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wecantseeyou · 3 years

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a note on color - how line of duty series 6 uses wardrobe to frame narrative (pt 1)

author’s note: this began as a personal observation on the use of cool tones for AC-12 and warm tones in opposition to AC-12, and evolved into a spreadsheet tracking most every outfit 3 of the 4 leads wear in every episode (through 6).

Why Jo, Kate, and Steve?

Jo: This is ultimately a rumination on Jo and her character, and the non-textual ways the show indicates Jo’s feelings, actions, and allegiances.

Kate: Jo’s major emotional connection in the series. Kate’s wardrobe often mirrors Jo’s in both style and color, and Kate’s wardrobe also gives hints to Jo’s true identity, while also reminding the audience of her allegiance with AC-12 (in both principles and action)

Steve: As the face of AC-12 in many ways (especially in this season, whereas past seasons that would’ve been Kate), Steve’s wardrobe is the control. He is firmly planted as an anti-corruption officer, is an ally of Kate, and he acts as Jo’s foil.

Why not Hastings?: Lord knows I love Ted, but the man really only ever wears his uniform (which is an entirely different essay about his views of the police force, ‘bent coppers’, and the ‘bad apples’ view of addressing police misconduct)

Some of the colors folks wear are difficult to quantify - I note circumstances where a shirt or sweater could be interpreted as multiple colors, and some instances where I believe that open interpretation is intentional. To be incredibly simplistic for how I coded the colors, cool tones are the good guys, and warm tones are the bad guys. Where possible, I have included reference images for the outfits I’m discussing (low quality screencaps ahead).

It took me some time to choose the organization of this essay, but ultimately there’s only one way to really do it - scene to scene. So buckle in, cause this is a doozy. I’m posting just episode 1 today, and then plan to post analyses breaking down the other episodes through Saturday. Essay under the cut.

DISCLAIMER: I’m American, so there’s likely something about the UK that I miss here. Alas, we’ll persevere. I barely edited this because I’m no longer a student and don’t have that kind of time. Also, I already wrote one dissertation and I refused to admit I wrote another one.

METHODOLOGY

To kick off, I went through and looked at every outfit worn by Jo Davidson and Kate Fleming, and most worn by Steve Arnott, in series 6. Steve acts as my control because he begins and ends my sample as a working member of AC-12, which for the purposes of this narrative represents police who are not corrupt. He is exclusively shown in cool tones in every scene I discuss here. Kate serves to bridge that gap in analysis between Jo and Steve - she is anti-corruption through and through, but she is no longer a member of AC-12, and she also has a close relationship with Jo, which is clearly romantic in tone. Kate often wears cool tones and white, but the occasional brown, orange, and green pop up (hold that thought on green). Jo is my main focus of my analysis, because I believe her wardrobe is most clearly impacted by the struggle between internal desires and external pressures. She wears a range of colors, but most frequently it is a combination of warm and cool tones. For the purpose of this analysis, black is considered a warm tone, white is both cool and absent allegiance, and grey is considered a cool tone.

THESIS

Since the first episode of series 6, Line of Duty has used color to indicate that Jo Davidson is not bent by aligning her with the tone of AC-12 as a whole and Kate Fleming specifically. TL;DR: The show has used wardrobe to tell us that Jo is not (intentionally) bent from the beginning.

Jo isn’t ‘bent’ in that she doesn’t want to be corrupt, but she’s forced to be. Surrounded on all sides by the OCG because of her uncle/father, Tommy Hunter, Jo therefore has no choice but to follow OCG orders for fear for her life. The show works to show us this visually in a few ways. Cool tones, representing ‘justice’ through AC-12, are seen throughout her screen time, but they are often peppered with warm tones, representing corruption and the OCG. This is true of her wardrobe overall, but is perhaps most succinctly demonstrated in her apartment. Keep these thoughts in mind as I break down each outfit.

EPISODE 1

There are points where the wardrobe informs us of things that the text directly contradicts. For instance, in the opening scene of episode 1, Jo arrives at the Hill wearing a black coat over a dark grey turtleneck, and is shown talking to Lomax about a new lead in the Gail Vella murder investigation. She is then shown talking to Buckells about this lead, an unknown CHIS who claims to have spoken with a man named Ross Turner who claimed to have killed Gail. The interaction seems innocuous, and Buckells denies permission for a raid on Turner’s home, but look more carefully at the dialogue here. Jo is manipulating Buckells by presenting him with information about the source, including that he was a sex worker and speculating on his potential drug use. These two factors are what makes Buckells hesitate, and he ultimately stops the raid from being carried out that night.

While Jo in this scene seems to push Buckells to give permission for the operation, Jo’s dark wardrobe is telling the audience that something else is happening on another level here. We learn later that Jo would take advantage of Buckells baser instincts and desire for upward advancement in order to manipulate him, which is what she does in this scene. She specifically mentions the CHIS’s sex work and the potential drug use because she knows Buckells will worry about the reliability of the witness and want more to go off of, hence cancelling the operation. Jo’s dark clothes hint at her manipulation of Buckells while the audience is not yet clued in.

The next time we see Jo during the team briefing about Ross Turner is also the first time we get a hint at the fliration between her and Kate. Jo’s “dirty stop-out” line and Kate’s “glass houses, boss” response, coupled with Jo’s smile that she hides by looking down show a clear shift in tone. The black jacket is removed, and she’s wearing a grey turtleneck. Jo is slightly more at ease here, enjoying the easy banter. Meanwhile, Kate is wearing a cream/light brown sweater, our first visual clue of her separation from AC-12 and her connection to Jo.

Note here that Jo’s black jacket was on top of her grey turtleneck, and could be removed. The turtleneck, a very modest and in some ways restrictive top, also serves as an armor Jo wears to brace herself against her own actions.

When the operation to arrest Ross Turner is approved, Jo again dons a black jacket under her body armor, while Kate wears a green coat under her body armor. Jo putting on the black jacket is symbolic of how she is about to waylay the team with the staged armed robbery at the bookie, allowing time for the OCG to replace Owen Banks with Terry Boyle. Kate’s green coat is symbolic of her mixed allegiances between AC-12’s blue and Jo’s yellow.

Later, when debriefing the operation with Lomax and discussing the importance of learning the CHIS’s identity, Jo and Kate are back to the grey and cream sweaters they were wearing earlier. Their banter is also back with Kate’s “great minds” line, demonstrating their comfort and also telling the audience these two women are in sync with one another.

Immediately after this series of scenes, we see Steve for the first time. His first scene is at AC-12, wearing a grey suit, white shirt, and red tie, when he is notified that Farida Jatri is there to see him. We learn in the next scene, where Steve is in a blue suit with a blue shirt and blue tie, that Farida brought her concerns about Jo to AC-12, particularly about the odd armed robbery that Jo spotted. He asks Hastings for permission to look into it further, which is granted. The all blue outfit on Steve represents his desire to root out potential corruption in this complaint. He continues to wear this outfit for most of the episode when dealing with the investigation and MIT.

(Note: there’s an interlude scene here of the MIT crew in crime scene suits at Terry’s, but I’m not including that here.)

We next see Jo with Lomax, interrogating a frightened Terry Boyle, while Kate watches the video feed of the interview. Jo is wearing another grey turtleneck, but this time is wearing a grey jacket, while Kate watches on with a cream oversized sweater. The interview with Terry goes nowhere for the most part, as he refuses to comment, which seems to be to Jo’s relief. Kate, however, clearly isn’t done.

Donned in a green mockneck and navy suit, Kate visits the crime scene at Terry’s apartment again. This green top still aligns her with both AC-12 and Jo, but the navy suit serves as a reminder that she doesn’t think the MIT has the full story on Terry Boyle.

Later, we see Kate in the same outfit debriefing Jo on the new information at the crime scene, namely that there is no new information because it’s been wiped clean. Jo is wearing a grey suit jacket, brown sweater, and a white shirt. Both agree that Terry isn’t a solid suspect, and want the ID of the CHIS in order to confirm that he’s the man identified as Ross Turner. Jo’s layering here is interesting - cool tone, warm tone, cool tone. She agrees with Kate externally, she knows Terry is in the frame for Vella’s murder, and she doesn’t feel comfortable pursuing Terry as a suspect she knows is innocent.

They then visit the CHIS’s handler, who refuses to give up his informant’s ID, but reveals to Kate that he is concerned about the CHIS’s welfare. Kate is wearing a long navy coat, while Jo is wearing a long grey coat with a blue and orange scarf. Kate wants to know the CHIS’s ID to genuinely pursue justice, hence the blue, while Jo wants the CHIS’s ID for ostensibly the same reason, but for her, pursuing justice with the CHIS would also clear Terry’s name. Jo doesn’t want Terry to be punished because he’s innocent, but she also knows a negative ID on Terry will lead to trouble for her with the OCG.

We see Jo in the same outfit minus outerwear in the next few scenes - when she is called into Buckell’s office and convinces him to put pressure on for the CHIS’s ID (while Kate watches), and later when Kate informs her that there was a surveillance gap on Terry Boyle’s flat due to the wrong authority being sought. Jo pushes Buckells and manipulates him to reveal the CHIS’s ID, and also blames him for the gap that she’s responsible for, hence the warm coloring of her sweater. Kate, meanwhile, is showing her allegiance to Jo by telling her about the gaffe, the green of her shirt being the visual representation of that act.

Next we have a scene of Steve looking at CCTV of the armed robbery, and their suspicions are raised about the speed the convoy was traveling and the likelihood that Jo could have actually spotted it. Again, Steve is in an all blue outfit.

Back to our favorite murder investigators, Lomax, Jo, and Kate arrive on the scene of a murder victim which turns out to be their missing CHIS. Jo is dressed in a long grey coat, green sweater, and light blue shirt, while Kate is rocking a long navy coat, navy suit, and an orange and navy striped turtleneck. Later at MIT, Kate and Jo discuss the CHIS further, lamenting the loss of the only witness who could ID Terry as Ross Turner. Throughout this scene, Jatri is watching the two of them interact. Jatri then calls Steve, in a grey suit with a blue tie, and tells him she can no longer be an informant.

Round two of interviewing sweet Terry begins, with Jo in the same outfit and Kate watching on video, again in the same striped turtleneck. They all seem to think Terry is hiding something, but Kate seems taken aback at some of Jo’s lines of questioning (Vicky McClure, expert reactor) but is mostly saddened by Terry. Later, Steve meets with Kate outside of Hillside and they discuss his inquiry into Jo. She refuses to help, but gives him the name Carl Banks as someone to look into.

We then see Jo arrive at Farida’s house with a suitcase, moving out her final belongings after their breakup, where they have a row over Jo’s refusal to introduce Farida to her nonexistent family. After, Jo returns to her own apartment with its 18 dead bolts. Nearly the entire place is blue - the walls, the furniture, even the refrigerator. However, those warm tones pop up throughout - lemons on the counter, golden pillows in the living room, gold lights framing the picture of her mother. Jo at her heart is good and believes in justice, but she has been groomed and manipulated by the OCG into acting against her nature in the name of self-preservation. She is blue, but the pops of gold and yellow of the OCG catch the eye.

The following scene shows Jo getting chewed out by Buckells in the briefing room in full view of the rest of MIT, again in the green sweater and blue shirt. Kate looks on in concern, still wearing the orange and navy striped sweater. Buckells storms out, and Jo rushes into the hallway. Kate follows quickly behind, asking after Jo, who vents her frustrations with the pressure to charge Terry with murder because she knows it isn’t right and wants to find real justice for Gail. The color choices in this scene are clear. Kate is wearing orange and navy, highlighting both her connection to Jo and her pursuit of justice. Jo is wearing green, combining the blue of her heart and the pollution of OCG yellow, with a light blue shirt, again highlighting her true self and alignment with Kate.

This also highlights something we don’t learn until episode 6 - Jo wanted Kate on her team to keep her in check and be a barrier to the things the OCG was asking her to do. This includes the arrest of Terry Boyle. Jo specifically identifies several odd things about the recent evidence - and tells Kate that something doesn’t add up, essentially encouraging the DI to look into these inconsistencies further. This is her way of looking for help when she still feels trapped in many ways.

Of course, no analysis of this scene would be complete without mentioning the hand grab and subsequent hold. They’re gay, kids!

The final scene shows Jo watching as Terry Boyle is released and remanded to police bail, a look of relief on her face. Because yeah, she’s done a lot of bent things, but Jo isn’t bent.

And that’s where the episode wraps.

Stay tuned for more wardrobe analysis tomorrow!

#line of duty #jo davidson #kate fleming #steve arnott #lod spoilers #line of duty spoilers #flemson #kate x jo #so sorry to anyone who follows me for cr but I do love a good crime drama #anyways defund the police #this is fully unedited pursue with caution

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superman86to99 · 3 years

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Superman #84 (December 1993)

Superman takes a short Paris vacation! Like, one day short. What's the worst that could happen?

Oh, man.

So, for the past few issues, we've been hearing about children being abducted in Metropolis. Now we see that they're being kept inside a giant toy house by some creepy bald man in Quasimodo clothes who seems to be obsessed with toys -- a "Man of Toys," if you will. Side note: no wonder the children haven't been found... all the articles about them are just gibberish! (See clip below.)

The kidnapper thinks that these kids' parents don't deserve them, and that they're much better off here, in an underground hideout with a man who threatens to starve them if they don't play with him. (And I do mean literally play, with action figures and stuff.) Meanwhile, as these children cry for help, Superman is having the time of his life. While helping move a stranded ship with some huge-ass chains, Superman spots a sunken galleon with a treasure chest inside and fantasizes about keeping the booty...

...before turning it over to the authorities anyway, the big boy scout. Then, he wakes up Lois at 6 AM and tells her they should go to Paris right now, which usually means your significant other is having a mental breakdown, but in this case they can actually do it. And so, after deciding that he deserves to use his powers for fun every once in a while, Superman and Lois drop everything and fly to France with super-speed for the rest of the day/issue.

Anyway: back to the child abduction! Cat Grant and her son Adam attend a Halloween party at Adam's school, but there's a disturbed weirdo in a hideous costume lurking among the crowd. Yes, I'm talking about Jimmy Olsen in his Turtle Boy suit.

Shortly after that, a guy in a dinosaur costume (see, all the creeps are dressed as reptiles) lures Adam out of the party with the promise of "superb video games." What child could resist that? Of course, that turns out to be the kidnapper and Adam ends up in his hideout along with the rest of the missing children and, worst of all, not a single "Lextendo" console.

The kidnapper gets angry at Adam when he refers to the toys at the hideout as "old-fashioned junk" (he was REALLY looking forward to those video games), and even angrier when Adam tries to free the other kids. Adam is brave and puts up a good fight, but...

And those were Adam Morgan's final words. "Uh-oh."

Next, we have a pretty harrowing scene of Detective Turpin letting Cat know Adam’s body was found, and Jimmy and Perry White taking her to the morgue to identify the body (most people probably wouldn't bring their former boss to something like that, but Perry sadly knows more than most about losing a kid). As for Lois and Clark, they were gone so long that the Daily Planet had time to print a headline about the murders. The issue ends when the lovebirds walk into the office smiling like two people who just spent the night fooling around in Paris... only to feel like jackasses when they find out what happened.

To be continued!

Character-Watch:

And that's it for little Adam Morgan who, unlike the also tragically diseased Jerry White, didn't even get any post-death appearances. Adam went from a little kid scared of Superman, to a huge brat, to a character who was approaching likeability as of last week. That's why I hate it when DC kills off young characters like Adam or Liam Harper: in long-form storytelling, children represent potential. Look at how much Wally West or Dick Grayson evolved over the years compared to their mentors! Sure, there's a huge probability that Adam would have ended up disappearing from comics for 25 years anyway, but who knows, maybe we'd now know him as Teen Gangbuster or something. GangbusTEEN.

This issue also represents a turning point for the kidnapper, who is never named or seen clearly in the story itself but I don't think I'm shocking anyone by spoiling the fact that he's Toyman (it's in the cover, for one thing). In his last two appearances before this storyline, Toyman helped Superman save some kids from Sleez and looked genuinely sad to learn about Superman's death, so this is a pretty dramatic change for the character. We'll find out why he went from big softy to child killer in Superman #85 (but don't get your hopes up).

Plotline-Watch:

The most disturbing part of the issue, all things considered, is still the part where Toyman climbs into a giant crib and hugs a huge stuffed bunny. Look at serial killer Tommy Pickles here:

Don Sparrow says: “Even with the upgrade, Toyman is still just a man in a suit, a common complaint about Superman’s rogues gallery.” Funny you should say that, because I JUST shared an old Wizard interview in our Twitter in which Dan Jurgens talks about how Doomsday came out of his frustration with the fact that most Superman villains are dudes in suits (plus other interesting tidbits from the era, like how it was actually Roger Stern’s idea to bring back Hank Henshaw, so check out that link!).

Don again: “The entire Superman storyline of this issue feels like filler. Diving for buried treasure and soaring off to Paris -- it all feels like wasted time next to the Adam storyline.” I have a theory that the entire ship sequence is there as an excuse to put Superman in those big chains and make that Spawn joke (which I didn’t get until now, since I’ve always read this issue in Spanish).

Superman says that pulling that big ship was "a little easier than expected" -- that's either another hint that there's something going on with Superman's powers since he came back, or a subtle dig at the state of American ship manufacturing.

Another adorable "window tap" scene for the books, and this is the sexiest one so far. Is it me or has Jurgens started copying more than just Teri Hatcher's hairdo from Lois & Clark? (For anyone who thinks Lois has gotten implants, I refer you to this clip.)

While in Paris, Lois asks Clark if he's ever wondered what would happen if his rocket had landed in other countries. Don: “Clark’s conversation with Lois sounds like a bunch of concepts for Elseworlds stories. We eventually would see a Russian Superman, and a British Superman, but not yet the French Superman. (Hire us, DC!)” Yep, got my French Superman pitch ready, Jim Lee. Or just let us do Russian Superman again, since Red Son wasn’t even the first time you published that idea.

Don once more: “Another thing that makes no sense about the ‘new’ Toyman is his resentment of technological toys—when in previous appearances he himself had deadly high-tech toys to vex Superman over the years.” I especially resent his hatred of video game consoles. Incidentally, I wonder what types of games are available for Adam’s beloved Lextendo. Star Lex 64? Mega Man Lex? Sonic the Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles & Lex?

No one is more upset at Lois and Clark for going AWOL than Whit. NO ONE. He's so furious that his usually grey mustache turned black.

Patreon-Watch:

As always, shout out to our patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Samuel Doran, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush and Raphael Fischer! Last month’s exclusive Patreon article was about the recently unearthed sequel to Superman 64 for the PlayStation, featuring Metallo, Parasite, and Lois looking even hotter than in this issue:

Hot damn. Find out more at https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99!

And believe it or not, Don Sparrow has even more to say about this issue. Read his section after the jump:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

I should start off my section with a big caveat: I flat out hate this issue. There were several weird decisions made in the post-Death-and-Return era (most of them along the same lines of making the Superman titles more grim-and-gritty), and this story was one of the worst of them. My theory is that, despite the praise and record-breaking sales of the Death and Return storyline, the Superman creative team felt pressure to have more extreme storylines, perhaps in response to the wildly successful Image books coming out at the time. Between this story, and the upcoming “Spilled Blood” storyline, the Super books take a hard—but temporary--turn into more violent and upsetting storytelling—even though these stories are by the same writers as the previous few years. While death has always been a part of comics, and Superman comics was no exception, there is a jarring glibness and unfeeling toward the way violence is handled in these pages that is quite different from the stories that preceded it. It’s made all the more jarring by the fact that well-established personalities suddenly veer wildly out of character, Toyman chief among them.

We start with the cover, and while it is technically well-drawn (by the familiar team of Jurgens and Breeding) it’s also a very upsetting visual. I think they should have gone with the pieta type pose with Adam and Superman, OR the scary badass bowie-knife Toyman (who apparently has a Cheshire cat smile now) but not both. But the cover is a good hint at the tonal dissonance of the comic within.

We open with a splash of the now-extreme 90s looking Toyman, with his serial killer shaved head and spooky cloak, ignoring the pleas of hungry kids he has locked up in a tiny jail cell for days at a time (if that sentence doesn’t ring alarm bells for how wrong this is for a Superman story, I don’t know what will). For much of the issue Toyman’s eyes are obscured by glare on his lenses, further de-humanizing a character who was once one of Superman’s more empathetic bad guys.

We cut to Superman tugboating a huge tanker with giant chains and it’s a cool visual (one repeated in the Batman V Superman film). It feels especially out of place to focus on, given how upsetting this issue is otherwise, but throughout the whole comic, Lois is drawn smoking hot, especially on the two page spread on pages 9-10.

The scenes depicting the actual murder, while still wildly out of place in a Superman comic, are well done, and give a real sense of darkness and menace, which I suppose is the intent. Perhaps my least favourite visual is the Big Bird stuffie, silently bearing witness to what’s about to occur.

The edges of the panels on get more slashy and off-kilter (to me, looking very much like the layouts more typically seen in Image comics of the day) and I suppose I appreciate the restraint of how little Dan Jurgens shows of the death of a child, showing only a bloody slash on a black background. This is still a pretty baroque image for a Superman comic, but certainly less violent than it could be, given what is happening.

Cat Grant’s silent horror is well staged, and powerful in its way. Lastly, Clark Kent bending in sorrow and regret is a powerful image.

While this issue is handled marginally better, and more maturely than other comics on the shelf at this time, I still believe it is one of the biggest mistakes of the era. Giving a long-established character an unceremonious death for shock value is gross on its own, but making it a child definitely crosses a line for me. Making it worse is that, while the Toyman is a criminal and a killer, he has shown in past issues (a similar kidnapping storyline involving Sleez) that he genuinely cares for the well-being of children. So for a long-time reader, this also felt like a betrayal of a long-established, fully developed character. Adding to the ugliness of this is that Adam dies heroically, trying to free the children who have been caged, unfed, for days, but even in that regard, he fails. The headline at the end of the issue confirms all the children are dead. Adam’s death did not buy the other kids enough time to get away. It was all for nothing. Had Adam died, but the other children lived, maybe this issue wouldn’t leave quite as bad a taste. [Max: It’s weird because it’s all told in a way where it’s told in a way where it would make sense, narratively and within the story universe, that the other kids survived, but then it’s almost casually revealed that nope, they died too. A scene of one of the kids relaying Adam’s heroism to Cat in a future issue would have gone a long way.]

Superman doesn’t come off well in these pages, either. It’s honestly the type of story they should just stay away from, because the more you think about all the calamity that is going on around the clock, the less defensible the whole Clark Kent persona becomes. Superman carving out time to romance his fiancée directly led to the preventable deaths of innocent children—how do you come back from that?

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I’m always looking for hints that perhaps Jimmy or Perry know Superman’s secret identity deep down, and Jimmy’s anger at Lois and Clark on their return to the Daily Planet offices would seem to give that theory some credence, as he’s as angry at them as if he knew Clark really were Superman. Either that, or he’s ticked that it fell to him, and none of them to escort Cat into the morgue. [Max: Has this issue finally converted you to the “Jimmy is terrible” side now, Don?]

I don’t think I’m the only one who disliked the new Toyman—SPOILERS BE HERE: years later, in Action Comics #865, Geoff Johns retconned this whole story, reverting Schott into the criminal who over-relates to kids, rather than the child-killer of this story. Apparently the infantile Schott, who speaks to “Mother” a la Norman Bates, is a robot so lifelike it fools even Superman, and the “Mother” he’s constantly replying to was the real Winslow Schott trying to recall the malfunctioning robot. [Max: That’s one Geoff Johns retcon I really didn’t mind, even if it felt kind of derivative of his similar “all the Brainiacs are robots made by the real Brainiac” reveal.]

#superman #dan jurgens #josef rubinstein #toyman #cat grant #adam morgan #dan turpin #whit #gangbusteen #super luthor fighter ii turbo championship edition

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ogeeitsme · 4 years

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I have a question, if none of you mind me asking: how do you know if you are asexual and/or aromantic? I think I read somewhere that one of you was asexual (or I might have just imagined that, I really don't know), and that's something that have been wondering for a while, so I hoped that I could get an answer here!

We do not mind you asking. We were going to save this ask for Kris to answer (he is “Greyroace”), but since I am also “Aro-ace”, I can give my thoughts on this, and perhaps leave room for him to answer.

I will try to keep it simple. My suggestion first, is to remember that sexualities talk about attraction (and desire, to some degree).

Starting with Asexual, or ace, what people have confused here, is that asexuality is usually compared to libido (“google” it, if you do not know it). You must seperate these two things, and then can you understand asexuality. Asexuality (from our experiences and how we understand) is not based on your body’s reaction alone. It is also a spectrum [“aspec” (not to be confused with “ASD”)]. I suggest googling Aceflux, Gray-ace and Demisexual for starters, besides just “Asexuality”

The most basic way to define how it may feel, is simply not being attracted to others, sexually. On another note, you can be hypersexual AND asexual.

For some, they literally do not even get a body-response along with the lack of sexual attraction, and that is why they identify as asexual. For others, it is based on only attraction (see: hypersexual aces as one example, or demisexuals, again). I am not sure how else to explain without getting into more mature topics. If it is still confusing, imagine a lesbian. Their lack of attraction to men would be a similar feeling to how asexuals are not sexually attracted to anyone.

Then, going into the other parts of the spectrum, some feel they are in between allosexual and asexual (see: Gray-ace), or only feel sexual attraction only after a certain point (see: Demisexual). Some asexuals are repulsed by the idea of the act and some are not repulsed, and can engage with their partners.

Aromanticism is similar but in the context of romantic relationships. I.. do not know how to explain this, but for me, the thought of a romantic relationship is not something I am interested in. I am personally repulsed at the idea of forming relationships, so a “friendlier” explanation would come from Kris. Though, Aromantic people can still be in relationships (I believe they are called Queer platonic relationships?). Some are in romantic ones as well, though I can not give you more details on that, as everyone’s experiences are different since we are all human and have different cases. There is also Demiromantic, Grey-romantic, and so on.

Speaking in behalf of Kris, being Aromantic does not mean you can not feel love or show love. I too, can agree with that. Love can not and should not be tied to only romance and sexual acts.. You can love your friends (and family). And for those in a relationship, I usually hear it described as “More than friends but not romantic (or sexual)”

How you identify and label yourself can have many “combinations”.. Some are Aro, but not ace. Some are ace, but not aro. Some are both. When you are aro and another label, people also use these as suffixes (“Panromantic Ace”) (or vice versa with the “default” words: “Pansexual Aro”)

I think I have said everything we could... I will end with a link to Kris explaining how he is Grey aro-ace and bi.

Again, we are no expert. The Arospec and Aspec world is large and vastly unique to your own feelings and experiences. It is okay not to know now, and it is okay to be wrong if you end up finding out a better label for yourself. What may define this for me may be defined differently for others (and maybe even better). Take your time, Anon. And, if you have more questions, I would highly suggest ace/aro focused blogs.. I can imagine their moderators or blogrunners would love to try and help. The internet is a big place for exploration.

#From Chara #Ask #Anon #Sexuality #LGBT #Ace #Aro #Asexuality #Aromantic #Aromanticism #I am sorry this is so very long.#I apologize this was not 'simple'.......

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tigerkirby215 · 4 years

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5e Kindred the Eternal Hunters build (League of Legends)

⚠️ WARNING: THE FOLLOWING BUILD USES CONTENT FROM THE MYTHIC ODYSSEYS OF THEROS SOURCEBOOK. DO NOT OPEN IF YOU WISH TO AVOID SPOILERS. ⚠️

(Artwork by Riot Games)

"Lamb, tell me a story."

"There was once a nerd with a D&D addiction who was very bored."

"Why was it bored?"

"All things were shut down because of Coronavirus, so they had nothing to do."

"Did he do something productive with his time?"

"He took a new D&D source book and opened it to a page right down the middle."

"So he'd have something to do?"

"So he'd have something to do.”

GOALS

Never one... without the other - Kindred is no longer grey, but a being of Black and White. But they’re still fully grey, and are intertwined together.

Every life... ends with us - The shadow of death chooses who lives... or rather who dies first.

Not here, not yet - But sometimes death needs a pause, and who better than death itself to choose when its time?

RACE

Lamb is the main character you control, and if you wish for cloven hooves then a Satyr is the best choice. Your Charisma increases by 2 and your Dexterity increases by 1. You can also Ram enemies to do bludgeoning damage equal to a d4 plus your strength.

You’re considered Fey which makes you immune to many spells that only target humanoids, and in addition you have Magic Resistance for advantage against all spells, making you highly resistant to magic!

Finally you have Mirthful Leaps, letting you add a d8 to the height or length of any jump you make. And you are a Reveler which gives you proficiency in Persuasion, Performance, and a musical instrument of your choice: your theme is heavy on the strings so I opted for a Viol personally.

If Satyr isn’t allowed: Shifter is probably your best replacement for an animalistic character. Wildhunt is the obvious pick but Swiftstride is much more in-character for Kindred’s kit.

ABILITY SCORES

15; WISDOM - You have hunted down thousands of marks. You know exactly what every animal or person thinks when they die.

14; DEXTERITY - Lamb’s grace is second only to her skill with a bow.

13; INTELLIGENCE - When you’re as old as time itself you know most things about the world.

12; CHARISMA - Perhaps not the most in-character, but the grey man is naturally intimidating.

10; CONSTITUTION - You have an ADC’s health bar even if you’re a jungler, but the fragile lamb isn’t as in character as...

8; STRENGTH - You wield a bow, not an axe. It’s on Wolf to fight the tough prey.

If you want a more optimized character then swap Constitution and Intelligence, but these stats are better oriented for roleplay.

BACKGROUND

Unfortunately there’s no “literal embodiment of death” background, but Sage is pretty good to mimic a being as old as time. You gain proficiency with Arcana and History along with two languages of your choice. As a Researcher you know where to find any information you can’t remember. That doesn’t mean it’ll be easy to access however...

(Artwork by Riot Games)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - CLERIC 1

Considering that you’re literally a god (of sorts) naturally we’ll be starting as a Cleric. You get two skills from the Cleric list: Religion is the obvious pick, and Insight will help you tell if your target wants the mercy of an arrow... or the jaws of a wolf.

Clerics can also choose their domain at level 1 and naturally since you’re a god of death the Grave domain will help you usher your marks into the beyond. As you stand at the edge of the Circle of Mortality any healing you cast on someone at 0 health will heal for the maximum amount, in case it’s not yet time for your allies. And if all else fails you are also capable of casting Spare the Dying with a range of 30 feet, guaranteeing that your arrow will only find its mark when its time.

Speaking of right time: with Eyes of the Grave you are able to identify anyone who’s beyond their time. As an action you can magically detect any undead within 60 feet of you, as long as they aren’t behind total cover or are protected from divination magic. This sense lasts one round and doesn’t tell you anything about a creature’s capabilities or identity. You can use feature a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier before needing to Long Rest.

And of course as a Cleric you are capable of Spellcasting. You learn three cantrips from the Cleric list: Toll the Dead is an obvious choice to lead your marks, and Guidance can be a gentle hand to lead them away. And finally Thaumaturgy will make sure that the people know when Kindred has made their mark.

Grave Clerics know the Bane and False Life spells innately, letting them either keep themselves on the battlefield or make sure their enemies have a harder time fighting against the jaws of death. For your prepared spells Healing Word will help you keep your allies away from Wolf, and Guiding Bolt will help you guide your arrow. Detect Magic will also let you see if anyone is trying to hold off your mark, if they wish for Wolf’s jaws.

LEVEL 2 - CLERIC 2

At level 2 Clerics gain access to their Channel Divinity. All Clerics can Turn Undead, forcing undead creatures to make a Wisdom save or flee from their hunter. In addition Grave Clerics can mark a target for a Path to the Grave. As an action you can mark a target and make them vulnerable to the next attack against them, so you can claim your mark quick.

You can also prepare another spell and Detect Evil and Good will let you find your mark, whoever... or whatever it may be.

LEVEL 3 - RANGER 1

You have your mark now you can get your bow. When you multiclass into Ranger you can choose one skill from their list: most of the options make sense but for ease of understanding I’d suggest Animal Handling to deal with Wolf. Speaking of Wolf you can now actually mark people with Favored Foe, giving you the ability to cast Hunter’s Mark without concentration a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier.

If you’re worrying about your inability to jump you don’t need to since we’ll be using the Class Feature Variants for Ranger to get Deft Explorer, and from Deft Explorer we’ll get the Canny feature for Expertise in Athletics along with two additional languages. Yes rules-as-written jumping relies on flat strength instead of Athletics, but rules-as-written for jumping is dumb since you can technically high jump over 780 feet rules-as-written. So if you have a cool DM chances are they’ll let you jump with Athletics.

LEVEL 4 - RANGER 2

Level 2 Rangers get a Fighting Style and you may be surprised that we’re picking Archery for +2 to hit with ranged weapons, such a long bow. You also get access to Spellcasting. You get two spells from the Ranger list: Beast Bond will let you bond with Wolf so you can speak and work together to chase your prey, and Zephyr Strike will let you speed up with Ghostblade and to do more damage when you hit.

LEVEL 5 - RANGER 3

I’ve mentioned Wolf many times but we’ve yet to get our other half. Thankfully Beastmaster will make sure that you’re never one without the other. You get a Ranger’s Companion, and with the Class Feature Variants you get two universal options. Despite the fact that he’s a “wolf” Wolf flies, so a Beast of the Air would make the most sense. I’m not going to describe the stat block too much (you can see it for yourself) but I will mention the important things here:

Wolf has an AC of 13

Wolf has health equal to a number of d6s equal to your Ranger level plus your Wisdom modifier and 1 from his Constitution modifier. In short the calculation for Wolf’s health is (d6 + WIS mod + 1) * Ranger level.

As a bonus action you can either make Wolf hide or have him make a Shred attack. Shred has a +5 to hit and does a d6 + 3 damage on hit.

Wolf doesn’t provoke opportunity attacks

If Wolf “dies” you can spend a spell slot to bring him back him back after a minute. "Are you there, dear Wolf?" "I am, little Lamb."

With Class Feature Variants you also get Primal Awareness, giving you the ability to cast certain spells once per Long Rest. At third level you get Detect Magic and Speak with Animals. Yes you already have Detect Magic but you can prepare something else if you wish. Speaking of which you learn another spell but for now I’m going to hold off on it, so take whatever you wish.

LEVEL 6 - RANGER 4

4th level Rangers get another Ability Score Improvement, but you may notice that uneven Dexterity score so... Athlete feat! For once there’s actually a reason for this beyond the +1 to Dexterity, as you can make a running long jump or high jump with only 5 feet of run up instead of 10, so you can hop around as you please. Being able to climb and stand up fast is an added bonus.

LEVEL 7 - RANGER 5

5th level Rangers get an Extra Attack, allowing them to attack twice with the attack action on their turn, so you can shoot two arrows instead of one per turn.

You can also learn second level spells now, which means that you can now cast Beast Sense and Locate Animals or Plants once per long rest. You can also learn Healing Spirit to keep your allies from needing your arrow, and from the Class Feature Variants list Magic Weapon will help enhance your shots to guarantee that your arrow is swift and painless.

(Artwork by RinRinDaishi on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 8 - CLERIC 3

At level 3 you can prepare second level Cleric spells. Should probably mention that that spell progression between a full caster and a half caster is odd, so be sure to check the Player Handbook to understand how many spell slots you should have. Anyways as a Grave Cleric you have Gentle Repose and Ray of Enfeeblement innately prepared for further control of live and death, and Enhance Ability will let you guide those who would aid you with your marks.

LEVEL 9 - CLERIC 4

At level 4 you get another Ability Score Improvement, and even though we still have some odd Ability Scores Dexterity is far more important to aim our bow and dodge our enemies.

You can also learn another cantrip and Mending can help clean the area after Wolf is done. For your leveled spell Warding Bond will let you share some of the pain with Wolf, to make sure that you’re forever one.

LEVEL 10 - CLERIC 5

At level 5 Clerics can Destroy Undead of CR 1/2 or lower with their Turn Undead Channel Divinity. Does this ability scale very poorly in multiclass builds? Yes. Does it matter? No, because Turn Undead is rather situational as-is.

You know what isn’t situational? Revivify and Vampiric Touch to keep both yourself and your allies in the fight. Along with your innate spells you can prepare third level spells and Speak with Dead will allow you to give your marks their final words. Perhaps not always useful, but hey you can prepare whatever you want.

LEVEL 11 - CLERIC 6

6th level Grave Clerics are Sentinel at Death’s Door. If your enemies are trying to do your job you can spend a reaction to negate a critical hit. You can use this reaction a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier, and regain all uses on a Long Rest.

You can also prepare another spell: if you can get in melee range Bestow Curse will allow you to make sure that your mark is effective. (But again you can prepare other spells if you don’t want to get into melee range.) And to top it off you can use your Channel Divinity twice for even more marks!

LEVEL 12 - CLERIC 7

7th level Clerics get access to 4th level spells which means that finally we can get our ultimate as a Grave Cleric with Death Ward. It’s not AoE not is it continuous but it will stop someone from dying. You do also get Blight as a Grave Cleric; seeing as Death Ward serves as Lamb’s mercy then Blight can serve as Wolf’s ferociousness? Regardless Locate Creature will let you find your mark however you wish to deal with them.

LEVEL 13 - CLERIC 8

Our final level is the 8th level in Cleric for Potent Spellcasting, but seeing as we aren’t casting spells I’m again going to suggest you take Blessed Strikes from the Class Feature Variants UA to do a d8 of damage with one of your arrows per turn. More ADC damage spikes!

You also get an Ability Score Improvement at this level and since we’re maxing out our divine influence I’d suggest increasing both your Intelligence and Wisdom by 1 to finally get rid of those odd numbers. This means that you can prepare two more spells from the Cleric list: Banish will help you deal with any creatures who aren’t in your jurisdiction, and Freedom of Movement will put a stop to anyone trying to stop you. But again you can prepare any spells you wish as a Cleric so pick and choose whatever you think will be useful.

(Artwork by merkerinn on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 14 - RANGER 6

Now that we are full Kindred it’s time to adapt Wolf further. Level 6 Rangers get Favored Enemy and Natural Explorer Improvements but since we’re using Class Feature Variants you instead get another feature from Deft Explorer: Tireless will make sure that no one can hold back the inevitable, as you gain the ability to temporarily shield yourself as well as decrease Exhaustion during short rests.

LEVEL 15 - RANGER 7

With 7 levels in Ranger Wolf now has Exceptional Training. You can now command Wolf to take the Dash, Disengage, or Help action on his turn if you command him with your bonus action. Additionally Wolf now count as magical for the purpose of overcoming resistance and immunity to nonmagical attacks and damage, because apparently the embodiment of death wasn’t magical?

Speaking of magic you can also learn another Ranger spell: Pass Without a Trace will allow you and all your allies to add +10 to their stealth roll, so that no one can see Kindred come.

LEVEL 16 - RANGER 8

8th level means an Ability Score Improvement, so it’s time to max out that Dexterity modifier for shots that always strike at the heart.

And to help you chase prey with Wolf Land’s Stride allows you to move through nonmagical difficult terrain without using extra movement. You can also pass through nonmagical plants without being slowed or taking damage because of them. In addition, you have advantage on saving throws against plants that are magically created or manipulated to impede movement, such those created by the entangle spell. The Shadow Isles are full of death; you won’t be held back by the warden.

LEVEL 17 - RANGER 9

9th level Rangers can cast third level Ranger spells. Thanks to Primal Awareness you can cast Speak with Plants once per day. If you want to use red buff however grab Flame Arrows to set your shots ablaze.

LEVEL 18 - RANGER 10

10th level Rangers get more Natural Explorer Improvements, which for us means we can take Roving from Deft Explorer. Your movement speed increases by 5 (on top of the 5 from being a Satyr, so 40 total) and you get a swim speed equal to your movement speed! You also get Hide in Plain Sight, allowing you to spend 1 minute to hide for +10 to stealth checks. Could you just cast Pass Without a Trace instead? Yeah probably.

While I like Fade Away from Class Feature Variants unfortunately Kindred can’t turn invisible.

LEVEL 19 - RANGER 11

Level 11 Beastmasters access Bestial Fury, letting Wolf attack twice instead of once! Is this extremely late to get what amounts to an extra d6 + 3 damage that probably won’t hit because of Wolf’s chance to hit? Yeah probably.

But at least you get another spell! Grab a late-game Adaptive Helm with Protection from Energy to keep you from taking too much from Volibear or Shyvana.

LEVEL 20 - RANGER 12

Our final level is the 12th level of Ranger for an Ability Score Improvement that’s going straight into Wisdom to buff all your spells as well as Wolf. This does mean that you get to prepare another Cleric spell but it’s so late now that pretty much anything would work.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Your next treat, dear Wolf - While you perhaps don’t do the most damage with your shots it’s more than likely that your arrow will fly true, and you have many a mark and spell to make your shots pierce even the toughest of hides.

Hurry, Lamb. Faster! - Along with the obvious anti-magic benefits of playing a Satyr the mobility can’t be ignored, with long leaps despite your low strength and 40 feet of movement thanks to Roving.

Beauty fades; that is why it is beautiful - You have a positive score in every social stat and quite a few skill proficiencies, making you rather adept among those who revel you... or fear you.

CONS

I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm bored, chase chase chase! - Two reworks later and Beastmaster Ranger is still underwhelming. While this build does good at early levels it quickly falls off as Wolf’s jaws become less useful. Be sure to talk to your DM about how to make Beastmaster Ranger more playable. Or perhaps just play Artificer?

What do all stories have in common, dear Wolf? - Your spell slots are limited, meaning that eventually your resources will run out. What’s more is that while your slots go up to level 7 the level of your spells stop at 4, and while you can upcast your spells will never be as good as a spell that was meant to be cast at that level.

Is this what it feels like to end? - While you have a lot of ways to keep yourself in the fight your health and armor really leave something to be desired. You’ll probably only have a little over 100 health which means that a Power Word Kill can put a stop to you with ease.

But your mark is guaranteed to fall in time; it is merely up to them if they choose an arrow or teeth. Every life ends with you one way or another: just make sure that the life ending isn’t your own. A grey man sitting in a grey room leads to a very sad Wolf.

(Artwork by inkinesss on DeviantArt)

#DnD 5e #dnd #dnd build #dnd guide #dnd Ranger #dnd Cleric #League of Legends #League of Legends Kindred #lamb #wolf

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marvelstheavengers · 5 years

Text

Peter’s Party Problems Part 1/3

Hey guys! This is part one of three in a drunken Peter mini-series. Hope you all like, let me know! Links to parts two and three below.

***

Crash.

Tony’s eyes flew open, mind racing a million miles an hour as he tried to place the noise. Had someone just knocked over something? Was the noise even real or was he dreaming?

Bang.

Yup, that was definitely real. Tony whipped off his covers, glad that Pepper was on a business trip.

“FRIDAY, what was that noise? Are there intruders? Why the hell didn’t you alert me that there are intruders?” Tony hissed at his AI.

“No intruders are detected, Mr. Stark. The loud noise you are concerned about was Mr. Parker bumping into the living room coffee table, and, unfortunately, there is no protocol set to inform you when an authorized figure is being noisy,” FRIDAY responded. Tony swore he heard a defensive undertone in the AI’s mechanical voice. However, he didn’t have time to dwell on FRIDAY’s growing sass, because he was more concerned why Peter Parker was banging around the compound at this ungodly hour.

Tony rubbed his eyes and slipped on a pair of sandals. So much for sleep.

***

“Oh my God, Tony is going to kill me,” Clint groaned as he watched Peter stumble to catch the coffee table.

“He can’t killll you Mr. Hawkeye, that’s illgle- illelegal- illeglal,” Peter giggled, his words slurred from all the alcohol he had consumed.

“I take my eyes off you for two seconds, kid, and you know what you do? You drink the entire liquor supply! You even told me you don’t drink!” Clint groaned, kneading his forehead. Thinking back, maybe it had been a bad idea to take Peter to a party at a bar, but the kid had begged. Despite being a father of three, Clint still couldn’t resist puppy dog eyes.

“I d’nt drink! They s’id it was iced tea,” Peter mumbled, his words barely coherent.

“Long Island iced tea, Peter. Did that not tip you off?” Clint hissed. He was answered with another fit of giggles from the teenager.

Huffing, Clint grabbed Peter by the back of his shirt before he could knock over the credenza. There was still a loud bang, however, as Peter twisted, his knee bumping into the table as he tried to see what grabbed him.

“Hey Mr. Hawk what are you doin’ that f’r?” Peter whined.

“I’m trying to prevent you from killing yourself. Which really won’t matter since Tony’s going to murder you once he finds out how inebriated you are anyways,” Clint growled as he tried to support Peter in his journey back to his room. It was proving quite hard, since he wasn’t exactly sober either.

“Mis’r Stark likes me too much to kill me,” Peter frowned.

“Mr. Stark likes smart, sober Peter. Not drunk Peter,” Clint said slowly, voice dripping with ridicule. Peter scowled, his mouth opening to quip back a reply, but Clint slapped his hand over it at the sound of a floorboard croaking.

“Wha-” Peter slurred against his hand, but was interrupted by a sharp “sh” from the older man .

“I heard a floorboard creak a couple floors up, probably the one outside Tony’s room. We need to get out of here. Now,” the assassin calculated. By his estimates there wasn’t nearly enough time to get out of the compound, but maybe, just maybe he could coach Peter into acting sober.

“Follow me, Spiderboy,” Clint said, grabbing the kid’s hand. Peter obliged, tripping slightly as he stumbled after Hawkeye. Just a couple paces later, he was shoved into a couch.

“Owwww,” Peter moaned as he fell into it, his head banging against the back. He shuffled his body into a more comfortable position.

“Good. Stay like that. Don’t breathe heavy. Don’t talk. Just sit there and act like you’re tired and watching TV. I’ll do all the talking. Just whatever you do, don’t move, stand up, or say anything. Capiche?” Clint coached.

“Quiche,” Peter responded. Clint let out a slight groan, but kept moving around the room, flipping the lamp and TV on, and shifting everything into its proper place. After just thirty seconds, when everything was prepped to the best that drunk Clint could manage, the man took a deep breath and sat down next to Peter.

“Showtime,” he murmured.

***

Tony stifled a yawn as he walked down the stairs, pulling up his grey sweatpants up as he went. He knew he looked like a mess with his mussed up hair and rumpled AC/DC t-shirt, but he was too determined to figure out why in God’s name Peter was bumbling around the compound at 2:30 in the morning to really care.

As he approached the bottom floor, Tony noticed light spilling into the hallway, seemingly from the TV room.

Gotcha, Tony thought as he quietly approached the room. He stopped just short of the doorway, listening to the sudden murmur of voices.

“What are we doing here?” Tony recognized Peter’s voice, though it was slightly slowed with what Tony guessed was sleep.

“Really, Peter?” A voice responded. Clint, Tony identified.

“That’s a good question,” Tony chided, taking the opportunity to step out of the shadows, annoyance lacing his voice, “what are we doing here?”

The look of utter horror on both of their faces was priceless. Peter’s mouth popped into a little O, and Clint’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Tony smirked, but his victorious expression faded slightly as he took in the disheveled appearance of the two.

“Hiya, Tony,” Clint croaked, a nervous smile playing on his lips. Tony’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the man: shirt buttons popped, hair untamed, eyes squinted.

“Hiya, Clint! Do tell me, whatcha doing wandering around at 2:30 a.m. with a sixteen year old?” Tony asked, his voice creeping up a pitch with anger.

“We’re actually just watching a movie. I promised Peter if he couldn’t sleep he could come to me and we could watch a movie,” Clint replied smoothly.

“Oh really?” Tony raised an eyebrow as his gaze shifted to the kid. Peter looked back at him with wide, slightly red eyes. His curls stuck every which way, his science t-shirt rumpled under his open, long sleeved plaid shirt. There was definitely something off.

“Why are you both still fully dressed if you came from bed?” Tony questioned.

“Well I was already up, I’m sure Peter probably got dressed before coming to get me, wouldn’t want me to see his iron man PJs,” Clint winked, mentally cringing as he noted that he was not the best liar when drunk. Tony just glared in return.

“Peter. Care to comment?” Tony stared pointedly at the boy, who now seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him completely. He released a string of unintelligible mumbles.

“Speak up, kid, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“I’d take it easy, Tones, the kid’s really tired,” Clint suggested.

“Well then he should be in bed, shouldn’t he?” Tony practically growled.

“Yeah, we’ll go in a few minutes. Sorry for disturbing you. Why don’t you go back to bed?” Clint suggested gently.

“Did I say he should be in bed in a few minutes? No. Now. Let’s go, kid,” Tony demanded. Peter continued to look at the floor.

“Peter,” Tony clipped.

“Too t’red to walk,” Peter mumbled, his voice slightly slurred. Tony frowned, his protective instinct screaming that something was wrong.

“Then I’ll help you. C’mon,” Tony took a step closer, leaning towards Peter and offering his hand. As he looked the kid up and down, his instincts practically screamed that there was something off.

“Kid?” Tony asked softly, leaning in. That was when the pungent smell of alcohol hit him, and everything clicked.

Clint watched in terror as Tony’s eyes widened in realization, then hardened. And then they set on him.

“Remind me what you were doing tonight, Clint?” Tony asked, voice sickly sweet as he took a step back from Peter, who had ignored his offered hand.

“Errr,” Clint looked at Tony with guilt, knowing any response would just add more pain to his most certain murder.

“Right,” Tony nodded, “anything to add to that Peter? Perhaps an explanation as to why you’re slurring?”

“Ti-er-d,” Peter choked out slowly, as if trying to sound out every syllable to prevent stumbling over his own words. Tony rolled his eyes.

“Sure. Get up,” Tony ordered. Clint buried his face in his hands.

Peter grabbed the edge of the couch as he stood. Even with the extra balance, he still managed to trip, catching himself on the ledge of the coffee table before he hit the ground. Tony watched with very little amusement. Peter grinned sheepishly up at him.

“T’red,” he lied once again, this time dramatically clapping a hand over his mouth as if covering a yawn.

“Oh wow! I get a yawn this time!” Tony exclaimed sarcastically. Peter just stared back with wide brown eyes.

“Anything you want to tell me, Spiderman?” Tony asked, his voice taking on a threatening quality.

“Nope,” Peter shook his head. Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Really? Nothing at all? That’s interesting.”

Silence.

Right then and there, Tony resolved that he was going to get Peter to admit that he was drunk, even if it was the last thing he did.

“Right, well I’m glad you don’t have anything going on, because we’re about to go on a mission. We could use your help. You in?”

“Tony wha-” Clint was silenced by Tony’s glare. The single, terrifying look was enough to communicate that Tony was testing Peter. And he wanted no interference. With the amount of trouble Clint was in, he didn’t want to give Tony any more reason to hate him.

“Well, Peter? Are you in?” Tony asked again. Peter looked visibly nervous, eyes on the ground as he let out a slurred reply:

“Whatev’r you need, Mis’er Stark.”

Tony’s eyes flashed.

“Good. FRIDAY, assemble the team.”

“Sir, just to confirm, you wish to assemble the Avengers right now? May I ask for a reason to give them?” FRIDAY’s voice echoed.

“Tell them there’s a mission,” Tony replied, eyes steely. He was positive that the team would be completely pissed when they discovered Tony had awakened them at 2:30 a.m. for no reason other than to prove a point to Peter Parker. He didn’t care. Coffee was invented for a reason.

“Yes, sir,” FRIDAY responded, “alerting them now.”

“Oh wait, Mr. Stark, I forgot! I don’t have my suit,” Peter attempted to slap his forehead as if he had been stupid, but completely missed his head. It would’ve been comical if Tony wasn’t so pissed. What was the one thing he had told the kid to never do? Drink or do drugs. He was supposed to be smarter than this. He was supposed to be better than Tony.

“No worries, kid. I’ve got a spare one here. FRIDAY, have Mark XLlX bring the kid’s spare suit up.”

FRIDAY clicked out a reply, and soon Peter could hear the whir of tech coming towards them. Mark XLlX flew into the TV room, dropping Peter’s suit into his arms before allowing Tony to step inside of the armor. It easily clicked into place around the man, and suddenly Peter wasn’t just lying to Tony, he was lying to Iron Man. The boy gulped. He was in too deep.

“Well what are you waiting for? Get dressed,” Tony chided as his mask slid up to reveal his expression of disapproval. Peter nodded groggily.

It was at that time the other Avengers started pouring into the room. First Captain America, followed by a disheveled, sleepy eyed Bruce, then Wanda and Vision, and finally Sam, Bucky, and Rhodey. The rest of the team was currently residing elsewhere, much to Tony’s dismay.

Iron man threw his arms up in welcome.

“Glad you all are here! We’ve got a very important mission. We’re just waiting on Peter to suit up,” he bellowed. Everyone stared, confusion evident in their sleepy expressions. Peter looked around with widened eyes.

“Wait, where’s Natasha?” Tony wrinkled his brow, glancing around as if it was possible she had camouflaged herself against the wall or a spare lamp. Which, of course, it most definitely was. However, as everyone surveyed the room with confusion, Steve Rogers interjected.

“I passed her room on the way here,” he announced, “she said something about cutting your throat next time you try and wake her at 2:30 to prove a point? I didn’t really understand, and definitely didn’t have time to think about it with the emergency mission.”

Tony scowled in response. How did that woman always know everything?

“Odd. Maybe she was dreaming. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Peter still isn’t in his suit,” Tony said pointedly.

“S’ry,” Peter murmured, shifting from foot to foot. He pulled off his shirt, his head and limbs tangling into the fabric while he floundered. Peter couldn’t help the grunt that slipped out as he tried desperately to get unstuck, eventually stumbling into the couch as he fell. His situation worsened as he attempted to pull himself out of his pants, tripping into the side table and slipping into a heap of jeans and lengthy limbs.

“Issok I’ll just change down herrrre,” Peter slurred. Everyone looked at him with varying degrees of bewilderment.

“Wait,” Rhodey interrupted the muddled silence, “is he- is he drun-”

Tony swung around, cutting the man off with a single look.

I’m trying to prove a point, Tony mouthed silently. The room immediately rioted.

“Wait so does that mean-”

“So there really isn’t a-”

“You woke us up for TH-”

“Damn it, Natasha!”

“I did not calculate this-”

“Did everyone forget I have anger-”

Tony waved his hand over his neck in a “cut it out” motion. The voices quieted, but the team all glared at him murderously. Tony returned a scowl, then turned back towards Peter who was currently trapped, his head pressed against the spandex near his armpit. Tony shook his head.

“Well while we wait on Peter, I’m going to go get in ‘The Quinjet’. K Tones? Good,” Rhodey said sarcastically, clearly indicating that he was, in fact, going back to his room to sleep despite Tony’s protests. A few others began shuffling behind him, rubbing their tired eyes and yawning.

“Uh-uh, oh no you don’t,” Sam clucked, grabbing at everyone in the vicinity, “I do NOT want to miss this conversation. And you guys most certainly aren’t going to leave me alone. Unless you want to get me popcorn. Don’t forget I have killer wings. Yeah, you all remember, I know you do. So what’s it gonna be?”

The team groaned, shrugging and swatting at Sam’s grip. However, they stayed behind, just not without mumbles of disapproval.

Sam cut the murmurs off, turning to Rhodey and whispering, “Twenty says that he continually denies he’s drunk until Tony threatens to blast him.”

“Forty says that he’ll try and act sober despite every single person figuring out he’s drunk,” Rhodey countered. Sam chuckled.

“Sixty if he throws up more than three times tomorrow,” Bucky offered.

“Deal,” Sam leapt up immediately, shaking his competitor’s hand. Wanda shook her head, a smile playing around the edges of her mouth. Bruce and Steve both looked on with slight disapproval, but sleep deprivation seemed to conquer any rampant arguments.

While everyone bet on Peter’s future the young boy declared, “I’m doneee!” Oblivious, he stood with some support via the couch.

Rhodey cursed.

“C’mon, Pete, your mask is on backwards. At least try to act sober,” he hissed softly. Sam chuckled. Even with his heightened senses, Peter appeared not to hear.

“Peter, your mask isn’t on right,” Tony echoed, looking pointedly at Rhodey.

“Ohhh I was wondering why I couldn’t see,” Peter muttered, pulling at the spandex. “Now I’m ready!”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“Good, took you long enough. You two ready?” Tony asked, gesturing at Peter and Clint, the latter having not moved an inch since being confronted.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hawkeye grunted, standing up slowly while grabbing the couch for balance.

“Ooooo, now we now who’s going to be murdered,” Sam chuckled, “anyone wanna take bets on how Tony kills him?”

“The most efficient way to commit murder is to administer an air shot between the toes,” Vision answered automatically. Everyone turned towards him.

“Damnnnn, Vision, that’s dark, man,” Sam grinned.

“Yeah, well, we all know Tony doesn’t usually take the easy route,” Rhodey countered, looking at Clint with something like pity. The other man threw his arms up.

“You guys are not seriously betting on my murder,” he growled, joining the cluster of other Avengers.

Wanda cocked her head, “I think it’s more of a bet on how.”

“You coming, Pete, or what?” Tony interrupted, gaze steadily trained on the teen.

“Umm, what’s the mishishon- miss’on- mission, Mr. Stark?”

Tony blanked, “An aquarium is… uh… on fire... AND being attacked by, um, aliens at the same time. A lot of people, er, animals relying on us.”

“Yeah,” Bucky added with a snort, “you’d think all the water in the aquarium would prevent a fire. Very tragic.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, “Alien fire. Lots of injured… pufferfish”

A chorus of laughter erupted from behind the billionaire, and he cursed his inability to lie in the early morning hours.

“Not the pufferfish!” Peter wailed, looking distraught.

“Yeah, well, we gotta go save them. C’mon.”

Peter paled, looking at his feet shamefully. Tony raised an eyebrow. This was it, he could feel it. Peter was going to come clean, and they could all move on, not without a lengthy lecture, of course. All he had to do was say the words.

#avengers #irondad #ironman #marvel #tony stark #tonystark #clint barton #iron dad #iron man #natasha romanoff #spiderson #spider son #irondad and spiderson #iron dad and spider son #spider man #peter #peterparker #peter parker #irondad fic

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wildefiction · 5 years

Text

Thistle & Crow

PAIRING: Sam x Reader

WORD COUNT: 6,940

SUMMARY: In an attempt to escape her old life, reader packs her things and moves to a remote mountain town where she stumbles upon the town’s oldest bookshop. Soon odd things begin happening, things she can’t even hope to explain.

WARNINGS: Deja Vu, Swearing, Occult Reference, Witchcraft {Mentioned}, Mild Flirting, Minor Injuries

A/N: This was originally written for a follower contest hosted by @frejaiswritingthistime. My prompt was ‘Sam x Reader Bookshop AU’

It was perfect. Staring over the steering wheel at the small town unfolding before you, it was suddenly clear just how much you needed this.

Packing your worldly possessions into the hatchback of the Volkswagen had been a spur of the moment decision last week. You told yourself this would be a fresh start, a new life - and you were determined to make it work.

The jaunty electric green car sputtered to a stop just outside the lone cafe in town. A large bell tied to the door jingled overhead as you moved towards a corner booth, thanking the waitress when she slid a plastic covered menu to you from behind the counter. “You new in town?” Looking up into her kind, brown eyes, you felt strangely comfortable. Or, rather, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to answer the woman honestly. “Is it that obvious?” The wry smile didn’t quite reach your eyes and the woman -Beth- (according to her name tag) filled your cup. The steaming coffee was unremarkable, but still, it soothed the sudden nerves prickling your skin. Could you really pull this off?

After devouring what was possibly the best pancakes on the planet, you said goodbye to the middle-aged woman and wandered out the front door. If Ravencrest was going to be your new home, you may as well start getting to know the small mountain town.

Shoving hands into the shallow pockets of your jeans helped deter the chilly Autumn wind as it carried summer leaves through the quiet streets. Here and there you’d see someone walking their dog or chatting with a friend. Unlike in the city, people here seemed unconcerned with mindlessly scrolling through social media feeds until their battery ran out. The thought brought a smile to your face.

The fragrant smell of lavender drew your attention to a small shop squished between a hardware store and a pharmacy, the two substantial buildings looked to be fairly new and dwarfed the older business. Peering up at the ornate carved support beams, the shop name was spelled out in neat black script ‘Thistle & Crow.’ Intrigued, you reached forward, wrapping one hand around the brass handle while rising up on tiptoes to peer inside the glass paneled door. Unable to see much aside from the glow of flames framed in a stone fireplace, you pressed the lever and let yourself into the small building. More chimes tinkled above you and you wondered if every business in this town employed a similar set-up. Immediately the pleasant aroma of burning sage invaded your senses and although it was only mid-afternoon you waited as your eyes adjusted to the dim interior.

Rich mahogany shelves lined every available surface, where thousands of books waited invitingly. Impressed, you turned to find a wide matching countertop stretched along the length of the nearest wall,where a grizzled, old cat napped at one end. The mottled cream and grey fur stuck up at odd angles and crooked, haphazard whiskers twitched in his sleep.

“His name is Thistle.” Startled, you turned to find an elderly woman hobbling towards you, most of her weight supported on a thick, gnarled walking stick. Long grey hair was piled atop her head, streaks of platinum interspersed throughout. Aside from the fact that she had seemingly appeared out of thin air, you didn’t feel threatened. For a moment, the two of you merely looked at each other, the silence hanging in the air held a palpable tension.

The unmistakable sound of ruffled feathers distracted you from the woman’s scrutinization as a solid weight settled on your left shoulder. Palms tingling with anxiety, you looked through your peripheral vision at the oversized crow who’d found you to be a convenient perch. Wide, glassy eyes flicked back to the woman standing next to you. “Let me guess…this is Crow?” For a moment, she didn’t speak, her pale green eyes darting between you and the bird. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, her brows unfurrowed and she waved a hand around in acceptance; a motley cluster of bangles clinking together. “Really? This one?” A soft chuff from Crow had the woman nodding in acquiescement. “Fine.” “Come now love, I’ll put the kettle on.” “Names’ Agatha, though most youngin’s call me Aggie..not that I’ve any idea why…” The last was muttered under her breath, her head shaking in disappointment or perhaps incredulity as she wandered into the next room and set about preparing the afternoon tea.

*****

Four-hundred and sixty-eight miles away, two men sat slumped in oak chairs; teetering piles of books stacked around them. The eldest of the brothers rubbed at tired, red-rimmed eyes before leaning forward to rest his head on the cool parchment he had been pretending to read. “Dude, Sammy, how do you do this? We have no idea what we’re even looking for.”

His brother shoved a hand through the auburn mane that fell around his face, “I dunno…but there has to be some kind of lore that can help us. The Men of Letters were nothing if not thorough in their collection of obscure texts.” Sighing heavily, he continued “But you’re right, I haven’t come across anything here either.” The grating of chair legs across the wooden floor made Sam cringe when Dean pushed back from the table and stood, stretching long arms over his head. “Beer?” Not waiting for an answer, Dean shuffled into the next room, selecting two bottles from an otherwise empty refrigerator.

Walking back into the adjacent room, Dean set the second bottle in front of his brother, beads of condensation already starting to form. “Thanks.” Prying the aluminum cap off and taking a long swallow, Sam’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at something on his laptop. “Dean…” Spinning the computer towards him, Sam pointed his bottle at the news article.

‘Violent Attack Leaves Three Dead and Two In Critical Condition’

The older brother shot a skeptic look to the younger man. “Really? This doesn’t even smell like our kinda thing..grasping at straws are we?” The corner of Sam’s lip twitched in amusement. “Maybe you’re right, maybe we should just keep going through these books…there’s got–“ “Be ready in ten.” In three long strides Dean was at the base of the stairs leading to the garage. If there was one thing he disliked more than going on a wild goose chase, it was research. Grabbing his green and blue flannel from the back of a chair, Sam followed Dean upstairs.

The crinkling of newspaper filled the car as Sam read through the full article. The headline had gone on to state that the attack had happened in the mountains of Montana; unsure what kind of connectivity he’d have being surrounded by trees, he’d picked up the paper during their initial stop for food and gas.

“Any idea what we’re dealing with?” Though Dean’s eyes were focused mostly on the road, he fumbled with an AC/DC mix tape, shoving the cassette into the dash of the Impala and cranking the volume. Sam had to shout to be heard, and even then, he wasn’t sure his brother had understood him. “What?!” A ridiculous grin covered Dean’s face at the look of annoyance Sam passed him. “It’s really nothing I’ve heard of before, but the park rangers are guessing it’s some kind of animal attack. Guess the bodies are tore up pretty bad. So get this…they had to use dental records to identify the three who died.” Dean’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

*****

A week passed and you’d settled into a fairly regular routine. Agatha had offered to let you stay in the one-room apartment situated above the bookshop in exchange for a few hours of work each week and you’d happily accepted. It hadn’t taken long to meet most everyone in town, the population being roughly that of your high-school back home.

Most days consisted of making tea and running errands for Agatha and closing up shop each evening. The elderly woman had begun teaching you how to catalog and organize the shelves of books, making it easier to replace ones borrowed from the regular patrons. You enjoyed the simple task and often found yourself reclined in front of the ever-burning fireplace, devouring text after text as the days wore on. Towards the end of your second week in Ravencrest, you turned from locking up; looking forward to a quiet night in when you saw it. The glossy black car didn’t belong to anyone in town, that much you were sure of. Shrugging, you began climbing the narrow wooden stairs leading to your home, the squeaking protests of the ancient wood echoing around you. Halfway to the top you slowed, glancing back over your shoulder at the car. It was beautiful. Most folks here drove rust-dotted farm trucks that had seen better days. Those that didn’t either rode their horses into town or simply walked everywhere. There just wasn’t a need for anything fancier, and you’d realized, rather quickly, that a simple life came with simple possessions. It wouldn’t hurt to get a closer look, right? Whoever owned the car was likely just passing through anyhow.

As you approached the car, you tentatively reached out, fingertips brushing along the polished chrome and onyx paint. “Hey!” Startled, you spun around, your [Y/H/C] hair fanning out behind you as your eyes landed on the man who was approaching. Jogging the last few feet, his eyes were hard as he regarded you. Holding your hands up in defense you took a couple steps back, “Sorry, I was just admiring the view. I assume she’s yours?” A curt nod his only acknowledgement to your question, you continued “Don’t get to see many classic cars roll through town, or at least none that are this beautifully restored. ‘67 Impala right?” You could see some of the rigidity leave the man’s posture as he nodded, a slow smile replacing his stoic expression. “Yeah..she’s my baby.” Smiling softly you nodded “Well, it looks like you take great care of her. Have a good night.” With a wave, you crossed the street and let yourself into your apartment, closing the door behind you.

*****

“Who was that?” Sam walked up behind his brother, several styrofoam containers stacked in his hands. “Dunno. Came out of Beth’s and she was standing here, touching my baby.” Sam shook his head, shoving one of the food containers towards his brother. “You’ve got problems man, pretty sure you’d marry that car if you could…” Dean opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it and simply shrugged, firing up the engine and pulling out onto the main road.

*****

The following day, you arrived to find a hastily scribbled note on the front counter;

“Back in a few days, be a dear and look after the boys will you? Don’t forget the tea!

Enjoy,

Agatha.”

Your mouth dropped open at the thick tome resting under the slip of paper. Straps bound the leather book, and you took a moment to blow the layer of dust from it’s cover. Elegant maroon text shimmered across the surface, the transcribed runes spelling out a name you instantly recognized as an authority on mythology. A certain giddiness flooded your senses and you were just about to crack open the book when Thistle ambled over and demanded food, his milky blue eyes glaring up at you in indignation.

Twenty minutes later you were so engrossed in the hefty anthology, you failed to notice the sound of the door opening. “Bit of light reading?” Devouring the last two lines on the page, you nodded absentmindedly before lifting your eyes to the patron. The man standing at the counter was tall, your gaze level with his broad, flannel covered chest.

As your eyes traveled up to meet his, a chill spread through your limbs. Long, chestnut hair curled just above the neckline of the sage green tee layered beneath the flannel. His eyes were the color of honey with a kaleidoscope of green and blue, a beautiful combination that sparkled with warmth. “Hi, I’m Sam.” You took his outstretched hand, and, realizing you were probably staring at him, tried your best to control the tone of your voice.

“[Y/F/N]” How can I help you?!”

“I’m uh,” Sam cleared his throat - “interesting name for a book shop.”

“Yeah, I … suppose it is…” This was awkward.

“Well, feel free to have a look around, and uh…let me know if I can help you find anything.”

*****

Wandering through the rows of bookshelves, Sam took a moment to look over his shoulder at the woman sitting behind the counter. She was entirely engrossed in her book. It was endearing. He didn’t know what it was about the girl, but he was inexplicably drawn to her. For some reason, she seemed familiar.

Shifting uncomfortably, he turned again and scanned the books - never seeing the large bird approaching him..

*****

A deep yelp of surprise caught your attention and the chair behind you toppled over as you hurried into the adjacent room. Sam stood there, his large body rigid; chest heaving, eyes trained on Crow; happily perched on the man’s head.

Blanching, you hurried over and removed the offending animal, profusely apologizing the entire time. “CROW!?” “I’m soooo sorry, he never does this! Or..well..almost never.” “Again, so sorry.” Hurrying out of the room with the blasted bird under your arm, you placed him on a gnarled tree that twisted along the wall.

Leaning against the trunk, your hand wiped at the perspiration that dotted your head. Clearly Sam wasn’t from around here, you only hoped he wouldn’t sue. Agatha had left you alone for two days and her crazy bird had decided to roost in his hair. Steeling yourself, you square your shoulders and stride back into the library, intent on convincing Sam to…well..you weren’t quite sure. Though, somewhere in your mind, you knew you weren’t above pleading. Bribery? Bribery might work too.

“Sam, listen….” “Sam?”

The small bookstore was empty.

*****

“And then…a crow flew across the room and landed on my head.” Dean looked across the table at his brother, a handful of fries midway to his mouth. “Keep telling you to cut your hair man.” He shrugged “Looks like a nest to me.”

Sam scoffed at his brother, “Any leads on the case?” Dean shook his head, “I don’t know if this is our thing at all.” “Nobody seems to have any information. Not even the cops.” Sam was back to scanning his newspaper.

“Well, clearly we’re missing something.”

Looking around at their immediate surroundings, Sam tilted his head - watching the people around him going about their day. Either the citizens of Ravencrest were blissfully ignorant of the danger they were in or…

The youngest Winchester stood, intent on asking every person in town about the newspaper article if need be. Someone had to know something, and his gut led him in the direction of that quirky little bookstore. Whether he knew it or not, the woman behind the counter was about to change his life.

A few minutes later, Sam was jogging up to the front of the book store, and his heart sank when he saw the darkened windows. Shaking the sleeve back from his wrist, he noted the time - 6:12pm.

Glancing at the door, where the business’ hours were detailed in the same matching script as the name of the shop, he noted that they’d closed early. They were supposed to be open for another forty-five minutes. Hesitantly, he reached forward - surprised when he found the store unlocked. As the old wooden door creaked forward, Sam stuck his head around the corner. “Hello? Uh..[Y/F/N]? Anyone home?” Advancing through the dim entryway, he stopped short at the sound of voices filtering in from the back room. “Please child, it’ll keep you safe.” Sam didn’t recognize the voice, though the urgency with which the woman spoke was obvious. “Agatha, what are you talking about?” “Safe from what, exactly?!”

[Y/F/N]’s voice was a barely contained whisper, fear bled into her mind; pupils dilating, her body deciding whether to fight or flee. Sam inched closer, the pistol he’d drawn firm in his grip.

An unmistakable sound of ruffling feathers was accompanied by an indignant huff of impatience from the room ahead. “Stop trying to be sneaky Sam Winchester, you’re not very good at it.” The hunter narrowed his eyes as he stepped through the door frame, coming to face both [Y/F/N] and the woman he assumed to be Agatha. “How do you know my name?” Sam was wary, his hazel eyes laced with confusion as he tried to decide who in the room to focus on. “Son, I know a great deal more about you than your name. And put that blasted weapon away, you’ll shoot your eye out!”

*****

You were thoroughly confused, and admittedly a little scared. Agatha had come barreling through the shop an hour ago, slamming the door so hard, dust had filtered down from the rafters. Immediately she poured a strong cup of the tea that she insisted be readily available and gulped at the liquid feverishly. As the minutes ticked by, she became visibly calmer. Now she was trying to shove the same concoction into your hands, along with some sort of pendant. The macrame-braided stone appeared rather drab, though, turned at the correct angle vivid bursts of color danced across its surface. Hesitantly, you took the necklace and tied it around your neck, still unsure what it was supposed to protect you from. “Drink! Drink the tea girl!” As you lifted the delicate china cup to your lips, Sam inched into the room, gun drawn. His gaze flicked to you, and then to Agatha “What’s going on?”

“It’s a Tezaur.” Sam lowered his weapon. “A what?!” Racking his brain, he couldn’t remember ever hearing of anything by that name, let alone seeing one. The elderly woman hobbled into the main room, the steady clack, clack, clack of her walking stick echoing around her. A couple minutes later she returned, the massive mythology book tucked under her free arm. With a heavy thud, it landed on the table just inside the doorway. Agatha spent several minutes rifling through the pages and muttering under her breath until she found the entry she’d been searching for. Turning her pale eyes towards Sam, she gestured to the yellowing pages. Several charcoal drawings of a medium sized creature were littered around the parchment. One drawing looked very similar to a modern hyena, while another was more reptilian in nature; great leathery wings folded neatly as it sat staring at whomever had gotten close enough to capture its likeness. A third sketch was similar to some member of the ape family, though with highly exaggerated proportions. Long arms dragged the ground, the digits oversized and callused. Short, fine hair covered all major areas, leaving only the wedge-shaped muzzle and eye area bare. Although each drawing showed a different species, there were several key similarities: perfectly round globe-like eyes, raptor-esque talons sprouting from both the fore and back feet and a bi-colored appearance. Scanning the short excerpts of text, all hastily written in a dark brown ink, Sam was able to understand that the creature was a malevolent forest spirit. Originally hailing from Romania, the author of the large compendium of text surmised that the Tezaur could change its appearance at will, shifting into something or someone important to their victim. They also often hoard shiny objects, much like a dragon might. “Huh, it says here ‘Tezaur spirits also enjoy the company of beautiful women and will squirrel them away to their den to compliment their hoard of treasures, where they will…’” Blushing, Sam looked up at you before clearing his throat “Ugh, well…that’s something I didn’t know I never wanted to see.” Pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, the hunter shook his head; his hair falling over his eyes while he rubbed at his temples.

The entire time Sam was reading, Agatha was insisting you drink tea. Meanwhile, you had no idea what was going on and you began to wonder if moving to the sticks had been such a good idea after all.

“Now, what that book doesn’t mention is that Tezaur fancy themselves chivalrous, only taking what they perceive to be fair game. While nobody, to my knowledge, has written a book on that subject it appears that true soul mates are immune to their charms and they strongly dislike the smell of lavender.”

Looking down at the drink in your hands, you noticed for the first time the small purple flowers floating in the tea.

“Great, so what does all of this have to do with me?!” You turned to face the woman who’d gone silent and was staring intently at her feet, her long skirts flowing around her legs. It took a few minutes, but Agatha finally raised her eyes to yours, the light irises shining with unshed tears. “Agatha? Agatha why are you crying?!” Studying the woman, you wondered what had happened to make her this afraid. For a moment she cupped your cheek in her cool hand, a sad smile spreading across her face. Sniffling, she quickly shook her head, the back of one hand dashing away the wetness threatening to spill over her lids. “Never-mind me dears, you’re both safe now.”

The concern for Agatha’s tear-stained face etched into Sam’s features appeared genuine. You might’ve looked a little too long at the gorgeous man in front of you. As soon as he realized you were watching him, you hastily looked away; heat coloring your cheeks. What was wrong with you? You’d only met Sam once before but your skin was flushed and you couldn’t seem to concentrate properly.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam was wondering the same thing. He didn’t believe he had a Soul Mate, this just wasn’t the kind of life where lasting relationships seemed possible, let alone plausible. Still, he had to admit -if to no one but himself- that there was something about you…he’d still yet to figure out where he’d seen you before.

Clearing his throat, he turned back to the book “It doesn’t say how to kill them.” Agatha sighed, “That’s because you can’t. Or I’ve never heard of it happening. Mostly you just have to placate it and hope it decides to migrate elsewhere.” “I haven’t seen one in twenty years, so they’re not terribly common. I’m not even sure how it got here if we’re being honest.” The woman laid a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder, and she seemed resigned to the idea that this critter would haunt the small town forever. “This Tezaur appears to be especially aggressive if it is the predator that has been killing people. Luckily, we don’t have a town newspaper and few people have internet, so the news hasn’t spread. Yet.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure…” Sam’s tone was stoic as he pulled the folded newspaper article from his back pocket and handed it to Agatha. “Apparently someone out there knows about what’s happening. Unfortunately, this seems to be anonymously written, which doesn’t help at all.”

You started pacing the small room. A lighter path of worn boards showed that you hadn’t been the first and likely wouldn’t be the last person to fret over worrisome things. Before today you had never stopped to consider the myths and legends you so avidly studied could be real. Maybe you were in shock, maybe you were just desensitized to the idea of a world filled with monsters and other supernatural entities, but you remained calm. With a resigned sigh, you walked back into the adjacent room, pulling a stack of books from the wooden shelves that flanked the fireplace. Lowering yourself into the seat, you set the books on the nearby end table, lifting the first one and placing it in your lap. Thistle & Crow had a collection unlike anything you’d seen before and if there was anything to be done about this shapeshifting hoarder, you were confident you’d find something here.

The heavy sound of boots announced Sam’s arrival and his eyebrows shot up as he read some of the titles. “Wow. When this is all over, remind me to come take a closer look at these, they seem fascinating.” The Winchester hunter placed a hand on your shoulder as he looked at what you were reading. The warmth spreading from his touch was distracting. “Well, I’m going to go touch base with my brother, see if he’s found anything. If not, maybe someone in our contacts will have an idea for us.” With a gentle squeeze of reassurance, Sam stepped back, the echo of his footsteps ringing in your mind as the front door opened and then shut behind him. The numbing feeling left behind when the hunter left had to be coincidence, Sam wasn’t your soulmate. He couldn’t be. Besides, you’d never believed in such a thing.

****

Two days later, Sam and Dean had just finished lunch at Beth’s. In low voices, the brothers sat hunched in their booth, trying to work out a game plan. So far, they hadn’t found much more information than the tidbits from the mythology book across the street at Thistle & Crow. When he’d first returned and described the creature they were looking for, Dean had laughed. Maybe he’d pictured its appearance in his mind, and for some reason whatever he saw had been amusing. Now, however the eldest brother had become frustrated. “We’re no closer to finding this damned shapeshifter, we still don’t know how -or if- it can be killed and our only defense against the damn thing when we DO find it is god damned flower crowns and a tea party?!” Sam sat staring out the window; a light autumn drizzle painting the glass in streaks and dots.

He wondered what [Y/F/N] was doing right then. Had she found any new information? What if she’d been trying to get ahold of him? Why hadn’t he left his phone number when he’d last seen her the other night?

“Sam…SAM!” With several clicks of his fingers, Dean was able to regain his brother’s attention. “Your phone is ringing, genius.” With a sigh, he fished the ancient brick of a flip-phone from his front pocket. Lifting the device to his ear, Sam cleared his throat, “Bobby! Got anything?”

Dean watched from across the booth. Several nods, a few clarifying questions and an affirmation later the man snapped the phone closed. “Bobby spoke to some of his hunter friends that frequent this area. This particular Tezaur has been around for years. They said that regardless of the lore we read, it isn’t overly aggressive unless provoked. Protective sure, and with a lewd streak a mile wide, but not an indiscriminate killer.” “Which means…either something or someone is poking the proverbial bear here or..”

“Or what?” Dean snapped.

“Or, whatever is murdering the citizens of Ravencrest isn’t a Tezaur.”

“Great, that’s utterly…perfect.” “So we’re back at square one?” The whine in Dean’s voice might’ve been funny if it hadn’t been so warranted. Sam simply nodded.

*****

Another three days passed. Having flipped through a number of books in the library, you were at your wits’ end. When you weren’t pouring over the stories, your mind was on Sam. It’d been nearly a week since he’d been in. Sleep had been futile, your muscles consistently wound so tight that any attempt at relaxation had been fruitless. Agatha had disappeared again and frankly, you were beginning to worry. You needed a break. Deciding some fresh air might do you good, you locked the shop and started to walk. With no particular destination in mind, you let your mind wander, figuring if you stuck to the sidewalk you’d be fine.

An hour later after passing every business in town you were nearing the edge of the city limits. Fewer houses dotted the tree lined road that had transitioned from asphalt, to gravel and was now simply dusty earth. The sun had set and, deciding being out out in the woods alone at night - when people were turning up dead - was probably not the best idea, you turned and started back the way you had come. Unfortunately for you, the fresh air had done nothing to clear your mind of the tall, broad-shouldered man who called himself Winchester. You needed to find him. Suddenly, the sound of twigs snapping to your left stopped you in your tracks; the squeal of some dying rodent high pitched in the relatively still night. “You're fine [Y/F/N], just keep walking, this is fine.” The pep talk didn’t calm your nerves but repeating the mantra over and over distracted you well enough that the quiet evening started to relax you. As the town lights became visible, a shudder ran the length of your spine sending shock-waves of chills spreading through your upper body. Blinding lights and a high-pitched screaming flashed behind your eyes before the world went dark.

*****

The treeline was just in front of you, evergreen branches swaying in the autumn breeze. Somewhere nearby wooden shutters slammed against the siding of a house; vaguely you thought about securing them. A storm was coming. With a jolt your vision twisted. You stood at the edge of a ravine, a creek gurgling happily as it twisted its way through the forest. Sliding along the embankment, loose rocks followed your descent into the shallow water. Vaguely your brows furrowed at your own lack of concern for the new boots you had on. Traipsing around in the water couldn’t be good for the leather. Steadying yourself as a flash of black and white seared through your mind, you stood in front of Aggie. The woman was unconscious. Hands and feet were bound by willow reeds, deep cuts biting into the skin from where she’d tried to break free. Her waist-length platinum hair was disheveled, the ends stirring as the breeze danced around her. Dried blood crusted around the edge of a gash on her forehead, you could feel the metallic tang of it in the back of your throat. Faint voices echoed along the edges of your mind, becoming louder by the minute. Shaking your head to try and clear the impending fog, you reached for the woman only to have your hand pass directly through hers. Twitching, the woman’s pale eyes fluttered open, terror plain in her wide pupils. “[Y/F/N]..?”

*****

Burning air rushed through your lungs as your body heaved forward. Fighting against the strong grip of hands on your shoulders, it took several minutes for your vision to clear enough to take in your surroundings. “Aggie!” “Quick, she’s awake.” The voices were the last thing to become clear, Sam calling out for the woman you’d come to care for over the last several weeks. As Agatha’s face swam into view, you reached out, smiling, thankful she was okay.

For the first time, you noticed everyone crowded around the threadbare hotel mattress you sat on. Pushing the sweat-soaked hair back from your forehead you noted their look of concern. A pool of dread started to expand in your gut even as the question took form, “what happened?”

Dean moved into view, answering for Sam who was looking to Agatha for support. “You passed out, Sam and I had just come looking for you when Agatha told us you had gone missing. You’re lucky we found you before something else did.” A look of irritation was etched into the creases of his forehead. Crossing his arms over his chest, the eldest Winchester brother continued, “Mind telling us what you were thinking? You didn’t tell anyone where you were going.” Sam came to stand next to you, his proximity comforting. As if the man could read your mind he introduced you to your interrogator; “[Y/F/N], this is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is [Y/F/N].” Comprehension dawned on you. Of course they were brothers, you had guessed correctly when assuming he didn’t live in town. “We’ve met. Still love your car, by the way.” Dean’s irritation abated a bit with your compliment. Switching gears, he went about explaining what had happened after they’d found you. In turn, you told them about the dream you’d experienced, “It felt like I was there.” A residual chill ran through your body as you relived the details.

“Has this happened before?” Sam’s expression settled into one of concern.

Should you tell them it had? That you’d moved here after one such dream? “No, I don’t think so.” Yes, you’d blatantly lied to Sam..and Dean..and even Agatha, but you figured that one problem at a time was enough. Sam’s expression turned stoic, his mouth set in a firm line while his hard stare flicked to Agatha. It was obvious they didn’t believe you, though, wisely they remained quiet.

*****

The following morning you grimaced as you woke. Every muscle in your body ached from the stiff position you’d fallen asleep in. Rolling to your left side, your [Y/E/C] eyes widened in terror, a surprised yelp sounding as you threw yourself away from the person next to you. About to roll off the bed in your haste, a strong hand snaked out and caught your waist, toting you back to the middle of the lumpy mattress. One bleary, hazel eye cracked open, Sam’s fingers lingering a little too long on the sliver of warm skin that edged the waistband of your jeans. “Hey, hey it’s okay, you’re okay.” His voice was deeper than usual; quiet and laced with sleep. “You passed out in my bed, figured there was enough room for both of us.” Looking at the man sprawled out next to you, you noted his black cotton scrub bottoms that doubled as sleepwear, a clean, white t-shirt clinging to his chest. “Uh, what uh..did we..?” A flush colored your cheeks at the thought of touching Sam, but he was quick to assure you that you’d shared nothing but the bed. “Besides, if you ever wake up not remembering time we spent together, clearly I didn’t do my job.” A smirk pulled at the right side of his face, mirth shining in his half-open eyes. Your mouth opened in an “oh" of surprise as a deep rumbling laugh bubbled up from Sam’s chest, a slow wink fanning the sudden fire that blossomed in your core. Rolling off the side of the mattress, Sam stood just as the door opened. Balancing three cups of coffee in his hands, Dean thankfully didn’t notice your expression. Unfortunately, even if he had, the somber look in his own green eyes made them appear more dim than you knew them to be. “Dean?” The concern in Sam’s voice spoke volumes. “There’s been another attack.” Your blood ran cold at the thought, hoping against hope that your dream had indeed been only a dream. Dean’s eyes flicked to yours as you rose slowly into a seated position, the nearly imperceptible shake of his head all the confirmation you needed as he handed you one of the large paper cups. “I’m sorry [Y/F/N], but it looks like Agatha may be involved, she’s gone missing again.”

*****

Ten minutes passed and finally you blinked, the smell of leather and the roar of an engine bringing you back to the present. Sitting in the back of the Impala, your thoughts were far away as the car crept to a stop just outside of town.

“[Y/F/N], can you take us to the place from your dream? Maybe Agatha will be there.” Sam’s great hand covered one of your own and your eyes dropped to the sudden contact, a warmth spreading through you that helped ground your runaway thoughts. Nodding slowly, you slid across the seat and stepped from the beautiful black car. Though you had no idea exactly where the dream had taken place, it was obviously somewhere in these woods.

Straining your ears, you were just able to make out the sound of running water. Setting off in that direction, you figured it was the best place to start. While you walked, the Winchester brothers trailed close behind, guns drawn and ready should anything be watching. After approximately fifteen minutes of your mind buzzing with the worst case scenario, you stopped. Sam collided with your back and Dean narrowly avoided doing the same. “Shh, do you hear that?” Both men focused, hearing nothing but the faint sound of the creek in the distance.

Looking at Sam, who shrugged and then at you, Dean grimaced “I don’t hear anything.” Forests were never completely silent like this. There were no birds, no twigs snapping as deer stepped through low hanging branches…nothing. “Exactly.” “These woods should be teeming with life.” You looked pointedly at both brothers waiting for the idea to sink in.

A quarter mile further into the trees had your group standing with toes at the edge of a short cliff. A landslide had moved the earth and created the winding body of water that now snaked through the valley.

As in your dream, you stepped over the edge, hurriedly sliding down the somewhat steep embankment; loose gravel trailing behind you to land in the water with little splashes.

A low-pitched whine echoed around the three of you, Sam and Dean immediately turning their backs to press against yours; guns raised from their sides and gripped tightly. Everyone was on high alert with the new sound. It’d been so eerily quiet thus far, this seemed deafening.

A heavy splash turned your attention to the left and your eyes widened in disbelief. “Agatha?” Rushing forward, you caught the woman as she fell into your arms. Her walking stick seemed to be missing, and she didn’t appear to have any outstanding injuries. Sam waded through the water to your side just as the woman’s eyes shifted from her usual pale hue to a glowing sickly green color, a slow, malicious smile curling over her face. The hand gripping your back grew claws; long, black talons ending in a curved point. The last thing you remembered as your vision faded to black was Sam’s face, his expression horrified as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes; Dean holding him back as the taller man lunged for your hand.

*****

Sam could only watch as Dean drug him from [Y/F/N]’s now unconscious body. “Dean! Dean! No!” When he finally broke free of Dean’s grip, Sam fell almost face-first into the freezing water. Reaching out for [Y/F/N] and aiming his gun at the creature who guarded her possessively, he squeezed the trigger, the explosive sound of gunfire deafening. The bullet ricocheted off a pile of rocks, flying into the underbrush. A deep, rumbling growl leaked from the Tezaur’s black lips, “miiiiinnneee.” Agatha’s body seemed to shiver as the animal changed into a large beast resembling some crude mixture of a variety of apex predators. Curling itself around [Y/F/N], the thing snapped slavering jaws and then disappeared in a haze, taking you with it…

*****

Your eyes shot open, sweat beading your forehead, the sheets tangled around your ankles. As your heartbeat slowly calmed, you pushed a shaking hand through your hair and took several deep gulps of air into your heaving lungs. Closing your eyes, you concentrated on your breathing…in….out..in….out.

The dream had been so intense, almost as if you’d been there, almost as if the Winchesters had been real people. You could almost feel the warmth of Sam’s skin. You’d moved to the wilds of Montana to escape this. Over the course of the last few years, they had become increasingly more complex, more vivid. It had gotten to where you couldn’t always distinguish the difference between what was real and what lived only in your subconscious. Your boyfriend of seven years had initially been supportive, your family too. Over time however, they’d all become less tolerant. Last week, they’d decided to stage an ‘intervention.’ They thought you were crazy. Had handed out pamphlets to a place called Lavender Hills. Encouraged you to check yourself in for awhile. You’d immediately packed all of your meager possessions into the back seat of your rusty green bug and taken off. That’s how you had come to find Ravencrest and the quirky little bookstore named for a blind old cat and an eccentric woman.

Blowing the steam from your cup of hot tea, you lifted the cover of an old book on Cryptozoology. Animals had always fascinated you, and so had anything remotely supernatural. It only made sense that mixing the two would garner your undivided attention. Diving into the large leather tome you began to read, just as the set of bells hanging over the front door chimed. Assuming it was Betty returning the cookbook she’d checked out last week you scanned the last few words written along the bottom of the first page. “Welcome to Thistle & Crow, feel free to ta–“ Looking up from your book, the racket in your ribcage started up again as a tall, broad shouldered man approached the counter, his long auburn hair settling around his collar. You’d know those gorgeous hazel eyes anywhere.

“S-Sam?!”

TAGS: @jaredsunflowergoddess @arses21434 @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven

#wildefiction #sam x reader #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #writing contest

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gomugomunosword · 7 years

Text

Not the Same

Luffy takes a bath with Zoro for the first time since the two year separation, and finally has the chance to inspect his first mate's body for any changes, some more unpleasant and unwelcome than others.

zoroxluffy - one shot

"Zoro, you have so many new scars."

"Huh?" Zoro didn't bother opening his eyes, sinking lower into the warm, soapy water with a huff instead. "Yeah, well so do you."

To be honest, Zoro wasn't surprised at the serious direction the conversation seemed to be going. He knew something was up the minute Luffy asked - well, pestered - him to take a bath with him, though the fact it was about scars surprised Zoro a little more than he liked. He had always considered himself well attuned with Luffy's sporadic and usually unpredictable nature, though this time he had been caught off guard.

It was unsettling. Had he really lost that tight connection with his captain in those two years spent without him? It was almost too painful to think about.

"Yeah, but..." The sound of uncertainty laced between each word that fell clumsily out of his usually very certain captain had Zoro's one eye lazily inching open. What met him next had him widening the eye even farther.

Luffy, one hand out stretched towards Zoro, fingers centimetres away from Zoro's face, right above his scarred eye, his other hand clutched tightly on the painful-looking starburst scar on his own chest, and his face... Oh god his face. It was a look of anguish so incredibly pain filled that it had even Zoro breathless, and he'd seen his fair share of sad Luffy expressions. He'd thought Luffy's tearful expression when Usopp left the crew had been bad enough, if not the worst he thought he'd see his captain's face display, yet here he was, again surprised with the turn of events.

If not for the hand that splayed over his chest, Zoro would have wondered, no, worried, what it was that Luffy was thinking of that brought him so much agony. But he knew.

Ace. Luffy's irreplaceable big brother, the one who had died in his arms in front of hundreds, if not thousands, of judging eyes. And Zoro hadn't been there, damnit, he hadn't been there for the one, most probably only, time his precious captain had needed him most. That hurt. That hurt a lot, especially when Luffy had been there for all the times Zoro had messed up, had been there to push him on with a grin and that infuriatingly contagious shishishi laugh of his that lit up even the darkest of days.

Zoro wasn't an idiot. He knew the others probably felt the same, actually he knew they felt the same, since all eyes had fallen onto their captain's clearly displayed new addition to his numerous scars, and all eyes had been the same: regret. Guilt. Pain.

Once the hype of reuniting had died down and the excitement had bubbled down to a nearly tolerable state of rippling buzz, Zoro had watched as one by one the crew mates had given in to their emotions and finally let the smiles fall from their faces as they regarded the still smiling captain.

His smile hadn't faltered, hadn't lessened from its dazzling brightness, yet everyone still automatically knew. He wasn't the same. While they had been separated, unable to get to his side, Luffy had been put through an unbearable nightmare alone, with no comfort able to be given to him by his nakama.

Of course he would be affected, of course he would not be alright, but Zoro had never imagined him to be this badly not alright.

"L-Luffy?" He stuttered, when the expression got too much and it hadn't morphed into Luffy's usual cheerfulness.

Something close to recognition suddenly filled Luffy's darkened eyes, and he instantly brought a quick smile to his face, the pain gone in a second. "Shishishi, sorry 'bout that, Zoro. Was thinking too hard." He dropped his hands back into the water and started popping the soap bubbles, the cheeky glint back once more in his eyes, though Zoro could feel different.

It was the same smile, same laugh, same face and same voice, and yet it wasn't the same. Just as Zoro had acquired a new scar that was accompanied by its own emotional baggage, Luffy had also acquired his own share of a scar, though it came with an emotional baggage that far surpassed the amount that Zoro wanted his captain to have, surpassed what he even considered tolerable.

It was then that he understood what Luffy had been trying to say about the scars.

Swallowing down any doubts about how wrong what he was about to do was, he lifted a hand out to press lightly against Luffy's exposed chest, his fingers gently, more gentle than he had ever touched anything before in his life, pressing against the red star of a scar.

At the light touch, Luffy made a noise of shock, or perhaps even mild pain, which immediately had Zoro still, his one eye flashing to his captain's face to assess the damage. His wide, dark eyes and slightly open mouth, however, held nothing of displeasure, which encouraged Zoro to continue the exploration, albeit with a bit more confidence.

The scarred skin was tight and still unbelievably hot, seemingly humming through the glossy flesh, which slightly shocked Zoro. He had read the newspapers regarding the incident, had obsessed over it, so he knew the basic story of how Luffy had gotten the burn, had even begged Mihawk for any details.

Akainu, the brutally tough admiral marine that could turn any part of his body into magma and could burn anything in his path, including grieving, young pirates. His magma did not discriminate, and most definitely did not hold back on pirates whose mind had, by all reports, completely broken, if they were in its path. And Luffy had been unfortunate enough to be included in that bloody path.

Closing his eye, his whole hand now pressed tightly against the hot scar, Zoro felt anger roar through his body. He should have been there, should have tried harder to get there. If he had been there, maybe Luffy wouldn't have gotten that scar, maybe he wouldn't have hurt so badly. Goddamnit, he was the worst first mate in the history of first mates. He wasn't even able to be there to shield his captain when he was supposed to.

How embarrassingly shameful.

What was the point of chasing his dream and being by his captain's side forever if he couldn't even guarantee that?

"Zoro~!" Luffy sighed out, his own hand lifting to softly tap against Zoro's wrist. "Now you're the one thinking too hard."

With his eye open, Zoro saw the smile that graced his captain's face, noticed the tightness that pulled at the edges of his mouth, tight with something Zoro infuriatingly couldn't identify. He really had been away from his captain for too long.

"Hmm." But he let go anyway, pulling away to lean against the side of the bath, one cool, grey eye steadily regarding the grinning boy in front of him.

Luffy's expression, after a second, crumbled into a thoughtful frown. "Neh, Zoro?"

A tightness instantly formed in Zoro's chest. Neh, Zoro's never ended well.

Luffy, however, was completely oblivious of the uncomfortable feeling growing in his first mate in front of him. "Neh, Zoro, if I was... If I was the one that had been captured by the marines and was going to be executed instead of... Ace... Would you have done what I did?" If Zoro thought he had been shocked by Luffy for the last time that night, he was completely wrong.

The scenario ran through his head, the thought so painful and so entirely excruciating, that he was unable to say a word, body frozen and heart aching. If that had happened, Zoro would have been seething, completely and utterly so distressed, he would have laid down his life to reach his captain. He would have slain any marine and pirate alike that tried to get in his way.

He would have truly been the demon his reputation had deemed him to be.

Luffy, however, took the frozen and silent swordsman to be confused. "I mean, would you have saved me, Zoro?"

"Of course," Zoro replied, this time with no hesitation and a whole lot of conviction. "I would have done everything you did and more to get to your side, captain."

Luffy's answering grin was spectacular and so finally Luffy that Zoro felt the worry he hadn't realised he'd been accumulating over his brooding captain release from his body as he sank lower into the cooling water.

This was what he had waited for, so impatiently. The smile that was the same. Because he understood what Luffy had said about his scars, he understood the look of agony and the lapse of confidence Luffy had shown him. He understood it all.

Lifting a finger, Zoro pressed it softly into Luffy's scar, lifting his other hand to touch a finger to his scarred eye. Luffy, once more, opened his eyes in shock, a wordless look of confusion filling his young yet seemingly old features.

"I understand," Zoro stated, simply. "It's the same, isn't it? It's the same, but it's not the same."

This time, when Luffy smiled, it was small yet somehow right. This time, when Luffy touched Zoro's wrist, it was to unclench his hand to press into his own, his rubber fingers massaging the fingers apart until he could slide them in-between them, a warmth radiating from his skin that instantly sent a jolt of heat to Zoro's chest. This time, Zoro didn't pull away, and this time... This time he smiled back.

#zolu #roronoa zoro #monkey.d.luffy #luffy #luffy x zoro #an oldie

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staraptor · 7 years

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Thank you for your post about the ace community. I identified as asexual for eight or nine years, but really it was internalized homophobia. I knew I didn't like men by the time I was 16, but I refused to actually consider if I was attracted to women. The homophobia in the ace community just reinforced that it was a safe closet, where I didn't have to date men but also didn't have to be some gross lesbian. Turns out I AM a lesbian, and it's not gross, it's great. I wasted so much time.

yeah its a mess. attraction is rlly complicated and the ace community would benefit from teaching ppl that everyone has a different and complex experience instead of just telling ppl that if they have trouble with attraction they must be ace or grey ace or demi or smthing

too often ive seen ppl in the community see a girl say she doesnt like men or a man say he doesn’t like girls and them turn around like they must be aroace! bc the idea of being attracted to no one is so much more realistic to ppl in the ace comm than it is that perhaps, they might be gay its ridic

#ace discourse ig #local ace has opinions abt their community inb4 theyre called an aphobe #Anonymous

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scalira · 7 years

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honestly just curious here, but what exactly are you so angry about regarding shadowhunters season 2? besides the whole malec sex thing which was horrible yes and perhaps the izzy drug thing?

There are a lot of things that really annoyed me this season so I’m sure I’m forgetting some but let’s try to sum some up:

(Uhm I’m putting this under a read more because this got longer than I thought it would!)

the constant sidelining of Luke. One of the showrunners said it’s because there are “a lot of characters to juggle” (x) but he’s one of the mains?? So that’s a weak ass excuse

In season 1, the narrative was written in a way that urged the viewer to sympathize and identify with the Downworlders. The Shadowhunters were obviously the morally grey ‘protectors’, the people who didn’t really care if a Downworlder life or two were lost on their mission (see the multiple scenes in which the Shadowhunters carelessly kill vampires). We were told again and again through the narrative that Downworlders represent real life minorities and that the Shadowhunters are in many ways their oppressors. But in season 2, however, this narrative completely changes. Suddenly the viewer is urged to forget about the Downworlders and focus on the Shadowhunters instead. All the Downworlders are either sidelined, brutalized, needlessly and graphically tortured, demonized or just completely written out. They are shown to be disobeyant, unorganized, careless and disloyal. Maia struggles with Luke’s authority, Alaric and the pack don’t even look for Luke when he goes missing, Luke acts abusive towards Maia by locking her in a freezer (knowing full well she’s claustrophobic because of past abuse) and tazing her, something we all know Luke would never do. They are intentionally writing the Downworlders OOC so that we would stop identifying with them. There’s a brief mention of a brewing civil war between vampires, only to never be mentioned again. Magnus’ scenes with people that aren’t Shadowhunters can be counted on one hand. The writers are trying really hard to just completely erase all importance the Downworlders hold.

the lack of consent in the Malec pre-sex scene

how little screentime Malec, their only m/m canon relationship, gets compared to hetero messes like r*zzy

how the little screentime Malec does get is often used in promos so that fans will promote the show, hype up their scenes, etc. only to have their scenes cut from the actual episode

they way they’re writing Magnus to basically be Alec’s trophy husband. Hello, he owns a club?? He has a business?? Where are his clients, his Warlock friends, him being shown doing his job??? He’s literally just waiting around for Alec to come home (”go, Shadowhunter. I’ll be right here waiting.”)

Izzy’s complete addiction arc. It was handled poorly and insensitively, there were a lot of racist undertones such as a black character providing her with drugs, a Latina character getting addicted to said drugs and a Latino character later providing her with a different way of getting her drugs

Izzy’s “relationship” with Raphael was needlessly romantized and sexualized. Another showrunner literally called their scenes romantic (x) when their entire fling was purely based on mutual addiction. There was nothing healthy about it.

Raphael’s coming out as asexual was, again, handled poorly. People with lack of knowledge about asexuality wouldn’t even know he’s asexual. I’ve seen people think he doesn’t do sex because he’s religious. Why is it so hard to use words to define sexualities??? Let Magnus say he’s bi, let Alec say he’s gay, let Raphael say he’s ace.

White saviorism

the needless villainization of Raj

Killing off female characters for shock value (Jocelyn, Gretel)

Torturing Downworlders and graphically showing the aftermath (Raphael, Meliorn)

everything is a hetero mess and I’m suffering

we were told that this was our show. It was supposed to be groundbreaking, it was supposed to be a show for LGBT+ fans and fans of color. But all the characters of color are being paid dust (Victor, Raj, Izzy, Magnus, Raphael, Luke, Alaric, Meliorn, Maia) with exception of maybe Simon? But even that’s debatable and we have one (1) gay and one (1) bi character while they had so many opportunities to give us more queer rep

queerbaiting :) (seriously, none of Simon’s ‘coming out’ jokes are actually funny if the narrative is going to continue to portray him as straight)

WHERE. ARE. THE. SAPPHICS!!!!!!!!

speaking of sapphics, clizzy was baited so hard in the first half of the season (I didn’t watch past 2x06 but both r*zzy as cl*mon happened afterwards so I guess the clizzy scenes got less gay) and I’m sure the writers did it intentionally to get sapphic viewers desperate for rep to keep watching. Fucking hell, they even put romantic fucking music over one of their scenes when Izzy comforts Clary and tells her she’ll always have her

ANYWAY this is getting really long so I’m ending it there. I think I covered all the basics, but if someone has anything to add, feel free to do so.

#lana answers #long post #abuse //#torture //#q slur reclaimed //

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thehumansymphony · 7 years

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ok i KNOW this is a very personal question so feel free to ignore me!!!!!! i remember a few years ago you were in love with a man named todd--now your blog says that you're asexual. How did you discover it/did something happen to you so you became asexual or did you find out that you always were? :-)

I totally don’t mind this question. I actually appreciate it because I kind of enjoy getting to share my own experiences as an Ace person. I’m probably going to be really babbley and long winded so bear with me and hopefully I’ll successfully answer the actual questions you’re asking me my anonymous friend.

So I’m not sure if you’ve seen the latest post but I’m actually kind of still in love with Todd.

I remember starting to realize that the weird feelings I had for him (that I later went “oh shit” and realized they were Crush Feels) kind of started to develop in the late summer of 2014. Which actually kind of coincided with the time I started to ID as Asexual which just made everything super confusing for me.

Now, I believe that I’ve always been somewhere on the spectrum that is Asexuality. But I just hadn’t heard that term until I was about 19, some time in early 2013. About the time I turned 20, I’d met new people on Tumblr and suddenly my dash was filled with people that weren’t cisgender or just gay/straight. I learned a lot about bi-, pan-, and a-sexuality and I also learned so much about genders. It was amazing.

My whole life I’d “known” that I was a heterosexual woman because I’d never experienced sexual attraction to another woman. I’d also never experienced sexual attraction to a man but I had always assumed that sexually was pretty black and white. Either this, or that, or maybe a little of both. I had never considered that a “none of the above” option would exist.

And then I learned that magic word: Asexual. A person who does not experience sexual feelings or desires.

But I was still hesitant to identify that way.

“Well, I’ve had romantic feelings for, like, 3 guys in my entire life. Can I still be ace?”

Most of the Ace folks I had met at this point were also Aromantic. And I thought that perhaps the two went hand in hand.

I also was concerned that “what if I say I’m ace but there actually is something wrong with me. I have polycystic ovarian syndrome. It makes my hormones completely whacky. And I started to wonder if it was just the hormone imbalance that kept me from experiencing sexual attraction.

So I continued to mull it over for a while. I ended up learning that there are so many types of attractions- sexual, romantic, sensual, aesthetic… And you can be any combination of them all.

And hey, maybe I hadn’t had sexual attraction before because the last times I’d had crushes on people I’d just been so young. Maybe if I had a “proper crush” as an actual adult (hahaha) I’d get there.

This is about when I realized that I could better classify my feelings of “hey Todd is super great he’s an awesome friend and wow he’s also kind of cute and his face makes me happy and boy oh boy are his eyes pretty I want to hold his hand and maybe kiss him a bit”.

I was aesthetically and sensually attracted to him as well as romantic. But still nothing sexual.

As my feelings for Todd grew, I sort of started to have really mild bit of maybe attraction? I thought things along the lines of “I don’t get hot and bothered by anything but if he were to want to have sex I guess it wouldn’t be so bad?” I honestly still don’t know exactly how to label that.

By the time I was 21, I’d become more comfortable with calling myself asexual. I wasn’t sure if I was just ace or if I was grey- or demi-ace but I was definitely somewhere on that spectrum. Which is when I added that to my bio here on Tumblr. And that was also probably about a month before I started talking about Todd on here. I’m a little fascinated to realize just how much this all coincided.

Bonus babbling: I don’t know what my romantic orientation is at the moment. Because I remember looking back on my concerns about “how do you navigate a crush” because Todd was genuinely my 4th crush. In my entire life. I feel like most people would have experienced more romantic attraction than that. So I’m been wondering if I might be grey-romantic or demi-romantic.

Essentially this shit is all super confusing.

#anons #If you read through all of this I'm so sorry #you're a hero #I hope i answered this well enough but feel free to ask me more #Asexuality #Anonymous

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robocracker · 7 years

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Arospec Awareness Week: Day 1

A character you headcanon as aromantic and on the asexual spectrum. (x)

I’ve gone for Lofty from the BBC series Casualty! Technically, my aro-spec headcanon for him tends to flip between full aro and grey/wtfromantic, but I like to think either is plausible, and if the show ever explored aro identities, (…and if he was in an episode where they did that) he’s a character who could fit being aro or perhaps be questioning his romantic identity.

(I mean, over a relatively short period of time in canon, he told some people he’d never been in love before and then told someone else entirely that he had been in love, but..! I like to think he’s thinking things through, or else when he talks about being ‘in love’ it’s more of a muddle than simply (or even at all) romo love.)

I also headcanon him as grey-asexual and a lot more… secure? In that? I feel like more people are aware generally of ace identities than they are of aro ones, so I feel like Lofty would already identify comfortably as grey-ace before exploring an aro orientation.

But yeah. Aro/wtfromantic & grey-asexual Lofty.

#headcanons #bbc casualty #aaw2017 #aawfc #aro spec awareness week 2017 #haven't posted any headcanons for a while!#tbh i've got a lot in drafts that i just never get round to posting #not as many aro ones as i thought though i had to dig through all my headcanons to find one for today!

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dungeonsnconcepts · 5 years

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Ram.bli.ngs

I JUST HAD THE BEST IDEA! THEY ARE ALL RELATED! IT GETS COMPLICATED WITH ALL THE RACES I HAVE USED, BUT IT WOULD BE SSSSOOOOO COOOL!!!!

Bryn- full elf, full son of the family

Emblem - Half elf half gnome, half daughter in the family?

Azra - Vedalken (perhaps not related... or adopted? he will live significantly past the end of that campaign, but it is the same campaign as Bryn is in.... so maybe he’s in an alternate timeline, thus no overlap, and no relation)

Grobnak - Half orc half... elf? Raised amongst orcs, but still of the same progeny? Estranged son

Tor'Am No'Kostatin (TANK)- born to elves, but a soul tied to Ao, god of gods, making him a scourge Asimar

Our Matriarch always believed strongly in "spreading her Circle"- the core tenant of her philosophy was that expanding her "Circle" was of key import; this meant expanding her influence, her family, and her power, but family always came first and foremost!

Ellian Cypress

Throughout her life- died age 812 (WICKED OLD even for an elf, thus this character is from AGES before any of my current characters)

High Elf from a hidden group of elves, whose tribal name would translate roughly to "across the sea elves"?

Mastermind Rogue (18 lvls) Wild Sorcerer (1 lvl) Life Cleric (1 lvl) did no significant adventuring

Defining features:

Matriarch of a high elf royal family; often spoken of negatively (behind her back) for having "drow-like tendencies" (there’s a bard's song about her flaying someone for accusing her of having a drow for a father - "[ode to] idiocity 'n the face o'th lady dark-skinned" by Thomas Ericson (impossible, he wasn’t alive back then.... was he?)). She had three sons early in her adulthood, which was near unheard of in their society (as having more than one or two children was strongly frowned upon, with such lifespans as theirs they feared to become too numerous) and refused to name any of them her heir; she had been open that her first daughter would be the heir before she had her first son, but quieted about that claim after the second was born (a mear ten years after the first, scandalous). When her eldest son turned 100, she declared that she would appoint him her heir due to her lack of daughter. Within a year she had the daughter she had always wanted, a fourth child, who she immediately announced to be heir to the family "Circle". This caused some strife (disinheriting her son in favor of her daughter), perhaps a war was fought over it, but it was over a thousand years ago, so memory of the time is not precisely sharp.

Her first son was Byrn (namesake of my character Bryn, whose name is a modernized version of it) who later in life became an outcast and was not heard of again (he was a battlemaster fighter), her second son was Lyre (Leer) who continued his life as a diplomat for a respectable 500 years before assassination due to a political slip up with some of the higher ups in what would eventually become the town of Waterdeep, her last son was Thannis who dedicated his life to being a cleric of the forest (who knows which specific forest god, but one of them). Her daughter, (named something with an S?) was born of the man that Ellian eventually married (her first three children were of unknown fathers).

She was sought out by a Seer when she was only 20 (barely a child by their terms) who told her that she was going to have great success in expanding her circle; this led to her leading a group of elves in rebelion against whatever hierarchy there was in her lands, and being driven across the sea. Thus her being a ruler of a small group, a splinter group.

First daughter "S" is the mother of Bryn, Tor'am, Emblem, and Grobnak. Shes not a slut, but she has 7 children total; she just likes being a family, and that is dificult to do when you live for that long. children keep growing up and leaving, so she has another. and another. and another.

Bryn Cypress

74 Years old

Elf (wood elf on paper... But I’d rather he not be the woodsy type. Maybe I can retcon that somewhat at some point)

War Cleric (eventually also a Paladin?)

Defining features:

I have spent most of my life learning to fight. I became a war-priest of the trinity of war-gods; The Triad, the trimunative, the triumphant trio, the weighted scales-

Ilmater, god of self-sacrifice, pain, battlefield suffering, and the like

Torm God of sportsmanlike conduct, duty, comradery, and the like

Tyr god of justice, fairness, strength of will, and the like

On my first outing as a priest of these gods, my entire company was wiped out by a Lich. I abhor the undead, but I feel true dread when it comes to the sight, or even though, of a lich. That is where I named my hammer though; Jaw-Breaker. turns out it is very effective on skeleton faces (I mean, not particularly more effective there than anywhere else, but still....)

Emblem Eiskiteer (eye skitter)

Birth name Ariette Worsort (War sort; family has a creed of "war sorts out the weak, foolish, and lost")

22 years old

half-gnome (half-human) (need DM permission, it is a variant human, except I’m putting a point into INT (my dump stat) to represent the gnomish heritage, and exchanging 5ft of movement for darkvision(can only move 25ft))

Rogue (thief? Swashy?) / Trickster Cleric

Defining features:

She is a 3'9" wisp of a being; weighing a measly 68Lbs.

With has no recollection of her history; wiped during the planeswalk that brought her here (although she is not necessarily a planeswalker herself; she may have just been tossed across the blind eternities, or the multiverse, by something that she cannot remember.).... wherever "here" is.

Alas but for that she has a well hidden agenda to steal all secrets she can find (and upon discovering the clerical magic of her trickster-hood, all secrets became vulnerable to her). She has the skills to back it up; being a rogue, she is capable in a wide assortment of situations, and as a trickster cleric she can capitalize on her roguish abilities by confounding her foes with some capabilities that seem almost preternatural.... because they are.

Also, her accent is not her fault; you try being raised among the rank and file of.... wait, was that the edge of a memory?

Azra Baushone

108 years old (will live to 500 natural years)

Mirrodonian Vedalken (4 arms, blue, no nose, Squidward)

Wild Sorcerer

Defining Traits:

East Indian Cultural appropriation. So he’s a bit of a dick, likes rules, as long as they can be used in his favor, and is vastly intelligent. Worked as a researcher on transdimensional energies.

His magic is not stable in this world. whatever this world is.

Grobnak

36 years old (recently aged 20 years; is now evidently 56 years old, greying hair, deep lines on his face, muscles that should be bulging sometimes cause him discomfort or grief)

Half-Orc (and very, very, orcy)

Fighter. Then Fighter Barbarian. Now ooze-boy Barbarian claw-wielding fighter.

Defining features:

Ugh. Was very inclined towards punching; hoped to become a monk of some sort (despite a distinct lack of both training and monk-like skills).

Forgets that now, as he had his mind re-written by an illithid; now he has claws, and likes to go nuts with them (entering some sort of battle fury, which he never used to do...)

And was recently attached to an ooze of some sort- it lives in his body, makes him do things he cannot control. Also gives him a bunch of fancy abilities.

Only realized he was going mad when the ooze ate the madness out of his head. The ooze liked the taste of his thoughts, because of the madness. That made him mighty uncomfortable.

Would have been identified as a large, intimidating, green beast. Liked to run in and punch things, even recklessly and at the cost of combat effectiveness (because "punching things to death is badass"). Then some illithid got ahold of his head (at the behest of a dragon he did not trust who the rest of the group seemed to like?); and at that, during a very tumultuous time in his life (he’d been passed out drunk for a month then woke up to a city under siege by the lady who brought him into the underdark who then proceeded to quickly murder all my friends). He’s had a rough time reconciling all the lost memories, half memories, and implanted memories since then. He was just getting almost used to his new arms (maybe new? he didn't recall having claws before) when this ooze got inside him, and messed with his head some more. It took his battle rage (which he was not accustomed to yet) and turned it into something... horrific? powerful, monstrous....hungry?...

He also had his brain drained during the last session; he went literally brain dead for a bit.

Maybe adventuring isn’t for him. he seems to be afraid of all the bad things lately. but this could lead to a new character trait- He just fuckin runs at things hoping they might bring his end, the end of the monster he has become.

Tor'Am No'Kostatin

150 years old (middle aged)

Scourge Asimar (born an elf, appears to be kinda half elven?)

Life Cleric (1st lvl) / Paladin (2-5 lvls)

Defining Traits:

What’s the best way to max your AC? maybe she always uses a shield, and has resplendent plate armor she is very proud of? that leaves the AC at 20. add to that the shield spell (+5 on react), and the shield of faith spell (+2 AC, concentration), meaning a base AC of 22 in combat, and if hit, can up it to 27. add to that the highest possible hit points (+5 per level, so 12 at lvl 1, 24 lvl 2, 37 lvl 3, 48 lvl 4, 63 lvl 5, add tough at lvl 5 to get +12, so 75 at lvl 5? 90 at lvl 6? 107 lvl 7, 120 lvl 8, 136 lvl 9, 150 lvl 10, 163 lvl 11, 178 lvl 12, 195 lvl 13, 209 lvl 14, 223 lvl 15, 236 lvl 16, 250 lvl 17, 261 lvl 18, 275 lvl 19, 290 cap hp with no mods after 5th lvl tough)

Knows how to lay on hands, as well as cure wounds, and has the Asimar trait for healing, Doesn’t bother smiting as she rarely hits (+1 to hit with +3 proficiency?)

Hides her Asimar nature. will only possibly reveal it at the later half of the campaign. may also be leaning towards hiding some of her other traits

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