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bbreaddog · 10 months

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Tagged by @jmrothwell! 💕

Are you named after anyone?

I’m not entirely sure… I have a very vague memory of my mum telling me my English name came about bc it sounded similar to a Chinese singer… but I don’t trust my memory and I’m too afraid to ask again 😬

I don’t think I’m named after anyone re: my Chinese name. Digressing here but was recently reminded that it’s a typically masculine name and that made me feel something… my English name is quite feminine so…

Wondering how my parents came to that conclusion when naming me… wondering if they knew from the start that I had both masculine and feminine energy and needed my names to reflect that or something… much to think about

When was the last time you cried?

Last night 🥲

Do you have kids?

I don’t have my own, but sometimes I refer to my students as my kids. Not for sentimental reasons tho, it’s just easier to say less syllables 👍

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

No, not at all (deadpan) (lying) (so much)

Sometimes I will deliver things in a way where even I can’t tell whether I’m being sarcastic or not

What sports do you play/have played?

God, my school valued sports so much that I’ve probably tried every sport under the sun.

Ones I regularly trained in at school: tennis, basketball, softball, netball, table tennis, swimming

At uni (all dance genres): tap, jazz, ballet

I did yoga and Pilates for a bit after graduating, but I haven’t been able to do much physical activity the past two years for health reasons 🥲 I would so love to be able to do dance classes again. I really found my groove in third year uni about it and I miss that a lot

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Idk, their clothes I guess

What’s your eye colour?

Rich soil, calligrapher’s ink, a stargazer’s dream. The distance between our feet and the ground. The part of the ocean that lets no light because she loves us too much. The place in time that promises safety, protection, stability.

Endless, endless, and full of possibilities.

(Let me romanticise my black eyes, dammit)

Scary movies or happy ending?

Happy endings for SURE. I absolutely cannot do anything scary. I can’t even watch The Owl House bc the monsters in it look too scary 😭 I’ve been recommended it so many times by so many people, but I just cannot 😭😭😭

Any special talents?

Being naturally good with kids? I know I’m a teacher and this will sound really awful, but I………..don’t actually like kids. Obviously I still treat them with kindness and respect, and I can tolerate them enough to do my job properly. I can (and do) bond with them and form meaningful relationships with them. Takes a village to raise a child, and I’m part of the village, y’know?

Idk what it is, but kids just like me for some reason, without me having to really try. I find just being my usual sarcastic self who doesn’t hide when I’m pissed off is somehow very charming for kids

Jokes aside, it’s definitely a skill I’ve had to develop and refine, especially for teaching. But I’ve just been naturally good with kids since forever—I think being part of the eldest cousins pack in my family has helped a lot in that regard, bc most of my cousins are 8+ years younger than me. So, experience, I guess.

Where were you born?

In a hospital

What are your hobbies?

I am in dire need of new hobbies that aren’t physically taxing on my arm, but currently:

Drawing, reading, writing, baking, singing, playing violin or ukulele, sewing/patching

And this……is technically one of my jobs but I also just do it for fun: acting/scene/script analyses

Gif makers I am making out with you so hard bc i do so much acting analysis from watching individual gifs. IT’S JUST. SO GOOD. EVERY CHOICE IS DELIBERATE, and you can see that in a 2 second gif. You won’t believe how much you can take away from a fleeting, seemingly insignificant moment in a piece of cinema memorialised into a gif lovingly made by a passionate fan. Gifsets are arguably what got me into acting in the first place

So like obviously having a degree in acting means i am also just a huge huge nerd about scene/script analysis too, and it’s so TASTY being able to draw up a whole character profile, backstory, personality, objectives and obstacles, and so many more minute details. From like. A 3-word sentence spoken by a background character that never comes up again. IT’S SO GOOD. I could keep going on about this but this is also getting very long so I shall end it here

I JUST REALLY LOVE ACTING 😭

Do you have pets?

My dog :-) and 3 very perseverant fishies 💕

How tall are you?

Enough to reach the top of a door frame on my tippy toes

Favourite subject in school

Studio Art, but only bc my school cut the Drama dept while I was there :/ I did still really love Studio tho—maybe too much? Idk it definitely contributed to my arm issues bc I had to do a folio each for both Art and Studio Art (two diff subjects)

Dream job

No job. I do whatever I want. I heal whenever I need. I live free of capitalistic responsibilities. I live. I live. I live.

I tag (no pressure to do this): @noworneverphantom @fiddlepickdouglas @drifting-in-otter-space @badsalmonella

#mine #tag game #thanks for tagging <3 #it has been a day and an age since I’ve had any energy to do anything like this #I’ve taken the first week of term off this week bc i am still. having major major health issues. and it is not fun #it’s not relaxing if you’re thinking about what you could be doing is it?#yeah… it’s hard #re: last question ‘dream job’ <- if i absolutely had to choose it would be acting for sure #but between teaching and my health… it’s very rare that I’ll be able to do anything super meaningful career-wise in acting #I’ve turned down so many auditions to the point where my agent no longer gives me anything #maybe like one brief every 6 months now #it’s… sad. i love acting so much #but even if i quit teaching. it’s not a stable career. there’s no guarantee of a job #and it’s expensive being an actor #even more so being a disabled actor #and i like teaching. there’s a lot to gain from it. maybe not financially lol but personally. there’s a lot I’ve learnt that i can apply to #many other areas of life. including acting. so there’s that.#but teaching is not my forever job. i feel like. my health isn’t even cut out for teaching #I’ve had to take so many weeks off. i always feel guilty for leaving my kids when i do #it’s hard not to feel responsible for them even tho I’m only 30 minutes of their weekly schedule #there’s a lot to. unpack here. but we don’t have time for that #this is supposed to be a fun lil tag game but it’s 11:40pm so I’m shifting into unfiltered mode #alright well there’s that #this was legitimately fun to do tho even after all that #i love being tagged in things. even if i don’t get a chance to get to them #pls tag me in more things #<3 #personal

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chrrispine · 2 years

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tagged by @eddiemunsvn 💖

relationship: in a relationship

favorite color: pink or sky blue

favorite food: pasta!!

song stuck in my head: i like you by post malone & doja cat

last thing i googled: weather to see how hot it will be this week (pretty hot)

dream trip: italy (naples, capri, lake como, sicily)

something i want: to test negative for covid so i can go on my vacation

currently reading: squeeze me by carl hiaasen

last song: late night talking by harry styles

last series: halfway through season 2 of upload because I forgot it came out months ago

last movie: honor society (highly recommend as it is not all you expect it to be)

sweet/spicy/savory: sweet

currently working on: gifsets for all my source blogs

time: 11:40pm

no pressure tags for some of my active kuwtk friends ily: @djarin @sith-maul @userskywalkers @lightkeykid @fawad-khan @marty-mcflly

#tag game #alisoncore

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arcane-ish · 2 years

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Okay, maybe I’m just a big dumb-dumb, but when I was watching the dinner scene particularly this dialogue about Vander I was like screaming.

Like my thinking was “She knows!!! She has known the entire time!!” With the basic idea being that she knew what she did but she’s been hiding that knowledge inside from him.

Which says so much about just how smart Jinx is and how much aware and there is a lot more complexity there is rather than just “he took her and she drank the kool-aid and believed everything he said” (I mean there are plenty of other lines that suggest this, that she had her own opinions independent of what he said, but this happens to be another one)

I have always read the “tackling” scene as that Powder was fully aware of the danger he posed and that was kind of a last ditch effort to save her own life, to try to reel him in with pity (of course more in a spontaneous way, not in a “I have this fully figured out calculated plan”) (Though I guess theoretically it is possible that she didn’t know at that point who he was? because they hadn’t really met and when she was outside preparing her bomb maybe he just wasn’t really in view)

So, basiaclly that scene got me super excited.

But then I got to thinking ... did Powder actually see Vander get stabbed?

In the sequence, the explosion happens, Powder gets blown from the building

After that Vander has a brief fight against the Shimmer dude (during this Vi is screaming) and gets stabbed by Silco.

Then Vander chocking Silco but collapses to his wounds, Silco throws him off the mini bridge. Vander hears Silco saying to his goon to find the girl (I presume he means Vi because he heard he screaming? I don’t think it makes sense in the sequence of events that Silco was aware that the monkey bomb meant Powder was present) Also Shimmer goon immediately goes into the room where Vi is. Vander takes Shimmer to get up again. Vander attacks and presumably kills Shimmer dude. He is then turn between going after Silco or rescuing Vi.

He grabs Vi and jumps off the building. Vander delievers his dying words to Vi, Vi grieves over Vander. (sidenote: somebody should do a gifset of all the “dying words” from characters, Vander to Vi, Marcus to Cait, Silco to Jinx and any others I might have forgotten)

At this point Powder shows up and seems to have missed what exactly went down (in theory it is possible that she was faking it).

I think the cinematography suggests that Powder sees the consequences of her actions only here? [ETA: and the Script to Scene video suggests that she only realizes what happened at least in regards to her “family” members here]

In the tv sequence this about 5 and a half minutes if you go from her being thrown to her showing up (you can maybe subtract some of that for slowmo/dream sequences).

Even if Powder came back earlier than when we see her again, Silco stabbing Vander in the back was fairly early in the sequence of events, about 2 and a half minutes in.

Anyway, made me wonder, if maybe it wasn’t “Powder came back, saw a lot more than she let on and was just pretending she missed the chaos” what is the alternative? (it is noteworthy that the bridge is visible from the outside because Powder sees Vi on the bridge as Vi faces down Silco’s goons earlier)

And then it dawned to me, what if it is simpler... what it Silco just flat out told her about “that time when I stabbed Vander in the back”? Because thinking about it, that seems like the kind of thing Silco would do.

Like I wouldn’t put it past him that he would just take Jinx to the scene of the crime and go “And this is where I finally rid myself of Vander and got over my trauma!”, complete with reinactment! (just like he is sort of reinacting his trauma when he takes her to the river)

It’s interesting if he would similarly have talked openly about how he originally planned to stab her. And I definitely wouldn’t put it past Sevika to drop a “man, I wish he had stabbed you that night like he was originally going to” type line.

Similarly, i don’t think that it’s that strange that Powder noticed even back then. Silco approaches her, knife in hand, blade still bloody from Vander’s blood.

I love the detail that when he kneels down to talk to her, he hides the blade behind his back.

When she tackles him the knife very audibly clatters to the ground next to him.

Anyway, thoughts? Did Powder come back earlier and flat out see Silco stab Vander? Or did she find out about it from Sevika or just whispers in the street? Or did Silco just flat out tell her?

TLDR: How did Jinx know that Silco stabbed Vander in the back? Did Silco openly tell her that or did she find out some other way? Was Silco aware she had that knowledge or did she conceal that from him?

#arcane #jinx #silco #vander

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

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DEBRIS AND MISERY

SAME OLD LOKI ; PART 6 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.3k (oops) SUMMARY: You find yourself venturing deeper into finding the Loki variant on the loose with the help of Mobius and Loki while maintaining your temper around the God of mischief and fighting with your own demons. A/N: Downtime apparently lasted for more than a week. I had absolutely no motivation to write but I eventually came around. There’s alot going on in this. Please tell me what you think, what you love, hate and look forward to. Thank you so much for showing so much love to d&m. gif from this gifset by @sersi WARNINGS: Swearing. Imagery relating to death (i think?). You and Loki’s relationship fluctuating like the goddamn economy. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

Blue. Your flight suit is blue.

Your eyes sting with worry, ticking to a pair of hands buckling the straps that lay across your chest. A man secures it tightly, forcing your back against the cockpit chair. Your gaze drifts to the concentric steel rings of yellow, red, and white that stretch overhead and around you—being suspended within a 3-axis gimbal sends another churning sensation within your abdomen.

You hear a voice. It courses through the room and vibrates within your ears like fluttering echoes in a tunnel. It’s a man. He calls out your name from below.

“You ready?”

In your periphery, you see him, tall with slicked-back hair, standing with other men that adorn similar flight suits of blue. You nod, inhaling deeply as your hands reach for the controls. Suddenly, a metallic clang echoes through the room and the machine whirrs to life. The rings begin spinning in tandem, tossing your body in all directions. Your grip tightens around the controls, clicking with every push and pull as you struggle to analyze the spin. But, the machine spins faster.

Faster and faster and faster.

The machine continues to whirr. Your hands are still shifting the controls.

Faster and faster and faster.

Your eyes begin to droop, nausea taking hold of your body.

Faster and faster and faster.

You only hear your breaths; every inhale and exhale—they're loud.

Faster and faster and faster.

Too fast.

Stop.

...

Click. Click. Click.

Footsteps. Not the clicks of the controls. You hear them clicking against tile floors from afar. From darkness, your eyes meet the color brown, shiny and polished—it’s wooden. The sound of the vast building’s acoustics hum in tune with the occasional chatter and echoing thump. You recognize the ambiance and it comforts your hasty thoughts as your brain tries to wreck itself in comprehending your current surroundings.

It’s one of those dreams again. The ones that kept you awake at night since the Sakaar incident, as if reliving the memories of another life. It isn’t yours but the realism to it makes it so complex that your brain cannot even comprehend the experiences during these dreams that occur.

To see, touch, hear, smell, and taste. Do dreams exceed the limit of disconnection and logic? Are dreams to be so immersive that it feels more like a memory, an echo of the past?

Through the turmoil of parsing between what’s real and what’s not, a tap on your shoulder hauls you back to reality. You turn to see Mobius, looking ridiculously exhilarated. Behind him lingers an amused Loki, hands tugging into the pockets of his jacket. The analyst says your name with a tone of equal exuberance to his manner.

“I thought I’d find you here. Do you always sleep at the archives?”

You snort, seizing yourself up as you wipe your face with your palm in hopes of feeling slightly more awake and alive than you were before. “No. Sometimes, I sleep at my desk too.”

Exhausted and sarcastic. Typical you.

Mobius rounds the table to sit beside you, gesturing Loki to his previous spot before he got up and ran away from you without any explanation. He shoots you a smile, lips pressed together, almost hesitant to sit across from you. You watch him through narrowed eyes as you address him with folded arms. “And here you are, back here again.”

Loki cannot fight the growing grin upon his lips, knowing all too well that you're referring to how he led you into an unnecessary chase down the corridors of the TVA for the sake of his entertainment. Well, it was not unnecessary. Things were turning out to be a bore and with the sudden thought of a proposition to help with his case, it doesn’t mean he has to drag out the fun of irritating the hell out of everyone else.

And you are not a bore.

“Loki! Where the hell do you think you're going?!"

You’re outright screaming at him but his long legs only stride faster than yours could handle, slumber still clinging to your face like a thick, waxen mask. He’s so quick, weaving through tangerine hallways, skidding across the tiled floors.

He saunters down the hall with quick feet but doesn’t sprint, clever enough not to draw any attention.

He ought to answer you. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he flashes you a cheeky smile. He swears he saw flames burning in your eyes for a moment.

As you wind another corner, you already see him making one last quick dart through the elevator doors that slide open as it dings unceremoniously. Through your wide-eyed gaze, you signal him with eyes that carry a warning.

“Don’t you dare close that fucking door.” you snarl, voice booming from down the hallway and so does the clicking of the heels of your Oxford shoes as you march towards him like you’re on the hunt for prey.

Loki jams his finger onto the button to close the doors, unable to wipe off his grin. “Don’t you trust me?” is all he says to you, sending you a wink through the closing gap of the elevator doors as he raises his palm to wave you farewell.

You decided Loki wasn’t worth the time he has already taken from your assigned paperwork. So, you returned to your desk with a trace of bitterness in your tongue while attempting to suppress the regret for actually feeling sorry for Loki. Only because you know how it is like to be alone.

That’s the thing about Loki. He gets inside your head, makes you think that for once, he may be worth not pruning. He makes you think he is capable of change, capable of compassion. He makes you think he cares from the way he looks at you with those eyes that flicker the spark of hope in you. This Loki is the same old Loki.

Well, maybe the one in Sakaar had a good chance of earning your trust. But that’s gone now.

You shift in your seat, elbows now leaning against the edge of the table. “And to answer your question, no. I do not trust you. And I never will.”

Famous last words of the variant turned analyst.

Nobody trusts you either.

Except for the grey-haired analyst with the obsession for jet skis and you never understood why. Maybe, it’s because you’re the only one who is willing to put up with his ramblings.

Mobius eyes you and Loki’s interaction as the two of you seem to fall into the rhythm of making things even more complex than it appears. It's all part of his grand plan. Mobius knows you well enough to know you are possibly enjoying Loki's company no matter how much he irritates you. And Loki, it's clear how he admires you and how you constantly surprise him every time he crosses paths with you.

“What would I ever do without your trust?” the God sneers, each articulation of every word wrapped in mockery paired with dramatically placing his hand to his heart. Your eye twitches, the spitfire of your personality ready to fire back with a probable nasty insult. Yet, Mobius places his hand on your shoulder, while the other outstretched towards Loki as if trying to keep the two of you apart.

“Okay, okay. No need to get all riled up now. We only just had a breakthrough in the case, and I’m not letting you kill each other just yet.”

Your anger seems to immediately wash away, replaced by curiosity. You blink at your colleague. “Breakthrough?”

“Yes, and it was surprisingly Loki’s theory. Now—”

“Why do I smell...sulfur?”

You cut his sentence short as a strong whiff of a reeked scent began to descend upon you, billowing in the air. You inhale deeply, brows furrowing in concentration and confusion. An overpowering scent of a decaying body, faint but strong enough to seem out of the ordinary. The archives never smell rotten, always floor polish. Mobius and Loki share a look. Mobius is the one to speak up, attempting to distract you from your sudden strong sense of smell. “Sulfur? What, like when there’s a demonic manifestation? I mean, we are in the presence of Loki—”

“You went to Pompeii, didn’t you?”

In all of the time he has spent with Mobius who had a constant laid-back and confident nature to him, he has never seen him so red in the face. As the situation unfolds, he wonders why Mobius has made it a point to hide that information with so much eagerness which now has proved to be useless. You’re not only intelligent but also quick—only in terms of the mind rather than your physical capabilities.

You can hardly run, but your brain outshines everyone else he has met in the TVA.

Mobius is now waiting for the imminent chaos and mayhem you’re about to bring. You’re going to call him insane like every other time he has suggested an out-of-the-ordinary idea. Causing a scene is one of your talents. He has his hand on your shoulder again.

“You hate Pompeii, Mobius. Why the hell would bring him—Wait.” Your eyes are wide and blinking. “You went to Pompeii. Alone. I know that from the look on your faces. Which means no reset charge...No Nexus event.” You pause, pursing your lips. Then, you avert your gaze to Loki who watches you curiously. “Are you suggesting the variant is hiding in apocalypses?”

Mobius’ laugh comes off like a puff of air. He pats you on the back like a proud uncle. “Back on the game, Agent!”

Loki is slightly impressed. Only slightly.

“Okay, you two stay here. I’ll go get the files. Great work, you two.” Mobius gestures to the both of you with an outstretched index finger, grin so wide as he scurries off. Mobius loves a good case, especially when there’s a breakthrough. And with you finally familiarizing yourself with working together with Loki, everything is finally starting to look up.

The two of you end up finding each other’s gaze and for the first time, you smile at him. It’s small but genuine.

“You know you could have told me.”

“I would have, but you don’t trust me, remember?”

You hum, raising a brow. “And running away was supposed to gain my trust?”

Loki chuckles, eyes flicking to the table. “I never said anything about gaining your trust.”

Your smile grows wider, and Loki decides how he prefers you like this—relaxed and amused.

He oddly sees his mother in you. It’s the way you look at him. Like you know him.

Right, you have met him. Once.

“What was I like? The one you met at Sakaar.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his sudden question that hasn’t got to do with insinuating you.

“The same as you—barely tolerable,” you say tightly, heaving a sharp exhale. ”Just…a lot sadder.”

You hadn’t mentioned how he willingly helped escape your execution because a part of you still believes it all to be a lie. The TVA has your complete fidelity but ever since the Sakaar incident, your trust in the way the system works has been swayed. After years of being trapped in your mind, the question of whether your capabilities in logic have been damaged due to loneliness still begs. Judge Renslayer believes in your incompetence but you believe she hides a secret about the Time Keepers.

The three beings, creator of the TVA, personally convicted you as innocent, allowing you to maintain your job. Nothing of this makes sense.

Maybe Judge Renslayer lost all her faith in you, her second-best analyst because your Nexus event relates to Loki. The one variant that has been causing havoc to the Sacred Timeline. And this Loki, the one that seems to be very curious about your place in the TVA and the Time Keepers, is no different than the others.

You find yourself feeling an uncalled sense of sadness that dwells in your chest at the thought of leaving the only friendship you secretly wished to have maintained back at Sakaar. Before you let yourself fall into the abyss of melancholic wishful thinking, you swiftly direct the conversation elsewhere.

"I’m sorry Mobius referred to you as the devil,” you say coyly. “You really aren’t.”

Loki, who seems to catch on with the sarcastic tone of your voice, leans farther into his seat. “Really?”

A smirk returns to your face. “You're worse than the devil." He snorts, noticing the vague hint of crimson growing upon your cheeks and how your eyes seem to crinkle a little more than usual.

He finds himself swallowing under your stare, fiddling his fingers in an attempt to calm his sudden erratic heartbeat. A stutter under your now kind gaze—no one ever stares at him with a smile. "You are not the first to say that."

There’s another pause; Loki’s face is set with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest in remembrance of how you’re not the first to have treated him the way you did. He’s dangerous but, there’s no reason for animosity. Yet, it all boils down to the lives he has willingly taken. It doesn’t differentiate him from the rest of the TVA.

Mysterious variant.

The devil is always in the details.

Strangely, the work of the devil may prove to be useful in times of cul-de-sacs as an idea comes to mind. “I think...I think I know where you’re at right now.” Your voice is light, distracted by your now running thoughts. You’re on your feet, chair squeaking as you push it back. Your pen is in your grasp and you wave it in the air, reflecting the gears that turn at high speed within your brain.

Frankly, you’re not making any sense. Loki furrows his brows, slowly standing. “What do you mean? I’m right here—"

“No. The other one. The variant. And it has to do with gum.”

You’re still not making sense and it’s clear that in your eyes, he is invisible. You’re the only one in that frenzied mind of yours.

“What?”

You don’t answer him, feet quickly bringing you down the passageway along the vast rows of shelves that stretch along with the floor’s pristine balcony of white and the two of you are back to playing chase and run. Only this time, the roles are reversed.

Mission Haven Hills: not successful.

Really not successful. Far from successful.

You witnessed the doom of bombing the Sacred Timeline, firsthand. Employees scramble at the controls as you watch the screen that looms over the control room. What was once a single line, running along with time has now grown like a tree with fruits of chaos, caused by Nexus events scattered across time and places.

You wished the dust would settle and this was all simply a dream but you realize this was his plan all along.

Bomb the timeline. Distract the TVA.

There is one thing you know about Loki. He is moved by revenge and resentment.

As if you possess some sort of telepsychic powers, a part of you feels that danger itself is within the vicinity of the TVA. The variant is here, you just know it.

You hope Mobius is okay.

Scurrying down the winding hallways, past the hurried time hunters, and past the time theaters, you find yourself heading towards the golden doors of the Time Keepers’ chambers. In a time of uncertainty, your gut is your only source of guidance.

At the end of the hallway, you see bodies on the ground, nearly lifeless—time hunters, either unarmed or batons missing. You plucked one of the sizzling batons from the ground as you cautiously stepped around the laying bodies. You clutch it tightly to calm the blood rushing to your head, pounding along with your heartbeat as you take on the venture into the foyer of the grand chambers with secrets not wanting to be unveiled.

You round the corner, following the wooden panels for walls laid along the entrance. The glowing end of the baton within your grasp reflects off the black porcelain tiles beneath your careful feet. You hear voices, grunts, and shouting as if in combat.

Then, you see them. Loki in his variant jacket and a woman with locks of blonde and streaks of black. She adorns a headpiece of golden horns—one broken off.

Isn't Loki supposed to be at Haven Hills?

Recognizing the presence of another, the two turn to you, daggers still held to each other's throats. Loki eyes you with wide eyes, a silent plea whether to help or stand down, you’re unsure. Your gaze shifts to the woman once more who watches you with an equal resemblance to the other.

Then, it hits you. You recognize the dark emerald cloak she wears. You know exactly who she is. You just never thought it would be a she.

“You!” Your exclamation is bitter, and it’s directed towards the woman who seems to be strangely expectant of your remark as if she already knows who you are. She is L1190, a Loki variant. The one who slashed you with the TVA’s baton, scaring your left cheek. The one who hauled you through the time door and left you stranded in Sakaar for thousands of years.

You know exactly what she has done. She knows what she has done.

“You did this to me!” you gesture to the scar on your left cheek, eyes fixated solely on her, nearing the two with caution. You’re angry. Very angry. All pent-up rage begging to be set free.

Before Loki could even perceive the current situation he landed in between two women who very much want him dead, you’re already swinging the baton to her face with full force but she blocks it with her sword but slightly staggers in her step. You glare at her. She seems a little surprised. In an instant, you take a step back and go for another strike to her rib, but she blocks you again, sliding away and dodging your hit by a mere second. You growl out of frustration, seething through your teeth, and without hesitation, you strike again. The fight goes on—strike, block, strike, dodge. And with every blow, your intensity escalates, each a little harder than the one before. Loki stands there, watching, speechless and frozen.

You strike again, the baton crackling less than an inch away from her face but she dodges just in time, swinging her sword across your face. It grazes your cheek, now a gash of crimson on top of your scar, and with the sudden blow of searing pain, you lose your balance.

The variant spins into a kick that sweeps your legs out from under, knocking you hard onto the ground. The baton rolls out from your grip. Your hand flies to the gash, trickling with blood.

“Hey!”

The brawl comes to a halt. You seize yourself up from the ground, back and head aching, turning to see Judge Renslayer accompanied by two hunters, batons held up in defense position. You were about to reach for your own that was a stretch away when suddenly, you felt a hand grip you by the collar, hauling you to your knees. Her sword held to your neck.

“Come any closer and I’ll kill her.”

“Go for it.”

Your eyes are wide in shock, all anger towards the variant now turning into this churning feeling of betrayal that resides within your abdomen. Judge Renslayer doesn’t look at you, focus fixated on the two variants—it’s like you’re not even there.

The three start to charge towards you and you involuntarily shut your eyes. Then, as quick as a rattlesnake, Loki grabs the tempad hung at her waist and sends the three of you falling through the ground.

That’s the thing about Loki. He gets inside your head, makes you think that for once, he may be worth not pruning. Now, with your back landing hard on top of him, all you could think about is wanting to strangle him to death.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

@kashasenpai

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson imagine #loki imagine #loki series #loki spoilers #sylvie #mobius #ravonna renslayer

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cal-kestis · 3 years

Text

If I Could Never Give You Peace

(Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Gif by @pedropcl [original gifset]

Summary: Two years after resigning from the DEA, Javi finds himself in Los Angeles, haunted by glares of gunshots and blood-stained hands. He’d succumbed to the idea that he’d never have peace — doesn’t deserve it after everything he did in Colombia. Then, she moves in next door and maybe, he thinks, things could be different. “I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.” Word Count: 4,357 A/N: A Reader-insert one-shot with a nameless female reader. No “Y/N” or "you," but the reader can be anyone. Inspired heavily by Taylor Swift’s “Peace.” How many TS references can you find? Lol. Tags: Fluff, Angst (with a happy ending), Mentions of death (but no one dies, I promise), Alcohol, Cigarettes

[Read on AO3]

The rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me... All these people think love’s for show, but I would die for you in secret... Would it be enough, if I could never give you peace? — Taylor Swift, Peace —

When Javier Peña handed in his DEA badge and gun two years ago, he knew he couldn’t stay in Texas. Not forever.

Texas held too many familiar faces, old friends calling him a hero when he felt like a villain. It held too many ties to an old version of himself he’d rather not remember… muddied images of him with a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise. No, he couldn’t stay. Not even for his father.

So, Javier Peña and the unwelcomed overcast of his nightmares found a one-bedroom apartment in sunny Los Angeles.

In time, he realized he needed the city: constant motion, endless traffic, and hoards of busy people who would never remember his face. He could blend in. He could be alone.

He could have a clean slate.

But each night, glares of gunshots flashed behind his eyelids and invisible bloodstains marred his calloused palms as if to remind him:

He could never have peace.

Then, she moved in next door.

The first time he saw her, he only caught a glimpse. She and her boyfriend, he assumed, held towering stacks of brown boxes in front of their faces — sweating as they lugged the dusty weight into the empty space.

For a moment, he considered offering some neighborly help but decided against it — When have you ever cared about being a good neighbor, Javi? — closing himself in his quiet apartment with a glass of whiskey.

The second time he saw her, she came knocking on his door the next night.

“Hi, neighbor,” she smiled brilliantly. And for a split second, he swore he felt something foreign flutter in his stomach, but dismissed it as the after-effects of spoiled dinner. “I just moved in next door and wanted to introduce myself.”

He could not take his eyes off her. His gaze stayed glued to a small bead of sweat trailing a slow path down from her hairline, where she’d pulled it back with a makeshift scarf-headband. The droplet slipped down her cheekbone, over a smudge of dust that had settled in from her moving boxes. It drifted down the curve of her jaw, dipping into the slope of her neck until finally hiding away below her tank top. And by some miracle, she only needed to repeat her name for him once before he came out of the trance.

“Sorry.” He gulped, removing the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Javier.”

He extended his hand and she met him halfway. Soft. So soft.

“Good to meet you, Javier.” She smiled again. Flutter. “I’m sure you’re busy. Just wanted to say hi. I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, she swiftly turned on her heel to walk the few steps back to her door, bare feet strutting off, flaunting her daisy dukes, and — God help him, he’s a man and she’s beautiful — he stared.

The nail in the coffin?

When she opened her door and gave him one last smile over her shoulder, she winked.

No, he could never have peace.

—

After that, he hardly ever sees her.

Part of him feels relieved, unduly wary of the strange flutter he’d feel just thinking of her name. The other part, the traitorously curious part, dreams of catching another glimpse of her glistening skin or a quarter note of her honeyed voice. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he finds himself often wondering if her boyfriend gets to enjoy her sun rays and melodies. Lucky bastard.

He blames his roaming thoughts on the fact that it’s… been a while.

This is what you wanted, he’d remind himself when he’d wake to an empty bed — a stark contrast to his time in Colombia. This is the way things should be.

Just when he starts to believe those words, he finds her crumpled on the floor in front of her apartment — the contents of her purse strewn across the hardwood beside her, palms pressed firmly against her eyes. One tiny sniffle and a tremble of her shoulders, and he melts into a puddle beneath her muddy sneakers.

“Hey,” he whispers tentatively, voice raspy with cigarette smoke.

She jolts at the sound, immediately wiping her face with her sleeves and plastering on a saccharine smile.

“Javier,” she tries to say, but her voice breaks on the vowels. “Sorry, I was just— rough day. And to top it off, I think I left my keys inside. I tried Jerry but no luck.”

“Jerry’s a shit landlord,” he sighs, earning a nod from her. He takes out an old, faded receipt from his pocket and kneels in front of her, finding a pen amongst her spilled belongings. “Try this number. He’s usually fast. Can get you back in your apartment tonight.”

He hands her the scribbled receipt and she takes it with a real smile, albeit small. “Thank you, Javier.”

He nods, a tiny dimple forming in one tanned cheek, before getting up to unlock his apartment. The door clicks but he stands there for a moment longer, listening to her waning sniffles as she throws her things back into her bag. His eyes screw shut tightly, a silent war waging behind his forehead, his fingertips feebly trying to rub it away.

He sighs long and heavy when he realizes which part of him has won.

“Would you... like to come inside my place while you wait?” He mutters, mainly to the floorboards. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

“Okay.” Her smile is warm like the sun, despite the cloud of tears still glazed over her eyes. “But you don’t strike me as a cream and sugar kind of guy.”

“No,” he admits with an amused smirk. “But I’ve got some old whiskey, older milk, and a phone you can use, toll-free.”

“Thanks, Javier,” she sniffles. “Coffee sounds nice. But hold the booze and tainted milk.”

And that’s how she ends up in his apartment, sitting at his small dining table, slowly sipping from his coffee mug, using his landline to call the locksmith.

Maybe it’s the caffeine or the three (stolen) pink packets of sugar she found in her purse (“It’s not stealing. Diners offer dozens of them in cute little boxes, I mean practically gift-wrapped, and I modestly accepted three.”), but coffee gets her talking the way alcohol coaxes even the darkest secrets from iron-barred lips. She just broke up with her boyfriend. Or he broke up with her — found some younger, hotter-than-her aspiring actress in Hollywood and left her in the dust of the boxes she’d just unpacked.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “You’ve been so nice. Really, Neighbor of the Year,” she laughs, but he thinks it sounds off. He wants to hear the real thing. “And here I am, taking up your space, drinking your coffee, and dumping all my problems on the table. Tell me if I’m talking too much, Javier. I tend to—”

“Javi,” he says, furrowing his brows as if mildly stunned by the two syllables he just spoke. She looks confused. “You can... call me Javi, for short. And I don’t mind listening.”

“Javi,” she tests the name on her tongue, smiles. His stomach flutters. “A good name for a good guy.”

The argument dies on his tongue the minute he thinks it, even though she’s horribly, terribly wrong.

Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.

If she knew...

“I should be out of your hair in 20 minutes anyway,” she says, breaking him out of his dark reverie. “Locksmith’s on his way.”

When she finally gets back into her own apartment, Javi jostles her doorknob, double-checks the lock, and knocks on wood for good measure.

“Find your keys?”

“Got ‘em!” She chirps, jingling her lost keys. “I’m gonna have to memorize that number.”

“I’m next door, too, if you ever need anything.”

“Me too. I can lend you some sugar for your sad-man, bitter coffee,” she jokes. “Thanks again, Javi.”

He sends her a tight-lipped smile and a short nod, a familiar weight settling in his chest as he turns back to his lonely apartment.

“Would you like to come in for dinner?” She asks, quiet and suddenly timid. “I’m no chef, but I’ve never made a spaghetti I couldn’t tolerate.”

He opens his mouth to refuse but she beats him to the punch. “It’s the least I can do after you helped me out. Please?”

And it’s the way she asks that gets him. The way “please” seems to fall from her lips like an unanswered prayer. He wonders, maybe she’s just as lonely as him.

So, he walks into her apartment, she smiles, and his stomach flips.

—

Months pass by with this new routine. He joins her for dinner at least once a week, if their schedules allow. If not at the local diner where she infamously loots sugar, it’s usually at her place. For one thing, although it’s usually pasta, she tends to have more appetizing (read: edible) groceries stocked up than him. But if he’s being honest, something about her apartment just feels more like… a home.

Framed smiles of her and her loved ones line the walls. With each visit, he finds himself studying a new one, imagining the story behind each snapshot. (He noticed after their first dinner, she’d thrown out the photos of her ex, replacing them with Polaroids of the city.) Piles of pillows stack up neatly on her couch, vibrant hues and patterns decorating the space. He adores the soft waves of music always floating around her space. She plays a different record each time, but somehow, each one compliments the sweet tones of her voice perfectly.

Her place feels brighter than his too, and he’s not sure if it’s the east-facing windows or if it’s just her.

Soon, he doesn’t need to decode the photos on the walls anymore. She tells him more than she’s told anyone before — about her hometown, her family, what she studied in college, her travels, her favorite books, her irrational fears, her dreams.

He tells her considerably less, especially when it comes to his time in Colombia.

For now, she doesn’t mind. She likes the way he watches her when she talks — brown eyes soft and warm, brows pinched together as he takes in each word, the ghost of a grin tugging at one corner of his lips when she gestures dramatically.

He realizes, one night after dinner, he comes home smiling now. And he thinks the nightmares have started dwindling, ever since that first dinner.

Maybe, he lets himself imagine. Things could be different.

—

He calls for you over and over, shouting until his throat burns and the echo of his frantic voice pounds in his ears.

“Where are you?” He screams.

The narrow hallway is dark, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He crushes his body into the hard wall, arms sliding roughly against cold brick as he tries to keep himself concealed. The gun in his hand feels icy and impossibly heavy, and his arms tremble as they lift the weapon higher, rounding the corner.

“Llegas tarde, Peña,” a deep, gravelly voice sneers. “You’re too late.”

“Tómame!” Javier yells. “Tómame en su lugar.”

“You would die for her?” The voice chuckles. “Llegas tarde.”

The voice’s shadow moves, revealing a smaller shadow crumpled on the floor — lifeless.

“Javier! Javier!” A distant voice chants, accusing him. Boom! Blaming him. Boom!

“Javier!” Boom!

The pounding sound wakes him up with a jolt, and his sweat-slicked chest rapidly rises and falls as he reaches for the gun inside his bedside table.

Slowly, Javier creeps to the front door where the loud pounding started. But when he peers into the peephole, he only finds her — looking as tired and distressed as he feels. A wave of relief floods through his overheated body.

She’s wrapped up in a blanket, a worried look wrinkling her forehead.

He puts his gun down in a drawer and lets her in.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“Almost 4 in the morning.”

“What’s wrong?” He demands, suddenly worried about why she’d be waking him this early.

“You tell me,” she says, frown lines still etched by her eyes — mirroring his own tired marks. “I heard you yelling. I was worried, Javi.”

“It was...” he starts, squinting as the images flash in his mind again. “Just a dream.”

It only takes one glance into his eyes for her to reach out to him, pulling him in by his neck until he nuzzles into hers.

He breathes her in, holds her like he’s not sure she’s real, like she might be gone tomorrow. “It was just a dream,” he echoes, but he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

“It was just a dream,” she repeats after him.

She pulls him by his hand toward his couch, sitting down before patting the space beside her. And just this once, he allows himself to let his head rest in her lap, lets her drape her fuzzy blanket over him, lets her soft fingers draw slow circles in his hair, lets her lull him to sleep with mumbled whispers he can’t quite make out, and lets her ward off the lurking darkness like a nightlight.

He’s asleep before he can hear the quiet secret that spills from her lips.

“I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.”

She comes over to his apartment more frequently after that. Whether to bring him dinner or just sit on his couch in comfortable silence, she doesn’t like to leave him alone.

And maybe, she’d rather not be alone either.

—

He doesn’t remember how she convinced him, but here he is... sitting at a crowded bar drinking water, watching his tipsy neighbor bouncing alone on the small dance floor.

Every so often, some cocky drunk comes up to put his hands on her waist and tries to dance with her, but she plasters on a faux smile and shakes her head at them, muttering something while nodding in Javier’s direction. Each time, they sulk away and he chuckles.

Finally, she bounces over to him, tugging at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Dance with me, Javi. Please,” she draws out the word, an octave higher than normal.

And despite himself, he follows her voice like a sailor enthralled by a siren’s song.

She puts her arms around his neck, swaying her body against his. And then she shouts over the music, “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

And the heart on his sleeve falls straight to the floor, clanging loudly in his ears like metal.

‘Friends’ is more than you deserve, he reminds himself.

But then she continues, resting her head against his chest, her index finger coming up to tap a tantalizingly slow beat over his collarbone. “Good friends,” she sighs, lifting her gaze until her chin digs into his heart, her lips just inches from his. “Really… good… friends.”

She’s kissing him before he can even process the feeling. And despite his better judgment, he lets her. She’s everything warm and soft and good, with just a hint of alcohol — and he’s what you get when you turn those words upside down, jumble the letters, and crumple the paper into a jagged ball. But he craves the way her curves somehow fit perfectly against his cold, shattered edges. And he knows he shouldn’t.

So, when he feels her tongue trace along the seam of his mouth, he gently pulls away, hands rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders.

“You’ve had too much to drink, cariño,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

“Okay,” she whispers, smiling with half-lidded eyes, drawing her finger across his mustache then below his ever-pouting lip.

She’s passed out in his car by the time they’re back home. When he unlocks her apartment door for her, she stays latched onto his arm as he turns to leave.

“Stay,” she whispers.

“I—”

“Please?” She asks, in that way he knows he can’t fight. “I don’t want to be alone.”

And just like that, the door closes behind him and he stays.

He finds her an oversized shirt to change into, helps her wipe the smudged mascara off her face, and holds her until the sun rises.

When she wakes, the space beside her is empty but warm and indented, the shape of his body lingering in the sheets. A full glass of water, ibuprofen, and the phantom taste of Javi’s lips are the only other traces of her really… good... friend.

—

He’s not avoiding her… per se. But it’s a long, lonely week later when he sees her again, on an uncharacteristically rainy Sunday outside their apartment building.

“I just got home,” she blurts after standing there dumbfounded for a good minute. She nods to the soaked brown paper bags in her arms. “Groceries. Uh, obviously. Were you...?”

“Forgot my umbrella,” he answers.

“Same,” she chuckles awkwardly, droplets hanging on her lashes and the ends of her hair, only partially covered by her hood. “Obviously.”

“Here, let me help you.” He takes the bags from her, keeping the door open with his foot as he waits for her to head inside.

“Thanks, Javi-er.”

He follows her upstairs silently, his wet, squeaking shoes punctuating each slow and heavy step.

“I can—”

“Let me just—”

They fumble and dance around each other in her doorway as he sets her bags in her apartment. And, as if to torture herself, she decides to stand under her door frame when he leaves to grab his umbrella, waiting the longest minute of her life for him with a forced smile.

He waves his umbrella at her after locking his door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

He nods and walks back down the stairs.

“Javier, wait.”

He pauses, his back still facing her, drenched shoes balanced on two different steps.

“Can we talk?” She hates the way her voice sounds when she asks, tinny and trembling. Clearing her throat, she clarifies, “About what happened... at the bar?”

He sighs, screwing his eyes shut tight and rubbing his forehead.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, low and barely audible as the rain starts picking up outside. And he walks away.

She’s stunned still, watching as his figure shrinks with each step he takes away from her. He’s already out of the building by the time frustration fuels her feet to follow him into the rain.

“Like hell there’s nothing to talk about,” she yells over the downpour, hair quickly sticking flat to her face. “Javi, we kissed!”

“You were drunk,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear, still walking.

“I wasn’t drunk,” she argues to his back, remembering with perfect clarity exactly how his lips felt on hers. “Just a bit braver. Javi, stop! Look at me. Please.”

And like clockwork, he turns slowly but doesn’t move any closer.

So, she closes the distance to stand beside him under his umbrella, taking in his features without the obscurity of rain.

“What are you running from?” She wonders, reaching for his fidgeting hand. “I would never hurt you. I—”

The line between his brows looks deeper than usual, as if they’d been stuck in that pinched position for weeks. Shadows lay in rings beneath his eyes, accompanied by smaller lines that carry untold stories she hopes he’ll entrust her with someday. His mouth is parted just slightly, as if to say something he knows could change everything.

And it does.

“I have to go.”

Her hands are empty and wet when he leaves. And the rain buries his parting words into the pavement.

I don’t want to hurt you.

—

She doesn’t hear from him for two weeks. Doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him.

The rain sticks around longer than usual for Los Angeles, making her apartment feel cold and gloomy. But maybe, it’s just missing him as much as she is.

Then, while she’s folding her laundry one night, she hears his door rattle and practically bolts to her own. He’s there. Keys in hand, rolling luggage in the other, hair tousled like he’s been pulling at it with his fingers. He looks at her when she opens her door, just for a beat too long, before hiding away in his apartment.

She sighs, closing her door in defeat.

But just as she starts getting ready for bed, she hears two knocks at her door, heart beating rapidly as she slowly makes her way to open it.

“Hi, neighbor,” he greets her softly, and the sound of his voice after so long without it nearly brings her to tears.

“Where did you go?” She asks. But she really means, Why did you leave?

“Texas,” he says. “I... needed to see my dad.” But he really means, I was scared.

“Oh.”

“Can I...” he mutters. “Can I come in please?”

She hesitates for only a second before stepping aside and he looks around like he hasn’t seen the inside of her apartment hundreds of times already.

He stops near her bedroom, where a new picture hangs proudly: a goofy, blurry photo of him stashing three pink packets of sugar in his shirt pocket.

“It’s the only photo you’ve let me take of you,” she says quietly, standing next to him with a wistful smile on her face. “I miss our diner dates.” But she really means, I miss you.

He doesn’t respond, just silently walks to her couch and sits, fingers rubbing circles into his forehead.

Minutes roll by slowly as she watches him from the other side of the room, battling with some invisible hand covering his mouth, holding on until the end to keep the words locked up.

“I’m not a good man,” he whispers, so softly she almost doesn’t hear it. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of... back in Colombia. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell you. I think a part of me is still there, fighting some unwinnable war. Hell, even before Colombia, I—”

Muddied images of a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise flash in his mind.

“Fuck. I can’t shake it,” he says, looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes, waving the invisible iron shackles on his wrists to show her. “Any of it. The nightmares...” He recalls her shadowy body and a dark, menacing voice. “They’ve followed me for years. I—” he looks at her, eyes darting across her face. “I could never give you peace.”

His head hangs low and a wayward curl brushes against his forehead. Despite how much space he takes up on her couch, he looks so small, defeated — the weight of his past crushing him into this tiny, torn, crumpled-up piece of paper covered in red-inked, scratched-out sentences.

“Javi,” she whispers, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. So, she crosses the room and kneels in front of him, her palms reaching for his cheeks and lifting his gaze to hers. “Javi, who said anything about peace?”

The wrinkles deepen between his brows as he studies her, tries to understand what she means in the cloudy orbs of her eyes.

“The past is the past. We’ve all done things we can’t speak of. And sometimes at night, we live it all again. God knows I’m far from perfect. But I know you’re a good man, Javi. I see you,” she tells him, stroking the curves of his cheekbones with her thumbs.

“I’m not—”

“Do you trust me?” She interrupts his argument. He stares at her, blinks, before nodding once.

“Then trust what I’m saying. You’re not perfect. But you’re good.”

His eyes close as soon as she sees water beginning to pool behind his lashes.

“I’m not asking for peace. As long as I get to be with you, it would be enough.”

And then his lips are crashing into hers, pulling her into his lap until he’s covered in her. The sound he makes when they touch is devastatingly beautiful, like she’s a balm soothing his freshest wounds and healing his oldest scars. It feels like his entire body has exhaled — lungs deflated, bones liquified, mind released from a decades-old straitjacket. If not for gravity, he could float from the way his stomach is fluttering. His shoulders lower and he sighs as if he’d been holding his breath for his entire life until this moment.

He’s drowning in her, submerged to the top of his head. But he can finally breathe.

“I’m sorry I ran,” he whispers into her skin. “I’m sorry I left, cariño,” he kisses just below her ear. “My dad said I was the biggest asshole on the planet for leaving. I’m sorry, baby. So sorry,” he licks the seam of her lips.

“Mi alma, you have no idea,” he sighs when she parts her lips for him. “How much I love you.”

And she captures the words on her tongue, kissing him with a ferocity that says, Yes, I do.

“Want to know a secret?” She gasps when his lips trail down her neck. Her voice is barely a whisper, as feather-light as her fingertip skating across his shoulder.

He hums, a soft, lazy smile stretching his lips wide, so wide.

“I don’t think it’s possible,” she says, staring into his deep brown eyes. “That I’ll ever love anyone more than I love you, Javi.”

Her finger stops, retracted to shield herself after such a heavy confession. His eyes blink slowly, head lifting off the couch cushion.

He doesn’t say a word. He only stares at her, the softest smile on his face — his edges blurring into gentle curves in front of her very eyes.

“You’re it for me,” she finalizes.

And then they’re crashing into each other again and again and again.

End Notes: Look, it’s been almost 10 years since I sat in a Spanish class and watching Narcos only restored 3% of my limited vocabulary. Here’s what I got from Google Translate: “Llegas tarde.” = You’re too late. “Tómame!/ Tómame en su lugar.” = Take me!/ Take me instead. “Cariño” = Darling, honey “Mi alma” = My soul P.S. Please let me know if I missed any tags/triggers!

#javier peña #narcos #pedro pascal #javier pena #javier peña x reader #you know i've fallen deep when i start writing #your honor she's simping #mine*

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straya-kids · 3 years

Text

nightmare - kim seungmin imagine

hiiiiii. this came about because i had a nightmare last night, and a lovely seungmin gifset i saw immediately after made me feel better. also tried writing in third person for the first time in a long time...

pairing: stray kids’ seungmin x fem!reader genre: angst/fluff word count: 746 warnings: mentions of nightmares/night terrors, crying, worried boyfriend?

=========================

Something wasn't right. Seungmin wasn't fully awake, but he could sense this. A whimper coming from the other side of the bed verified this, and his eyes shot open. He turned to look at his girlfriend in the bed beside him, only to see her tossing and turning. With his brows furrowing in worry, he moved closer to her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Babe, it's okay. It's just a dream." He spoke softly, trying to wake her, but to no avail. A choked sob fell from her lips as her head thrashed from side to side, and it became apparent to Seungmin that this wasn't the typical bad dream.

He'd learned early on in their relationship that she suffered from horrible nightmares from time to time -- mostly when she was overly tired or overly stressed, and he knew she'd been both lately.

Seungmin rose from the bed to shuffle over to the lamp in the corner of the room. He switched it on, and the room was suddenly engulfed in a warm, golden light. All the while, she continued to thrash and sob. Moving quickly, he approached her side of the bed, standing over her as he placed both hands on her shoulders.

"Come on, princess. Wake up. You're having a nightmare." He shook her shoulders, gently at first, and then with a bit more force when she still didn't wake. He called her name, shaking her once more.

She woke with a start, immediately clenching her eyes shut, bringing her arms up as if to shield herself from an invisible attacker. Seungmin took a step back as she curled into herself, her arms still in a defensive stance.

"No, please!" She cried, her body trembling as her breath heaved.

Seungmin felt as though his heart was breaking seeing the love of his life in such a state. He carefully stepped closer, keeping his voice gentle and calm.

"Princess, it's me. It's Seungmin. Your Minnie. You were having a nightmare. Everything is okay. You're safe."

It seemed as though the words took a moment to get through to her, as she stayed still. About a minute later, she slowly lowered her arms, though still trembling, and hesitantly opened her eyes. As soon as she was able to get her eyes to focus, she saw Seungmin standing there, a look of pure concern on his face.

She uncurled from herself and sat up, her bottom lip starting to quiver as she looked at her boyfriend. He moved closer, taking a seat next to her on the bed. In one swift motion, she moved to settle in Seungmin's lap, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his back, fingers curled tightly into his shirt. He could feel her wet tears against his neck.

"Shh, it's okay, baby. It wasn't real. I've got you. You're safe." He whispered over and over, his hands taking turns between rubbing her back and petting her hair.

It took several minutes before her breathing started to slow down, and her crying had reduced to soft sniffles. She slowly raised her head, coming face to face with her still worried boyfriend. He gave her a gentle smile and cupped her face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away the remnants of tears.

"Are you okay, my love?" He leaned forward to press a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. She nodded, bringing her hands up to rub at her eyes.

"I'm sorry." Her voice came out soft and raspy, and if she wasn't in his lap, Seungmin wouldn't have heard her.

"No, love, you have nothing to be sorry about. These things happen sometimes." He pressed another gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Do you want to try to sleep again?" She shook her head frantically.

"Okay. How about a movie?" This time, he received a nod of her head in response. Seungmin reached over to the bedside table to grab his tablet, opening up one of the apps and picking one of her favorite Disney movies.

"Is this okay?" He asked, moving both of them into the middle of the bed. She gave another slight nod as he moved her off of his lap. He laid down, carefully pulling her into him once he'd gotten settled. Her back rested against his chest, and Seungmin wrapped his arms around her protectively.

"I love you. " Seungmin smiled, nuzzling into her hair.

"I love you, too, baby."

#stray kids imagines #kim seungmin imagines #seungmin imagines #stray kids scenarios #kim seungmin scenarios #seungmin scenarios

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years

Note

When & how did you come to ship Jon & Sansa ? If Jon is the Florian to Sansa's Jonquil , then will there be a recreation of a scene between Jon & Sansa in godswood ( Jon dreams of Ygritte bathing in hot springs of Godswood ). This is very similar to how Florian first laid his eyes on Jonquil. Any thoughts ?

I read the books for the first time back in the end of 2010/beginning of 2011.

I fell in love with Sansa instantly. I also loved Jon since Bran I AGOT. But Sansa was always my favorite.

But I really got into the ASOIAF fandom after GOT S6 E4, four years ago. So blame Jon and Sansa.

For me Jon and Sansa reunion was very romantic, like two persons in love with each other meeting again, it was not like a siblings reunion. So after watching the episode I checked out all the internet and discovered I was not the only one that felt the same about their reunion. Then I did a research and found metas, essays, memes, gifsets and fanfiction, so I decided to re-read the books and later that year I wrote my first meta.

About Florian and Jonquil, there is certainly a resemblance between Jonquil’s Poole at Maidenpool and the hot springs at Winterfell, and Jon had that romantic fantasy of loving Ygritte there under the eyes of the Gods. But we don’t know much about the actual songs/stories about Florian and Jonquil. The things we know so far are the following:

The tales of Florian and Jonquil are full of Knight & Fool imagery. Florian was a fool and a knight that appears in tales of the First Men; but knighthood only came to Westeros with the coming of the Andals. So Florian was not a proper Knight.

We also know that Florian was not of noble birth, he was homely, wore a suit of iron motley and bore a famous sword.

About Jonquil, we know that she was probably a girl from the Maidenpool at the Riverlands, and that she fell for Florian.

According to the songs, Florian first spied Jonquil and her sisters bathing in a pool at Maidenpool. The song "Six Maids in a Pool" may be one of songs about Florian and Jonquil.

Sansa’s favorite stories are the ones about Florian and Jonquil.

Sansa used the Knight & Fool imagery to save Dontos Hollard’s life. He was a drunk knight turned fool. Sansa called him “My Florian” but she wished he was younger, with strength and sword skills.

Thanks to The Hedge Knight tale, we know that during the Tourney of Ashaford, Tanselle, a tall Dornish girl, performed a puppets play about Florian and Jonquil. Dunk fell for the puppet girl and defended her from the cruelty of Prince Aerion Targaryen. Later, Dunk faced a Trial of Seven for hitting the prince.

Dunk didn’t find the blonde Lady Ashford to be a fair maid, and he thought that Tanselle was prettier. In a very similar way, Jon called the blonde princess Myrcella “stupid” and “insipid”, while calling Sansa “radiant”.

Dunk said that the puppets play of Florian and Jonquil was “sad and sweet both, with a sprightly swordfight at the end, and a nicely painted giant”. Later, Egg added: “That was good,” Egg enthused. “I like how you make them move, Jonquil and the dragon and all. I saw a puppet show last year, but they moved all jerky. Yours are more smooth.”

So this particular song/story about Florian and Jonquil was:

Sad and Sweet.

Sprightly swordfight at the end.

A Giant was involved.

A Dragon was involved.

After Tanselle was attacked by Prince Aerion and Dunk was imprisoned for defending her, Tanselle left Ashford and Dunk didn’t see her again.

We also know that the love story of Jaehaerys and Alysanne was compared with Florian and Jonquil. After Alysanne knew about her betrothal with Orryn Baratheon, she told Jaehaerys about it and then they eloped and married in secret in Dragonstone. But Jonquil’s Pool and Maidenpool were not a pleasant memory for Alysanne. While pregnant with her first child, Alysanne suffered a murder attempt there. Later she lost her first child and blamed the attack for her loss.

A similar story was replicated later with Prince Duncan Targaryen (Named after Dunk) breaking his betrothal with a Baratheon Lady, to marry Jenny of Oldstones, a girl from the Riverlands. This love story also resemblances Rhaegar and Lyanna, Jon’s parents.

GRRM took inspiration for the ASOIAF tourneys from one of his favorite books: IVANHOE by Sir Walter Scott. George fell for Elizabeth Taylor (She played Rebecca) after watching the film adaptation of the book. He described her in that movie as “radiant”.

Ivanhoe was banished by his father for loving Lady Rowena, his father’s ward. A love story between a boy and a girl that grew up together like siblings..........

The Knight and Fool imagery is heavily present in IVANHOE, but most evidently between King Richard the Lionheart, in disguise as a Mystery Knight (The Black Knight) and Wamba the Fool.

When Ivanhoe returns home after fighting in the crusades with King Richard the Lionheart, he met the Jews Isaac and her daughter Rebecca. Later in the story Rebecca is accused of witchery by the Catholic Church and Ivanhoe was her champion in her trial by combat. As you can see, The Hedge Knight tale was loosely inspired in IVANHOE.

After reconciling with his father, Ivanhoe got his permission to marry Lady Rowena. Rebecca and her father leave England. Despite being happy with Rowena, the book implies that Ivanhoe thinks too often about Rebecca.

There was a controversy for IVANHOE’s ending, because some readers wanted, and some still want, that Ivanhoe marries Rebecca instead of his childhood love Rowena.

And this detail (Rowena vs Rebecca) makes me think about the second Dunk & Egg tale, The Sworn Sword, where Dunk met Lady Rohanne Webber, a redhead Lady, that stirred Dunk’s sexual desire while he still thinks very platonically of Tanselle.

Personally, I found Rohanne very similar to Ygritte. And Dunk certainly liked Rohanne’s red hair, so much that he cut her long braid, a detail that I particularly dislike. I don’t find a man cutting a woman’s hair without her consent romantic.......... So far this is the one thing that I dislike about Dunk.

Dunk and Rohanne romance was doomed since the beginning because she was a Lady, while he thinks he is a bastard and that his unknown father is probably in the Night’s Watch, for being a thieve.

Anyway, later Lady Rohanne Webber became Lady Lannister, the grandmother of Tyrion, Cersei and Jaime Lannister. And since Dunk is Brienne’s ancestor, the eventual romance between Jaime and Brienne will be somehow a replication of Dunk and Rohanne.

Jon has a lot of fool imagery, starting with the famous line: “You know nothing, Jon Snow”. Jon is a descendant of the First Men, and he recalled Old Nan telling him stories about Florian the Fool. Jon is not a proper knight, despite being trained as one by a masters of arms. Jon worshiped the Old Gods and he is a Black Knight of the Wall.

Despite being a member of a Great House, Jon is a bastard. Jon is a younger version of Ned Stark, and Cat found Ned plain of face compared to Brandon. In contrast, Ygritte said that Jon’s face was “sweet”. Jon doesn’t wear motley but he has worn the clothes of a wildling and the black cloak of the Night’s Watch. Jon wields a famous sword of Valyrian steel, Longclaw.

We also have “Easy”, a steward of the Night's Watch. “Easy” is half-mad (A Fool), that believes himself to be Florian the Fool reborn.

Jon became the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, the same way Dunk became the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The Kingsguard’s vows were modeled after the Night’s Watch vows.

Sansa and Jon remember Winterfell while bathing in hot water, because its similar to the hot springs at Winterfell.

Jon is the reverse version of Joffrey, Sansa’s Baratheon betrothed:

Jon is a Targaryen prince disguised as a Stark bastard (His mother’s House).

Joffrey is a Lannister bastard disguised as a prince.

Unbeknown, Sansa helped his father to discover that Joffrey and his siblings were bastards.

Ned tried to saved Joffrey of Robert’s wrath, the same way he saved Jon of Robert’s wrath.

As you can see, Jon shares many traits and similarities not only with Florian the Fool but also with Dunk. And since George recycles stories, Jon and Sansa could resemble any of the stories mentioned here.

I have some metas about IVANHOE, the Tourney at Ashford Meadows, and the similarities between Jon and Dunk in my drafts, maybe one day I will finish them..........

Thanks for your message.

#anon ask #jonsa #florian and jonquil #florian the fool #ser duncan the tall #prince duncan targaryen #parallels #UPDATED

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headbandsandflats · 3 years

Text

I don’t even know what to say. Not that anyone was waiting for me to say anything, or that anything more needs to be said - I’ve seen others put this far more eloquently than I will - but I feel like I need to get some of these emotions out (even though writing it out and posting it makes it feel even more real and more awful).

My love for this book, this movie, this fandom has been unprecedented. I’ve always loved fiction, always loved movies and books, always loved losing myself in them. But the feelings this story brought out of me were like nothing before or since. I finished the book on a Saturday night, a few days before seeing the movie for the first time. It was winter, but until I stepped outside that evening - running to get an unnecessary coffee, just to shake myself out of my post-book haze - I could have sworn it was a summer’s night in the 80s. (I know how maudlin that sounds, but I genuinely mean it.) I was bereft upon finishing it. I felt so deeply entwined with these characters, with their emotions, with their story. I went to see the movie for the first time with one of my best friends a few days later and we were transported. We walked out of the theater into a cold January night, onto a crowded subway car, and felt so deeply the loss of a summer in the beautiful Italian countryside that was never even ours. I went on to see it six more times in theaters during it’s traditional run (twice with other people, four times on my own) - it became a kind of joke with those who knew me best, the way New York was eventually going to have stop showing it (after about SIX MONTHS), for my own good, since I was unable to resist. But I’d never felt that way before. There were movies that I’d loved, devoured, thought about after watching them. But nothing had ever been a siren’s call like this. I’d check the movie listings and when I saw that it was still playing, and knew I had the free time, it felt like I was unable to resist going back again and again. It was the first movie I saw even close to this many times. (And I’d see it on at least another three occasions, at special showings and Q&As.) It was the first movie I ever went to by myself. (Again, and again, and again. And again.) I can still remember the theaters, remember the showings (like the one in the village that I went to on my own at around midnight, not getting home until around 3 in the morning, still floating on that warm, Crema air), remember the anticipation in the pit of my stomach every time it started. It’s like it put me under a spell, one that went unbroken for years. I don’t know if I’ll ever know exactly what resonated so much. Maybe it’s just that it filled up an emptiness that had started to develop in me by that time. Maybe it was a glimpse into a world of emotions I hadn’t ever really known myself. My copy of the book, signed by several and something I don’t dare look at at this moment, is highlighted throughout, something I hadn’t felt compelled to do in years, maybe since before I studied literature in college. I read every review, watched every interview, tried to absorb every mention of or allusion to it anywhere. It was too much and never enough and that never really went away.

With this deep obsession, came my first foray into real fandom. I’d read fic for my favorite pairings since I first discovered it, as a way-too-young fan of Buffy in elementary school. I’d joined tumblr during my Gossip Girl years to ogle over beautiful gifsets of beautiful people and gorgeous tributes to my favorite pairing. But it wasn’t until this fandom that I ever actually interacted with people. Took the chance when I saw a link to a Discord (something I’d never even heard of before) and became part of a community. Interacted with people who wrote stories I loved and made gifs I looked at over and over, but also people who just became friends. We got to know each other, and each other’s lives. I’d never had something like this before - people who became friends over a shared obsession, this thing we were all nuts for, together - and it was intoxicating. People who never got tired of talking about this movie and these people I never got tired of talking about? It was like a dream. Some of these people I chatted with online. Some I met in real life. (A huge, crazy first for me - I grew up in the time of internet stranger danger, after all.) We talked endlessly about everything to do with this fandom over brunches and dinners and drinks. We talked about other things too. We laughed and cried and spent evenings at each other’s apartments and took loud car rides home together from the city. I did things, and experienced moments, with them that I never would have without them. It’s this, all of this, that I hope I’ll be able to remember fondly some day. (And writing it all out, in this moment, is making me feel slightly lighter and brighter about it all, in this moment - which is unexpected, but lovely.)

This fandom has held some of my highest highs and lowest lows over the last couple of years. I made friends (as an adult, with cool people - something I never could have predicted), I lost friends (something more expected, but still, a devastating blow, especially during a pandemic), reached something close to friendship with some of them again (an unsteady but nice surprise). I had experiences I never would have imagined. And I depended on it way too much over these last three years, as my own personal issues increased, something I was aware of, but not aware of the extent of until this last week or so.

I don’t know how to move past this in this moment. I’m devastated. I’m wrecked. I’ve been stick to my stomach. I haven’t slept. I’ve overslept. I’ve cried (not much, not enough probably, but even a few tears is a somewhat shocking amount for me). My mental health is, quite simply, not what it used to be. That’s a problem that is separate from this, that started before any of this came into my life. But it’s tied to all of this in an uncomfortable way, and it’s making this emptiness, this sadness, this hopelessness feel unbearable. And there’s a lot of shame thrown into all of this as well - shame for being so deep into and obsessed with a fandom, shame for being so deeply affected by something and some people who have no actual bearing on my real life (or shouldn’t, anyway). Of anything I could have tried to predict, having this comfort movie/book/actor/fandom destroyed so ultimately was beyond my wildest nightmares. I thought the spell might be broken on my end at some point, that eventually it wouldn’t mean as much to me, but now I’m afraid I’m doomed to feel too much, in every way, in terrible ways, forever. I can only hope in this moment that I will move past this all one day. That it won’t hang over me forever. That I’ll, at the very least, be able to separate the good from the bad. That some things will remain unforgettable, but in a good way again.

Thank you to everyone I ever interacted with in this fandom. Thank you to the mutuals who brightened my day. The friends who became such a part of my life. The creators who filled up the good days and especially the bad days with their beautiful works. I won’t be deleting at the moment, and anyone who sees this is always free to reach out and chat, as long as this blog is around (and via other social media of mine if you have it). I’m heartbroken, and seeing tumblrs disappear, seeing all of the posts similar to this one - it all makes it so much more real and awful. But there were good times and good things and good people. And I hope with everything in me, that people can appreciate the goodness that came from this (and that I can one day too).

#cmbyn #call me by your name #(wondering if this is the last time i'll ever use those tags and oh look now i'm about to cry again)#fandom #ramblings

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rorygilmre · 4 years

Text

blow us all away.

(this is my gif, please don’t steal)

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

author’s note: i saw a hamilton gifset and immediately got this idea... i finished this in like 20 minutes. also, yes, i have now posted two fics in less than 24 hours... leave me alone.

words: 1,396

warnings: literally nothing but fluff here, officer. unless you hate hamilton. then don’t read any further. (+ i refuse to proofread so read at your own discretion.)

tags: @winterscaptain <3

________________________________

When you fell for the brooding Agent Hotchner, you knew your life would change in ways you couldn’t even fathom. You had expected the late nights he’d spend at work, the phone calls from the jet when he had to cancel plans, and the bouquets of flowers he’d bring home to make up for those cancelations. You knew, even before you realized, that you were both falling in love with Aaron and becoming a parental figure for Jack at the same time. It wasn’t like you hadn’t dreamed about having children and raising them in a household filled with love, Sunday pancake breakfasts, afternoons feeding ducks at the local pond, and bedtime stories… but you knew Jack had already had a mother and a father. The last thing you wanted to do was try to replace what both he and Aaron had lost. You had to remind yourself of this the first time you met Jack, his wonder-filled eyes breaking down every defense you had. You had to remind yourself again when Jack grabbed onto your hand with his small fingers, begging you to go check out his superhero decorations in his room. Aaron had been relatively calm with the entire thing and you soon came to realize that there was no escaping the love you had for either of these men. Jack, far wiser than his age would suggest, had never let his family’s tragedy get to him. It was clear from first glance that he worshipped his father. Aaron, forever too hard on himself for being gone half of the time his son needed him, was grateful that Jack latched onto you so quickly. Soon, you had your dreams – the pancake mornings, park afternoons, and heroic tales at bedtime. You, Aaron, and Jack made a perfect little family.

Two years after your first meeting with Jack, you knew your role. You and Aaron had moved in together a year ago, both forgoing your small apartments to rent a house together. It had enough room for all three of you and Jack’s room in the house was twice the size of his old bedrooms. The yard was large and fenced and Aaron had put together a swing-set for Jack on his weekends off. You had adjusted to suburban life fairly well and even enjoyed the longer commute into work because the drive brought you comfortable peace. At night, you and Aaron took turns cooking dinner and questioning Jack about his days at school. There was nowhere you’d rather be than with your little family unit each and every day.

Some nights were more special than others, though, like the night you had arrived home, briefcase full of files in hand and keys in the other. You had paused in the driveway, eyes locked onto the scene unfolding in the living room. You watched through the large window that was open to let the summer breeze in. Aaron, dressed in jeans and one of your favorite old t-shirts of his, was dancing through the room with Jack. You could almost hear Jack’s giggle from outside and a soft smile found its way onto your face. You could tell Aaron was singing along to something that must have been playing on the stereo. Your need to know what the song was drove you to continue your walk up to the front door and unlock the door to step into the scene. You closed the door behind you softly, setting your keys and briefcase down with minimal sound. Taking slow steps towards the living room, your ears finally recognized the sound that took over the room.

You and Aaron had been fans of the Hamilton soundtrack for a few weeks. You played it while getting ready in the morning, while making dinners, and while on the drive to work. Aaron was a fan of the war-themed songs and found laughter in the cabinet battle tracks, while you were a fan of the story within the story and found comfort in the songs like Helpless and Stay Alive. Aaron would never admit it to his team, but he had cried the first time he’d heard the soundtrack in full. So, when you walked in that night and found Aaron singing “Dear Theodosia” lyrics to his son… your heart threatened to swell so big that it would burst from your chest. Here is the man most misunderstood as gruff and brooding, the man who could intimidate any suspect and talk down any serial killer with proficiency… in your living room, singing what could be the softest song on the entire soundtrack. His voice was sweet, filled with notes of love and sentiment.

“When you smile, I am outdone, my son”

These words rang from Aaron’s voice as Jack twirled around him, laughing. Neither of them had noticed you standing at the entrance of the room yet and you took pleasure in your anonymity for the moment. However, you couldn’t resist joining the scene and eventually entered the room with them. When Jack saw you, his face lit up and he left his father’s side to run to you. You scooped him up easily, settling him against you as the song continued to play on repeat.

Without even realizing what you were doing, you began to sing to Jack as he nestled his head against your chest.

“When you smile, I fall apart… and I thought I was so smart”

You caught Aaron’s wide smile when you looked up. He stood there for a moment, watching you and his son. You were stroking a soft hand through Jack’s blonde hair and made a mental note to talk to Aaron about taking him for a trim. Aaron’s features were worn with fatigue and time, but soft as he wondered how he ever got so lucky. You had become such an integral part of both he and Jack’s lives that he really couldn’t imagine life without you anymore. Watching your movements with Jack made him realize how easily you had taken to being a parental figure. How easily being tough and soft in the same breath came to you, how easily love flowed from your heart. How did he ever try to raise a son without you?

Aaron crossed the room to join the both of you, pressing a tender kiss to your temple and reaching out to take his son’s hand. The song was coming to an end at that moment and both you and Aaron sang the last line together, an automatic gesture to the young boy slowly falling asleep in your arms.

“Someday, someday… you’ll blow us all away, someday…”

You pressed a kiss to the top of Jack’s head as Aaron pressed one to his nose as the last notes of the song faded out. Jack sighed contentedly, pressing closer into your body before he slipped into his dreams. You looked up at Aaron, unable to fight the wide smile that wound its way onto your features. This time, Aaron leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. A kiss of love and of happiness, soft and barely-there but it spoke volumes.

You turned to carry Jack to his bedroom, laying him down on his superhero sheets and bringing his comforter up to his chin to tuck him in. Aaron joined you a moment later, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you leaned into him. A kiss against your temple again and then he spoke.

“If you ever tell anyone on the team about this…” He murmured, a playful tone to his voice and you chuckled.

“Not a word, Agent.” You replied, thinking on your next words. “You really do make the world safe and sound for him, you know?”

At this, you felt Aaron take a deep breath, running his hand up and down your arm. It was a long moment in the dim lighting of Jack’s room before he responded.

“Sometimes, out there, it doesn’t feel like enough. But then I remember I get to come home to him… and to you. Remembering that makes everything better.”

You smiled, turning to kiss his cheek. “You make me helpless, Aaron Hotchner.”

He laughed now, the sound taking up the entire expanse of the quiet room. “I love you” were the words you heard before he kissed you again. The kiss said everything else that was left.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds fic #cm fic #aaron hotchner / reader #aaron hotchner #myfics

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yossariandawn · 4 years

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Tagged by @astarkey and @alwaysupatnight , thank you! I do love interesting questions! I’m combining these because it would take me days to think up 22 questions. Here are the rules:

Rule 1: post the rules Rule 2: answer the questions the person who tagged you asked and write 11 new ones Rule 3: tag 11 people and link them to the post Rule 4: actually tell them you tagged them

Edit: I didn’t realize how long this got, so I’m fixing it so I can put some of it behind a cut. My questions first so people can decide if they want to play along!

My Questions:

1. Set two fictional couples you love on a double date, and tell me how would that play out? One word answers are acceptable if you prefer.

2. Do you like candles? If so, what’s your favorite candle scent?

3. What’s the perfect fic you’ve been craving that wish someone else would write already?

4. If you could have an 15 minute conversation with any fictional character, who would you choose?

5. Above question continued, what would you talk about?

6. What’s one weird thing you loved as a child?

7. Any songs that make you always think of a character?

8. How well can you swim, and do you enjoy swimming?

9. Recommend me a new show, movie, or song!

10. What’s your favorite food that you make?

11. Draft the perfect Zombie Apocalypse Survival Team, 5 characters from any show or movie.

and now I’m tagging @sandalaris, @fortysevenswrites, @starkidmack, @captain-k-jones, and if you follow me and want to be tagged in this kind of thing in the future, just tag yourself and I’ll know to send them your way! I never know who wants to play, and there’s never any pressure to do any I send, I promise! 💖

EDIT: adding @alwaysupatnight YOU ARE NOW OFFICIALLY TAGGED

and now for my answers behind the cut:

@astarkey’s questions:

1. Favorite fall activity? Anything outside, to be honest. It’s my favorite time of year! I do love reading in my hammock with a blanket before it gets too cold, though I’m not sure that counts as an activity.

2. Favorite song at the moment? Well, the one I’m most obsessing on is one I’m vidding right now, so I’m keeping that a secret. BUT, I’ve been listening to Setting Sun by Lord Huron a lot recently ever since @alwaysupatnight mentioned it in an ask about Culebra Seth. I hadn’t heard it before and I fell right in love with it.

3. Last movie you saw in theaters? Oh, it has been awhile since I actually went to a theater. I wanna say it was the first IT movie, cause I remember taking my brothers to see that. If I went after that I guess it didn’t leave an impression on me.

4. Favorite emoji/smiley? I really like 🥳 cause look how excited it is! Close second is 😎 because it makes me think of the Geckos when I use it.

5. Cold weather or hot weather? Cold weather, as stated above!

6. Are you a past, present, or future person? Hmm, I’m going to say present. I am a bit of a worrier by nature, so I intentionally try and keep myself grounded by staying in the moment as much as possible, so I’m not obsessing over what I did or about what could happen next. I’m reasonably successful with it.

7. From where you’re sitting, what’s the closest object on your right? Water bottle.

8. What’s something you’re weirdly afraid of? (For example, a hair dryer, airplanes, a microwave, etc.) Ok, so this going to sound very weird, but it’s grasshoppers. don’t mind spiders, hornets, bees, any of the normal creepy crawlies, they don’t bother me at all, but I have such an intense irrational reaction to grasshoppers, like a real fight or flight thing kicks in for me. I understand they can’t hurt me, but I don’t trust those little sideways hoppers AT ALL. Also, I used to spend a lot time catching (and releasing) bugs when I was a small child, and one day one BIT ME, which I didn’t know they can do, and the betrayal was so great that I have never forgiven them. And then if you want to see something that’s even more untrustworthy, google the spider cricket sometime. I don’t see as many of those, but my friend had some living underneath her porch one year, and they are terrible. (also harmless)

9. Favorite snack food? Soft pretzels with cheese are always a good time. And now I want one, dang it.

10. Favorite color to wear? Blue! I love blue so much.

11. Stargazing in an open field, watching the ocean tides on a lonely beach, or late night drives on the highway while listening to good music? I’m going to pick stargazing in an open field, because that sounds the most relaxing to me at the moment! But the other two also sound lovely.

@alwaysupatnight‘s asks:

1. Have you started any new hobbies this year? Vidding. if I’m allowed to stretch the definition of a year about 1 month past haha. I’ve also done a ton more “creative" writing since joining tumblr, all these asks and tag games are the most I’ve ever organized my thoughts and put them out there for others to actually see (excluding non voluntary things like schoolwork and work) It’s been a lot of fun to do both, and really allowed me to push myself out of my comfort zone.

2. Read any good books lately? Not recently, I have several checked out I need to get to soon before I have to return them.

3. Favorite color of nail polish to wear? Or if you don’t wear nail polish, the color of the laces on your fave pair of sneakers? I don’t wear nail polish most of the time, though I will let children paint my nails when they want, since they seem to love doing that. And my favorite sneaker laces are just the standard white they came with. I’m pretty causal and laid back fashion wise.

4. Faerie, mermaid, angel, or vampire? This is so broad! Am I reading/watching something they’re in, fighting them, auditioning them as room mates?! I’m going to go with Vampire (Mermaid as a second choice)

5. What is your MBTI type? INFJ

6. What does your phone case look like? (Describe or post a pic) It’s black, no design. I’m so boring an practical!!!! I picked it out based on reviews, I drop my phone way to much.

7. What is your dream vacation? Camping, with people I like. Maybe a road trip out west.

8. Would you tell us a little about your current WIP? (writing, art, gifset, whatever the project!!) Working on a new vid, I’d let myself get stuck finishing one up, and realized maybe I needed a break from that one. It’s a SethKate one I’ve wanted to do ever since I heard the song, and I’m just going to do it. It’s not AU? That’s all the spoilers for now.

9. What is the best movie you’ve seen this year? I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE, BUT YES. Prospect was amazing, and does when that title! Runners up would be Priest, Crawl (I love disaster movies so much) and Knives Out.

10. What are your opinions on the child from The Mandalorian series? Really cute! I have only seen like 3 episodes, but I have seen all the gifs, (especially today 🤣) and look at the tiny adorable space baby with powers 🥰

11. What is your zodiac sign, and do you think it fits your personality? I am an Aquarius, I have no idea honestly. Maybe? Is there an official description I can read somewhere?

#tag games #replies #personal

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mercurygray · 4 years

Note

'This doesn't mean anything' - Dick waking up after a very, very nice dream about a certain OC that may have made a mess 😏🤭 Juno xx

I’m going to have to start calling this Smutty Saturdays, or something, for all the content that some people give me on Thursdays that doesn’t quite make the cut for Thursday.

18+ filth with feelings below the cut, and it ain’t strictly consensual filth, either.

In his dream, he was back at Brecourt.

He could feel the crump-crump-crump of the artillery, could feel the blood pounding in his ears, the release of every bullet from his gun. Time was moving around him like a stream, and he was in it, but not of it, his senses like the edge of a knife, alert and alive. His heart was pounding and his limbs were light and free, and his whole body was gorged on it, the thrill of battle, and he wanted one thing, and one thing only, to feel more alive still.

She was there, in the bombed out ruins of the CP, and his whole body felt dirty and clean all at once, alive and coarse and strong and proud and cunning, and in half a moment he'd shoved her against the wall and started kissing her, violently, and she was wrestling with his webbing, and he was ripping at her jacket, shoving down her pants, shoving down his own, her hands raking his hair, and he was unmaking her, and she was unmaking him. She was a field he would take and a thing he would conquer, and this was a fight that only he could win, and the sounds she made were better than battle, yes, Dick, yes, yes, please...

He woke up feeling wrung-out and exhausted, as if he'd run a marathon, and realized, with a kind of sickening dread, that his body had paid no mind at all to the fact that the woman in the dream wasn't there. He smelled of sweat, and sex, and shame, shame that he'd done this, this thing that made him little better than a boy. And, worse still, that his mind had played the trick of being so cruel and coarse to a woman that he - that he admired? A woman he called his friend?

God help me.

"Have a nice time?" Harry asked, grinning as he came in from the bathroom, and Dick quailed a little under his sheets, remembering where his mind had been. "So you are like the rest of us mortals on occasion- I was beginning to wonder." He threw an extra towel at Dick. "You're lucky it's Saturday - she does linens today. Told her already we'd load our sheets up and save her the stairs. What did you have to drink last night?"

"Half of Joan's gin," Dick said, feeling truly disgusting. "Our glasses got mixed up - I didn't notice, un-until..." Until I'd drunk it all.

"Well, I think we can safely say if that's what it does to you, Frosty, I'd stick to sodawater."

"Don't tell anyone, Harry." He didn't care if it sounded like begging. This was the worst he'd ever felt in his entire life, and very little of it was actually from the gin.

Harry caught his eye in the mirror. "Who, me? Silent as a confessional." He went on fixing his tie, and paused. "But I hope she was pretty," he added, grinning into the mirror, before stepping out into the library and closing the door behind him. Dick sat up in bed and scowled, finally finding the strength in his legs to go to his footlocker and find a clean pair of boxers, a new undershirt, and shuffle to the bathroom, and deal with the remains of this mess.

I keep seeing this gifset from Generation Kill referencing a combat jack, so this my take on that. Apologies to Carl Sandberg for borrowing ‘alive and coarse and strong and proud and cunning’ from his poem Chicago.

#I have written a thing #thirsty thursday #the thirst is apparently strong today guys #joan warren #1940s girl gang

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

Text

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— HYMN OF THE LOVESICK ; PART 5 / ?

( gif from this beautiful gifset by @knightwayne )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2k

SUMMARY: Alfred definitely knows something about Bruce that you’re not willing to think about and Bruce has an epiphany that changes the way he sees you.

A/N: Guess who forgot which day pbr is usually posted? This idiot here. God, I’m sorry and this chapter can be boring. Next chapter will have a lot more going on, I promise. Also, this might end in the next chapter or two. Enjoy, folks.

WARNINGS: Kinda dramatic because I’m dramatic.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

Driving through the Wayne estate gives you a sense of much-needed peace. The never-ending tunnel with walls of identical colossal pine trees as you faintly hum to Aretha Franklin over the low whirring of the running engine. It’s a quarter to noon, and the sun doesn’t seem to shine in the city of Gotham—clouds of grey constantly shield its optimum shine, only to ever allow rays to seep through the gaps in the moving Autumn wind. You don’t mind it and you never did, growing up in the city left clouds unnoticed to you unless it signified the arrival of a thunderstorm. Weather and nature are the least of your concerns but you would appreciate it now and then.

The tunnel of trees comes to an end as a clearing of extensive fields emerges into view. What is left of the Wayne Manor still stands with ostentation, despite its skeleton along with its dignity rotting away to be eventually consumed by mother nature herself. There’s a sense of eeriness to it; you find it odd how a building could seem so alive at times, like it's watching you, despite its apparent decay.

You turn your head away and focus on the road.

A glance at your hand on the wheel, you’re reminded of last night, when his hands held yours—it burns at the mere thought of his gentle touch. And the drive home, silent with the occasional glances and small smiles. You recall how the passing streetlights cascade hues of orange on his wearied expression and how his eyes were bright when they flit to your figure in the passenger seat for just a moment. Something must have changed between the two of you, but you can’t quite tell what. Maybe it’s your undying love for Bruce. Maybe he feels the same way. You snort to yourself, alone in your car, one can only dream but it doesn’t mean they all come true. Bruce may love but he doesn’t commit. You can’t commit too. Now, you’re starting to believe you’ve been lying to yourself.

The glasshouse comes into view as you steer around the bending road and into the driveway. It contradicts everything the manor was but only shared its sense of glory. You like the glasshouse, less deafening and structured with the purpose of bareness and vulnerability but its dark furnishings keep it grounded and secure. Its sense of balance tricks your mind into thinking you’re stable. His car is still around, parked by the porch but you don’t see him, ambling around the household.

Switching off the ignition, you snatch the paper bag from the passenger seat and clamber out of the car. Darker clouds begin rolling from afar, your hair flying in the strong wind. A storm is coming, you’re sure of it. One of the rare times it rains during the season. You dread the thought of having to drive back into the city and across Westward Bridge. Driving over bridges built over the water in the rain scares the heck out of you.

As you swing the car door to a close, you hear the shuffling of feet amongst leaves behind you. Alfred, with a barrel of chopped wood—stocking up for the winter. There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes albeit startled by your sudden presence. He mentions your name with endearment; you greet him with a small smile. You always liked Alfred. You enjoyed his company.

“What a pleasant surprise seeing you here,” he says, pushing the barrel aside as he nears you. “I’m afraid you just missed Bruce. He left for Metropolis an hour ago—duty calls.”

You nod, ignoring the clench in your heart. He hadn’t told you anything but frankly, you weren’t expecting him to anyway.

“Well, I just came by to drop off this,” You lift the paper bag, swaying it a little within your grasp. “As a thank you gift, you know.” Alfred smiles at this, gestures towards the house in a beckoning manner. “Come on in, I’ll make you some tea.” Before you could even protest, he’s gently guiding you to the door by the shoulder. It’s hard to say no to Alfred, especially when he offers tea.

Your mind wonders as you watch the drizzle of rain form ripples in the lake. You sit on a chair with a contemporary structure to it; it digs into your lower back, due to your bad posture. Uncomfortable but nice-looking and great armrests. Contradicts everything a chair should be. Alfred emerges from the kitchen with a black ceramic mug in hand, steam from the brewed tea lingering above it. He holds an identical mug, for himself. With two hands, you clasp onto the mug with acceptance, a radiant appreciative smile upon your lips. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.” Alfred shoots you a look of disdain, “I’ve told you many times, Alfred is fine.” Taking a sip, you shake your head, a smile still lingering. “No way. I have too much respect for you to call you by your first name.” Alfred mirrors you, settling for the chair to your right, swiftly sliding the scatter of papers to the corner of the table. You find it easy to fall into a natural conversation with the older man—the two of you are mutuals after all of a certain billionaire. Yet, Alfred is more of a father figure, having practically raised Bruce and you, well, it’s complicated. It always is. You don’t know where you stand in his life, and you're not sure if you want to know.

“Anyway, where have you been? I haven’t seen you in weeks.” It’s true. The usual sight of the butler sauntering around the glasshouse or somewhere in the Wayne Estate was absent during the last two weeks. Alfred is always around, his disappearance was glaring, impossible to go unnoticed.

He shifts in his seat, placing his mug on the table, teaspoon moving with a soft clang. “I was visiting family back in England. I appreciate that you have noticed my absence,” An eyebrow raises, your laugh comes out more like a huff. “Always, Mr. Pennyworth.”

Family. Mother. Dinner—you remember the dinner with your mother on Sunday night, and you’re the host. The host hasn't decided on the menu for tomorrow’s meal. Oh God, it’s tomorrow. Procrastination is your friend but your family’s expectations for you aren't. If you pop enough wine bottles, maybe she'll be too drunk to be disappointed by the end of the night.

And the wedding. The mere thought makes you sick. You don’t want to bring a date, but you don’t want to be alone. Weddings, love, couples—it makes you tick. It’s a glaring reminder of how your love life is an absolute disaster and your inability to maintain relationships. It’s hopeless, you’ll die a spinster and everyone lives happily ever after.

“Are you alright?”

It’s funny how those three words have been the most frequent words you would hear from those around you. You appreciate the concern, really, but you can’t help but feel there’s a stronger and deeper meaning to those words. It’s a question of assurance, a reality check, and a realization that you might be broken. Everyone is broken—in their own ways.

Although you seem reserved to some people, your tendency to open up about your issues to those close to you contradicts that though you instantly regret it. Especially when people tell you to change. You hate change. It’s terrifying.

You pause, suddenly feeling...fidgety. Yet, in the words of Bruce: In Alfred, you trust.

Remember, keep it light. You don’t want to haul all this luggage of yours onto an aging man. He’s already got Bruce’s luggage.

“My cousin’s getting married in two weeks and,” you sigh, he listens intently. “And as pathetic as this sounds, I really don’t want to go to it alone.”

Your words are direct, straightforward and you sound like a whiny teenager or the main character in a Wattpad story but truth be told, there’s an underlying meaning to it and you know, Alfred knows it. You just don’t want to admit it.

He takes a beat, assessing your sentence like he’s a therapist, wanting to select his words carefully. “Well, I don’t think you’re pathetic. It’s...understandable,” he flashes you a pointed look and you find yourself straightening your back. “Why don’t you ask Bruce?”

Your brain must have short-circuited at that moment.

Oh, hell no. Not in a million years.

You’re shaking your head, laughing nervously. “No, no. No. Never. I couldn’t possibly ask him to do that. He’s already done so much for me—”

“You’ve done a lot for him too.”

A pause, words stuck in your throat. You just look at Alfred through confused eyes. You’re not sure what that means. He’s staring at you with a knowing look. You sigh, shaking your head in denial once more. “No, that’s...that’s not true.”

It’s almost infuriating how stubborn you can be sometimes that it’s even irritating yourself. You’re staring at your fingers, playing with the tag attached to the teabag by a thread. As far as you’re concerned, Bruce is...the greatest friend you’ve ever had. Through thick and thin, he’s been there for you. He’s always there. It’s partly the reason why you have fallen for him in the first place. Hard. He’s easy to love when he wears his heart on his sleeve. It’s rare but it’s beautiful. You almost feel ashamed to be allowed to see him in that light.

“Bruce will do just about anything for you,” Alfred says calmly as he watches you avoid eye contact. “And I know, you’ll do the same for him.” You throw your eyes at the older man as he cops you a look. Your heart is beating so fast, so thunderous, you hear it in your ears. He’s right and you know it. That accidental kiss to your forehead on the night you asked him to come for the play comes back to mind in a flash. It feels like a mark on your forehead, it feels like it’s burning.

“Would you like a scone with that?” He’s pointing to your tea and with that, he’s off to the kitchen once more, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s late—a quarter to four in the morning. He spends most of his nights in the Batcave, hidden away from all the sounds and tumult of the world, shrouded in the darkness as the light of the computer screen cascades on his tired eyes. He ambles through the glasshouse, weary feet against hardwood floors, body begging to lay on grey sheets though he dreads a vacant bed.

He strains his eyes peering into the gloom when he perceives a paper bag, sitting idly on the table by the window. Nearing it, there’s a yellow post-it note stuck onto the bag and under the gentle light from the moon that reflects against the lake, he can make out words written on it.

It’s from you.

Thanks for coming to the play. I would have bought you something else, but I’m really broke. Sorry. I owe you one.

A drawn heart follows it. It’s tiny. His chest feels warm.

He should have recognized the paper bag because inside, there are four bagels. Four Asiago bagels. He laughs, it comes out more like a puff of hot air, feeling the warmth that resides in his chest spreading throughout his body.

Then, it hits him like a bullet to the heart. The impact is strong, powerful. Your impact on him is strong, powerful. There’s no mystery to his feelings for you but at this moment, he’s completely certain. For the first time in life.

He loves you.

Bruce staggers into the chair, hand carding back the strands of his hair. He can’t keep doing this to you. Whatever the hell is going on. Your friendship, the...stupid agreement. He wants none of it because it feels like he’s constantly going around in circles.

But what do you really want, Bruce?

TAGLIST

@raineeace

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #bruce wayne x you #batman x you #alfred pennyworth #justice league

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giasonesdream · 4 years

Text

The Art TA, Tae...

Hi, so I was inspired by this gifset created by @95z

Such a simple yet effective post, because this is what I came up with:

Your university wasn’t an art school by any means. With an expansive campus run rampant with prospective business people and research scientists, the last thing on the majority’s mind was the history of your personal favourite painter, Carravagio.

Not that it mattered to you...since you weren’t an Art Major, yourself.

But you hang with that crowd, somehow drawn to the open and relaxed spirits of those that spent their lectures with paint brushes in their aprons, or calloused fingertips from strumming the strings of some orchestral instrument. In summation, despite your academic plan leading you down the path of Foreign Communications, you always somehow found yourself in the Art Building during your spare time.

It was a rather cozy building, stacked with the same warm tone bricks used to make the goliaths just across the street, on the main campus. If the Science building wasn’t on it’s own separate street, as well, you could’ve sworn the School Board held some vendetta towards Art Majors.

So the trek is comfortable, jay-walking in the middle of the day as the streets are normally empty during this time of the day. Your friends are scattered throughout the small building. The halls are narrow and cozy, almost makes you feel like you’ve walked into a new world of secrets and mystery. Paintings, portraits, and mixed media line the cement walls.

Despite knowing that there are people in the rooms evidently from the various noises that come muffled from the wooden doors, it’s always so quiet and empty when you’re there. It’s a rarity to share the hall with another human, and it’s normally a treat when you do.

Like today. The both of you are walking from opposite ends of the hall, coming closer.

He doesn’t have a face you recognize, but some primal part of your brain wishes you did. Chocolate copper tresses veil his forehead, slipping under the thick framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He’s adorned in black trousers that seem to fit his waist perfectly, but with suspenders that contrast the simple...ridiculously obvious shirt fitting to his shoulders. You can’t stop the grin that pulls at your lips upon reading the painter’s name written clearly on the maroon fabric: Van Gogh.

The stranger is in the midst of rolling out his neck, his shoulder twitching up to adjust the leather strap of his messenger bag going across his body. When he seems satisfied with stretching his neck, his gaze falls to yours. It’s so sudden, you don’t have time to look away, to try and pretend like you hadn’t been checking him out just a second before.

In order to save your dignity, you go for a smile, something you hope comes across as friendly and kind. But his gaze is piercing, even beyond the lenses of his glasses that catch the reflection of the light hanging above, you can see it. Brown eyes boring into yours, almost like a challenge, daring you to keep his stare or look away.

Maybe later on you’ll curse yourself, kick at your own ass for not wanting to be confrontational or even the slightest bit rebellious. For now, however, you drop your eyes to the floor, just as your paths cross. Christ, where had your confidence gone?

What’s more, that primal part of your brain doesn’t think, only reacts. Curious as to see the stranger from behind, you turn your head back, and there it is again: that stare, that stone gaze catching yours. This time, though, it’s coupled with a smirk, one side of his lips turned up into a smile. Of course, you only notice that you were caught in the act, and you snap your head back immediately, quickening your pace to get to the end of the hall as soon as possible.

With the Art Department being so small and intimate, it’s not hard to learn about the stranger, the man that has somehow made a name for himself with his eccentric fashion, someone who was able to stand out even to the Art Students literally is that even possible?

He’s a mid-level Art History Teacher’s Assistant named Kim Taehyung. Thankfully, one of your friends has a class that he assists, and he’s quite talkative in class. From what your friend has told you, he likes to converse with the students before class, try to read the room’s mood levels before the professor joins them. Your friend doesn’t remember if he’s in Graduate School working to be a professor himself or to open up an Art Gallery. Seems like two completely different career ventures-

“You’re not from here.”

The voice snatches you from your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. One of your friends is in his Music Theory lecture in the lower level of the building. It’s probably the creepiest, most eerie section of the building, and mainly your biggest piece of evidence that the Art Students get the short end of the stick.

Your stare had been a mile long into the wall opposite of you as you leaned against the cold, hard surface. And the last time you were aware of your surroundings, you’d been alone.

So to hear someone else talking-

“Oh my go-” you exclaim, quickly lowering your voice. You don’t want to disturb the lecture going on just on the other side of the wall. You finally follow the direction in which the voice had came, low and smooth enough to wrap around some inner part of yourself.

Speak his name, and he shall appear.

Standing to your side is the aforementioned Kim Taehyung, the TA you’d passed in the hallway just a couple days ago. Your heart is still pounding in your rib cage, but now it’s unclear as to what the cause of that is.

He laughs, holding out his hands in front of him, like a sign of not being a threat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You give yourself a moment to calm down, taking the time to give a quick once-over the outfit for today. Students in the Fashion Department must have a field-day with how he styles clothing. Again, he’s wearing simple black pants, maybe a little less fitted than the pair he wore the other day. Today’s eclectic shirt is a button down with geometric shapes of all sizes, staying in the colour story of red, white, and gray. Again, simple, but bold.

“Um...what?” You ask on an exhale.

“I said ‘you’re not from here’,” Taehyung reiterates. “I’m pretty good at remembering faces of the staff and students that normally frequent this building. You’re a new one.”

You hum in agreement. “Right. No, my friends...I’m waiting on a friend that’s in this lecture. Most of my friends are Art Majors.”

Taehyung nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. “So, what major are you, then?”

It’s an easy conversation to have, especially on campus. Everyone wants to know what plan someone else has, especially if they have no idea what they’re working towards themselves. So you explain your major, your plan to work in foreign affairs for some big company.

“...or, atleast, that’s the goal,” you finish.

“Is that the dream, too?”

It takes a minute for the question to process. Even as it does, you still respond with a furrow of your brow in confusion.

The TA leans his shoulder against the wall, loosening his posture, and you have the desire to mirror his relaxed state.

“Well, what I mean is...you say that it’s your goal, but is that career move what you dream of doing?”

Being in your last year of university, this was already a talk you have had to have with yourself. When you slaved away over your French Oral Presentation, or going through the motions of General Accounting, you knew what you would have rather been doing with your time. Ledgers was far from it.

What makes you hesitate, though, is whether or not you should express this honesty to a virtual stranger. Attractive or not, were you willing to open up about something you’ve already lamented over?

Sighing, you sink into the wall. “Not even close.” His expression is patient, waiting for you to explain. “If I didn’t crave financial security, I’d spend my days and nights here, working on creative writing projects...maybe diving so deep into the world of Gentileschi that I could transport back in time to when she thrived. But alas...I graduate this Spring.”

When Taehyung nods, he looks thoughtful, mulling over your words. Much to your surprise, his silence doesn’t feel awkward, but you do have questions of your own.

“What about you? I heard you’re...either trying to open an Art Gallery or become a full time professor. Which is it?”

With a tilt of his head, a laugh threatens to stumble past his pursed lips. “Did you ask about me?”

At your slip-up, your mouth hangs open as you try to stumble for a response. You hadn’t even thought about that, about how it would sound for him to know you were already trying to figure out who he was after one encounter.

“Oh...I, uh...well- okay, yeah, you.” You breathe a nervous laugh. “Your shirt had caught my attention, and you-”

“I caught your attention,” guesses a rather smarmy Taehyung. He seems to find some entertainment in your slight panic, which actually helps to calm your nerves. When you finally settle, he continues. “I wanna do both, actually. Even when I graduate, I know there’s still more I can learn. Why not get paid while I continue the journey, right? Plus, I’d need to grow a savings so I could start off with some backing-”

“Man, you’d fit right in with the Business Department. Especially the Accounting Students. They go nuts for financial plans and forecasts.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Nothing wrong with having a plan in place. Just as much as there’s nothing wrong with not having a plan.”

His words, for some reason you couldn’t even explain to yourself, gave you reassurance and solidarity. Your future had been set since the moment you stepped foot onto the university’s campus. And though you would have nights where you longed to stray from the path laid out, you kept on course. And with only months left of your undergraduate schooling, the finish line was just over the horizon, already pooling into view.

But everyone knows that with finishing one race, you only start another. Not a race, no. A marathon. A marathon that the man to your side was giving you comforting words would go well even if the lines in front of you blur or obstacles come.

Again, the silence is nice, filled with words not spoken but ease and welcome vibrations.

The lecture room door opens, and the noises from inside spill out into the small corridor. Jeongguk will be out soon.

“Welp.” You straighten up, pushing away from the wall. “It was nice to meet you, Taehyung. A rather interesting first conversation.”

“Wow, you know my name! And I never even learned yours.”

Right. You tell him your name, listen as he tries it out on his own tongue. It shouldn’t sound as intimidating as it does, given that he’d already seemingly jumped head-first with the deeper topics of discussion.

“First conversation?”

“Huh?”

“You said it was an interesting first conversation. Does that mean you’d want to have a second? Maybe even a third?”

He feigns a scandalous look that makes you giggle. “Hell, we might even have a fourth.” He gasps deeply.

He nods towards the lecture hall. “Well...now you know where I am on Friday’s at this time of the day. The joys of only having one lecture hall in the building.”

You roll your eyes, your disdain seeping through. “Ugh, that’s so ridiculous. This building really should be a lot bigger.”

“Won’t argue with you, but what are the odds that we would’ve run into each other if that was the case?”

It’s a sweet sentiment that doesn’t match the wink he sends your way.

The hallway is busy now as the current of bodies flow. Taehyung starts walking toward the classroom. “I’ll see you around, yeah? Give me time to guess which Gentileschi painting is your favourite.”

With a grin, you nod, giving a small wave as he enters the classroom.

When Jeongguk finds you, you both make your way through the building. He’s already going into a ramble about his final project for his film class. You both have a habit of sliding your fingertips against the walls, tapping along the heavy surface.

Taehyung was right about that. You still believe the Art Department could have more, be more, but there’s a charm in how small it is...intimate.

#bts #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts fic #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fluff #i already started thinking about how i could continue this #wow this is strange #taehyung fluff #bts v

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kerwritesthings · 4 years

Text

Take The Wheel & Steer

Summary: Sometimes you just need to be loud with your love

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: this is so soft, sweet and fluffy I feel like it belongs on a cloud

Author Notes: I legit busted out half of this in the moments after I posted Here Comes The Sun. I completely blame the gifset that @rainbowshawn posted a couple days ago. Masterlist for the soon to be named verse/all my other SM fics can be found here.

“So, I may have done something,” he explains with a cheeky grin from the doorway. “And I need you to not be mad. Promise me now you won’t be mad.”

You’ve ensconced yourself in the window seat with a book and a glass of wine while he finished up in the studio. It was early afternoon, so they must have wrapped earlier than expected if he’s back up to you already. Your eyebrows knit down, looking at your boyfriend curiously. “What did you do, Shawn?”

“You gotta promise me first,” he replies, sliding down to sit next to you, stealing a sip from your glass. “Ooh this is good. Let’s get some for home. And honestly, it’s nothing too bad. Well, I don’t think so, maybe, well kind of.”

Sighing, you steal your glass back from him. “Shawn…”

“I need you to pack early, well, or at least pack a bag for a couple nights and maybe be kind of packed up for your flight home,” he starts, his fingers coming to play with the loose ends of hair hanging from your ponytail.

“Again, I say, Shawn…” you prod carefully.

“I may have booked us a bungalow up in Santa Barbara for the weekend,” he mutters, a flush spreading across his cheekbones. “Well tonight through Sunday. We’ll head back in time for your flight that night. I know this is already a break for you, but the studio is right downstairs. I’ve been good, but I’ve still been working. We’ve been alone, but not really and truly alone other than the couple hours at the beach. And after last weekend, I just wanted to do something special to celebrate just with my girl away from everything. No distractions.”

“And where Shawn?” you ask, just waiting.

He flushes darker, smile creeping a little bigger before ducking into your neck. “Maybe the Four Seasons. Maybe the bungalow with the pool in the courtyard you’ve always talk about wanting to stay at…”

“Sweetheart,” you begin, but he cuts you off at the quick with a kiss.

“I know what you’re going go into and what you’re going to say but shhhh,” he quips out as he drops kisses all over your face. “At least I didn’t buy that beach house we walked past the other day that you seemed to like. I can see that being something that’s like more reasonable for you to be mad at. And I think I’d have a house full of family back in Pickering mad at me for that one too.”

You can’t help but laugh, slapping his arm. “Especially your Mom. But thank you, Shawn. You didn’t need to do that. And you’re terrible, you know that?”

“Nope,” he says with wide smile. “Just love you is all.”

He rents the most ridiculous car for drive, because he’s taking this whole spoiling long weekend to a whole other level. It’s a sleek two-seater convertible, midnight blue. Your hands itch to get behind the wheel and he’s going to let you take the drive up. You can’t believe how excited you are for it.

“How did he talk you into helping on this?” you ask Cez as gets out of the driver seat and flips you the keys.

“Payback for me keeping you coming out early a secret,” Cez replies, shaking his head as he pushed at Shawn’s shoulder.

“It was more like a pointed favor, man,” he teased. “Thanks though. This is a sweet ride. You came through big time.”

“More for her than you, you know,” he barks out, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “I still don’t know how you put up with him most of the time.”

“Hey,” Shawn whines out, exaggeratedly pouting.

“Some reason I love him, a lot,” you gush, shifting out from under Cez’s arm to wrap your boyfriend in a hug.

He nuzzles his nose against your hair, “Love you too, baby.”

Once bags are sorted, you slide into the driver’s seat and exhale. The leather is super soft, and it already feels like a dream without even starting up the car yet.

“It’s like a solid hour fifteen drive with no traffic and looks like we can take the PCH straight up,” he says poking at Google Maps on his phone. “If you’re driving, I get to control the music. It’s only fair.”

The music is a hysterical symphony of extremes. He keeps it more singer songwriter and poppy Top 40 as you get out of Malibu and onto the PCH. He starts singing along as you hit Zuma Beach. Loudly. First to the latest from the Jonas Brothers which segue ways into a Coldplay track back to back with an older Maroon 5 deep cut you both love. When you shift from trailing along the coast into Oxnard, he hits an R&B/Rap block and you cannot help but laugh when he tries to match Drake lyric for lyric before the track flips to Chance and then the latest from The Weeknd. Once you’re back trailing against the coastline, the music changes again.

“Wait wait wait,” you call out, very familiar opening chords ringing in the background. “Someone stole my 80’s cheese playlist I do believe. The same person who makes fun of this very playlist when I’m bouncing around the condo to it.”

“Perhaps,” he says coyly. “And maybe I just happen to have it to listen to when I’m on the road and missing you.”

He starts belting along with a-Ha right away without letting you get a word out as soon as the vocals kick in, head bopping and curls wildly flying about.

“Talking away, I don't know what I'm to say. I'll say it anyway. Today is another day to find you, Shying away. I'll be coming for your love. OK?” he sings.

He sounds fantastic, because of course he does, even if its playful car sing alongs. You may just need to try to get him to do more 80’s covers on the next tour. Or record some for you to have for when you’re apart. You join in on the next verse with him.

“Oh, things that you say. Yeah. Is it life or just to play my worries away? You're all the things I've got to remember. You're shying away. I'll be coming for you anyway,” you both shout out together.

You are both in hysterics at the end, your sides hurting from how much you’ve been first singing, then screaming along and laughing. He reaches over and snags your right hand in his left, bringing it up to kiss the back of it.

“There’s no one else I’d want to sing along to that with. Shit, that was fun,” he exclaims, pausing the music completely for a moment.

“How I wish I had video of that,” you joke. “Such epic Instagram content that would have been. Man, I wonder how many likes I could have gotten from that. I wonder if E! would have picked it up if I posted it, I could drive up my followers!”

He scoffs rolling his eyes and barking out a laugh, releasing your hand and poking your side. “Drive, woman. Enough out of you. We’re almost there. And you’re in for it when we are.”

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omg-just-peachy · 5 years

Text

bring your love to me

Ah, @tcnystcnks asked for a fic based on this gifset, and I came up with ... ~1.6k of a no powers au with a rich, older, art gallery owner Steve and MIT graduate Tony going on a date and figuring out what they want. <3

I hope you like it!! /I hope that this is anywhere in the range of what you meant...

~~~

“I don’t want to go home yet,” Tony admits suddenly, before he can think twice about it. Steve had just paid the check, reaching over to place a warm hand on Tony’s arm when he reached for his wallet and murmuring let me before smoothly pulling his own wallet out of his pocket, and sliding a card into the small leather booklet. He’d barely glanced at the total, Tony couldn’t help but notice. In a restaurant where it was nearly twenty dollars for a tiny plate of fries, Tony can’t imagine having that kind of money, that level of surety that his card wouldn’t be declined.

Steve was only a few years older than he was, but seemed so much more… adult than Tony ever felt. So established. Steve ran a gallery in the city, selling what looked like children’s artwork to rich people who paid thousands of dollars a piece. Tony had made sure he had enough in his account to cover dinner this time, figuring that by their fifth date, Steve would finally let him pay, though apparently that wasn’t the case. He was quietly relieved. Tony had only recently graduated with a PhD from MIT, scraping by to make ends meet while he served coffee and applied for jobs at companies he longed to work for full-time. He never imagined the hot, scruffy, hip guy who came into the Starbucks he worked at would actually ask him out. Tony had dreamed about it, of course, an embarrassing number of nights in bed, alone with his thoughts, and when it happened he’d had to brace himself against the counter, sure the blood rushing through his ears meant he was on the verge of fainting.

He’d gotten to know Steve slowly, over meals he never could have afforded, at small, hidden gem restaurants where Steve always seemed to know someone, greeting them warmly and asking after kids and grandkids. He was sweet, Tony knew this from his many coffee shop visits, but this was somehow more.

Steve raises an eyebrow, playfully. “No?” he asks, draining the last of his beer and studying Tony, trying to discern what he meant by the request. Though, Tony didn’t really know himself, he didn’t want to be presumptuous. Steve had walked him home the last few times, had kissed him with a heated expertise Tony hadn’t experienced before. He longed for more but he didn’t want to ask for more; this was his constant struggle when it came to, well… most things he wanted.

“What would you like to do?” Steve asks, and Tony still doesn’t have an answer, so he blurts the first thing that comes to mind.

“I could go for ice cream,” he says, though it comes out like more of a question. “There’s a place by my apartment,” he adds, more sure of himself this time.

The thought of bringing Steve to the same ice cream stand he’d been going to his whole life made him feel dizzy, and a little exhilarated. He’d gone there after his prom. After bombing and acing tests. He’d brought countless dates there, and had cried into an ice cream cone after one of his more brutal fights with his father, before they’d severed ties completely. It was just ice cream, but it was like showing Steve a side of himself that he usually kept tucked in close. He swallows nervously.

Steve smiles at him over the table, eyes crinkling, and squeezes Tony’s hand as the waiter comes back to their table, returning his card. Steve thanks him.

“I can do ice cream,” he agrees. “A little sweet, a little bad for you, what’s not to love?” He sounds almost suggestive when he says it, his eyebrows raised a little, and Tony meets his eyes just briefly before focusing on a spot above his forehead. He can feel his face flushing. Seriously, what was he getting himself into here? Steve was rich, and kind, and smart, and Tony couldn’t land a job even with a PhD in mechanical engineering, didn’t speak to his family, and was so hung up on him in such a short period of time that he was positive he was minutes away from scaring him off.

But Steve didn’t look scared off when he stood and helped Tony into his jacket, taking his hand as they walked out into the brisk fall evening. Steve didn’t look scared when he kissed the minty, chocolatey taste from Tony’s lips, or when he fed Tony a bite of strawberry from his spoon. He certainly looked unfazed when he tossed their empty cups and napkins into the trash and turned his gaze to Tony in the driver’s seat, and asked, “Still don’t want to go home?” in a low, husky tone Tony hadn’t heard him use before. His stomach flips and he shakes his head no, ready to follow wherever Steve leads.

They wind up back at Steve’s apartment. Tony hadn’t been there yet, and it was more subdued than he’d imagined. There was art on the walls, and a gorgeous view of the city, but it looked lived in. Tony realizes he probably had a very sitcom idea of what a wealthy apartment actually looked like, but still: Steve had made himself a home in this apartment, and Tony relished the idea of getting to see it. He Imagines himself coming here after a long day in a lab somewhere, falling into Steve’s arms and into his bed, long nights on the couch, laughing. It’s intoxicating, not unlike the look that crosses Steve’s face when he catches Tony lost in his little daydream.

“What do you think?” Steve asks. “Good enough to stay awhile?”

Tony swallows. “Yeah it’s… it’s,” he hunts for a word that won’t make him sound as inexperienced as he suddenly feels. “Way nicer than my apartment.” It’s honest, if nothing else.

“You’ll get there,” Steve tells him, sounding more sure about it than Tony had ever felt.

“A Starbucks salary will hardly do it, and since no one else seems to want to hire me…” Tony doesn’t want the night to end with him feeling sorry for himself, but it was true.

“They will. I was thinking… I know someone who works for this security firm. Looking to expand, grow the tech side of things, and they need someone who can think out of the box. Bring them into this century. I hope it’s okay, but I gave them your name. He’ll have to go through the interview process with you of course, but I couldn’t help it…” Steve looks almost apologetic, and Tony’s torn between screaming his thanks and jumping into his arms. He chooses the latter, trying to remain calm as he thanks Steve at least ten times.

“Really. You have no idea how much that helps,” Tony says again, leaning in and kissing him deeply.

Steve’s eyes seem to darken as he smiles and takes Tony’s hand, leading him to his room. It was dark save for a dim bedside light, with deep blue walls and yet more art adorning them. Tony hardly has a chance to take it all in though, when Steve pulls him in close for a searing kiss, and Tony feels himself melting into him. Steve’s everywhere, his hands in Tony’s hair and pulling at his shirt, lips tasting the skin at his collarbone, all of it just rough enough to make Tony’s heart jackrabbit in his chest, his body heating with sheer want.

They ease onto Steve’s bed, soft as a cloud and perfect, and any remaining anxiety Tony had about the two of them dissipates as Steve’s mouth finds the shell of Tony’s ear, kissing it softly. “This okay?” he asks, and god it’s so much better than okay, all Tony can do is nod into him, capturing Steve’s lips with his, and letting their hands and mouths do the rest.

“So,” Steve says, much later, once they’ve caught their breath and were enjoying a slow exchange of lazy kisses. Tony turns his head and his heart nearly stops at the sight of Steve with his hair a mess, lips red and puffy from where Tony kissed them, a smile pulling up the corner of his mouth. Tony takes a breath and kisses him once more, quickly, before he can say anything else.

“So,” Tony repeats, almost nervous for where this is going, because the night had been nearly too good to be true. Steve felt too good to be true.

“Can I…” Steve starts, but then corrects himself. “Did you have a good time tonight? And the other nights? I mean, can we do this again?” Steve is the nervous one now, and it looks way too endearing on him. “...Regularly?”

Tony would have laughed had it not been for the slight crease between Steve’s eyebrows.

“Sorry if it’s too soon I just… don’t date a lot,” Steve confides. “And I really like you.”

“No, it’s not too soon. Actually... I thought it was just me, that I was crazy for wanting so...much so soon. I had a great time,” Tony tells him seriously. “Ten out of ten, would date again. Promise it’s not just for this amazing bed. Which is amazing, by the way. Or the job recommendation. Or that thing you kept doing with your tongue…” Tony trails off. It’s partly all of those reasons, but it’s so much more, too.

Steve hums happily and kisses Tony again, slower, not asking for more. “Good,” is all he manages before Tony curls himself into his chest and burrows into him, the most at ease he’s been in ages.

Good indeed.

#tcnystcnks #stevetony #stony #superhusbands #my fic #idk what this is if i'm honest

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