#this might sound like a Huge stretch of logic on my part but i kind of think this is an autism thing for me? autists ive talked to seem to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

madjacobin · 3 years

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Albert Rosenfield's Day Off

Albert Rosenfield/Dale Cooper

for @magnificentmoose, as part of the wonderfulxstrange event for the anniversary of the Twin Peaks revival! Albert and Coop go on a trip to the Rodin museum in Philly, mild angst and fluff. No spoilers.

The world is huge, and Cooper intends on showing Albert as much as he can of it. Or at least, Coop is wholly committed to dragging Albert around Philadelphia, giving him a crash course in the city’s arts and culture. For all of his interests in art and history, Albert noted as he chewed on a poppy seed bagel, he usually couldn’t afford to take time off to immerse himself in his new city. The bagel was untoasted, and awfully chewy - the kind that lingered furtively in the break room, untouched and uneaten - and Albert was regretting having skipped his breakfast. Perhaps tomorrow, on his day off, he’d be able to stop by the corner shop and grab some proper bagels.

Grimacing, he put down the bagel and resumed his work on writing the report of a victim of a recent slaying, one whose rope burns and repeatedly stabbed torso indicated a link between this victim and the marks on a few others. The three victims were all found within the same vicinity - on the banks of the Delaware - and the FBI was assisting Philadelphia and Camden police forces. Maybe, with his work, they’d be one step closer to catching what they all knew was clearly a serial killer.

His work dragged on, for a few more hours, and by then Albert was already settled in his working groove. Wholly dedicated to the task at hand, he at first didn’t realize who had walked in.

“Thorough as always, Albert,” A kind voice interrupted him, knocking him from his single-minded focus.

“Hey, Coop,” Albert said drearily. He slowly rose from his chair as Cooper took a swig from his own steaming cup of coffee. Albert’s own cup sat nearby, cold and abandoned. He groaned suddenly, his body creaking from sitting in his chair for the whole day. “Just about done with this report on the Number Three’s autopsy. Besides, what the hell are you doing here so late?”

“I figured I’d wait for you to finish,” Cooper chatted, “We’ve got plans, too. Have you considered what you want to hit up first tomorrow?”

Rubbing his eyes as he shuffled the papers, Albert pondered momentarily. He’d been drawn to the numerous art and culture institutions in Philadelphia, and had done some light readings on Auguste Rodin, who had a museum dedicated to his work in the city.

“I know a place that might be your speed, Albert - how about the Mütter?- they’ve got a great medical menagerie, skeletons and jars and all.”

“You know, Coop, I think I’ve had my fill of cadavers for a hot minute. Why don’t we go to, ah, the Rodin museum?” Albert responded, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

Cooper’s own eyes lit up, and he immediately snapped his fingers, exclaiming, “Albert, you’re absolutely right - the one thing we need is a refreshing break from your case. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine, we’ll grab ourselves some piping hot coffee, and we’ll be off on our day!”

Barely registering Cooper’s words, Albert stretched his back and arms and looked up. Cooper had already left, he realized. Turning around, he noted that the sky was nearing total darkness. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he’d be free to spend the whole day with Cooper, and not have to worry about everything else, just one day. Just one day.

He was walking. Down a hallway, where the fluorescent lights reflected off the lifeless linoleum floors. Invisible voices just out of eyesight whispered and chattered, the lights emitted a low buzzing noise. The faint scent of cleaning fluid, and cigarette smoke. It must’ve been Quantico, Albert realized, remembering it was just like his days as a young agent, wandering the old halls. He was holding something. Looking down, Albert saw he was carrying a bouquet of daffodils. The soft yellow and cream colored petals fluttered in some intangible draft. He was looking for someone. Picking up his pace, he walked onwards, but realized his vision was starting to blur. A shadowy, black figure lingered at the end of the hallway, quivering slightly in the distorted, flickering light. His vision swam, and the figure’s darkness morphed with the yellow of the daffodils. The buzzing from the lights changed into incessant beeping, drilling into his ears, and his vision went dark.

The beeping continued. Albert suddenly flipped over and grabbed his alarm clock, which was sounding off for his wake up time of 7:30 in the morning. Of course. Throwing his legs over the bedside, Albert groggily got up and stumbled to the bathroom. After getting washed up, he headed back to his room and instinctively grabbed a white button down shirt, before gingerly putting it back on the hanger and grabbing a sage colored shirt instead. Opting for some relaxed blue trousers as well, Albert got dressed and prepared for his outing, carefully inspecting himself in the mirror.

Later that morning, after he was satisfied with his preparations, Albert walked briskly down the street. His neighborhood was bustling with pedestrians, honking automobiles, and the occasional pigeon flapping its wings. Usually the humdrum of the city irritated Albert, but he felt oddly serene: he walked with a purpose, and with an objective in his mind. He clamped the leatherbound journal in his hands, its pages unwritten. He picked it up at the back alley bookstore, a few blocks from his apartment, not from the kind of place where the books were mass produced. Cooper needed more than just his tape recorder to report his thoughts, after all. With all too impeccable timing, Cooper himself appeared around the block’s corner, carrying a brown paper bag and a tray of two coffees.

“Morning, Albert!” He called cheerfully while striding up to meet him.

Albert gave a half-smile, which looked more like a smirk to the unfamiliar. “Thanks for the breakfast, Coop. How much do I owe-”

“-You don’t owe me a thing,” Cooper gently cut him off.

“Alright, then,” Albert responded, shoving one hand in his pocket and taking his coffee with the other. “So this museum’s down six or seven blocks, according to my map. If we take this street,” he pointed behind Cooper’s head, to the southwest, “and cross over at North 22nd and continue, it’ll be to our left.”

“Excellent. Normally I’d meander around hopelessly without a map, but directionally, I’m in good hands today.”

Albert snorted and rolled his eyes, only for moments later to realize he wasn’t wearing his tinted FBI shades. Cooper, knowing Albert well enough to understand, chuckled, and in a short time they were well on their way.

The museum itself could be considered an artistic marvel, for all Albert cared. Flanked by blossoming cherry trees and verdant beeches, the elegant marble building occupied a peaceful space within the city of Philadelphia, a perfect place to clear one’s head.

“Greek Revival architecture,” Albert murmured quietly, with Cooper nodding in approval. Stepping up and over the white marble threshold that gated the museum, Cooper and Albert walked in tandem towards the main door. “See that black-looking door next to it, with the carvings? Guess what it’s called,” Albert questioned cheekily, eyeing Cooper.

Doing his best impression of someone who was thinking awfully hard, Coop shook his head after a few moments. “I’m stumped, Albert.”

“‘The Gates of Hell’, actually. It doesn’t look so damn agonizing, if you squint a little.”

Cooper chuckled genuinely, with Albert noting that the smile reached his deep hazel eyes. What he’d do to see that expression. He felt that warm and fuzzy feeling grow inside of him, but wanted to stamp it down. Damn it, I’m being stupid again, Albert thought as he pushed the doors to the museum open, following Cooper inside.

The tickets had already been paid for, Albert noted with pleasant surprise. Was Cooper really doing all of this for him? He muttered his thanks to Cooper, his face feeling warm. He didn’t have to do this, really.

Almost reading his mind, Cooper gently squeezed his arm and said, “I’m happy to do this for you, Albert. You need this day to unwind, trust me. Look, let’s go this way.” Taking him gently by the arm, Cooper directed Albert down the stately marble hallway.

Everything was either white, black, or a somber dove gray. The floors, ceiling, walls, everything, were almost all constructed of smooth marble or granite. It felt like his dream, but not as artificial, not as foreboding. Instead of shadow figures and ominous voices roaming the halls, graceful figures languidly stretched out, and some other statues jutted out into the empty space. Curious tourists flitted between the statues, whispering to each other.

“Do you know about this one, Albert? It’s called the Burghers of Calais,” Cooper tapped him and pointed to the group of statues, a circle of emaciated men looking worryingly somber.

“It’s undoubtedly a copy, the real one’s in Calais, France. You don’t know the story behind it?” Albert asked, gesturing towards the hunched, metallic men. “Back during the Hundred Years’ War in Europe, the English army captured Calais and offered them mercy, at a price. These men, local community leaders, decided they would bear the weight of the city’s freedom. They’re going to offer their lives in exchange, they’re going to die.”

Cooper was wordless, his eyes growing dark as he took in the men’s harrowed expressions. “I can’t fathom how they must have felt, knowing it was either them or… everyone else,” he furrowed his brow in contemplation.

“You know what it’s like, to be surrounded by familiar faces and still feel like the world’s loneliest man?” Albert’s own brown eyes met Cooper’s, and for one moment too long, they locked eyes.

“I’m all too familiar with that sensation, you know. But I know I’m far from the only one,” He answered, his voice slightly unsteady.

“That’s the idea,” Albert said, looking back at the statues. “They knew that, logically, but in that moment, emotion takes over. It’s hard to think realistically when you’re walking to your death, for all you know.”

Cooper nodded solemnly. Albert’s hand brushed over his pocket, which held the small leatherbound journal. When would he give it to Cooper? Now it doesn't seem right, but when?

“You know, these aren’t the only statues in the museum, Albert. We can see more,” he said softly, gesturing towards the numerous white figures in their periphery.

Albert obliged, and they continued across the floor, the heels of their shoes softly tapping on the marble. They drifted from statue to statue, with Albert providing historical context and Cooper asking thought provoking questions. Cooper’s eyes were on the sculptures. Albert’s eyes were on Cooper. They laughed (quietly), whispered, and talked about the works of art that lined the halls, and sometimes sat in silent observance. It was good like this, Albert thought, that neither one of them felt pressured to fill the empty air with words. His eyes drifted from Cooper and the cluster of dented looking statues, to the pale white display of two figures wrapped in a passionate embrace.

“Look,” Cooper said, pointing towards the statue in question, “‘the Kiss.”

The two figures - a man and a woman - sat wrapped in each others’ arms, their rippling marble curves and muscles straining to keep each other close. It was a kiss of tender intimacy, the first of many kisses, with subtle awkwardness and hesitation. Their features were nondescript, blank enough to be anyone.

“Marvellous, isn’t it? Rodin had the eye for emotion in a fleeting moment, from creeping dread to tentative romance. It’s like looking at a still from a movie,” Albert observed, directing Cooper’s eyes along the statue’s contours with a finger.

“Clearly. Look at how the marble’s cut and carved - it looks like skin, soft and supple - imagine the skill it took to achieve this, let alone for one single statue out of many.” He suddenly reached for his jacket pocket, but patted it in confusion. “Damn, where is it?”

“Where’s what?” Albert asked, puzzled.

“My tape recorder - I think I’ve left it at home, I was going to recollect about today, and the pieces that stood out to me,” Cooper frowned, looking terribly lost without his trusty device.

“Funny you mention that,” Albert said almost too confidently, reaching into his pocket. “It’s a good thing I picked this up a while back. Made me think of you, you know.” He passed Cooper the leatherbound journal, his heart slowly moving into his chest.

Cooper looked in awe at the humble diary, gently opening the pliant cover. “Is this… for me?”

“Who else would I give it to?” Albert smirked.

“Daffodils… pressed daffodils on the front page. I’ve loved pressed flowers, but mine never look as nice as these. It’s beautiful.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Albert said warmly, his own smile matching the one that spread across Cooper’s face. “Just make sure you get good use out of it, okay?”

“Of course, Albert.”

They stood in front of the white statue for a brief moment, with Cooper getting another good look at the gift. There were more statues to see, of course, and the day wasn’t even over. They had nearly the whole afternoon left, Albert realized. And for one moment, he didn’t feel like he was out of time.

#i hope it's good... it's my first time writing TP fanfic #dale cooper #albert rosenfield #wonderfulxstrange #twin peaks #albert rosenfield/dale cooper

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hitsuackerman · 3 years

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Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.29

warnings: this cannot be read solo

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20, part 21, part 22, part 22, part 23, part 23.5, part 24, part 25, part 26, part 27, part 28, part 30

Masterlist to my other fics: here :) (that has not been updated for how many months now... proceed with caution~)

“And that's about it.” You clicked the send button and stretched your limbs.

You weren’t too sure how many hours had passed but after venting it all out to Tsukauchi, you felt much better. The weight you carried still lingered but your mind was much clearer now. Looking at the office window, the skies were now a shade of pink. Not in the mood for cheap coffee, you stood up and took a peak at Tsukauchi’s desk.

Papers scrawled and pens scattered, Tsukauchi’s head was resting on his arms as he too snoozed off. Finding his sticky notes, you left him a small message telling him where you would be going.

You could always head home and freshen up but with the small window of time, the chief might call you out for being tardy. He’d been leaving you alone for the past few weeks and you hoped it would last a bit longer.

Making your way towards the cafe, you marveled at the emptiness the streets had. Quite some time had passed since the last time you took an all nighter. Now that you think about it, ever since that injury, you have been able to get an adequate amount of rest. Every now and then, food would be delivered followed by a text complaining how you were annoying.

Entering the cafe, you walked towards the counter. Greeted by a rather huge smile, all you could give was a forced one.

“Do you h-”

“Someone already ordered for you.” The cashier said. Telling you to wait, you went to a vacant table and took your phone out. It barely took 3 minutes before she came back holding a paper bag. “Shinoda-san has already paid the bill so you’re good to go~”

“How kind of him…” You took the bag and exited the building. The streets slowly getting congested as the seconds ticked by. Dialling his number, he picked up after the 4th ring. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“I put it on a tab.” Overhaul replied. His voice was muffled by his mask. “Everything I bought for you has been recorded and will be sent to you monthly.”

“That’s just mean…”

“That’s what you get for working overtime and not going home as we had agreed.”

“It was last minute, you dumbass.” You huffed but knew he was teasing. “Are you waiting for me to say ‘I’ll make it up to you. What can I do for you, Chisaki?’ or something like that?”

“Perhaps. It is still quite early but I did come bearing news.” He paused and you could hear papers shuffling. “I feel as though you already know that the Fukuo Kai case will start in about a week or two. I was thinking perhaps we should have a private meeting.”

“With Tsukauchi?” You stopped walking.

“Are you that dense?”

“I’m kidding. What do you wanna do?” Finding a nearby bench, you took a seat and took the sandwich out.

“I recall someone saying that their definition of a good date was something along the lines of ‘You and Me against the world?’”

“Go on…” The smile building on your face couldn’t be kept hidden anymore.

“I’ve booked us tickets. If things go as planned then perhaps the day after the Fukuo Kai case would be a good end to all this.”

“A parting gift I presume?” The smile slowly faded when you remembered what came after. The sandwich now tasted horrible. You waited for him to speak up but there was nothing but silence. “Alright. The day after the case sounds good.”

“I’ll pick you up at 6. Wear something nice.”

Ending the call, you stared at your sandwich. A week or two then once that’s passed, it wouldn’t be long before Overhaul’s case would be pushed to your priority list. Looking back towards the direction of the precinct, you decided to save the sandwich for later.

Now that you were seated and facing your computer once more, you decided to recheck your schedule.

Sure enough, there really was less than 3 weeks left of the Fukuo Kai case before things would finally be handed over. A meeting with the chief was also in store a few days from now to go over the plans for the raid. Upon further scrolling, you noted how Tsukauchi had set up a date for a stake out. Clicking on the attached comment, you wondered as to why it had taken this amount of time for them to make their move.

“You awake yet, Nao?” You knocked on your cubicle.

“Barely.” He grumbled. “What’s up?”

“Regarding this stake out, do you think we can push it to 4 days from now?”

“I’m not really sure. It’ll depend on Overhaul since he will be your partner for that one.” He leaned to take a peek at your station.

“Overhaul? Why?”

“Dunno. I just thought that it’s been a while since you two teamed up.” He shrugged as he dragged his chair closer to yours. “But it’s mostly because my schedule doesn’t fit. I have to meet up with All Might for the whole week. I did ask a few others but you can guess they turned it all down out of fear.”

“Hmm. No surprise.” You tapped your index finger on the mouse. Reminding yourself to call him later regarding the sudden change of plans, you leaned on your chair. “Who’s going to be in this meeting with chief?”

“The two of you and Shinezu.”

“Poor guy.”

“It’ll do him good. Speaking of which, we have to go over the initial plan for the raid. Do you wanna do it today or save it for some other time?” Choosing the first option, Tsukauchi nodded and went back to his desk. Grabbing the necessary documents, he waited for you to prepare and led you towards a private meeting room.

“Now that we're at it,” You took the adjacent seat. “What are the updates? I haven’t really heard anything about them for quite some time now.”

“Heh. Things got a little more complicated during your sick leave.” Sliding one folder, he waited for your reaction. Seeing how your eyes widened, he let out an exhausted sigh. “As if one organization is enough, having to deal with an alliance means more trouble for us.”

“Tsk. Damn it. When did you gather this information? What source did you get this from?”

“Believe it or not, the chief actually did some work and gave us this as some sort of peace offering.”

Peace offering? What was the man planning?

“When did you receive this?” You carefully read the details.

“If I recall, it was the day before you came back to work.” He shyly scratched his nape. “It’s kinda my fault, though. I honestly forgot to inform you regarding this information.”

“It’s fine.” You assured him. “I’m thankful you didn’t relay the information right then and there. So, it says here that we infiltrate them at their headquarters. The information was true? Their headquarters are downtown?”

“That’s right. The intel we gathered showed us that movement around that certain street has picked up. Akuji was spotted as well. He’s been involved from the very start, I presume?”

“Well, he was at that gala and the head of the Fukuo Kai gave him a business card. It’s only logical he is. But to go there in person only means bad things. Any ideas?”

“If it were a higher ups meeting, Overhaul should’ve been there. Unless they know he’s involved with us?”

“He’s not.” Overhaul was shady but you trusted him enough that he would have told you if he were called to attend a gathering. For once, he was in the clear. Or so you hoped. You’d have to inquire about that once you call him later. “My guess is that they too are finalizing whatever plan they have in store. With that being said, have you any clue as to what their main agenda is now?”

“We suspect that their main agenda now is to take over at least 50 percent of the yakuza network. Overhaul’s connections are rather large so they must be feeling pretty confident to make a move now.” Tsukauchi rested his chin on his index finger. “Akuji was one person we saw. The other one was Tamisura.”

“Hmm. Any sighting of Nokusu?” It had been a while since you last mentioned their names. The last time you spoke of them was days before the gala. Tamisura, with the momentum like quirk, and Nokusu with his shadow manipulation quirk.

“None. I am not confident whether or not it is safe to assume that they have declined the invitation to take part with the Fukuo Kai.” He shrugged. “I just kinda wished it was Nokusu we were dealing with and not Tamisura. We barely know anything about her quirk.”

“I’ll ask chief about his encounter.” You answered. “Perhaps the other precincts can provide us with some information. Whether it be big or small, we’ll take it. I do agree with you, though. It just had to be her.”

“Try asking Overhaul too. Perhaps they know something about her.” He watched as you nodded. “As for the plan, there aren’t too many changes from before. Overhaul will have to carry our asses for the last part but I feel as though he can do his part well.”

“I hope so.”

With the minor details now explained, you found yourself walking towards the chief’s office. Closing your eyes and sending off as silent prayer, you only hoped things would be fine. Knocking on the door, he gave you the permission to enter.

“Chief.” You greeted him.

“Oh~ (Y/N).” He closed the folder and motioned for you to sit down. “How can I help my favorite star, hmm?”

“I just wanted to ask you about Tamisura. What exactly did you see regarding her quirk?”

“Ah.” He leaned on this squeaky chair’s back. “Fine woman, I might say. Her quirk made her move at insane speeds. Because of the momentum, it was rather hard to stop her. When she moves, a trail of yellow light follows her. If my memory serves me right, then, I believe it would take her awhile to fully use her quirk?”

“Like charging herself?”

“Don’t take my word for it.” He raised both his hands up. “During that particular instance, one of my men noticed how she kept distance before attacking. Perhaps that’s the downside to her quirk. As for the duration, I cannot give any information.”

“This is more than enough.” You stood up and bowed. “Thank you for the cooperation and I apologize for disturbing you.”

“Anything for you, my star~” He winked.

Suppressing a groan, you awkwardly smiled and hurriedly left the room. Your prayers had been heard and the interaction was clean. The given information wasn’t much but it was something. Taking your phone out, you dialed Overhaul.

Strangely enough, he didn’t answer. Then again, you were sure he was doing whatever he did at 9am in the morning. The mental image you had as to what his activities were were rather vague but you could only hope he wouldn’t indulge in them too much. Who were you kidding? He was messed up. You were too for harboring feelings.

Not wanting to stay any longer, you informed Tsukauchi that you would be heading home.

When you locked your car doors, your phone rang. Checking who it was, you immediately answered it.

“You called?”

“I know it’s sudden but you think you can clear your schedule for me?”

“What exactly do you need, Problem Child?”

“I just wanna ask you a few questions about the Fukuo Kai case.”

“Does it have to be in person?” His voice was rather teasing. Admittedly, you always loved it when he spoke with that tone. “Alright. I shall see you where?”

“My apartment is fine. I’ll arrive there in about 30 minutes, so just take your time.”

“See you then.” He paused at your silence of a few seconds. “What?”

“Bring food! Bye~!” You ended the call immediately. Giggling at the moment, you tossed your phone to the seat and began your drive back home.

- - - - -

Hello everyone! It's me!

I know I haven't updated the story in 3 months? And I apologize :( My family has well recovered from the COVID scare of last year. What took its place was my declining mental health due to my shitty work environment. I could barely write any of my fics and even when I did write a new one, I could only hold on to very little chapters before feeling down and useless T.T

As to the next upload, I am not sure when but I can promise you that the next chapter is currently being written as we speak :) I hope you guys liked the 2 new chapters! and if you enjoyed the whole story, feel free to buy me a ko-fi.. it'll greatly help me :')

See you all in the next update!

PS. I didn't mention the tag list cause maybe ya'll don't want to be tagged anymore hehehe if you do want to be tagged then please feel free to message me or comment :)

#mha overhaul #bnha overhaul #overhaul #kai chisaki #chisaki kai #overhaul x reader #overhaul x y/n

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 4 years

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Happy Birthday, everybirdfellsilent!

Happy belated Birthday, @everybirdfellsilent! Apologies once again for all the mix-ups and confusion with your gift! I hope you had a truly wonderful day back when it actually was your birthday, and that it was much more orderly than this! To bring the party feels back, @ally147writes has emerged from everlark retirement to write a birthday gift just for you!

AN: Let me tell you, @everybirdfellsilent, I agonised over the ending. This was the neatest and tidiest I could make it without writing you a novel. I hope it makes you chuckle a little.

Also a good time to let the audience know that I cannot write horror, or ghost stories, but dang it, I can write borderline crack, and I wanted to write Buzzfeed Unsolved-inspired ghosthunter!everlark so damn much.

Unbeta’d, because that’s how I roll.

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The old Undersee mansion doesn’t look haunted.

Not that that really means anything. Most of the houses they’ve visited over the years haven’t looked haunted. They’ve been completely normal — except for that one in District Ten that had some kind of summoning circle in the basement (Peeta will die hoping it was drawn with red paint, a super weird kid’s project, but he’s got a feeling he’ll be dying disappointed. And extremely terrified) — with completely normal gardens in completely normal streets.

So, no. Like most, the old Undersee mansion doesn’t look haunted, but it definitely feels haunted.

Peeta pauses at the bottom of the winding path. At its end, atop a small hill, the innocuous house sits empty, Madge and her family out for the next few nights while he and Katniss investigate. It’s as normal looking as any of the other exorbitantly large mansions on the street, but the longer Peeta stares down the deceptively cheerful, sunshine-yellow door, a deep, intense foreboding settles in his gut and ferments there.

He swallows. “Uh, Kat?”

Katniss sighs and stops at the first step to the porch, and Peeta swears he can hear her eyes rolling. Hard. “What is it, Peeta?”

“I just… I got a real bad feeling about this one.”

“Peeta,” she starts, mounting the first step, “you’ve had real bad feelings about all of them so far. And you’ve been wrong every time.”

“No,” he replies quickly, following behind in the relative safety of her shadow. “You’ve just chosen to deny whatever proof we do find.”

“A battery running out in our flashlight does not mean ghosts were playing with it.”

“It ran out at the exact moment I told the spirits to turn it off!”

“I don’t know how else to tell you that was a coincidence. The flashlight had been on for a good two hours by that point.”

“A little convenient, don’t you think? Come on, Katniss. Plus, it turned right back on again when we were done, so the battery can’t have been that damn flat.”

“I can’t understand why you’re so eager for this all to be the work of ghosts when it scares you shitless every single time.”

“What about the time the spirit box said your name?”

“Peeta,” she says with a strained laugh. “It said, Can’t Miss. As in, the District 12 Mockingjays Can’t Miss. It was a snippet of a goddamn basketball ad. It’s on the radio all the time on game days.”

“Yeah, and the spirit box allows ghosts to use radio waves to communicate. Of course it wasn’t going to find Katniss — who the hell’s advertising katniss? — so it picked the next best thing.”

“I’ll just sit here and wait for them to use a snippet of a pita bread company ad to talk to you, then.”

He glares at the back of her head. “I’m sure they would, if there was a pita factory nearby that advertised.”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Peeta. Let’s go find you a ghost.” She lifts a camera to her eyes and kicks the heavy mahogany door open and flicks on the gently swinging chandelier light.

“Ghosts, spirits, urban legends and other assorted demonic entities, how are we all this evening?”

“Katniss,” he hisses as he closes the door. “Some respect, maybe?”

“What part was disrespectful? I covered, well, maybe not the full the spectrum of possible occupants, but definitely most of them, and asked how they were. Honestly if they’re not going to reply, they’re the disrespectful ones, not me.”

The light flickers out. Katniss snorts. Peeta lets out a squeak he’s not proud of.

“She doesn’t mean it,” Peeta calls frantically. “For the love of God, she doesn’t mean it. I’m sure you’re all lovely and polite.”

The light flickers weakly and comes back on. The chandelier fitting swings like a pendulum, casting stretching and receding shadows over the white-sheet covered lounges and a thick, dark coffee table.

“What the hell do you call that, Katniss?”

“Shoddy wiring?” She shrugs. “Peeta, this house is about a century old. Probably more, actually.”

“Madge said it was renovated and rewired two years ago.”

She shrugs again. “Rats? Raccoons, maybe? That would explain the supposedly unexplainable shuffling sounds Madge thinks she hears.”

Now he rolls his eyes. “Why am I married to you, again?”

“Because divorce is costly and time consuming,” she says, kissing his cheek. “Besides, my logic goes well with your fatalistic romanticism.”

“None of that’s going to matter when this house goes all Poltergeist and swallows us.”

“Then what a good thing it is that that’s never going to happen.” She plonks herself down on one of the lounges and sets a pair of small motion-sensing cameras pointing at each entrance. Peeta swallows and hitches a thumb towards the kitchen.

“I’m… uh, gonna look around for a bit.”

“All right,” Katniss says absently. “Scream if you need me.”

“Will do.”

That dread in his stomach recedes and grows with each room he enters. He doesn’t feel anything wrong with the kitchen, or the dining room, but as he ventures up the staircase to the bedrooms, he swears he can feel something weighty on his shoulders.

A sound like a dry, rattling whisper like nails on paper echoes through the long hall leading to the attic entrance. Peeta gulps. “Hello?” He thumbs open the recording app on his phone and turns it on. “Is anyone there?”

The whispering sound grows. It doesn’t sound like words, exactly. At least, not words that he knows. They race up and along his spine until it sounds like they’re shouting in his ear.

Peeta squeaks, jumps about a foot in the air, and something skitters past, too fast to see. A wave of cold washes over him, settling in icicles on his bones, and for a moment he stands stock still, not even breathing…

Another whisper, one that sounds very, unnervingly close to hello, and he sprints back down the stairs to the living room, triggering the motion sensors into a high-pitched beeping sound.

Katniss bolts upright. “What the hell is going on?”

“Kat, were you… God, were you sleeping?” he asks, aghast.

“What? It’s boring down here.” She blinks blearily up at him. “Are you okay?”

“There… there’s something up there.”

“Something as in actually something? Or something like your imagination run wild?”

“Something like… it was making the strangest whispery, scratchy noises. I thought they were words, but… and then, something just… ran right past me. I didn’t see, but it was so so fast, and I —”

“Peeta, it’s probably vermin. And the wind. And just… a bit of everything coming together to make you think it’s ghosts when it’s… just, not.”

But his hands are shaking, and his pulse is more like one long thud instead of lots of little ones. “I just… I don’t…”

She rolls her eyes. “Would it make you feel better if I went and checked? You can stay here with these stupid motion sensors; they’re only picking up bugs, anyway.”

“No. No, I’ll go with you,” he says, setting a fist against his chest like that’ll do any good against his heart’s very valiant escape attempt. “Just in case.”

“Right,” she drawls, “just in case the wind gets me.”

He follows a step behind her, through the kitchen, down the corridor, and up the stairs. He doesn’t feel quite as heavy this, time, either. She cracks open every door they pass, six unused bedrooms, three bathrooms, two studys, and a small library, all silent. They’re left with one room at the very end. As she opens the final door, the whispering starts again, and a low moan like racing wind echoes.

She steps in, and he turns on the light. The room is huge, but full. A writing desk sits in the far corner, and a neatly-made four-poster bed occupies the other corner. Beside the door, a seated vanity with a wide, oval mirror wiped free of dust. On its table, a collection of large and small hairbrushes, and an open box filled with tangled threads and needles and buttons and snippets of fabric. But none of those things holds Peeta’s focus for long.

Instead, he stares at a wide cabinet spanning nearly the whole length of the back wall, covered so densely in dolls of every conceivable material, fabric and wool, porcelain and plastic. The whispering is almost deafening, and every time Peeta turns his head to look somewhere else, he could swear the dolls are twitching, blinking, watching.

“Did, uh, Madge ever mention the doll collection?”

Katniss scowls at the dolls. “She might’ve? I don’t really remember.”

“Oh, I don’t think you would have forgotten something like this,” Peeta retorts.

“I… well, yeah, this is definitely weird, but I don’t think we can call it haunted, or otherworldly.”

“What the hell else would you call it?”

“Any number of perfectly reasonable and logical things, Peeta. Mrs. Undersee likes weird, creepy dolls; what more can you say?”

“Don’t call them weird and creepy.” He sets a finger against her lips. “I’ve read about haunted dolls. If you’re not respectful, they might curse you.”

She rolls her eyes, but nods all the same. He doesn’t take his eyes off hers as he lowers his finger and shoves his hands in his pockets.

He turns back to the dolls, and clears his throat. “Uh, we mean no harm or anything. It’s just… you’ve kind of been terrifying my friend and her parents, and we’d like you to please stop. Please.”

Katniss whispers, “You already said please.”

“Can’t hurt to say it twice.”

“Did you bring the, uh… the thing? You know, the thing that reads the waves or whatever it was?”

He shoots her a dour look. “You mean the EMF?”

“Yeah, that. Do you have it?”

“No, I don’t.” He sighs. “It would have been in the pack with the motion sensors, so it’s still downstairs.”

“Spirit box?”

“In the pack, too.”

She surveys him strangely, arms crossed over her chest. “You really didn’t come prepared, did you?”

“I was prepared! I just… didn’t think I’d be accosted in the very first hallway I went into.”

She snorts. “Yeah, well, maybe next time you’ll think —” She stops, freezes, eyes riveted on something Peeta can’t see. His heart thumps harder and louder than he’s ever felt before.

“Uh, Katniss? Is something wrong.”

“Peeta,” she says, deadpan.

“What?”

“Look over there, in the gap between the cabinet and the desk. See that?”

He does see that. He backs up so hard he’s going to have a massive bruise on his ass from the vanity he’s just about knocked over. “Holy shi — Are those… are those eyes?”

“Yeah, they’re eyes. You wanna know what kind of eyes?” She picks up a hairbrush from the vanity stand next to them and hurls it at the gap.

“Goddamn raccoon eyes, Peeta,” she says as the small pack of raccoons scatter. “There’s probably holes in the drywall or something, hence your scratchy whispers.”

“I�� oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Raccoons, Peeta. Ninety-five percent of the time, it’s probably rats or raccoons.”

“It wasn’t rats or raccoons in that place in District 10.”

“That… was an outlier of a house, I’ll give you that, but it was probably still just people. Very strange, very creepy people.” She nudges him gently with her elbow and cocks her head to the door. “Come on, we should try and see if we can find the holes they were coming in through.”

“You want to do home repairs?”

“Hey, we promised Madge an exorcism, didn’t we? This is just a different kind of exorcism.”

She hooks her arm in his, and they leave the doll room together. A sound like bye follows them out, but this time he can ignore it. Raccoons. Obviously.

“Why do you come with me to these things?” he asks when they reach the bottom of the stairs.

“Peeta,” she says seriously. “Know that I say this with all the love in my heart… you would die if I didn’t come with you.”

“If I did die, I would so mercilessly haunt your ass.”

She pats his arm, shakes her head. “No, you wouldn’t, Peeta. Ghosts aren’t real.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by ally147writes

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missnight0wl · 3 years

Note

What do you think of Corey Hayden? I actually like them but is it too ridiculous that MC trust them so much? It is already weird enough MC interact with them in the seventh year and they trust Corey when they first met. This just makes no sense.

The way they introduced Corey is simply ridiculous, especially that they’re allegedly quite popular among students in general. I get that MC is very occupied with the Cursed Vaults and whatnot, but it just irks me that they have absolutely no idea about other students until they’re officially introduced in the story. And the worst thing about this is that Jam City showed with both Charlie and Tonks that it could be done differently. Like, this is what MC said when they first “met” Charlie:

This was the first time Charlie was on the screen, but I’m perfectly fine with the implication that MC and Charlie interacted before off-screen because it’d be silly to think that MC’s life is limited to only what we see on the screen. So, I really don’t understand why since Y5, they made MC be like: “Oh, who’s that person in my year or possibly even in my House? I have no idea! I’ve never seen them, we were never introduced!”. Just… stop.

Other than that, though, I’m kind of indifferent about Corey. Not that I dislike them, but I never got on the hype when they were introduced – partially because I was too confused about why they made them so similar to Rowan. I talked more about it in this post. Nowadays, I’m actually also a little disappointed by them… I mean, Corey seemed to get MC’s situation, but lately, I feel it’s more like playing detectives for them. Which is pretty fair, actually – I just don’t think it’s really something we need. Moreover, I’m a bit annoyed that Corey is like: “I suspect that Merula might suspect something” while she quite obviously KNOWS that we spy on her. I know that Jam City doesn’t want to make their characters too smart, but Corey seemed to be able of more critical thinking. I don’t know, I guess I’m simply tired that they’re stretching this plot so much when it could’ve been so much more interesting.

As for MC trusting Corey too quickly, I think it’s actually a huge problem with MC in general, and so I don’t really connect it with Corey. Rakepick spent two years teaching MC not to trust people. Then, Moody came with his: “Constant vigilance!”. And sure, MC often repeats these words, but I swear that this kid has no fucking idea what they mean. I still don’t understand why they were so surprised that there’s a mole at Hogwarts. What, they thought that R is very lucky at guessing what exactly they’re doing all those years? And did they get any more careful when they learnt about Merula? Nope! Again, I’m aware it’s a lazy way of moving the plot forward, but I’d much rather see a more paranoid MC because God knows they have all reasons in the world not to trust anyone.

Overall, Corey just feels to me like a bit of unnecessary addition. Truth be told, I think that their role could easily be filled by Jae, for example. I know it sounds biased because he's one of my favourite characters, but… it makes sense, y’know. Jae was a person who took us to Knockturn Alley to meet Mundungus, which led to the mole’s reveal. He was also the one who immediately ask MC if we think it might be related to R. And even if you choose to say no, Jae replies that he’s not so sure about it! Like, Jae knows what’s going on, and it’d also make sense to tell him later how our meeting with Dung ended. He goes to Knockturn Alley, so he could also keep an eye on Merula there. Moreover, it’s more logical for MC to trust Jae with something like that because he already proved his loyalty in the past.

As I said, I don’t dislike Corey. It’s just that part of me wonders… what’s the point?

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm mc #corey hayden #merula snyde #jae kim #ask #anonymous

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supernaturalfreewill · 4 years

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Words: 3,829 Sam x Reader Warnings: none! Summary: Y/N accompanies Sam to have his possibly broken hand looked at. A/N: Part 4 is heeeere! This one is packed with gratuitous fluff and a bit of angst and adorable Sammy and just... trust me. You will like it. This is part of a series! Read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 first!

Your name: submit What is this?

“Alright, and how are we doing in here?” the nurse asked, stepping into the exam room with the doctor just behind her.

“We are doing great,” Sam said enthusiastically. He had a dopey grin on his face and you couldn’t prevent a wide one from spreading on yours too. You had to bite your cheek to stop a laugh.

“Sam, I think they want to know about your pain level,” you prodded him. He fixed his eyes on you for a long moment, his eyebrows still raised, looking a little wide-eyed. You waited for him to answer but he seemingly was lost elsewhere. “Sam…” you said again.

He snapped out of his daze. “I’m sorry. What was the question?” he asked, trying to sit up and maybe even climb down off the exam table he was laying on.

“I feel sooooo much better,” he said. “My hand doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

The doctor let out a chuckle and raised his stool up, settling down next to Sam’s injured hand. “That’s good! We’re gonna move on to step two now. I’m gonna give you a couple injections in your hand here so you’ll feel a pinch and—”

Sam was suddenly trying to sit up again suddenly and he was looking right in your direction. The nurse put a hand on his shoulder again. “You have to settle in now and be very still for Dr. Michaels, alright?” she instructed him. He gave her a strange look and looked right back at you.

“Y/N—come over here. Please. You’re so far away,” he said, a vague and dreamy smile on his face.

You gave the nurse a questioning look and she nodded. You crossed the small room to Sam and stood beside him. As soon as you were there, he laid back down, apparently unaware of the doctor on his other side. His eyes were just drifting over your face. He couldn’t look away. You felt your cheeks burning. “Are you alright?” you asked him, keeping your voice low.

He yawned and nodded. “Yeah. Y/N,” he said again. He abruptly grabbed your hand in his uninjured one and laced his fingers with yours. You looked down at it, struck and surprised, and your face burned hotter. Your palms were pressed together and your fingers fit so well between his. “Ow!” he said suddenly, turning and finally noticing the doctor and nurse on his other side because he had just stuck a needle into him.

“That was one. Sorry, Sam. Another pinch coming,” the doctor said. He gave Sam a second injection in his hand and Sam squeezed yours, turning and looking back over at you, appearing suddenly anxious.

“I hope—I hope it’s okay if I hold your hand,” he said softly, his eyes flitting between yours again. “I just… really want to hold your hand.” He trailed off at the end of his sentence. His eyes were kind and soft as usual, and the wistful quality of his voice was disarming.

You nodded, giving him a small smile. This is just all the painkillers. Don’t read into this, you thought to yourself, like there was going to be some logical way to talk yourself out of the electricity you were feeling. “I don’t mind,” you said.

Sam looked down at your hand in his for a long moment. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else but just then the final injection came. “OW!” he said, much more loudly than the last time.

The doctor apologized with a gruff laugh. “That’s the last one, Sam. You’re doing great. We’ll give that about 30 minutes to become fully effective, alright? We’ll be back.”

You were alone with Sam again and he was still holding your hand firmly, his eyes moving between looking at your hand in his and your face. He had the slightest curve of a smile on his lips which brought one to yours.

“You doing okay?” you asked him.

He nodded. “I feel a little sleepy. But sooooo relaxed,” he said, laying his head back onto the pillow for a brief moment and shutting his eyes. Then he met your eyes again. “Y/N. I—have I ever told you—”

You tilted your head in a silent question but your eyes were pulled back to your hand in Sam’s as his thumb smoothed over the back of your hand in small circles. You cleared your throat and it was hard to tell if you were even still breathing, you felt so paralyzed. “Told me what?” you asked, meeting his eyes again, your heart absolutely racing in your chest.

The small smile on his lips faded and his expression was pensive, almost serious. “You’re so beautiful,” he said.

You felt your entire face and possibly your ears turning red and you couldn’t hold his eyes any longer after that. You looked down at your feet and tried to just laugh it off. “I think it is safe to say that you’re officially hopped up on painkillers, Sam Winchester.”

“No. I mean—I am but also… I should—you should hear that every day.” His thumb was still tracing absent circles on the back of your hand and suddenly the entire room felt like it was buzzing with energy. His eyes were steady when you met them once more.

You didn’t know how to respond to that. You knew how you wanted to. But how could you… You tried to swallow the nervous lump in your throat.

Sam suddenly laughed a little and it felt like the tension broke. “What’s so funny?” you asked him.

“I broke my hand,” he said earnestly, looking up at you again, but now the dopey smile was back. God, how you wanted to kiss him right on that dopey smile.

“You for sure did,” you said, laughing. “I can’t say I really think it’s as funny as you do.”

He squeezed your hand tightly in his and looked suddenly worried. “You should though. Because it’s fine. They already fixed it!”

“Uhh… not quite yet, Sam,” you said. “They still have to put the bone back in place. And you have to wear a cast for 6 weeks.”

“Thas okay. I can think of plenty of things to do instead of hunt for 6 weeks...” he trailed off and a dreamy expression reappeared on his face, his eyes a little unfocused.

You smirked at him. “Like what?”

“What?”

You shook your head and laughed at him again. “I said, ‘like what?’”

Sam licked his lips and stared at you. “…about what?”

“Oh my God,” you laughed lightly. Sam found that so intoxicating… He loved your laugh. And you didn’t do it enough—not really. Not giving into it fully the way you just had. “You are so high!” you accused him.

“I have a confession to make,” he said. He slipped his hand from yours and made a move to sit up, swinging his legs around over the edge of the exam table so he was facing you.

“Sam! Sam! Stop! Lay back down,” you said, putting a hand on his chest to stop him from standing up, which he fully looked like he was ready to attempt. “I am not going to be able to catch you when you inevitably fall!”

He looked like you had electrocuted him for a split second when your hand landed gently on the center of his chest. He looked down at it with a perplexed expression on his face and then back up at you. “Confession,” he said again.

You nervously chewed your bottom lip, your heart again pounding in your chest. You were suspended—you just waited to see if he would go on.

“I don’t—I don’t think I’m gonna be able to drive home,” he said seriously. Sam, you chicken. You were so close, he thought.

You let out a huge sigh and shook your head at him, laughing a little again. “Come on, Sam. Lay down.”

He obliged, but he kept glancing back over at you. “Hey, Y/N?” He paused, the magnetic eye contact stretching between the two of you again, your expression open and thoughtful. “Thanks for being here.”

You waved it off. “It’s nothing, Sam. Thanks for… stopping that guy.”

He nodded. “Like I said, I would put myself in the way of a lot worse than a broken hand if it was for you.”

You felt like you were millimeters from breaking open, damning the consequences, and letting everything out. One more word from him and you might fall. You watched as he again sweetly reached out for your hand and pulled you a little closer so he could hold it as he rested his own, with your fingers interlaced with his, on his chest. You weren’t exactly sure how long it was before the nurse and the doctor came in again. You didn’t have any real concept of time in that moment. And neither did Sam. It both crawled by blissfully and rushed by cruelly.

“Alright!” The doctor came back in after a loud knock. Sam hardly reacted, his eyes staying fixed on you. “Let’s see how we’re doing here, Sam.” You watched as he tested to see how well the local numbing in Sam’s injured hand had taken hold and apparently it had taken quite well… you had watched the doctor carefully prick his hand with an instrument repeatedly and Sam didn’t even flinch. His eyes never left you. “Looks like we’re ready! Let’s get this break set, shall we?”

The nurse moved around to hold Sam’s arm in place. “Are you ready?” you asked Sam. He only nodded, still studying your expression, the tendrils of your hair falling around your face, the light in your eyes.

“I’m ready. You’re holding my hand. They could chop it off for all I care…” he said, a slight slur in his words. He sounded sleepy, and a bit faraway. You moved closer and slid the fingers of your free hand through his hair. His lips parted slighty in response and he shut his eyes at your touch.

“Alright, Sam. One… two…”

You cringed as the doctor forced the bone in Sam’s hand back into place. Sam shot upright on the table, breathing in a loud hiss of air through his teeth. “Son of a—!” he gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut, but they rocketed open quickly and he turned to look at you. “Oh, God. Y/N—I’m so sorry. Did I hurt your hand?” He opened his palm which had still been holding you tight.

You looked at him in disbelief. “My hand? Sam, they just snapped your bone back in place. Are you alright?” You laughed and shook you head as he glanced over at the doctor and nurse. Sam gritted his teeth again and winced as the doctor examined his hand, pressing hard here and there, asking if Sam could flex and curl his fingers, with he did with some effort and quite clearly, not an insignificant amount of pain.

Dr. Michaels straightened up and looked at Sam. “I think we’re in good shape. Now, if you’ll just carefully hop down, and we’ll get some more x-rays, and get your cast on… you’ll be out of here in no time. Careful!” he reiterated as Sam slid down onto his feet a little unsteadily.

“Hold onto this, hun,” the nurse said, rolling the stand with his IV over to him. Sam finally let go of your hand and to grasp it.

“I’ll be right here when you get back,” you told him, a half-smile of amusement still on your face.

“Hey—” he said suddenly, calling your eyes back to his face. “Don’t look at my butt. I’m not wearing any pants,” he joked, that same dopey grin coming back to his face. The nurse laughed harder than you did.

“You have boxers on, you weirdo!”

“Still,” he said. And he followed the nurse out of the room, the door snapping shut behind him as you grinned and shook your head. You checked your phone again—still nothing from your sister. You sighed in annoyance and dialed Dean again.

“Hey,” he said. “How’s it going over there?”

You couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Fine. Except your little bro is high on painkillers.”

Dean chuckled. “Can you get a video?”

“I can try,” you said. Your laughter faded quickly though and Dean could sense something on your mind.

“Everything okay?” he prodded carefully.

“Huh? Yeah, sorry. Yeah, he’s doing fine. They just set the bone and took him for more x-rays.”

“How’d he do?”

“He took it like a champ.” “Well, he is a Winchester,” Dean said, eliciting a laugh from you. “Yeah. I supposed on the Winchester-scale this is nothing. But no screaming or crying. In fact—” you had been about to tell Dean how Sam had been worried that he had squeezed your hand too hard but quickly stopped yourself. That was close. Like you would have been able to convince Dean not to tease you about that for all eternity or to dismiss his insistence that you spill your guts to Sam because obviously it meant something… The irony was that you knew you felt like it had meant something. You felt like this whole experience was just repeatedly dropping hints that you told yourself to ignore but they were just so insistent, like little nagging thoughts that were now going to be annoyingly stapled to the front of your brain.

“In fact?”

“Oh—nothing. Just… he was more worried about how he looked in the hospital gown,” you said, laughing again.

“Tell him his hair is messed up when he gets back from his x-rays. He hates that,” Dean said. “So, you get a hold of your sister?”

There was a beat of silence on the phone. “No... I left her a message. Nothing yet.” You ran a hand through your hair in agitation.

“Hmm. Well she was going to a movie, right? Probably has her phone turned off.”

“Yeah… I guess so.” Another beat of silence. “Dean, am I crazy to think that—that maybe she should have been the one here with Sam? Not that I mind doing it at all. I don’t. I’m happy to do it but… isn’t that—” you sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose with two fingers.

Dean knew exactly what you meant. “You’re not crazy,” he said. “But that is between her and Sam. So, we should just keep out of it.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right…”

Dean leaned back against the grill of the Impala. He could sense that there were a lot of things on your mind you weren’t saying. “You good?” he asked.

“Me? I’m good. …why?”

“I don’t know. You sound a little… preoccupied.”

“Well, I’m fine. Just… looking forward to getting Sam home.”

“That’s what she said,” Dean quipped. “That’s what you said!” You could hear the pleased smile in his voice.

“Alright, knock it off...”

“Come on! That was a good one! You set it right up for me! What, am I not supposed to knock that one out of the park?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the worst. Oh—Sam’s back. I gotta go. I’ll text you when we’re heading home.”

Sam climbed back onto the exam table and you smiled as he sat on the edge and swung his feet. “I did great,” he told you proudly. “Didn’t I?” he asked the nurse.

She laughed again. “He did. Doc will be back any minute.”

“How are you feeling?” you asked him as he let out a big yawn.

“I want to go home,” he said. “And my hand feels like a balloon.” You stifled a giggle.

“A balloon? What, like, swollen?” Sam only shrugged. “Well, we’re almost done. They just have to put your cast on.” He looked a little disturbed by something for a split second. “What?”

“What if my hand gets claustrophobic?” he asked seriously.

“Umm… your hand? Claustrophobic?”

He nodded urgently. “Yeah.”

“…I don’t really know what that means,” you said.

“And you can’t get casts wet,” he said.

“No, you cannot,” you agreed, nodding seriously to mimic his expression.

“So, I’m gonna have to hold my arm outside the shower?”

You laughed again. “Well, there are easier ways. When I broke my wrist as a kid, my mom wrapped my cast in plastic so I could take baths and play in the sprinkler since it was summer.”

“Mmm,” Sam said thoughtfully. “You’ll have to wrap it in plastic for me. I don’t think I can do it by myself. You know, with the one hand.”

“No problem.”

“Don’t let Dean do it. He’ll mess it up on purpose. Or figured out some way to turn it into a prank… Like shove itching powder down there or something.”

“Alright. No Dean.”

Sam looked thoughtful again. “I didn’t know you broke your wrist when you were a kid.”

You shrugged. “Yep. I didn’t know your hand was claustrophobic,” you said, a smile breaking out on your lips.

Sam grinned back. “Well, I’m not sure if is yet. When the cast goes on we’ll know.”

Dr. Michaels and the nurse came back in and got set up to get Sam’s cast on. It would immobilize his little and ring fingers as well as his wrist and go up to his elbow. The nurse pulled you aside briefly to go over some instructions with you for Sam. “Now we’ve written him a prescription for some strong anti-inflammatory and pain meds. You’re going to want to pick them up right away. What we’ve given him here will last until tonight, but then he is going to be quite sore when they wear off.”

“Sure. We’ll pick them up on our way home,” you agreed, taking the script. She gave you a few more instructions and then gave you a fond smile.

“I just have to say that he was a delight to have as a patient today. And you two really make a wonderful couple. You remind me of my husband and I when we were your age, and now we’ve been married happily for seventeen years now,” she said. “You can just tell with some people—that they’re meant to be.”

“Oh—we’re—” but she was looking at you so kindly you couldn’t bear to shatter the illusion. You felt your cheeks blush with warmth. “Thank you,” you said. Your heart was racing.

Not too long after that, Sam had his cast on and you went to wait for him in the front lobby while he got changed out of his gown. The nurse walked out with him and gave you another smile, telling him to take care of himself. Sam looked at you expectantly.

“Ready?”

“Definitely,” he said.

“Well, what’s the verdict?” you asked, holding the door open for him.

“Verdict?”

“Your hand,” you smiled. “Is it claustrophobic?”

He looked down at his cast. “I don’t think so. But it is now useless.”

You laughed. “Only for 8 to 12 weeks. Come on. Car is this way.” You got him safely seated in the passenger seat and he was immediately yawning again. “We have to stop at the pharmacy and fill a prescription for your pain meds. The nurse said your hand is going to hurt when the ones they gave you here wear off.”

“I don’t think they’re ever going to wear off… My brain feels—fuzzy,” Sam said sleepily.

“They will. And this way you’ll have more meds, though these ones aren’t going to be as strong as what you’re on now… so I’m not sure your brain will go fuzzy again.”

“That’s too bad…” Sam muttered, thinking back to holding your hand and the way you had slipped your fingers into his hair.

“What?” you asked, not able to hear what he said over the sound of your car starting up.

“Nothing,” he said, giving you a tight smile. “Pharmacy. Then home.”

“Pharmacy. Then home,” you agreed.

You pulled up outside the little pharmacy on Main Street and jumped out, coming around to Sam’s window and peering in at him. “Stay here. No wandering,” you laughed. “I don’t want you to fall and rebreak your hand or get his by a car or something.”

“I’m drunk,” he nodded.

You laughed. “Something like that. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You rushed into the pharmacy and handed them Sam’s script. They said it would be a 15 to 20 minute wait so you decided to pick up a coffee at the nearby café and see if Sam wanted anything. You texted Dean. “Filling Sam’s prescription and then heading back.” You went back to the car and Sam was just leaning back with his eyes closed in the passenger seat. “Hey,” you said gently. His eyes fluttered open to look up at you.

“You okay?” he asked, drawing a small laugh from you.

“Yeah. And if I wasn’t, what exactly would you do about it right now?” you teased him. “Do you want anything from The Ivy Café?” Sam shook his head and thanked you. He was mesmerized by the way the sun was bringing out all the different colors in your hair and your eyes and he felt a swell of gratitude for you. You had spent essentially your entire day with him at that doctor’s office and never complained once.

The little café was crowded as usual; it was a popular spot in town. You went straight up to the counter to order a latte to go and moved down the counter to wait. Something caught your attention—you knew that laugh. It sounded just like your sister.

You gazed out across the crowded coffee shop and finally stepped a little to one side so you could look into the nearby booths. And that’s when you saw her. It was your sister. But the person across from her, whose hand she was holding across the table, was definitely not her friend Sarah.

Part 5

#sammy fluff #sam angst #sam x reader #spn series #spn fic #sam winchester #dean winchester #fanfics #supernaturalfreewill

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dothwrites · 4 years

Note

161 please??

---

google doth always taking prompts

161--Where did that cat come from?

---

The rainstorm starts when Dean pulls into the space outside the bunker’s door. It’ll be a pain in the ass to reverse and pull into the garage, plus he and Sam have a trunk full of groceries, so Dean just curses and puts the Impala into park before he gets out of the car. Water droplets start to pelt against the top of his head and the back of his neck as he loads as many bags on his wrists and arms as humanly possible.

From there, it’s a quick trip down the bunker stairs. Sam follows behind, with a more modest amount of bags swinging from his hands. Dean walks quickly, cognizant of his struggling circulation, not to mention the unpleasant wind of a single bead of water down his spine. Their steps echo down the bunker stairs, which would alert Cas to their presence, even if the “Cas, we’re home!” didn’t.

“Shut up,” Dean automatically says when he hears Sam’s poorly repressed snigger.

“Needy much?” Sam does a faulty reproduction of Dean’s voice, making sure to give him a falsetto. “Cas, we’re home!” He continues to snicker as they make their way to the kitchen. “You’re about one step away from Lucy.”

“Ok, first of all, it was Ricky Ricardo who said those lines and secondly--shut up.” Ok, so not the best comeback. Blame the rain and his screaming wrists and arms. Dean flushes and turns away from Sam as he lifts the groceries onto the counter with a quiet grunt.

“Nice job, He-Man. Maybe next time you could try multiple trips?”

“Go out? More than once? For groceries? Sam, it’s like you don’t even know me.” Dean starts unpacking the bags, pausing when he reaches a certain jar. “Cas! We’re in the kitchen!”

On the opposite side of the kitchen, Sam starts to hum something that sounds like needy baby needy baby. Dean debates throwing a can of green beans at the back of his shaggy moose head. He settles for lobbing a poisonous glare at Sam’s head and not letting up until his brother turns around.

“Hey, he dipped out on grocery shopping. The least he could do is come and help put the stuff away.” Plus Dean bought a jar of the good stuff for Cas, organic, comb in honey. It cost him an arm and a leg, but it’ll be worth it once he sees the pleased, shy smile spread across Cas’ face, which he can’t see until his boyfriend makes his way to the kitchen.

Sam must catch sight of the honey because he lets out a very unflattering snort. Dean defensively scoops the honey out of sight. “It’s good for the environment,” he defends, despite the fact that he’s never recycled a day in his life.

“Sure.” Sam really shouldn’t sound so smug, Mr. I Drink Kale Smoothies and Poop Compost. “Look, all I’m saying is that if my boyfriend had me that whipped, then I would at least own it.”

“Your boyfriend would run away from your ugly face,” Dean snidely digs. Far from dissolving into a snotty mess, Sam just makes a very rude gesture involving use of a singular finger, and turns around to continue stocking the freezer with pizza rolls.

The first sign of trouble is a singular sneeze. Dean shakes it off--it was raining outside, pollen is in the air, and the bunker that they live in was made by a bunch of old, dead guys, so there’s bound to be some dust.

The second, third, and fourth sneezes come as more of a puzzle.

Sam, ever the solicitous brother, raises an eyebrow. “You dying or what?” he asks.

“Or what,” Dean wheezes, though his eyes are watery and itchy. A rattle starts in his throat as another sneeze rocks through his body. This is not normal. In fact, he only gets like this when...

Cas walks into the kitchen, wearing jeans and one of Dean’s hoodies that’s just a bit too big for him in the arms (though it stretches delightfully across his chest and shoulders). As soon as he crosses the threshold of the kitchen, as if on command, Dean sneezes.

Through watery eyes, Dean squints at the suspicious bulge in the front of the hoodie pocket. Castiel casually shifts to the side to hide it, but it’s too late. Dean just saw something move. Cas might be happy to see him, but he’s nowhere near that happy.

“Whatcha got there Cas?” He tries to make it clear from his tone that his question is not a polite request.

It’s not every day that Dean gets to see a former angel of the Lord acting shifty, but that’s exactly what he gets to see as Cas tries to sidle his way out of the kitchen. “Cas,” Dean barks. Cas shuffles his feet as he plasters a very unconvincing look of innocence on his face. “What’s in your pocket?”

His facade of hardass suffers from the sneeze that rockets through his body, but it’s enough. Cas walks into the kitchen. Sam, intrigued by the drama, draws closer, but Dean’s eyes are focused on Cas’ hand as it dips into the hoodie pocket.

Castiel withdraws his hand, holding his burden out for inspection. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam’s mouth drop open in a paroxysm of delight (fucking softie). For his part, Dean greets the reveal with three consecutive sneezes, each one more violent than the last.

“Cas,” Dean finally says, sniffling around his words, “where did that cat come from?”

The cat in question can’t be much more than a kitten. It sits easily in Cas’ large hand. Luminous green eyes blink up slowly at him through a haze of black fur. As Dean watches, the kitten opens its mouth, revealing tiny sharp teeth and a pink tongue. A soft mew fills the space.

Dean answers it with a sniffle.

“I was out in the garden earlier today,” Cas begins. He doesn’t even have the good grace to look guilty as he pulls the kitten in close to his chest. Dean winces (that’s a hell of a lot of dander and fur that’s winding up on an article of clothing that still technically belongs to him) before he outright flinches as the kitten digs its claws into the fabric. Say goodbye to that particular hoodie.

“It was just starting to rain and I found her.” Cas looks at him, all huge blue eyes and plaintive voice. “She was cold and shivering. I don’t think that she’d eaten for several days.”

Great. Just great. Dean can already see where this is going and exactly what parts they’re all going to fall into. Cas, the crusader for justice and kindness, Sam, the well-intentioned supporter, and Dean, the cruel hand of logic.

“Well, feed her, and then after the rain finishes we can take her to the shelter.”

Next to him, Sam gasps. Cas’ mouth turns down in a stubborn frown.

“Dean, the shelter is a kill shelter.” Sam’s voice sounds as scandalized as though Dean had suggested that they carpet bomb the whole town.

“It’s a kitten. It’s cute. It’ll get adopted in like three seconds. I mean, it’s already got the two of you wrapped around its little dagger claws.”

There’s something embarrassing about the soppy eyes that both Sam and Cas shoot towards the kitten. No angel should look that sickly sweet.

“Dean, cats are fairly low maintenance,” Cas begins, which is exactly where Dean thought this talk was headed.

“I have allergies!” Dean protests, to be met with unsympathetic looks from both his brother and his boyfriend. Traitors. “Plus, who’s going to take care of it when we go on hunts? We going to pay the neighbors to come over into our super secret bunker filled with satanic stuff?”

Cas’ mouth flattens. “There are several establishments in town which cater to the boarding of pets.” Great. He’s already done research. “Also, many stores offer over the counter products designed to alleviate the symptoms of allergies.”

Between Sam’s puppy eyes and Cas’ jutting lower lip, Dean feels his defenses wavering. “You’d better keep it away from my room. And if it starts pissing on the floors or tearing up the furniture, it’s out of here. And you’re,” he points to both Sam and Cas, “going to pay for my allergy meds. And you’re going to feed it and pay for all its stuff.” He’s never felt more like a dad than in that moment, lecturing his brother and boyfriend on the proper care of the cat. “This is your pet; I’m not going to take care of it!”

Cas nods earnestly before he walks across the kitchen and kisses the bolt of his jaw, right in the sweet spot that always turns Dean weak in the knees. Bastard knows exactly how to play him. Dean turns his head to kiss Cas properly, ignoring Sam’s gagging noises in the background. Cas hums into the kiss, his teeth ghosting over Dean’s lower lip in a hint of a tease.

Dean’s just ready to make it a proper kiss, Sam be damned, when he’s stabbed. Yelping in pain, he jumps backward, glaring at the tiny, cockblocking, ball of fluff still held in Cas’ hands. The kitten retracts the minuscule knives attached to its paws as it blinks innocently up at him.

“Oh, I think you must have squashed her,” Cas says, rubbing a finger underneath the kitten’s chin.

For its part, the kitten yawns at Dean before falling asleep.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, massaging at his wound (seriously, he’s bleeding and Sam is just laughing at him like an asshole). “Yeah, this is going to turn out swell.

(It comes to no one’s surprise, least of all Dean’s, when he goes to bed and finds not only Castiel, but the kitten curled up on his mattress. I said she’s not allowed on the bed, Dean tries, but the protest is weak at best, especially when Cas has decided to play dirty and is lying bare-chested with the sheet artfully draped over his waist.

Well, I could take her back to my room, Cas murmurs, scooping up the kitten, and Dean’s going hellishly soft in his old age because he just says Over my dead body, before crawling over the mattress to where Cas waits. The kitten finds her way to the floor.

In the morning, Dean wakes up with his nose running and his eyes gummy, due to the fucking cat who has decided to sleep less than a foot away from his face. The heated kiss that Cas gives him when he wakes up only partially helps to stop his bitching.)

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #domestic fic #fluff #cas with a cat #grumpy dean #super unhelpful sam #dothwrites

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mfingenius · 4 years

Note

Okay I just finished all your capri fics on AO3 and I LOVED them I can't believe I had not read all before! So good! So I'm here now to demand for more! I loved Laurent's first crush so much and I would request if you can maybe a part two where they are older and start dating and Laurent tells him about his childhood crush. Or basically any modern au you write I'm here to read it! Pleeeeeeeease 💛

[Part 1]

“Damianos,” Laurent says, and his face heats; it’s ridiculous, the fact that he’s eighteen now and still blushing every time Damen so much as looks at him.

“Laurent,” Damen says pleasantly, pulling him into a hug. Laurent pats him on the back awkwardly, and Damen laughs. “How’s everything?”

The dimple he has will be Laurent’s undoing. He knows because whenever he catches sight of it he cannot stop staring.

“Nothing,” He says, staring at the dimple.

“What?” Damen asks, frowning.

“Good,” Auguste drawls, grinning. “Laurent means everything’s been good, right, baby brother?”

“Right,” Laurent says, looking at Auguste; him and Damen had gone off to University in Delpha together, and they’re back every vacation. Laurent has been waiting for this day for the past six months. “Hello.”

Auguste snorts, but wraps him in a tight hug, which Laurent returns. “You could try to sound a little more excited about your brother being back, Laurent.”

“I am excited,” Laurent says, and it’s true. He’s just having trouble with Damen, and the fact that he seems to have grown more since the last time Laurent saw him.

“I’m sure,” Auguste says, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Laurent digs his elbow into his brother’s stomach before he can say anything; Auguste disguises his grunt of pain with a cough.

“Right.” Laurent says brightly. “Come in.”

It’s torturous. Laurent spends the days ‘tanning’ - sitting in a pool chair under the shade while reading a book - and none too subtly watching Damianos swim in their pool.

It is literally the most attractive thing Laurent has seen, and he cannot possibly keep his attention elsewhere.

“We’re throwing a party tonight,” Auguste tells him, startling Laurent out of his Damen induced haze. “I thought you might like a warning.”

“I - what?” Laurent asks. “I don’t want to throw a party. I don’t want strangers in my house.”

Auguste flicks his nose, which makes Laurent wrinkle it and shake his head. “You’ll survive one night of people in the house, Laurent.”

Laurent glares at him, but he knows arguing is useless. Plus, he really doesn’t want to keep Auguste from having fun. He’ll just stay locked in his room, sound-cancelling headphones on, and ignore everyone. Just like during all other parties Auguste throws.

It’ll be fine. He won’t have to see people.

Laurent is forbidden from locking himself in his room. Well, not really forbidden. Damen looks at him and asks if he’ll be at the party with what seems like hopefulness in his eyes and Laurent simply can’t say no.

So he goes to the damn party.

“Laurent!” Damen says, over the music, and he sounds excited. “You came!”

“I live here,” Laurent tells him, trying not to look too uncomfortable, even though he is.

“Yes,” Damen agrees. “But you never come to these things.”

Because he doesn’t like these things. This is going to be the worst night ever. Still, he says, “Thought I might try to change it up a bit.”

“And?”

“I’m hating it.”

Damen laughs. “No, no, come on. You’ve been here three minutes.” Laurent gives him a look, and Damen flashes a smile - and that fucking dimple again - and shakes his head. “Let me get you a drink. You just need to relax a bit and you’ll feel better, come on.”

And he takes Laurent’s hand and leads him towards the kitchen. Laurent hates people touching him, people looking at him - both of which are happening plenty right now, bodies too close to each other because of how many people are in the house - but he can only think of Damen’s hand in his.

It’s strangely grounding.

Damen lets go off his hand once they’re in the kitchen, and Laurent is mourning the loss so thoroughly he doesn’t even react until Damen pushes a cup into his hand.

“There,” He says proudly. “Drink it.”

Laurent takes a long drink, because he needs something to occupy his hands with, and drinks it all at once.

“Liked it?” Damen asks, eyebrows raised when Laurent returns the empty cup, and Laurent nods. He doesn’t know what it was, but it tasted strongly like lime, and Laurent loves lime.

“Yes,” Laurent says. “Make me another?”

Damen does.

It takes Laurent what is probably too long to realize that there was alcohol in what Damen gave him; it’s logical, of course, but it never really occurred to him until he realizes he’s drunk halfway up the stairs.

“Are you alright?” Damen seems amused when he finds him, sitting on one of the steps because his head won’t stop spinning.

“I’m amazing,” Laurent slurs sarcastically. “Never felt better.”

Damen stares at him for a moment, and then asks, “Is this your first time drunk?”

Laurent nods. “I didn’t mean to.”

Damen laughs. “Alright. Come on, I’ll get you to your room.”

Damen taking him to his room sounds amazing, so Laurent stretches his arms for Damen to carry him. Damen laughs again, but picks up Laurent in an amazing show of strength.

“That’s amazing,” Laurent says seriously. “I never knew you could do that.”

Damen looks at him. “Laurent, you’re tiny.”

“I’m not!” Laurent says indignantly. “You’re just - huge!”

“Alright,” Damen snickers. “If you say so.”

Laurent pouts, and then drops his head on Damen’s shoulder.

“Hmmm,” He hums. “I like you. You’re - strong.”

“I’m strong?”

“Yes,” Laurent says, eyelids drooping. “And - kind, and honorable, and good. It’s not fair.”

“Why not?” Laurent hears it when Damen opens the door to his room and then closes it again.

“Because,” He says, not offering any further explanation.

Damen snorts lightly. “Laurent, you’re all of those things too. And funny, and loving, and ridiculously clever.”

“You’re ridiculously strong.” Laurent says. He struggles pronouncing ‘ridiculously’ so it comes out half garbled. “Things are spinning.”

Damen places him on the bed. “You’re here. Sleep it off, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Laurent ignores him. “Stay with me.”

“What?”

“Stay here,” Laurent says, moving aside, trying to make space for Damen’s body beside him. “Sleep here. I want you to stay.”

Damen hesitates. “Laurent… you’ll regret this in the morning.”

“No, I won’t.” Laurent tells him. “I like you, Damen. A lot. Like like you.”

Damen’s breath hitches. “You do?”

“Yes.” Laurent rolls his eyes. “For ages. Can you stay now?”

There’s a bit of silence and then, “Yes. Of course I’ll stay.”

Damen gets in beside him, carefully placing an arm around Laurent’s waist before turning the light off. When Laurent is almost asleep, he thinks he hears, “I like you, too.”

—————————————————-

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#lamen #fanfic #mine #captive prince

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inkribbon796 · 3 years

Text

Dr. Strangelove and Ticking Timebombs Ch. 1: Suspicious Contraband

Summary: Tommy goes on his first real hero patrol as a mysterious shipment comes into the Brighton.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

At 23:15 hours the officers arrived on the scene. It was one of the many warehouses along Brighton’s industrial ports. Ships came in and out bringing all kinds of goods.

Somewhere, someone with a conscious raised the alarm. Or at the very least someone who didn’t know how much money was trading hands to keep a particular shipment under wraps.

The instant the ship docked at port the flagged cargo was isolated as soon as it could and pulled to the side for police to investigate it.

Because of the way the contents of the shipments had been written it had led people to assume the type of illicit cargo that the shipment contained was living people.

But when they popped the cargo container it was mostly empty except for a five-foot airtight sealed lead box, and three other crates each about twenty feet in length. In one was a bulk order of smoke detectors, and in another a bulk order of Coleman gas lanterns. The third was full of different magical supples, all categorized and put into smaller boxes.

With no people, apart from the investigation team, the contents of the container were seized while unseen, a young man stood and watched the police proceedings from a distance. He silently followed the group to the lockup site they were taking the heavy, lead box to.

The next morning the heroes went on a patrol with no knowledge of what the police had found.

Ethan had finally started to feel like he was shaking his “junior member” shtick. Which was a relief because he’d been trying to get rid of that for years. But that came with a price because the rest of the heroes through the perfect person to mentor Tommy — who was a loose cannon who ran off at the first sign of adventure — was someone who had been the exact same thing.

When Tommy first entered the base he woke at least five people up from a dead sleep. He had two volumes: loud and deafening. He never accepted the answers “no” or “wait a second”.

So the Septics loved him, in fact he fit right in with them. Jackie called him their “vulgar firecracker”. But after Robbie’s death and revival, they were extremely hesitant to take on another apprentice, even one they really liked like Tommy. That’s why Tommy’s mentorship was given to Ethan.

Ghostbur was a different matter. Marvin was the definition of a helicopter parent around him. He might have never apologized for reviving Robbie, but he certainly learned his lesson. He didn’t want Ghostbur anywhere near any of the big villains. Which Ghostbur was alright with. The young man could go through walls and was more than capable of getting himself out of a dangerous situation.

The only problem was that Tommy was still a minor and they had yet to contact his father. Tommy refused to help them on that front and Ghostbur couldn’t remember a number. But said his name was “Phil” and that he was apparently very nice.

But Ethan decided that since Tommy was already running up the walls he could stand to be out on a patrol or two, to learn the city as Tommy was mostly unfamiliar with most of it. So because they were dealing with an apprentice who also happened to also be a minor, there was more than a bit of a cautious group around Tommy. Silver, Logan, and Marvin had accompanied Ethan and Tommy. With Ghostbut just accompanying them because Tommy and Marvin were in the group.

“Come on,” Ethan called out to Tommy, who had firmly decided that his superhero name would be “Big Man” and he would accept no other comments or suggestions on it. “Gotta[1] head back to Brighton.”

“But we went there first,” Tommy was already halfway down the street and looked like he was about to size up busy Egoton traffic like he could take the cars in a fist fight.

“Yeah normally we wrap around to check the first area of the patrol. Unless something else is going on or we get called somewhere else,” Ethan had a little spring in his steps as he walked down the street. Thankfully, Tommy rejoined the group and rushed toward the head of the group before shooting ahead.

Ethan sighed and Mark chuckled behind him, “Having fun, Crank?”

“Shut up, man,” Ethan rolled his eyes and shoved Silver away, which only resulted in Mark floating harmlessly. Ghostbur quickly trying to catch up with his brother.

“Tell me if you’re in over your head and he’s acting like a maniac,” Silver even had a smug way he was flying. “I’ll just show you a mirror and tell you all about the times I had to deal with your bullshit.”

“Hold!” Logan called out, he was still in his old outfit as he was extremely hesitant to put on a nanite suit again. “Would someone go and get Big Man and Ghostbur, they’re probably two blocks down by this point.”

Silver was the one to fly out and corral Tommy back and at the possibility of getting off of patrol duty, Tommy came racing back.

“Did something happen?” Tommy almost knocked Ethan over. “Is it a bank robbery, or a murder?”

“Due to speed and efficiency, usually Jackie and the other Septics handle those sorts of engagements. All homicide cases are conducted by the proper police authority.” Logan was on some type of PAD, receiving and answering information without even looking at Tommy. Ghostbur came to float over Logan’s shoulder. “As for homicide cases, unless magic is somehow involved, we don’t usually handle any part of those cases.”

“You know, yer[2] a real downer,” Tommy told Logan. “Don’t break that stick that you’ve shoved up your arse[3].”

With all the information he could collect, Logan closed down his PAD and finally looked over at the young apprentice. “If you’re intending to entice me to anger, you’ll have to do a lot better than schoolyard taunts and minor vulgarity.”

“Oh, you fucking asshat, I can do way fuckin’[4] better than that,” Tommy promised with a huge smile.

Logan rolled his eyes and before Tommy could start his torrent of screaming random curse words at Logan, the logical Side began talking. “It’s fortunate that we’re already heading towards Brighton. There is a situation over by the docks where Abe and his investigation team found something last night and need my assistance. The rest of you should form a perimeter around the area, Abe made it sound important.”

“Why can’t we go in with you?” Tommy demanded.

“I said nothing about entering the scene itself,” Logan countered. “I will be there to consult, then we will leave. There will be little excitement on the matter.”

Tommy kept step with Logan and began poking his arm.

Logan stopped, “What are you doing?”

“Tryin’[5] ta[6] figure out where you keep the lazers,” Tommy paused for a second. “Are you a robot?”

The logical Side yanked his arm away from Tommy. “I’m wearing a different suit. This is a nanoweave micro lycra that’s been fortified with Kevlar. The suit you happen to be talking about is my nanite-infused version of this suit.”

“The hell’s a microwaved lycan?” Tommy asked. “Is that like some type ‘a[7] mutant hot dog?”

“No, it’s a type of spandex that can stretch and flex in four directions instead of two,” Logan explained, his stride quickening. “In any event, I only have access to my TASER, EMP bursts, and my other nanite-free weapons.”

“What happened ta[6] yer[8] other suit?” Tommy asked.

After a bit of a silence, Logan answered, “The nanites and I were too compatible and they were causing problems for others and myself. So I can no longer wear it or come into physical contact with nanites.”

“That fuckin’[4] sucks, wasn’t that yer[8] whole thin’[9]?” Tommy asked.

“My “thing” for lack of a better term, is the pursuit and acquisition of knowledge,” Logan corrected. “It is my purpose, my reason for existence. However if that pursuit puts myself or others in danger, it is an unacceptable dereliction of duty on my part.”

“Heh, dooty,” Tommy snickered, getting a long-suffering grumble out of Logan. “Do you e’en know what half ‘a the words yer usin’ e’en mean?”[10]

“Of course I do,” Logan scoffed. “Why on Earth would I use a word if I didn’t know what it meant?”

“I mean, lots ‘a[7] people do that,” Tommy explained as the group kept heading back towards Brighton.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations:

1. Got to

2. you’re

3. ass

4. fucking

5. Trying

6. to

7. of

8. your

9. thing

10. Do you even know what half of the words you’re using even mean?

#superhero au #masks and maladies #dream smp #footnotes #logan sanders #tommyinit mcyt #Ghostbur #crankgameplays #silver shepherd #marvin the magnificent #fluff before the storm #suspicious cargo boxes #mad science approaches #magic

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nubnubblr · 3 years

Text

If You Do. 32 Handcuff Hideaway

THEA

"Do you have any classes for the next hour or so?" I asked Shawn. Everyone recovered quickly but there was still concern in their expressions that Mackenzie was going to walk back through that door and Shawn's world would fall apart.

"Nope," he shrugged taking a huge bite out of a burger.

"Does that mean you want to be my knight in sweaty armour?"

"That's gross," Charlie pulled a face.

"Where do you want to go?" Shawn ignored her comment.

"I want to do some shopping," I smiled sweetly.

"But you're crippled," Junsun smirked.

"The correct term is disabled and that never stops you," I retorted.

"How am I disabled?" he frowned.

"You're disabled in the brain," I huffed.

"I think that's referred to as being 'on the spectrum'" Austin commented.

"Fine, I'll go with you shopping," Shawn nodded devouring the rest of his meal.

"You're ditching me?" Charlie frowned.

"No, Doobin said he was having trouble remembering your choreo on top of the other classes he's taking, I figured you were going to help him out and that would have left me stuck here," I sent her a slight smirk.

"He doesn't need my help," she gave me a warning look.

"Actually, some help would be great," Doobin nodded.

"Seriously?" she asked in a flat tone.

"I mean if you don't want to, I'll just go ask one of the other students," he shrugged.

"Oh, come on, throw the kid a bone," Austin sided with Doobin. I had to cough to cover the laugh that almost burst from my throat.

"Fine, but you better pay attention because I'm not doing this again," she huffed.

"Right," but Doobin and I mumble together.

CHARLIE

I knew that he didn't want me to help with the choreography, he could do it in his sleep. But I wasn't going to boost his ego any more than it already was.

"So what part of the choreo is confusing your little brain?" I sighed following him into an empty practice room.

We have a few around the building, they were just small 5x3 meatre rooms with a mirror covering one wall and a door, there were no window and the rooms where soundproof so that several students could practise at the same time without disturbing or being disturbed by anyone. The doors also had locks on them, convenient.

"Why don't we start with something you know isn't small?"

"You're attitude?" I raised an eyebrow.

He just smirked, let out a slight laugh, then his face turned dark with lust, he took a step towards me and instinctively I took one back leaving me pressed up against the wall, with nowhere to go. His lips connected with my neck and a small moan escaped my lips, I felt his smirk on my neck before he relocated his mouth to mine. I wanted to curse myself for giving in so easily but the logic in my brain evaporated the longer Doobin's lips assaulted mine.

"If you want me to stop just say so," his husky voice whispered inside my ear. I didn't trust my voice so I just didn't say anything, he waited a few moments before taking my silence as permission to continue.

I was lost in my train of thought as we slid to the floor, he stretched my hands over my head with one hand, logic slammed back into me when I felt the cold metal clamp around my wrists.

"What are you doing?" I frowned.

"Having a little fun,"

"What if someone tries to come in?"

"The door is locked, and the room is soundproof. But if you want me to unlock you then that's fine, just thought it would be fun," he shrugged.

I don't know why, and I wasn't even sure when I had decided it would be fine, but the words seemed to fall from my mouth before my brain had the chance to run them through a logic filter. Instead of saying what I should have said, being the responsible adult and his teacher, I said;

"Leave them on,"

I wanted to throw everything, I had to step away from my desk so that I didn't throw anything breakable or important. I was trying to function on barley any sleep, Austin has stolen so much money that I wasn't able to give a lot of shifts out to my staff and I even had to let a few go. They were understanding about the whole situation, but not being able to use my staff meant that I had to cover the shifts. Thea still came in and worked the kitchen, but she didn't say anything to me, she just showed up, did her job, and left. So my day usually went; up at 3 a.m, work at the bakery until 6a.m, come home and get a few hours sleep, usually 3 or 4, then wake up but no later than 10 a.m, set up the bar, re-stock the shelves, do ordering, open, serve customers until closing at 1a.m, clean the bar, maybe eat something, quick shower, sleep for an hour, and repeat.

So, I was overworked, overtired, understaffed, and severely stressed. I had been to the bank about a loan, but they felt like I was too much of a risk, I had reported Austin to the police, but I wasn't hopeful about getting my money back, I should probably talk to one of the boys about it because I know they would help out in the bar but they hadn't been home since I slept with Olivia, it was pretty clear they know about it, also I vaguely remembered hearing Charlie's voice.

I'd been feeling guilty about that since it happened, not just because of her technically being Sam's girl-whatever, or because it was Jae's bed, or even the whole Thea situation. Don't get me wrong, I felt bad about all of that, but I had also realised that I had kind of been seeing Somin, and I mean, we weren't dating per say but it's not okay to show someone that you're interested in them and the go and slept with someone else. That's not the type of person I am, but I haven't really been acting like myself lately.

Pushing my friends away, keeping secrets, sleeping with strangers, getting angry for no reason. Okay, not for no reason, but in from the point of view from everyone else it is for not reason because I haven't told them what's going on.

Maybe I should just sell my car.

THEA

"I still don't understand why you haven't already done your Christmas shopping," Shawn frowned at me as we made our way back to the dance studio. We had been gone about an hour and a half, long enough for Mackenzie to be long gone, and for Charlie and Doobin to have finished, 'dancing'.

"I have most of it done, shut up, like you have any Christmas shopping done," I huffed defensively.

"I only have to buy for a handful of people, and I'm not Miss Overly Organised, which is why I'm surprised that you're Christmas shopping wasn't don't in like July," he retorted.

Okay, it was actually already done, but in September, not July. I just needed a reason to get Shawn to stay out shopping when he was insisting on my getting off my foot. Besides I found some things that I just had to buy for Charlie.

"Maybe you should have used this time to do your Christmas shopping,"

"I still have time,"

"Christmas is in like 8,"

"Yeah, that's 8 days full of time to buy things,"

"When there is nothing left in the shopping centres that qualifies as good gifts, you'll regret waiting," I shook my head at him.

"It's the thought that counts," he tried to counter,

"And apparently they're the last thought," I retorted.

"Has anyone ever told you that they can only handle you in small doses?" he huffed at me.

"All the time," I nodded as we walked into 1Million, well technically I hobbled but I wasn't about to admit that.

"Shit. I have a class in 10 minutes," Shawn groaned.

"I thought you said you were free?"

"I forgot about it, I'll catch up to you later," he rushed off.

I looked around for Charlie, she didn't seem to be anywhere maybe she was still with Doobin? Her car was still out the front, and she wouldn't leave me here anyway. She had to be with Doobin, I should probably find them before Shawn stubbled across them.

"You're back," Doobin nodded towards me, he was standing in the doorway of one of the classrooms. I looked around him to see if Charlie was in there. She wasn't.

"Yeah, have you see Charlie?"

"I have," he smirked.

"Okay, stupid question. Do you know where she is?"

"Of course," he nodded still smirking.

"Well are you going to tell me?" I sighed.

"She's in that room," he nodded towards one of the practise rooms.

"Thank you,"

"Thea," he called as I turned away from him.

"What?"

"You might need these," he handed me a set of small keys.

"These look too small to unlock the door," I thought out loud.

"They're not for the door," he smirked, I frowned and began to ask him what they were for but he turned and walked into the classroom, that Shawn was teaching.

I headed over to the door he had pointed towards turned the handle, but it was locked. I thought he had said that the key wasn't for the door. I knocked just in case I had the wrong door. Then realised that the rooms were sound proof so I wasn't sure she would even hear it, so I rattled the handle.

CHARLIE

The door handle turned and shook, if whoever was on the other side was calling me, I couldn't hear them, the downside to a soundproof room. Did I risk opening the door to see if it was Doobin with the keys? What if it was one of the other boys? How did I explain being naked and handcuffed in a practice room? I didn't. Which left me with no other option but to wait until Doobin decided to come and save me. Even though he is the reason that I'm stuck in this situation to begin with.

My phone started buzzing in my pants pocket on the floor. I maneuverer my way towards them and somehow managed to answer the call, only because it was Thea. I hit the loudspeaker button.

"Hey,"

"Hey, opened the door,"

"Why?"

"Because Doobin gave me a key and said that you would need it,"

"Where is he?"

"In Shawn's class,"

"And where is everyone else?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"So, if I open the door, you're the only one out there?"

"Well, other than the reception staff but they're all busy. Why are you being weird?"

"Okay, I'm unlocking the door, but hurry up," I sighed working my way to my feet. I unlocked the door and quickly ducked behind it just in case anyone looked over to see what Thea was up too.

"Why are you being so weir..." Thea started at me.

"Close the door!" I snapped.

She pushed it closed and tried to cover a laugh with a cough. May have actually worked, if she didn't just laugh instead.

"What?" was all she could manage to get out between laughs.

"Shut up and give me the keys," I snapped.

"And you think you're going to be able to unlock those cuffs by yourself?" she raised an eyebrow once she stopped laughing, although she still managed to chuckle at me.

"Yes," I cursed the doubt that found its way into my voice.

"Do you want me to uncuff you?" she giggled.

"I want you to stop being a jerk, but I guess I'll take the uncuffing," I sighed, she held her laughter until I said uncuffing, for some reason she found that hysterical.

"Thea!"

"Oh, wait, I have the perfect thing for you!" she beamed.

"Like the keys to these cuffs?"

"Yeah, yeah, in a second," she rolled her eyes rummaging through the bags in her hands.

"Bro, I'm literally standing here naked," I was starting to get a little annoyed.

"Yeah, I know, I'm about to fix that,"

"You could just give me the damn keys and I could get dressed!"

"Yeah, but that wouldn't be nearly as entertaining. Ah! Here it is," she smirked pulling a jacket from one of her bags.

"I have clothes over there,"

"Yeah, but this works sooo much better, I saw this in a shop and had to buy it for you, because you're technically Doobin's professor, I got you a professor jacket, with elbow pads!" she unfolded the grey checked jacket, brown patched covered the elbows.

"I hate you, now uncuff me,"

"Argh, fine," she rolled her eyes.

THEA

I uncuffed her and she basically kicked me out of the practice room, she's so touchy sometimes. I watched Shawn's dance class through the glass door. Doobin seemed pretty pleased with himself, he caught my eye through the door and smirked at me, I suppose that the fact I was the only other person who knew about the two gave him a small kick, considering that he could basically brag about it with one look.

"Let's go," Charlie came out of the

SAM

"I want food," Jae whined lounging across the edge of the couch.

"Then go get something," I shrugged.

"Are you kidding me? The last time I took food out of that crazy dwarfs kitchen she withheld food from me for like a week,"

"It was an hour, and that's because you were so annoying she didn't want to listen to you anymore,"

"Yeah, well, it felt like a week,"

"Then order something,"

"That takes too long to get here, and it costs money,"

"You can wait until she gets home,"

"Can you message them and see how long they're going to be?"

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I don't know where my phone is," he whined

"You're literally staring at it,"

"Shh, busy," he muttered scrolling through Tumblr.

SAM: Hey, where are you guys? Jae is complaining he's hungry and I'm worried he is going to eat me.

I wasn't expecting her to reply so quickly but she replied before I could relock my phone.

CHARLIE: Just waiting for Thea to get her braces off, not sure how long it will take.

"Charlie doesn't know how long she is going to be,"

"They went shopping, how much can two poor girls even buy?" he huffed.

"They're at the dentist, Thea is getting her braces off," I rolled my eyes. He paused, looked at me and smirked.

"Come on," he stood up.

"What?"

"We'll go get food, Thea is going to be in so much pain when she gets back," he beamed.

"You don't need to sound so happy about it," I frowned.

"Yes, I do. Do you know how easy it is to annoy her when she's in pain, and then she does that thing where she get huffy and hurts herself, it's hilarious, but I'll even buy her food to make up for it,"

"Really?" I looked at him sceptically.

"I mean, you'll pay for it because I lost my wallet, but sure," he shrugged.

"Of course, you did," I rolled my eyes.

"I think I left it next to or on my bed, so it may as well be lost, who knows what naked parts of BM have touched that," he shuttered.

"Okay fine," I sighed.

"Keys," he held his hand out.

"Why?"

"Because you still can't drive? Do you think I'm going to walk there and like go into the building with those people?"

"Those people? Who are also going to buy fast food because their too lazy to cook for themselves?"

"If you were supposed to cook for yourself they wouldn't have invented cars and drive throughs, are you going to mope around here daydreaming about Charlie or are you going to come on this adventure with me?"

"We're going on an adventure?"

"It's modern-day hunting, come on Samwise," he stood.

"Does that make you Frodo?" I raised an eyebrow following him.

"I feel more like a Gandalf, wise and magical,"

"More like Radagast," I commented.

"Charlie likes him better anyway," he shrugged.

CHARLIE

The boys weren't there when we got home, or at least Sam's car wasn't and he still can't drive so unless Jae decided to go out and take Sam's car, which wasn't likely.

"I thought the boys were staying again?" Thea frowned.

"Maybe they went to get a change of clothes," I shrugged.

"Hopefully they don't come back, the last thing I need right now is Jae and his stupid face,"

"Are you sure you two don't have a thing for each other?" I raised an eyebrow.

"If by 'a thing' you mean do I want to stab him with a sword? Then yes, but if you mean in the general sense, then I would rather stab myself with a sword," she pulled a disgusted face.

"You two just seem really interested in where each other are," I shrugged.

"I am in enough pain right now; do you have to make me want to vomit as well?" she sighed.

"Shouldn't you be pain-free after having your braces off?"

"You would think so, after two years with the pressure moving my teeth you would think the release would be amazing, not painful,"

"Then again, it's been two years of pressure, what happens when you release the pressure after you hurt yourself?"

"Intense pain," she groaned collapsing into the couch.

"There are painkillers in the kitchen, do you want me to get them?"

"I'll get them, hot coffee might help with the pain," she sighed.

"Alright,"

"Do you want water in the kettle?" she asked.

"I'm good," I shook my head.

She just nodded leaving the room, I checked my messages to see if Sam and sent one letting me know where he had gone, he hadn't.

CHARLIE: Hey, where are you guys?

SAM: Jae decided he would have me buy us food, he thought it would be entertaining to get things Thea can't eat and eat it in front of her.

CHARLIE: Forget his wallet again?

SAM: Apparently he lost it

CHARLIE: I bet you it's in his pocket

"Where are these painkillers?" Thea asked, she walked into the lounge room pulling the door with her.

"On the shelf about the kettle,"

"They're not," she shook her head.

"Maybe they're in my bedroom," I got up, she turned around to leave the room, the door handle wouldn't turn.

"Not funny," I frowned at her.

"Not kidding," she frowned back.

"Seriously?"

"I must have hit the lock on the way in,"

"You locked us in the lounge room?"

"I mean not if your bedroom window isn't locked," I thought about it, I had locked it a few nights ago, there was a breeze that came into my room and the window only stayed securely closed if it was locked.

"Is yours?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Paranoid," she pointed at herself.

"So you locked us in the lounge room," I sighed.

"I mean only technically, we can just call one of the boys to come to save us," she shrugged.

"Jae and Sam only went to get food, they'll be back soon,"

"See, we're fine," she shrugged again.

"I'll text Sam and ask them to hurry up,"

SAM

CHARLIE: Hey, can you guys be quick, Thea locked us in the lounge room

"We don't need anything else?" I asked as Jae pulled out of the parking lot.

"No, why? Do you miss Charlie already?"

"No, the girls are locked in the lounge room, Charlie wants us to come save them,"

"How did they...?" he because.

"Thea," I cut him off.

"Of course," he shook his head.

"Well, let's go to the Zoo then," he smirked, which probably meant he wasn't going to save them straight away.

"The Zoo?"

"Their lounge room is basically entirely windows, which means we can eat and enjoy the show,"

"Charlie will kill you,"

"Probably," he shrugged not seeming too phased by the idea.

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solacefruit · 4 years

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hello! something i really enjoy about your stories is how naturally you blend worldbuilding and stories within the actual story itself - do you have any advice on how to do that effectively? i always worry i'm going to too far into "just listing off facts about the world" in the middle of a story if i try and include TOO much worldbuilding, but i'm a big lover of worldbuilding and have a hard time not planning out every detail

Hello there! Thank you so much. Stories within stories (fun fact: this technique is called mise en abîme or mise en abyme) is something that I’m really enthralled by and that I’ve worked hard to try to get the hang of in my own work, so it’s wonderful to know it’s something you enjoy about my writing! That feels very good to hear.

As far as advice goes, I can offer the following thoughts:

Whatever amount of world-building you think is enough, go slightly under it. What I mean by this is that very often less is more when it comes to building a world (see my notes on Pullman’s Northern Lights here). By using a bit of restraint and cutting things down just a touch on your final edit, you can help yourself resist the thrall of the too much gene that many writers experience when talking about their world-building. Ask yourself “does this need to be here, or am I just excited to share it?”

Unfortunately, if it’s just the latter, it’s probably a good idea to trim it: lean storytelling keeps readers hungry, and hungry readers usually ask for more. Trouble is, as a writer, you’ve got to be the one to remember that it’s always better to leave while a crowd is wanting more than stay until the crowd is begging you to stop. (cough several media series we could mention cough)

An example of this would be in a world where there are ten gods. In your first chapter, you don’t need to list all the gods. You can maybe mention one or two, and perhaps imply there’s more. Immediately, that creates mystery and a sense of a larger world; a reader gets to wonder, who are these other gods...

You mentioned you’re a planner, so I want to reassure you: keeping the story trim doesn’t mean all your planning is wasted! If you, the writer, knows the details of your world, it will come through in everything you write. The fact you know all the answers means you have a lot of control over what you want to reveal, when, where, and how. Which leads me to:

When possible, world-build obliquely. What I mean by this is that a lot of world-building can be done in subtle ways, that leave impressions of the world without having to be told directly by a character. You also can stretch out details, sprinkling them only here and there, meaning that it takes multiple chapters to piece together concepts or institutions or other world-building elements.

Doing this can help make it never feel like an exposition dump or listing off facts, because you’re putting only tasty little morsels in (sometimes hidden) for readers to find or look back on later. The reason for it is the same as why keepers will scatter-feed animals in enclosures: enrichment. If you dump it all in one place, the animal will eat, get full and/or bored, and won’t feel good. But if you make it into a puzzle to solve, the emotional reward of finding and figuring things out for yourself is so much nicer than whatever you’re finding, usually. (Sorry to keep using animal metaphors for readers, but like... it works).

An example of this would be something like:

Anwar turned the corner onto the opulent mosaic path of the shrine district and continued towards the temple of Kenuf, furthest from the city centre. On either side, acolytes of all kinds were leaving offerings--jars of salt for Meshut, baskets of yellow lilies for Pesht--and the air was thick with the smell of incense, making his eyes water slightly. He walked as quickly as he could past the grinning crocodile faces carved on the outer wall of the second last temple, before greeting the black-robed bell-keeper outside of Kenuf’s shrine.

I’ve made this up off the cuff so none of it “means” anything, but if we look at what’s here, we learn the following:

there’s at least four gods, possibly more

Pesht’s devotees leave yellow lilies, but we don’t know what Pesht is god of yet

Meshut’s devotees leave jars of salt, but ditto above

Kenuf’s shrine is furthest from the city (does this imply it is least favoured? or maybe least used?)

all gods seem to be named in consonant-e pattern (pe-, me-, ke-), but we don’t know yet if this is meaningful or coincidental (but if you wanted it to be, make all gods and maybe royals have this same pattern and just... leave it. let your reader infer from the text that the pattern signifies divinity)

the unnamed god is represented by crocodile iconography

the bell-keeper of Kenuf wears black robes (is this a uniform, or just a fashion choice?)

Anwar does not feel comfortable with the unnamed god in this passage (scared? disdainful? a mystery...)

A “too much” passage would offer lengthy descriptions of every shrine, listing what the offerings were and what the acolytes and other staff wore and Anwar’s thoughts about how he felt about each of the ten gods. It’s not impossible to write something like that that’s good, I do want to point out! But if you’re looking to slim things down, less is more, space out details over multiple chapters.

Write for your ideal reader, who is clever and attentive. Some writers fall into the habit of over-explaining their world (resulting in info-dumping) because they don’t trust their readers to get the “right” vision of their world, or because they’re worried readers will overlook all the cool stuff they’ve put in. I can recommend not doing this and part of getting to that point is imagine you’re writing for the perfect reader of your story, who does get it and will look for all the cool clever tricky things you sneakily put in. Will every reader be that person? Definitely not! But if you write for that reader, you will elevate your work, rather than dumb it down and make it heavy with unneeded hand-holding.

This kind of overlaps with the above in the sense that it boils down to “you’re allowed to leave things out, let readers make the intellectual leaps based on the pieces you give them” but it’s also saying that you’re allowed to let things rest. Put in subtle symbolism and never draw attention to it.

Additionally, as the creator, you know all the information about the world, which is a huge power and means you can choose the exact right moments to reveal meaningful, revelatory details. For example, somewhere around chapter three or four:

Anwar closed the door of his room, walked to the wall shrine, and fell to his knees, pulling the curtain aside.

“Ye’emer, it is done,” he said, looking at the floor. “It is finally done.”

In the distance, the bells of the temple of Kenuf began to ring: a strident sound, sharp and mournful. The dawn acolytes must have found the body already.

He reached forward, carefully placing the offering on the black silk of the tiny altar. The chips of animal bone looked like stars at night, bright white in the dark.

“I don’t know why you chose me,” said Anwar, forcing himself to look up.

The burning eyes of the crocodile statue stared back.

And now you get to go ohhhh. You know the name of the god now, you know the offering, you know (or at least can speculate better at) why Anwar felt so uncomfortable near the temple. If you time when you reveal world-building details, you can make them do so much work for you in telling your story.

Make up lies about your world--or at least, untruths. This maybe sounds counter-intuitive, but there is a logic in it. Most of us are not experts on our world, and your characters should be the same. They should be biased in their perspective, or limited by what they know, or perhaps even inclined to embellish details. If two characters talk about the same event, make them have personal feelings about it! Unless your character is a historian, their account of a historical event probably isn’t going to be totally correct or certain about all the details, and that’s not a bad thing. You can use that to weave in ambiguity or intrigue, or leave out important facts that will become relevant later, or contradict it later with a different telling and make the protagonist have to question who to trust or what’s the truth.

As a species, everything we do is stories. The concept of a nation is a story we tell ourselves about what it is to be “us.” Who we each are is a story we are always telling to ourselves: I am me because I do x, I am me because I don’t do y. Often, these things aren’t The Truth so much as they are A Truth, so when it comes to writing stories into your stories, don’t forget to think about the stories characters are telling themselves about who they are. And remember that all characters are unreliable narrators, because they’re people and they’re filtering the world through their perspective. You can do so much with that.

Use stories to create meaningful parallels for the larger narrative. If you’re featuring a story (which I’ll call tale from here, to cut down on confusion) within your story, it needs to be doing something more than just telling the reader facts about the world or passing the time. One way to make sure you’re doing that is thinking about parallels, which is to say, think of how the tale can impact the “real world” of your story. This might be the protagonist having a realisation or plot breakthrough, or later deciphering out important information or applying ideas from the story to a problem they encounter.

You also can (and often should) create tonal and emotional parallels within the tale as well and/or use tales as a form of foreshadowing. For a very basic example, in a story that involves a protagonist who gets trapped in a big horrible maze later in the book might feature a version of Minotaur in the Labyrinth as foreshadowing, and the character might have a fleeting thought about it that later will resurface with new significance.

I hope some of this is helpful to you! Good luck with you writing, and please write in again if there’s anything I can help with.

tl;dr: my tips are:

do a little less and space out what you tell your reader

don’t say directly what you can imply or gesture vaguely at

write cleverly and time your moments

make use of ambiguity

make the story impact the real world

#reply #advice #i really hope some of this makes sense. it's a difficult question to answer in a post #because honestly you could do six weeks of seminars just on world-building. this is like a hyper condensed minimal example version.

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eldritch-elrics · 4 years

Text

this summer, me and my brother watched four whole shows. at long last, here is my comprehensive review of all of them!

in the order we watched them, these shows were:

avatar the last airbender (ATLA)

mob psycho 100 (MP100)

demon slayer / kimetsu no yaiba (KNY)

fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood (FMAB)

they were all very very good!

i’m not going to try to rank them, but, as is probably obvious by the state of my blog, my favorite was FMAB :) if i had to pick a least favorite, then, it would probably be KNY—not by any fault of its own, but just because it didn’t appeal to me quite as much as the others. still a very good show!

i will review each show by:

giving a quick plot-based pitch discussing the show’s hook or appeal

discussing one element that i believe it does better than any other show on this list—in other words, a quality that i think it stands out for

discussing one element that didn’t appeal to me or that i had issues with—a criticism

putting forth my favorite character and favorite episode or arc, just for funsies

including various other commentary. mostly positive, as, again, i did really like all of these!

(i’ve tried to make this whole thing free of specific spoilers, but if you’re planning on watching any of these shows and want to go in more-or-less blind, it might be best not to read this.)

first of all, i’d just like to discuss all four of these shows as a whole! it was definitely interesting watching one after another and noting similarities between them.

all of them have siblings in them! which is, perhaps, fitting, as i watched them with my brother

two include a pair of siblings in which one has powers and one doesn’t (at least at first), and part of the narrative involves getting better at using those powers (ATLA, MP100)

two include a narrative centered around a pair of siblings and something tragic that happens to them, resulting in the older one being traumatized and forced to train to become a soldier, and the younger one turning into something (arguably) inhuman. the protagonist’s major goal is to return his younger sibling to the way they were before (KNY, FMAB)

ATLA and FMAB are both fantasy political dramas, which is rapidly becoming a favorite genre of mine

most of these are historical, or historically inspired in some way, which is interesting!

all of these shows are really really good at character building. all the main characters are interesting and complex, and the relationships between those characters are similarly nuanced and very well written. they make you really care about both the protagonists and the side characters!

avatar: the last airbender

pitch: as the ever-growing imperial force of the fire nation threatens the earth and water nations, a kid from the long-lost air nation turns up and it turns out he can control all four elements and he has to save the world and all that. sorry i tried to write this pitch like five times and realized that well at this point i think everyone reading this will know the plot of avatar

stands out for: avatar has possibly the best worldbuilding i have ever seen in a show—it takes the time to introduce us to so many places and aspects of its world, both explicitly and subtly. the main highlight of this is the magic system. by creating a magic system based in body movement, the process of using magic and learning to use/control it better becomes immediately obvious to the viewer. combine that with the philosophy behind each type of bending and the way that characters take bending inspiration from types different than their own, and you’ve got a system that is complex, flexible, believable, internally consistent, and just plain fun! it makes action sequences a blast. i especially liked the moments when bending was stretched to its limits in totally logical ways (metalbending, bloodbending). not to mention the way that bending is seamlessly integrated into the world of avatar! the example that comes to mind is the earthbending-powered transport system of omashu. a whole essay could be written on that topic alone!

criticism: i know this is a sentiment shared by many people, but the first season was kind of boring to me. some of the humor and the plots felt hit-or-miss. of course, it needed to take that time to establish the world, and it does a great job of doing that. it just didn’t hook me until the second season.

favorite character: i love toph she’s so much fun :) iroh is a close second! and zuko is great, too, of course

favorite arc: i loved ba sing se a ton, especially the episode when they get there and everything feels off. it felt so resonant with real life, in a very fun way. there’s a reason “there is no war in ba sing se” is a meme…

other commentary: what can i say? it’s a classic for a damn good reason. the plot is tight, and it does a great job raising tension and introducing new elements and twists. i also love the care put into the antagonists, especially azula, who has a fascinating arc.

mob psycho 100

pitch: a middle schooler and a charismatic con artist team up to smite ghosts using extrasensory powers. thing is, only the middle schooler actually has ESP, and it happens to be really, really powerful. can he navigate the difficult world of middle school while also getting a better grip on his powers—and his bottled-up emotions?

stands out for: the way that MP100 uses animation is excellent. it takes a little getting used to but it’s just so fun, combining all sorts of different techniques to create an experience rich with drama and emotion. it’s playfully exaggerated and self-parodying, adding to the show’s fantastic sense of humor as well as its truly emotional moments.

criticism: the way that ESP works makes suspension of disbelief tricky. it’s a great feat to introduce a character who is essentially all-powerful and still make them interesting (even in fight scenes), but at times (especially the second season finale) it felt like a magic system with too much breadth and too few limitations. this might just be my bias for hard magic systems talking, though.

favorite character: other than mob and reigen? probably teru. he’s loads of fun AND all the season 1 episodes he’s in slap hard

favorite episode: the one where the girl asks mob out on a date as a dare.. it’s super cute

other commentary: thank you mp100 for being the leftist propaganda we all deserve <3

in all seriousness though, this show is a blast!! it does a great job switching between silly and serious in the blink of an eye. i also really appreciate the way that it balances comically huge stakes with much smaller, more personal stories. for example, the conflict between mob and reigen in season 2 is especially well-done. in general the emotions just feel so real? characters whose emotions tie into their powers are an excellent trope, and mob is a wonderful protagonist who exemplifies this really well.

finally, on a more critical note—there are so many characters in this show! and it feels like only a handful are fleshed out? however, this may be due to the fact that it’s not an adaptation of the entire manga (which i haven’t read). there’s a lot more to go! more characters to dive into! so i probably shouldn’t try to critique it in the same way as a finished work.

demon slayer / kimetsu no yaiba

pitch: demons kill a boy’s family and turn his sister into a demon, so he decides to try and figure out a way to turn his sister back into a human. what follows is a demon-killing adventure that’s in equal parts harrowing, poignant, and hilarious.

stands out for: there’s not much i can say about this other than “please just take a look” but the art and design is phenomenal. it does a much better job of integrating 2D and 3D than a lot of other animated series, and overall it is just so so pretty! all the character designs are complex, memorable, and fit the characters perfectly. the color choices are interesting and satisfying. i also really like the sound design? not often that i notice that in a show. i’ve watched so many KNY amvs by now lol it’s just amazing animation

criticism: the narration style leans too heavily towards tell instead of show. this is mostly an issue with the first few episodes, but i got super annoyed by how much the show would narrate every single one of tanjirou’s thoughts instead of letting us infer those thoughts through his actions and reactions—the latter, i think, would have been more emotionally impactful. sometimes silence speaks louder than words! tanjirou was also not the world’s most compelling protagonist in my opinion, though i think that mostly has to do with my own tastes.

favorite character: *holds up zenitsu* I Just Think He’s Neat. i actually kind of lost it when he first used his powers, like… damn i love characters with weird relationships with their magic like that. i also think the narrative about how having a solid foundation is sometimes more important than knowing a ton of different moves was really powerful. and he’s just funny! pathetic boy i love him

favorite arc: really just the whole spider arc. fucked up man… i love it. they pulled off that last twist so well, and all the family stuff was so weird and complex and emotional…

other commentary: it’s just a really solid and very well-written show! the team of tanjirou, zenitsu, and inosuke is so much fun… bro bonding :) i also quite like the horror elements; it’s fucked up but in a good way. finally, this is very specific, but the demon that can alter buildings/rooms through drumbeats? appealed to me very much. it’s a cool and unique power!

fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood

pitch: two kids do some fucked up alchemy and end up getting parts of their body stolen by god. now they’re on a quest to get their bodies back, but find themselves wrapped up in crazy government conspiracies and alchemy more powerful than they ever could’ve imagined…

stands out for: plot. by this i mean less overall concept (though the overall concept is pretty great too), and more that the pacing and progression of the story is extraordinarily tight. for the most part (the first few episodes are a little weak but i’ll let it slide), it does an excellent job establishing its premise and building on it logically, adding layers and layers that extend naturally from what we already know. everything has a reason for happening; everything is revealed in good time and all the twists are super satisfying. there’s great balance between exciting moments and quiet moments. it’s just very good at being a story!

(fun fact: i’m reading the manga right now and so far it’s even better paced than the show, which is super interesting! it’s especially good at how it lays out pieces of the backstory and then fills everything in later in a really satisfying way.)

criticism: this is incredibly specific but it’s what comes to mind as something that bothered me: winry’s character arc was really disappointing. for most of the series she’s a pretty strong character, but in the end it feels like she gets pushed aside, defined only by her relationship with ed. what happened to her wanting to take action more? that was a specific desire she expressed—wanting to be less passive! since she’s such an important character, i wish she could have had more presence in the last season other than as a sounding board for the elric bros’ emotions. (even though her one scene in the last episode was really good and emotional…)

favorite character: other than the elric bros, absolutely ling. he fits into multiple of my favorite character archetypes (fun, silly, bastard, gets possessed…) and he’s just overall a delight. plus his relationship with greed is really really good. bro bonding at its peak!! (my other favorite is pride. i will not say why because spoilers. but if you know me.. you know)

favorite episode: this is really really hard to choose but i’m gonna go with envy’s death because. holy shit.

other commentary: i’m a really big fan of the complex and nuanced way in which FMAB breaks down militaristic, imperial regimes from the inside. many of the characters have done awful things, and the story forces them to grapple with that and accept that all they can do now is be better in the future. the moral complexity is just really good! characters with flaws—we love to see it!

finally, parts of this story seem so so catered to Me Specifically that it’s no wonder i got so into it. like just the entire premise? the way that so much of the conflict is built out of identity crisis and exploring the nature of consciousness and human vs inhuman? beautiful. i love ed and al so much

if you made it all the way to the end, thank you so much for reading!! glad to have finally gotten this done (3 months late…) and put all my thoughts down. i hope this inspires someone to try watching one of the shows i discussed!

#avatar the last airbender #mob psycho 100 #kimetsu no yaiba #fullmetal alchemist #my post #long post #then for my own tagging purposes..#atla #mp100 #kny #fmab #i really hope some people read this! i put a lot of thought into it

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riotwritesthings · 4 years

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Emerald Ivy (Wrapped Around My Skin)

WinterIron, E, 11k, vine-tentacle porn, fantasy AU, fairy Tony and plant man Bucky | AO3

Go here to check out the fantastic art by @beir!!

Seriously it’s so mouthwatering, I can’t stop staring I LOVE. (And also I’d like to take this time to say AHHH I’VE LOVE YOUR ART FOR SO LONG and it was an honor and a pleasure to work with you, 20/10 would do again.)

At the end of another fic I promised to write tentacle porn. This is not that tentacle porn, but it is a type of tentacle porn. It is also the first thing I finished in 2020, so it’s gonna be a good, filthy year y’all.

If Tony survives this, Rhodey is going to kill him. And then Pepper is going to learn necromancy and bring him back, just so she can kill him again more viciously, and with more I told you so.

With a pained hiss Tony curls up a little tighter, tucking himself further into the small hollow formed by some twisted tree roots. Once he’s sure he’s at least partially hidden, Tony finally gets a chance to look down at his ankle. The skin is broken and bleeding in several places, and he can tell without even trying that he won't be able to put any weight on it, but it could have been way worse. Like his wing, his poor torn wing, Tony can only barely see the tear near the base if he cranes his neck around to look back over his shoulder, but it hurts like hell and that’s the thing that has him more worried.

He is going to deserve any and all murder Rhodey and Pepper see fit to bestow upon him, because they absolutely did tell him. They told him so many times to stay out of the Dark Wood, but Tony just had to come here, just had to find the stupid crystal that he just had to have. And naturally, he just had to get nearly snatched out of the air by one of the huge, four-winged birds of prey, busting up his wing in the initial hit and his ankle in the following long tumble to the ground.

Without the ability to fly or even hobble out of here Tony is pretty shit out of luck, and dying at the hands of his best and only friends is honestly wishful thinking at this point. All it would take to heal right up is a little magic, but unfortunately Tony is fresh out of magic these days, and he's quickly running out of time, too. He can’t stay in this little root hollow forever, there are plenty of predators on the ground too, and Tony reluctantly accepts that at this point his only choice is crawling in search of a better place to hide and then seeing if he can patch himself up somehow.

Positive thinking, Tony reminds himself firmly, it's gotten me this far. And okay sure, maybe it's actually mostly stubbornness and spite that's gotten him this far, but that's not the point. The point is that Tony needs to move, so with a couple deep breaths to steel himself he wiggles out of his semi-safe little hollow.

The trees grow incredibly thick this deep into the forest and everything is in heavy shadows, like the Dark Wood is really trying to live up to its name. Everything grows extra huge here, too, which at least makes it easy for Tony to crawl and drag himself beneath the underbrush. He's covered in dirt and bits of fallen leaves almost instantly, but at least he can shuffle from root to shrub without spending too much time in the open.

Everything is going surprisingly well, right up until Tony snags the thin fabric of his pants on a thorny branch. He has to resist the urge to swear as he tries to pull himself loose, and then can't help a small, startled yelp as he gets free with a particularly hard tug that also sends him tumbling head over ass down a steep incline. Tony bites his lip to avoid screaming as he comes to a stop in a tangle of brush, banging his ankle hard in the process. He’s pretty sure he tore his wing a little more, too, and it takes a couple minutes of strained breathing before Tony can force himself to move again.

It’s impossible to tell time beneath the thick canopy, where Tony can’t see the sun or feel it’s warm, friendly touch, but it feels like he’s been crawling along slowly for hours now. He’s still bleeding sluggishly and unless he’s being paranoid, Tony would swear he can hear increased rustling in the forest around him. Like circling predators. Everything looks exactly the same, he can’t even tell if he’s getting anywhere and he might actually die here. Which is so stupid, after everything he’s already survived, and the worst part is that no matter what he had insisted to his worried friends, this absolutely was another stupid plan to prove that he can still be useful. Like anything could ever make the rest of the village accept him again.

Tony is biting back frustrated tears when he nearly crawls nose first into the flower. And then he notices the rest of them, stretching out in a long, uneven line before him, and all he can do is blink in confusion for a second. The flowers are small, a soft white that stands out against the dark green of the vines they’re growing from. It’s so unexpected that for a minute Tony completely forgets he’s injured and in danger in favor of looking the nearest one over curiously.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asks the flower, but it stays stubbornly silent. Tony can’t say he's really surprised, talking flowers tend to let you know right up front, and then don’t let you get a word in edgewise. Anything light and pretty is wildly out of place in the Dark Wood, and Tony is one hundred percent sure this is either a deadly trap or some kind of path to safety. No inbetween. He doesn’t have many options though, so with a sigh Tony starts crawling along the line of flowers, careful not to crush any of them as he follows wherever they lead. “You better not be setting me up,” he grumbles to one of the flowers as he shuffles past it.

The vines grow thicker and closer together the further Tony follows the line of flowers, until he has to grab one of the vines to stop himself from falling face first down another sharp incline. Tony peeks over the ledge carefully and is surprised to find what looks almost like a nest, composed entirely of the thick green vines and hidden perfectly among the twisted roots of two extra huge trees. It’s pretty decently sized, big enough to fit something Tony definitely doesn’t want to meet, but the delicate flowers are growing all along the vines that make up the walls and if anything had actually been here recently the flowers would be crushed, right? Right.

It’s mostly the fact that this is the only choice he has that forces Tony to finally accept his own desperate logic, and he lowers himself down into the nest as carefully as possible. He still ends up hitting the ground hard, the floor of vines surprisingly firm beneath him and not at all pleasant to face plant into.

“I’m so glad no one is around to see this,” Tony grumbles as he pushes himself upright again, groaning when the motion jostles both his wing and ankle. He’s not even sure which one hurts worse anymore, just that his entire body is caught in the waves of throbbing pain.

With a couple more totally-manly whimpers Tony manages to drag himself to the center of the nest and has a look around. Okay, okay this should work, the space is about twenty feet across and he’s covered from above and on all sides, the only opening in the thick tangles of vine is the small entrance he’d fallen in through. It's probably the safest Tony can hope to be, and with that decided he can take a second to just breathe and swallow down his rising panic. Once that’s done, Tony strips off his torn and muddy shirt, hissing as it shifts his wing, and starts trying to locate any part of the fabric clean enough to wrap up his ankle.

There’s something in his trap. He can feel the motion through the vines, the clumsy flailing and rapid breathing. He can smell the blood.

Bucky emerges from the depths of the trap, the tangled vines parting easily around him. He moves closer slowly, carefully, making sure not to be seen. He can’t afford to be spotted, not anymore. He’s supposed to be beautiful, supposed to be able to draw his prey in, but he can’t do that anymore. That’s why he built this trap, a cage of vines to catch his food. It’s inelegant, but it keeps him alive.

He pauses though, because what he finds when he peeks through the vine wall of the cage is not at all what he expects. It’s not some poor animal, not one of the oversized bugs that creep along the forest floor. There’s a fairy in his trap. He’s never seen one before, he’s only heard stories of the magical creatures that live along the forest’s edge, where the trees are thin enough to let the sunlight through. The fairies never come this far into the Dark Wood after all, everyone knows that, but the wings are unmistakable, shimmering red and gold even in the dim shaft of light that manages to slip into the cage.

Bucky can only watch, fascinated, as the fairy struggles to wind strips of fabric into a sloppy bandage. He has golden bronze skin and an honestly surprising amount of muscle for something that’s supposed to rely almost entirely on magic. Most interestingly, there’s some kind of blue glow emanating from the fairy’s chest, and that definitely wasn’t in any of the stories. The fairy makes a soft hurt sound as he tightens the fabric wrapped around his ankle, one wing shivering while the other stays drooped at his side.

It’s probably bad form to eat a fairy, even one that apparently wandered into the Dark Woods of his own free will. Bucky should probably just crawl back to the depths of his nest, wait for the fairy to leave, wait whoever knows how long for his next meal to come wandering in. Bucky should definitely not try to help, because how would he even do that without scaring the poor thing to death?

Before he knows it though, a couple of his loose vines are slithering closer, and Bucky tells himself it’s just to find out if the fairy is going to bleed to death and make things easy on him. He’s definitely not trying to see how bad the fairy is injured, see if he can help, not at all. Well, he always knew his curiosity would get him into further trouble some day.

Tony frowns as he inspects the strips of fabric already falling loose from around his ankle and apparently Pepper was right all along, Tony is terrible at taking care of himself. With a sigh, Tony decides he may as well leave it, hopefully it'Il at least be enough to remind him not to move it and hurt himself further. He doesn't know what to do about his wing, or the fact that he's stuck here, and he's so busy trying to fight down panic again that he doesn’t notice the vines starting to shift until it’s nearly too late.

“What the fuck!” Tony shrieks, probably entirely too loudly, and nearly topples over backwards as he tries desperately to back away from the approaching vines. There's at least three thick vines working their way free of the tangle to creep towards him, but more concerning is the fact that the entire nest seems to have come alive around him, the walls and floor shifting slightly, and Tony is stupid, he's so fucking stupid. Of course this is some kind of trap.

Tony swats at one of the vines when it gets a little too close and it’s terrifyingly ineffective, the vine just shrinks back a little and then starts moving towards him again. While he’s trying to chase one of the vines away two more come creeping up, poking and prodding at his ankle, trying to wrap around his calf. “Bad touch, bad touch,” Tony says, and he can’t panic, he absolutely can’t afford to panic. He scrabbles desperately for the small knife on his belt except oh look at that, he apparently lost his knife at some point, fantastic. Plan B it is, then.

He slaps one hand over the glowing magnet in his chest, immediately feeds the low buzz of the static building under his skin, and then lashes out at one of the vines as it tries to wiggle close again. Tony can’t help the way his nose wrinkles as he makes contact, because sure it has the vine shrinking away from him, smoking slightly, but Tony still hates it.

Technically, the magnet in his chest is life support. The fact that he can also use it as a weapon is something Tony discovered out of necessity, not actual desire to use it as such. It’s convenient for keeping loose bits of metal out of his heart, or when he needs to power one of his inventions, or, apparently, when he needs to fight off creeping plant life. But that doesn’t mean Tony actually likes having to use it, least of all like this, it makes him feel like the abomination everyone accuses him of being. Still, he raises his palm again as another vine comes closer, resisting the urge to whimper because there are more and more vines winding their way towards him, the entire nest shifting underneath him, and he knows there is no way he’s going to be able to fight his way out of here.

Tony slaps at another vine as it comes closer, barely missing as it rears back, and then he immediately has to spin as one of the vines creeping up behind him pokes at his spine. He can’t contain a pained hiss as his wing pulls with the movement, but Tony gets his hand wrapped around the vine and doesn’t let go until it’s black and crispy, curling in on itself as all the vines hesitate and then back away slightly. Tony is just starting to think maybe he’s going to be left alone, maybe he can make some kind of truce with whatever living plant he seems to have stumbled into, when someone speaks directly beside him.

“Would you stop?” The voice is deep and rumbling and completely unexpected, and Tony maybe screams a little. Or a lot. Even as he screams in a totally justifiable way, Tony spins back around with his hand already out and finds his palm slapping down against an incredibly firm bicep. "Ow, what the shit-“ the man hisses, flinching back, because it is a man, or at least something man-shaped, his skin the same green as the vines all around him. “Did you just hit me with lightning?!"

"I mean... kind of?" Tony says slowly, because now is not the time to go into a rant about the technicalities of the glowing contraption in his chest. Especially to strange, disembodied torsos sticking out of walls.

Okay, okay so the carnivorous plant people of the Dark Wood are actually very, very real. That’ll be fascinating, later, if Tony survives this, but right now he’s mostly trying not to panic more than he already is. He’s also trying not to notice how thick the guy’s muscles are, but they turn out to be really hard to ignore. Tony is doing his best though, because this is really not the time for that.

"Kind of," the guy mouths to himself, like he can't quite believe it, his sharp teeth flashing even in the low light. He pushes himself further out of the tangle of vines, the walls parting easily around him and hey look at that, he appears to be missing an arm, and is also completely naked. Tony is trying really hard not to be distracted by that last fact, and especially with those thighs, wow. He flinches hard when the plant man-guy comes closer, because he really doesn’t want to be eaten, but the guy just rolls his yellow eyes and says “quit moving, ‘m trying to help.”

Tony is skeptical, because those are not the teeth of anything but a predator, and upon second look this is absolutely a trap that he’s stupidly fallen into.

The plant monster man approaches slowly, every motion slow and broadcasted like Tony is a skittish animal. Tony might be offended by that at some other time, but right now he actually really appreciates it because he’s a little bit shaking with pain and adrenaline and if his heart starts pounding any faster he might actually die. Tony does his best to keep his eyes above the guy’s waist as he kneels down by Tony’s feet, which is actually not too hard because his chest is thick and broad, his hair a darker shade of brownish green, hanging loose around his shoulders, and Tony might be a little delirious from the pain because he can’t stop wondering if it’s as soft as it looks.

At least the plant man’s fingers are gentle as he starts picking at the loose knot of Tony’s sloppy bandage. His skin is nearly cool to the touch, almost dewy; it feels like a smoother version of the vines that are still shifting and resettling all around him. Blood is already soaking through the thin fabric, and Tony’s not sure if he should be amused or offended by the way the plant man’s nose wrinkles as he tosses the bits of shirt away.

“Um, I’m- Tony,” he volunteers, because on the slim chance he's not about to be killed and eaten he doesn't want to be rude. He should also probably stop staring, but he gives that up as a lost cause because he can’t seem to stop himself, gaze shifting from the plant man’s truly impressive abs to the thick, lighter green scars on his shoulder to the faint stubble along his jaw. Well, at least if Tony is going to die he’s going out with one hell of a view.

“What are you doing this deep in the forest?” The plant man demands without looking up. His tone is rough even as his finger remain gentle; poking and prodding at the broken skin until Tony lets out a pained hiss.

“I needed something,” Tony grumbles and crosses his arms over his chest, instantly defensive. When the plant man glances up at him there's a look almost like genuine curiosity on his face, and Tony softens slightly before sighing. “It’s... kind of a long story.”

The plant man opens his mouth like he wants to ask and then stops, turns his attention instead to picking through the remaining scraps of Tony’s shirt. Tony is just thinking maybe that’s the end of the introductions, and then the green man quietly says “I’m Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Tony repeats slowly, trying not to laugh because that is not at all what he had been expecting. He smiles innocently when Bucky glances up at him suspiciously, and then finds himself blinking stupidly when Bucky’s green lips quirk up with a small smile of his own. “So... do you usually patch up lost fairies who tumble into your little nest here?"

“No,” Bucky says shortly, which is a little concerning, and he must feel the way Tony goes tense all over again because he follows it up with "never seen a fairy out this far." He finally stops poking at Tony’s ankle and looks up at him again as he asks “why, are you tasty?”

Tony is pretty sure that’s a joke, at least he really hopes it is, that expression on Bucky’s face is either a teasing smirk or a reminder that his teeth do appear to be very, very sharp. Tony is going to assume joke, for the sake of his sanity, but just to be on the safe side he decides not to respond with ‘want to find out?’

“Nope,” Tonys says instead, because it turns out he does have the barest hint of a self preservation instinct, “not tasty at all. Highly toxic, in fact. Ask anyone.”

"Uh huh," Bucky says, smirking a little wider. He returns to inspecting Tony’s injured foot, running his fingers over the heel, probably checking for further injury. Tony tries to stay still, because it would actually be very helpful to know if he's managed to break something, but as Bucky's cool fingers brush along the arch of his foot Tony can’t help twitching and letting out a loud giggle. "Quit movin'," Bucky says again, tightening his hold.

Tony is about to point out that it's really not his fault, but his words turn into a startled squeak as a vine suddenly wraps around his calf and holds him still. Apparently, those vines can really move when they're not busy trying not to freak him out. "Woah, hey now," Tony protests, fluttering his wings a little and then hissing when pain flares across his shoulders and down his spine.

Bucky looks up again, immediately zeroing in on Tony's torn wing, and his yellow eyes narrow. "Oh," he says, almost absently, letting go of Tony's ankle to reach out like he's going to try and touch.

"Woah there big guy, " Tony says, throwing his hands up and trying to wiggle backwards even as heat fills his face, "at least buy me dinner first." He doesn't get very far, the vine tightening its grip and winding a couple more times around his leg. There are leaves dotted sporadically along the vine, surprisingly soft when one of them brushes against his shin. The curious part of Tony's brain wonders exactly how much control Bucky has over the vines, how much feeling he has in them.

This is probably not the time to be asking about that though, and when Tony drags his gaze back up it's to find Bucky staring at him with wide eyes. There's a faint hint of yellow spreading across his cheeks, which Tony realizes is probably a blush. It is way cuter than it has any right to be, and Tony really wishes the growing knot in his stomach was fear, fear would be a much more appropriate reaction.

Bucky snaps out of it first, breaks away from their strange staring match and turns his attention back to Tony's ankle. He grabs the strips of shirt he had selected earlier, and Tony figures its bandaging time now. Bucky clears his throat, his face back to what Tony assuses is his normal color, before saying "thought you could heal yourself with magic."

"Maybe I just like getting manhandled and fixed up by random strangers," Tony says, and winces when it comes out way snappier than he intended. Probably not a good idea to be snapping at the carnivore who has for some reason decided not to eat him. Yet. “I don't have magic. Anymore," Tony admits, slow and grudging, like every word is being dragged out of him.

Bucky glances up at his face, down to the glowing metal in his chest, and then back to Tony's foot as he mercifully doesn't ask. Tony almost lets out a sigh of relief, but it kind of makes sense that Bucky, with his scarred shoulder and missing limb, wouldn't start asking a bunch of uncomfortable questions. It automatically puts him higher up in Tony's book than basically everyone else in his village, which is kind of a depressing thought.

Tony is forcibly pulled out of his own head when Bucky wraps one of the fabric strips around his ankle, entirely too tightly and how is he even doing that with one hand?! Tony can't help jumping and letting out a pained yelp, and it's only the vine still wrapped around calf that keeps him in place. "Ow, shit, are you trying to torture me to death?" Tony demands, kicking his other foot against the ground.

"I have t' get this tight," Bucky huffs, rolling his eyes, " 'cause you insist on flailin' around."

"I do not flail," Tony says primly, and stops flailing his free limbs. Bucky does stop tugging at his ankle at least, instead setting the makeshift bandage aside as the vine pulls Tony’s foot up higher into the air. “Uh,” Tony says, face flushing again, "I was mostly joking about the manhandling." He squeaks at the unexpected sight of Bucky licking his own thumb and oh look at that, behind his sharp teeth his tongue is a lighter green, has almost a pink tinge, and that's... interesting. "Um, wha-" Tony squeaks again when Bucky presses his wet thumb to the broken skin of Tony's ankle, "is- is that poison? Are you poisoning me right now?”

“If you don’t stop accusing me of trying to kill you, I might actually kill you,” Bucky threatens, but Tony is pretty sure he can see a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He presses his thumb a little firmer against Tony's skin, ignoring the hiss of pain, and whatever he's doing Tony can feel the effects almost instantly. It starts as a warm tingle that works its way up his leg, pain slowly fading and at this point Tony doesn't even care if he is being poisoned because it feels amazing.

Tony is about to say as much, but then the pleasant tingle spreads up his thigh and ignites like a forest fire when it hits the low grade burn of arousal in his gut that Tony has been trying really hard to ignore. He snaps his mouth shut, losing his breath as a wave of heat crashes over him, his head going fuzzy while his pulse kicks up hard and his cock twitches insistently in his thin pants.

It takes a second for Tony to force any words out, his mouth suddenly, painfully dry as he says “what are- uh, what are you doing then?”

“Should have a numbing effect,” Bucky says, not looking up as he picks up the strip of fabric again and starts winding it around Tony’s ankle. He appears to be blissfully unaware of Tony's little problem at least, and Tony is really hoping to keep it that way.

“It should, that's very reassuring,” Tony says with a hysterical giggle, painfully aware of the vine still wrapped around his lower leg, the narrow tip of it tapping almost absently at his knee as Bucky works. Another vine wiggles in to help securely knot the ratty bandage and Tony is definitely not marveling at the fact that Bucky seems to have total control of them, nope, not at all. He tries to pull free again and has to swallow down a whimper when it accomplishes nothing, because he is fully hard now and really just hoping to get out of this without embarrassing himself and/or freaking out his confusing plant-man-nurse. "Okay, that’s-" Tony has to pause, licking his lips, and he really hopes his voice isn’t actually as shaky as it sounds to him, "you can let go now. That’s- fine. It's fine."

He tugs at the vine's grip on his leg again, his other knee already pulled up to his chest in an ineffective attempt to hide the way his cock is tenting his pants. And fuck, has Tony always had this much skin?! It feels like he has entirely too much of it all the sudden, like he can feel every shift of air currents, painfully aware of the bead of sweat making its way down his chest. He tries to pull his leg free one more time, bracing his other heel against the ground for better leverage, only to let out a startled squeak when the vine tugs back hard.

“Quit squrmin’,” Bucky grumbles and doesn’t look up, his fingers digging into Tony’s shin just a little, “do I have t’ hold the rest of you still, too?”

Tony tries, he really does, but he can’t stop the breathy gasp that bursts out of him, like it’s being punched straight out of his lungs as a hard shudder races down his spine. Because apparently Tony is actually really into that idea, one isn't this a delightful time to be learning new things about himself. Bucky finally looks up from carefully tucking down the edges of the bandage, confusion on his face until he obviously notices the flush on Tony's cheeks, eyes widening as they drag down Tony's heaving chest.

“So, about that numbing effect,” Tony says with a shaky laugh, willfully ignoring the fact that he's practically shaking under Bucky’s gaze, the fact that his cock gives a hard twitch and Tony is pretty sure there's a spreading wet patch at the front of his pants at this point. He opens his mouth again, not even sure what his going to say except maybe to re-suggest Bucky let go of him before Tony can somehow embarrass himself even further, but all that comes out is a choked moan as the vine around his calf shifts a little.

Bucky stares at him with wide eyes for another couple seconds, and then his entire face lights up with that appealing golden flush, letting go of Tony like he’s been burned and Tony yelps a little as his heel hits the ground. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it sends a jolt through his body and Tony has no doubt that would have been agonizing if he could currently feel anything other than a terrible, burning need. Bucky winces, golden yellow flush spreading down his neck as he shuffles backwards and blurts out “oh fuck- I’m sorry, I’m- I didn’t- fuck, I didn’t know that would-“

“How did you not know?” Tony demands, grabbing at the top layer of vines that make up the floor so he won’t do something stupid like shove his hands down his pants instead. This is fine, as long as he keeps talking, keeps himself distracted, it’ll all be fine. He will not proposition the sexy plant man who may or may not have have accidentally aphrodisiac-ed him. It’s fine. “That seems like the kind of thing you should know,” Tony says, voice only wavering a little and he’s having a really hard time focusing on anything that’s not how fucking hard he is, “I’m just saying, if my spit had this kind effect on someone, okay, that is the sort of thing I would know about.”

“No one I know has met a fairy before!” Bucky says, throwing his hand in the air and if Tony weren’t currently coming out of his skin he’d probably find that adorable. “I’ve never even heard of someone actually meeting a fairy before, how the hell would I know this would happen?”

“Well, looks like we’ve all learned something today,” Tony grits out and he’s so turned on now that it literally hurts, a dull throb of pain as his stomach works itself into knots. His head is spinning a little, a low whine escaping from between his clenched teeth and Tony figures the time for shame is officially over. “Okay, this is all super interesting,” Tony says around panting breaths and then nods down pointedly, “but I’m gonna do something about this now, so unless you want to watch maybe go away, or- I don’t know, build a wall or something.”

“Um,” Bucky says, tongue peeking out to swipe over his lower lip like he’s trying to drive Tony insane, “okay.” He doesn’t actually move, appears to be frozen in place with his bright eyes still fixed on Tony, and after a couple seconds of staring at each other some more, Tony figures that is officially enough of a grace period.

Tony is burning too hot to even be embarrassed, one hand moving instantly to stroke himself through his pants, nearly sobbing with relief at the drag of soft fabric over his aching cock. He squeezes his eyes shut, figuring that it’s probably rude to oogle the plant man while he gets himself off, right? Even if this is technically Bucky’s fault in the first place. And even if Tony still has the image of those broad shoulders and perfect abs stuck in his mind just fine.

A hard exhale nearby has Tony peeking one eye open and a breathy whine escapes him when he finds Bucky watching him avidly, yellow gaze practically glowing in the dim light. Bucky’s full lips part but no sound comes out, and Tony is so far past being scared of those sharp teeth, he wants to trace the tips of them with his tongue, doesn’t care if he ends up burning alive.

“You realize you- fuck, you don’t actually have to watch,” Tony feels the need to point out, just in case, and then moans helplessly as he drags his thumb over the wet patch at the head of his cock.

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long second, just drags his heavy gaze down the length of Tony's chest, watches him writhe and arch into his own palm, and then meets Tony’s eyes again as he licks his lip. “Do you want me to stop?” He asks, voice so low Tony swears he can feel the rumble of it in every vine that makes up the den surrounding him.

“Fuck no,” Tony groans, blood rushing in his ears and too worked up to even think about lying. He uses both hands to finally shove his pants down over his hips and then gets his hand around his cock with a happy sigh. He’s already so slick with precome that stroking himself is an easy slide, almost agonizing with how good it feels. He doesn’t even both getting his pants the rest of the way off, just starts working himself hard and fast, lets himself stare shamelessly at the thick muscle of Bucky’s chest as he gasps out “you- damn you are gorgeous.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky says, like he doesn’t quite believe it, which is just, so wrong. If Tony could catch his breath, could do more than let out desperperate little whimpers, he’d wax poetic for several minutes about the strong cut of Bucky’s jaw alone. Instead Tony just braces his feet against the ground and thrusts up hard into his own grip with a loud whine. “Don’t hurt yourself,” Bucky adds, frowning a little, and it takes Tony a second to even remember what he’s talking about.

“Nothing hurts,” Tony moans back happily, arching up hard into his palm. He’s dimly aware of a tingly feeling in his ankle, but it’s nothing compared to the shivering bolts of pleasure that run all through him every time he thrusts up hard and drags his thumb over the wet head of his cock,. “Oh- jus’ feels good, feels fucking amazing,” Tony slurs out, eyes falling closed and he’s burning, he can feel every single nerve ending and they’re all on fire.

He doesn’t see it coming, and Tony can’t stop and startled squeak when one of those damn vines snaps out to wrap around his injured leg again. The sound quickly becomes a wailing moan as Bucky tugs hard, pulls his ankle up into the air to steal half of Tony’s leverage and all of his higher brain power.

“Oh, that is- fuck that is not fair,” Tony whines, digging the toes of his other foot into the vines of the ground in retaliation even as he doesn’t pause the motion of his hand. His rhythm is thrown off though, and Tony nearly sobs as he rocks his weight further back onto his shoulders in an attempt to get it back, arches almost entirely off the ground and strokes furiously at his cock. “Fuck you, why- oh, fuck- why is that so hot?” He demands, and then groans helplessly as Bucky’s quiet laugh rumbles through the vines, a couple more creeping up to work Tony’s pants the rest of the way off his legs.

Tony is vaguely aware that his injured wing is spasming where it’s trapped beneath him, and in any other situation it would no doubt be agonizing, but right now all Tony can feel is the orgasm building like an explosion in his gut. He’s close, he’s so close, every inch of him lit up like like static but warmer, better, he just needs-

There’s a soft growl from Bucky’s direction and then the vines all around Tony are moving, shifting, working themselves free from the tangle and wrapping around Tony instead. Tony moans shamelessly as he’s lifted fully into the air, held steady by vines around his thighs and shoulders, propped up by vines under his back. Every part of him is held and pinned except for one arm, allowing Tony to keep jerking himself off at a frantic pace and Tony is losing his goddamn mind, burning everywhere and the texture of the vines is the exact right level of rough, just enough that he can feel every inch of them sliding over his skin.

”Fuck, please-“ Tony sobs out and he’s not even sure what he’s asking for, just that he needs something, anything, “please, I can’t-“ He tightens his grip around his cock, tries to trash in the vines’ hold and whimpers when all it accomplishes is making him sway slightly in the air.

“Oh,” Bucky says, caught somewhere between a sigh and a groan, and all at once the vines shift from simply holding Tony to caressing him, every inch of him, teasing at his thighs and winding tighter around his arms so the tips can snake up and slide over his chest. One of the vines teases up his spine, dragging firmly between his wings, and Tony finally comes with a scream, splattering across his stomach and chest as he lets the explosion consume him.

Tony is left gasping for breath and with a head that’s only a little less fuzzy, the fire in his veins reduced to a low burn but definitely not gone. He lets out a weak groan, hand still moving slowly over his cock as he tosses his head back only to find it caught and gently cradled by another vine. “Fuck, what the fuck, am I dying?” Tony whines, twisting just to feel the way the vines hug him tighter, one of them sliding into his free hand like it’s trying to give him something to hold onto, the narrow tips of the vines teasing over his skin, curling around the shell of his ear.

”It’ll wear off,” Bucky says, voice ragged, and when Tony pries his eyes open again Bucky is much closer, standing close enough that his outstretched hand is just shy of brushing Tony’s side and watching Tony’s hand move over his cock with open hunger on his face.

Tony should probably be more concerned that he’s being held, helpless, several feet off the ground, but he’s too busy figuring fair is fair and finally letting his own gaze drop below the mouth watering cut of Bucky’s abs to his cock like he’s been dying to. Bucky is hard. And huge, fuck, his cock is huge, flared head and ridges along the top of the shaft that have Tony’s brain shorting out. Without thought Tony lets go of his cock and drops his hand between his thighs, shoves two come-slick fingers into himself with a weak moan because fuck he wants to feel that inside him, just the thought has the arousal in his gut spiking hard again. The vines around his thighs tighten, winding over themselves a couple times to better hold him still, prevent him from even trying to rock into the press of his own fingers.

He tries to drop his other hand back to his cock, still achingly, desperately hard, but the vine tightens around his wrist, pulls his hand up and holds it firm near his head, and Tony lets out another broken sob. “Please,” he whines, dragging his eyes up from Bucky’s gorgeous cock to his face again, moaning at the sight of all that dark hunger aimed at him. “Please, please come here- fuck, I need- please I want you so bad,” Tony says, barely aware of the breathy words spilling from his lips, all he knows is that he needs Bucky closer, needs to feel more of him.

“You don’t mean that,” Bucky says, voice soft even as he doesn’t look away from where Tony’s fingers are thrusting into his hole, stretching himself open. “It’s just the toxin,” Bucky adds, almost like an afterthought and his fingers are inches from Tony’s skin now, hovering just above Tony’s hip.

“Nuh uh,” Tony says petulantly, and then softens as Bucky finally looks up at his face and starts getting that upsetting guilty look again. Deciding to go for a different tactic, Tony turns his head so his lips brush over the vine wrapped around his wrist as he says “oh honey, I was- oh- I was hot for you the second I figured out you weren’t going to kill me.” Bucky shivers, Tony can feel it through every vine, and he plants a sloppy kiss to the one in his grip before adding “maybe, ah fuck- maybe even a little before, if I’m being honest.”

Bucky finally touches him, just his fingertips sliding up the curve of Tony’s side, up over his ribs, but it’s enough to pull a shaking moan from Tony, have him clenching around his own fingers. He moans again when the vines around his thighs shift again, spreading his legs a little wider and Tony would swear he feels the tip of a vine brushing against his knuckles as he works his fingers inside himself. It’s hard to tell, honestly, Tony has kind of lost track of all the vines surrounding him, all he knows is that it feels like they’re everywhere, touching him everywhere except his throbbing cock.

“Bucky,” Tony nearly snarls, and then goes right back to needy moaning as Bucky’s fingers drag through the cooling come on his stomach. It takes him a couple seconds of watching Bucky draw abstract patterns against his skin for Tony to gather the breath to ask “you think I have the brainpower for empty flattery right now? Seriously, I don’t know plant man standards, but- fuck you are so gorgeous.” Bucky blushes that gorgeous gold again, but Tony doesn’t miss the way Bucky eyes dart down to his own scarred shoulder, just for an instant. “I mean,” Tony has to pause to whimper when one of the soft leaves brushes over his balls and he just knows that was intentional, “you still have more limbs than me, who am I to judge?”

Bucky lets out a startled huff of laughter, shaking his head a little before pulling his hand away. Tony’s disappointed noise turns into a loud groan as Bucky raises his hand to his mouth, pinkish tongue swiping out to lick Tony’s come from his fingers. "Sweet," Bucky says, his voice back to that low, grumbling growl, "damn you taste sweet.”

“Bucky,” Tony whines, voice cracking as he shoves his fingers back in hard, “please at least let me touch myself, anything, fuck- I can’t- please, anything-“

“You sure?” Bucky asks, like he somehow can’t tell that Tony is desperate, losing his mind, and Tony’s answering laugh is just this side of manic.

“Yes,” Tony says, as vehemently as he possibly can around near constant moans, “please, I am begging you, please just- Ah!” Tony cuts himself off with a wail when one of the thin vines slides in alongside his fingers, stretching him wider, and Tony sways in the air again as he jerks hard. The vine wastes no time wiggling in deeper, deeper than his fingers could reach, curling around itself so the tip can flick over his prostate.

Tony screams, head thrown back again and he hasn’t even caught his breath before another vine is sliding into him, twisting around the other spreading him open. The fire is roaring through Tony’s veins again, burning him up, and Bucky’s cool palm spreading over his chest is almost a relief even as it just pushes him higher. Tony pulls his fingers out, groaning as they’re immediately replaced by another thin vine, and another, and if Tony can just get his newly freed hand on himself it’ll be over, less than a stroke and he’ll be gone-

“Fuck,” Tony sobs as a vine grabs his wrist before he can do more than brush shaking fingertips over his cock, hauling it up to hover uselessly by his head with the other. “Please- I’m so- Ah! Please, I just need to come.”

“So sweet,” Bucky breathes out, like he doesn’t even realize he’s saying it, “patience, sweet thing, jus’ like this.” His eyes are definitely glowing now, gorgeous and dangerous in the low light as they shift constantly along Tony’s body, from his flushed face and heaving chest to where the vines are sliding in deeper, Tony’s cock bobbing flushed and angry against his stomaching as he writhes in place. Bucky drags just the tip of his thumb around the device in Tony’s chest and the entire world seems to shake as he groans out “gorgeous.”

“More,” Tony begs, “more, please-“ He moans as another vine wiggles its way into him and he’s honestly lost count at this point, all he knows is that he feels stretched open and stuffed full, aching and burning in all the best possible ways. “Please tell me you- oh, that’s- fuck that’s so good-“ Tony kind of loses his train of thought when one of the thicker vines presses firmly against his prostate and then just stays there, sending nonstop bolts of pleasure up Tony’s spine. “Please tell me you’re going to fuck me now,” Tony finally manages to gasp out, because he’s determined, damnit, and every time he sneaks a peek at Bucky’s cock all he can think about is how much he wants it.

Bucky shivers again, making Tony whine as the vines practically vibrate inside him, then drags his hand down Tony’s chest to spread wide across his stomach. “Okay,” Bucky says lowly, and then smirks as he steps fully between Tony’s spread thighs, and with the flash of his sharp teeth it’s as threatening as it is heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

It turns out threat isn’t far off, because in the next second all the vines buried inside Tony start thrusting, in and out, all of them working at a different rhythm so Tony is forced to feel every bit of it. He can feel each individual vine as they rub and twist against his every nerve, a particularly thick vine nailing his prostate on every thrust, like Bucky is trying to drive him out of his mind as quickly as possible and he’s doing a damn good job of it.

Tony doesn’t even have the breath the scream, just whimpers out Bucky’s name over and over as his entire body pulls tight and then cracks open. He clenches hard around the vines still working inside him and comes with a broken sound, head falling back again as his untouched cock throbs and spills over his stomach. “Bucky, fuck,” Tony gasps out, and then whines as the majority of the vines stretching him open withdraw, leave him feeling fucked out and empty. Whatever Bucky’s spit had done is finally wearing off, Tony blinks his eyes open and the world is a little more clear, the oppressive, tingling heat finally fading from his skin as he pants for breath.

He has just enough time to be disappointed he never actually got to feel Bucky’s cock inside him, and then all of Tony’s thoughts come to a screeching halt as Bucky swipes his fingers through Tony’s come and lifts them to his mouth again. Tony groans weakly, twists his head to the side and squeezes his eyes shut because the effects of the accidental-aphrodisiac may be fading, but watching Bucky lick Tony’s come from his fingers is just asking for trouble.

He twists his head to the side and finds himself panting against the vine looped around his arm, lips moving over the smooth surface as Tony slurs out "oh, wow, that was- holy fuck." Bucky shudders again and Tony can feel it in every vine, all around him, and especially in the couple of thin vines still buried deep inside him, giving Tony something to clench around as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm. Tony forces his eyes open to find Bucky staring at his face, at the way Tony’s lips brush against the vine with every heaving breath. “Can you feel that?" Tony asks, flicking his tongue out to lick at the tip of the vine as it curls around his fingers.

Bucky groans, low and deep, and Tony moans back as the vines inside him shift. Bucky opens his mouth, full lips slick and enticing, hesitates slightly, and his voice is barely more than a sigh as he says “I can feel all of you."

Part of Tony is fascinated by that answer, but most of him is distracted by the way Bucky is still staring at him, like he's starving, like he wants to eat Tony alive in the best possible way. He glances down and Bucky is still hard, a thick looking liquid leaking from the fat head, and Tony doesn't care if the heat is fading, he still wants that so bad it pushes a desperate whine out of him. “Bucky,” he gasps out and he’s a little surprised that when he reaches out towards Bucky the vines actually let him, staying looped loosely around his wrists and allowing Tony to drag his palms over Bucky’s chest. He hooks his fingers around the back of Bucky’s neck, pulling weakly and hoping like hell Bucky gets the message because Tony is not actually going to be able to tug him anywhere.

Bucky apparently does get the idea because he lets Tony haul him in, curls down around him even as he asks “you really wanna do this? Won’t be as strong as straight to the bloodstream, but- looks like you’re startin’ to come down, you sure-”

And that’s about enough of that, because Tony is very, extremely sure, so he shuts Bucky up by pulling him into a kiss. Bucky’s lips are cool and smooth against his, and when Tony swipes out his tongue, teasing along the seam before dipping inside, Bucky growls low and fierce. Tony groans as much at the rumbling vibrations of it as the fact that he can finally feel of sharp points of Bucky’s teeth against his lips, intoxicatingly dangerous. And the way he tastes, like something early and wild, and it has Tony panting even before the new wave of drugged heat washes over him. He breaks away from the kiss to whine pitifully, fingers tangling in Bucky’s hair as he jerks in the vines’ firm hold again.

“Told you,” Bucky huffs, and Tony is almost tempted to call his tone something like fondly amused. Before Tony can protest, because it’s not that he hadn’t believed Bucky, he’s being kissed again, deep and sloppy as Bucky licks into his mouth firmly, traces his tongue over Tony’s flat teeth like he thinks they’re fascinating. The entire time Bucky’s hand continues moving over Tony’s chest, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of him, and when he finally pulls back Tony’s left a moaning, shaking mess. “Fuck,” Bucky groans against his lips, hand settling on Tony’s hip.

“Please,” Tony begs instantly, dragging his fingers through Bucky’s messy hair, “please, oh- please I need you, want to feel you everywhere, all of it, please-“ He breaks off with a protesting whine as the vines around his wrists gently pull his hands back, pins them firmly in the air near his sides.

“Shh, I got ya,” Bucky says, lips sliding along Tony’s jaw as he steps closer, his cock nudging wet and thick against Tony’s inner thigh and Tony nearly cries with how badly he wants it. Bucky swipes his hand over Tony’s stomach again, collecting his come so Bucky can use it to further slick up his own cock with an obscene sound.

Tony does let out a soft sob as the last of the vines slither out of him, leave him empty and raw and the fuzzy heat is consuming him again. “Hurry, please, feel so empty,” Tony whimpers, doesn’t give a damn how he sounds, too busy shaking and panting for breath.

“I’ll fill you up,” Bucky promises darkly, directly into his ear. The hint of Bucky’s teeth scraping along the shell of his ear punches a low groan out of Tony that quickly becomes a wail as the head of Bucky’s cock presses against his hole. It feels impossibly big, even after all the vines, and Tony whines impatiently as the vines wrapped high around his thighs keep him from pressing back into the pressure. “Relax,” Bucky says, voice a little uneven, then drops a quick kiss to Tony’s cheekbone and rolls his hips forward hard.

Tony makes a high, breathless sound as the fat head presses against his rim, splitting him open, Bucky’s cool skin a sharp contrast to the flushed heat of Tony’s body. Tony has the insane thought that this isn’t going to work, it’s not going to fit, and another desperate whimper escapes his chest before Bucky rolls his hips again, firm and insistent, and with an aching burn Bucky is sinking into him, stretching him open wide, setting him on fire.

“Fuck- oh, fuck,” Tony gasps out, grip tightening on the vines wrapped around his arms as his entire body seizes up, nearly overwhelmed with it as pleasure sings through his every nerve. When his muscles clench it just makes Bucky feel impossibly large inside him, huge and inescapable and all Tony can think is more. Bucky makes a rough sound when Tony tightens up around him, his fingers digging into Tony’s hip as he grits his teeth and slows his forward press. “Please, please,” Tony begs mindlessly, straining against the vines’ hold on him and moaning as he gets nowhere, ”I need it- I need-“

“Shh,” Bucky shushes him, pets at Tony’s hip and then slides his hand around to the small of Tony’s back, vines shifting until Tony is exactly where Bucky wants him. He nips at Tony’s jaw before leaning back, standing up straight again, and Tony can’t even complain because fuck, the sight he makes, his hair a mess and that golden flush across his cheekbones, and Tony is so close to coming just like this, orgasm building almost painful in his gut. “Breathe for me, sweet thing,” Bucky says, voice deep and unsteady, chest heaving almost as hard as Tony’s, “deep breath now.”

Tony nods, drags in a ragged breath, and the vines around his thighs tightening is all the warning he gets before Bucky pulls him in hard, slams all the way into him in one deep, hard thrust. Tony comes with a helpless moan that only gets louder as the vines actually allow him to thrash this time, holding him securely even as he tightens his thighs around Bucky’s sides, pulling him in closer as Tony rolls his hips and tries to take him impossibly deeper. His orgasm feels like it lasts forever, for all that he manages is a couple weak dribbles of come, another wave of fire rushing through him everytime his fluttering muscles clench around Bucky’s cock buried inside him, until Tony’s every breath is a whimpering sigh.

“Fuck,” Bucky gasps, fingers twitching against Tony’s back, hips rocking forward slightly. It sets Tony off all over again, has him twitching and clenching as another bolt of agonizing pleasure shoots up his spine and he’s still hard. “Fuck, Tony,” Bucky says again, and Tony would find the almost dazed look on his face incredibly flattering if he wasn’t busy groaning out unintelligible noises at the twitch of Bucky’s cock, the way Tony can feel it everywhere, taking up all the space inside him until it feels like he can barely breathe.

“Don’ stop,” Tony finally manages to slur out, eyes falling closed as he drops his head back against the vine curled behind his neck. He uses the vines around his arms as leverage, rocks himself in the air and even that small amount of friction from Bucky’s cock shifting inside him has Tony moaning out another broken sound. “Please, please- oh- more, Bucky, ah-“

“I got you,” Bucky growls, tightens all his vines to hold Tony still again as he withdraws slowly. He ignores Tony’s begging until the head of his cock is tugging at Tony’s hole, flared head catching at his abused rim until Tony is shaking and sobbing.

“Buck- Ahh!” Tony screams as Bucky snaps his hips forward and slides in deep, so deep. He immediately starts up a rhythm of fast, deep thrusts that jolt Tony in place even as more vines join the ones wrapped around him, around his hips and chest and all of his limbs. Thin vines curl against the arch of his foot, the shell of his ear, creeping between his asscheeks to press in alongside Bucky’s cock. Tony has lost all words, barely aware of anything beyond Bucky inside him, all around him, surrounding him more and more with every new vine that slides along his skin and Tony has never felt this amazing in his life, every second pure overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure.

“Tony, fuck- so gorgeous,” Bucky groans, echoing distantly in Tony’s ear past his own thundering heartbeat. When Tony forces his eyes open his cock twitches and his gut clenches hard at the sight of Bucky above him, teeth bared in an almost feral snarl as he fucks into Tony with thrusts gone short and brutal. He meets Tony’s stare and smirks as he asks “you got one more for me, sweet thing?”

Tony whines and nods jerkily because he is absolutely going to come again, he’s most of the way there already, muscles drawing up tight as he shakes and moans. He gasps when Bucky’s fingers slide up his spine, press hard between his wings at the same time a vine wraps around his throbbing cock. Tony makes a sound that’s meant to be more begging, but all he really manages is more breathy whimpers.

Bucky bends down over him again, uses a vine to tip Tony’s chin up so he can place short, dry kisses up the line of Tony’s neck. His movements have gone uncoordinated, grinding into Tony with short thrusts and the change in angle means his cock rubs Tony’s prostate on every pass. “Come on, gorgeous,” Bucky growls into his ear and Tony feels the words more than he hears them, vibrating through him everywhere they’re pressed together, "let me have it."

“Oh," Tony gasps, and then the vine wrapped around his cock squeezes tight, tip of it teasing over his slit as Bucky grinds into him hard, and Tony comes with a weak moan. His cock twitches painfully, dribbles out a few drops of come and Tony is only vaguely aware of Bucky growling out his own orgasm past the rush of blood in his ears and his own ragged breaths. It does punch another moan out of him when he feels Bucky spill inside him, thick and cool as Bucky's cock twitches against his prostate, sending one last shock of pleasure to Tony's poor overwhelmed brain. "Oh, wow," Tony says again, slightly dazed, and then promptly passes the fuck out.

It takes Tony so long to wake up that Bucky actually starts to worry, just a little. Tony’s heartbeat stays steady though, and every now and then then he’ll kind of mutter quietly in his sleep, so Bucky settle in to just kind of... watch him.

Once he’s carefully lowered Tony back to the ground, rolled him onto his stomach to avoid putting pressure on his torn wing and used a single vine to prop up his injured ankle, there’s really not much else for Bucky to do. And why lie to himself at this point, Bucky is fascinated. He’d have cared a lot more about all those stories of fairies growing up if someone had thought to mention they could be like Tony. Snarky and smart and so damn gorgeous that Bucky still can’t quite believe it. A fairy with no magic, wandering into the Dark Wood all alone with lighting in his chest.

By the time Tony finally blinks those pretty brown eyes open again night has fallen, the only source of light the glow of Tony’s chest, peeking out from beneath him, and the bioluminescent flowers that grow along the vines that make up the walls. Tony lets out a low groan, face scrunching up, and then says “okay, yep, everything officially hurts now.”

Bucky can’t help a soft snort of laughter, and Tony’s eyes shift over to him instantly. Bucky tries out a smile even though it feels small and nervous on his face, because he has no idea what happens next except that if Tony is going to finally freak out it’ll probably happen right around now.

Tony’s eyes narrow a little, but all he says is “are you watching me sleep?”

“Wanted to make sure you didn’t roll over and kill yourself somehow,” Bucky says, and smiles a little wider when Tony lets out a soft laugh.

“My hero,” Tony coos, and then grins as Bucky feels his cheeks color again. Tony’s smile fades a little as he seems to wake up more, propping himself up on his elbows with another goran. He looks around, taking in the glowing flowers and pitch darkness just beyond the opening of the cage. “Probably should have asked this before,” Tonys says, sardonic twist to his lips, “but what are the odds something else toothy comes crawling in here to eat me?”

Bucky hums, and shifts the walls of vines until the entrance closes up completely, sealing them in. It only occurs to him afterwards that maybe that’s not the best idea, maybe Tony doesn't want to be trapped in here with Bucky andhis teeth either, but before he can ask Tony is letting out a happy sigh and flopping down again, arms crossed beneath his head as he turns to Bucky again.

“So,” Tony says, apparently right back to relaxed and smiling, “do you always patch up and then dick down the people who fall into your little trap here?”

“Only the really pretty ones,” Bucky says dryly and grins wider when Tony laughs again, “you always go wandering places you shouldn’t and nearly get yourself killed?”

“More often than you might think,” Tony says with a sunny smile, and somehow Bucky has no problem believing that. “Besides,” Tony adds with a pout that does not at all make Bucky want to bite at his soft lips again, “I told you, I was looking for something I need.”

“And what was that, again?” Bucky asks, one eyebrow raised, because he’s always been a little too curious for his own good.

Tony’s eyes narrow, and when he opens his mouth Bucky is sure he’s going to get told to mind his own business again, but then Tony pauses, licks his lips and his eyes move over Bucky’s face like he’s looking for something. Bucky’s not sure what he finds, but when Tony finally speaks his voice is almost shy as he says "it really is a long story."

Bucky glances pointedly down at Tony’s bandaged ankle, up at his torn wing, and then he draws in a steadying breath, takes a chance and says “doesn’t look like you should be goin’ anywhere any time soon, think we got the time for a story or two.”

Tony blinks slowly, surprise obvious on his face, like it’s just now occurring to him that Bucky isn’t going to kick him out into the world any second now, injured and alone. Bucky is honestly a little offended by the idea, he’s a carnivorous plant, sure, but he’s not a monster. Tony’s smile grows slowly, but soon it covers his entire face, lighting it up, the most gorgeous smile Bucky has ever seen in his life.

“Fine, we can do story time,” Tony says, rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh even though his smile doesn’t waver in the slightest. He pats the ground next to him, fixing Bucky with an expectant look, and adds “well come on, stop hanging out in the walls like a weirdo and get over here.”

Bucky is definitely a little surprised by the request, but he wastes no time moving closer, untangling himself from the structure of the trap and hesitantly sitting down beside Tony’s easy sprawl. When Tony continues to stare at him, one eyebrow raised, Bucky huffs and sprawls out on his back instead. “Happy now?” Bucky asks, but he has a feeling he’s also doing a terrible job of pretending to be annoyed.

“Thrilled,” Tony says cheerily and then rolls onto his side, tugging his foot free of the vine sling only to throw it across Bucky’s thighs as he folds one arm under his head, wings settling out behind him with a soft flutter.

It’s probably a good thing the other residents of the Dark Wood have written Bucky off as a lost cause, because he really doesn’t know how he’d explain this to anyone should they come looking for him. Somehow though, that’s the last thing on Bucky’s mind as he carefully adjusts Tony’s foot resting on this thigh, making sure he’s not going to hurt himself any worse. “Comfortable?” Bucky asks dryly and fails to fight down his own smile when Tony responds with a bright grin.

“Surprisingly so,” Tony says, folding one arms up under his head like a pillow while waving the other hand as he starts to speak, an excitement in his voice that Bucky can’t help being drawn into. “So you’ve heard of the glowing caves, right? Well rumor has it there’s these crystals-“

(And then Bucky helps Tony on his quest and Tony takes him home to his tree house on the outskirts of the fairy village. Bucky slowly covers the house in vines and refuses to wear clothes and they do it a bunch and live happily ever after ☺️)

#starkbucks #buckytony #winteriron #fairy tony #plant man bucky #fanfic #creative use of vines #fanart

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senadimell · 4 years

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DW: The Monster in the Closet

I realized while looking at a Girl in the Fireplace analysis that when Moffat involves a child in an episode, he chooses a particular set of tropes. It’s no secret he has favorite types of stories; this one I’ll call “The Monster in the Closet.” Moffat came onto Doctor Who writing Monster in the Closet stories; in fact, take a look at his first 6 stories: The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances, the Girl in the Fireplace, Blink, Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead, The Eleventh Hour, and The Beast Below. With the exception of Blink, they all fall into this category. Why? More on that below, after we look at what the episodes share.

I’m including Night Terrors in this analysis because it’s so fitting: it’s literally about a monster and a closet. It’s actually written by Gatiss, but copies many of the same tropes and subverts the ending. I’m not including Listen, because I honestly don’t remember it well enough to analyze and don’t care for a re-watch just yet. Plus, I think Moffat was trying to branch out by that point.

Here’s what’s in a standard Moffat Monster in the Closet episode.

The Child

Fake Faces

Repetition is Creepy

The Doctor’s Reputation

The Bad Guy isn’t evil, just fulfilling its nature

The child (or perceived child) is isolated from the adults in their life who should protect them but don’t realize the monsters are real. The Doctor steps in to validate them and solve figure out how to tackle their monster, who is real.

The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances: Nancy (Jamie and the kids Nancy looks after are also contestants here.)

The Girl in the Fireplace: Reinette

Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead: Cal

The Eleventh Hour: Amelia Pond

The Beast Below: Mandy (Timmy is also a contestant)

Night Terrors: George

Fake faces indicate something uncanny is occurring. The two-faced nature of the monsters suggests that the monster is not what we think it is.

The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances

The Girl in the Fireplace

Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead

The Beast Below: (Liz 10 also has a mask and initially comes off as sinister, and is revealed to be part of the problem by choosing ignorance)

This is a bit of a stretch, but here’s the face-changing Prisoner Zero from the Eleventh Hour:

It’s worth noting that the Doctor had his own face change in this episode, so we’re waiting to see if he’s the genuine article or if he’s more like the monsters.

Night Terrors. Doesn’t get creepier than this.

Repetition is creepy. This doesn’t really serve a narrative purpose beyond being creepy, other than perhaps to indicate the monster has a goal that we do not understand. When we do, we can solve the problem. This kind of reminds me of when a kid is trying to get their parent’s attention, but they’re on the phone and don’t really hear. I find that just like fake faces, the more often this is used, the more banal I find it.

The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances: Creepiest thing ever

The Girl in the Fireplace: What is that mysterious ticking noise?

Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead: (so much repetition here that any episode after it that uses repetition feels like overkill to me)

The Eleventh Hour:

The Beast Below does something a little different. It goes for a creepy nursery rhyme instead:

GIRL: A horse and a man, above, below. One has a plan, but both must go. Mile after mile, above, beneath. One has a smile, and one has teeth. GIRL: Though the man above might say hello, expect no love from the beast below.

Night Terrors:

DOCTOR: George! George, what's going on? Are you doing it? ALEX: What's happening? GEORGE: Please save me from the monsters. Please save me from the monsters. Please save me from the monsters. Please save me from the monsters. DOCTOR: George, no! GEORGE: Please save me from the monsters. Please save me from the monsters. Please save me from the monsters. ALEX: Help me, Doctor! GEORGE: Please save me from the monsters. DOCTOR: George, no! (The Doctor is dragged back into the cupboard.) GEORGE: Please save me from the monsters. Please save me from the monsters. Please save me from the monsters. (Alex is dragged into the cupboard.) ALEX: No! (And the door slams shut. Peace reigns again.)

Line about Doctor’s reputation scaring off the bad guys: The Doctor acts as a parental figure, but instead of dismissing the childish fear of the monsters, he validates and vanquishes. He fulfills a parental role, though, and just as parents scare away monsters by virtue of being an adult, the Doctor scares away monsters just by being the Doctor.

*The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances: Saving this one for last.

The Girl in the Fireplace:

DOCTOR: Even monsters from under the bed have nightmares, don't you, monster? YOUNG REINETTE: What do monsters have nightmares about? DOCTOR: Me!

Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead:

VASTA NERADA: These are our forests. They are our meat. DOCTOR: Don't play games with me. You just killed someone I liked. That is not a safe place to stand. I'm the Doctor, and you're in the biggest library in the universe. Look me up. (The Vasta Nerada desists and gives him a day to evacuate the library)

The Eleventh Hour:

DOCTOR: Okay. One more. Just one. Is this world protected? Because you're not the first lot to come here. Oh, there have been so many. (The projection shows the Daleks et al.) DOCTOR: And what you've got to ask is, what happened to them? (A run through of all the previous Doctors, then this Doctor steps through the projection with a jacket and bow tie.) DOCTOR: Hello. I'm the Doctor. Basically, run.

The Beast Below:

This one breaks the mold a bit: It’s Liz 10 who does all of the “fear my reputation lines” and pulls almost the same line as the Doctor in 11th hour (I'm the bloody Queen, mate. Basically, I rule). What ties this to other Monster in the Closet episodes is that problem’s solution comes from realizing how amazing the Doctor is, and applying that logic to our misunderstood Starwhale. Since it doesn’t need to be scared away like our past few monsters, we get this instead:

AMY: The Star Whale didn't come like a miracle all those years ago. It volunteered. You didn't have to trap it or torture it. That was all just you. It came because it couldn't stand to watch your children cry. What if you were really old, and really kind and alone? Your whole race dead. No future. What couldn't you do then? If you were that old, and that kind, and the very last of your kind, you couldn't just stand there and watch children cry.

AMY: Amazing though, don't you think? The Star Whale. All that pain and misery and loneliness, and it just made it kind. DOCTOR: But you couldn't have known how it would react. AMY: You couldn't. But I've seen it before. Very old and very kind, and the very, very last. Sound a bit familiar?

Night Terrors:

Again, the formula’s changing. Here, the Doctor’s title declaration triggers the monster and makes the scary stuff happen rather than the other way ‘round because the resolution is reconciliation between parent and child. If the Doctor were to be the substitute parental figure, he would interfere with that reconciliation.

GEORGE [memory]: Who are you? DOCTOR [memory]: I'm the Doctor. GEORGE [memory]: A doctor? Have you come to take me away? Away. Away. Away. DOCTOR: That's what did it. That's what the trigger was. He thought you were rejecting him. He thought he wasn't wanted, that someone was going to come and take him away.

(It should be noted that there’s still a title declaration where the Doctor assumes that people should know and respect his title, even though they have no logical reason to:

DOCTOR: I'm not just a professional. I'm the Doctor. ALEX: What's that supposed to mean? DOCTOR: It means I've come a long way to get here, Alex. A very long way. George sent a message. A distress call, if you like. Whatever's inside that cupboard is so terrible, so powerful, that it amplified the fears of an ordinary little boy across all the barriers of time and space. )

So that brings me back to The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances. One of my huge Doctor Who pet peeves is the Doctor’s growing hubris. I could manage it in seasons 2-4 because everybody and their dog was calling the Doctor out when he went too far, but it just kind of stopped in season 5 and the Doctor threw out more and more lines about how great or scary he was.

What I love about Nine is that he’s humble. What? you ask. The man who told us “I am so impressive!” is the most humble? Yes. Despite his “devil may care” blustering, Nine carries a huge burden of guilt and he constantly questions whether or not he has the authority to make big decisions when lives are at stake. It’s no coincidence that Harriet Jones pulls the “I’m the only elected official” card in World War Three to tell the Doctor to save the world even if she and Rose might die, or that when the Doctor acts unilaterally to let the Gelth posses corpses in The Unquiet Dead, he’s wrong, or that his actions to free the human race from the brainwashing news just leads to societal collapse and allows the Daleks a place to lie in wait, or that he’s spared from deciding Blon’s fate in Boomtown by the TARDIS. It all leads to his decision in front of the Daleks: Coward or killer? Do I have the right to decide who lives and dies? His answer is no, I don’t (then Rose saves the day).

In keeping with his personality, it would be totally out of character for him to boast of his reputation to scare away the monsters. Instead, we get this beautiful inversion of the Monster in the Closet Doctor/Parent figure scaring away the monsters by virtue of title:

DOCTOR: Amazing.

NANCY: What is?

DOCTOR: 1941. Right now, not very far from here, the German war machine is rolling up the map of Europe. Country after country, falling like dominoes. Nothing can stop it. Nothing. Until one, tiny, damp little island says no. No. Not here. A mouse in front of a lion. You're amazing, the lot of you. Don't know what you do to Hitler, but you frighten the hell out of me. Off you go then do what you've got to do. Save the world.

Instead of an “I’m the Doctor! Monsters are scared of me!” line, we get the Doctor saying ‘the monsters are scared of you.’ Then, he says he himself is frightened of humans. That’s an odd thing to say, since Nine doesn’t act frightened of humans and seems to just love them, until you consider the thematic implications. Who’s scared of the humans? The monsters.

The Doctor from ‘Dalek’ is calling.

The Doctor considers himself to be one of the monsters, even if he’s trying to atone for his past. He’s desperately avoiding whatever reputation’s left after the Time War and doesn’t pull that card until he’s facing a Dalek army. I am so so so grateful we got this line, instead of a line about how great the Doctor is.

The bad guy is not actually malicious, just following its nature: The monster is always something real here, but it’s never properly evil. I do like a good “the aliens just have different needs than humans” plot. That said, it can get predictable when you know there’s going to be a twist coming. I like the twists less and less as the episodes go on.

The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances: The monster is the child! Sort of: the good-at-healing but bad-at-AI nanogenes made Jamie and everyone else a monster since they didn’t know what they were going for as they repaired the humans.

The Girl in the Fireplace: Arguably the most sinister on this list, the droids aren’t malicious, just trying to repair their ship with re-purposed body parts because they broke down. Not evil, just following incomplete AI instructions like our Nanogenes. This was the only thing I liked in this episode. At least the monsters had a reason they were obsessed with Reinette, unlike the stalker-y actions the Doctor took that were supposed to be 100% okay, even though he criticized the Robots for doing that?

Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead: The Vasta Nerada are creepy and eat people, but it’s just because their forest was pulped and they came here in the books! They just want to be left in peace to hunt like normal predators.

The Eleventh Hour: This one doesn’t fit quite so neatly. However, it should be noted that the primary danger in the episode doesn’t come from the bad guy, Prisoner Zero, but the cops looking for him who are willing to boil the earth. They’re not evil, just callous and need to be reminded of proper boundaries.

The Beast Below: The weird scorpion stingers are just the Starwhale! It loves children. It doesn’t even care about being tortured for centuries and will keep driving everyone through space.

Night Terrors: George is monster! That is, he’s the one causing the creepy stuff to happen because he’s an alien who stressed out about the parents he brainwashed abandoning him. I guess that’s sci fi for you?

With the exception of Blink, all of the monsters are shown as innocent, if dangerous. They just need to put their energy in a different direction. It’s not until Victory of the Daleks that Moffat breaks the mold. Why? The punchline of “Monster in the Closet” stories is that the monsters are real and scary, but not evil, just following their nature. Daleks fall into the “these are actual bad guys” category, not the misunderstood monster. (Which is kinda funny, because it’s been established that Daleks are genetically engineered to kill and hate. They may be a Nazi analogue, but Nazis were people who chose evil. The Daleks are bred to hate and exterminate--note what happens to the “impure” dalek in Dalek and Evolution of the Daleks: they don’t kill people, and then they die.)

My biggest beef with these episodes that they’re all relatively close together, so it’s easy to notice the overlap. When Moffat uses almost the exact same line in one episode as in the previous episode, I notice. When he uses the same mask design, I notice. When he has a constantly repeated line and does it again, I notice. Even before I waded into anti Moffat stuff, I noticed a shift at the end of season 4. I attributed it to a new cast since I just couldn’t click with anything. Then, I learned there was a new writer, and found out he had also written my least favorite episode of New Who (The Girl in the Fireplace).

After writing this, I can’t help but parrot what I’ve heard elsewhere: Moffat’s trying to write a fairytale. A lot of the people and dangers feel more like archetypes than people, and the dialogue is witty but often unnatural--nobody goes around bantering like that all the time. The villains are identified by their form just as much as what they intend to do. There’s also this weird idolization of childhood and the innocent child. I don’t like it much. I’m more of the Coraline, Witches of Worm, Egyptian Game, and Wrinkle in Time mold, where the kids are just as realized and human as their adult counterparts and can lack empathy and be as creepy as adults. Alternatively, I’ll take Shannon Hale’s fairy-tale retellings where the bad guys are people and the solution involves personal courage and collaborative effort. (Moffat can keep his Day of the Doctor maypole children, and I will keep Chloe the scribbler, even if her episode was a little off).

My rating for these episodes, from least to most favorite:

The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances: Love Christopher Eccleston’s performance and was very creeped out by the child monsters. The solution to the problem was implied but not obvious so I didn’t get it until I was supposed to. I didn’t enjoy the introduction of a love triangle or the constant innuendo, but at least it was gone in an episode. Also, I will never not fangirl over “Everybody Lives!” and its significance to Nine.

Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead: Thoroughly enjoyed these episodes, though I do have things to quibble with (wish Lee was black like Donna’s other romantic interests--she’s got a type and it’s not “gorgeous and can’t speak a word,” among other critical things). Overall, a great episode

The Eleventh Hour, which I enjoyed, but makes me feel weirder and weirder the more I watch it between child/adult Amy, handcuffs and porn references, and the annoying “prisoner zero has escaped” mantra, plus “I’m the doctor! The earth is protected! I also didn’t like the repeat of comatose people sitting up and saying things. It was good the first time, not so much the second. Funny, but also uncomfortably awkward and creepy, and not in the “are you my mummy” way.

The Beast Below, which felt like it was recycled from earlier tropes to me. Maybe if Liz 10 wouldn’t have had the GitF porcelain mask, I wouldn’t be as tempted to compare it to other Monster in the Closet episodes. Overall, just meh.

The Girl in the Fireplace, which rubs me wrong in every way, except for the droids cannibalizing crew to save the ship--what does that say about me and the episode? I will not rewatch this episode willingly.

#anti moffat #analysis #dw meta #amelia pond #the girl in the fireplace #9th doctor #ninth doctor #10th doctor #tenth doctor #11th doctor #even if this is moffat analysis #i feel like it's too anti to tag it with a plain moffat tag #doctor who #doctor who meta #the monster in the closet

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