +1 with the introduction of albus potter
and at first you were super happy because yay new friends
but then they kind of stopped hanging out with you in the middle of fifth year or so and went off into their own little world
and you were a little sad
ok maybe a lot sad
but that was okay because that meant you were able to meet new friends and expand your horizons! you even got the chance to focus on yourself and join some new clubs, too!
who even is scorpius anymore lmao you don’t know him
but anyway
it was seventh year and you were so tired of your friends bugging you to get a s/o
“(Y/N) why don’t you date someone?”
“you’d really hit it off with so and so, don’t you think?”
“just put yourself out there”
ರ_ರ
exsqueeze me
so one day you just can’t take it anymore
and maybe you should’ve thought this through but nO
you don’t pause to think things through
because life is for living in the moment hell yes
“guys i’m already dating someone” (▰˘◡˘▰)
needless to say your friends go insane
like who tf is this humans (Y/N) hasn’t mentioned the audacity™
so like any normal person, you say the first name that comes to mind
“hahaha … scorpius!”
your friends stare at you like they’re in the office
blink blink
“but … weren’t you guys just friends”
“NO”
you’re panicking but
hahahahhaha
“we’re in LOVE”
ur friends are really like ok whatever, but go off
and that is how you find yourself dragging yourself over to the slytherin common room and placing your hands on scorpius’s shoulders
“promise me you won’t freak out”
and ofc scorpius is already freaking out
bc why are you sitting in the common room with this crazily determined face and forcing him to listen to you
and this is how you get into this situation
with scorpius screeching and falling off his chair and you doing your best uwu pls help me 911 face
“i can’t DATE you”
what
you give scorpius your best professional face even though inside you’re ???
bc um is it that bad to date you??
you are confused???
you’ve saved scorpius thousands of times in his hogwarts career in both academics and social standing he can afford to pretend to date you ONCE
“WHY NOT”
“BECAUSE”
ರ_ರ
ರ_ರ ರ_ರ
obviously you’re not getting anywhere and you start to stand up, kind of annoyed
“fine then, ig i’ll just find someone else to date me.” sniff
as soon as you say that, it’s like you’ve flipped a switch and suddenly scorpius is very concerned and almost a little upset
and when you don’t notice him contemplating something, he runs in front of you and nearly knocks you over
“second thoughts?”
scorpius scowls
although it looks more like a lil pout pushing at his lips and he crosses his arms
lmao who is this and what’s happened to scorpius
you shrug and start to leave for real until scorpius reaches out to tug at your arm
“NO, NO WAIT … I’LL DO IT”
you whirl around immediately and you are needless to say, very relieved!
｡◕‿◕｡
“perfect!”
but apparently scorpius hasn’t recovered from his fall from before
bc he can’t stop rubbing his hand against his neck and his face is all blotchy and pink
kinda cute, but in a best friends way. like wowie my best friend looks kinda adorable look at that boy go
but ofc scorpius has to ruin the special moment because he offhandedly says, “shouldn’t we have rules or something?”
rules???
rULES???
this is fake dating scorpius wdyfm rules?
“huh?”
“like … things not to do? maybe one big rule is not ruining our friendship???”
ʘ‿ʘ
oh
he smart smart
“ok easy then, just don’t fall in love with me”
apparently this is the WRONG thing to say?
scorpius is RED like boy is not pink anymore his cheeks are burning red
“you can’t just say that?”
????
you are confused bc what does that even mean
“why not?”
“that’s like ... y-you you can’t just say that.”
you are, if possible, even more confused?
“okay and?”
scorpius blinks
bls this boy has the audacity to just shrug
WHAT DOES THAT MEAN
reader u are duMB af scorpius bout to throw hands here
but he won’t bc he luvs u (▰˘◡˘▰)
so fifteen minutes later you guys decide to make three big rules
scorpius had a whole list of like twenty but you narrowed it down to these:
1. don’t ruin ur friendship
2. no kissing
3. and ur paying for three hogsmeade rounds after this is over
honestly you think this is kinda rude considering scorpius is richer than ur entire life but whatever, at least he’s not leaving you out to the wolves
so when it’s finally time to put this fake dating thing to the test, you tug scorpius over to your side of the table at the great hall and make sure to swing his hand
which actually feels kind of nice??
like you’ve never actually thought about this before
but scorpius is comforting
his hand fits right in yours, and he’s so warm
and i mean haha it’s not like this is a new thing, pssh you two hold hands all the time!! but adjkaldjkfl not in a dating way
ur friends are shocked
like they never thought you’d actually show up with a DATE
and bc they’re all ruDE they grill scorpius
but scorpius is best boy
best bf
and answers all their questions like a pro
(▰˘◡˘▰)
(▰˘◡˘▰)(▰˘◡˘▰)
ur so proud
you let ur head rest against scorpius’s shoulder and BITCH
scorpius presses a kiss to ur forehead
AJDKFJDSF
why are u so happy? what is this??
it’s just so gentle and soft and you feel your heart getting all mushy and warm
your friends all give a big collective aww because one, they’re annoying af and yes y’all are cute cute and this is cute
but reader ur going through some existential crisis
and later when you’re walking with scorpius to all your classes, you can’t stop thinking that hey, this fakedating thing isn’t that bad
but whatever it’s just cause u miss spending time with scorpius!
yes, that’s it!
you’re just sad that scorpius always hangs out with albus and you don’t get to see him as much
so this is nice!
you’re just going through some bff nostalgia atm pls wait for (y/n).exe to start working again
anyway now bc of this fakedating thing, you and scorpius just spend so much time together
like y’all have always been best friends, but this feels different okay
scorpius will run over to you when he sees you and wrap his arms around your waist
the first time he did it, he had the cuteness to go “is this okay? are you okay? is this too much?
and YOUR HEART WENT !!!!!
you might’ve blushed
okay you did
but you convince yourself it’s just because ur touch starved
ʘ‿ʘ reader c’mon
but whenever you call scorpius and wave at him, his face just LIGHTS up
and you’re pretty sure yours does too
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)
needless to say you kinda don’t want this all to end
because somewhere in the middle of all this, your head has gone from calling scorpius your fake boyfriend to your real boyfriend
and you don’t really want to go back to just being friends if you’re honest
wait hold up
uh oh
UH OH CODE RED
did you just admit you liked scorpius?? in a REALS way?
◉_◉
◉_◉ ◉_◉ ◉_◉
so like the only way you know how to deal with things, you avoid it!
you start to act really distant
and now whenever scorpius wraps his arms around you, you stiffen up
and scorpius like the angel he is pulls away so quickly bc ?? is his best friend upset? uncomfortable?
did HE make his best friend for life uncomfortable? omg this isn’t ok what is happening
everyone can tell sumn is up
ofc they can, what with you going to the extent of running away whenever you see scorpius and scorpius reacting like the entire light got blown out his life
and bruH scorpius may be innocent but he aiNT dumb
he knows your schedule he KNOWS you ignoring him
and baby is upset
because lately you’ve been starting to feel a lot more to him
and now you’re just gone??
that’s not okay and scorpius isn’t just gonna sit around and be sad
if there’s something he can do he’s gonna do all he can to try to fix it!
he corners you one day and holds up an angry piece of paper
“excuse me m’aam/sir but you broke rule number one which is, in case you forgot, don’t RUIN OUR FRIENDSHIP”
“oh haha uh scorpius! hi uhh gotta blast”
scorpius’s face falls
and that was it
you just wanna smush his face together and tell him things are fine and that you love him
wait WHAT
but scorpius is still staring at you with that wounded look
like you’ve just ripped up his heart and torn it to shreds
bc that’s kinda what you’re doing
omg what’ve you done
READER WHAT HAVE YOU DONE
“scorpius …”
his eyes lock onto yours so fast that you’re afraid he’s got whiplash
your mouth goes dry, and for a few moments it’s hard to talk
but you finally manage to tell him that “i don’t think we should fake date anymore.”
scorpius’s face breaks
his eyes go wide, and it looks like he wants to stagger. and he almost does, just a little bit
“is it something i did?”
WHAT
this boy
scorpius malfoy really gonna be the death of you
you’re shaking your head back and forth so fast because NO of course not of course this isn’t his fault
scorpius is still teetering back and forth, and his arms start to wrap around himself. “because i swear i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. if i screwed up just tell me and i can fix it, (Y/N), please”
you shake ur head, already starting to panic. “of course not. it’s not YOU scorpius. i just can’t fake date you because --”
you clamp your hands over your mouth
“because?” scorpius prompts, his voice careful
you just shake your head, already starting to turn and run back to your dorms because this is stupid and you’re scared
big scared
but scorpius just takes your hand and tugs you backward a bit, almost like a scene from a movie
you do that perfect little twirl back and are face to face with the one and only
“do you … do you like me?” scorpius asks
that’s it
it’s out
you’re ready for your entire friendship with scorpius to come crashing down
“do you?” he repeats softly
you try to pull away but scorpius isn’t having it
he’s still holding onto your hand, gently, of course, and his eyes are boring into yours
you’re too scared to look because you’re afraid of what you’ll find
but when you can’t take it anymore and finally tilt your head up you realize something important
because his eyes aren’t full of disgust
in fact, that’s further from the truth
scorpius malfoy is staring at you with the biggest heart-eyes you’ve ever seen and you’re confused to how you’ve never seen this sooner
it’s almost like you’re his whole world, and now you can’t fucking breathe
is this real?
your heart’s pounding in your chest so fast and there’s something bursting at your lungs
you nod faintly. “yes. i like you”
the huge grin that spreads across scorpius’s face is everything
he rushes forward to pull you into a gigantic hug, even lifting you up a little as he spins you around and lets out a little happy shriek
“i’ve liked you forever, (y/n), i can’t believe this is real”
what
so u could’ve been dating scorpius before??
“you dork why didn’t you tell me?”
“because you didn’t like me like that!”
BITCH WHAT
“well maybe i was confused” you pipe back
scorpius just laughs, burying his head in your shoulder crook. “i’m so happy right now.”
and honestly ?
so are you (´∀｀)♡
#scorpius malfoy#scorpius malfoy x reader#scorpius malfoy headcanons#scorpius malfoy hc#scorpius malfoy imagine#scorpius x reader#scorpius headcanons#scorpius hc#scorpius imagine
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Broken Me...
Ch. 12
Summery: The Dallas Convention couldn't have come at a worse time for Jensen. His world fell apart earlier that morning, but was expected to just act like everything was normal. You and a friend were at the convention for her birthday. Life hasn't been that great for you either, but a forced meeting on stage changes two worlds. Will you be able to put this broken man back together again...
Series Warings: Cheating, shitty marriage, Danneel is a bitch, I unfortunately have to put that as a warning because some people tend to get turnt up about it if you don’t... Smut, Crying, Suiside Attempt, brief discription of suicide attempt and recovery, depression, hints of self loathing, language. I think that’s it... Suicide Trigger warnings will be placed over each chapter!
Chapter Warnings: Smut, unproteced sex, oral, female recieving, talk of anxiety and depression, language, that’s about it I think...
Word Count: 2277
A/N: BINGE READ TIME!! As always all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is gold!! Hope you all enjoy this one!!
Want More? Check out my masterlist!!
****MASTERLIST****
Jensen's POV:
It had been roughly two weeks since landing in Vancouver, and if there was one thing Jensen knew for certain it’s that he hated having to go to that therapy, but he did it to get everyone off his back.
He knows why he did what he did. He didn’t think he needed someone analyzing him like a damn test subject to 'tell him how he really feels,' or 'what the real problem seems to be.’ He knows what the problem is.
He’s well aware of what he did...
He’s not going to do it again...
Because there's something he realized...
He’s got way too much to lose...
His kids still need him...
Danneel text him yesterday, and said she would call later this week if he was feeling up to it to work out a weekend visit for the kids.
Work had gotten a lot better. Not that he ever disliked what he did. It's what he lives for. When he first started slipping into the depression, about a year after getting married to Danneel, everything seemed draining to him. Even the things he loved.
Since you had come into his life, things he once enjoyed he was now enjoying again. You were always there for him, even when he was too stubborn to admit he needed you to be. Always watching out for him. When things get too heavy you’re not afraid to help him.
You weren’t afraid to sit up at night when he couldn’t sleep. Everytime he feels like something is headed his way he can't handle, and he’s about to slip, it’s almost like you know, and come to wrap your arms around him... Letting him know you’re there. He’s not alone..
Everything he thought would never be fixed, it was slowly starting to not seem too devastating.. Which made him understand even more that what he did, he should have never done.. When you’re battling depression things seem bigger than what they really are, like you just can’t ever recover from whatever your facing, when that’s not really the case.. That’s what happened to him, slowly though you were showing him that he could, and he’d forever be grateful for that, for you....
The way you look at him, so completely devoted...
There was doubt in his mind that you love him. He never had to worry about if he had to work all day long, he’d come home to you screwing another man.. You wait on him, hand and foot. Almost too much. Because he didn’t think he deserved half of the things you did for him...
He’d never had a woman do that for him. He’d never felt what it felt like to be truly loved. Unconditionally and completely. Without some hidden agenda.
Tonight the two of you were meeting Jared and Gen at a local restaurant for dinner.. She had flown in for a few weeks with the boys, and she wanted us to go out to dinner with them.
Jensen knew she was still friends with Danneel, but that was her business, and he wasn’t going to hold it against her..
You don't seem to be worried about it either.
"You ready babe?" Jensen yells,l toward the bathroom. Slipping his jacket over his shoulders. Then turning around and grabbing yours.
"I'm coming!!" You yelled toward the living room.
A few minutes later you walk out of the bathroom and he had to pick his jaw up off the floor. He’d never seen you all done up before, and damn!
You were honestly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
The way your black dress hugged you in just the right place. Showing just enough to drive him crazy. your long y/h/c hair curled and playing the middle of your back. Barely any makeup, but you didn't need it.
"You okay handsome?" You asked, salturing up to him in your black heels. Wrapping your arms around his neck as he threw the jack over the chair next to him so that he could pull you as close to him as possible.
"You are beautiful." Was all he could get out before pressing his lips to yours. Kissing you deeply.
................................
Your POV:
"Come on we're gonna be late." You tell him once he finally breaks from kissing you to breath.
His eyes were an astonishing shade of green tonight, and if you looked into them you couldn't think clearly.
Jensen made a strange growling noise as his trailing soft kisses down your neck, and up to your ear. Running his teeth lightly over your ear lobe. Causing a shiver to rip through you.
"Think we're not gonna make it out the door babe." He said in a husky deep voice that made your knees weak.
"Jared will hunt you down and kill you." You tell him, taking a deep breath trying to clear your head in order to resist the attack he was currently doing to your throat..
"Fine." He said, nipping your nick just hard enough to make you gasp. Causing him to to chuckle to himself. Eyes raking over you like a five star meal that had been placed in front of a starving man as he grabbed your coat. Slipping it over your shoulder.
"To be continued then." He whispered in your ear. Your body heats up in anticipation of the promise that was laced thick in his deep voice…
------------------------------
So far the dinner was going quite well. As the restaurant started to get crowded you could feel Jensen shifting uncomfortably in his seat next to you. You reach over under the table and grab his hand. He laced his finger in yours. Completely covering your hand with his.
"J? You okay man?" Jared asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
Jensen quickly cleared his throat. Sitting up straighter in his chair. Still holding on tightly to your hand.
"Yeah... Yeah I'm fine. Just a little tired." He said, trying to shake it off.
Gen watched him closely. Eyes searching him.
"Liar." She finally said. Earning a raised eyebrow and an offended look from Jensen...
"Come on Jensen don't shut people out. Let us help you."
The light mood of the evening changes in an instant. You could feel him stiffen next to you. You knew what was wrong. You knew since his last bout with depression that ended in him almost killing himself tight places seemed to make him agitated.
Not because he was afraid of people. He still loved his fans. Always messing with people on Twitter and other social media.
It was the questions.
He didn't want to be confronted with questions.
Jensen had a real 'I'm a man, and I don't need help or anyone asking me questions.' Problem that he was still working his way through, asking for help didn’t always come easy to him, and he didn’t want to seem weak at all..
"Gen. I'm fine. I'm just getting tired. I've been up since three this morning. I had to do the same shower sex scene more than seven takes. The water was fucking cold, and I'm just not in the mood for that." He said flatly. You look across the crowded restaurant and see two people with professional looking cameras hiding behind a booth wall Jensen had just gestured towards...
You had gotten to know Jensen pretty well. You had been with him almost every waking moment from the moment he showed up at your hotel door in Dallas. He told you things that he hasn't told anyone. With that being said you could tell he'd just about had enough of the day, and this dinner, not to mention this conversation..
"Maybe it's time to get going." You tell him, running your thumb lightly over his hand.
"Yeah Gen it's getting late we need to go relieve the babysitter. We should have been home an hour ago." Jared said, both of them standing.
You all said your goodbyes. Walking to your cars. The lighter mood returning as you all step out into the cool Vancouver air.
Jensen held your door open as you slid into your seat. You watched as he walked around the car. Getting in he slams the door, pulling you to him he crashes his lips into yours. Slipping his tongue into your mouth. Tongues battling for dominance.
His hand traveling up your inner thigh, playing with your pantie line. Before finally pulling away, and throwing the car into drive.
"We need to get home. Now." He growled. Sending shiver and anticipation down your spine, and a deep arousal to your core..
Throwing the door open to your apartment Jensen carried you bridal style into the master bedroom. Sitting on your feet carefully next to the bed he wraps his muscular arms around your waist. Pulling you against his toned body.
Finding your lips again he picks up where he left off in the car. Kissing you until your lips were swollen. Then working his way from your lips to your ear. Then down to your neck. Kissing your shoulders as he slipped the straps away. One arm was still wrapped securely around you while the other hand grabbed the zipper in the back of your dress. Pulling it down slowly. His fingers lightly brushing your back as he goes. Causing a fire to light somewhere deep in your belly.
He never broke eye contact with you as your dress slid down your body, pooling at the floor around your feet. He brought his lips to your again. Kissing you passionately as he unhooked your bra. Throwing it to the floor next to the two of you. With one hand he pulled the hem of your panties. Causing them to fall to the floor around your feet.
Taking a step back he took a long hungry look at you. Taking all of you in. His chest rising and falling heavily as he looked at you.
“God damn baby you get more beautiful every time I see you.” He growled...
Coming back to you in one smooth movement he picked you up, and sat you down on the bed against the pillows. Hovering over you as he watched you slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Skidding it off his shoulders he shrugged out of the sleeves. Leaving it on the floor next to your clothes.
You run your hands lightly over the toned muscles of his chest and his soft stomach. Feeling them tighten and relax under your touch. A shiver ripping through his body as you run your fingers down his stomach. Undoing his belt and jeans. In one swift movement he quickly removes his pants and boxers. Leaving himself exposed to you completely.
Getting back to his hovering position over you. Leaning down he leaves kisses from your neck to your breast. Taking his time with each of them. Pulling his teeth teasingly over your nipples. Sucking slightly as he moves down your stomach. Taking little nips at your skin as he goes.
Moving down your thighs. One then the other. Dragging his perfectly straight teeth over your skin, driving you insane as his tongue follows, sweeping back up your body to the apex of your hips.
Your body withering underneath him with need. Finally when you thought you couldn't take it anymore he slides his mouth over your aching core. Causing a sharp gasp to escape you. Followed by a string of moans as he expertly moves his tongue over your most sensitive parts. Driving you closer to the edge. Pulling away right before you're pushed over. Leaving you aching for him as he runs his tongue up your body moving to the bend of your neck.
Kissing and sucking the sensitive skin there. Leaving his mark on you. One that was going to be really hard to hide in the morning. You didn't care though. You were his and you didn't care who saw it.
Finally you couldn't take it anymore.
"Jensen please!" You beg. Squirming under his touch. Need making it impossible to stay still. Putting his forehead to yours he positioned himself at your entrance. Sliding his thick, hard length into you slowly. Never breaking eye contact with you.
Giving you a moment to adjust before he pulled himself out slowly, then pushing harder back into you. Slowly he repeated this action. Over and over again. Never breaking eye contact with you. Moaning as you run your fingernails down his back to his hips. Then back up again.
Finally he started to pick up his pace. Hitting in just the right places with every thrust. Driving closer and closer to your end as his own pace began to pick up speed again and become sloppy. Your walls quivering around him. About to spill over the edge.
"Come for y/n." He whispers as he spills into you. Unable to hold back his own release, pulling you over the edge with his. Rocking himself into you as both of you both rode out your high.
Later as you lay in each other's arms. Him playing with your hair absent-mindedly. You tracing the freckles that are sprinkled across his chest and shoulders with your fingers.
You were dozing. Slipping onto a deep content sleep. No. He wasn't perfect. He had his problems. He had his insecurities. Just like you had yours. But he was yours and you were his. At this moment. That's all that mattered. All other problems didn't exist as long as you were wrapped in his arms.
No matter what tomorrow held for you, or what struggles he might face, he had you, and that’s how it would always be...
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#jensen ackles#jensen ackles x reader#jensen ackles xyou#jensen ackles fanfiction#jensen ackles fanfic#jensen ackles series#jesen ackles dark fic#dark fic#hurt!jensen#jensen x you#jensen x reader#spn finfiction#spn fanfic#hurt!comfort fic#jensen ackles smut#spn fanfiction#jawritter
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