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novelconcepts · 2 years

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you may have already answered something like this but, as a fan of the comics from before the show, I’m curious what your thoughts on the changes were. personally i really enjoyed it as an adaptation and my only real issues were aesthetic (it needed more bright color)

idk if I mentioned I was talking about paper girls in the previous ask or not whoops 😅

I really don't mind most of the changes! Paper Girls is such an expansive, explosive story on paper; the comic versions of these children are ping-pong balls firing off from one insane, splashy situation to the next in a heartbeat. A world made of ink and paper can afford to have crazy dinosaurs and hockey sticks sticking out of thin air and bombastic scene-scapes in past, super-past, super-future, etc. The show...in order to be feasible, kind of can't? If they'd done a one-to-one execution, 1) it would have cost a truly insane amount (or looked absolutely awful with VFX teams being run ragged lately) and 2) I don't think it would be accessible for non-comic readers. I think they did an excellent job of toning the whole thing down without losing the heart of what's happening, grounding the world so the viewer doesn't feel as though their face is being blown off with every shot.

I also think this really benefits the girls in terms of character building. KJ in the comics figures out she's gay because she gets some flash-bang images dumped into her head, and one of them is kissing Mac. That's great for that medium--but you get SO much more out of that journey onscreen by actively seeing her adult self be relaxed and happy with a girlfriend. Getting to watch KJ have that quiet mental breakdown (which, in 1988, she absolutely would do; finding out at 12 that you're destined to be queer, especially coming from a family that "cares what everyone else thinks" like hers does, would be incredibly jarring) and then slowly come to terms with what it all means is much more effective on a grounded level. Same with Mac finding out she dies, not from some random lady telling her the family moved afterward, but from the older brother she's revered her whole life--and then building on that relationship to help her on this journey of understanding she's always had value. Erin getting time to discover her adult self is way cooler than she gave her credit for gives adult!Erin's final scene so much more punch than if it they'd gone the clone!Erin route, and gives her room to learn that maybe there's more to life than just being the caretaker.

None of these story beats are better or worse, per se; they just exist more cleanly in the tone of this world. The comic beats are perfect for a comic world, and the television ones are easier to digest as viewers who watch these actors make choices to flesh out the characters scene-to-scene.

Even the colors, I understand. Like. The comics have some of my favorite art, hands down. Paper Girls and Wicked and the Divine are probably my top-tier comics for just how gorgeous they are--but, as with the languages of the future teens and the Old Timers, I wonder if having the palette that extreme would have been alienating to the eyeballs. The whole final episode is kind of rough to watch simply because they've cast that magenta filter over it all; imagine a whole show with such vibrancy. It's possible to do, but I don't think it would have fit the tone as well. I think they found a middle ground that works really well for a first season, and if they get a second, I would think that is where they might start to play with expanding the imagery.

#ask #paper girls #paper girls spoilers #honestly the only two things i wasn't nuts about them changing was tiff not knowing she was adopted #and having that really influence her whole adult life #although i DO like her instantly idolizing adult!her and then finding bit by bit that she's not everything she dreamed #as a foil of sorts to erin that works really well #and then the whole larry thing was a bit much. like he's fine. they needed an adult character with knowledge of traveling to help them #since they haven't done the clone thing #but i very much do skip his whole intro sequence because outside of him interacting with the kids i really don't care #though again i do know why he's there. he fits the bill of teaching the kids not to trust blindly. so like. it's fine?#but yeah. overall the changes can be chalked up to the medium and i think they're doing fine #it's just a matter of keeping consistent. the comics are consistently Wild and the show is consistently Grounded #while both telling the same story #i love both quite a lot

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semi-imaginary-place · 2 months

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ai somnium files playthrough

eyes, ai, ai in eyes, the ferris wheel is an eye observing the murder scene, hmm idk maybe eyes are a recurring motif.

so something happened 6 years ago. date lost his eye and memories. 5 years ago befriended renju. 4 years ago more or less took over parenting renju's daughter(deadbeat?). and now the mom is dead and daughter found at the scene.

AI, ai, eye, I. aiba, AI ball, eyeball, aibou. Wow the devs are really going at it

Everyone in this game is deranged. I love it.

Oh no mom! She better not be delusional.

Is date on antipsychotics?

He's 24?? I wasn't sure if i'd misread that since everyone calls him a kid. But yeah date would do that. Ok really don't call it a "relationship" mizuki's like 12.

Is she blackmailing date? That's hilarious. Yeah she is. Lol get bullied by a teenager date

She's an egirl minecraft streamer! D: cant tell if thats better or worse than instagram infuencer, probably better honestly

Aiba need to hack line ah nile to find who messages mizuki. 1 isnt that illegal. 2 with a warrant the company would give that info. 3 it could be a burner account. Ip address isnt a sure way either if they're smart

It's been less than 24 hours give the poor girl a break before you potentially permanently damage her mind. So no guardian permission you basically kidnapped a kid and she can't communicate. Ok this feels really scummy. I mean she's non verbal sure but shes literate right she could right down answers

Keitai ah another ai. Bleh i hate timed mechanics and pc controls are bad (it was on sale on steam). Uhhh i did not know what i was doing. I raised the balloons and unintentionally used her abusive mom's voice to calm her. Was there a better outcome? Shoutouts to the dude keeping gay porn at work. Ok i definitely messed up but im curious where this branch goes. How was i suppose to know "comforting voice" was going to be her moms i thought it'd be date or something.

Hmm while mizuki was at bloom park someone might have contacted her. But they only discontinued the 2nd rental phone number after date called? That's pretty sloppy for someone otherwise trying to cover their tracks.

Wow iris you're missing peak hours 5-10. Also all this date stuff is uncomfortable she's 18. Mom's dead calling it

Hmm i thought the phone had been planted to contact mizuki. But if its shoko's phone...

Is mizuki a year behind? If hitomi is an elementary school teacher and mizuki is in her homeroom she's in 6th grade at most or maybe im forgetting school ages

Date's poor back. Buy a second bed

Hah did i miss something. Mizuki got a nile message from renju on saturday? So that was before or after the psynch. Is this a translation error? The message should have been sent friday but today is sunday

So that whole psynch dive was unnecessary and dangerous since mizuki gives us all the same info like 10 hours later like shoko's phone

Date's memory incident was 7 years ago. Hitomi was shot 6 years ago. Why did date dream of her shot

A-set aseto aseto-n chan. I am now hearing acetone whenever ota speaks

The disrespect! Date just calling yakuza guy by his given name.

Uh... why do i feel like that self destruct function is going to become a plot point like date will say 40125(?) to prove he isnt lying or something

also i switched from mouse and keyboard to controller because yeah this game was designed for controller. i should have gotten it for switch... but it was on sale on stream for 7 bucks! anyways using switch joycons (ha!) and idk what it is but there lag or a delay for inputs on the right joystick.

Ok i was not expecting the iris murder, good foreshadowing but i thought she would continue bothering date for the rest of the game. I've been playing too much ace attorney that im now expecting the weird teen girl sidekick. Did sejima actually do it? Why not hire someone to do the actual killing. Date is convinced of his guilt but I'm not. Also i failed that psync...

The game already established date is on some sort of drug given how aiba comments his dosage needs to be increased every time he gets too weird but now the game drops that date doesnt even know he's on the drug which wow flag just went up.

Ooh and then they cant find the body. Pewter said the psyncher brings in a bit of their memory into the pynchie's(?) somnium. How convenient that aiba ran out of batteries. It's totally possible there was no corpse and date hallucinated it and then his own beliefs and memories influenced the somnium given the presentation of events and also the hints that there's something up with date psychologically. Game's making me doubt his sanity. Good writing. I did find it ood he didnt stay with the body, why did he need to rush to hq, what was at hq? The most he needed to go was the car to recharge aiba. Also another time not actually having a cell phone bites him.

And iris isn't dead. Yup game is making me doubt date. Maybe those actually are anti psychotics

Huh is it me or was there another box in the warehouse last night. Also yeah 1.5 hour internal police response seems slow. I cant tell what is a red herring and what isnt.

i was already doubting hitomi's taste in men given the whole teen mom thing. But she foud a mob dude bleeding out who grabbed and kissed her and decided to date him. Says she loves iris more than her own life but introduced this shady af dude to her home life and 12 year old daughter? uhh. Hmm so this partly explains the opening dream. Let's see if im getting this right old boyfriend did crimes and had a dude trying to kill him, hitomi took the shot and almost died and lost control function in her right arm. Police arrested gundude and boyfriend. Now why does date remember the scene? And if boyfriend didn't actually die why was he shown... Actually i don't remember if he was dead in the dream. But i do remember the gouged out eye. Something also happened to date 6 years ago since thats when his memories begin and he's missing his left? Eye. In so's somnium it's speculated by boss and pewter that the faceless person was so's image of himself, then in date's dream was that his image of himself? I guess this is the begining if the hitomi boyfriend hypothesis although that would necessitate hitomi and iris pretending they didnt know date. Date's scared of ghosts. There also the earlier dialogue about how memories are left behind by the psyncher during somnium mostly only the ego/personality/programming is retained not the memories. Ok redid the opening dream, skeleton with a bloody left eye socket. Took a closer look at iris's drawing, criminal boyfriend looks like the guy seen in the dream dark hair red shirt black jacket and pants. Which means date is more likely the shooter.

#ai somnium files #ai somnium files spoiler

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supremeinlilac · 3 years

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Three’s not a crowd, especially when it’s us (1)

Summary: Its just part one idk what to say? oh, its a slow burn :) The idea came to me at 4am and I’ve just ran with it, it was initially going to be like 4 parts, and now its probably more like 10.

Word count: 2546

Warnings: mild language

You weren’t quite sure how you’d managed to get through 2 months of being at Miss Robichaux's without accidently revealing your true ‘power’ to anyone. You thought that Ms Goode, of all people, would see through your bland lie about setting your families house on fire being the reason you’d ended up at the academy’s front doors. Instead, she’d simply nodded at you with a kind smile and a tour of the house.

You’d met all the witches, heard stories about the house and how this was now one of many schools like it that the Supreme had opened since rising. Some of the other houses were for the young witches and were more discreetly placed to avoid the inevitable hate crimes that witches still faced, while some were for the older women who’d always been taught to hide in the shadows and supress themselves rather than flourish. You’d fallen into the middle, gifted witches that were brought to learn under the Supremes’ close guidance and protection.

Your first night had involved sitting beside the fireplace with Zoe and Queenie, who were asking of your abilities and showing their own with stories of before Cordelia’s reign as supreme. You were awed by Queenies voodoo abilities, laughing at the time she’d stabbed her hand with a fork when Madison was being bitchy. You insisted she show you sometime. Madison was back at this point, you’d yet to meet her as she was off on some trip but Zoe had already advised you to stay clear. They weren’t even sure how she’d got back from hell, normally she would be the first to brag about something like that, but apparently she’d kept relatively quiet about it.

You’d met Ms Venable the next day, after hearing hushed rumours from the other girls about her sharpness and generally how they were all scared of her intimidating grandeur. She’d given you your lesson timetable with a quick flick of her eyes down your body at your state of undress when you’d come to the door, barking about having some decency. Her striking features and the perfect peaks of her red hair had you scrambling for something coherent to babble back to her as she turned and left you, mouth agape and staring after the strike of her cane on the ground.

Although Ms Venable had no magical abilities of her own, she was no less admired and feared among the other witches at the academy, her quick wit and sharp tongue more than compensating and aiding in her looming dominance. She prided herself in teaching the girls practical non-magic skills and subjects that they could put to use in due course when their time within the school’s halls ran out.

The girls had whispered and giggled to you about Ms Cordelia having a thing for Ms Venable, because of how she used to flush and stumble over her words in the presence of the woman. You hadn’t noticed in your brief week at the academy, mainly due to not having seen them together an awful lot in that time.

Over the weeks you found yourself watching their fleeting interactions, mentally noting the way Cordelia would shift under her gaze at the breakfast table. How she would be the first to pick up the fallen cane as it clattered to the ground; never using her telekinesis for it either, she would go out of her way to get up and retrieve it, small smile and glances exchanged as she did so.

You understood why the girls had picked up on Cordelia’s feelings for the redhead, but you were surprised at how they’d missed the obvious way Ms Venable would soften when she looked at Cordelia teaching when she’d walk past the open classroom door, or the way she’d grip her cane until her knuckles whitened when she caught one of the girls imitating the Supreme. You thought it was obvious, maybe it was just you. Maybe it was just that you’d grown rather fond of her and liked to observe the small habits that she’d do when annoyed or relaxed.

It was clear they didn’t just like each other, but that they were together, whether they formally declared it or not, to you at least; the lingering touches and glances when they thought no one was looking.

Over your weeks at the academy, you’d grown to appreciate the time you were able to spend alone with either women. You were always the first to volunteer your time in the greenhouse or to carry files for Ms Venable when she walked past a classroom with papers balanced precariously in one arm.

Cordelia had developed a soft spot for you, as an eager and caring student. You’d laugh and mess around with the plants in the greenhouse and share stories of times when your magic hadn’t quite gone to plan. You’d become infatuated with her laugh on one of these nights, when she’d let down all barriers and just enjoyed herself without worry.

Once, and at the time you’d totally thought yourself to be completely pushing your luck, you’d arranged a dinner for the pair of them out there, hauling Wilhemina’s chair outside from the kitchen so that she would be comfortable. You’d known that they’d both been stressed and hadn’t had much time for themselves away from the hum of the girls. Happy as always to oblige, you’d thought they’d appreciate the small moment to enjoy a meal together in the peace of Cordelia’s safe space.

They did, of course. Although it was only the Supreme who voiced her thanks, squeezing your shoulder tightly while Ms Venable shot you a momentary smile and a nod of approval. Since then, you wanted nothing more than her approval again.

***

At the dinner table, Madison had made some offhand remark about your magic which had sent ripples of barely contained laughter down the table. You’d looked up to Zoe who just gave a sympathetic grimace and a shrug, everyone else just continued sipping at the soup, an occasional slurp breaking the quietness. Everyone was so used to Madisons comments and attitude that they just took to ignoring it in uncomfortable silence.

You were not used to it. You didn’t understand why everyone could just sit and let her berate people as she did, you’d been brought up in kindness and empathy. Pushing your chair back, you emptied the contents of your bowl into the bin before quickly leaving the kitchen, guilty faces watching you leave. Cordelia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, knowing as the headmistress and supreme she shouldn’t stand for the way Madison talked to some of the girls, but she knew that aggravating her further would be a worse idea. Wilhemina’s hand came to settle discreetly on her thigh, squeezing slightly and grounding her in a silent way to tell her that it wasn’t her fault.

You’d slipped out into the greenhouse to let of some steam, moving objects around and letting yourself set random balls of paper on fire safely as an outlet for you to bubble your frustrations out through magic. After having done so, you settled into one of the chairs in the corner, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them.

It had been Ms Venable who came through the doors to find you, heaving a sigh as she lowered herself into the chair beside you and balanced her cane against the arm. She sat rigidly, as always, hands clasped in her lap and one leg balanced over the other. Allowing herself to observe you, she took in your slumped shoulders and tired face which you hid in your drawn up knees.

“Cordelia sent me.” She stated, straight to the point as always, and you lifted your head in acknowledgement.

She’d lied, Cordelia hadn’t sent her. The supreme had actually wanted to come herself but Wilhemina had said that she’d go, that she needed to talk to you anyway; but she’d never tell you that of course. She had a stature to uphold.

You sat in uncomfortable silence, neither one knowing what to say to put the other at ease. Wilhemina didn’t really know how to start conversations with anyone apart from Cordelia that didn’t begin with a barked command or condescending jab.

“Ignore Madison. That insolent girl needs to be put in her place.” She quipped; lips drawn into a thin scowl before softening as you looked up at her. “From what I’ve seen and been told, your magic is coming along quite nicely. You should be proud of your progress.” She added quickly, suddenly finding great interest in the hanging plants that Cordelia had been tending to over the past few days: a new addition to the greenhouse.

“No. she was right. I’m not upset about Madison; I’m upset because no one knows me. Not really.” You mused, an appreciating smile gracing your lips for a second at her words. It wasn’t that you were overly affected by Madisons words, it had just served as a reminder to how you were keeping everyone in the dark.

“What do you mean?” She asked softly, as soft as you’ve ever heard her talk, hand reaching to draw your knees out from under your chin so you could uncurl to speak to her properly. You inhaled a shaky breath, fingers digging crescents into your knees as you prepared to tell her the thing you’d been hiding for months.

“Promise you won’t get mad?” You asked hopefully, knowing it wasn’t something she could, or even would want to promise to you. She shook her head shortly, “you know I can’t promise you that.” Pushing it to the back of your mind, you decided to just blurt it out; now or never so to speak.

“I’ve been keeping my natural power a secret. I lied on my first day. I- I didn’t set my house on fire.” You admitted, head hanging shamefully and tears pricking at your vision. You didn’t need to look at Wilhemina to see the scowl that would inevitably be forming to replace the slight smile she’s had, at your stupidity.

“And you didn’t think Ms Goode needed to know of this?” watching you in disbelief, shaking her head and tutting. “You’ve been here long enough to know better, missy.” She scolded, making to get up by bracing her hands firmly against her knees and reaching for her cane.

You scrambled off your seat, frantically holding your hands up in front of you towards her in an attempt to stop her from going. Your hands found purchase on her wrists and you guided her slowly to sit back down, pushing slightly when she protested.

“No, no please- I mean, don’t go.” You pleaded, eyes wide, squatting in front of her so you could fall to a kneel, making sure your face was in her line of vision and she could see how scared the thought of having to tell Cordelia of your dishonesty was making you. Shuffling in place where you knelt, you quietly muttered your thanks when she settled back against the chair.

She scoffed audibly to make you aware of her distaste at the current situation but made no attempt to move your hands from where they now rested near her hands on her knees, or even to suggest that you move them yourself. Accepting that you weren’t going to let her leave until she’d listened, she let her curiosity pique and, raising her brow in question, she asked you shortly.

“What ability is so embarrassing that you decide to keep it from us all for so long? Lord knows it can’t be as bad as being a human gluten detector.”

You appreciated her dry attempt at humour to deflect from the uncomfortable silence you’d fallen into. Fidgeting your fingers against the fabric of her skirt, you remembered a dream you’d had where you’d told Zoe of your power and she’d turned the whole coven against you. Brushing it off, telling yourself that Zoe would never do that, you continued to admit to Ms Venable.

“I’m not even sure of it myself, I can’t find a name for it anywhere. I don’t even know if it has a name.”

“So it’s rare?” Wilhemina seemed to strike an interest then, straitening up and raising her eyebrows as if to prompt you to continue. She did this until she seemed to remember that she’s meant to be uninterested and she forced herself to scoff and reached to tweak her earring deftly between finger and thumb.

“It will have a name. Incompetence is the reason you cannot find it.” She stated coldly, lips pursed in intolerance. “That or your just looking in the wrong place,” she added, noting the way you looked down at your trembling and twitching fingers when she was mean.

You paused, having a momentary realisation of what you were doing before the thought was swiftly pushed to the side of your mind by the familiar pull of your magic at your fingertips.

“C-can I show you?” you blurted, almost clamping your hand over your mouth at your unexpected boldness.

“You most certainly will do no such thing, it’s not me that needs to be aware of your abilities, it is Ms Goode that you need to show.” She barked, defensiveness coming back out at your request. You tried not to take it to heart, knowing that that was just her way. Not that she would ever tell you, but Wilhemina felt a lot more secure talking about magic with Cordelia present, where she knew she wouldn’t be judged for having a less secure knowledge of the field. She liked to always be the most well versed in the room, hated to be spoken at about a topic she was new to.

“I can’t show Ms Goode without you.” You tried to explain, an itch of annoyance bubbling under your skin when she laughed at you again mockingly.

“I can’t show Ms Goode without you.” She mimicked, face pulled into a grimace which made you scowl, and exaggerating the words to a degree that just felt excessive, even for Ms Venables constant condescendence.

Your mouth fell open. You couldn’t believe this woman’s nerve.

Something suddenly snapped in your head at her incessant mocking and the condescending tone she used, and you found yourself moving your hands quickly from her knees to her hands, linking your fingers tightly before she could even react. You watched her eyes raise in surprise and the cocky smirk fall from her lips as she attempt to pull away unsuccessfully.

“What are you- get your hands off me!” She exclaimed; voice higher than normal in surprise as your quick movements caught her off guard.

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the way her hands pulled within yours and the sting of her nails digging into the delicate skin of your palms as she tried to free herself. The heat of your magic burned under your skin, the annoyance you felt only serving as a fuel, directing all your power towards the woman in your grip.

When you felt the snap of your magic release, Wilhemina let out a cry of pain and you almost stopped.

Almost.

***

Part 2

Just to clarify, your powers do not involve giving people orgasms lmaoo. I will never try to leave anything on a cliffhanger ever again rip.

taglist : @pearplate @billiedeansbottom @pluied-ete @extraordinarilycelestrial@toujours-ensanglante@mssallymckenna @okpaulson @magnificent-paulsonn @shineestark @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @amethyst-bitch @its-soph-xx,,if you want to be added just send me an ask :))

#cordelia goode x wilhemina venable x reader #cordelia goode #wilhemina venable #cordelia goode x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable x cordelia goode #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #american horror story #ahs coven #ahs apocalypse

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hinatas-sunshine · 4 years

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Synopsis: You reminisce with your boyfriend about how you two met, while the team listens, seeing how your hate turned to love.

Genre: Fluff, maybe goofy idk I try

A/N: I thought of this when I didn’t write much all day because I was so exited to write again! but I’m so excited to put it down now! Enjoy this and thanks again for always being so kind to me 🥺 requests are open! KITHES!

Kuroo:

• He hadn’t know you didn’t like him, he just thought you were shy

• When he would approach you and you’d look away, shove your headphones on and walk away he thought you were just not a talkative person or in a hurry

Yaku: Oh y/n? She’s cool, she’s super hyper - doesn’t like you though

Kenma: Yeah I can relate

Kuroo: Kenma 🥺💔

• When you two where in chemistry together you knew he was the smartest person in class

“For this project you will need partners.”

• Everyones silently cheered

“But I’ll be choosing your partners.”

• Now everyone’s cheers became groans

• You silently prayed you didn’t get with the last person you wanted to be with, but the universe had other plans for you...

“Kuroo and y/n-“

“Excuse me, Miss, could I maybe work alone instead?”

• All the other girls beamed and raised their hands asking to work with him while your teacher shook her head and Kuroo blushed, wether it be from the amount of girls who offered to work with him or that you just lowkey humbled him

“Sorry y/n - but you have to have a partner for this one.”

• You only sighed and eyed Kuroo who still had a blush on his cheeks - and a bunch of girls glaring at you.

• You rolled your eyes and sat with him once your teacher told you guys to sit with your partners

“What’s your deal y/n? I don’t remember doing anything to you.”

• You glared at him before opening your notebook and starting to write stuff down making yourself busy

“Let’s get this project over with.”

“Okay... fine.”

• His eyes would wander over to you as you lost yourself in your work, but his eyes didn’t go unnoticed - they were practically burning holes in the side of your head

• You turned your head and glared at him

“Whats your problem Kuroo? Stop staring at me!”

“Me? You’re the one who’s mean to me for no reason!”

“What? Because I’m not one of your stupid fans? Sorry I’m not begging to be your partner but I have a little more decency than that.”

“I don’t expect you to be! But you have no real reason to hate me!”

• You glared at him one more time before the bell rang and you stood up shoving everything in your bag stomping out

• Kuroo hurried to follow you, catching up to you he grabbed your wrist

“Oh my gosh why do you care so much if I like you or not?”

• He let go of you and looked to the side scratching the back of his head

“Because you hate me for no reason...”

“Because you’re a player! You’re a flirt Kuroo! I hear it everywhere but I’m not gonna fall for your tricks just because you have a pretty face!”

• He raised his eyebrow and let out a laugh his cheeks painted red at the compliment

• You sighed and grumbled smacking his arm

“It’s not funny! Shut up rooster head before I sell you to a farm!”

• He started cackling at this point holding his stomach causing you to turn red

“Y-Y/n... I don’t know if you know this or not but I am not a player - I would rather not spend all my time flirting.”

• Now it was your turn to blush, you looked away before crossing your arms

“Doesn’t mean your face isn’t any less annoying you dumb bedheaded beanstock.”

• He shrugged and smiled at you

“It takes time to grow accustomed to people, I’ll let you have your time to begin to like me.”

• Your face grew red again and you stomped your foot

“This is what I’m talking about! You flirt!”

“That’s was flirting?!”

• Your eyes shot open and you smacked your head

“You’re so slow..”

• You two began walking and arguing

• and that’s how you two were...

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Inuoka: So... you hated Kuroo?

Y/N: with my whole chest.

• Here you sat at the Nekoma boy’s practice, Kuroo lazily slumped over you as you tried to push him away

“You’re sweaty, nasty unwashed potato.”

• Kuroo raised his eyebrow at you and Yaku laughed silently next to you

Yaku: it doesn’t sound any different, sounds like she still hates you

Kuroo: Y/n loves me! That’s not true at all!

Y/n: no wait let him speak

Kuroo: WHAT-

• You giggled placing a small peck on his cheek, showing him that you’re kidding - to which he picked you up and hugged you tightly

Kenma: Disgusting

• You look at Kenma and he smiled at you before looking at his game again

“Why don’t you smile at me Kenma?!”

“Because you’re irritating Lev.”

Atsumu:

• LMAO EVERYONE BUT HIM KNEW YOU DIDNT LIKE HIM

• When you sat with your friends, all they did was talk about Atsumu, while you ate your fruit slices because Yum 😋

“HES SO CUTE!”

Y/n: he has the IQ of a mannequin

“He does not! He’s really smart! Which reminds me oh my gosh-“

• You shrugged tuning out your friend before looking back at your fruit slices and taking a bite happily

• Then there was Atsumu, in his own little world in the middle of practice - until a ball hit him in the back of the head

• Osamu glared at him while Kita shook his head

Kita: Why are you so spaced out today?

Osamu: He jus has no brain - it takes em a second to regain his brain cell

Atsumu: NOT TRUE! I jus- I saw this cute girl today

• The whole team groaned while another ball came at the blonde head with a thump

Osamu: who even is it this time?!

Atsumu: ...y/n 😳👉🏽👈🏽

• The whole gym went silent before everyone laughed at him making him go red

Atsumu: WHATS SO BAD ABOUT Y/N?

Suna: She literally hates you

*y/n: oh my why am I sneezing so much? Am I getting sick?*

• Atsumu frowned before looking at everyone

Atsumu: wait why?

• To which everyone shrugged and went back to their practice

• But that kept him only wondering what made you hate him...

• The next day you were enjoying your daily fruit slices happily on a bench alone, you popped a slice into your mouth bouncing of happiness at the sweet taste

• Your happiness faltered when you saw Atsumu approaching you with a sickingly sweet smile while all his fan girls glared at you already

• he couldn’t be approaching you right? Maybe he was gonna pass you? Yeah - that’s most likely it. He doesn’t have any reason to talk to y-

“Hi y/n!”

• Yeah no. You picked up your fruit slices and bag walking away

“Wait! Y/n!”

• You turned, half a fruit slice sticking out of your mouth, the other half being chewed

• He looked at you like you were the cutest in the world - and you took the fruit slice out of your mouth

“What corn head?”

• He automatically stopped smiling and glared at you

“Why do ya hate me huh?”

• You shrugged and turned around and kept walking but you came to a halt feeling a force pulling you back - he grabbed the strap of your backpack and you gasped falling back

• He put his arm around you and smiled down at you with closed eyes opening his mouth to speak

• But your fist in his side and his gasping fangirls stopped him from speaking

“Did she just hit Atsumu?!”

“She’s so ungrateful! I’d love to have him with me like that!”

• You internally gagged at their annoying remarks and sent them a glare worse than they had given you making them scatter

“You perv! This is why I totally despise you! You think you can do whatever you want and you get away with whatever because everyone likes you! But you’re just an asshole!”

• He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows as you stomped off

• He didn’t do anything wrong did he?

• He walked back up to you and you groaned turning and pressing your foot onto his making him wince

“Ouch!”

“Stop following me! It’s creepy!”

• You frowned and held the straps to your bag while he gasped and reached in his bag

“You like these? Right? I made sure to save mine for you!”

• He held out some fruit slices and placed them in your hands, before smiling at you, patting your head and walking away

• When he got to practice his brother was already laughing it him

“We tell you she hates you and you think you can get her to like you by just approaching her? Oh my gosh!”

• He growled at his captain but all eyes snapped to the door when you walked in

“Did ya come to confess ya love to me?”

“No I’d rather avoid looking at you at all costs.”

• He frowned and you handed some papers to Kita telling him they were for coach while he thanked you

• You walked to Atsumu who was sulking, thinking maybe you were too harsh on him...

“Listen... you should really try working on your people skills... then maybe... I’ll be your friend if you’d like.”

• He smirked at you

“Oh so-“

“Nevermind.”

• You turned to walk out before he was in front of you for a split second

“I’m sorry! I’ll be a’ better person!”

• This had everyone’s eyebrows raised - and you nodded smiling at and putting a hand on his shoulder

“I’m sure you can do it!”

• Yeah he was a puddle in your arms at that point watching you walk out

“Ya wouldn’t last a’ day trashsumu.”

“Shut up ‘samu!”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

• Atsumu recalled the story to Bokuto, Sakusa, and Hinata

“Wow so you changed just for her?! That’s so romantic!”

• Hinata’s eyes grew wide as he smiled at Bokuto who had a tear in his eye

“That’s so sweet!”

• Sakusa rolled his “You didn’t change you liar.”

• You smacked your boyfriends head

“I was not that mean you stupid corn head!”

• He rubbed the back of his head looking at you as you placed a kiss on his cheek

“I was actually really nice he was just super annoying”

“Was not!”

Sakusa: I believe it

Atsumu: Omi 🥺

• You giggled and smiled at Atsumu, he smiled back at you sliding an arm around your waist leading his head on your shoulder

“Either way she helped me change for the better.”

• This causes you to blush and look down at your lap

“Shut up corn head.”

Hinata: Oh my gosh so that’s what she sounded like while he was explaining the story!

Bokuto: No! She sounded more high pitched probably like this

• Cue Bokuto saying “shut up corn head” in a high pitched voice

Oikawa:

• He thought when everyone said you hated him it was just a joke :(

Iwaizumi: she hates you

Oikawa: Haha so funny

Iwaizumi: no really she hates your guts

• He didn’t get the memo - THE VERY CLEAR MEMO - because when you two were forced to sit next to each other in class and you ignored him, he was confused

“Can I borrow a pen y/n? I left mine-“

• you have already flicked a pin at his forehead to which he caught

• when he sat next to your table at lunch with his own friends he realized how much you hate him

“Okau y/n, kiss, marry, kill: oikawa-“

“Kill oikawa.”

“I didn’t finish.”

“Oh yeah sorry.”

• The look of fear on his face was very noticeable and not only that Iwaizumi cackling made it even more noticeable they heard because you turned around

“Huh? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Y/n-Chan!” “Don’t call me that” “You just said you’d rather kill me than be with me!”

“Yeah what about it?”

• He was sulking the rest of the day and everytime Iwa thought about it he laughed so hard

• By the time he was at practice, he knew his worries would go away. But when his fan girls approached he started getting... bored?

• Iwaizumi quickly caught onto his fake smile and realized how he quickly told them he was in a rush

Iwa: Aye shittykawa!

Oikawa: Huh? What did I do!

Iwa: What’s up with you?

• This confuses oikawa, what was wrong with him? He didn’t think anything was wrong with him...

Mattsun: Yeah usually you’re all *bats eyelashes and puts fake hair behind his year* with your 5,000 girlfriends!

Oikawa: I am not!

Makki: Are too! And they usually go *appraches Mattsun with hands behind his back shyly* for you and you eat that up!

• Yuh Makki and Mattsun Debby Ryaning! Get into it!

• This had Oikawa red and blushing

“Shouldn’t you guys be practicing!?”

• The rest of the team laughed at their upperclassmen and continued on with practice

• He walked up to you the next day smiling at you while you groaned and walked into the girls bathroom to avoid him

• You stood in there for 3 minutes before you walked back out - thank god he was gone

“Y/n!”

“OH MY GOSH!”

• You jumped and swing your backpack at the boy who fell back with a thud

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry! Oikawa! What were you doing!”

• He held his bleeding nose and sat up

“I know you said you’d kill me! But I didn’t think you’d actually mean it!”

“Huh? When did I-“

• the color drained from your face when you remembered your own words

“I’m not a psychopath! You just scared me! You creepy stalker!”

“I am not!”

“Are too!”

• You helped him up and made him sit at a nearby bench in the hall heading back into the girls bathroom to get some paper towels

• You cleaned him up and pinched the bridge of his nose

“What do you have in your bag y/n? Bricks!?”

“Wha- no?! I carry a lot for school!”

“You knew today would be your attack day!”

“I’ll let your nose bleed out if you don’t shut up 💞”

• He slightly laughed and you smiled at him, when he was up close maybe he wasn’t so bad...

“Y/n... why do you hate me?”

“You’re cocky.”

“I am not!”

“Are too!”

• He growled and sighed letting you take your hand off of his nose

“You also think you need to show everyone you’re so good at everything, Oikawa you don’t have to do that all the time. Everyone likes you enough as it is - stop stressing yourself out.”

• He looked at you as your blush painted your cheeks

“Y/n... do you like me?”

“Shut up! I’ll hit you with my brick back again!”

“Okay okay!”

• He smiled at you as you growled lowly, you threw away the napkins and sat down next to him

“Listen Oikawa, you’re a great captain. You’re a leader and above all you’re kind. But sometimes you let the fangirls get to your head and it’s - annoying to say the least.”

• He looked at you, you were gripping your skirt and your hair was covering your face

“Y/n...”

“Shut up oikawa I’ll punch you if you say something cheesy.”

• He smiled to himself, the butterflies in his stomach now becoming way more noticeable as he scooted closer to you

• You noticed this and stood up

“I’ll see you later Oikawa.”

• He nodded and watched as you walked away, you shot a smile at him and turned your head back around to continue walking

• He cherished that moment forever

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Kindaichi: So... She actually had a crush on you the whole time?

Oikawa: Ye-

Y/n: no. Definitely not.

• Oikawa pouted and you kissed his nosed laughing, while the other boys gagged

Kunimi: I think this was a cute story!

• You smiled and linked arms with Oikawa - who smiled down at you as you talked excitedly about their upcoming match while the other boys talked back just as excited

Iwa: you coming to watch the retired circus clown?

Oikawa: Iwa 😔

Y/n: Of course Iwa-Chan!

• Iwaizumi nodded patting your head

Oikawa: HUH? Why is it different when she does it?!

Iwaizumi: Because you’re just weird about it!

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

Text

Losing

This was written as a request for the eternally lovely @samwisethegr8. Hope you like it, baby! Idk where the chipmunk stuff came in, I must’ve had forests on the brain or something. As always, I’d love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Losing

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3283

Summary: Losing her hair following a spell makes it challenging for the reader to feel like herself.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, hair loss

Dean knows better, by now, than to say anything about the beanie you straighten as you get into the backseat, giving you some soft eyebrows in the rearview mirror that are maybe worse than if he’d kept joking about it. Typical, for the spell making your hair shed like some cartoon pulling out fists in a temper tantrum to be one of the few you’d seen hang on after the casting witch died. You’d been doing research for weeks now on ways to get it back with nothing to show for your efforts except a few stomachaches from attempted potions (and one influencer-inspired collagen and ACV concoction you’d dumped out after feeling ridiculous). Sam had convinced you that getting back into the swing of things might make you feel better, and was trying a little too hard to be cheerful next to his brother in the front seat.

“The weather’s so nice today—sometimes you forget how good the sun feels, being in the bunker for a while.” He flashes a smile over to Dean expectantly, willing him to say something encouraging too. Dean looks exasperated for a fleeting second before relenting.

“Yeah, uh, great day for a drive.” You catch the tail end of his tiny eye roll in the rearview mirror.

“If you guys are going to treat me like an invalid I’m out of here.”

“Invalid? I just think it’s a nice day out,” Sam says, trying for indignancy through his put-on ignorance and not quite hitting it. Looking back at you over his shoulder, he’s able to hold onto it for about 2 seconds of eye contact before his face relaxes into more familiar kindness. “Okay, fine, sorry. I’m just happy you’re coming.”

He’s unphased by your glare back at him, keeps up the sympathetic puppy dog eyes because he knows your snark is coming from a pit of frustration and self-consciousness. Just like Dean’s tenderness of omission in not saying anything about it today, it’s simultaneously comforting and annoying. You feel a lump forming in your throat. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Sam seems a little hurt.

“Like I’m dying or something. Both of you. I’m serious, you’re making it so much worse.”

Dean catches your eyes in the reflection. “Kid, you just seem so fuckin’ bummed. It’s only hair, it’s probably even going to grow back.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not going fucking bald! So, are we going or are we doing group therapy in the driveway all day?” You can hear that you’re being too harsh but can’t muster up the energy to stop, flopping into the seatback with your jacket balled in your lap. Sam and Dean exchange a look and Dean turns the key in the ignition.

It really is a nice day, sun streaming through the windows of the Impala and cutting the still-slightly-chilly spring air just enough to be pleasant. You make a conscious effort to let go of your indignation, counting farm houses on the way out of town as a sort of meditation. Dean starts singing along to the Deep Purple tape playing, and when he catches a glimpse of your smirk he really hams it up, banging out the drum line on the steering wheel and pulling faces that would make Billy Idol jealous. After a few bars you can’t help yourself and start to laugh, the excited accomplishment that breaks through Dean’s act to light up his eyes sending a pang right to your heart. He holds his fist up in a facsimile of an invisible microphone to Sam, who plays along. By the end of the next song the Impala is rocking like Madison Square Garden, radio up so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts as you scream-sing until you’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The music changes over the next few hours, the volume turned down for snippets of conversation or debriefing about the upcoming case from Sam then back up for one of Dean’s favorite B-sides, and by the time the sun is going down you’re genuinely only thinking of how hungry you are while Dean turns into a diner that stands alone sharing a parking lot with a strip mall.

Dean’s two steps toward the restaurant by the time Sam has the back door opened to offer his hand to you. He looks surprised when you don’t take it right away, standing there awkwardly for an extended beat with his palm outstretched and his head tilted like a curious dog.

“I’m not going in.”

Through the windshield you can see Dean stop and turn back toward the car, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets like he thinks he’ll be waiting in the chilly evening for a while. Sam wraps his fingers around the top of the door and runs his other hand through his hair. “Babe, come on, it’s just some stupid diner. No one will even notice.”

“Sam, I’ll notice. Forget it. I’ll wait here, you guys go—grab me a sandwich or something.”

His lips tighten into a sympathetic but frustrated line and he looks over the car to his brother, who shrugs without taking his hands out of his pockets. Loud enough that you can hear him through the windows and around the car, Dean calls out, “How’re you planning on talking to the sheriff if you won’t even walk into a diner, hot shot?”

You match his volume. “Good point—I’m not planning on talking to the sheriff, I’m staying in the motel.”

Sam takes a deep breath and winces. “You don’t know anyone here and we’ll never see them again. You’ve gotta eat something. Please?”

“You’re not the fuckin’ Elephant Man, you’re a chick wearing a hat,” Dean offers loudly, absolutely not helping. Sam shoots him a look that says as much and clenches his jaw. Dean shrugs and opens his jacket with pocketed hands as if to say ‘what?’ Sam jerks his chin toward the diner and Dean nods, spinning lazily on his heel to walk in alone. When Sam moves forward, you slide over on the bench seat to allow him to sit next to you in the backseat.

“It’s just hair.” He says, low and soothing, just above a whisper. “You’re still the same person.”

You let your head roll back onto the seat behind you. “You don’t get it—my hair was the only pretty thing about me.”

Sam’s face contorts in disbelief like you’ve just told him not only are unicorns real, but you have one in your duffel bag. “What?”

“You heard me,” you repeat, training your eyes Dean through the diner window, winking at a woman in her mid-twenties whose cheeks are full and cherubic under bright, friendly eyes. You can see even from here that she bites the inside of her lip to keep from beaming back at him, holding onto his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before taking her tiny notepad back to the kitchen.

Sam shifts to put himself more directly in your line of sight. “Baby, the pretty thing about you is you. These hands are beautiful because they’re yours, because they, I don’t know, put an extra dryer sheet in with the laundry so it smells amazing, scratch Dean’s back when he can’t fall asleep. Your eyes are the first ones I want to see every day, not only because they’re beautiful—and don’t argue with me about this for once, please—but because they’re the same ones that always seem to notice that last symbol we’re looking for after I’ve read a stupid book of runes 400 times. Your lips—” he pauses, touching your lower lip with his thumb so light it could be a feather, “—are beautiful because they’re the only ones that I can hear your voice through. Was your hair beautiful? Of course. And it’ll be beautiful again.”

“You don’t kno—”

He rolls his eyes. “I do know, but even if it isn’t, you’ll still be you. You can borrow mine if you want.” Sam’s eyes are so earnest, so sweet as a tiny smile tugs at his mouth, that you can’t help yourself as you lean forward and press your lips to his. The way he kisses you back is such naked affection and relief, slipping a hand around the side of your neck to cradle your jaw, that it’s hard not to believe it’s how he really feels.

The moment is broken when Dean opens the driver’s side, startling you enough to take a sharp intake of breath against Sam’s cheek. “Quit sucking face and look alive,” he says, nonplussed as he hooks an arm over the front seat to hand you a paper bag filled with Styrofoam boxes.

“That was, ah, fast,” Sam replies, and it’s almost steady enough to hide the stammer.

“3 BLTs, not like they fucking built the Great Wall. Waitress in there said there’s a motel in the next town over, 10 minute drive.” He waits until you have the bag supported with a hand on the bottom and one taking the handle from him. Sam squeezes your thigh once before slinking back into the front seat, but Dean’s eyes stay trained on you. “Touch my fries and die.”

You manage to keep your mitts off everyone’s fries until you pull into Walnut Suites a few minutes later, thinking to yourself it sounds like some kind of hotel for squirrels and hope sort of absentmindedly it’s one of the kinds of motels that decorates to a theme; even when they’re stupid—maybe especially when they’re stupid—anything to break up the monotony of thousands of motel rooms over the years is welcome in your book. Sam coming out of the office dangling a room key attached to a plastic walnut is evidence that you might be in luck, and you grab the food as you get out of the backseat.

Dean already has your duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “This feels light; you bring your gun?”

You wait a second to see if he’ll figure it out himself, but Dean only raises his eyebrows and juts his chin out like you haven’t heard him. “Hardly need a blow dryer now, do I?”

If there was more light in the parking lot you’d probably have been able to see Dean’s cheeks flush as he cleared his throat to cover. “Uh, right. Do still need a gun though, so as long as you’ve got that.” He offers Sam his bag and shuts the trunk as his little brother reaches the parked car.

“Apparently we’re in the chipmunk room.” Sam’s going for above-it-all but he knows you secretly like this kind of shit and drops the key into your palm with a wink. “It’s the only one with queens instead of fulls.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles. “I’m hungry enough I’d eat a damn chipmunk.”

“What does that even mean?” Sam asked, annoyed in a way only a sibling can be as the brothers trail after you to the room.

“That I’m fucking hungry, what do you think?”

“A chipmunk is like, the smallest animal you could possibly say. It doesn’t make any sense; anyone could eat a chipmunk.”

“You trying to chow down on a chipmunk kabob, Sammy? Aren’t you like 99% vegan now? It’s the principle of the thing.”

Sam rolls his eyes in over the top sarcasm. “Yeah, I’m vegan now, that’s why I’m about to eat a BLT with mayo, dumbass.”

“Bacon doesn’t count. And it’s about timing; you said chipmunk room, I said I could eat a chi—you know what, I’m not explaining this to you. You either understand comedy or you don’t.”

As you open the door, the light from the room illuminates Sam’s bitch face kicking back on his neck. Winchester bickering had already put a smirk on your lips but the décor was everything chintzy you could’ve hoped for; forest embroidered quilts on the beds and a chain of hand-holding chipmunks that appeared to be hand painted in a waist-high border around the walls. The bed frames were made of those stripped logs that could look very chic in otherwise minimalistic Scandinavian architecture, but here they looked impossibly cute and dorky with chipmunk stuffed perched on each bedpost. Dean seems not to notice any of it at all, throwing his duffel on the bed closest to the door and snatching the bag of food out of your hand.

The three of you eat watching Alf while sprawled on various furniture. When the half-hour flips the programming over to Mork and Mindy, you offer Dean the rest of your fries and get up to stretch your back. “Either of you dying to use the bathroom? I want a shower.”

Both shake their heads so you grab your ditty bag and head to the reasonably sized bathroom, trying not to be startled at the large Chip and Dale portrait painted onto the back of the door that reveals itself in the mirror when you go to set your things down. It’s clean and the water pressure is good, which is far more than you can say for many similar places you’ve stayed in, and you linger in the shower longer than you need to, shaving your legs twice for an excuse to stay under the water and out from under the oppressive weight of your self-consciousness here where the boys can’t see you. Washing your remaining hair as quickly as possible and chuckling once, mirthlessly, at the lingering reflex to squirt the amount you used to need into your palm, you finally leave the shower with only momentary nausea at the amount of hair you have to grab from the drain to let the water empty. For the ever-growing list of pros and cons for shaving your head you’d been building in your head: no more shucking these sopping hairballs into tacky little wastebins across America. You wrap a towel into a turban around your head more as a reflex of propriety than anything, marveling again at the amount of rituals there are—were—around hair. Maybe being unburdened by that would be freeing. And it feels sentimental in an annoying pseudo-useless way staying attached to the hair that remains, like lingering in the victimization of this stupid spell when you could just as easily shave your head and be done with it, become some kind of Tank Girl badass version of yourself and pretend you’re too cool and tough to care about girly shit like ponytails and the way Sam held his nose to the crown of your head sometimes, took a deep inhale of you and smiled so you could feel it laid on top of your hair like a tiara more precious than any you could imagine. In any case it won’t be right now, so you throw the loose t-shirt you’d gotten from your bag over the towel on your head and slip on some athletic shorts before heading out to the room.

You were in the shower for even longer than you thought because Dean is in his standard “just-before-sleeping-on-the-road” outfit, having lost the flannel he wore that day as well as his belt. The jeans will come off just before he gets in bed, pooled on the floor with neatly set boots beside the mattress so he can jump into them like a firefighter if he needs to, an old habit that you’d stopped making fun of the Winchesters for when it actually had come in handy a few times. Sam usually folds the jeans and sets them on top of his boots next to your bed. Dean grabs one of your hands and flips it over for inspection as you walk by. “Surprised you’re not a raisin. Going to send this county into a drought.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly and toss your toiletries on your bag as you head to your bed, watching Sam brush his teeth in the kitchenette sink. Dean follows with a tight handful of clean tee and boxers as Sam comes back to you, the younger Winchester grabbing the back of his collar to tug off his t-shirt and toss it on top of his bag in one fluid motion before folding back the sheets and getting in. Over your shoulder, the shower turns on and you can hear Dean humming through the door. The beanie you’d taken off was exactly where you’d left it, and you flipped your head over to take off the towel on your head and replace it with the hat as inconspicuously as possible.

“Babe, you don’t—” Sam starts softly, stopping when he sees you turn back to him with your jaw set.

“Can we just go to sleep?” you reply, almost succeeding at keeping the sting out of your voice. He bites his lip and nods mostly to himself, flicking the covers on your side back in invitation. You crawl in, turning your back to him partly to be wrapped up by the warm shell of his body and partly so he can’t see your face. A large hand covers your hand where it lays on your sternum, intertwining your fingers in his and pulling you back into him a touch. After a long minute of listening to the shower-dampened noise of Dean going through Skynyrd’s greatest hits, you feel Sam’s voice through the knit on your head.

“I feel like we’re camping.”

“What?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“You wearing a hat to bed, you only do that when it’s freezing.”

“I really don’t want to tal—”

“I know you don’t, but I just…you’ve been boxing me out for weeks now. Listen, I know I don’t get it, I know it’s not the same as if it had happened to me, and I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this, but I don’t care about your hair. I mean—fuck—not like that, I care about it because I care that it’s affecting you, but I just wish I could get you to understand that nothing about the way I think of you has changed. You’re always going to be the sweet, funny, badass girl I’m beyond lucky lets me hang around. It’s like this spell took your hair but the real punishment is putting this wall up around you.”

You take a deep breath to steady your voice and realize there’s no way you’re going to be able to talk without it cracking, instead just yanking the hat off your head and letting it fall to the ground beside Sam’s jeans. He hesitates for a second before pressing his face to you, and you can feel the smile against your scalp. It’s a struggle, but you manage not to wince when he kisses a spot you know is effectively completely bald.

“You smell good,” he murmurs against you, and you don’t know why it’s that simple statement, after all the flowery poetic things he’s said for weeks and especially today, but there’s something about the total acceptance, no hint of the disgust you thought was inevitable no matter how hard he tried to insist wasn’t there, that melts you. It’s enough to unwrap some of the defensive prickliness you’ve built up, and the amount of emotional energy you’ve been putting into keeping it there dissolves the way it sometimes does the second your body realizes the adrenaline of a hunt is no longer needed and you crash in the backseat of the Impala. The heat from Sam’s body and the delicate sound of his heavy breathing on your neck puts you to sleep before Dean’s out of the shower.

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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heller-a-good-time · 4 years

Text

I offer a theory about tonight’s episode and the finale and yes it’s a long shot but I’m just writing this to make both myself and all of you feel a little better.......

From the very beginning of this episode, something felt off.

Dean tells Sam and Jack what happens to Cas and everyone has a very underwhelming reaction to it. Not to mention, they gloss over how exactly Cas died.

For the entirety of the episode they don’t seem very effected by Cas’s death.

Next, we’re told that Lucifer was brought back from the empty despite the fact that only a few episodes ago we were told chuck had no way of doing that. We can obviously chalk that up to bad writing and most likely it probably is. But it’s crazy that they seriously created a plot hole for episodes that are so close to one another. This is usually something we see happen between different seasons.

Also, despite everything that Lucifer has done in this show, the brothers are almost too quick to trust him. Granted they do have some doubts at the very beginning but the brothers would usually put up a bit more fight than that considering how much Lucifer has taken from them over the years. Dean has struggled to trust Jack for several seasons because of what he’s done and specifically what happened to Mary. And yet Dean trusts Lucifer in the space of a couple of minutes.

Then, there’s the ending.

When Chuck finally decides to end Dean and Sam, he says he can “Get his hands dirty” despite the fact that in an episode earlier in the season, Sam accuses him of being too afraid to get his hands dirty.

Chuck is defeated almost too quickly for being God. And the way he begs for Sam and Dean to kill him as they drive away also just doesn’t seem like God.

Also, this entire season, we’ve seen Dean absolutely furious over what Chuck has done to him and his family’s lives. He has been so hellbent on killing him that he pointed a gun at his own brother just two episodes ago. Even last episode, he tried to take Death on by himself because he was so motivated to kill Chuck. And then when he’s finally at that moment he’s been waiting for, he barely seems to care. Granted, it could be argued that Cas’s death might’ve made him finally realize how reckless he’s been the entire season. But everytime Dean has ever lost someone he usually has two responses. Getting himself killed or revenge (with the exception of Sam’s deaths where he obviously desperately tries to bring him back but I’ll talk more about that in a second) It’s been a consistent pattern with him throughout the show. And yet all of them are absent here. They’re not even acknowledged.

And also, them sparing Chuck wasn’t them being heroic. Killing him would have been mercy in this instance. Instead, they force him to live as mortal with no family—because he killed the only son who still trusted him, and he has to spend the rest of his life knowing he couldn’t defeat Sam and Dean. This specifically reminds me of that scene when Dean was demon back in season 10 when he spared the man who had traveled all that way and trained his entire life just to kill Dean for what he did to his father. And Dean spares him. Not because it was the good thing to do. Because the man would spend his entire life knowing he missed his one shot and that was ultimately a worse punishment than death. And they do the same thing to Chuck in this episode.

When Jack brings everyone back, the boys don’t even seem to care that now all of their friends and Eileen are alive. Sam doesn’t even mention her despite the fact that two episodes ago when he first heard about everyone “going back to where they belong” his first concern was Eileen. He was also completely gutted last episode knowing she was gone and he doesn’t even mourn her in this episode.

Also, when Jack becomes God, Dean doesn’t even ask him to bring Cas back. Despite the fact that this is once again one of his common responses we’ve seen consistently throughout the show when he loses someone. And especially considering how Cas died, Dean should especially want him back. Even when not interpreting his feelings romantically, Cas has been his best friend for 11 years. And they finally have the peace that Cas helped them fight (and sacrificed his own life) for. Dean would want Cas back. Especially since he knows now from earlier on in this episode that God has the power to do that.

Jack then decided to not go to the bunker with them. Despite the fact that for the three seasons he’s been in, the only thing he’s ever wanted was a family and to be accepted. (Let’s not even mention the fact that the brothers were both just chill with a 3 year old running the universe now. Even if it is Jack. He’s literally three. But whatever.)

The boys head back to the bunker and celebrate their “big win” if you can even call it that. They are completely content with being all alone. They lost Cas. They kind of lost Jack too. And they’re fine with it.

Literally last season, a bunch of hunters from the alternate dimension that they barely knew were all murdered and they were more upset about the bunker being empty after that than they are at the end of this episode.

They do a toast to all of the people they’ve lost along the way in a bit too good of a mood, which is something that these characters would never do. We’ve seen them grieve every person they’ve ever lost prior to this episode and they always believe the blood in on their hands. Yet now they’re suddenly content with the people they’ve lost. Even if it was their own faults.

The entire show has been about family. And yet half of their family is missing in this ending and they’re okay.

The entire show has also been about how the two of them have a crippling codependent relationship and how that always seems to start trouble. Instead of the brothers finally acknowledging this relationship. They now live happily in the bunker. Probably still codependent on each other.

Which means neither of them were forced to learn a damn thing.

My point is this episode feels very off.

And people who have watched 15 seasons of this show more than likely recognize that.

And there’s so many things that seem wrong and ooc that it almost feels as if it’s on purpose.

And that’s why I’m starting to wonder.....

What if it is?

There’s one more episode to go and what if, just maybe, they reveal that the episode that we just watched tonight isn’t what really happened. Maybe it’s the cheesy “it was all a dream” trope. Who knows?

The biggest reason why I believe this (besides the fact that I’m just a salty bitch and I need to find a way to calm myself down) is because this ending aligns almost perfectly with what Becky said about Chuck’s final ending earlier on in the season.

I now provide you the examples:

Just saying.....

I think that this might just be another variation of Chuck’s endings that they were forced to play out. Or something like that.

Because there’s just so many things that don’t fit with the entire rest of the show.

From what I’ve seen online thus far, people are very upset with this episode. Because they’ve watched 15 seasons of this show and they can tell when something just isn’t right.

And in a way, if this episode was purposely made to feel off to then reveal in the finale that none of this was real, it would pay respect to the fans who watched the show for all these years. Because they’re so familiar with the characters and the way plot lines usually play out that when all of a sudden it felt like Opposite Day watching this episode, they picked up on it and they were supposed to.

(Also another thing that I just realized I forgot to add, maybe this is just me, but a lot of the scenes in the montage at the end were very random??? Like a lot of them were insignificant scenes from the show. Ya know? I just think if any of us put together a montage for this show it would probably feature very different scenes. Like way more important ones. Maybe this fits into my theory? Maybe I’m absolutely reaching too damn far with this one. Idk. Please tell me I’m crazy)

Maybe this episode relied on fans having extensive knowledge of this show and it’s past. Maybe this episode wants you to believe something is off about it. Because they’re going to rip the rug right out from under you in the finale.

Hell, maybe this entire season has been a lie. We’ve seen Dean specifically do things he would never do in previous episodes. Point a gun at Sam. Tell Jack he’s not family. Be completely on board with sacrificing a family member. And Sam has been practically wallpaper in this season but maybe let’s not get into that too much. And hell, I’m gonna say it: Destiel went kinda canon when we never in a million years ever thought it would. Maybe all of these things are supposed to tell us all of this season wasn’t real? Maybe. Dunno. I think I’m actually just going insane? Yeah that’s probably it.

I’m really just spit balling here. Mostly because I was very upset by this episode. But maybe some of you feel the same and even if this is nowhere close to where the show is heading in its ending, I just wanted to maybe provide some comfort to those who feel the same as me.

Or maybe I’m completely wrong and this episode was just bad.

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serowotonin · 3 years

Text

˗ˏˋ 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗮𝘄 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘀 ˎˊ˗

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 ` sakusa kiyoomi ` 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 ` 1.2k ` 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 ` pure crack ` 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁 ` hcs `

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ` umm idk what this is.. lowkey based off real events? midnight ramblings? yeah that kind of thing i guess... also big thank you to @kaguol for giving this a read (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) `

it was sports day at your school and most of the events were over and done with but the teachers didnt allow anyone to leave yet cuz,,,, reasons✨

which is why some of the students kinda just flocked to the gym to chill and maybe play around

that was until somebody suggested they host an unofficial, volleyball game

the net was still up nobody bothered to put it down so yeaahhh

rules of the game were simple: there were none, except keep the ball in the air and get it over the net…however you can

at first only a few ppl played… the “energetic” and “athletic” ones and it still seemed like a typical volleyball game

then more ppl started joining

and it slowly started getting more chaotic

it got to the point where the entire gym was the court

there were ppl running around chasing the ball, others just hitting it as hard as they can in practically any direction, then there were those who just stood there cuz everyone else was standing there so why not ??

now sakusa didn’t want to be there

he was tired because his class had signed him up for ALL the running events

why? well cuz he was tHe OnLy AtHLeCtiC PeRsOn in his class

utter bullshit btw

he plays volleyball hes not a runner

but still ended up winning tons of races just cuz… it was him💅✨ no explanation needed

n e wayss he was tired and wanted nothing more than to go home and take a nice long shower

but ofc the students of itachiyama wouldn’t let him

some of them dragged him into the game early on

again, because he was aThLeTiC ~

but this time they actually got the sport right lolol

honestly he was lowkey annoyed at how un-volleyball the game started to become but continued playing it anyway

it was hilarious how the others tried to receive even his weakest, half-assed spikes

sakusa always made sure to aim his spikes directly at ppl’s arms tho

not out of consideration for their pride or anything no no

it was cuz whenever the ball touched the ground the ENTIRE gym groaned rlly loud and there’d be ppl going “NOOOOOOOO”

and that annoyed tf out of him so he was nice with his spikes

then there was you

you were outside with one of your friends when the whole volleyball thing started and only came to the gym cuz the rest of your friends were in there

so you walked in, scanned the crowd, immediately noticed your crush *cough*sakusa*cough* and then found your friends standing in a group on the other side of the gym

now here’s the thing

sakusa has a crush™️ on you too. took him a while to realize and accept it but he did and now he officially has a crush on you

he just hadn’t really gotten around to the idea of asking you out or anything

mainly cuz he just very recently realized his feelings aka last night he was thinking about all the events he had to do for sports day and he groaned cuz ppl made him do it but then he realized ppl wasn’t actually ppl it was just you

you were the one who smiled at him and said “why not sakkun,, it’d be fun” and like that he agreed. then he realized further he actually thought about you a lot. like earlier he was thinking about how’d you look tmr since u weren’t gonna be in normal school uniform and you’d have your hair all done. and then he realized he was looking forward to seeing you which led him to realize you were one of the few ppl he actually enjoyed being around. THEN he fucking finally realized “oh… i have a crush…. on y/n……. oh”

somewhat conflicted abt it for the entirety of the day,,, bois experiencing feels for u ofc its gonna take some time >.<

he didn’t get to talk to you all day though,,,,,, he was busy with his own events and you were elsewhere

either way,, when he saw you walking past in the gym he kind of lost focus

lost focus in that the ball was coming to him and he jumped to spike it but only had his eyes on you causing his aim to mess up and well,,

he hit his target

*your head*

and because he wasn’t focused, it wasn’t a “soft” spike like all the other ones hes been doing

it was a full-blown sakusa kiyoomi spike

that hit your face

(;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`)

sakusa just went: ᶠᵘᶜᵏ

you saw stars,,,,,,,, and fell on ur bum

like a split second later, you heard a calm voice asking if you were ok. you muttered out a yeah and felt arms helping you up

one of them was your friend you were pretty sure, but the other one’s hands were too big to be any of your friends’

“let’s get you to the nurse,” the calm voice said again.

“mkay,, thats probably.. a smart choice.. yeah….” and, vision still blurry, you were guided to the nurse by your friend and someone whose identity you weren’t sure of yet

sakusa was still standing there

all that, the spike hitting you, you falling, your being escorted to the clinic,,,,, that happened in like 2 seconds

he didn’t even have time to say anything yet

to make matters worse, some random ass guy was the one who came and swept you out of the gym

sure your friend was with you but to sakusa,,, that guy sus af

after they left, the game continued and sakusa rlly didn’t feel like playing anymore

he wanted to make sure you were okay and wanted to apologize

however,,,, the teachers came in shortly after and told them it was time for the closing ceremony

throughout the entire thing, his eyes flit through the crowds looking for you

he couldn’t find you tho>:((

big sad

after the ceremony was over,, he went to the clinic but you weren’t there

then he just kinda,,, /slump/

figured he’d just pull you aside tmr and apologize then

except,,, tmr came and he still hadnt found a good time to pull you aside for a proper apology??

you were just so… busy.?

finally,, at around lunch after you finished eating, you kinda just sat with your friends and were talking and stuff when sakusa decided now would be an appropriate time to apologize

he walked up to you and asked if you two could talk in private for a bit

your friends shot glances at each other. he saw,, but he didnt let it bother him

anyways,, he led you out into the hall and in the softest tone he could manage he says, “about yesterday… i’m really sorry, spiked the ball a bit too hard.. how are you feeling?”

you tell him ur fine,, just that it aches a bit but nothing serious

he nods and mutters another ‘sorry..’

then this happened:

“no it’s ok you don’t have to be so sorry. accidents happen.”

“it wasn’t an accident tho..? so im sorry, it wont happen again.”

“yeah ok,, wAIT WHAT?? wdym not an accident?!?? u spiked the ball into my face on purpose?!?!!?!?”

“WHAT NO- ofc not. i just,,, i kind of lost focus… on other things… at the time… and yeah”

“????”

*sighs* “i was focused on you when you walked past and didn’t consciously control my aim or whatever and ended up spiking it into your face”

“?!?!?!??…. why were you focused on me??”

“cuz i like you dummy” /it slipped he didnt mean to say this/

“oh.... wAIT WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?”

and that is the story of how sakusa confessed

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ` honestly think it would be better as a fic but uh,,, my lazy ass cant be bothered to write fics rn so uh,, hope this was good for now? lol might mess around and write one later tho.. maybe `

#sakusa x reader #hq #www.pink-ink.com/writing #/hcs

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simping4ukai · 4 years

Note

Okay Im So sorry but Imagine you’re a teacher and you come in looking for Takeda and a ball comes right tk you and you just Casually set it back and Coach Ukai is like “um— Ma’am?” Idk smth ab Ukai being impressed with something you do? Good shit!

Being a new teacher is hard enough on its own. But being a new teacher in a place where you don’t know anyone your age? Well, that’s even worse.

The students themselves weren’t bad, most of them were surprisingly pleasant to be around. You enjoyed teaching and were always happy to answer their questions, which they all appreciated. You liked working with them, and they respected you as their teacher.

But once the school day was over and the students had all filed out of the hallways, you were left alone. You weren’t married yet, you were only twenty three, but your parents were pushing more and more with every day. After all, you weren’t getting any younger.

You were new to the Miyagi area though, so you didn’t even know where you would go to meet guys. And would a guy even want you? The twenty three year old former athlete turned teacher? Who would be into that?

Thank goodness for Takeda. He was the only teacher who had made an effort to reach out and get to know you. He was very busy between teaching and his work for the volleyball club, but he somehow made time for you. He had offered to show you a few places around town tonight, which you had gratefully agreed to because anything was better than just sitting at home.

The two of you had been about to leave when he got a phone call about the volleyball club, and had hastily apologized, telling you that he’d be right back. But after it had been twenty minutes and there was absolutely no sign of him, you decided to go find him yourself.

You had toured the school once before you had started working there, but you didn’t have much reason to be around the athletic facilities as a teacher. Still, you remembered coming to Karasuno before when you had been an athlete, and you felt a sense of nostalgia as you pushed the door to the gym open.

Inside was the Karasuno boys volleyball team, and you paused for a moment to admire their form and their clean hits. They appeared to be doing well now, though you had heard about their previous downfall from Takeda. But now they had a new coach and he was-

“Hey, look out!”

You barely registered the words that had been yelled at you before you saw a volleyball hurtling towards you. You reacted on pure instinct, your hands moving to easily set the ball back into play on the court. You couldn’t help the small smile that came to your lips, you had forgotten how much you had missed the feeling of a volleyball hitting your hands.

“Sorry about that! I should have been paying more attention,” you apologized, finally meeting the coach’s gaze. As soon as you saw him, you felt your face get warm, unable to help the undeniable attraction that you felt. Takeda had told you his name before, he was the former Ukai’s grandson. Keishin. He had neglected to mention how attractive he was though.

Ukai shook his head when he heard you, unable to help the small smile of his own. So this was the new teacher that Takeda had mentioned to him and that he had heard about from the boys. He had been expecting someone a little more uptight and mean looking, not the breathtaking person right in front of him.

“It’s alright, I just didn’t want you to get hurt. But clearly you’ve done your fair share of playing. Did you play in high school?” he asked, walking over to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

You nodded to answer his question, meeting his gaze with a small smile. “Yes, I played for Nekoma in high school. After I graduated, I stayed in Tokyo for university, but my parents moved back here since they were getting older. They were the ones to tell me about the job opening, and it worked out because I wanted to be close to help them if they needed anything,” you explained.

Ukai raised an eyebrow when he heard you, clearly impressed. “Nekoma, huh? You must have been pretty good back in the day then,” he said teasingly, letting a small smile of his own form.

“Hey, I would like to think that I’m still pretty good,” you shot back with a laugh, feeling yourself relax slightly more than you had since you had moved here. And that didn’t go unnoticed by the man in front of you, who was unable to help himself from checking you out in the slightest as well.

“Oh yeah? I used to play for Karasuno when I went here, so maybe the two of us should play sometime. That is, if you’re up for the challenge, kitten,” he said with a smirk, his eyes glimmering with a hint of mischief as he looked over at you.

“I’m absolutely up for the challenge! Just give me a time and place and I’ll be there to prove that Nekoma is better,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest defiantly, though your smile had only grown.

The two of you probably could have gone back and forth all day before Takeda finally came into the gym, looking as energetic as ever when he saw the two of you. “I’m so sorry I kept you waiting! Oh, Ukai, you met Y/n. Y/n, Ukai. Come on, let’s get going since I’ve kept you long enough,” he said with a smile.

“Oh don’t worry about it, Takeda,” you replied reassuringly, giving Ukai one last look before shooting him a flirty wink. “I’ll see you around, little crow,” you called over your shoulder, before you turned to leave with a grin. And even though you didn’t see it, Ukai couldn’t hide the smile on his face as he watched you leave.

They had the wrong kind of teachers teaching when he was in school. And you bet he’d scold his kids if they complained about you at all.

bonus: “hey y/n, ukai just sent me a text asking for your number. oh, he just sent another text to not tell you that he asked for it. so can i give it to him? you guys would be cute together.”

#reupload!!#ukai #ukai x reader #ukai imagine #ukai keishin

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sleepy-sunlight · 4 years

Note

uhh idk if you do these anymore- but if u do... maybe an inquisitor who is quite physically weak but packs a whole load of magic to make up for it... but having such a vast amount of magical potential in a small and fragile body, it sometimes hurts her? 👀 she never says anything, but mayhaps that pain one day gets much too unbearable

Absolutely! I’d like to get back into writing prompts again, especially since I still have a ridiculous love for Dragon Age and have now played the whole series! Hopefully, you enjoy this prompt and have a marvelous day, thank you <3

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Since you were a child your magic was known to be... finicky. ‘Finicky’ was the word the Grand Enchanter would use to describe your surges when a simple spell resulted in a ball of fire destroying a good chunk of the parlor. ‘Terrifying’ was the term the templars preferred, but few could stay mad at the sniveling child sheepishly trying to clean up their mess that was you.

You’d spent many nights with your fellow mages learning all the best methods to keep your magic under control -- falling asleep into the late hours over books and a cloak that the Grand Enchanter would drape over you. Yet no matter what you did, no matter the training and the desperate efforts, somewhere, somehow it always spiraled out of control. Eventually, it cast a toll on your entire body -- so feeble and tiny your childhood became littered with fevers and aching limbs.

You didn’t grow much as you aged. Of course, your legs earned a few inches, but your magic only multiplied. The mage circle, however, found a way to contain you. Instead of spurts that left the tower’s library in shambles or the quarters with a sizable hole in its wall, your magic was contained within you -- a thousand stitches to cover up loose ends where your magic poured out.

The only problem remaining was the pain and the great deal of it that came with the containment. It was a fire brimming upon a thin layer, you could always feel the pressure against your body like a dull, forceful knocking upon a door -- brash knuckles banging again and again without end. Thankfully, you’d gotten used to it... most of the time. Everyone had their breaking point after all, and your sutures too, came undone.

Of course, being the Inquisitor did little to help the situation. Every moment you stepped out of Skyhold’s gates you were opening yourself up to every facet for danger and peril. But it could’ve been worse -- you could’ve not had the Commander waiting for you each time you returned. The wrinkles upon Cullen’s face when he smiled at the sight of you and the way his eyes glimmered would’ve been awful to miss out on.

“Emerald Graves,” Cullen said quietly to himself as the two of you walked the barracks. “How was it?” The day you were expected to return Cullen couldn’t help pacing about Skyhold’s courtyard -- letters only did so much, after all. Your first evenings back were always spent catching up with your Commander -- ‘strategy and reports’ were the official reasoning, but everyone knew better.

You chuckled. “Well, considering on the first day we stumbled into a dragon... I’d say just peachy. But otherwise, peaking so quickly the rest felt a bit boring.”

“Oh, I know that can’t be true,” Cullen remarked, nudging you amusedly. “Between your daily hobbies of reading and puzzles I find it hard to believe taking down red templars is ‘boring’.”

Admittedly, he wasn’t wrong, but you didn’t exactly have a splendid time either.

Taking down a High Dragon on the first day was an exciting, thrilling task, but a taxing one as well. Your magic had been unyielding and vigorous but each spell cast brought a shiver down your spine and fire sparking in your lungs. It took all your remaining strength not to collapse alongside the dragon when the beast fell in defeat.

Since then you’d made poor attempts to keep your shambling body under control -- sparks of magic erupting from your fingertips and a continuous delirium heavy upon your mind. The reason most of your trip was ‘boring’ was because you could barely remember it. Even now your magic had yet to settle itself. You clenched your firsts together tightly just to keep a crackle of lightning or an inferno from surging out.

“I mean it,” You managed a faint if strained laugh. “I doubt Varric would even use any of it for his writing.”

Mentioning Varric reminded you that you’d have to actually ask him for a recap.

“Nothing... bad happened did it? Nothing you’d want to leave out of reports?”

Cullen was always dreadfully good at reading people -- something awful considering he himself could be impossible to read in comparison.

A red hot searing pain pressed against your skin and you cringed, knowing it all too well. You clenched your jaw. “No! Nothing. Just uneventful.”

“I didn’t think such a thing existed in Thedas,” Cullen muttered. “Especially wherever the Herald of Andraste went.”

Your strained laugh didn’t help to assuage his suspicions. It was slow and heavy like your slowing footsteps on the cobblestone. “Miracles still happen I suppose!”

Cullen reached for your hands and even beneath the thickness of his gloves he felt the warmth radiating off you. His eyes widened like saucers and his brows furrowed into a deep knot. “Maker’s breath, are you alright?”

You wrenched your arm back as a sharp sting burst at his touch. Your feet staggered backward against the barrack wall and that split second in which your hands broke apart was all it took for your secret to be revealed.

In an instant, an explosion of lightning crackled forth from your fingertips and a ripple of pain shot through your core. Your legs buckled beneath you and you folded your stomach over your hands as you hunched over, heaving and gasping from the small shocks still igniting.

Anyone else would’ve run -- perhaps to find help or to shelter themselves. Yet Cullen, as you’d found, wasn’t like most others.

He rushed after you and knelt down with an expression painted with panic and concern. Cullen perhaps best represented the definition of a worrier.

“What’s happening? What can I do?” He looked over you frantically. His hands were stretched out but still utterly bewildered on just what to do. This wasn’t a blood mage revealing themself or a demon overtaking a vessel in a possession. This was you, his love, in pain and afraid.

Whatever words you managed to sputter out were lost in a harrowing scream. Tears brimmed at the edge of your eyes and your heart had leaped to your throat. The only thing you could manage to do was look up at Cullen. It reminded Cullen how he couldn’t stand to be helpless.

He wanted to do something. He had to do something, and so he did the only thing that came to mind. He held you.

He pulled you into his arms and gripped you tight. One could’ve thought you stood on the edge of disaster by his hold, and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

When he held you, you felt the soft fur of his shroud and took in the smell of Skyhold’s garden and the thick smell of ink and parchment from all his reports and writings. He truly never stopped working, did he?

The thought brought up a weary laugh. Your throat had gone hoarse from your yelling, leaving your shoulders heaving and dry breaths spilling out -- but for just a moment you laughed. In the next few seconds the pain would overwhelm you to such an extent that you’d pass out but even if only briefly, you knew relief.

You later woke in your quarters, moonlight streaming through the windows and the faintest night breeze sweeping under your blankets. From the hall, you heard Cullen’s voice amid a few others, hushed and nervous until the door was shut.

You hardly managed to sit up before realizing the weight hanging over your chest. Your lungs scrambled for a breath and each inch of yourself was wracked with discomfort. The pain you’d known was gone, at least.

Cullen entered the room slowly but at the sight of you, he bolted to your bedside. “You’re up! How’re you feeling?”

“About as expected,” You groaned. “Have you been here the whole time?”

Cullen scoffed as if the answer were clear as glass. “Of course. Where else would I be?”

“Well, didn’t you have others thing to do I-I didn’t mean to-”

“Hush. I want to be here,” A grin cracked across his face. “It’s not like I’d rather be writing those damned reports anyway.”

He paused, reaching his hand up to touch you but hesitated. You’d been in so much agony earlier.

“Can I...?”

You nodded and took Cullen’s hand to press against your cheek, sinking against his palm and all the grooves and healed over scars drawing his skin.

You offered him a gentle smile, but a tinge still weighed upon Cullen’s shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

It was a question that warmed your heart. You pressed a small kiss to his palm, and all the pain of earlier felt so far away.

“I will be.” You murmured. “Would you stay until then?”

It was a question that you both already knew the answer to. Still, Cullen nodded, saying a quiet ‘yes’.

And if only a little bit, you already began to feel better.

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anthonyed · 4 years

Note

Kissing prompts (gosh, i love em all): 45 and buckytony?

The only thing that came into my mind when I read the prompt was: 'losing you would be my villain story' trope. So remember that ficlet where Tony was scared to hug Bucky cause he won't be able to let go? Well this is from that verse. And I tried my best to execute it (don't know if I succeeded) and here it is:

idk how part of my reply got injected into the ask box but the link in there is click-able for the verse of the following story.

(from this list: Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.)

tw: blood, violence, mentions of body mutilation (basically a decapitated head that’s all)

-//-

Bucky’s already in the cradle when he lands; still clad in armour from neck down and he heads straight to where Helen Cho stands, manning the machine.

“Talk to me.” He orders, not bothering with manners, voice still battle-strained and he’d apologize to her later, buy her a bouquet or something but for now -

“How is he?”

Cho looks ill when she smiles, mouth working around dull words; if she was going for reassurance, it sure looks terrible on her face.

“Pending on the prognosis. Multiple organ laceration; I just drained his pericardial sac and stabilised his heart -,”

Tony grabs her by the shoulders, he doesn’t want to hear what more medical words she has to throw on him. He says what he needs her to do: “Save him.”

She opens her mouth, and he can already hear bullshit coming forth, “I can’t guarantee you anything at this point. I’m doing my part, his body is doing it’s -,” she wavers, her lashes flutter and then something shifts in her.

“Mr Stark. You have to understand -,” she starts in a practiced cold tone and Tony, he cannot deal with this now.

Gauntleted fingers dig into her lab-coat clad frame, and he shakes her once before they’re quickly intercepted.

Natasha’s cool gaze is fixed on him steadily even if she’s holding onto Helen Cho, six feet away from him. There’s someone arresting his arms from behind but he doesn’t care who, doesn’t put up a fight; that’s not why he’s here.

He needs Cho to know her priority. “I don’t care what it costs.” he looks into her eyes and tells her. This is between them and they both know what he means; there’s a vial of perfected extremis in the vault behind the wall. “I need you to save him. Do you understand?”

Helen Cho blinks, comprehension dawning upon her before she suddenly looks sick; lips pressed tight like she’s holding back her words from him. Good, Tony doesn’t want to hear her preach ethical violation to him. But he keeps looking at her until she agrees; because she has to. She has to know that he needs Bucky alive. No bargains in that matter.

Finally, she nods, quickly once. “I’ll do my best.”

And Tony leaves her to it, putting all his trust on her and he doesn’t wait. He has somewhere else to be. He shakes off the hands holding him back, and it’s Steve; his voice echoes his march; a pleading cry of “Tony, don’t!”

Two hours later, he’s standing on the rubbles of what a HYDRA’s bunker used to be. The fat plop of dripping blood onto a blown out wooden plank under his feet slowly stirs him back to reality; wiping his vision off of its angry red and he computes the extent of the damage he’d done with a strange detachment.

For a minute, he stares at his right hand where the blood is dripping from; relaxed in posture, gauntlet still on, fingers fisting around a clump of hair from a decapitated head of someone whose face he recognized flashing on his HUD earlier that day. When he scanned for the bastard who fired that lethal shot.

Good, he thinks. Good riddance.

His right palm whirs, flashing warning in blue and the satisfaction from blowing that head is -

He pulls in a breath and looks skyward. Directs energy into his thrusters and he flies to another bunker.

And another.

Three days after, he plugs in the armour to charge in a shitty hotel and stares at himself in the mirror; blank face, shirtless with a bloody abdomen and a bruised shoulder.

They should have captured him long ago, he realises. He’s been going rogue all on his own, disconnected himself from the team and Rhodey and Pepper and he knows for sure that he’s breaking more law than he’d memorised twenty years ago. Somebody should have caught him; HYDRA or someone from WSC. Maybe even one of his teammates.

And yet here he is, still a free man, staining borrowed towels red from his first flesh wound since he started this vengeance streak.

Somehow, that just fuels him to keep going.

Steve finds him underground in Kazimierz and he isn’t even surprised.

“I was wondering when you’d come,” he says, ready to fight, expecting an arrest.

Steve, however, looks at him all pinched and that is even worse. Tony wants to tell him, no. Don’t show me that face. But he doesn’t have to because that look vanishes soon after and Steve nods tightly.

“If you’re doing this,” he says, “I’m coming with you.”

In retrospect, maybe Steve follows to keep him in line; if they catch someone alive, he’d say, “Let me deal,” and Tony lets him. He’d already destroyed the guy responsible, here forth if Steve wants to play saint and ease their death, he can go ahead and do it. Tony doesn’t care.

Two days later, he finds out what actually Steve wants. Catches Tony numb in the process of washing dirt and the inside of someone’s cheek - from when he’d hooked his fingers too deep - under his fingernails when Steve leans against the bathroom door and says,

“Come home, Tony.”

He turns off the tap and wipes his hands dry with a towel. There’s still something under his fingernails, unwashed, but he ignores that to ask Steve, “Is he awake?”

Steve couldn’t give him a straight answer so, Tony chucks the towel on the counter, walks past him into the room they're sharing for the night and nods at the bathroom when Steve turns to look at him. “It’s all yours now. Unless you’re leaving, then I suppose you’d prefer to shower at home.”

He tears open the bag of chips, guzzles down two bottles of water before he shoves a handful of bland chips into his mouth. He knows Steve’s still looking, but he avoids his gaze, anyway. Keeps shoving more chips into his mouth even though he’s close to choking and only when he hears the bathroom door close, he stops.

They burn the fifth centre to the ground and leave to Chukotsky District for the sixth.

They share a room in another motel that night, vodka warming their insides and Tony shares a piece of him with Steve.

“I get it now.” He tells him, eyes burning as he stares at his bare feet intensely.

“What?”

Blinking hard, he empties his plastic cup down his throat and looks up. “Why you’d kill for him,” he smirks. Not an ounce of feeling under his skin.

Steve’s eyes flicker in the dim orange light. He says, “Not for the same reason as yours, no,” and he looks like he got something more to say following that. But whatever it is, Tony doesn’t hear it.

The next morning, he wakes up to Natasha at the foot of his bed, Steve still fast asleep in his own.

She rubs a thumb on the inside of his ankle and joins them for the last bunker.

“Come home,” she says later, wiping a bloody dagger in the inside of her left sleeve, watching grey clouds burst into the white sky next to Tony and she tells him, “He’s awake, you know. Asking for you.”

He’s stuffing clothes into his duffel bag, but hesitates when he’s about to pull the zipper. Not far from him, Steve pauses in rolling his socks. Natasha offs the TV; they’re watching him - both of them - have been watching him since they returned from that bunker.

Tony’s hands shake, and he buries one in his hair. “I’m not coming,” he tells them.

“Why?” Natasha cocks her head curiously.

Steve plops heavily down on his bed. Its frame creaks. “Tony,” he begins, but Natasha’s fluid movement from the foot of his bed to Tony’s side, stops him.

Tony’s knees buckle and when he sinks, she goes down with him; leans her head on his shoulder, drapes an arm over and she fills his sense with sweet strawberry smell while Steve looks wearily from across him.

Tony keeps his eyes fixed on him, his thoughts on the sweet taste of Natasha’s scent on his tongue and he says, “He almost died because of me.”

Steve frowns, scrunching the socks into a ball in his hands, and he corrects Tony stiffly, “He took the hit for you. It was his choice.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have!” Tony yells.

Natasha’s hand is soft on his cheek when she turns him around to face her. “You would have done the same,” she murmurs, levelled and calm, close to his ear.

Steve’s jaw is clenched hard, but his words are soft. “We protect what we love, Tony.”

Blinking back hot tears, Tony looks away from both of them and grits out, “He’s an idiot.”

Steve snorts. Natasha presses a smile into his temple, and she suggests, “Maybe he’d like to hear that from you.”

Returning home after a week and a half should feel relieving but all he could think is about Bucky and the last time he saw him; bloody in his arms in Central Park and then lifeless in the cradle, and he couldn’t help the anxiety that boils from his chest to the back of his throat.

That in itself buries his desire to check on Bucky, see for himself how he’s doing; make sure he’s all right.

“I’ve got to answer Pepper,” he blurts out, already stepping away from them; separating himself, and Natasha’s frown and Steve’s disappointed gaze accompanies him all the way to the workshop where he collapses on the couch.

“How’s he doing?” He asks into the throw pillow that smells like Bucky. “Friday?”

“Sergeant Barnes is healing well, boss. Although, he’d do better if he sees you.”

Bullshit. He doesn’t tell her.

“Did Dr Cho use the extremis?” He asks instead, pulse bursting through his arteries.

When Friday says, “No, boss. There was no need for that,” he buries his head into the pillow and breathes Bucky in deeply; relief spreading like a balm under his breastbones.

“But boss,” Friday carries on, “Sergeant Barnes asked for you.”

Before she could say more about that, he promptly mutes her.

Maybe he’s a coward. Maybe he’s afraid if he sees Bucky, he’d be accused to be the cause of his near death experience.

Or maybe he’s terrified when he asks why did you do that, Bucky would look at him like he’s an idiot, and say, “Because I love you, that’s why.” and Tony -

Tony knows he couldn’t handle hearing that. His heart would shatter into a million pieces.

So, maybe he’s a coward. Maybe what he’s really afraid of is breaking his own heart - call it a primitive reaction. He is a primate in DNA after all.

“Boss, Miss Potts is asking for you.”

“Tell her I’m busy inventing something that could triple her paycheck.”

“Boss.”

“What?”

“Sergent Barn-,”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, but he’s asking for -,”

“Mute.”

Maybe he’s running away.

And maybe he’s bad at it.

“Jesus.” he jumps, well past midnight, a few days after he’d returned, in the penthouse kitchen, in the middle of his supply raid (because Pepper pulled her rights and cut direct deliveries to the shop).

He’d calculated the risk, knew there was a 95% chance of him being caught by the very person he’s running away from. That’s why he’d planned his approach, carefully ran over it multiple times, asked Friday over and over to make sure no one was in the kitchen.

Should have counted in the fact that his AI is in love with her Sargeant Barnes.

The same Sargeant who asks calmly, “Any reasons you’ve been avoiding me?”

Tony clears his throat, drops his hand from where he’d clutched his chest. “Not in particular," he tries for nonchalance.

He didn’t turn on the light, but the silver glint of Bucky’s metal arm is unmistakable; tracing trajectory motion of his leap from the countertop to in front of Tony, infusing heat from their sudden proximity.

“I wanted to see you,” Bucky says, eerily flat, head tilted sideways as his blue-grey eyes study Tony from top to bottom then up. “But you refused.”

Throat clamping around a lump, Tony looks down at his empty coffee mug. At their bare feet and then at the cold tiles they’re standing on. He avoids the topic. “How are you doing?” He asks instead, looking up with false cheeriness.

Bucky doesn't hesitate before he answers, “Better if I’d seen you.”

And Tony has to laugh at that. Jesus Christ, just how stupidly cheesy is this guy? Except he feels his cheeks warm, and he steps aside to get away with an airy, “Well now that you have, I hope you feel better.”

Bucky doesn't let him (of course he doesn't); blocks his path and his gaze bore into Tony when their eyes meet. Trying to pry something only he knows what and Tony, exhausted after two consecutive sleepless nights, lets him.

If not for an excuse to allow himself drink in the sight of the man who took a laser to his chest for him and almost died. The man he'd lost his sanity for, killed for and then ran away from because he is a coward.

His eyes fall on the lower left side of Bucky’s pectoral. If he looks harder, he thinks he could see a dark patch seeping inside out like spreading ivy. He shakes his head to clear his vision.

Bucky seems to read him well. He takes the mug away and catches his empty hand before bringing it to his chest. Then he places it over exactly where that wound had been last week; bleeding viscous blood all over them and when Tony looks up at him, desperate and scared like he was that day, he assures, “I’m fine. Still alive.”

And then, “C’mere,” he tugs. Pulling Tony closer, pressing his palm harder over his shirt clad chest; warm where they touch, and he asks, “Can you feel that? It’s still beating in there.”

And it is - His heart is. All healed and pumping serum tainted blood through his vessels; keeping him alive like he hadn’t been gasping for breath in Tony’s lap just last week.

“Fuck.” Tony exhales.

Bucky takes it as a cue to pull him into his chest. Wraps him tight in a hug, and he buries his nose in Tony’s hair. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

Tony tries to inhale but ends up choking on air.

“I know.” Bucky repeats. Pressing lips to his forehead and then temple.

When he finds his voice, Tony fists the fabric overlying his left breast, head buried in warmth and he lets out a pained growl. “Don’t ever do that again.”

But Bucky, of all things, chuckles like he'd just heard a joke. “Can’t promise that, doll,” He drawls, grinning like the idiot he is. “If it happens another time, I’ll do the same thing all over again. Gotta protect my best fella,” he winks.

And it drives Tony so mad that he shoves at the man's chest and glares at him, venomous. Fingers shaking in clenched fists, locked inside white knuckles and he spits, “Fuck you.” At Bucky.

For a second, Bucky’s stunned. But something flashes in his eyes and he barks out a laugh soon after.

"Yeah," he snorts. “Kid you not, I would really like you to.”

And that - That shocks Tony into a stop; eyes blinking wide with disbelief, he stares at the man in front of him.

“What?” Bucky laughs, fingers raking through his long hair as he shakes his head and when he looks up again, whatever he sees in Tony, it makes him square up, and he exhales in a rush.

“Jesus, Tony. Don’t tell me you still don’t know how I feel about you. Choked on my blood and all I could do was look at you like you hung the moon - I saw that footage. The one they aired in the news? Sam showed me that thing, and Hell. The whole world saw how I feel for you baby, and you’re standing here looking at me like you got no clue."

He closes in then, urgent, and he catches Tony’s head in both hands; cradles his face like something precious and leans down to look into Tony's eyes.

“You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart," he pleads. “Tell me you know how you make me feel. Tell me you know, I’m yours.”

And Tony, refusing to be shaken in the face of hopeful eyes and gentle hands - one ice cold while the other blood warm - grabs the back of Bucky’s head in a harsh fist and asks him roughly, “And you? Do you know how I feel about you?”

Bucky blinks then, a slow smile spreads across his face, eyes twinkling with sadistic joy and he grins, “Stevie told me what you did. Said you didn’t spare even one.”

“All of them,” Tony breathes, lungs blooming fresh with the smell of Bucky this close, this warm and he could taste his scent on his tongue with every breath he takes.

Shivering, he glides his hand from Bucky's nape to the side of his neck, and he yanks him close until their foreheads press. “They can’t touch you now," he whispers into the small space in between them.

“Jesus, doll.” Bucky chuckles, dry and rough, palms pressing into Tony’s cheek, tilting his face up so their breaths intermingle and their noses bump, and the first brush of their skin that near is electrifying. Like stepping on a live wire; sizzling straight into the veins under their skins and it propels them to mash their mouths together in a desperate kiss.

Giddy as they are with something vile and raw, they didn't care if their teeth clashed in the rush; painful and sharp, or if their kisses were too messy and wet. Their heads are too heady with the taste of their love and they feed it into each other’s mouths, drink it out of them and fuck - They laugh through it all.

At one point, Tony yanks at Bucky's hair and hums, pressing harder in and Bucky presses equally hard in return. Neither wanting to give; only take, take and take until there’s nothing left and then more.

And they're greedy for contact, starving for each other. Trembling with wants so violent that it bursts through their pores; spilling like white hot lava, burning everywhere their skin touch and maybe they knock several furniture over -Tony doesn’t know for sure.

He’s too busy getting lost in Bucky and the biting way he kisses, the unforgiving way he squeezes Tony’s ass. Too busy pulling him by the collar, fingers fisting in his hair as he nips back harder, hissing and groaning ‘bedroom’ into Bucky’s mouth, and ‘this way’ as they stumble across the living room, stubbing toes on coffee tables and chairs, stopping to wince and laugh before resuming kissing even more passionately than before.

Eventually, after they knock over a vase and watch it break into thousand pieces, Bucky hoists him up and walks them to the bed, and it may be emasculating if he was in a different state of mind. But right then, head spinning from Bucky and only Bucky everywhere, Tony lets him have it.

Later, he watches the sun spill over Bucky’s closed eyes, spread from his sleep-slack face to his naked torso and sheet tangled legs and he reaches out a hand to press it over Bucky’s left pectoral.

Focuses in on the steady beat behind the ribs, listens to the sound of Bucky’s heart work its job; pumping life into his bones and eyes, and spreading pink to his lips and occasionally - like last night - blotting that lovely shade of red from his face to his neck and -

It’s staggering how close he’d come to lose that; how close Tony had come to lose his mind with that.

Hours earlier, with kiss-swollen lips and sex mussed hair, Bucky had kissed every one of his fingertip and whispered, “Turned you into a murderer didn’t I?”

Tony had combed his falling fringe back with his free hand and easily admitted that, “Losing you would evidently serve to be my villain story. No doubt in that.”

Right now though, feeling Bucky more than alive under his palm, Tony tips his slack jaw close and kisses him good morning.

#*fingers crossed* hope you like it #buckytony #winteriron #mine #prompts #i really enjoyed writing this and it may be vain to say i love this but fuck it idc

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kinetic-elaboration · 3 years

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September 14: Orphan Black 2x04

Got home early today, took a nice long nap, made dinner, and watched Orphan Black. I’m still not sure I feel good but I feel a little better, which is something I guess.

This was a really good episode! It focused a lot on characters I liked, and didn’t have too much extraneous in it.

I love Cal so much, and the weird little family he, Sarah, and Kira make warms my heart so much. He basically is male!Sarah if she just mellowed out a little bit and started keeping bees. He has great taste in sweaters, windswept hair, secret RVs “not under his name” and he asks minimal questions. Her perfect guy. And he’s sweet with Kira. Love the awkward new dad trope also!!

Helena’s story line is nightmare fuel to the point where it’s almost unwatchable but I admire them for showing it as a horror and... I mean if you’re going to do it, do it, no point in going half-assed with your rural religious fertility-cult concept.

I have a weird fondness for Gracie, tbh. Like even when she smuggled Helena. First off, that was a ballsy move. And second, she seems to at least have a better grasp on the concepts of her religion than her father does lol. So she has that going for her.

The weather was really working for them when they shot this episode. Cal and Kira out by the corn field, Art watching Helena in a ripped up wedding dress running across a field under very lightly falling snow... Where is MY stark rural landscape and very lightly falling snow??

Cosima was back to her primarily expository role but you can see that her illness story is going to really ramp up soon. It’s a little weird it’s taken this long... we’re almost halfway through season 2 and it’s the primary thing I remember about her role in the show. I’m a little worried to see it get worse/more prominent. For obvious reasons coughing and lung diseases hit differently now.

But at least there was no Delphine.

Not that much Alison either but she was on point and at a 10 in every short scene. Personal favorite line today was “I don’t believe I’ve ever done the nasty.” Also just every interaction with Felix. He just loves being her brother and you can tell. My mom is right: he likes that she needs him, that he can take care of her in a way. He feels left out of Sarah’s life. When he was talking to her at S’s house, about how Cosima is in her lesbian love nest and Alison is in recovery... he just sounded so left out.

Mrs. S was absolutely kickass today. I forgot that I shipped her and Carlton lol. But that was ridiculously hot. It was like.. such a cliche of old lovers from some kind of Dangerous Field alternately threatening each other, flirting, reminiscing, and fucking, but I loved it.

I’m not entirely sure what S is supposed to know... maybe the show doesn’t know. I remember a lot of what I read as retconning going on with her. I liked her best, as a concept, when she was just this woman involved in radical work who ended up with a kid of mysterious origins, and then she got pulled into the whole greater mystery/conspiracy/whatever. At this point I’m still okay with how she’s being developed... They’re doubling down on the Carlton story, and he seems to not know anything about the clones. So it’s still possible that she got Sarah randomly and THEN did some digging, and got into Leda and all that. But even then might not have known about clones until Sarah told her? Idk I’m just trying to make my preferred headcanon work I guess.

The whole ‘pro-clone’ thing could be interesting... I don’t know, it just never did anything for me tbh. I know some people for whom Rachel was their favorite but I never got her particularly. The vhs tapes of her and her parents, which I remembered in a supremely vague way, were interesting though. And it’s even weirder when you remember that Sarah is seeing someone who looks like her own younger self. And I like the callback to the Beth tapes. I miss Beth.

I couldn’t even be scared of the return of what’s-his-face, even though his torture plans were gross and terrible and I could barely watch Sarah’s fear, because I kept thinking ‘she and Cal really dropped the ball not actually making sure he was dead.’ Like she barely checked for his pulse! Helena would have slit his throat to be sure. And Mrs S would have shot him point blank lol. What did she teach these kids??

The next ep is the halfway point of the ep somehow?? Already?

#the year 2021 #2021: fandom thoughts #2021: orphan black

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ilovejaskierthebard · 4 years

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Again @gods-no-longer-tread-here is here to be the best and most inspiring. How did you know I was secretly craving to write more on this lil angry bastard???

Which like...let me explain.

*deep sigh* I AM. FOREVER. MAD. About how much I love Baker!Lambert. 😂

I love Geralt. Jaskier is my soul and Eskel is the light of my life. Before this, Lambert was my fondly, disgustingly adored lil goblin baby man. I can not explain that more, if you have a lil trash baby character you know what I mean when I say I love him as much as I want to kick his ass.

((Oh gods, is this how Vesemir feels all of the time???))

But lemme tell you. I love Baker!Lambert. I do. I want to write 80 chapters of a slow burn fic where he falls in love with an equally competitive and angry baker who comes to town to learn from him. There would cakes with hand made icing that said 'Fuck You, Lambitch' in beautiful cursive. Pies that are golden and flakey from afar but up close the crimped edging would be lil dicks. There would 100% be a food fight of some sort that would eventually lead to Lambert walking around unaware that his ass has two very clear flour-hand prints.

((It would be a rom com for assholes, yall))

ANYWAYS so yes. OF COURSE there would be consequences of Lambert fucking with the thirsty town thots. I mean, for a long time i think they'd be too scared to individually pick a fight with him.

Like this man knows he is good at what he does, and he knows come monday morning you'd insult your own mother for one of his bagels. So that's one bit of leverage, but also he is very clearly 'the one down for murder' of the brothers. If you fuck with him, he will stab you. Bread knife. Icing spatula. Ovens the size of a man. The man works with a lot of tools.

So yeah, It would take a while for all the local Eskel thotters (whats the word for a gathering of thots??? A ho down?...thats the worst joke I've ever made in my life but Im keeping it in here.) To get together and realize 'oh shit' and that he has been messing with them all.

It probably starts small, just a few of them being like ): Lambert is such a meanie -but then more and more people join and they get drunk and then they want answers.

Cue to Lambert looking out his window to a fucking mob. Who just so happen to lose their collective shit all at the same time, on a day that just so happens to ACTUALLY be Eskel's birthday.

And of course you know Lambert just went balls out for this cake because he likes to show off. But also because, this is like an intimate family gathering and he deep down really wants to show them his work because he knows they'll love it.

Excuse me why I cry

So this cake. It's probably as tall as Eskel himself. Amazing flavors, idk like every layer is something crazy like white chocolate with rasberry filling or angel cake with passion fruit infused icing. It would be a heavily landscaped mountain, with sugar glass flowers and trees. Little edible goats -Eskel's whole herd with tiny party hats on- placed all around 😭😭😭

Lambert probably threw several tantrums and sold his soul to the devil to make it tbh

Which like, makes it all that worse because 1. He can not leave the cake behind to run away. 2. There is no way he can convince anyone that it isn't a cake for Eskel's birthday party. There is a lil candy made Eskel holding a baby Lil Bleater on top of fucks sake. So yeah. He needs not only sneak himself out but also the cake???

CUE CAKE HEIST

Somehow, through very dangerous and needlessly complex ways, Geralt and Jaskier help Lambert sneak out of his own bakery while also stealing the cake.

Some random high lights:

- They try and leave numerous ways. All fail. Even the weird ways. Like out Lambert's window on the second floor. The mob is there. Waiting.

-Jaskier's plan is to just have Geralt take off his shirt. The crowd is unimpressed.

-Jaskier goes feral. Calls the crowd a bunch of names/insults their whole family tree/gets into actual fist fight over someone saying they think Eskel has better abs.

-Geralt goes to help Lambert, but is constantly being hissed at because he is making the cake wobbly/not holding it right

- Jaskier + Horny Mob + ??? = Profit!!

- Actually no. It escalates to wild chase scene, a fire and three buildings being demolished. No one is hurt because they are all running around after this one feral bard

- Lambert: Aren't you worried if they catch him?

Geralt: No. I'm more worried for them. Jaskier is a biter.

Lambert: Gross. You better have all your shots, Geralt. I don't want to explain to Papa V you died getting feral bard rabies.

Geralt: *jerks the cake a lil*

Lambert: I will bake you into a fucking PIE

*Meanwhile Eskel is having a sort of off day, no one has showed up for the party yet except Vesemir and Ciri. Which like, he probably hates his birthday, hates making a big fuss but wonders what his brothers are up to, you know?

Eskel: Maybe they forgot?

Vesemir: *looking towards the town that is literally on fire* ...they'll be here soon.

Eventually, the boys show up, with the cake perfectly intact! - I mean, yeah. Geralt is missing a shirt, Jaskier is covered in blood and Lambert has a black eye but hey! Cake!

Eskel has a great birthday after all, and gives Lil Bleater a taste of his cake and tells Lambert he's proud of him -which 100% will make him cry and hug Eskel so hard that rib bones will possibly be fractured. Followed by a group hug because everyone needs and deserves them.

#domestic!witcher au #baker!lambert #lambert #horsetrainer!Geralt #Hot Goat Dad!Eskel #sugarbaby v #vesemir #eskel #jaskier

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persephoneleon · 3 years

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WARM BODIES || SELF PARA

tw: hamster death? idk man. (no one kills it, it's just dead, u weirdos).

at age seventeen, persephone leon witnessed an execution.

she was right at the front, revelling in the bloodshed as she'd been taught she should. this was experimentation, an elastic she pulled and pulled to see what it would be like when she would have to do it. bang. she didn't flinch at the gunshot, had stared right in the eye of the rebel as they grew duller instantly. death was cold and this person was too, it overtook every part of their body. bang. another one gone, percy balled her fists as if she was the force of the gun itself, warm and bright and the cause of others' demise. bang. the elastic snapped then, force was returned to her when the third person was shot. the tiniest drop of blood had found its way onto her cheek. it was wrong. the blood was warm.

at age six, persephone leon buried a hamster in the back garden of her best friend's house. they'd tried to do it in persephone's garden first, were told off by her father for it. he'd told them not to bury dead things in the garden, they'd never dig deep enough for the ghosts not to come back and haunt them. persephone didn't listen and took off with the only thing she'd ever nourished with her love rather than her rage, a tiny ball of fur even persephone couldn't throw anger at. the body had grown cold by the time they'd dug a hole into the ground for it. it had been winter, freezing, they had to shovel away the snow first. she'd made hades do most of the work while she held onto whatever was left of her tiny friend, unwilling to accept its demise until its body had grown cold and stiff. she held it in her hand still, like its life only left its body now it was frozen. they buried in a box, persephone buried the memories with it, and never admitted to loving again.

at age thirteen, she stole beers from the big freezer in her family home's basement and toasted to a life, a friend of sorts, the arena had stolen. cold beer to match a cold body, percy had said, like death was poetic still in its finality. she had made hades hold a beer even if he wasn't going to drink it. persephone had two sips and called it quits, the taste making her pull a face. maybe it was too warm, somehow, she'd told penny. not cold enough for death. they checked the freezer, found it wasn't plugged in. they turned it back on so now it belonged down in the basement.

at age sixteen, persephone stood by as an empty casket was buried for her mother. presumed dead. percy came home from training one night, and gone was the one lifeline she still had. the body would be cold by now, she was told, so we might as well bury the emptiness and try to move on. persephone couldn't, the emptiness was all she felt. if her mother's body was out there somewhere, if it had grown cold, persephone felt it too as her mother's clone. she needed to hold more hope than that, if her hands felt cold, she'd beat them against the walls until they felt the sharp pain of rough palms and bloodied knuckles. she'd keep the fire alight, mom. people weren't dead until they'd grown cold and everything inside persephone became a desperate flame trying to keep itself from fading as if it could keep her mother alive too.

at age eight, persephone faced off against the stuffed deer head in the basement. her father kept all his dead things there, the walls of the rooms littered with taxidermy of animals he hadn't shot but found a pride in keeping. penny never dared to go down there, percy did what he couldn't. she stood, hands on her hips, staring the deer right in its glassy eyes. it didn't stare back at her, not truly. its eyes were dull and lifeless. persephone was alone down there, wasn't sure if that was better or worse than truly being down there with the deer she'd told penny she'd confront. maybe that's why her father kept it there, all dead things belonged underground, didn't they ??

at age twelve, persephone found a home in the cold of the basement, the eyes that followed her, yet didn't. she was secure in the knowledge there was nothing alive down there other than her and hades, when they'd sit on the old sofa, curled up under blankets as they did their homework, as if to prove their own existence. persephone's stubbornness had a life of its own, especially when faced by death. it's why she'd make a great tribute someday, she'd been told, her staunch aversion to facing the cold. she'd always much preferred spring, anyway.

at age seventeen, persephone couldn't go back into the basement anymore because it felt too small. her weaknesses, her heart beating in her chest, were too big for the room, to admit to, and it was easier to avoid them altogether. she forced hades to go down there if she needed something. in fact, penny was the only one to go down there at all. her father's lifeless shells still donned the walls, took over the space, and she was sure penny was shared shitless on his own. her father kept himself to the upper floors now. the freezer that had once kept their beers was locked up now, everything that had been down there now locked away. that's when she learned maybe rooms could die too, her former escape rotting away bit by bit as the basement grew colder. all dead things belonged underground, it almost seemed as final as death itself.

at age seventeen, persephone escaped the cold that grew more bitter in her home by volunteering to become cold itself. she believed still it wasn't possible, that she could ever grow as cold as she'd been told her mother was. she'd felt that cold, tasted it, and rejected its existence. her mother was out there somewhere still, and percy would make her proud. like they'd always talked about. percy would find a new home in the halls of the tribute tower, in her rage and the anger and the bloodshed. she ended up with some blood on her cheek. blood from rebels that had most definitely died, there was no way around that. she hadn't realised dead bodies could be warm.

#self para #warm bodies

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incarnateirony · 4 years

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I think the issue with death as a happy ending (to a story, I should point out - death can be many things in many places, but I’m specifically talking about it in fiction) is that it’s usually written so badly that it doesn’t feel like a happy ending and it just feels like shit. There’s a very limited number of fictional works that I’ve seen actually manage it well - though in saying that, I have a very limited range, and I don’t really enjoy new things because (reasons). The ones I do recall, it’s because they were just that good and bittersweet is exactly the way I would describe them as a happy ending.

Firebringer was a novel I read when I was 12 or 13, and I still recall it. It was about a deer and it was his entire life - birth to death - and it was a happy ending. I cried through the last few chapters. Then I reread it and cried some more. It was good.

There’s also a fic I want to mention, because it’s on the topic. It’s called The white whale. and it’s by an author named orange_crushed. The entire premise of the fic is that Dean (and Sam, but it’s a destiel fic) is already dead. He died years ago. The title itself should say a lot, and the fic itself is about finding peace. It’s brilliant and beautiful, and I love it.

My perspective on death is a bit. Odd, maybe? I grew up somewhere between Christian (mum and dad and church, a mix of Baptist and Anglican) and animist (local indigenous spirituality), and while bit of both inform my interpretation, I’m very nearly atheist.

I don’t really believe in an afterlife, or rebirth, or anything like that. I believe that this is it. We get one shot at being who we want to be and acting as we choose with what we’re given. (“And isn’t it so wonderful, that we were alive at the same time?”)

I first heard the Freedom From vs Freedom To argument when reading the handmaid’s tale in my English class at school. It wasn’t even presented as an argument, everyone just seemed to agree that freedom to is better. I believe that, too. But freedom from has structure. It’s not “peaceful” and it can’t be when it is enforced, but it is informed by rules, and there it has expectations and is reliable (where reliable means we know what the consequences are, even if they’re awful). Freedom to is anarchy (which I have come to appreciate more). But neither freedom is peace.

There’s a quote I really love, and I can never recall it properly and it goes something like this: “War is an ugly thing, but it is not the ugliest. The decayed and degraded state of moral feeling which thinks nothing is worth war is much worse. A man who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing more important than his own personal fucking safety, is [the worst thing]” clearly I don’t recall it very well. It’s from an old bit of hp fanfic, of all things, a very violent and disgusting version of civil war - as war is. It was the beginning of why I’m not a pacifist.

I dunno. I guess I really feel like peace - true, genuine peace - can’t be done. It’s certainly worth striving for, worth trying, but peace is either isolation and loneliness or death. Peace is knowing you’ve done everything you can, that it was enough, and being able to let it go.

Any way I think I had a point somewhere in this, maybe something about being unable to put down a fight while you’re living, maybe something about how death can be kind, maybe something about how good writing can make sad things happy, maybe that bittersweet is still sweet. Idk.

Feel free to reply to this mess of ideas or not - or pick and choose what you want to reply to, if you’d like to reply to specific parts. I mostly just wanted to share (I can do discussion, but idk if I’m still gunna have any focus later to do so, or if I’ll even see a response) some thoughts and you’re usually the only person I see on my dash with this sort of ~vague philosophy things~.

Woah when did anons get to let someone submit something so long.

Either way, a few points on this.

1. a thoughtful piece, this is a philosophy piece I will gladly entertain. However, if we are entertaining philosophy we must

2. acknowledge this is a nihilistic piece contingent on your personal world views, that while valid, and I will not take any effort to undermine on a personal belief system level

3. do not have much to do with (dependent on fringe atheism or, perhaps, agnosticism) a piece that is far from secular and atheistic while also

4. relying on the idea that “I really feel like peace - true, genuine peace - can’t be done. It’s certainly worth striving for, worth trying, but peace is either isolation and loneliness or death.”, which is itself the very nihilistic idea imparted by Chuck’s matrix but, whether you believe it in the real world, is the active target of subversion within this fantasy world, (eg, a heaven revolution where the doors are opened just like they were in hell.)

5. Finally, presumptuous that it would not be ‘well written’ and predesignating a potential discontent with the delivery that would sour it, especially with the previous points.

That said, while I’m not going to argue directly with your real life belief system -- even if they clearly disagree with my own -- I do remind you--falling back to your point that you do not believe in an afterlife: we know this fictional story does not hold this belief, ergo using that as a judgment for how it would deliver the concept of eternity is itself already wounding oneself to receiving the moral of the canon. One can not suddenly expect SPN to become a secular show just because a viewer has secular and atheistic beliefs. It is inherently asecular, theistic, and gnostic in its bones and the story will thus tell itself within that structure, which then begs if one is willing to suspend a personal belief system for a fictional canon setting they are digesting the story of.

Similarly-and-so, this is contingent on believing that the heroes’ journey will end with them maintaining the current status quo, rather than making a world where--in this fictional world in which an afterlife exists--death does not itself mean loneliness, but rather reunion.

If we can suspend our beliefs in some shows with fighting dragons or farting lightning bolts (after all, nonnie references HP fanfic), I would hope people could suspend them in regards to a moral telling of found family and the sovereignty of man in a divine and moral play.

If one were to demand SPN have entirely atheistic storytelling, the only real way to handle an ending would be to have one of the characters wake up from a 15 year coma where none of it was real and it was all a dream or something to that affect which--lol, we’re not doing, I promise. I’m sorry, but we’re not. We’re not taking the “none of it mattered because none of it happened” angle. We’re not going to a world where angels and the afterlife don’t exist, we’re not going to collapse it where suddenly death IS the true end and life sucks and then you die, it’s just not going to happen.

So the point then is an active choice on the part of the viewer: is this suddenly the line you draw after watching a theistic show for 15 years, doubling down that this specific theistic point is the one thing we can’t accept (despite it existing in the past already), or do we continue to watch a theistic show and interpret its theistic points as the story is trying to depict? And if it’s the “drawing the sudden line,” that is, quite frankly, a personal choice to have spontaneous discontent with a critical part of a canon story’s telling at a very sudden drawn line in the sand.

The point to exit would have been pilot 1.01 if we were going to have fundamental problems with spirits and an afterlife as crucial elements of a story. And if not then, 4.01 with angels. And if not then-- you see where this goes on. There were multiple exit ramps if the idea of an afterlife, which became more and more directly explored, was going to be an issue in reception of or enjoyment of a text. So now we’re 15 years later, and we can’t expect the highway to reroute just because we didn’t take the other 100 ramps.

SPN will tell the full spread of its moral and divine play within the full spread of its moral and divine sandbox, which someone has--to reach the ending--accepted for fifteen years at this point. If one has a fundamental problem with the entire premise of the show, it is not an obligation to any writer to cater to someone who intrinsically disagrees with the entire structure of the body of work to fulfill something within a completely different paradigm. It’s not.

Am I lucky in that it matches my beliefs? Maybe. Also cursed. Very very cursed. Because it’s led to being Through The Looking Glass for two years to the point there’s a segment of fandom that treats me as a magic 8 ball--and sometimes rightfully so, not to sound like I’m tooting my own horn or whatever. It just knows I get the structure in play to a fault. But cursed knowledge aside -- and trust me, it’s cursed as FUCK most of the time -- in the end, even when I watch shows that don’t match my personal theology, I don’t sit here and suddenly expect them to do so. There’s plenty of shows I completely suspend my beliefs in to enjoy within the sandbox they were designed in the constraints of so I find it very weird to project a discontent with a body of fictional canon presenting ideas within its own rule set based on personal beliefs in a real life lens. I mean, I don’t believe dragons exist, but if I watch the Dragon Prince for many seasons, I can’t suddenly expect the ending to have nothing to do with Dragons?

I mean, the show is literally called Supernatural. It's right there in the name. There are going to be supernatural elements about the show. My banner image is literally a reborn soul floating down the aisle. This isn't gonna suddenly be irrelevant at the end.

#supernatural #fandom #meta #pagan life #my meta #philosophy

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