#who else shares a crepe with you enemy
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girlfriends on a girlfriendly date
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I See You Clearly Now
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader
Warnings: 0, babeyy. Complicated human relationships, maybe.
Word Count: 5.5k, once again, what the absolute fuck, who am I
Summary: An impromptu all nighter and a very domestic day with Sam who is- he’s a crush, right? Right?
A/N: This was basically me working through my emotions for a person in my life. I don’t-
Also, this was half because of an anonymous request I got the other day that wrote “please some sam winchester x reader but maybe an au with no creepy scary things” Here you go, hon. I’d argue complicated feelings are scarier than monsters, but whatever lights your candle :)
It’s four in the morning and she doesn’t particularly know when the decision was made to ignore the black night sky or the time, or how both Madison and her mutually agreed to it, but sleep is not close in the horizon. College life is exhausting, but this week was uneventful and slow, unmoving to the point of boredom. The beers in her fridge were staring angrily back at her, and her contacts seemed to anticipate her texts. Madison was the first choice, she hadn’t seen her in a while.
And where I go / Singing song of your affection / With rhymes to your perfection / Of you
I see you clearly now / I hold you dearly now / The sun is in my eyes (x)
Meeting arranged, hugs in hello and rosy cheeks, because her apartment is always warm, beers cracked open and drunk, and now Madison is on one of her white, comfortable lounge chairs, angrily ranting about Steve Rogers and Marvel. It’s that hour of the early morning when everything feels a bit gooey and intangible, stretched and fabricated, and there’s nowhere she’d rather be, content in defending a character she loves, warm, belly full of light alcohol and midnight-made crepes. Her cat moves loosely in the room, pointedly ignoring both humans, and Y/n’s cozy and happy to see the wild motions of her friend’s hands as she yells- the mild worry in the back of her head that she’ll find a note with a noise complaint taped on her door the next morning.
For all she cares, nothing could make this any better.
The night continues, laughter over Youtube videos and reality competition failures, repeated funny clips and belly-holding, more hurting of the cheeks from the laughter, more snacks, and she’s forgotten what that feels like in her never ending, break-neck-paced everyday life.
Time passes full of smiles and even more green cans of beer. Pyjamas are worn, sleeping bags are stretched on the floor over the fluffy grey rug, her cat seemingly having found a new enemy in the whipping of the sheets in the air. They laugh at her playing with them, until she settles on her little spot over her soft blanket. The girls stretch in their makeshift beds and they talk, texts are shot to other friends, also awake, selfies full of grins and-
“Sam says hello,” is all Madison has to say for Y/n to suddenly feel his absence in the room.
Sam. Of course.
“Gimme your phone.” Tipsy voice message with off-key singing sent. More happy smiles. A reply, a voice message of his own- “I’m glad you two are having fun. Where are you guys?”.
Y/n’s place, the reply is sent.
“Should I tell him to come by?” And Y/n has to hold her heart in steel hands to force it not to jump out of her chest and straight into her throat. Somehow, Sam always shows up when Madison calls, she thinks, a bitter taste in her mouth. Jealousy. Bottom lip bitten.
“Of course, if he wants to.” She hates to admit she’s excited to see him. Hates it, because she hasn’t talked to him in five months- not properly anyways- and the idea that Madison somehow is always in contact with him makes the familiar knife twist. The two had dated, sure, they’re friends now, a chemistry shared between them that’s inexplicable. It makes her wonder how two people can be so familiar with each other, how they can always be so fucking happy, bouncing off of each other, the sparks fly, people wonder why they broke up (Madison fell in love with someone else. Y/n doesn’t know how Sam reacted.)
Madison and her are friends, sure, but it seems everyone from that side of her friendships is close, but not enough to touch, so Madison never talked about it to her. Sam didn’t either. In fact Sam never even mentioned they’re dating. Sam never ever talks about his relationships. Not to her. He once told her, in that one phone call that lasted four hours until 6 in the morning, the one she can’t seem to forget, that he thinks his love life is nobody’s business. He’s vulnerable with it. Doesn’t share it ever with pretty much anyone (he’d share it with Madison, she thinks bitterly.) Sam, additionally, rarely answers her texts.
They’re in this weird limbo situation. She’d confessed her affection about a year ago, New Year’s eve and festive spirits, influenced by champagne and encouraging friends, and she’d received an “I wondered about us too, but I’m honestly in a weird place, unsure. I really enjoy your company, though, I think you’re really cool and I am very happy with how we are now. Friends.” No dice. She took it in stride. She’s fine with it. No really, she is. Over it.
Then Madison hooked up with him. That one hurt.
They’d talked about it- with Madison that is- because they’re friends, Madison had also been jealous -before Y/n’s confession, when Sam seemed sorta into her and things were going well- and had urged her to go for it. Y/n had shared the sentiment (“If you two end up doing anything, I’m fine with it, it’s really none of my business. You’ve been his friend for longer than I have.”) and she had really meant it. But then Sam didn’t want her, and he ran off in the sunset with Madison for a grand total of three months, and rotten feelings were there in every other step Y/n took.
Now though, she’s fine. Sam has a different pace than her, she knows it now, has come to terms with it. He’s such a gentle, loving creature, so caring and passionate and smart and kind, with those wonderful eyes and his soft hair and the scent that makes her weak in the knees. She’ll have him in her life if that means a single four hour phone call every six months and loose texts here and there- sent by her of course, because he rarely ever texts first for some infuriating reason, and she panics he’s gonna forget her. Other than that, she’s come to terms with the fact that they’ll always be distant friends, that she’ll admire him from afar and he’ll maybe think about her once a month.
He always seems so happy to see her, though. He’s so fucking difficult to decipher.
“He’s on his way.” Brought back to the present by Madison’s statement, Y/n sulks back in her seat, a small, excited smile crossing her features. She’s happy to see him. She missed him.
He’s making his way through the other side of town, though. He’ll be here in two hours just to see them, and her heart flutters.
Till then, Madison lays in her sleeping bag turns out the lights, Y/n’s cat stretches sleepily, and Y/n doesn’t fall asleep, anxious she won’t hear him ring her bell, won’t hear her phone or Madison’s at his call. She’s only slightly desperate.
Time has slipped to six in the morning. Y/n’s eyes are wide open, her head woozy from the fatigue and the alcohol, but, when the rug vibrates with the ring of Madison’s phone, she jumps. She jumps, and so does her heart, skips a beat, because he’s here and she hasn’t seen him since the summer and she just wants to hug him hello.
“Pst! Madison.” With a slap of her hand over her phone, Madison, in a lump on the floor, pulls the phone and balances it on the cut of her cheekbone, speaker over her ear, while her hand slumps back under the sleeping bag. Nelly- Y/n’s cat- blinks lazily, spooked by the sound of the phone call, but ultimately, not giving it much attention.
“Hm? Yeah. Mkay,” sleepy, mumbled words muttered into the phone. At least someone caught some shut-eye between them. “Bring some beers.” A small chuckle, a shake of her shoulders. “Oh yah.” Another laugh. “Hmph, buzzkill.”
Y/n is turning on a small light, just until the sun rises properly up the sky, because everything is currently a little dark still.
“Atta boy. We’re waiting for you.” Another short laugh. Madison hangs up turns on her back, and her phone falls off her face as she stretches, smiles, arms slumping over her chest. She doesn’t offer much information about the phone call. Not ten minutes later, the doorbell rings.
Y/n stumbles, sheets tangling on her legs, nearly tripping, to buzz him in.
He walks up the stairs, and she sees his head rise over the edge of the top step, a crooked smile on his pretty lips and she smiles back brightly. Arms raised over his head, he shows a plastic bag, clinking glass inside, and he whoops slightly. Y/n grins, throwing a victorious fist in the air.
“The feast continues!” And Sam laughs, toothy and bright as the sun. Y/n attacks him with a hug.
Warm arms stretch around her, hold her close, warm and tight, and he still smells heavenly, like he showered before he left his house. He smells like freshly cleaned clothes and vanilla scented body wash, like the seat of his car, deodorant and a deep, musky smell she can’t quite place.
My God, she’s missed him.
Madison is still on the floor of Y/n’s bedroom, mumbling her hello and burrowing a little in her sheets. Sam kneels down and hugs her, and she hugs back. “Nice to see you, dick”
“Runt,” he replies with a nod, as if he tips off his hat to her. Carefully, Sam also kneels next to Nelly, scritches under her little chin and whispers his soft greeting, to which the cat responds with a low purr and the bending of her head to give him a little more room. Sam smiles, and Y/n can feel her eyes being shaped into comically large hearts.
“M’God,” Madison groans. “I wanna stay awake but ugh.” Y/n smiles gently.
“Go back to bed. I have an appointment with my therapist in four hours though.” Madison nods numbly.
“Wake me up in three and a half, I’ll leave.” Y/n and Sam share a look and the former shrugs.
“Okay.”
Madison shifts, puts her headphones on and shuts her heavy eyelids, pretty much instantly falling asleep. Y/n is running on battery saver mode, enhanced by the incredible amount of adrenaline Sam’s presence seems to bring.
She nods for him to follow her and grabs her laptop, dumping herself on her living room couch, Sam closing the bedroom door behind himself and following her lead. He deposits most of the beers in the fridge and keeps two, which he opens. Y/n watches his ease in her kitchen, even though he’s never been here before and her heart wiggles in content.
He sits next to her on the couch, keeping a barely there distance between them, as she pushes the screen open. Despite all the feelings that have manifested in her chest over the relatively short time she’s known him, Sam and her really hit it off since day one. She met him during a surprise party thrown for Madison. Sam brought the cake, Y/n the candles and the lighter, and other friends brought alcohol, plastic plates that were never opened and cutlery.
The whole group had waited under Madison’s building, singing a very cheerful happy birthday, loudly enough for their voices to grow hoarse, and for Madison’s eyes to roll back into her skull with a sheepish smile. They had walked to a park, sat down and feasted on the cake straight from the pastry box, yet Sam was talking with Y/n on the swings a little ways to the right, away from the cheerful company, talking about fond childhood memories, about his brother, about their favourite movies. Y/n felt it, felt her heart drooping low, the familiar feeling of wanting to impress someone, to be liked by them. Even then, under whatever stars could be seen in their city, she knew he was gonna be trouble.
Beer bottle passed, and she clinks hers on his cheekily, receiving a tip of his head and a half-smile in response. Decided sips. Bottles held against bent knees as they both fold them like pretzels. Small talk about college, about recent misadventures and drunken phone calls, and soon she gets the urge to fill their time with something.
“Movie?” she asks, and Sam just seems on board.
“What do you have?”
And he ducks close to her and checks out the titles. “Do you wanna watch Hamilton? I’ve heard it’s really good.”
“YES, Sam,” enthusiastic and loud. Sam grins. They settle back on the couch.
Fifteen minutes into the play, Y/n doesn’t even hesitate, doesn’t ask and doesn’t preface by saying anything. With all the naturalism that their relationship has, all the affection she knows Sam has to give, she scooches closer to him and leans her head on his shoulder, hugs his arm to her chest, and he leans into her comfortably. “This okay?” The answer she looks for comes in the form of him leaning his head down on top of hers gently.
They watch two thirds of the play before they both get increasingly tired, since it’s a three hour performance. Their brains are kinda mushed, especially because of the lack of sleep, but they happily gush about how well made it is and Sam spews facts left and right about the price of the tickets, the actors and how the British royal family has gone to see it in-person.
“God, I wish I had the money to go up to NYC and watch it myself. I’ve never been to Broadway.” She sighs under his arm, which is now placed around her shoulders. Sam nods in agreement.
“Yeah, that must be so amazing to see in person.”
Bedroom door creaking open, Sam and Y/n separate from each other slowly as they watch Madison trudge to the living room like a phantom, a hand on her lower back.
“My God, Y/n, your floor is not hospitable at all.”
“Awh, I’m sorry.” Sam laughs next to her. “I don’t know why you didn’t move to the bed, though.” Madison glares, facepalms with a wince -the movement seems to rattle the spot that’s sore somehow- and shakes her head. “I didn’t- it- it didn’t cross my mind.”
Deep chuckles in amusement all around. Madison picks her stuff up. Y/n makes all of them some coffee, which they all quietly sip in the diminishing silence of the city waking up just outside their window.
The time for Y/n’s appointment approaches rapidly, and Madison waves goodbye, kisses both people on their cheeks and drives herself home. Y/n isn’t sure if Sam will stick around, so she checks the time awkwardly. She’d feel terrible to let him make his way back to other side of town just for these wimpy three hours wasted on tiredly catching up and watching a movie.
“Listen,” she says, and Sam’s attention is drawn from his coffee cup. “I’m gonna go to my bedroom, have my appointment, because we do it over Zoom anyway. You hang around, chill, and I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Alright,” Sam agrees gently. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
*
A painful, soul-straining hour later, wiping dry tear stains off her cheeks, Y/n makes her way to the living room, half forgetting Sam is even there. And boy if he’s there.
He’s stretched on her couch, legs barely fitting as he leans on the arm rest, ankles crossed, and a book he’s picked up from her bookshelf in his hands, while Nelly sleeps peacefully in his lap, finding comfort in his warmth. He hasn’t made an intense amount of progress, probably 50 or 60 pages in, but he seems invested, and for the seconds it takes him to notice her, Y/n admires him a little. Under the morning light through her thin, sheer curtains, rays are angled perfectly to make his cheekbones all the sharper, he, comfortable enough to relax in her worn-in couch. He looks so at home, and after such an emotionally draining hour, it’s so good to see someone who’s gentle, someone so familiar, waiting for her in her personal space, with her cat, as if he belongs there. It makes her heart do all sorts of stunts.
It seems he notices her from the corner of his eye though, and he puts the book down.
“Hey,” he tells her softly. “Are you good?”
“Uh,” she thinks for a second, pinches the bridge of her nose. “Yeah. I’m okay.” An offered smile, small and soft.
“Alright,” as if saying I’m choosing to believe you. “Have you read this yet?” He holds up a bright orange book, a small thing titled the Alchemist by Paolo Coelho. An offered change of subject. She smiles.
“Yeah, I have.” He folds his legs with a soft apology to Nelly who jumps off disgruntled, and Y/n takes it as a sign to sit on the couch next to him. His feet rest against her thighs, knees bent still.
“It’s so…” He sighs, struggles to find the words. “I mean, it’s not something I’d usually go for. It kind of feels childish and simple, but it’s so beautiful.” He seems slightly confused, surprised to find something he thought may be silly to be actually really good.
“I know right? It feels really simplistic, but some of the stuff it says is so eye-opening.”
“Listen to this,” he says and sits a little straighter, fixing the pillow on his back a little. “We are travelers on a cosmic journey, stardust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share. This is a precious moment. It is a little parenthesis in eternity.”
It’s like he chose the quote specifically for her, for this particular moment. A look is thrown his way, and he smiles crookedly. “I, uhm…” he rubs the back of his neck. “I just heard you crying, is all.” A nervous shrug. Y/n feels exhausted, drained, but in that little smile, that warmth, she feels like tearing up all over again at how fucking sweet he is. She pushes at his legs and reaches out to him for a hug, which he welcomes. She sighs.
“Thank you, Sam.”
****
Eventually, they get up. They move to the kitchen and make grilled cheese sandwiches and tea, and Sam leans against her counter as he watches her take out plates from her cupboards, Nelly prancing around with distant meows for attention. Y/n picks large mugs, puts honey in hers and serves their half breakfast on the kitchen island. They eat under light conversation about dogs in social media and pets, and Sam sorta looks like he’s always been there, like this is the life they’ve always lived.
Hot mugs cupped in thick sleeve-covered hands. Bodies curling up on different ends of a couch. Comfortable conversation continues. Topic shifted to something more serious, and Sam tells her things, talks about how he’s grown mentally, how he understands himself a little better and how he wants to try therapy. She’s happy to see him like this, being -if only slightly- more open about himself, about how he is, not closing himself up, not fooling himself into believing he can shoulder the world alone. Y/n gives him her therapist’s phone number, tells him she’s proud of him and shares her own stories. She ruffles his hair and smiles affectionately, and Sam thanks her. Their mugs empty. Her heart grows fuller.
While moving back to the bedroom, Sam kneels next to Nelly. He offers her his hand, lets her sniff it, scritches the top of her soft little forehead, and Nelly pulls away, sniffing, wagging her tail in short annoyance. “Is that not okay? Alright, I’m sorry, honey,” he whispers to her gently, watches her lick his fingers for a second before settling back in her cat bed and watching him wearily. Sam gets the message and he pulls away, and Y/n’s never, ever seen anyone interact with her cat this way. Respectful and kind (and if that ain’t Sam, alright) and her heart lurches a bit. Of course Sam, practically the perfect guy, would test her cat’s boundaries as if she’s a human, and then never push them again. She sighs.
They end up on her bed. Sat next to each other. Laptop in front of her, heavy conversation discarded, set down for now, and she searches for her favourite stand-up comedians to show him, because she knows his sense of humour and he’s gonna love them, she’s sure. Yet, as she’s scrolling, Sam does the unspeakable, and slides behind her, one leg either side of her, arms going around her.
“ ‘M sorry, I needed a hug,” he tells her, and she curls her own arms over his, leaning back against him.
“Anytime,” she promises and means every syllable. “You can stay like that if you want,” she tells him as well, and feels his chin on her shoulder as he nods, a huffed out breath softly knocking on the bare skin of her neck. She sighs into him. Gets comfortable, pulls the laptop on her lap -can you see well?- and lets herself be entertained, relishing Sam’s laughter against her back. She smiles, because this finally feels good. She doesn’t yearn, doesn’t look for anything more. She’s ultimately incredibly happy with where they are, with all of this warm affection. There’s no butterflies, just comfort, just love and care and tired laughter that fills her mouth with honey. The sun is in her eyes.
Not ten minutes later he shifts, stretches his legs and pulls her more comfortably against him. With gentle fingers, he pushes two strands of hair behind her ear, to the side, touch so soft she barely feels it, repositions his chin on her shoulder and breathes out calmly and Y/n shivers. He holds her securely and she, well, she dares dream, dares feel what this would be like in a different context, and while there’s a little yearning this time, to remember what it’s like to want someone and to be wanted, to know what it’s like to be Sam’s, what it’s like to be held with utter security, knowledge that you’ll never be let go of, it’s not overpowering. She feels its presence, but it feels more like an old friend than a menace. She’s content. Finally. The opposing feelings seem to tame each other.
Something close to an hour passes. They make food, some creamy pasta just to hold them over until dinner. He stirs the pot while she shows him a funny video on her phone. They eat in comfortable silence, and Y/n feels the urge to tangle her legs with his under the table, but she doesn’t, terrified she’ll push him away, ruin this bubble of comfort and naturalism by taking things a step too far. What is too far, she wonders. She’ll let him take the lead, if that means he’ll continue being this physically close to her.
Sam washes the dishes. Y/n pecks his cheek in thanks. His smile is radiant.
They stretch next to each other on her bed, scroll through their texts, send silly pictures to mutual friends. The mistake she makes is when she grabs his phone and takes a really, and she means really, ugly picture. A zillion chins, pinched eyebrows, curved lips and tongue out, hands his phone back and contemplates the consequences.
“Gimme that back, you shouldn’t have that,” decided and regretful. Sam and his noodle, twelve feet long limbs hold the phone as far from her as possible and Y/n growls and laughs, stretches, tries to grab it off him. “Sam!”
“You really think I’m gonna pass this up?” he scoffs with a grin, and she yells his name, accusatory and playful.
“Give it BACK, my face is in there! Privacy infringement!” She yells. “You should know, you’re a lawyer!”
“But you willingly saved the picture in a phone that’s not yours!” Arms stretched high, laughter booming and loud, and she scrambles.
“Your word against mine!”
“You can be seen holding the phone yourself!” She growls again, tries to pull his arm down, tickles his side and he jerks and laughs. Y/n tries to throw a leg over his to hold him down, but Sam’s too quick, too strong. They fumble, thrash, tangled limbs, throat aching full of laughter, struggling and yelling useless threats.
Sam throws the phone on the rug and huffs, visibly almost done with her, like she’s an annoying but entertaining bug. He grips her hands, her left and right in his respectively, throws his leg over her waist, twists and straddles her, hands now over her head.
Heavy breaths. They pant, stare at each other, Sam shakes his head like a dog to get his hair out of his face.
“You can’t win,” he tells her with a confident smile. She narrows her eyes.
“Have you learned nothing from this friendship?” She blows a hair away from her face and looks at him smiling. “I don’t give up that easy,” coy smile, a promise, wink sent his way, and suddenly she’s thrusting up her pelvis, trying desperately to scooch up the bed with the rest of her body, but the grip on her wrists tightens, Sam barely budging. She struggles, drags her body up, fueled by pure determination and spite, wiggles fiercely and just barely manages to get on her belly, which seems like a mistake in hindsight.
Because now her hands are crossed, he’s basically got her on a choke hold with her own forearms, and she’s eagerly trying to get her knees under her, while Sam laughs loudly at grumbled comments like “What the fuck kinda core strength do you have, fucking behemoth.” The sheets get wrinkled and pulled off the edges of her mattress, her pillows get pushed to the side, to the floor, the struggle continues and her stomach and throat hurt from all the laughter, but she really can’t seem to get the upper hand, which would be obvious if someone so much as threw a look at both of them. Sam’s six feet and two full of young, sinewy muscle, a boy- a man, really- with biceps that may not be particularly thick, but the iron grip on her wrists says something else. His hands are the size of her face. Strength is not the way she should be going about this.
She twists again, barely able to get back on her back, and she pants. The asshole looks barely winded and her eyes narrow, him raising an eyebrow challengingly. What to do, what to do?
Y/n relaxes, but Sam doesn’t. She takes a breath, grins briefly up at his momentarily confused face, then yanks her hands up the bed, making him jerk down so he can keep her under his grip and-
And she kisses him.
Nothing long or particularly sexy, just a rough push of her mouth on his, and an ‘umph’ escapes him in surprise.
Sam startles, his grip loosens, and her hands are pulled free of his hold, kicking away from him and managing a small distance apart from his warm body, knees pulled up to her chest and panting fast and loud.
Okay, it seemed smart in that moment. It really did. But for a grand total of five eternally long seconds later, her heart shrinks, diminishes to ash and dust and regret. Sam’s kaleidoscopic eyes are wide, pupils blown, and he, too, is panting.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, is all she can think, so much for not pushing his boundaries, not rushing his pace. How will you ever look in his eyes again?
“Too much?” And he blinks at her, clearly still processing. “I’m sorry, Sam, I- I didn’t mean-”
But then a hand cups her jaw, warm and big and gentle, pulls her face close to his, and his lips are there, pressed on hers. Y/n’s motionless for just a second- she’s dreamt of this for so long, over a year and a half, and it’s happening in the cheesiest way possible- and Sam is on his knees, weight rested on his other hand, reaching for her, he’s kissing her, and move, dammit, do something! A hand grips his wrist, and she pushes herself closer to him, a huff pushed out of Sam’s nose, and her stomach flips in so many stunning, wonderful ways.
Her legs fall to the side, she meets him half-way and kisses him and Sam follows just as fiercely, falls back on his haunches. His hands push under her shoulders, lift her up onto his lap, grab the back of her knees and pull them around his hips and Y/n goes willingly. She holds the sides of his face carefully and parts her lips, and Sam licks into them with caution, curls his strong arms around her waist and sighs into her mouth.
Y/n pulls away. So much for boundaries.
She blinks down at him. Sam’s eyes stay closed for a second longer, peering up at her then. He waits for her to say something. Fingers push his hair back gently, she nudges her nose with his and smiles.
“I win.” Earning a long, dramatic eye roll.
“I had you in a choke hold with your own arms, Y/n.” and her name rolls off his tongue so sweetly. She clicks her tongue.
“Yet here we are,” she whispers, looks down at him and he shakes his head with a sigh. His eyes fall on her lips once more and he gently chews the inside of his cheek. One large paw cups the side of her head and he kisses her slowly once more before pulling away, thumbing at her cheek.
They smile.
****
The sun has descended beneath the horizon, so early it’s kind of comical, but it doesn’t feel like it’s 6 pm anyway, because neither of them has slept at all. Time has lost meaning and form the past two days, everything feels surreal and fake because of the lack of sleep, and now here they are, under warm fairy lights, laying in her bed. There’s been kisses here and there, gently roaming hands, not moving further than that, and again, Y/n doesn’t need anything more. She’s content where she is, surprised she even made it this far. The affection they’ve shared is scarcely fierce and feral, simply quiet, tender, innate. Nothing particularly passionate or aggressive, just warmth and comfort, shielded vulnerability hidden behind brief liplocks. Y/n’s more than okay with it.
She’s laying on his chest, arm around his waist and ear over his heart and they doze together under dim lighting, limbs heavy, hearts feathery light. Sam’s arm falls around her back, pulls her close. She nuzzles his chest.
It’s just so easy to be with him. Around him.
Y/n wonders where they stand after this. If he’ll text her more. If it’ll go back to the occasional long phone call, the random outings because Madison texts him while she’s with Y/n. Will they ever be like this again? How much does she care?
Because, although somewhat pivotal for her view on affection, and tenderness and friendship, ambit stretched now, definitions altered in her mind, she feels that no real barrier has broken, shifted even. They’re still friends. They’re not partners, he’s not her boyfriend and it’s honestly fine. No, really, it is. She’s genuinely okay.
Would she like to see what it’s like to date him? Of course she would. Of course she wants to know what it feels like to know he wants her and only her, wants to know she can hold his hand, can kiss him no matter where they are or with whom, without crossing invisible boundaries tentatively like she did today. Planning dates and late night movie nights and early morning beers with shared drunken kisses.
She just wishes she knew what it’s like to have free access to this sort of affection with someone, and maybe that’s the thing. Sam feels like a good someone to have that with, but at the same time, maybe it’s what he told her on New Year’s and the way he likes to be, maybe it’s the understanding that they’re really not particularly meant to be together, cosmically in love, soulmates, whatever-the-hell, but there’s no dipping of the stomach, no heart rate accelerating, no feeling of being high or drunk. Maybe Y/n just wants someone, anyone to be with, to know she can fall for, and while Sam is warm and funny and familiar and oh so wonderful, while he looks like a great candidate to be in a relationship with, while her heart flips at the possibility of having any semblance of romance in her life, of him in her house, her couch, with her books and his warm hugs, maybe he’d been right. Maybe he knew something too painful to tell her back then, when she confessed her attraction, back when things were raw and bruised and painful to the touch. Sam and her, well… they seem good in theory. They are fun, and safe, they care for one another. They share alcohol bottles easily, common interests, kindness and heeps of love to give. They make sense in a way. But- it’s just not clicking, is it?
This is just… this. Affection for the sake of affection, not romance. And that’s okay to have, more than okay, even. It’s great. It’s comforting. It’s safe, and it’s simple. They can kiss. They can hug. They can cuddle together, and brush each other’s hair away from their faces. Y/n can admire his eyes while he cleans the dishes they ate lunch in. And it can all amount to nothing, without it feeling like band-aids being ripped off bleeding wounds without a warning.
In the words of her mother, why are human relationships so god damn complicated? Why does this one have to be too?
Y/n is content to be in his arms, to philosophically discuss, and open up and talk freely. She’s content with them giggling and wrestling and kissing in between, and they can share their music and their book quotes and their love for one another. It’s just surface level affection. If not surface level, then friendship level. Why is that not enough? Maybe not all relationships have to be tipped in the romantic pink light, and maybe, just maybe that’s okay.
She gazes up at him, rests her chin on his chest, and Sam blinks his lazy, drowsy eyelids open to look down at her sweetly, offers a small and a caress of his hand on her back. And for once, Y/n is completely satisfied with just this, and nothing more.
*****
A/N 2: I reread this and it felt like I reached a conclusion to something gigantic and cosmic, but this seems so simple. I should know all this by now. *huff*
please tell me what you thought of this!
Forevers:
@deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @deanssweetheart23 @nostalgic-uncertainty @mogaruke @superseejay721517 @lady-hawkguy @thosefeelsarereal @superwholockmarauder @justiceiswater @petra-arkanian-1497 @heyitscam99 @danijimenezv @aj-reuth @unicornblood4ever @mystriee @sadist-fangirl23 @asguardiansoftheavengers @superrandomnatural @altosaxplayer098 @winter-moons @hunterswearingplaid @novaddictx @choosemyname @live-like-a-girl @thisismysecrethappyplace @bowtomytenderaddiction @elara98azalea @lemondropirwin @emmagolden4118 @glitchcypher @calaofnoldor @paradoxical-sleep @narynechan @canwenotdothis @suicidepanda07 @blueaura
Sam Stuff:
@kymberlytorres @theboykingsamwinchester @depressed-moose-78 @andi-mendes-barnes @captainmarvelcorps @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away @nellachain @percywinchester27
#sam x reader#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester x fem!reader#sam x fem!reader#sam x female!reader#sam winchester x female!reader#spn fanfiction#supernatural#sam fluff#spn fluff#spn sam#sam winchester#winchester fluff#sam winchester comfort#domesticity and things#basically my whole psyche in a tumblr post?#geez#i've ascended from tartarus to drop this and will be returning shortly#hope you enjoy it!
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Whumptober Day 25 - Good Omens
Day 25: Disoriented
Fandom/setting: Good Omens, post-series
Read on AO3
Read on ff.net
~*~
"Crowley, I want to help, I just don't know how!"
"You're a witch, aren't you? Do something... witchy!"
Crowley yanked his dark glasses off so that Anathema would get the full benefit of his terrifying snake-ish scowl, forgetting for a second that they had saved the world together and she was altogether unafraid of him.
The witch in question sighed and rubbed her forehead. "We've been over this," she reminded him. "I'm an occultist and most of my 'witchiness' came from a book of someone else's prophecies, which I don't have anymore! And anything I ever learned... Crowley, nothing would have prepared me to deal with this."
She gestured at the "this" she was referring to as Aziraphale wandered up to them with a brilliant smile. He was carrying a frog in his palms, holding it out to them with delight.
"Look at what I found, isn't it wonderful, Crowley?"
"No," Crowley snapped, too anxious to be nice. "Looks too much like Hastur."
"Who's that, my dear?"
Crowley stared at the angel in alarm, then gestured wildly at Anathema. "You see what I mean?" he demanded. "He's forgetting more and more every minute! He didn't know where the bookshop was. He didn't know he had a bookshop!"
Anathema winced. "Oh dear."
"Oh shit, more like! Listen, it was witchcraft that did this to him, it's witchcraft that should be able to fix him. Now are you going to help us or not?"
"Still no luck, then?" Newt asked, poking his head into the kitchen. "I don't suppose there's anything I can do to help?"
"He's not a computer," Crowley grumbled back, more waspish than he'd intended. He growled when Newt ducked his head, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry," he gritted out. "Just..."
Newt nodded his understanding, leaning against the doorframe. The frog in Aziraphale's hands croaked once, making the angel chuckle, before he held it out once again towards Anathema.
"Do you want to hold him?" he asked. "You seem like a lovely young lady. I'm Aziraphale, by the by, terribly sorry, I should have introduced myself right off."
Crowley froze, sharing a horrified look with Anathema. Throat dry, he reached towards the angel and took his arm in a firm grip. "Angel," he said slowly. "You- you remember Anathema."
"Oh, is that her name? Pleasure to meet you, my dear."
Crowley let go and turned his back, trying not to hyperventilate in panic. Aziraphale had known exactly who their witch friend was when they arrived ten minutes ago. Whatever the spell was that was taking the angel's memories, it was only getting worse. If it kept progressing...
"Crowley," Anathema said gently.
"He's going to forget," Crowley whispered, sliding down the wall to sit heavily on the floor. "He's all I've got and he's going to forget..."
"We'll fix this," she said. A rustle of skirts preceded her crouching down in front of him, dark eyes earnest. "I want to help. If we can figure out what spell the witch used on him, maybe- maybe I can undo it."
"And what happens when he doesn't remember we're not enemies like we're supposed to be?" Crowley asked, voice hoarse with fear. His jaw clenched and he scrambled to his feet. "I should go- if he sees me and doesn't know I'm a friend- if I put you two in danger because he attacks me-"
"Crowley!" Anathema hushed, holding out her hands and taking both of his. "He's not going to attack you. Or us. This is Aziraphale we're talking about-"
"This was Aziraphale!" Crowley was on the verge of a full meltdown, he could feel it coming, only it wasn't going to help and he had to do something to help. He could not lose his best friend, not like this, not after everything. He needed to keep his head, he knew it, but-
"Miss, please stand aside."
Crowley's heart clenched as Anathema was firmly guided aside, and then he was face to face with an angel who held not a single trace of recognition in his eyes. His breath caught in his throat as his entire world came crashing down. Aziraphale was gone, and now he was just an angel, and angels did not look on demons with kindness, or mercy, or friendship, or love.
"Hmm," The Angel said, peering at Crowley in open curiosity. "You're a demon, aren't you?"
Crowley swallowed and unconsciously pressed himself as close to the wall as he could. "Aziraphale," he whispered. "You- you have to remember me. I..."
"Aziraphale," The Angel repeated slowly, tasting the name like the sweetest crepe in Paris. "Oh, I do like that. Aziraphale." He smiled briefly, then turned his attention back to the demon at hand. The Angel's eyes narrowed, only for an instant, then widened with the same innocence Crowley had always known in him. "My word, you feel like so much love. I do beg your pardon if I seem forward, only that's not what we were led to expect, you see. You have a good heart, I can feel it. Although it- it seems to be quite broken. I wouldn't presume to overstep my bounds, but- is there anything I can do to help?"
Crowley's mouth opened in shock and then—because he simply couldn't help it—he choked out a strangled, sobbing laugh. The Angel was still Aziraphale after all. Of course he was. A very confused, very disoriented Angel, but his angel nonetheless. That fact was the only bit of encouragement Crowley needed to replenish his stores of hopefulness. They could figure this out, they'd figured out the Apocalypse after all, they just had to-
SMACK!
Crowley and Anathema both jumped as Aziraphale crumpled to the floor before their eyes. They stared in shock, first at the downed angel, then at each other, then at Newt.
"What did you do!?" Crowley practically screeched, leaping towards Newt, who backpedaled frantically. "Did you just knock him out with a dictionary?"
"Cookbook," Newt replied, holding the book up as evidence and also to keep as a barrier between himself and the furious demon.
"WHY!?"
Newt shrugged, finally ducking behind Anathema to protect him. "Factory reset!" he exclaimed. "Maybe all he needed-"
"Factory- I said he wasn't a computer!"
With another shrug, Newt explained, "I know... that's why I thought it might actually work. It wouldn't, if he was, because, well, it's me-"
"If you hurt him," Crowley seethed, holding up his hand in preparation to snap his fingers and cause something dreadful to happen, but Anathema quickly covered his hand with her own.
"He's an angel, Crowley. A knock over the head isn't going to hurt him- see, look, he's moving."
Still fixing a glower at Newt, Crowley quickly crouched down beside the now stirring angel and took his shoulder.
"Aziraphale?" he called, trying not to grip too tight but needing something to steady himself. "You okay?"
The angel groaned and raised a hand to rub the back of his hand, wincing where the book had hit him. "Oh, my head..." he groaned, peeling his eyes open slowly to see Crowley and the two humans crowding around him. He blinked. "Oh."
"I'm sorry," Newt called down, still hiding behind Anathema. "I only wanted to help."
Aziraphale stared at him, and the glazed look in his eyes was no better at all in Crowley's mind than the blank ones from before. The demon growled, silently swearing a downpour of dead fish to follow Newt for the rest of his days, but that would come later. For now, he kept his attention on Aziraphale.
"Hey... you with us? Angel?"
The glazed, disoriented gaze turned towards him next, and it cost Crowley a tremendous chunk of his heart to see the utter lack of any recognition there, but then Aziraphale blinked and shook his head.
"Terribly sorry," he said, blinking again and then several more times as he rubbed his head. "Goodness, I don't know what came over me."
Crowley swallowed. If it had worked, he would forgive Newt everything. Carefully, he asked, "Do you... remember me?"
Aziraphale laughed. "Heavens, Crowley, I didn't hit my head that hard."
"Oh!" Crowley couldn't help but gasp, sinking back to sit on the floor, relief washing over him like a breath of fresh air. He fished a pair of sunglasses from his inner pocket and plopped them on his face so no one would notice if he happened to be tearing up a little bit. Beside him, Anathema smiled and offered Aziraphale a hand.
"You gave us a scare," she explained. "It seems a witch knocked you with some kind of memory spell. Newt saved you."
"Good thing," Crowley grumbled from the floor. "I'd have killed him otherwise."
"Crowley," Aziraphale murmured disapprovingly, and it was so Aziraphale that Crowley only smiled happily about it. "Memory spell, hmm... I don't recall anything beyond fighting the witch. What did I..." He trailed off and looked back down at Crowley.
The demon, who after all had known him for over six thousand years now, saw every single emotion the angel passed through in the various expressions of his face. It landed eventually on sorrow, which Crowley always hated to see there.
"Oh," Aziraphale breathed, crouching down beside his friend. "Crowley..."
"You're better now," the demon pointed out, shrugging like it was no big deal, like his world hadn't been ending only minutes before. "That's what matters."
He could tell Aziraphale wasn't buying it, but was relieved that the angel didn't push the issue. Not here, not in front of other people, not when Crowley was still feeling shaken and vulnerable. They'd end up talking about it later over a good vintage, no doubt, but for now Crowley was going to just sink into the fact that he still had Aziraphale.
Everything was going to be okay.
#whumptober2020#no.25#disorientation#good omens#fanfiction#Aziraphale whump#amnesia#anxious Crowley#Newt to the rescue#Anathema Device
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A, F, G, M, P, R, and S for Evune, Athera, Blair, Suzume, and Kumeko :D
MEL! THIS IS MERCY?! You're killin' me, smalls! Lol under the cut, love!
A: Aptitude
1. What are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young?
Evune: Sneaking around and throwing knives. Evune doesn't really like to play the Game, but she's had some bard training when she lived with her noble guardian, and then when she was living in the alienage. She's had to steal, fight, and learned some bow skills before being reunited with her clan.
Athera: Aside from when her magic manifested when she was a child, I would say she's always had a special touch with halla and is rather good at drawing. But she hung around the clan's halla, sticking with the halla keeper because she was always fascinated with them.
Blair: She's always been a pretty smart cookie, so I'm going to say chess was something she was pretty quick to pick up on when she was young. She plays often with her dad.
Suzume: Drawing, cooking, and skateboarding. She's always been pretty good with balance and being naturally good on her feet, so that was something that caught her attention rather quickly. Now, drawing and cooking almost seems to be a family thing, mostly because of her father's quirk got him into art as well. So she would often sit in her room and just draw alone, and then come help her mother cook when it was time--which explains the cooking ability.
Kumeko: Dancing and hacking! Shopping doesn't count, so I won't add it. But Kumeko loves to dance to her music, and will play Just Dance often. She's always light on her feet, and when she started walking as a kid, she would bounce. So her mom says it's pretty much in her blood at this point. Now, her fascination with electronics might have something to do with her quirk, but this girl was taking computers apart and rebuidling them when she was a kid.
2. What activities have they participated in?
Evune: A few games here and there with her clan. There's a game that her and Athera would play with the kids as they told the stories of their gods, and Evune would lead Fen'an with her and they would play tag and chase them around as they pretended to be Fen'Harel. She also does arm wrestling with Thyra, plays chess with Cullen, and does shooting contests with and plays Wicked Grace with Varric.
Athera: She would teach the children of their clan the history and the stories of their people, often leading to the tag game with Evune. She will read with Dorian, practice magic with Halesta, and play chess with Solas. She would often ask him things he saw of her people in the fade as well.
Blair: Lots and lots of science fairs and clubs. She did chess club at one point too, and then learned to play the violin. But she didn't really stick with that, since she preferred doing science stuff, especially astronomy. She does a lot of ice skating too, if that counts, and she'll go out with friends.
Suzume: Heh. Well, she'll get dragged go to karaoke with Kumeko and a few more friends here and there. She's done the Sports Festival a few times with Kumeko when they attended U.A. High. She even placed one year. But when it comes to activites to participate in, mroe often than not, it's Kumeko or someone else coming up with the idea and having her tag along. She'll go to the school events in support for the students, and she'll do team ups with heroes here and there when she has the time. Every now and then she'll anonymously participate in art festivals just to share her art.
Kumeko: Karaoke! Though the last time her and Suzume went they ended up getting thrown out and banned because someone decided that the music selection wasn't cool enough and she hacked the machine. She did the Sports Festival in high school, and does a lot of team ups, especially when her agency is contacted and Fatgum has his plate full (I know what I did there--yes, it was on purpose.) I'm gonna throw shopping on here because she loves it so damn much. DJing is something she does often too, more out of a hobby than anything.
3. What abilities do they have that they’ve worked for?
Evune: The bow. Evune had more experience with dagger growing up and she had to work extra hard to master the bow because that demanded a patience from her that she didn't have. But she gives people a run for their money now, often outshooting most people.
Athera: Making wolves and hallawith her magic. That took forever to master. She can use her elemental magic and manifest it in the forms of wolves, and her protective barriers come out as halla. It took her years to perfect, and it's still hard for her to do sometimes.
Blair: Definitely controlling her powers. Girl was a walking hazard because of it. She was too scared to really practice it because it seemed to always hurt people, and she hated herself for it.
Suzume: The patience to handle those crazy ass class 1-A kids, epsecially the one that blows shit up without warning and has rage issues or the perverted one she's kicked out of her class a few times. Tattoos. She can draw, it took her time to nail skating and cooking, but tattoos...that took her the longest. If she can do it herself, she will; it makes it easier for her to use with her quirk. But it took time because it's not the same as drawing in her sketchbook.
Kumeko: Fighting. Honestly, it was so hard for her because she's not really...a natural fighter. She had to really work at making her quirk for her in fight scenarios, but luckily she was able to really adapt her dancing and hacking into her own odd style that actually works well for her. U.A. was hard for her in the beginning, but she really pulled through and excelled.
4. What things are they bad at?
Evune: Holding her tongue. Evune can and will say whatever it is that's on her mind. It gets her into so much trouble, but she never really learns from it. She will always tell you what she's thinking whether you wanna hear it or not.
Athera: Making very hard decisions. She hates being put on the spot and making choices that really don't have a good ending either way. The pressure isn't something she wants and she fears the backlash and the consequences of the choices.
Blair: Lying. Girl can't lie to save her life. Not that she would ever really want to, but it's always bitter on her tongue whenever she has to, and it never goes well.
Suzume: Being emotionally vulnerable. Not that she doesn't have emotions or doesn't want to share her emotions, she just gets shy and awkward with it. Word vomit is what ends up happening if she's not careful, and so she finds it easier to stay quiet.
Kumeko: Dealing with loss, honestly. She's naturally a go lucky and cheerful person. It's not that she hasn't dealt with loss before, she just takes it really hard when it does happen. It weighs on her shoulders and mind for a long time.
5. What is their most impressive talent?
Evune: A combo move with Fen’an. She jumps back and fires arrows, while her wolf moves in from the side and attacks when their opponent isn’t looking. She’s so good with her bow and working alongside her wolf companion when she needs to--which happens more often than not.
Athera: Her magic, honestly. She’s the First for a reason, and when Falessan was around, he tuaght her a trick or two. The wolf elemental magic is something she only uses when she needs to, and it’s very impressive. Though it takes quite a bit of mana to pull off.
Blair: I know this is going to not really count, but I can’t help it; I’m going to say her intelligience. I could say her meta powers, but honestly, Blair is stupid smart and isn’t afraid to flex it. She has enough braincells to cover for those who are lacking.
Suzume: Okay, so I would say Quirk wise, it’s going to be her ability to animate her tattoos and drawings, but the most impressive? Using her samurai tattoo to cover herself. Its one of her ultimate moves, though whatever damage the samurai suffers, is damage she absolutely feels once it returns to her. It’s cool to see though, she’s such a badass!
Kumeko: This girl can be deafening. I’m not even kidding. She can hack into surrounding sound systems or use her very own built in speakers to deafen an enemy temporarily. Like...some are left immobilzed because of it. She doesn’t do it often because its more of a last resort ultimate move, but it’s super impressive and handy...she can definitely be someone to fear.
F: Fun
1. What do they do for fun?
Evune: She loves to drink and watch people when she has nothing else to really do, and that’s usually watching Thyra start bar fights and wrestling with a lot of the warriors and soldiers of the Inquistion so she can prove her Avaar strength. Other than that, she’s joking around with Dorian, making fun of people or playing Wicked Grace with Varric. She’ll also sing to herself when she thinks no one is listening.
Athera: She loves to read and draw for fun, mostly. She’s very at peace with quiet time to herself, and as things progress with the Inquisition, she doesn’t really get a lot of it. If she’s not doing that, she’s playing chess or spending time with some of her companions to get to know them better or because she enjoys their company.
Blair: Video games, movie marathons, and ice skating. She’s such a nerd at heart, and when she isn’t working on things for fun (yes...for fun), she’s either gaming out or watching movies and eating crepes. Winter is her favorite season, and she goes ice skating every year with her parents and friends. Its one of those things she’s been doing since she was a kid.
Suzume: Mostly skating, drawing, and cooking. She likes to read too, but she’s most likely doing one of the first three things. Music is often blared while doing any of them, and she gets super focused. There are a few places she likes to go for skating, and she’ll usually meet Kumeko there, or just skate around and look at different things with her cat in her backpack.
Kumeko: A little bit of everything. Shopping, dancing, and going to amusement parks. Kumeko likes the rush of things, and likes to be on the move. The girl can’t sit still, she’s gotta be doing something, and so she’s usually always out and about with something on her agenda. Much to Suzume’s dismay because she’s dragged with her.
2. What is their ideal party?
Evune: Small with only the closest of friends. Evune doesn’t like meeting new people, she’s very wary of them. She wants a small get together on the beach at night around a campfire and laughing together. She does go to the big parties Dorian throws at his dad’s in the College AU, mostly after they play a gig or something.
Athera: Something casual with boardgames and cherades! Probably a cookout, if we’re being honest. More people than Evune would invite, mostly because she oddly has a lot of connections--she’s even shocked by it. Its very casual because she’s more comfortable that way
Blair: Honestly, there are a few. She loves surprsie parties, both for herself and for others. Slumber parties are a thing too, mostly because she would throw all the blankets and pillows she had in the living room, make crepes and hot chocolate (or get wine) and have a movie marathon in her pjs with her friend.
Suzume: That’s a huge no. No way in hell. Parties aren’t her scene at all, she doens’t really like going to them because she’s secretly (not that secret tbh) shy and gets nervous. She will go to the hero galas, she will allow Kumeko to drag her to places, but she doesn’t really prefer a type of party. The word just puts dread in her stomach. Now...honestly, a dinner party with a few friends isn’t so bad, but it has to be super casual. Best Jeanist’s annual Halloween party isn’t too bad either.
Kumeko: All of them. Honestly, there isn’t one that she doens’t like, Kumeko loves people, loves music, and parties have plenty of both. Dance parties (which is usually her and a few more friends playing Just Dance at Suzume’s because someone hates going to clubs) or ones that have karaoke so she can challenge Present Mic. Kumeko is perfect for throwing surprise birthday parties too, Suzume finds out every year (as if she could ever forget that).
3. Who would they have the most fun with?
Evune: She’s honestly one of those people that if she can’t have fun with you, she probably won’t like you. Naturally quiet, it would seem that would be impossible to gauge, but it’s really not. Evune has a sense of humor, and she prides herself in being a good judge on character. I would say Arkyn, Thyra, Emerson, Varric, and Dorian are the people she has the most fun with. Cullen, too, but I think it’s different with him--not as chaotic.
Athera: She will try to have fun with pretty much anyone because she wants to get along with everyone. I think the main people she would have the most fun with would be Josephine, Iron Bull, Krem, Leliana, Dorian, and Varric.
Blair: You either love her or you hate her, because she’s not afraid to say what’s on her mind and correct you when you’re wrong. But she has tons of fun with Cisco, Caitlin, Felicity, Ray, Sara, and eventually Mick. You wouldn’t expect it, but it is what it is.
Suzume: Not Hawks. It depends, honestly, but she has a lot of fun with Kumeko, Aizawa, and Tai. Midnight as well whenever she has the energy to actually hang out with her outside of work. She also has a lot of fun teaching and training some of her students (more than that one angry explosive one), but at the end of the day, Tai is really all she needs. That or staying home and locking the door, and ignoring Kumeko when she pounds on her door or when Chicken Nugget calls her 5 times in a row for a casual hero hangout.
Kumeko: Who doesn’t she have fun with? Listen, it takes a lot for Kumeko to not like you, but if you rub her the wrong way, you will absolutely get the cold shoulder. Other than that, that girl is gonna have fun with whoever she’s with. Suzume she forcibly is fun with, she has tons of fun with her boyfriend Aizawa, Hawks, Present Mic, Tai, Rumi, and Midnight.
4. Can they have fun while conforming to rules?
Evune: If she has to break the rules to have fun, they’re getting broken. They’re just a suggestion, right?
Athera: She will do her best when it’s within her control. She doesn’t want there to be any trouble, so she’ll try to avoid it if she can...though her cousin sometimes makes it hard.
Blair: Often, she’s a straight shooter, and it’s not until Leonard and Mick come into her life that she starts seeing the fun to bending just the slightest for fun.
Suzume: For the most part, she can. It depends on who you are and what the situation is if she’s willing to be lienient. Like how she will sometimes let Kaminara, Sero, and Kirishima get away with things here and there.
Kumeko: What they don’t know won’t hurt them. Kumeko is okay with breaking minor rules to keep that fun going, as long as it’s not crazy or gets people hurt. She has her limits. But at the end of the day, she’s still a hero. She will draw the line somewhere, she won’t let things go too far.
5. Do they go out a lot?
Evune: Shockingly, she does. She’s introverted, but she’s hanging around with people and watches on the sidelines. In the college AU, her and Emerson are often at the diner, their regular place, and at the bar where they perfomr. If its not that, and she’s going out, then it’s most likely a friend’s house.
Athera: She does! Athera loves visiting parks and other places where she can draw. The library is also a place she goes often when she wants out of the house, meeting other friends there for maybe a study session in the college au.
Blair: YES. Honestly, the cafe is like her second home, and the observatory is her third. She will often go to book stores and such to buy books and other things she might need.
Suzume: If she’s not at home, drawing, reading, or watching movies, she’s out skating or with Kumeko. At a certain point, she finds herself visiting Fatgum’s agency rather...frequently. For no specific reason, she swears.
Kumeko: ALL. THE. TIME. She always has some place to be and Aizawa has to sometimes beg to get her to have a day in (she caves rather easily, actually). But she’s usually out and about, plus she is a hero, so patrols are also a thing.
G: Gorgeous
1. What is their most attractive external feature?
Evune: I feel like there’s a lot attractive about her, but I would have to say her smirk. Its so teasing and it will absolutely draw you in--especially with her gorgeous eyes sparkling with mischief. Her vallasin are also very striking on her face, even if the silvery tint of them.
Athera: Hmmm...defintitely her eyes. Which...I know I eluded to that or Evune too, but they really just have gorgeous eyes. Athera’s have a teal/light blue eye color with specks of silver. They’re gorgeous. The light hitting them just gives you different shades that just...wow. Its no surprise that she caught the attention of the Dread Wolf.
Blair: Her smile. She is always smiling and it will just blow you away--you can’t help but smile right back at her. That smile will become the center of your galaxy if you’re not careful. It’s even more wow-ing when she actually decides to wear lipstick.
Suzume: Honestly...I could say hair, or her beautiful green eyes, or the way her blush makes her face light up...but it’s honestly her tattoos. Suzume is decently curved with an hourglass figure, but it’s not something she shows off. At least...not upfront. Her tattoos. Suzume has an eye of an artist, and every tattoo is placed perfectly, allowing the lines to flow naturally with her body. They’re gorgeous honestly. You could look at them for hours, though after a while I could guess you’d be staring for other reasons.
Kumeko: She would tell you its her hair, half (natural) metallic silver, and half (dyed) electric blue. But...it’s gonna be her curves. She has pretty decent curves, and she absolutely shows them off. She’s not really overly revealing or anything, she just wears clothes that really complement her and she’s proud of how she looks.
2. What is the most attractive part of their personality?
Evune: Her fierceness and her sense of humor. She’s very passionate and is just...a lot of fun, to be honest.
Athera: Her kindness and patience. She’s kind to everyone and is always patient with people, epsecially when they need it.
Blair: Her compassion. There’s an empathy that Blair has about her that just draws you in and you can’t really escape it, no matter how long you try.
Suzume: Her belief in others, especially in herself. Even she struggles with self doubt, but honestly, the sheer belief in herself and confidence in her students and friends so heartwarming.
Kumeko: Her bubbliness. Mostly because she uses it to make everyone’s day good, including hers, and she never fails to be optimistic.
3. What benefits come with being their friend?
Evune: A fierce loyalty, honestly. She will have your back whether you’re right or wrong, because that doesn’t matter--you do. Plus, she’ll drink and sing with you.
Athera: She is lowkey a mom friend, so she’ll make sure you’re doing okay. Plus, she’s defintely someone to mentor you if you needed.
Blair: A friend that will always make sure you’re knowledgeable about what you’re talking about. She’ll correct you for your benefit, and do it kindly, just to make sure you’re at your best.
Suzume: ...uh...she draws. And cooks...she’ll probably grumble about it, but she’ll absolutely bring you food to work and honestly, she’s just a good support. She speaks honestly about her opinion, but she has your back.
Kumeko: Lots of shopping sprees and a true cheerleader, honestly. Constantly cheering you on and trying to play matchmaker for you (yes Suzume is bitching in the corner, its fine.)
4. What parts of them do they like and dislike?
Evune: There might be a scar or two with a bad memory, but other than that, nothing. Evune is very “take me as I am, or don’t take me at all” and she will be very direct about it. She’s not about that.
Athera: She’s never really thought about that because she just...never really considered pulling herself apart like that. If she had to choose something, it would be the way she comes across as naive (because she is, just don’t tell her that). She hates how people treat her because of it. Also her nose.
Blair: Her feet. She’s so weird about her feet, she is always wearing socks because of it.
Suzume: She hates that she’s quiet and awkward, honestly. She can be shy at times, depending on who she’s around, and she doesn’t understand it because she’s mostly a confident person. She also lowkey hates that she looks so different from her adoptive family, only because of the questions seh gets because of it. Its why she put dark green streaks in her hair.
Kumeko: This girl loves every damn inch of herself, who are we kidding?
5. What parts of others do they envy?
Evune: I wouldn’t call it envy, but she feels very bitter regarding the people who have had a good life and still find a reason to bitch about it. She just wants her people to have better.
Athera: The lack of responsibility. She wishes that she didn’t have the fate of the world on her shoulders, and she envies those who don’t have to worry about the things she does.
Blair: Not having meta powers that might kill your friends when you lose control. Gee, must be nice.
Suzume: Mostly, nothing. She does wish she could be more charismatic though. It would help her speak to a certain someone without blushing like mad and glaring at the ground.
Kumeko: Not a damn thing. This girl is happy with herself and what she can do, it took her some time to get there. But ultimately, she came to the conclusion that you have to love yourself for who you are and focus on what you can become, instead of seeing all the things you aren’t and comparing yourself to other people when it’s not relevant to you.
M: Maternal
1. Would they want a daughter or a son?
Evune: Her and Cullen end up actually having a girl and then a boy, but she never really thought she would have kids to be honest.
Athera: She ends up with twins: a boy and a girl. But she’s in Evune’s boat, she wasn’t exactly planning on having kids or even meeting someone.
Blair: She never thought about kids until Leonard, then once she’s pregnant, she can’t help but imagine a little girl, which she ends up having.
Suzume: She didn’t really have a preference, she was just shocked that she was becoming a mom. Suzume wasn’t sure how it happened, but it did.
Kumeko: Girls. She wanted daughters because after pretty much adopting Eri, she wanted more little precious girls running around their house. They ended up with twins, a boy and girl, and she was so excited and happy.
2. How many children do they want?
Evune: She’s never really thought about it, but she’s happy with the one, open to having just one more.
Athera: Just the two. Athera has a lot on her plate, the twins are honestly enough for her.
Blair: I would say probably 4, because she wants a big family. She loves kids.
Suzume: She wants a couple more because she at least wants another girl, and maybe just another, depending.
Kumeko: I think she’d wanna try for another to make it an even number, with Eri and the twins making three, but after that, she’s good.
3. Would they be a good parent?
Evune: She didn’t think she would, to be honest, but she’s a fantastic mom. She really tries her best and loves her children deeply.
Athera: Yes, though she doesn’t feel like it. Their father is gone and she has so much repsonibility, she feels that she’s failing at being a mother.
Blair: Absolutely. She’s really good with kids and that definitely applied to her parenting.
Suzume: Yes, though she was worried for a minute that she wouldn’t be. She’s a high school teacher, so she doesn’t have a whole lot of experience with tiny humans. But she’s fantastic, just like Tai said she would be.
Kumeko: She is PHENOMENAL. She honestly is super mom, and she’s the go-to nanny when Suzume needs someone to babysit.
4. What would they name a son? what would they name a daughter?
Evune: I haven’t decided on the son’s name, but the girl is Mirae, which means Little Thief in elvish. They did it on purpose becaus Cullen would call Evune his little thief because she would take or mess with things on his desk.
Athera: The daughter is named Soufei (the strength of a thousand wolves) and Hallen (which has something to do with halla). Essentially, wolf and halla related for her and Solas. Symbolism.
Blair: I...have not named their daughter. But it would probably be something space related because Blair is definitely that person...girl really loves space.
Suzume: I haven’t really figured out the details for their kids just yet, but she would want their names to be meaningful.
Kumeko: Same as Suzume, but honestly, whatever sounds good. Kumeko just wants it to sound cool and she’s good.
5. Would they adopt?
Evune: She would if the occasion would arise where she came across a child in need. She doesn’t have the heart to just ignore that.
Athera: I don’t think she would actively seek adopting a child. I think that Athera would do everything in her power to make sure the child found a loving and safe home, only adopting if she failed, because she’s not letting an orphan suffer a terrible fate with an orphanage or worse.
Blair: She would, and I think it was something she considered at one point. Like, no, she really didn’t think she would have kids, but she had little thoughts of “what if” when it came to adopting.
Suzume: In a heartbeat. She was adopted herself, so that’s definitely something she would do. Giving a child a loving home is something she would think about doing. Especially with how she takes some of the students under her wing.
Kumeko: I mean, technically, she does. Her and Aizawa adopt Eri, so yeah, she absolutely would do that.
P: Personality
1. What is their best personality trait?
Evune: Her sense of humor, I think. Evune is sarcastic and hilarious. Granted she will use it to tear you down, but when she’s doing it for genuine fun with her friends, she’ll have to in stitches.
Athera: Patience. It makes her so kind and forgiving, honestly. Athera is so soft most of the time, and people are sometimes shocked with the lack of judgement that comes with her.
Blair: Cheerfulness. She’s usually always in such a good mood, to be honest. There’s always an underlying happy disposition with her...until you piss her off.
Suzume: If you asked her, she would just shrug and avoid you. But her fierceness...is just...she’s very passionate, truly. She’s very strong-willed, especially when it comes to her protecting people.
Kumeko: Determination. This girl doesn’t know what the phrase “give up” means, it’s not a thing she has ever done or heard. She sticks to something to the very end. She won’t quit you.
2. What is their worst personality trait?
Evune: Arrogance. And with her, its more patronizing. Mostly because of her tongue, she will cut you with words and make you feel small. It will drive her to challenge you, mock you, and make a show to demonstrate how wrong you are and to stroke her pride.
Athera: Arrogance as well, but hers is different. While Evune’s is external, Athera’s is internal. She will raise her head high, and naively believe she’s right (whether she is or not), and brings about a stubborness that can be suffocating. You won’t be able to talk to her, she won’t hear you because she has already made up her mind.
Blair: Logical. I know that doesn’t sound bad, but when someone is looking for emotional support, Blair isn’t the girl for you. She’ll immediately break down the situation and come at you with logic rather than the emotional support you need.
Suzume: Guarded and pessimistic. Suzume has a hard time being emotionally vulnerable at times, mostly because sh’s not sure how to be. She knows she’s hard to read and that people get frustrated and kinda give up on their first try with her. She can be a little pessimistic, though she’s normally a realist. It’s always something to do with her personally though.
Kumeko: Obnoxious. Its not a secret that Kumeko can be...a little much sometimes. She tries to tone it down for certain people or when the situation calls for it, but mostly, she’s a take it or leave it kinda girl. If she’s too loud for you, she’ll say “sorry, but that’s how I am” and then move away from you with a smile.
3. What of their personality do others love?
Evune: With her, it’s not just one thing. It’s everything that makes her her. She’s just a mix of things honestly, you can’t detangle that mess.
Athera: Her kindness. It makes her forgiving and warm to those who interact with her.
Blair: I would say her dependability. Blair is always there, no matter what, and she absolutely has your back--whether that’s physically or mentally.
Suzume: When you really get to know her, her softness. Because not everyone gets to see it or even recognizes it when it happens.
Kumeko: Charisma! She has a natural charisma that she oozes and so many people get blown away by it.
4. What of their personality do others envy?
Evune: The way she gives zero fucks about anyone other than those close to her. She will dead ass ignore you.
Athera: I want to say resilience because the girl has gone through some stuff, and she’s still standing. She lost her arm, girl has guts.
Blair: Tenacity. She won’t back down, her spine is made of steel. Especially when she knows she’s right about something. Good luck with that.
Suzume: Her ability to stay calm. Suzume is very level-headed, even in the most dangerous of situations. Girl will jump in front of her students or that yellow hero to protect him (he doesn’t need it), and won’t even flinch.
Kumeko: The way she can make every situation seem bright, no matter how dark it really is. She always makes things better.
5. Do they hate anything about their personality/about other’s personalities?
Evune: For herself? No. Others? Absolutely. If you rub her the wrong way, she’s not going to like you. It’s not really about a specific thing, it’s just a vibe. Like Cassandra and Blackwall...she doesn’t like them. If you lie to her though, you’re done for.
Athera: She hates dishonesty because she’s the kind of person that you can come to about these things with no judgement on her part. Now about herself, she does hate how she can be a little too nice. It makes her think that people try walking over her or steer her in the direction they personally want her to go.
Blair: Her being more logical in emotional situations bothers her, so she tries to work on it. She hates people that are deceptive, the kind that like to play their cards close to their chests. Not necessarily lying (though she hates that too), but just not being upfront about it.
Suzume: Arrogance, she can’t stand it. You will absolutey paint a target on your back with it, because she’ll be super sarcastic and dismissive of you if you are. If you’re overly arrogant, she will watch and hope for you to trip and fall on your face so she can just raise her brow at you and walk away after being like “see? Not so great, huh?”. She is not Bakugo’s favorite teacher. She wishes she wasn’t so awkward at times, to be honest. It would make things easier for her.
Kumeko: Just...bitterness. Like, being mean for no reason. She doesn’t understand it and she won’t put up with it. If you’re being a bully, she will absolutely call you out on it, Kumeko isn’t afraid to step in when she needs to. Now, she loves everything about herself and her personality--shocking nobody.
R: Rules
1. Do they follow rules?
Evune: No, they’re just kind suggestions or she just doesn’t care. She makes her own rules. Meme of “I’m the Captain now” goes: here.
Athera: She does her best! They’re there for a reason and she doesn’t want trouble.
Blair: Yes, but she will bend them for the greater good. But mostly, she’s following the rules.
Suzume: Oh yeah, she follows rules. Now, there may be moments where she instills her own set of rules, but not very often. It depends on the situation.
Kumeko: Is a very good law-abiding hero! She will encourage you to not jay walk and all sorts of things.
2. Would they be a strict or laid-back parent?
Evune: A mixture of both. She’s firm, but she’s also the parent that’s probably doing something really stupid to make the kids laugh.
Athera: More on the strict side, but it’s a soft version of it. Very guiding, in a way.
Blair: More on the stricter side. She’s a fun parent, but there’s a routine and schedule thats down pat and she has a calendar that has post it notes to keep track of everything.
Suzume: Another mixture, but she’s soft. She it more guiding than strict, and she will have fun with her kids, she’s just more quiet than Tai is.
Kumeko: Abosultely laid back. Aizawa has to be the strict parent because Kumeko can’t be strict to save her life, she likes having too much fun with her kids.
3. Have they ever been consequenced for breaking a rule?
Evune: Yes, but that doesn’t stop her. That just tells her she needs to up her game and not get caught. The noble was a strict guardian, so she had to really watch her step.
Athera: Yes, and she immediately felt bad about it. She’s the one to learn her lesson unlike her cousin.
Blair: No, not really. Blair hasn’t really broken any rules.
Suzume: No, because if she did, it was small or she wasn’t caught.
Kumeko: Yep, as a kid, and she would put on the innocent “I won’t do it again, promise” only to do it again, but better.
4. Have they broken any rules they now regret breaking?
Evune: Nope! No regrets!
Athera: Yes, messing with the Dread Wolf statues outside of the clan--she worried that she might have put a curse on her clan for it.
Blair: Nope!
Suzume: No, she was never caught. Maybe pirating that movie once, but that’s it. It just put a virus on her laptop when she was a kid.
Kumeko: Getting kicked out of the karaoke bar after hacking the machine. It was her favorite place.
5. Do they find any rules they/others follow absolutely ridiculous?
Evune: The rule that her and Varric can’t participate in the archery contest because they would both win every damn match.
Athera: Some of them, but she follows them anyway. Like the whole mage and elf restrictions are ridiculous to her.
Blair: She personally thinks that any rule Rip has is stupid, but she follows them because he’s captain.
Suzume: There are some rules that will make her look at you like “really?”, but she follows them because they’re there for a reason and she needs to set a good example.
Kumeko: Mosly the rules at the karaoke bar, but other than that, she has no issue with following rules.
S: Streets
1. Are they street-smart?
Evune: Absolutely. She knows her way around and isn’t stupid. She lived on the streets when she was in the alienage, she’s no stranger to it.
Athera: Not in the slightest. This girl has lived in her clan for all of her life, she’s way too sheltered for it. Evune would have to go with her so nothing bad would happen.
Blair: A little bit, yeah. She doesn’t use that knowledge to her advantage, she’s just aware of some of it.
Suzume: Yes. Suzume is very street-smart, she can hold her own.
Kumeko: Absolutely not. Kumeko struggles with it a bit, and even Fatgum has to explain some things here and there to her, because she’s never really had to think much of it. Just fight the villain, then save and smile at the civilians.
2. Would they give money to someone on the streets?
Evune: Yes, she’s been there and she knows what it’s like, so she’s going to give what she can. But will also keep an extra eye out because she’s a rogue and she knows what cons can be played.
Athera: Of course. Athera is a giving person, she would want to help in anyway she can.
Blair: Without question. She will even try and help them find a job or to better their situation.
Suzume: In a heartbeat. But she’s also escorting them to a shelter, a soup kitchen, or somewhere they will be safe. The streets aren’t safe to live on and they deserve more.
Kumeko: She’s not only giving them money, she’s using her standing as a hero to help out with charity if she can. Hiring them for something, even, to help get them on their feet.
3. Have they ever gotten in a fight on the streets?
Evune: Ha! That’s not even a question? What kind are we talking? Fists? Knives? She’s done both!
Athera: Nope, never. Very sheltered, this one.
Blair: Only hero fights when she’s patrolling. Other than that, no.
Suzume: Yep! As a hero, she’s had her fair share of fights, even on her time off.
Kumeko: Pretty much the same as Suzume: she’s a hero, she’s fighting often.
4. Has anything happened to them on the streets?
Evune: A lot, honestly. Mostly fighting, robbing, and just trying to survive, honestly. Not much different than any other elf in the alienages.
Athera: No, she’s never had an instance like that.
Blair: You mean like when Leonard Snart kidnapped her ass with Mick? Or when she almost lost control of her powers when patrolling with Ollie? Pffft, what?
Suzume: She’s been jumped before...or at least, there was an attempt of it. Girl can kick ass and take names. So that’s what she did.
Kumeko: A guy tried taking her purse once, but she blasted his ass with her speakers and turned him in to the authorities.
5. Are they cautious when out?
Evune: Very much so. Her guard never falls when she’s out and about. She learned you have to always be careful.
Athera: Yes, she knows that her kind isn’t treated well, and she won’t let her guard slip to allow her to be vulnerable.
Blair: Not really, no. She’s going to just go about about her day like normal until something happens that calls for her to be cautious.
Suzume: Yes and no. She’s aware, but not like...overly cautious. Its a mixture of ease and caution.
Kumeko: Not at all. If something happens, she’s goit it. Anyone would be stupid to mess with her.
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Character cheat sheet
Alright so today I decided to rewatch bungou stray dogs cuz my writing is really lacking when it comes the all the characters. It feels like they’re more often than not out of character. So I wrote down notes on how they behave (and a lot of stray comments) and thought I’d share them in hopes that it might help someone else. Getting all these characters right is really hard after all. So, enjoy! And feel free to add/comment if you want to change something!
Here goes! Part 1/2 The Agency
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Atsushi
- very loud
- Lots of exclamation marks!
- Always looks worried, probably is as well
- Assume a lot
- There’s just so much panic in that small body
- Stutters
- Says stupid things to get out of something
- Not confident enough in his abilities
- Puts others above himself
- He needs to actually want to hurt someone or he doesn’t know how to fight
- Good instincts when it comes to fighting as well
- If this boy couldn’t regenerate he’d be dead by now
- Fighting spirit is much fueled by rage
- This naive little thing, stop believing everything people say
- Easily scared
- Jesus he’s gullible, stop listening to Dazai
- His will to protect others is admirable
- He can transform fully he just rarely does it
- Always sees good in people
- He is so done with everyone
- Uses San for almost everyone (as he should)
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*
Dazai
- Usually answer questions with questions
- Doesn’t correct assumptions
- Doesn’t make them himself
- Neutral/bored facial expression unless he’s teasing someone
- He actually is serious sometimes, actually pretty often
- Watashi
- Does go for some pretty long monologues when he explains things
- Actually listens to kunikidas orders
- Pain does in fact not bother him
- Watch him punch someone with a cheesy line
- He likes to tell the criminal how he figured it out or where they made a mistake
- Hands in pockets, always
- He shows surprise in his eyes
- Very mean when he has to, Akutagawa for example (see: my new subordinate is much better than you)
- Says Chuuya a lot, well people’s names in general
- All this pickpocketing
- I mean he can actually fight
- Also this jumping up from a laying position
- We already know he’s smart but Jesus, how do you write a character that’s smarter than yourself?
- He just sitting against the wall in a 90 degree angle so Chuuya can reach him, cute
- Does in fact not know everything, he does research to find what he needs
- He tells Oda about missions at lupin, lupin really must be mafia owned?
- “The biggest misfortune of Dazai’s enemies is that they are Dazai’s enemy”
- He did still joke a lot in the mafia, same lightheartedness as now.
- Does Dazai know it’s gonna end badly with oda? He wanted to take a picture to remember
- Uses a lot of fancy words even when young
- Carries a lock pick
- He guesses a lot and says he knew
- Dont feed him spicy food
- Fuzz up? I mean I know he curses in the manga but really?
- Basically never uses San (did he with Mori? Yes he does) Ane-San doesn’t count
- I’m happy that the mafia members are still scared of him, they know how ruthless he can be
- Does he have feelings?
- He really doesn’t predict everything, he’s just good at adapting
- He likes slapping people, you backhand that bitch, go dazai!
- Very flippant when he does something to help
- Red eeeeyeeees
- There’s no exceptions to his ability
- I wonder if he dislikes celebrations
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Kunikida
- gets angry easily
- Trusts Dazai when there’s need
- Much smarter than I give him credit for
- Super strong
- Acts on his feelings all the time
- Just.. ideals. I hadn’t realized how often he mentions them
- Very straightforward, he doesn’t say things in the nicest ways
- Shows his feelings on his face
- Calculating
- He’s proud of the younger ones but don’t show it
- Likes calling people idiots
- Can be really dense when it comes to normal things, as in not detective related shit
- Please stop listening to Dazai’s bullshit
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*
Kyouka
- serious
- So small and innocently cute
- Looks very cut off from reality, at least in the beginning
- She’s an assassin
- Seems like she just wants to try normal child things all the time, crepes for example.
- Maybe she missed out on growing up (like most others did)
- She’s killed 35 people
- The mafia scares her
- Is she scared of her ability? At least in the beginning
- She basically does anything others tell her
- So scared
- Doesn’t understand how normal people behave, just does as she’s learnt
- Strong independent woman (or 14 y/o)
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*
Yosano
- sadist
- Always ask if someone’s hurt and gets disappointed when they’re not
- Very nicely threatens people with dismemberment if they’re being a bitch
- Give them hell
- Doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit, if they’re wrong they’ll know
- Yes use that motor saw hon
- She relies on her ability a lot when she fights, though I’m sure she’s a good fighter nevertheless
- Threatens random people who are being unreasonable
*
*
Ranpo
- very bored, always
- Does question the president when something is wrong
- He talks more than I actually thought, and it’s not always smart things, usually just rubbish
- Candy
- Very hyped when he gets to have fun
- And teaching Kyouka about candy yes
- “War is so boring” I agree Ranpo-San
- Doesn’t actually figure everything out at first glance, sometimes he asks or need clues
- Seems like he can figure people out in one glance though
- He does stupid things when he isn’t wearing his glasses, it’s a trap dear Ranpo
- Really he’s an idiot without them
- He believes in the glasses thing
- The president is the one who made his ability, sort of
- So he isn’t actually stupid without.. more like he believes he is
- The agency was created because of him
- “I’d look stupid if I turned out to be normal now” so he basically does know
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The Tanizakis
- she follows him everywhere
- His ability is so useful why don’t I ever write him?
- This sisterly love is... special
- He cares for her as much as she for him
- She shows everything on her face
- But she is very brave
- He is as well
- The brother is as old as Atsushi
- He worries most when she’s in danger
- “For Naomi I’d gladly burn the world”
- Well he can fly a plane
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*
President
- cares about everyone in the agency
- Appears out of nowhere
- My dude’s got a boat, probably have more than one safe house as well. Oh and a car. Imagine them owning a plane/helicopter. Note: they do in fact own a fighter plane
- Always knows what’s going on somehow
- Very fair in giving everyone a chance
- Looks pretty cold hearted
- Bet he’s got a thing for saving children as well (Odasaku would do great in the agency with him)
- Takes no bs
- How did Natsume get the permit for them?
- Op fighter, better than kunikida
- Puts it on others to explain plans
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*
Kenji
- he says such horrible things in such a nice way. (The person would be tied up and thrown off a cliff~)
- Really not aware how the world works
- Happy go lucky
- Doesn’t look at death with any feelings unlike Atsushi
- Knows everyone
- Doesn’t judge anyone based on looks or so
- How are people scared of him
- These people would do anything for him what
- Let’s smile and wave around a pole, it’ll only scare the living shit out of everyone
- Straight forward
- Takes everything at face value
- “If you are sincere you can communicate with people”
- He could take a few hits yes
- Many cows as well
- Lots of mentions of “back home things work this way”
- He actually goes to sleep after eating, thought he only lost his strength
- City folk really are amazing
#Bungou stray dogs#bsd#dazai osamu#bsd dazai#bsd atsushi#Nakajima atsushi#yosano akiko#kunikida doppo#fukuzawa yuu#fukuzawa yukichi#kenji miyazawa#tanizaki junichirou#naomi tanizaki#bsd anime#bsd kunikida#bsd ranpo#bsd rampo#edogawa ranpo#bsd yosano#bsd fukuzawa#writing#anime#anime character#dazai x chuuya#because i ship it#ship
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The French Connection - Chapter 2
A HardyxMiller AU
Ellie Miller is left to go on her honeymoon alone after a devastating secret about her fiance comes to light - halfway through the wedding ceremony. Sitting in St Pancras International in London waiting for her train, she runs into none other than her uni rival/best friend Alec Hardy, on the run from his own recent heartbreak.
They decide to make use of Ellie’s pre-paid trip, rekindling their friendship and escaping real life; yet, it turns out their years at uni are the hardest to outrun.
Based on this prompt from @timepetalscollective
Chapters will be posted every Wednesday and Sunday. Beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma
Masterlist | AO3
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Ellie washed her face, grateful she’d forgone makeup that morning in her misery. Her face was still splotchy from crying, though the cold flannel helped ease the contrast.
After wasting a minute or two thoroughly examining the tiny bathroom she gave up, steeling herself to open the door and leave the relative safety of her hideaway. It’s just Hardy, she scolded herself, trying to make her hand reach for the doorknob. Stop being so weird. You invited him on this trip. He’s not going to expect anything. You both just had traumatic breakups.
Finally her hand obeyed, and she stepped out into the main area. The first thing that caught her attention was his attempts to remove the romantic elements – the rose petals were gone and the candles were off, which eased some of the pressure.
“Champagne?” Hardy offered, holding a full flute out towards her, and after a moment, she accepted.
“Thanks.”
They clinked the glasses together, and Ellie drank the whole thing in one go, lowering the flute only to see that Hardy had merely sipped at his, and was watching her with raised eyebrows.
Thankfully, he didn’t comment, merely refilled her glass and asked, “What do you want to do for dinner?”
“Wander the streets, whatever catches our fancy?”
“Sure. D’you want to head out now and walk around, or stay in and unpack?”
Ellie checked her watch; five o’clock. Far too early for dinner, especially in Paris. But to stay in or go out? She felt a bit antsy, like she needed to move, but it had been such a long day she didn’t want to fall asleep halfway through dinner. I did sleep on the train…
“Walk around?”
“Sure,” Hardy nodded, moving towards his suitcase, “just give me a couple minutes.”
Ellie shifted to let him squeeze past, noting they were both careful to avoid touching. “Take your time.” Drifting towards the far side of the bed, she noticed a door flush to the wall; opening it, she found a dozen steps leading up. At the top was another door, and upon opening it, she gasped to find herself on the roof of the hotel, a small semi-private balcony area that was gated in. In reality it was one space divided in four, so it wasn’t terribly private, but it gave such a wonderful view of the river and the Ile across from them that she didn’t care.
“Miller?”
Footsteps on the stairs behind her said he’d followed her up, and a moment later, he joined her with a wide-eyed look of his own.
“Now that’s something you don’t see every day,�� he murmured, looking positively enchanted, and Ellie’s heart twinged with grief.
It was the kind of view you shared with someone you loved, the kind of view you kissed in front of and made plans for the future.
Joe should be here, she thought, hating herself for it. She missed him, or at least the man she’d thought he was. As a detective, as a cop, it was her job to protect the public, and she had no time or patience for abusers and perverts. In that sense, she’d immediately and irrevocably cut Joe out of her heart, ending their relationship and refusing to see him even when he asked.
But the man she’d known, who she’d thought he was… that was the Joe she wanted with her. Kind, sweet Joe, who cooked her dinner and made her laugh and wanted to share his day, his dreams, his life with her.
It hurt to know that Joe had never existed, not really.
“Oi.” Hardy jostled her with his elbow. “Look.” He pointed, and she followed his finger to the street along the riverbank. A mime stood on a box, performing, and she couldn’t help a reluctant smile.
“Right, well, that’s what I came to see,” she joked, grinning up at him. “We can go home now.”
Hardy shook his head, giving her a mock scowl, the effect somewhat ruined by madly twinkling eyes. “Now, hold on! I came to Paris to see the Moulin Rouge. We can’t leave yet!”
“Can we at least leave for a walk?”
“Yeah, all right.”
Ellie took a moment in the bathroom for herself, dusting on just enough makeup to not look like a ghost, and changing into something a little dressier. Just because she wasn’t here with someone she loved didn’t mean she could look like a savage.
“Ready,” she announced, stepping out and right into Hardy’s chest, drawing a loud ‘oof!’ from both of them. “Sorry.”
“S’alright,” he said, steadying her with his hands on her biceps. “You good?”
“Uh huh.”
Once out on the street they walked side by side, taking in the ambiance and beauty. They took turns pointing out various items of interest, and gradually Ellie relaxed. To her surprise she was actually having fun, enjoying Hardy’s company, and wasn’t that strange?
Maybe he’s not as terrible as I always thought.
-
Sticking his hands in his pockets, even Hardy had to admit that wandering the streets of Paris was relaxing and, dare he say, almost enjoyable. It was a beautiful late spring day, warm enough to be comfortable but not too hot, the slowly-sinking sun a brilliant orange.
Casting his eyes to the side, he tried not to frown at the distant look in Ellie’s eye. Arms folded across her stomach, she seemed to be watching without seeing anything.
She just found out she almost married a predator, the little voice in the back of his head scoffed. Of course she’s in a tailspin. Setting his jaw, he decided it was up to him to save her trip. She already spent all this money to be here, he rationalized, she ought to get something out of it.
“Here,” he said abruptly, noticing a street cart and grabbing her arm, tugging Ellie over to it while ignoring her yelp.
“What’re you doing?” she asked, voice smaller than it should have been, but he ignored her to place his order and pay. Within a minute he had his prize in hand, and turned back to her, offering it out.
“We’ve been in Paris too long not to have a crepe,” he explained patiently when she just stared at him with a blank look. “Go on, have a bite.”
Ellie took the treat, biting carefully before her eyes closed and she let out a moan. “Oh, that’s good.” She took another bite, then scrunched her nose. “Of course you ruined it.”
“Bananas and chocolate are a natural pairing,” he argued, taking the folded crepe back for a bite of his own. It was too sweet for him, but the way she was now watching it like a predator with prey in its sights said it had been the right call. “And I’m sure you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten since your sad breakfast.”
She practically snatched it away when he offered it back to her, taking a ridiculously large bite. “Piss off.”
They started walking again, and he was pleased to see some of the liveliness return to her eyes, as she pointed out things to him again.
When’s the last time anyone took care of her, instead of her taking care of them? he wondered, even as they traded light-hearted barbs. I doubt her family’s changed. Did her fiancé? Obviously not, in the long run.
She didn’t have to invite me, could’ve gone on her own, or somewhere else. A surprising swell of pride surged through him.
She trusts me.
-
Ellie laughed, watching Hardy study the menu. He was making absolutely no effort to disguise his disgust for the rich French food, but the restaurant had been his suggestion, so she felt no sympathy for him.
“You could get fish,” she finally suggested, stomach rumbling.
Two dark eyes peered at her over the menu, and despite being all she could see of his face, she knew he was scowling. “You’re not helping.” Not waiting for a reply, he turned and caught the waiter’s attention.
“Oui?”
Ellie smiled up sweetly, ordering in French, “Good evening, I would like the bouillabaisse.”
“Merci. Et vous, monsieur?”
“Uh… chicken,” Hardy muttered, also in French, pointing to a specific dish. “Merci. Oh- vin. Plus de vin.”
The waiter nodded, taking their menus and disappearing. Before they even had time to speak, a sommelier appeared with a bottle of red, and Hardy gestured in her direction.
“How’s this?”
Ellie carefully inspected the bottle for just long enough to make him think she knew what she was looking for, before nodding. The sommelier poured them both a taste, and when Hardy nodded, filled their glasses and left the bottle.
Once they were alone Hardy leaned forward, reaching out with his wine glass, and Ellie matched his pose.
“Are we toasting?”
Pursing his lips, he glanced out the window behind her before turning his gaze on her, dark eyes full of emotion despite his iron-glad grip on them otherwise.
“To… second chances,” he offered, tilting the glass. “To old friendships. To lucky escapes.”
Ellie considered him. Running into him had, at first glance, seemed like the only thing that could make her day worse, but in truth, it had been the first good thing to happen to her since Joe’s arrest. “To running away.”
“Hear, hear.”
They sipped moderately from their glasses, setting them down at the same time, and opened their mouths.
“So-”
Stopping, Ellie laughed softly, shaking her head. “The more things change…”
Hardy chuckled in agreement, a smile flitting across his usually stern visage. “Go ahead.”
“I was just going to say… thank you. You’ve always had a way of making a shitty day better. I mean, usually by being a git and pissing me off, but still.”
“It always worked, didn’t it?” he arched an eyebrow, taking another mouthful of wine. “Distracted you.”
Ellie hummed. “To be honest, was a hell of a lot more fun being enemies with you than friends with any of the other tossers in our class.”
To her surprise, a flash of hurt blinked across his face.
“What?”
“Nothing.” His eyes fixed on something outside the window for a long moment before he continued, almost reluctantly, “I never considered us enemies.”
“We constantly fought!” she protested, even as a little part of her was glad to hear it. “We were voted two most likely to kill each other, remember? I can remember on one hand the number of times we actually agreed on something!”
Hardy snorted, expression easing. “One, we agreed more than it seemed. Not on methods, maybe, but on general topics? Absolutely. I think the term most of our classmates used was ‘bickering’, rather than fighting. People who are fighting don’t have that much fun doing so. And besides…”
“What? ‘Besides’ what?”
He lifted his glass to his lips, obscuring all but his eyes but unable to hide the mirth pooling there. “They certainly voted us ‘most likely to something each other’, and it was a four-letter word, but it wasn’t kill.”
Ellie choked on her wine, spluttering as she tried to process that. “You’re lying!”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“You said it wasn’t see-through!”
That made him laugh. “Okay, fair enough,” he agreed, “but other than that? They all thought we were together.”
“How come I didn’t know about this?”
“I asked once, why I got all of their shit. Apparently they thought you were the scary one of the two of us.”
“What?!” Ellie tried to picture that. At school, he’d been the broody Scot, always wearing a suit and tie to class and snarling at anyone who irritated him. In stark contrast she had been the embodiment of light and happiness, wearing pastels and bringing baked goods in every other week. “I was the scary one?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he nodded like he agreed with the assessment. “I would bark and snarl, but that’s my default – or so I’ve been told. Meanwhile you were, I dunno, Snow-bloody-White. Sweet as could be, but when someone crossed you-”
“Usually you,” she interrupted.
He waved a hand in vague acknowledgement. “-you could yell. No one ever forgot that bollocksing you gave Murray over that joke.”
“It wasn’t funny,” Ellie mumbled, sinking down in her chair.
“Course not, he was a plonker,” he shook his head.
Ellie pursed her lips. “Most of those boys were, even you occasionally.”
Hardy’s expression fell slightly, taking on a more serious quality. “I never apologized for that, did I?”
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. “No.” The moment was burned into her memory, one of the more awful experiences she’d had. As only one of two women in a class of thirty, the testosterone had been unbearable. The other girl had dropped out halfway through their third term, abandoning Ellie to their occasional juvenile pranks.
In this particular case, the entire class was at a police training facility getting in some practice, as every one of them were intending to go onto the force. The uniform had been khakis and a white dress shirt.
One of the tasks had been to help each other up over a wall; if they fell, it was into a pool of water. One of the others, she forgot who now, had purposely dropped her. She’d landed on her back, which had hurt her pride more than anything, but had also soaked her.
Hardy had been the one to help her up, and when she’d worried about the state of her shirt, had promised it didn’t show anything.
It wasn’t until two hours later, after lunch in the cafeteria and walking past hundreds of people, that she caught sight of her reflection and realized it was entirely see-through, and her modesty wouldn’t have been much more impacted had she gone entirely topless – which would have probably been far more comfortable than wet, clingy cotton.
That was the first- and last- time she cried over her classmates.
“Well, I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “It wasn’t right.”
“Thank you.” After a moment, Ellie pushed the memory away. “Besides, I can’t really blame you.”
“Because I didn’t push you?”
She smirked, raising her glass of wine. “No, ‘cause my tits never looked better than they did then. They deserved to be seen by someone.”
Hardy was still laughing when their food arrived.
#bbatcfic#broadfic#Broadchurch#HardyxMiller#Alec Hardy#Ellie Miller#AU#The French Connection#platonic honeymoon fic
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Never Con a Conman
Summary: Even con artists can be conned – a lesson you thought you were teaching; instead, it turned out that you were the one being taught.
Word Count: 3,235
There was a method to your madness. One day you would work out what it was. Until then, you lived crazily. There was nothing more exhilarating than getting away with something you shouldn’t be doing.
Right now, you were in Times Square with a satchel at your waist, beating against your hip with every step you took, pounding to the rhythm of your gait as you matched the tempo of the city. New York was one of your favorite cities. No matter how far you ventured, you always came back here. You used your contacts as an excuse, but the truth was that you were a Yankee in spirit. You passed by hundreds and hundreds of unknown strangers, innocent and oblivious to what you had hidden in your bag – gorgeous natural red rubies, an entire set of them, each plated into a solid golden chain. They were treasures you weren’t supposed to have, but Africa wasn’t nearly as hard to steal from as America, and you had done far more complicated jobs with far fewer resources.
You imagined showing off your wealth just by donning the necklace and strolling about your day, being part of the flashy one percent in appearance, but you were smarter than that. Showing off for the sake of showing off was dangerous. Pretty much everyone who tried ended up caught, either by enemies or by cops.
Speaking of being smarter, you needed to get a new fence. Your dumb contact had been passed to you by a friend, but despite your so-called friend’s competence, the fence was slipping. He was an older man, well-respected, very skilled, but his age was letting his mind go. He’d sold your looted necklace to two different buyers. Two different, very influential, very intimidating buyers – buyers that would kill you and your fence if you didn’t give them what they expected to have.
Thus, you came to New York not just because it was where you might’ve lived, had you been a civilian with a nine-to-five job, but because it was home to the best forger you knew of, and you were prepared to make his acquaintance. You had a plan. You’d have him forge two identical necklaces just like the ones in your bag, give those to the buyers, and melt down the real gold and the rubies through a proxy, then reshape them into something else entirely. In a different fashion, they’d sell under the radar on the black market, and you could use the cuts from the unexpected second and third sales to bolster not only your own account, but to afford the services and the discretion of your forger and your better fence.
You chose to think of it as an opportunity – an opportunity to make a contact and a lot more money than you otherwise would have. You regretted that you’d have to destroy such a beautiful piece of jewelry, but you couldn’t leave the real thing floating around. There was too much risk if you kept it on your person, but if it got back to either of your buyers and they compared the real stuff to the synthetics they would be given, you’d be screwed.
You left Times Square with a smirk on your face and decided to cut through Central Park and get a crepe from a vendor on your way. The address you’d gotten had been a little trickier to come by and cost a few grand for the cooperation of various players, but you were certain that with your score in mind, it would be worth it. Maybe you could even take a vacation.
Neal Caffrey spent four years in a federal super-max prison, but the people he still talked to said he was just as smooth as ever and hadn’t even come close to losing his touch. You doubted he’d talk to them much more once he knew they’d given his location to someone who wanted to find him, but that was okay. You’d have built a bridge by that point, and his contacts weren’t of any particular use to you, now that they’d set up a meeting.
You were a little wary of entering the church of a known Italian mobster, but the pews contained scattered amounts of civilians. You weren’t entirely alone, but you weren’t exactly standing up at the front of the room and discussing your potential partnership through a microphone, either. You appreciated that it was a territory where neither of you were the alphas, and so, since you really didn’t know where you could find a more renowned forger at such short notice, you slipped into the church, kept your head down docilely when the Father observed you, and slid into the pew at the back beside a suit-clad man with a jauntily-tipped fedora.
“I expected slightly less Freddy Krueger and a little more Jason Bourne.” You commented quietly, already recognizing his face from his Wanted posters. “You know, a little more sneaky, a little more scary.”
“A little more CIA,” he countered, lifting his head and raising an eyebrow at you. “For shame. This isn’t Krueger, this is Sinatra.”
You smirked at him and studied the hat again. You supposed you could see it. He was hot, and one of the few men in the twenty-first century who you’d seen successfully pull it off without giving you Wes Craven flashbacks. His striking blue eyes complimented the dark blue silk around the brim and almost matched his tie.
“Alright, I relent. You’re sophisticated, classy, and old-fashioned.” Your lips quirked as you teased. Neal chuckled.
Internally, you felt a thrill. This was going better than you had hoped. Neal was calm and engaging; not flighty in the least. His confidence inspired some of your own, but that was an old trick of the trade, and you knew better than to fall for it too hard.
“Is it really a two-person job?” You cynically asked, looking Neal’s friend up and down.
He was a short bald guy in glasses, skittish and fidgety, and he’d had more glasses of wine since you all sat down than the number of burner phones you owned. You could tell just by his demeanor that he was an anxious little fella, and you tried to avoid partnering with the overly-nervous. Too many nerves made it hard to effectively pull off a job.
“Haversham has all the equipment we need.” Neal told you, topping off your glass like any hospitable host would’ve. “No one’s as good as me. But he comes pretty close.”
“What’s the job for?” Haversham, as he was apparently called, asked you. Unlike Neal, he struck you as incredibly flighty. His voice was a little loud and confrontational. Neal shot him a look, practically screaming at him with his eyes to calm down.
You liked Neal, but you liked a lot of people. You weren’t a con woman because you disliked people. And besides, trusting and liking a person were entirely different ball games. Your life was at risk because of this stupid necklace; no way in hell were you going to tell them the truth about what they were working on, lest they backstab you or use the threat to your health as a means of exploiting more money out of you. They didn’t strike you as the type, but anyone could be a good actor.
You just needed to pull a con on the conmen you wanted to help you with yours. It was a simple process, really; you just needed a lie with as much background information as you wanted to share. You’d already thought of one, anticipating that the question would come up sooner or later.
“There’s a hefty buyer looking to pass off a piece of jewelry as the real thing for a very large sum.” You put your wine glass on the table delicately and crossed your legs at the ankles. “Unfortunately, the real thing was looted in the seventeenth century and reportedly melted down. Discovering part of the horde would be… financially beneficial… but my client is far more interested in putting it on display.” You grimaced as if the idea sickened you. “He’s offering me too much to pass on, no matter how little I approve.”
Neal and Haversham looked at each other.
“If the real piece was melted down four hundred some years ago, how do you expect us to recreate it?” Haversham challenged you, narrowing his eyes while his fingers tapped bouncily on his knee.
You smiled politely. “My client is convinced he can have this authenticated based on the records kept by the original owners. He’s created approximations and send photographs with the dimensional specifications. It’s not perfect, but he can’t very well put plastic and colored glass on display with a price tag as large as we’re talking. So he needs real rubies and real gold.”
Neal winced. “To each his own. A score’s a score.” He raised his glass towards you. “I think we can do this project. Shall we discuss rates?”
You tapped your glass against the side of his gingerly and then took a sip, feigning consideration. It was your life on the line; you would happily pay more than you’d normally like for their cooperation, but you had to behave as though it were any other con. If Neal knew that he was as much of a mark as anyone else in your scheme, you doubted he’d still be singing the same tune.
“We can work something out.” You decided. “Five percent?”
Neal tilted his head at you, scoffing slightly. “Your entire plan is contingent on the products of our labor.”
“Fine.” You huffed. “Ten percent each. You wouldn’t be getting this job if I wasn’t facilitating it.”
Haversham scoffed. “Twenty-five combined!”
“Twenty-two,” you deadpanned. He seemed easily spooked, so you locked your eyes on him in a mean, cool stare.
He sat back. “That’s fair,” he said compliantly, avoiding looking at you. You smiled slightly at Neal, who was giving you a vaguely scolding expression for scaring his friend.
After five days, you had developed a routine of sorts. Neal and his odd friend would be in your secured warehouse by the portside, working on developing the synthetic rubies with tools you didn’t even recognize. You kept the real necklace far from the pickpocket, but brought photographs with you to compare the gems, and recorded the specs for their use.
Haversham had on thick, flame-retardant gloves up to his elbows when you entered with your electronic key. Neal was set up at a table several yards away from the superhot industrial oven. Haversham was wearing a welding mask and thick clothes. The temperature made you start sweating even after you’d been inside for a few seconds, so you imagined he was sweltering. His dedication to protecting himself from boiling gold was laudable. When it splashed, it left burn scars. You’d heard of more than one person convicted for their carelessness.
Neal wore long pants and a tight wife-beater shirt and thick-soled, metal-toed boots to protect his feet, but aside from protective goggles on the table near where he stood over the fake rubies, he wore nothing else. You could see his abs through his clothes, and sweat glistened on his arms. You liked how he was strong and built, but not obnoxiously so, and you gave yourself a second to pretend that you were allowed to be enjoying the view as much as you were.
“Hey, boys,” you called, raising an arm to wave lazily at Haversham, who didn’t respond. You walked to the side of the table and pushed yourself up to sit on the edge. Neal looked up at you, a curl of hair falling over his face and a satisfied, self-indulgent smile on his mouth. “How’re things coming?”
“We finished making the rubies this morning.” He placed his fingers in the group of gems and divided them into two groups, each corresponding to one of the false necklaces. “We should be able to leave them in the gold plating by tomorrow and have them finished days before your deadline.”
“Uh-huh.” You admired the rubies. They looked gorgeous; picture-perfect. Unrealistically beautiful, in fact. “Now, how are you going to make them look like they weren’t manufactured?”
Neal’s lips quirked appreciatively at your catch. “Imperfections on the jewels, forced oxidation on the gold. We have the photographs to go off of.” He cocked his head and stalked to you slowly. You hoped it wasn’t just your imagination that you had his complete, rapt attention. You spread your legs so he could stand between your knees, and he put his hands down on the table on either side of your thighs, leaning over you. “Of course,” he whispered, leaning down. You could see the flecks of shades in his irises. “It would be much easier if we could model off the physical approximation.”
It was hard to act like you didn’t care. You flirted a lot yourself, and you knew it was a ploy. Still, Neal attracted you like few people managed to. He was smart, he was gorgeous, and he had a sense of humor – and, unlike most decent guys you met, he was in the lifestyle. No normal man would understand not to ask questions if you had to take off to Bohemia or be absent for months at a time. You wished you could return the flirtations, maybe even invite him out for drinks, but mixing work and pleasure wasn’t a great idea, especially when failure to deliver the goods would get a target on your back. Self-preservation was always your first concern.
“I love your enthusiasm,” you whispered back playfully, “But I haven’t forgotten that you’re a thief as well as a forger.”
“Touché.” He smiled at you more sincerely then. “I had to ask.”
“Sure,” you compliantly agreed.
“In that case, I should tell you what else I am.” His smile faded. Your expression darkened and you tensed, prepared to shove him away. Sudden mood swings were never reassuring. “Y/N, I might have misled you slightly. I am criminally active – however, those crimes have been more often than not sanctioned by the FBI as of late.”
You swallowed and stared up at him darkly. “If you don’t move, I’m going to punch you in the nose and walk out of here.”
“I just had to see if you would give up the necklace, but Agent Burke will get a warrant to search your hotel room.” Still, he stepped back and gave you room. You hopped off of the table swiftly, backing away while keeping your eyes locked on him.
Your heart raced. Is he lying? You couldn’t find any tells. His tone was even, his expression was wry and bittersweet, and as you listened for anything else in the room, you realized you couldn’t hear the bubbling gold anymore. You held out a hand to stop Neal from advancing and spun quickly to see over your shoulder. Mozzie had moved away from the oven, turned it down, and was taking off his mask to fix his fogged and dripping glasses.
“Please don’t make a scene,” Neal requested, pulling on his lower lip with his teeth. “I like you. I’d rather not watch this get messier than it has to be.” He pulled on the strap of his shirt over his shoulder and turned it inside out so you could see a small microphone on the inside. “Clear, guys. Come on in.”
The door to the warehouse clanged open. “FBI!” A man shouted, his gun out.
Self-preservation.
You put your hands up harmlessly, but glowered at Neal for a moment before lowering your eyes. Maybe this was your karma for your madness. Everything caught up to everyone eventually. It wasn’t really his fault if you were the one morally in the wrong (you were big enough to admit that you were the antihero, even from your own perspective). Besides, working with the FBI was probably the best for his self-preservation.
“Y/N Y/L/N,” the first man called to you, lowering his weapon. The other agent, a beautiful woman, kept hers out and she approached behind him, keeping an eye on you. The man stuck his hand out as he came closer, smiling genially. “Special Agent Peter Burke.”
“No,” Neal sighed, crossing his arms. “Peter, don’t say it.”
Peter’s grin widened. “It’s a pleasure to catch you.”
Neal sighed again, looking away. You ground your teeth and stared at his outstretched hand skeptically.
Self-preservation.
“I should probably mention that the real reason I want fake necklaces is so that I don’t get killed by people rich enough to hire hitmen,” you blandly stated to the federal agent. It felt like you were in shock. You knew you’d rail against it once you had time to process and understand what had happened, but at the moment, you were working to make the most out of it for yourself.
Peter nodded sympathetically and realized you weren’t going to shake his hand. He dropped it to his side. “We can take care of that.” He took up handcuffs from his belt. “Behind your back, please.”
You sent another look at Neal. He shrugged at you, his eyes compassionate. He didn’t seem at all surprised that you’d lied about your motivations. You wondered if he’d gone running to the feds as soon as you approached him. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, thinking, before you turned to Peter and asked, “Can I have a moment?”
Though confused, Peter agreed. “Yeah…?” He said it like a question and turned to look at the woman with him.
“No funny business,” she warned you. “I have excellent aim and I’m looking right at your knees.”
You stepped up to Neal. He leaned back on the table warily. “Nice one, Caffrey.” You defeatedly admitted. “I didn’t see it coming.” You paused. If your work wasn’t going to be finished, there was nothing to mix the pleasure with. You’d be damned if you went to all this trouble to partner up with Neal and didn’t get anything out of it.
You reached for his waist and tugged on the belt loops in his pants, pulling him closer to you. Neal moved his hands to your hips impulsively and you reached for his shoulder, sliding your hand easily across his slippery skin, dragging him down to meet you halfway, pressing your lips to his. Neal kissed you softly, gently; his lips were soft and full and his mouth tasted rich with an aftertaste of coffee.
Peter coughed when you pulled back, your hands still on his hips. Neal looked down at you, blinking in surprise, but with a charmed, happy grin on his face. You hoped it didn’t last too long – you still wanted him to feel at least a little bit guilty about getting you arrested.
After a few more seconds of feeling the warmth of his body, you dropped your arms and took a step back. “Alright,” you said exasperatedly, turning around so your back was to Peter. You held your hands behind your back. “I’m cooperating, lady. Leave my knees alone.”
“Thanks for your help, Mozzie,” Peter said to someone.
“Suit!” Haversham hissed, stripping off his gloves. “Why would you say my name?! I don’t want her to know who I am!”
“It’s a bit late for that,” you grumbled.
Requested by @white-magician
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#lawmen-and-conmen#white collar#white collar x reader#neal caffrey#neal caffrey x reader#mozzie#peter burke#conman#con artist#con woman#request#romance#the man is gorgeous okay#oneshot
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[London]
What follows is a description of thoughts and sights from the 26th to the 30th of June.
The hybrid forms and architecture of London has a psychic effect on me. I have a sense of historical saturation and velocity, at deep odds with one another. Every corner and close and cranny of the city is a time-and-stone vortex. Notice the skyline’s deliberate repudiation of symmetry, and unintentional repudiations of all kinds that we make by forgetting, by advancing in space. Boats, however, still need to tack laterally to dock, and you can see the ancient seats of the ferrymen tucked still between the banks and the Greek bistros. As an American, and perhaps all Americans have felt this way, all I have is vicarious geology—though this seems, too, to infiltrate cultures of my longstanding earthly presence, like England. Notice that the Thames river once was more permeable to city and vice versa. During the 1850s. Whales found in the Thames, chased and killed. Notice as I cross bridges in the morning that the levels of the Thames have fluctuated since last night. A dynamic, responsive entity. A nonhuman vein through this hyperrational framework of glass and steel and history. The new situations that arise each day in clusters and bunches. Smell of particle board across from St. Le Mary. Man playing a sheng.
I appreciate the green spaces in this city that have been commissioned in the ruins of pastoral architecture. Chapels or cathedrals like Greyfriar’s and St. Dunstan’s in the East have been transformed into public gardens in the aftermath of the blitz. Flower beds and growboxes are arranged where pews and pillars used to stand before the bombing-out. Incindiary violence has lifted the carved roses and climbing clematis off the columns of the churches and realized them into life. Violence as the catalyst for proliferation. Part of the “Pastoral reorganization measure.” Ruin as trellis, but for growth of what kind? What grows in these spaces, apart from plant life? Memory?
I visited John Milton’s grave, which is fringed by a fragment of the ancient London wall. It is completely hedged in by commercial development; the London wall has been re-walled-in. You have to cross a sky-bridge and pass a Pizza Express to get to St. Giles-without-Cripplegate, which is where Milton is interred, along with Martin Frobisher, the 16th century explorer. Oliver Cromwell married here. When I arrive at the church, musicians are preparing for a performance. There are pots of herbal tea and instant coffee on folding tables. Book sale shelves. Outside, there is a brick terrace or esplanade where the church yard was once. Willow branches stir across the mortared surface, gravestones have been displaced and laid almost as tiles in raised areas of the terrace. Many of them have been almost completely effaced. I stood over them and bent to clear away the moss and bird droppings, looking for Milton. I understand he is at the foot of the chancel steps, but I don’t realize, until asking a passing vicar, who, over her pastoral collar and garments, is wearing a crepe, floral print robe, that a chancel is inside the chapel, and I snap a photo of Milton’s headstone, on which a musicians in purple Converse sneakers is standing.
Nearby you have John Keats’ birthplace at the Hoop and Swan, a pub now called Keats at the Globe. It is adjacent now to a Harpal or anti-aging, Clinic. Skincity. Hormone optimization therapy. Chemical peels. Microneedling.
A brief visit to the London museum, where they host an exhibit on the torch mechanism for the most recent olympics and the London stone. I realize here that I don’t care about prehistory. I care about history, which means I must care about historiography above all else.
I meditate on “finance poetics.” Mine is an inherited world of speculation. Values are created and sustained discursively, as opposed to on a gold standard. As a poet, or an elegizer, do I not speculate on someone else’s glory, immortality, when I write of other writers, and their influence on me?
I visit Regent’s Park with Katie, who I met at Luxembourg last summer. After some difficulty finding one another at the Baker Street station, we meet at a tennis club in the park. She tells about her research on Joseph Paxton and the Victoria amazonica, a massive Guyanese lily and an icon of the performativity of empire in the Victorian age. We talk about the role of the academic and our shared sense of anxiety (about youth, family, future) in a garden of roses in the sun.
After visiting with Katie, I stop in at the Bartlett School of Architecture, where there is a summer show of student work on display. A several-story gush of architectural models, the delicacy of of their balsa and cardboard, their extruded printing material. Video games and VR. Supersaturators. Building skin. Preservation, intervention, and augmentation using Venice and Hamburg. Habitable space within territory. Data landscapes. Artificial experience of human sensitivity at high altitude in the Andes. Meaningless specificity. Spontaneous and ordered structures juxtaposed. Coliving lifestyles. It is a completely overwhelming experience, alienating. I am forced to consider my anachronistic place in the world, and, young as I am, confront the sense that I have no control or influence over the future or built environment that I will inhabit.
Overheard at Fabrique, two, young British women speaking, very quickly: “Ethics aside, all jobs have an unethical element.”
I am thinking about paintings I have seen by Hubert Robert, who depicts pastoral and rural folk living among the ruins of bygone empires. In whose ruins do we live?
I meet Rebecca at the Cheshire Cheese. Hung from the rafters of the pub, porcelain, pottery, tankards, decorated with scenes and clusters of berries.
Notice the droves of bicyclists, the cyclist superhighway, some wearing face filters to block out the exhaust and pollution.
I visit the Poetry Library, but in order to do so, I have to elbow my way through a massive (high school? university?) graduation ceremony at the Southbank Center. Wealth, youth. Somewhere buried or deep or high above all this a library of poetry. I notice a girl with an infinity symbol on her neck, Sam Smith sneakers. The elevator doubles as an art installation that sings out the floors as you ascend. In the poetry library, an exhibit on Piers Plowman. “Fair field full of Folk” is an apt description of London.
The Melville conference has begun, at King’s College London. Old faces. I learn about Melville’s relationship with the painter Turner, and Turner’s pictures of whalers. Art in the age of ironclads. Criticism’s agency is abstract. “Historically dense but deliquescent”—said of the work of an artist who presented on Melville’s experience in mid-century London. His talk at the British Library, where I wrote for a while. This artist spoke of Admiral Horatio Nelson, his relics, on his clothing the wax and sweat and blood-stains. “Compassion has real consequences.” Luciano says “Melville studies is concerned with world-making.” At one presentation, the phrase “slow violence,” and the question, at what point is violence narrativizable, and thus visible? I feel the work of writing and poetry is to narrativize forms of slow violence in the world.
The first night of the Melville conference, I have dinner with Christine at the Samuel Pepys pub. We talk about contemporary life and poetry, and the deeds we feel we need to accomplish to assuage guilt in the dying empire. Maybe the best we can do is reciprocate need and fulfillment of need among others. The question becomes not what to do, but what to do with my complicity (agency). Networks comprised of navigating complicity and compassion.
The astonishing warped column at One Blackfriars. Leviathan. I consider that true, old wealth insures itself, buttresses its existence against time. Apart from these massive high-rises filled with million-dollar real-estate, what are the new monoliths of civilization? Are they financial, speculative? Can a scheme be an edifice? Can an algorithm? Are there abstract forms of monument? What is glory now? I feel like the Cassandra of Bankside: blind, baffled, eclipsed by visions of the future that are beyond my powers of articulation. In fact, there is a stone sculpture of Cassandra’s face at the NEO bankside development, in a sculpture garden. An icon of my stay.
With Hutch and his son Gabe, I get to see the Globe’s production of Twelfth Night. The reconstructed Globe has a roof made of a special kind of fire-resistant thatch. The play is a true spectacle. Bright and bombastic and fast-moving, Vaudeville. Scottish drag and disco as the costume setting. At its heart the text seems to concern itself with the indirection of love as an epistemology, the epistemology of competing desires. “I wish you were what I would have you be.”
A visit to Hampstead and Keats’ House, or, more properly, Charles Brown’s house. Enjoyed looking at his marginalia in Burton and Spenser. Enjoyed reencountering the painter Joseph Severn and his devoted friendship. On the green outside the house, I sat beneath the plum tree under which it was purported Keats wrote “Nightingale.” Here, Keats’s Beechen green and shadows numberless, lush with summer. Elsewhere on the green, wrestling schoolchildren, practicing lines from Romeo and Juliet. Along the landscaped border: Queen of Night tulip. Gingko. Forest pansy shrub. Inside the house, sparse artifacts, decorative fake fruit. Enjoyed looking at some of Severn’s watercolors, those he painted on the crossing to Rome. Looked at the Regency-era plumbing and rain-catching. Looked at Severn’s marvelous brooch. Saw that perhaps Sosibios vase is the vase in question in the “Urn.” In a neighboring library with a beautiful stained glass-dome, saw a handbook for gardeners called “Enemies of the Rose.”
Rebecca and I afterward got lunch (several slices of bread at a bakery for me), and ate in and wandered through Hampstead Heath. A truly breathtaking view of Parliament Hill. Rebecca told me a story about her search for breadfruit, which Melville describes in Typee, and all the people she met on her search for this food.
Afterward we went to the National Portrait Gallery. Some notes I took: Alone in the problems of her responsibility. Other faces in a portrait (especially artificial ones); Counterposed figures, group portraits; Charles Ricketts, oblique profile, hands in rags, ascetic beard, dewdrop flowers, Roman numerals; Late Victorian, pre-Raphaelites; Hallam Tennyson with hoop rolling stick; Launching chains, ocean steamship “Great Eastern”; Textures and personhood; Direction of gaze, angle of posture, head; Details from the dresses of Elizabeth of Bosnia, Elizabeth I; Samuel Pepys holding his own composition in hand; Milton’s girlish fairness; To have a living person as a “muse”; “Enjoy the luscious landscape of my wound, but hurry! time meets us and we are destroyed”; The death of Earl of Chatham by Copley, naval wallpaper, Christological trauma, adoration, public perception / reaction / grief / decorum; Somerset House Conference; Sute of russet satten and velvet welted.
While I wait for Beth Schultz at Trafalgar square, I read some Faulkner, and the line: “Maybe happen is never once but like ripples maybe in water.” In front of me, Nelson’s column, Nelson facing away. A melancholy girl at the fountain, orange hair, listening to music with earbuds, sitting very still.
Met with Beth at the Edith Cavell memoiral monument. I’m working with her on an anthology of poetry about Moby-Dick. Went to a cafe, restaurant, wine bar called Notes. Beth is charming, and exudes an admirable love of life and generosity of intellect. We spoke of poetry, friendship and pleasure parties, and our lives. I feel suffused with good will. On our way back home, she stops at a shop filled with Japanese treats and deserts, and we reminisce on similar treats during the Tokyo trip.
On the last day of the conference, we went to Oxford. Took charter buses. On the way, from the freeway, seeing the charred column of the Grenfell tower. Nearby, a building advertising “imperial thinkspaces.” We were given a quick tour of Oxford campus, which is ancient and infused with a solemn sense of monumental knowledge. Strange grotesque or gothic faces adorn the corners, cornices and walls on the building exteriors. Features as feature. I have several wonderful conversations, including with respected Melville scholars. They are kind to speak to me. During dinner, which featured gorgeous (though surreal—something contrived about the anachronistic portraits and samplers of wealth to which I am being exposed) prelude music by Schubert, I sense myself locked in with intense focus to the conversations in which I participate. The menu: Sesame marinated tuna and ginger salad, pickled leek and baby corn, soy dressing. Three pepper marinated rib-eye of beef, heritage carrot puree, tender stem broccoli, crushed potatoes and spring onion. Strawberry soup, lemon verbena jelly, mint sorbet and honey madeleine. Baliol mints. Truly a treat. Good will felt by all.
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