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zhanyes · 3 years

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Tianshan dating headcannons because i also love these two dumbasses too

Also dedicated to @el-mundo-real who requested tianshan headcannons 🖤

. . .

- Literally no one knows whether they’re dating or not. Not even themselves because they don’t talk about it

- Jian yi thinks they’re dating already and Zhengxi says they’re still getting there (somehow they’re both right) and they make a bet

- He tian likes staying over at Mo’s and he’s gotten pretty close to mama Mo

- Mama Mo teaches him how to knit !! He tried to knit a scarf for Mo but it came out a little messy and tangled. Mo still wears it anyway saying it’s a waste of yarn if not used (He’s actually really touched)

- He eats dinner there about 5 times a week and sleeps over thrice a week. He’s a permanent fixture in the house now, he has his own plate and mug, utensils, toothbrush, a spare key, and more than half of his closet migrated to Mo’s closet

- Sometimes Mo “accidentally” wears He tian’s sweaters and He tian dies a little bit every time

- Sometimes He tian deliberately wears Mo’s clothes and it’s always tighter and a bit shorter on his body so when he moves his arms the shirt rides up. Mo guanshan shouts at him to change and to stop contaminating his clothes but his ears are red anyway

- They bicker A LOT. Over the smallest things because He tian loves riling him up and Mo gets riled up too easily

He tian, for the 7th time in 5 minutes: “What does this thing do?”

Mo guanshan, losing his mind: “THAT’S A FUCKING MICROWAVE WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK IT DO?!”

- There are times when homicide is the best option

Mo Guanshan: “I acknowledge that I can be mean sometimes-”

He tian, in the bathtub: “Sometimes?”

Mo Guanshan: “Shut the fuck up. So I brought you a bath bomb as a peace offering.”

He tian: “That’s a fucking toaster.”

Mo guanshan: “Exactly. A bath bomb.”

- Contrary to what his actions say, Mo guanshan is actually relieved that He tian spends most of his time in their apartment. He tian never told him but he can see how lonely the other teenager is

- Mo guanshan tries to teach He tian chores because He tian knows nothing about cleaning or doing everyday things

Mo guanshan: “How the fuck do you not know how to wash dishes where the hell do you eat?!”

He tian, drinking milk straight out the carton: “Obviously on plates, Momo. I just throw them away after.”

Mo guanshan, sputtering: “WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU THROW OUT PLATES?!”

- The first and only recipe that He tian managed to cook successfully is instant noodles with boiled egg that’s not quite cooked enough. Sometimes he brings Mo noodles as breakfast in bed and he looks so proud of it Mo has a hard time saying that the noodles are overcooked and that noodles aren’t exactly breakfast food (he eats it anyway)

- Mo sometimes, only sometimes, brings He tian grocery shopping because he needs to learn how to buy food for himself. Somehow He tian always ends up in the miscellaneous section where he has a pack of ballpens he’ll never use, 2 journals he’ll also never use, a couple of scented candles, various dog clothes and leashes for the dog he doesn’t have, a couple’s mug, and a vase in his cart

- He tian stopped trying to barge into Mo guanshan’s bed and sleeps on the futon on the floor beside it. It’s not the most comfortable and he had a hard time sleeping on it at first but he likes being in Mo’s company even while sleeping

- Sometimes Mo would move in his sleep and leave his arm dangling on the side of the bed, He tian grabs it of course and Mo wakes up to sweaty palms. He still leaves it for a few moments before harshly slapping away He tian’s hand

- Mo’s hands aren’t smooth at all because of working all the time and practicing the guitar but He tian loves them all the same. He likes to feel the contrast in textures with his slightly smoother hands

- He tian has a thousand pictures of Mo guanshan sleeping in various angles and poses. He has his favorites framed and keeps it on his bedside table in his apartment so when he’s sleeping there he still feels like they’re sleeping together

- Mo guanshan has a few of He tian sleeping but he swears up and down that he'll never do anything as disgusting as that. He makes one of them his wallpaper.

- Sometimes when they don’t feel like sleeping yet they stay up talking and arguing about random things

Mo guanshan: “Why would aliens be in space? The ocean is definitely the way to go.”

He tian: “But why would they be in the ocean? They’ll drown.”

Mo guanshan: “They’re aliens maybe they have gills or some shit.”

He tian: “I’m telling you they’re not in the ocean, Mo.”

Mo guanshan: “And I’m telling you you’re wrong, bastard.”

- On rare days they would stay up talking about their pasts and about life in general, with the lights closed and the only source of light is the moonlights from the window

- One of these nights, Mo told He tian about what happened to his dad and their restaurant, why they’re in so much debt over it and He tian holds Mo’s hand tightly throughout

- He knew better than to say that he could pay for that debt so Mo doesn’t need to worry anymore (He still says it anyway and Mo blew a fuse) but he swore to help Mo through other means

- The next day he orders a whole carton of mangoes, apples and peaches in his apartment and learns how to peel properly through youtube and Zhengxi

- He goes to Mo’s part time job in the grocery and helps him peel fruits, Mo guanshan doesn’t mention anything when he notices the bandaids on the other’s hands but he does cook him beef stew for dinner

- As expected He tian’s presence brings more customers and the manager asks if he wants to work there permanently but he said he’s only working for Mo so the manager can give Mo a raise instead

- Once, Mo got sick so he missed his part time job for the day (He was supposed to give away flyers on the streets) and got extra pissy because He tian didn’t visit him and wouldn’t answer his phone

- Apparently He tian took over his job for the day and he only finds out when he goes to the manager and the manager asks when his ‘boyfriend’ can come back to work again because the customers love him

- He tian almost never talks about himself but once he talked about the puppy who disappeared after he saves it and then found out that it’s still alive after all these years

- Mo keeps quiet about it the whole time he was talking and the next few days he takes time to knit a small dog plushie and leaves it on He tian’s futon

- He tian didn’t cry, he didn’t (he did), but he hugged Mo and whispered a sincere thank you. For once, Mo lets it happen

- Mo quickly regrets his decision when He tian names the plushie “Chicken sandwich”

- He tian brings Mo in a lot of not-dates (according to Mo) like arcades, ocean parks, festivals, and fairs because he didn’t get to go as a kid and he wants to experience it for the first time with Mo

- They get crazy competitive in every game. Every. Single. One. If it’s a co-op shooting game they would compete on who kills the most enemies, if it’s a harmless crane game it becomes a competition of who can get the most plushies

- They both each have a photobooth strip. Mo keeps his as a bookmarker in a journal, and He tian has his in the back of his phone.

- They go on a double not-date with Jian yi and Zhengxi and it ends up in almost getting chased by a police car at 2 am in pokemon onesies and holding a bag of chips

- Sometimes Mo would visit his dad in prison and just rant to him about He tian

Mo guanshan: “The nerve of that guy to do something like that in front of a teacher urgh.”

Papa Mo: “Your boyfriend sounds like a fun guy, son. I want to meet him soon.”

Mo guanshan: “BO-BOYFRIEND?!”

Papa Mo: “Yes???”

Mo guanshan: “No??? That bastard isn’t my boyfriend??”

Papa Mo: “Are you sure about that?”

Mo guanshan: “...Yes?”

- Enter gay panique because he doesn’t actually know whether He tian is his boyfriend or not

- They don’t call each other boyfriends and they never talked about it so no??? But they’re also not just friends so maybe??? Do they go on dates?? Can grocery trips be considered dates??

- He rings up Jian yi and the blonde just laughed for 5 minutes straight without stopping and he wonders how he’s still breathing

Mo Guanshan, after hearing Jian yi laughing for 5 minutes: “Are you fucking done?”

Jian yi, trying to catch his breath: “Man this is some top-tier entertainment.”

Mo guanshan: “WELL?!”

Jian yi: “Look bro literally no one knows whether you’re dating, fucking, planning each other’s murder OR planning a murder together.”

Mo guanshan: “What if it’s all of the above?”

Jian yi: “Then congratulations…? Please don’t murder me?”

Mo guanshan: “Urgh you’re fucking useless I should have called Zhengxi.”

Jian yi: “Wait don’t, I don’t wanna lose the bet. How about this, there’s a festival upcoming for couples and families, if He tian asks you then you’re probably, maybe, dating?”

Mo guanshan: “That’s stupid. AND WHAT BET?!”

Jian yi: “Ah woops gotta water my dog.”

- Mo tells himself that it’s stupid and there’s no way he’s falling for that...but he feels disappointed anyway when He tian doesn’t ask him the following days

- He tian asks on the last day before the festival, but he asks mama Mo first and Mo guanshan second cuz he wants to celebrate with both of them. He confessed that he’s never actually went to a festival with a family before so he was trying to build up courage to ask

- Mo guanshan is an absolute goner after that

- On the day of the festival, they find Zhanyi there on a date but decide to leave them alone. While they were leaving Jian yi kept throwing Mo guanshan so much winks that Zhengxi thought he got something in his eye

- The festival was fun but Mo couldn’t take his eyes off how happy and content He tian looks

- Queue cliche fireworks scene but it’s He tian being amazed by the fireworks and Mo looking mesmerized at him thinking, “Ah, I want him to look at me like that.”

- The next day, he drags He tian to visit his dad in jail

Papa mo: “Oh this is a surprise, you’ve never brought someone before?”

He tian, trying to introduce himself: “Hello, sir. I’m He tian, Mo guanshan’s fri-”

Mo guanshan, cuts him off: “Boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend, dad.”

He tian:

#19 days #19 days headcannons #19 days hc #tianshan #mo guan shan #he tian #zhanyi #jian yi #zhan zheng xi #am i procrastinating updating my fics and 19 days socmed au by posting random 19 days stuff?#yes yes i am #old xian

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dirtyhelen · 4 years

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with you, a girl could get bolder (i just wanna be a little bit closer) - part one

PART ONE: can you feel it? (Series Masterlist) Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Rating: Explicit (18+) Featuring: Smut; Angst; Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiacs; Dubious Consent; Loss of Virginity; First Time; Vaginal Sex; Cunnilingus; Creampie; Dirty Talk Words: 5484 Summary: For a single moment there is absolute silence as you and Bucky stare down at the broken glass and the silvery mist rising from it with shocking speed and volume. “Oh, fuck.” You and Bucky get hit with an extremely powerful aphrodisiac, resulting in some mind-blowing (but dubiously consensual) sex on a quinjet. And if sleeping with a coworker in a drug-fueled haze wasn’t bad enough, you’ve also had an unrequited crush on him for months. A/N: My first multi-chapter fic! My first attempt at something resembling a plot! There will be 3 parts, about 15k total. Titles are from Want You In My Room by Carly Rae Jepsen. Part 2 will be out next week!

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“Thanks, Steve,” you say as he sets your bag in one of the quinjet’s storage compartments. Ever the gentleman, he’d insisted on carrying your luggage for you, since he was headed the same way anyway. Just a few minutes ago the jet was bustling with technicians packing away carefully labelled silver briefcases, but now it’s just you, Steve, Bucky, and Bruce. Bucky is headed to Wakanda, summoned by Shuri with the promise of impressive new upgrades for his arm. The briefcases are samples of chemical solutions the Avengers recently confiscated from an enemy base. They’re also headed to Wakanda, to be examined in one of the country’s laboratories even Tony - begrudgingly – has to admit are more advanced than his own. Along the way, Bucky will be dropping you in Zurich to meet up with Pepper. She’s attending a fancy business retreat there and snagged you an invite under the guise of professional development and maintaining the relationship between Stark Industries and the Avengers. As though being married to Iron Man isn’t enough to cement that relationship. Really, she just hates being outnumbered by arrogant, misogynistic billionaires and wants the company. You’re certainly not complaining. A chance to eat ridiculously expensive food and shit talk gross old men in view of the Swiss Alps? Beats running around after the team, keeping track of a thousand conflicting schedules and chasing down late mission reports. You spend another minute or two idly chatting with Steve and Bruce as Bucky makes himself busy at the instrument panel. The jet can basically fly itself, but you suspect Bucky gets a bit of a thrill any time he gets to be in the cockpit, tech nerd that he is. “You sure you have everything?” Steve asks you with a teasing smirk. “It’s a whole two days, you know. Pretty sure that requires at least a dozen books.” “Oh, har-har,” you grumble. “God, you overpack one time and it turns into a whole thing!” “Didn’t you take like four pairs of shoes and two books for a day trip?” Bruce calls as he walks down the ramp, heading back to the lab, you’re sure. “It was three pairs and you can’t always rely on weather forecasts!” you shout after him. Steve jokingly rolls his eyes. “Of course. And the books?” “Two is a perfectly reasonable number of books to bring on a day trip,” you protest primly. “And if I recall correctly, you ended up borrowing one of those books on the way home, so you’re welcome.” “Fair enough,” Steve laughs, holding out his hands in mock concession and turning to say his goodbyes to Bucky, currently bent over the panel, confidently pressing buttons and flicking toggles. It gives you some comfort. You’re a bit of a nervous flier, but Bucky seems to know what he’s doing and the Avengers’ personal jet has to be a lot safer than any commercial plane you’ve ever been on anyway. Though it’s more than just the thought of crashing into the Atlantic ocean that has you on edge. Three hours. That’s approximately how long you’ll be confined with Bucky in a high-tech tin can. Three hours to sit in awkward silence, or worse, awkward conversation if your previous interactions are anything to go by. Chances are you’ll try to make small talk but somehow end up saying something stupid while Bucky just sort of looks at you like he’s wondering how you managed to get this job in the first place. It’s a reasonable question, to be fair, and one you’ve asked yourself at least once every day since you started. Not that you’re a notably skilled conversationalist in general, but around Bucky, you can barely manage to string two coherent sentences together. You can’t help it! You just like him so fucking much and you want him to like you even just a little, so you try to be cool and relaxed and chill. Like Natasha or Sam, the two people who, apart from Steve, he seems to actually be comfortable around. Unfortunately, you are neither cool nor relaxed and you definitely are not chill. No, you are a grab-bag of somewhat less attractive personality traits like excitable and dorky and perpetually-fucking-nervous, all wrapped up in sensible shoes and practical, un-sexy clothing. Basically the anti-Nat, or any person you can imagine Bucky being attracted to. So when you try to converse with him like a normal person you usually end up rambling on like an alien who watched one episode of Gilmore Girls and thought that was how humans really communicated with each other. Not exactly a turn on. Sadly, knowing you have absolutely no chance with him does nothing to stop your feelings. If anything it only makes them stronger somehow. No harm in letting yourself become totally obsessed with the guy since it’s not like you’ll ever tell him how you feel, therefore there’s no chance of rejection! Foolproof! Really though, you don’t know how you could have avoided falling for him anyway, even if you had tried. As a member of the team’s admin staff, you see them basically every day. Relaxing, training, doing press and charity events – everything but actually going on missions. After months of chatting during meetings, discussing schedules and events, and working in the same place they live, you’ve gotten to know them pretty well, you think. And despite Bucky’s taciturn demeanor, the White Wolf seems more like a puppy to you. Sure, his resting expression has a tendency to read as slightly murderous and he's undoubtedly deadly in the field, but there's another side to him too. Bucky is enthralled with all things technological. Whenever there’s a presentation on new tools for the team Bucky is there, bright-eyed and attentive, with thoughtful, clever questions on how it all works, and he’s not shy about making suggestions either. He shamelessly enjoys all things soft and cozy – fuzzy blankets, knit sweaters, his cat. Alpine was a stray Bucky found wandering the grounds of the compound. Now she wanders the residential wing instead, usually wherever Bucky is. He could be bitter and angry and cruel after everything he’s been through – and God knows he’d have every right – but he’s not. He has his bad days, of course. Days at a time where you hardly see him except for mandatory meetings or training, and then with dark shadows under his eyes and a heavy blankness that seems etched into his face. But most of the time it’s clear he wants to be part of the world. With his never-ending curiosity about all the things he missed, or never had the freedom to enjoy. With his dark, wry humor and the fond way he can’t help but look at Steve whenever he says something that must remind him of before the war. With the way he tries so goddamn hard to put some good back into the world, to make up for things that weren’t even his fault. You truly don’t understand how anyone could know him and not love him. You certainly never stood a chance. “See you, pal. Text me when you land.” Steve’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve been staring into nothing for longer than you realized. “Say hi to Pepper for me!” he calls to you as he leaves. And with that, it’s just you and Bucky. For the next three hours. +++ The awkward silence – apart from a quiet, “You ready?” from Bucky just before take-off – lasts all of ten minutes. That’s as long as you can go before the pressure to say something becomes irresistible. Being bad at talking to Bucky has never kept you from trying, unfortunately. “You excited to go back to Wakanda?” you ask. Bucky nods. “Yeah. It’ll be nice to see Shuri again.” He says it with a soft smile and you know he means it. He clearly has a deep affection and respect for her. “I bet. She seems ridiculously cool. Honestly, I wanna be her when I grow up,” you joke, then immediately cringe. I wanna be her when I grow up? Come on! Bucky laughs politely and the jet is once again silent. Bucky seems content to just sit with his thoughts, but the jet’s at cruising altitude now so you take the opportunity to get out of your seat and grab one of the only two books from your bag. Can’t say anything stupid if you’re too busy reading! Check and mate, Rogers. You’re elbow deep in toiletries and underwear, having decided blindly digging around would be preferable to actually taking the bag down and fully unzipping it, when you decide to try speaking again. “So do you know what upgrades you’re getting? You know, for –” you gesture at your left arm, or try to, except you use the arm currently being eaten by your suitcase at the exact moment the jet hits a patch of turbulence, jostling you and your luggage. Bucky jumps up, darting over to steady you with a hand on your back. As a part of your mind becomes consumed with thoughts of, holy shit he’s touching me, you manage to wrench your arm out of your suitcase, sending it to knock against the silver briefcase next to it. The impact shifts the briefcase slightly. The next bump of the jet a moment later has it falling out of the storage unit entirely. The silver briefcases used by the Avengers to transport dangerous or delicate materials are very cleverly designed so that – properly clasped – they could be used as a football for an NFL game with no ill-effects. Which is how you know this case has very clearly not been properly clasped because as it falls it springs open, and a small vial of clear liquid hits the floor. And shatters. For a single moment there is absolute silence as you and Bucky stare down at the broken glass and the thin, silvery mist rising from it with shocking speed and volume, filling the space around your bodies. “Oh, fuck,” you breathe. Bucky snaps into action, grabbing you by the arm and tugging you toward the sleeping compartments in the back of the jet, calling for FRIDAY along the way. “Get us back to the compound now,” he orders. “And get Stark or Banner on the line.” He shoves you inside the nearest cabin, following and sliding the door shut behind him. Immediately he’s gripping you by the shoulders and turning you to face him. “Did any of it get on you? On your clothes?” he asks urgently, eyes scanning your body. “No! I mean, not the liquid, I don’t think. But what about that mist or vapour or whatever? What if we breathed it in?” You have no idea what was in that vial. “Oh God, we’re gonna die,” you moan, anxiously pacing the tiny room. “Or I am, anyway. You’ll probably be fine. Fuck. Oh my God. What if it’s like, some flesh-eating poison? Am I gonna turn into the Hulk?” Your heart races and you feel hot. You can’t tell if it’s just fear or something worse but whatever it is must show on your face because Bucky gently guides you to sit on the narrow bed as the call finally connects. “Hey, Bucky, what’s up?” It’s Bruce, thank God. You’re not sure you could handle even the briefest and most well-meaning witticism from Tony right now. Bucky very quickly briefs Bruce on the situation, finishing with, “Any idea what the fuck was in that case?” You can hear the anxiety in Bruce’s voice. “Shit, I don’t know. Not unless you have the label. And we didn’t really examine them, just packed them up.” “Fucking great!” you can’t help but interject, throwing your hands in the air and receiving a concerned look from Bucky in return “But listen, guys. You’re on your way back to the compound – FRIDAY says 30 minutes tops. I’ll have medical and biochem ready as soon as you touch down. And it’s already been what? Like five minutes? If nothing’s happened yet, you’re probably fine? Just sit tight and don’t leave the cabin. The doors seal airtight so nothing can get through.” And with that, Bruce hangs up to get everything ready for your return, leaving you and Bucky at opposite ends of an very small space. You’ve never been claustrophobic before but you must be developing the fear because the walls feel like they’re closing in and your heart feels like it’s about to beat its way out of your chest. “Okay, wow. Great. ‘Sit tight.’ That’s awesome, just awesome.” You look around the room, empty except for the bunk you’re sitting on. “What are we supposed to do now? Play twenty fucking questions?” Your relaxing weekend abroad has disappeared and apparently taken your brain-to-mouth filter with it. Between that, your racing heart, and the increasing heat spreading through your body you’re not entirely sure that you’re probably fine, but you’re chalking it up to anxiety because it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it anyway. Except sit tight. Looking up at Bucky you can see his cheeks have taken on a pink flush, but again, that’s probably just stress. Or maybe annoyance at having to be trapped in a tiny room with you and your panicked blathering for the next half hour. Sighing, he sinks to the floor, resting his back against the door and stretching out his legs in front of him. “Nothin’ to do but wait, doll.” Your eyes flash to his. Doll. He’s never called you that before. He’s never really called you anything before. Bucky seems to have noticed it too because he furrows his brows, looking like he’s just as surprised as you are. There’s a brief moment of eye contact before you both quickly look away, choosing not to address it. Probably just a habit, you think. A remnant of the Bucky that existed long before you were born, jumping out in a moment of stress. A heavy silence falls, leaving you both to your own thoughts. You try to focus on breathing, on staying calm, but your mind keeps straying and it feels like there’s too much energy in your body. Your skin practically itches with it and you squirm, unable to get comfortable but not sure exactly why. You can hear Bucky tapping his foot on the floor, the sound of him shifting around. You wonder if he feels it too. Bucky… Doll. The way it had fallen out of his mouth so casually, so easily. As though he’d said it to you a hundred times. You feel a spark bubble up inside you picturing Bucky’s flushed cheeks and that word. You imagine him saying it breathlessly, reverently, just before his lips touch yours. Or growling it out as he moves inside you… Fuck, doll, just like that. You nearly let out a whimper and you feel a rush of slick in your panties, shocking you out of your fantasy as you become uncomfortably aware of just how wet you are. That spreading heat flares even more than before and you realize you must have been dripping into your underwear for longer than just the last few seconds. There’s a deep throb of arousal in your core, stronger than anything you’ve felt before, like that unbearable energy under your skin has been pulled to settle deep inside you. It’s confusing – far too powerful to be the result of a vague, half-imagined fantasy. But even as you wonder at what’s happening, it’s like a fog settles over you, the confusion half-hearted, nothing compared to the growing urge to touch, to quell the burning fire inside you. Before you can even consciously register the movement, your hand is making its way to your pussy. Any shock or embarrassment at your wildly inappropriate behaviour is slow to appear and dulled when it does. Snatching your hand back just as it nears the apex of your thighs is like walking through deep water, like you have to convince yourself why you shouldn’t get off in front of a co-worker. Your eyes flash to Bucky, wondering if he’s seen, if he’s affected the same way you are, only to find his gaze already fixed on you, blue eyes blown nearly black. His fists are clenched at his sides and his lips are bitten red and spit-slick. He breathes in deep, nostrils flaring, and you realize he can smell you. It should be humiliating. You should be turning away in humiliation, but instead, you feel yourself get – somehow, impossibly – wetter and this time you can’t contain the helpless whimper when Bucky groans and licks his lips in response. It’s as if with that sound the floodgates have opened because in an instant you’re slipping off the bed and throwing yourself at him, desperate to be closer, as close as physically possible. You scramble on top of him, graceless and frantic, straddling his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you closer and grinding you down on his cock, pressing hard and hot against you even through your clothes. There’s a moment – a tiny fraction of a second – where you catch each other’s eyes. A pause, where you think you see something, some emotion on Bucky's face, but you don't have time to decipher it before he’s surging up to press his lips against yours and a bomb is set off inside you. You have no idea what you’re doing – your experiences up to now have been limited to a handful of lackluster kisses with people not worth remembering – but Bucky doesn’t seem to notice or mind. He holds your face firmly in his hands, turning your head to suit him as he licks into your mouth and you do your best to mimic his actions, clumsy in your mindless passion. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and you gasp, rocking your hips against his, trying to get some friction on your throbbing clit. He thrusts up against you and you move together but it’s not enough. It’s clear whatever was in that vial has created a thirst in you that won’t be quenched by a heated make-out session and you pull away from Bucky's mouth, moaning as he tilts your head back to kiss your neck, licking and sucking at the tender skin. “More,” you gasp. “I need more.” You feel him nod against your throat and with one last, deep kiss to your lips Bucky grips you by the hips and lifts you off him, shifting to rest his weight on his heels before reaching to push your dress up over your waist. Almost all of your higher brain function is devoted to being as close to Bucky as possible but far in the back of your mind, there’s a small part of you that’s simply shocked at what’s happening, at the sensations coursing through your body. You have never felt this uninhibited in your entire life. You were a shy, anxious child who grew into a somewhat less shy, anxious adult, easily embarrassed and prone to overthinking. But now, with that silvery mist working its way through your system, you’ve never felt so shameless. Bucky is feverishly slipping off your shoes and tugging down your tights and you’re not thinking about how you haven’t shaved your legs in weeks or how you’re wearing an old pair of plain cotton panties or any of the dozens of worries that would be running through your head under normal circumstances. (Not that Bucky would be undressing you at all, under normal circumstances.) No. Instead of overthinking and paralyzing yourself with fear, you’re pulling your dress over your head and reaching back to unclasp your bra so you can get your own hands on your breasts. You could almost just sit and bask in this unfamiliar feeling of freedom if it weren’t for the hot ache in your core that threatens to burn you alive with every moment you go untouched. As soon as your tights have been pulled off and tossed aside, Bucky is shouldering your legs apart and leaning forward to press his nose against the wet patch on your panties, breathing deep. “Fuck, doll. I need to taste you.” You whimper as his tongue darts out to lick a wide stripe up the length of your covered cunt. His hands move to your hips and in an instant, your panties are torn from your body and his mouth is on your bare skin for the first time. You can’t help but gasp as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your folds. His tongue licks up your opening and circles your clit before moving back down and slipping inside you, drinking up your slick. Bucky growls against your pussy. “So fucking good.” His tongue moves back to your clit and he laps at it in short, teasing flicks. You begin to buck helplessly and Bucky’s metal arm brackets your hips, holding you still for his mouth. He switches to deep, firm circles over your clit, alternating with wide laps over the whole of your cunt. You’re losing your mind, flat on your back with your legs thrown over Bucky’s shoulders, heels pressing into his back. You’ve never felt anything like this. You haven’t even come yet but it’s already more intense than any orgasm you’ve ever given yourself. You feel two fingers against your opening and you fight Bucky’s grip over your hipbones, trying to grind yourself down onto him. He chuckles at your efforts and presses just the tips of his fingers inside you. “So needy, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don’t you?” You have no idea how he’s able to tease right now when you're ready to fall to your knees and plead just for the chance at an orgasm. You whine, trying again to slide down onto his fingers but his metal arm keeps you from moving a single inch and you toss your head back with a wail. “Please, Bucky,” you sob. “I need it, I need you. Please.” You feel no embarrassment at your begging. The fire inside you is growing hotter and hotter. You need him. You need to be filled, fucked. You feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you now. The teasing tone drops out of Bucky’s voice and he presses messy kisses to your inner thighs. “I know, I know. I feel it too. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna fill you up so good. Stuff you full. Gonna make you feel so good, make it better.” His fingers finally slip into you, sliding easily through your wetness. He starts thrusting and his tongue circles your clit again as his fingers curl. He focuses on your g-spot, stroking roughly as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks. You’re coming in seconds with a series of breathy moans, thighs clamped tightly around Bucky’s head. He doesn’t let up, only pulling away when you tug at his hair, the sensations too much. He kisses you, sliding his tongue against yours and you can taste yourself in his mouth. It reignites the fire your orgasm had dulled slightly and you pull away, about to plead for more, but it seems Bucky has finally reached his limit. His hands work at his belt and he shoves his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock. You’ve never really seen one in person before and maybe under different circumstances you’d take a moment to get familiar, but right now all you can do is spread your legs and beg. Bucky quickly positions himself above you, lining his cock up with your entrance. He drags the head along your pussy a couple times, groaning as he slicks himself up and begins to push into you. He’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had inside you hardly notice the sting. It’s nothing compared to the raging chorus inside you chanting more, more, more. In one single, hurried thrust he’s fully inside, your bodies pressed flush together. Bucky moans. “So fucking tight, fuck. You feel so goddamn good, doll,” he pants above you, leaning down for a filthy kiss, wet and open. “Fucking move, please,” you beg, hooking your legs around him and digging in your heels. Bucky growls into your mouth and pulls out almost entirely before thrusting back inside hard, pulling a sound from deep in your throat. He repeats the move a handful of times before settling into a harsh, pounding rhythm with his face buried in your neck. You cling to his back, senseless, unable to focus on anything but how good you feel. Your brain feels fuzzy and empty and every thrust drags his cock along your g-spot and it’s too much, too good. You’re a gasping, panting mess. It’s not long before his hips start to stutter, his rhythm breaking as he moans out above you. Your hand slides down your body to your clit and you rub firm circles around it. A few swipes and you’re coming, harder than you ever have in your life, with a high, keening moan. The tight squeezes of your cunt have Bucky coming too and you feel a warmth release inside you as he collapses against your chest. Neither of you moves for a long moment, your heavy, mingled breaths the only sound in the room. There’s still some lingering fog as you soak in the afterglow of your drug-intensified orgasm, but it seems like the chemical has run its course and clarity is quickly returning to you. The silence is broken by FRIDAY announcing your approach to one of the landing pads, and you feel the jet begin its descent a moment later. Her voice hits you like a slap in the face, a stark reminder of what’s really happening here, what you’ve just done. It seems Bucky feels the same, because he leans back just enough to look you in the eyes and a long moment of horrified recognition passes between you. Your breathing picks up again as panic surges through you. You start to squirm under his weight but he’s already moving. You wince as he pulls out of you, suddenly aware of a deep soreness between your legs. In seconds, Bucky has tucked himself back into his jeans, and he storms out of the cabin without a backward glance. So eager to get away from you he doesn’t seem to care that he might be walking directly into a toxic cloud. Like anything would be better than being trapped with you for another moment. You lay there on the floor, naked and shivering, with Bucky’s cum starting to leak out of you as you struggle to take a breath, all the anxiety and uncertainty the drug had masked flooding back to you at once. You force yourself to sit up and pull your clothes back on, cringing as you feel the mess between your legs seep into your tights. You hastily stuff your ruined panties in your pocket. You take a few deep breaths and try to still your shaking hands as you hear footsteps approaching the cabin. You’re given a respirator and guided off the jet into a throng of people awaiting your arrival, Bucky nowhere to be seen. White-coated staff swarm you and lead you inside. +++ You wish you could say the next several hours are a blur, but they are, unfortunately, exceptionally, horrifically clear. You’re taken through a decontamination shower, though you’re really not sure how much good it could do at this point, then poked and prodded with needles and swabs while having the most mortifying conversation of your life. You feel nearly choked with a shocking, burning shame. This morning you woke up nervous and excited for a weekend away, and now you’re telling a handful of strangers how you just had sex for the first time in an uncontrollable, frenzied state of lust with one of the Avengers. And as though it couldn’t be worse, it’s made all the more humiliating by the lingering throb of arousal thrumming through you the entire time. It seems whatever this drug is, the two orgasms you’ve already had weren’t enough to neutralize it, though at least you have enough self-control now to keep from shoving your hand down your pants in front of everyone in the room. Finally, after what seems like hours and unfortunately really is hours, you’re told to go home and rest. You’ve been given an emergency contraceptive, a pamphlet for the Employee Assistance Program, a number to call if you feel any strange symptoms, and told that someone will follow up with you in the next day or so. You feel numb as you enter your apartment, tugging off your med-bay issued scrubs on the way to the bathroom. You get yourself off in the shower, and though it’s the most joyless orgasm of your life, it seems to finally clear any lingering arousal from your system. Wincing at the tenderness between your legs, you scrub yourself clean under the hot spray, half wishing you could dissolve into a puddle and wash away down the drain with the soapy water. You’re getting ready for bed when your thoughts take a sudden turn to Bucky for the first time in hours. You’d been so overwhelmed by all the tests and questions, so cocooned in your own embarrassment you’d practically forgotten about him. Guilt rushes through you at your own selfish thoughtlessness. Feeling so sorry for yourself like you were the only victim. Like you were the victim at all. You’ve had a crush on Bucky for months, have spent more time than you’d like to admit imagining being with him in ways both innocent and obscene. But he’s never looked twice at you, barely speaks to you except for unavoidable work discussions. Not that you expect anything different. Someone like him would never want to be with you anywhere outside your daydreams. Except now he has been with you. Forced against his will to take part in some horrific act, because surely that’s how Bucky must see it, now the fog of uncontrollable lust has cleared. You had sex for the first time in decidedly unwanted conditions, but at least it was with someone you’re genuinely attracted to, someone you have feelings for. Bucky had been forced to have sex with someone he didn’t even like, much less desire. After everything he’s been through, how hard he’s worked to find a place where he can feel safe and in control of his own life – his own body. Only to have that control taken from him again in the most indecent way. Shame, viscous and thick, swells in your throat like sickness and your eyes fill with tears. No wonder Bucky ran out of the cabin the way he had. You feel so much worse because of your feelings for him. Dirty and wrong because you would have enjoyed the sex even without the drug. You know, deep down, it’s not your fault. You didn’t mean to knock the case over and you had no idea what was inside – not to mention you weren’t the one who forgot to latch it – but you can’t help but feel responsible for what happened and you wonder if Bucky feels the same. If he knows about your feelings and thinks you orchestrated the entire thing on purpose. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. And the rest of the team! If they don’t know already, they will soon enough. What if they blame you too? What if they’re disgusted by you? Anxiety spreads through your body from your pounding heart, filling your limbs. You can’t breathe, you can’t think. You feel boiling hot and ice cold all at once. Collapsing to your bedroom floor, you bring your hands to your thighs, digging your fingernails into the skin. The sharp pain distracts you from the heavy panic flooding your body enough to let you focus on breathing in, then out, repeating the words in your head until you feel your heart rate settle, the panic easing a little. You pull yourself up off the floor and push yourself through the motions of getting ready for bed. The intrusive thoughts are still there (everyone hates you. You’re going to lose your job. Are you sure you didn’t do it on purpose?) but you try to ignore them. There’s nothing you can do about anything right now and thinking yourself into a panic attack won’t do any good. You turn on an old episode of your favourite show and get in bed, tugging the covers up to your neck and focusing on the screen, allowing the familiar storylines to dull the intensity of your thoughts until you finally fall asleep. A/N: And that’s the end of Part 1! Thanks for reading and feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog and let me know what you thought! I spent a truly ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out the whole sex pollen aspect and I’m still not totally happy with it hahah but I hope it doesn’t seem too shoe-horned in 😝 Anything else that you’d like to see tagged/warned for, let me know!!

#bucky barnes x reader #reader insert #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes #smut #series

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 4 years

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Before Dawn: Bonus Chapter (1)

Helloooooo, alright listen, I re read a choice with no regrets and uhm here is this, a little insight on what has happened a little while before our story began, I'm sure you'll want to see some nice bonding with Isabel

Warnings: just a few teeny little mentions of intercourse

@hidehaskak of course here's your tag❤️

Turtleneck

"Yehawhaww" The moment you appeared at the entrance to the roof Isabel screamed at the top of her lungs in great enthusiasm. You stood silent after you spared her a smuggling nod pacing your eyes between the two men that accompanied her, awaiting for a signal of approval. "I knew I could get you to come! You guys don't mind her hanging out with us right? She's a friend."

At that sound the males finally gave in, letting Isabel close the distance between the both of you. Her significantly smaller arms wrapped around your frame in a pure hearted childish manner and seeing that you towered over her you placed your hands on the small of her back, almost too reassuringly to the males' liking. Their unforgiving gazes burned holes in your whole body with much rage built in for ruining their fun for the night.

You knew you were practically unwanted, but it was for Isabel that you stepped foot on this rooftop to begin with. Tired of her never ending pleas to join her and her so called bros as they looked at the stars and talked about everything and anything you had decided to violate curfew and join her, not them, just her, because you wanted to share some more moments with her. This young little redhead was growing on you in the best way possible, you thought she kind of reminded you of yourself in times where you needed salvage or just a friend with whom you could share your piece of mind and heart.

She wasn't like that at first. Isabel probably resembled a rose, it occurred to you, with her godly youthful looks and her thorn like personality. It was a result from growing up in a trashhole like the underground, among thugs, being forced to build a rough personality if she wanted to survive, it was merciless for her and any other girl down there. But the bubbly side of her personality assured you she was much more than a badass teen who could hand you your ass in any fight, she had a pure heart and you longed to help her feel like she deserved post childhood experiences. But for now, it felt as if your roles had reversed. Sure, you were -if not just as her- bubbly and kind but sometimes you were frustratingly unresponsive and ill faced that it worried her until she got to know you. You hadn't put yourself in a place to talk about you trauma to her; she had her own demons and there was no point in burdening her with your abusive background, but you managed to explain to her that most of your weird and uptight behaviors, most things you could dispose of to become a better person, were curved into you in ways you could share yet. And Isabel, as respectful as ever had assured you it was fine not to be able to share.

Most girls would shut her out due to her formal nature as a thug, much like your friends who at first were adamant about discouraging you to befriend her. They had assumed she wouldn't be able to be nice and kind or to talk like them, but you were against any pretentious act behind her back. Maybe it was due to egoistical motives that you wanted to salvage this little girl, because she reminded her of you, and Nanaba, the only person who fully knew about your situation was taking a stand against this at first. She didn't want you to hurt yourself or the redhead in the process of trying to project your condition on her. But you didn't give up. With Isabel as your new bunkmate you had many chances of getting it right.

"Did you bring what I asked you to?" Isabel hurriedly asked, reaching her hands to make a quest inside the tote bag that you carried. You showed no sign of holding back as you let her peak into the cream colored bind, but only managed to cover your ear as her squeks got louder. "Thank you thank you thank you! Sit down, show me!

Isabel shooed Levi and Furlan apart, placing herself right next to the blond man while tapping her hand on her left side. You followed her smile hesitantly and proceeded to sit down to where her hand was rested a few seconds ago, next to Levi. You felt his eyes ravaging your whole form, up and down as if you were some dirty pig that seeked to rub its mud onto him. When seated neatly enough as to not touch him you proceeded to pry open your tote bag and toss a share of it insides to Isabel.

With a determined face she got a strong hold of the grey colored yarn and the pair of slightly thick needles you had managed to recover for her. "Okay show me, show me!"

"Oh what's that?" Furlan peeked his head over Isabel's shoulder to inspect of the situation.

"It's yarn and needles."

"Ahh, Furlan don't interrupt, (y/n) show me how to cast on!"

"See that's the easiest part, sweetheart." You watched Isabel coo at the support in your tone while she puckered her lips to a cute kid like pout. She followed your slow movements as if you were a goddess, showing her how to create new wolds with her strained hands.

Levi, even though he was suspicious of you, a member of Erwin's team who tried to coax her way into Isabel's life, felt somehow relieved to see that beloved expression on Isabel's face. He had overheard her once, taking to her self in the mirror, wishing she had a lady friend to spend time with and it pained him that she had a feeling of such lack inside her. Therefore your presence was a little soothing in their company. He would be lying if he said he personally didn't like it. After all he had thought you were a beautiful company to Erwin in one of the many times he had come across him in the Underground, silently watching him from the shadows. Not that he was a creep to begin with, it was just his lack and a response to the question of whether you can ever see a stranger twice, that you were actually a scout.

"Where did you learn to do this (y/n?)" Furlan was set to break off Levi's thoughts for one too many times tonight.

"Old mothers are adamant about these things, you know, good girl stuff and all."

"Oh." He began with a flirtatious tone that made both Levi and Isabel turn to him wide eyed "Good girl huh? Every Bad boys dream, including min- ah shit Isabel, ouch!"

The squint in Isabel's eyes was something that you couldn't see and you even ignored it as a matter of fact. Isabel was aware of your teeny crush on Levi, she had gotten it out of you one day during training after she had caught you gawking and drooling at him for doing the bare minimum. It was simply natural for her to get overly excited at the fact. Ever since then she had been convinced that him and you would be a perfect match, that you wouldn't have to be so uptight with him after all but you would always brush her off. It didn't torment you just get, even if his cold gaze somehow tickled your heart at certain times you were perfectly fine with hanging out around him. But there was no point in trying to convince Isabel to give up, not when she practically lived off of you and the male duo. Perhaps that was why she had squinted her eyes so hard at Farlan, she didn't want the couple in her head to be broken apart before it even started.

For the rest of your time with them you barely speak. You were fine with standing there and knitting away your project, a grey ribbed sweater that you had accidentally managed to make huge up to a certain point when you didn't find a purpose in casting off and undoing. You wondered if Isabel really wanted to knit or if it was her excuse to have you hang out with the ravenette since she had seemed to long forget about her needles and was fixated on a bottle of booze, talking away about some merchants in the underground flee market. You figured you should take your leave being to alienated to break their usual trio, you couldn't even keep up with their conversations, not that they cared to include you.

"So if you're all about playing housewife what are you doing here?" Farlan's voice calls out to you almost strained from any actual purpose, he probably knew it was kind of rude on the part to not include you after Isabel had invited you.

You remained silent for a few moments, tilting your head back to stare at the jewel decorated dark sky. Finding the right words for your purpose seemed unbelievably difficult and suffocating but it perhaps was nothing compared to their previous lifestyle.

"I didn't want to die." Two of the three almost fall to instant, bubbling laughter the moment your thoughts longer in the air as actual words.

"And you came here out of all places?" Levi sternly inquired without ever initiating some sort of eye contact.

"I wasn't top of my class, but even if I was I wouldn't go in the MP. I don't want to live a full life as a bastard you know and Garrison, let's say I have my reasons as to not going there."

Something about that bastard themed sentence caused curiosity to twitch inside Levi's chest but he didn't quest on it, oversharing wasn't in his plans to do so with a practical stranger, even if deep down you didn't exactly feel like one. He couldn't be explain that feeling but he could certainly understand what it was that made Isabel so attached to you. Something about your aura was like fresh, dripping honey, unprocessed yet sweet and endearing and overpoweringly strong to the flavor.

"You're not a bastard you had parents right? You just talked about your old mother."

Conveniently, Farlan's words allowed you to shut up and look away, further away from the former thug trio and into the vast horizon that laid before you. You contemplated what was it that enamored everyone outside the walls. With all that death, the scouts corpses that rot every where, you didn't have anything against the walls or life inside, taking down Titans and following orders was therapeutic enough to you as long as you came back to an eventual cup of milk tea and your knitting and embroidering projects. You couldn't bring yourself to give a damn about your future, but you liked fighting for the future of others, maybe somewhere there was a child, just like you, who wanted to get away from an abusive household and start a new life or pick up on experiences they had never lived. These people deserved not to feel caged inside the walls and plus, the nature of the Titans was very much appealing to you due to Erwin and his constant pep talks.

"Wait so how did you end up in Erwin's squad if you're mediocre?" Farlan pushed again, not wanting to let you stay silent for what's worth it.

"Don't forget I'm a veteran. I've outpassed the years a scout is expected to live so Erwin decided to move me to his squad, Mike insisted since we were from the same district."

"Oh so you fucked your way up huh?"

With the corner of his eye Levi watched as your eyes widened in shock. He couldn't possible know about your past, but you didn't seem the tyoe to go around and fuck your superiors so you could earn a higher rank. You were too ignorant to anything, it was prominent that you didn't care about even receiving your own room for serving well all these years.

"How dare you! As if it's something to open your legs for!" There it was, sweet confirmation that you indeed were ignorant.

"Good girl and all huh?"

"Sure."

There was something tense in the air as Farlan flirted, the subtle roll in your eyes, the unusual monotony of Isabel's voice, even Levi has seemed to bring his shoulders towards his collarbones in any attempt to distance his mind off of the unrequited nature of scenery. You weren't flirting back, momentarily he wondered if you even knew how since the sheer blush on your face betrayed your otherwise distinctive spitfire. You acted more childish than Isabel, in a way that you probably didn't realise caught Levi's attention because he didn't mind to spare you a glare, he'd rather keep it to himself.

____

Next time, it was supposed to be Farlan who approached to help you get your foot out of the muddy hole it was stuck to, Isabel squealed profanities at him, but it was Levi who had managed to push past him and the redhead, exposing his self to the cold pouring rain to run towards you. Just how stupid of your team was to leave you in the pouring rain to make your foot in your own?

His mind was at gaze as he sprint, random thoughts filling empty apathetic species that begged for overthinking to take over them. He knew Farlan didn't really like you, he was just trying to such to their plan and keeping you close was in sole purpose of getting closer to Erwin but for Isabel is want like that. She really liked your company, even he enjoyed some of your company at times and they weren't taking any chances with using you.

Moreover and much to his despise, he found himself in a very murky situation with each extension of his foot to your location. Fuck did you really have to look like that? With one leg stretched, toned bottom swaying in the air, strong veiny hands gripping on your knee, mud on the tips of your fingers and hair wet, making wild moves as you flipped your head upwards to get it out of your face. He twitched at the way a small tress stuck to your chapped lips, almost as if you were a goddess of water, a Nereid, as if you were made to be in this drenched state. Small droplets traveled from your chin down your exposed neck, hiding inside the base of your soft grey turtleneck, it was indeed a magnetising scenery, an alluring unraveling play to his eyes but he dared to rip his eyes away. He wondered if anyone could perceive this scene the way that only he did.

"Tch, try not to get that filth on me." He spoke as his sleek palms wrapped around your torso in delicate force, fitting almost perfectly. He closed his eyes. What the fuck was he even thinking? He wasn't even going to stay here for long.

"Wouldn't dream of it, but I beg of you to help before I get sick"

From a distance Isabel watched with teary eyes. A soft feeling of happiness engulfed her whole, not letting her give some form of attention to Farlan who clicked his tongue.

"Whatever Farlan, Levi is finally going to get some action for once. It's not like it's interfering with our mission!" Her brows forrowed at his sight. "He likes her, can't you see?"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that if you don't actually tell him"

Her eyes harded at what Farlan had said. Of course, she knew Levi would deny ever laying his eyes on anyone but she wanted to be there to watch him experience falling in love, hell even falling out of it. Farlan should plainly accept that Levi is not always going to be hang up from their group. Sticking together even after their time at the military was a given, but wanting to have lovers and relationships now that they could enjoy their lives? Isabel was eagerly excited for it.

She watched you and Levi as you freed your leg from the muddy puddle, flying over by the force you had both been laboring and falling on too of each other, Levi's face was contorted in anger, fumingly red as he tried not to tell at you and she was definite about his feelings towards you.

Outside and laid with his back in the mud, Levi felt startled in a way he hadn't experienced before. He could faintly feel the tips of your breasts on his chest and he guessed you were using cloth binds since the impact wasn't enough to get him beyond a little flustered, but he could admit that this was embarrassing. He was angry, for being muddy that is, god knows just how much he despised mud and the smell of filthy rain but there was something about the way you straddled him and it touched a little flicker inside of him that told him it was alright to be muddy for a few more seconds, as long as he was underneath you. Despite his lack of experience in romantic or tense moments, he only had had sex a few times that he could count on one hand and he had despised each one for being disgustingly filthy, he definitely could sense the electric field in the air around you.

But as soon as the moment occured and you took your glistering eyes off of his, you pushed strength into your arms, digging your palms in the dirt to lift your self up and he was once again his normal self. With a click if his tongue he slipped from underneath you, denying your open hand that seeked to offer him a little help. He wasn't here for a sappy little romantic adventure, he was here to find those documents and kill Erwin, you were merely getting in the way of his brain functioning properly.

#aot #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi #snk x reader #aot x reader #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #attack on titan #captain levi #levi imagine #levi fanfiction #levi x y/n

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bitchardhendricks · 4 years

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Well I’ve Never Been to Heaven (But I’ve Been to Oklahoma) pt 17

I know it’s been a terribly long time since I last updated - to be frank, the last couple of weeks have been almost too full to bear. Wife and I foster dogs through a local shelter, and our most recent was a hospice foster whom we had for the last 6 months (aka all of quarantine and beyond). He finally declined to the point that we had to make the call, and we said goodbye to him last weekend and honestly? I’ve been too sad to do much writing or thinking about writing, because this loss, even though it was an expected one, has left a massive hole in my heart. Unrelated, but I am now in the remote wilderness of Colorado in a cabin for Wife’s 30th birthday - essentially sheltering in place, but with a hot tub and mountain views. It finally feels a little easier to breathe and the getaway has done me a lot of good. Here’s an extra-long update of Tulsa fic for an extra-long wait. I hope you all are taking care of yourselves out there and giving yourself breaks where you can. Catch up on past entries here, and come say hi and tell me about the pets that you’ve loved.

***

When Richard opens his eyes on Saturday morning with his face smushed against his pillow he suffers a dizzying moment of time travel - he’s in his childhood bedroom wearing one of his old high school t-shirts and seeing his Ninja Turtle sleeping bags rolled up on the floor. But there’s no Big Head playing N64 at the foot of his bed, and his sheets smell like detergent and some familiar floral scent he can’t quite place, not spilled Red Bull and teen boy sweat.

He flops over onto his back and closes his eyes for a moment, breathes deeply through his nose. Hears his sister’s voice, teasing but not mean: mooning over someone, that’s what he looks like. His mother’s voice. He’s a million miles away, like always. Jared’s voice, hushed in the dark. All I wanted was to find a place that I belonged, where I was wanted. Isn’t that what Richard always wanted too? Jesus, how many nights did he spend in this room, in this bed counting down the days until he could finally fucking escape, trying with all his might to think himself away from this place. “Creation is an act of sheer will,” after all.

And what did you create, Richie?

You made a shitty music player that no one fucking wanted, and you gave away your one good idea to your competition. What does that leave you with - a great company name? Shit, if Jared hadn't seen the potential of the algorithm, you wouldn't even have a company. Jared sparked the idea for middle-out. Without him, you wouldn't have middle-out, you wouldn't be a CEO. You wouldn't have anything at all.

Maybe Jared knows what he's talking about.

***

Diane’s already awake, a coffee cup cradled in her hands at the kitchen table, when Jared carefully and quietly emerges from Richard’s bedroom and shuts the door.

“Mornin’ sugar,” she whispers and gestures for Jared to sit next to her, which he does. "I didn't expect anyone to be awake yet on a Saturday. You must be an early riser, like me. Here, sit you a spell, lemme grab you some coffee. Did you sleep well?” she asks, as she gets up to fetch him a mug of his own. This force of Diane's maternal energy continues to catch him off guard, and he reaches for an answer like a man in an unfamiliar hotel room groping for the light.

“Oh yes, they were all nightmares I’ve had before so I knew my escape routes. I feel fresh as a daisy!”

“Mm, that’s good,” she replies, sounding far away as she rummages through a cabinet and pulls out a mug, then pads over to the coffee pot to fill it. “You take cream and sugar, sweetheart?”

“Black is fine,” Jared says, and gratefully accepts the cup she offers him. It says HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY in comic sans font surrounding a faded photo of the entire Hendricks family, sometime in the mid-90s from the look of the boldly patterned oversize knit sweater on Steven and the perms sported by both Diane and Caitlyn. They’re standing in a verdant field in front of a split rail fence, Steven and Diane in the back, Caitlyn and Richard in front; Richard is a skinny, coltish boy, those auburn curls still a riot around his head, his father’s hand clapped firm over his left shoulder.

“Somethin’ wrong, sugar?” Diane asks him, and Jared startles from his reverie. He shakes his head, quickly takes a sip, “Mm, no. This is good, thank you, Diane.” He tries very hard not to think about his strange, alien presence in the warmth of this woman’s home, with her powder blue terrycloth robe and her commissioned family mugs. They sit in silence for a moment, listening to the birds chirping outside the kitchen window.

“Jared, honey, can I ask you somethin’?”

“Of course,” Jared says, caught off guard. His fingers play with the collar of his plain white t-shirt.

“Richard has always been...sensitive. He acts standoffish, but he - he takes things hard, you know? I thought he might grow out of it. He was such a sweet little boy...used to pick dandelions for me on the way home from school, almost every day. Can you believe that?”

Jared looks at the unabashed grin on 9-year-old Richard’s face, standing in a field and squinting into the sun, laughing with his family. He can believe it. “Yes,” he says, but Diane doesn’t seem to really hear him as she continues.

“But you know, high school and hormones, and my lord did that boy get moody!” She laughs a little, but it sounds sad. “I just...ever since he went off to college, I feel him slippin’ further and further away from me. Does he - well, what does he say about us, exactly? Does he ever talk about us?”

Jared’s expression must reveal more than he intended, because she nods before he can speak. “Ah. That’s what I thought.”

“But it’s not,” Jared hurries to reassure her, “I don’t think it is what you think. Richard doesn’t talk about his past really, or anything altogether personal.” Except this weekend, his mind whispers and he tries not to flush. He’s full of stories this weekend. And those long nights in the garage, in the bathtub, in bathrooms of VC offices; all those fears, all those anxieties. It feels so terribly personal, but listen to what his own mother is telling you and give up all those fantasies that it could be anything else - it’s just business, Donald. He rushes on, “You have to understand, Diane, the tremendous pressure he’s under. There’s not really time or, or room for - “ but he falters, unsure how to proceed when he doesn’t really believe what he’s saying.

“Oh I know, he’s busy, always so busy. Off being a big shot CEO, I get it. I just wish...” she shakes her head, looks down into her coffee mug.

“I know you must miss him terribly,” Jared says, grimly picturing the ragged hole in his chest that would remain if Richard ever left him behind.

“Sometimes I wonder if...does he hate me, Jared? Is that why he won’t come home?”

“Oh gosh in heaven, no!” Heedless of houseguest decorum, he places one of his hands over her smaller one on the table and squeezes in an attempt to comfort her. Her only crime is loving Richard too much, an infraction he is all too familiar with. He can’t help but offer her a balm to soothe, even if it’s not his place. “He misses you, and he loves you. I think...I think Richard is someone who tends to live inside himself a great deal, and doesn’t always pay attention to the effect he can have on other people.” Jared can feel his ears pinking, but he soldiers on. “He’s like a shark, always moving forward, never pausing to rest because he has to attack the next problem and the next. And while that means he can stay focused on creating wonderful things, it also means he doesn’t always notice the little remoras swimming around him, taking care of him so that he can keep on swimming and avoid deadly parasitic infections.”

Diane looks at Jared, her face drawn and tight, an expression so like her son’s face when he’s working out a problem. Her eyes search his, and for a moment, Jared has the terrible urge to shrink before her, a child under scrutiny. “And is there someone,” her voice falters, “takin’ care of him?”

He’s caught, his heart thrumming like a rabbit’s in a snare, but he’s helpless against those wild blue eyes, and he nods.

“And is he happy?” She has turned her hand so that her fingers are now clutching at Jared’s, feverish. A woman holding onto a lifeline.

Jared wants to say yes, wants to say it’s terrifying and exhausting and every day is an uphill climb but we are building something magical together and he wants to say I am doing everything I can to make him happy because he said no to Gavin’s money and I didn’t know people could do that. What he actually says is, “I - I want him to be.”

She searches his face, her expression unreadable, then releases Jared’s hand immediately as Caitlyn pads down the hallway in an oversized OKC Thunder t-shirt and plaid sleep pants, yawning loudly. “Hey, mama, did you make coffee?”

#silicon valley hbo #sv squad #jarrich #jarrich fic #jared dunn #richard hendricks #sv fic #my sv fic #Well I've never been to Heaven

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reversecreek · 3 years

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Mila looked cut and pasted from another place entirely, perched on a bar stool in Fannie’s as she waited to spot Frankie. A gingham dress that came down below the knees, green high top Converse covered in felt tip doodles -- a heart, a rainbow, an alien with dangly antenna -- and a navy knit sweater flopped over her forearm. Not to mention the attentive, blinking way she nodded, immersed in an older lady’s story. Mila didn’t know she was being hit on. “Thank-you! I use lotion. It smells like cookies. Wanna sniff?” She was a second from having her knuckles pressed to the stranger’s nostrils when she caught sight of Frankie, prompting a gasp. With her free hand, she wafted him over. “Hey! Here’s -- Oh, ‘scuse me, so sorry, just one sec’!” Hopping to her feet, she gently unfolded the sweater, immediately pinning it to Frankie’s chest -- it became apparent with it stretched that there was wool unravelling at the bottom, yet to be finished, short enough it’d reveal his belly button. On the front, she’d stitched a sun in yellow thread, fit with a smile and winking eyelid. Her previous company ooh’d and aah’d, really giving a hard sell. “Hmm... I dunno if I have enough wool to, like... I wanted it to keep you warm... Maybe this won’t work.” A fleeting frown. Then, instantly perked up, eyes hopeful as they flew to meet his. “Unless you love crop tops?!” @cvastals

#mila | frankie

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katehuntington · 5 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part two) Fandom: Supernatural AU Main characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Ash Miles, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: ±5400 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part two: Jo picks up Y/N from the airport and doesn’t waste any time warning the intern for a notorious wrangler called Dean Winchester. When she arrives at Gold Canyon Ranch, she soon understands why. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘Broken Halos’ - Chris Stapleton (car scene) and ‘No Good’ - Kaleo (saloon entry). (check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify!) Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @coffee-obsessed-writer and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish for helping me. You girls are awesome betas.

Ride With Me Masterlist

It stops raining just as suddenly as it started coming down, but the asphalt in front of the airport entrance still shimmers under the streetlights. Knowing that it's going to take at least forty-five minutes for her ride to arrive, Y/N treated herself to a cup of coffee from Starbucks, which she sips on while seated on her suitcase. Whenever a set of headlights approaches, she looks up hopefully, but up to now, all cars have passed by. With a bored sigh, she tucks her flat-ironed hair behind her ear and yawns, despite the caffeine she’s consuming. She checks her phone again. “Come on, already…”

When she looks up from the device, a black pickup pulls up to the curb. It triggers her to straighten her back and seek eye contact with the driver. As the car comes to a stop, a young woman has turned to look outside her downed passenger window. “Are you Y/N?” “Yes,” she responds a bit hesitantly as she rises. The driver grins and signals her to come closer. “Well, get in. I ain’t got all night!”

Y/N smiles back somewhat nervously, draws out the grip of her suitcase and rolls it to the side of the car. With difficulty, she manages to push the heavy load in the open cargo area, making sure not to scratch the paint or spill her coffee, after which she hastens to the passenger-door and gets in. Before she settles down, Jo picks up her ivory white cowboy hat from the seat and puts it down behind her, offering her passenger a place to sit. As she does so and closes the door, the driver holds out her hand. Y/N shakes it, surprised by the strength of the young woman’s grip. “Jo Singer,” she introduces herself. “Welcome on the Gold Canyon Ranch Express.”

While Jo steers the car back on the road, Y/N takes her in. She’s slender, not very tall, but the confidence she radiates makes up for that. She’s rocking the ripped jeans and western boots, a comfortable loosely knitted sweater covers the skin that her tank-top doesn’t. The young woman has plaited her hair in a messy braid which falls down from her left shoulder. With one hand at twelve o’clock on the wheel and the other casually hanging outside the door, she averts her focus from the road for a brief second, turning to her passenger.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait. Cattle just came in and Dad got a little caught up. He gets that way sometimes,” Jo apologizes as she lowers the volume of the radio. “That’s okay,” Y/N assures, holding up her coffee. “I had company.” “What is that, by the way? Do I smell cinnamon?” Jo eyes the coffee container as if it’s alien. “It’s a Cinnamon Dolce Latte,” Y/N states before taking a sip. “A what now?” Registering Jo’s expression, she sniggers. “Cinnamon, coffee, and milk, basically.” “Fancy.” The driver grins. “You’re from up north, right?” “Yeah. Freeport, Maine,” she elaborates. “It’s quite a change of scenery.” “I’ll bet,” the cowgirl behind the wheel reckons. “Ya’ll have pretty cold winters over there, huh?”

Curiously, the new girl looks over at Jo. The Southern charm in her voice is rich. Her accent has a lot more soul to it than the ones she picked up in the arrival hall and the coffee place back at the airport. Not even the local taxi drivers who were chatting as they waited for a ride sounded like Jo.

“Yeah.” Y/N nods, answering the question after a beat. “Lots of snow too.” “You won’t ever be cold in Arizona, I can promise ya that, Yankee.” Y/N chuckles. “Yankee?” “That’s what us Southerners call Northerners,” she explains. “Better get used to it.” “I thought Arizona was considered the Southwest,” the intern says. Now it’s Jo’s turn to smirk, as she gives her a side-eye. “Aren’t you as smart as all get out? But you’re right. My folks are from the South. The ranch belonged to my grandpa back in the day. When he got too old to work the land, Mom and Dad moved in to help and took over when he passed. I was born and raised here in Gold Canyon, but what can I say? It’s hard to lose the slang when you’re around a bunch of Southerners.”

Jo continues to make small talk. Y/N doesn’t mind it, though. It’s nice to get to know the ranch owner’s daughter and at least there’s not an awkward silence dwelling in the old pickup. Easy conversation about the weather is soon traded for other subjects, like the ranch and the horses. “Dad mentioned you’re a reining rider. What level are ya?” Jo asks. “Debuted in Open a couple of months ago.”

She tries to stay modest, but a proud smile forms on Y/N’s lips anyway. Hours of practice and years of training have brought her to the highest level in reining sport. When the letter from the National Reining Horse Association came in to inform her of the promotion from Non-Pro to Open, she remembered being so excited that she ran through the house screaming high pitched and hugged her parents so tight, she almost suffocated them. It took hard work, blood, sweat, and tears, but she made it. It all paid off.

“Whoa, you must be pretty damn good then!” Jo responds, eyebrows raised, impressed. Y/N doesn’t really respond, not sure how to take the compliment. Instead, she looks down at the coffee container in her lap. “What about you?” “I’m not a reiner,” the cowgirl smiles. “I race barrel.”

Now, it’s Y/N’s turn to be fascinated. Surely, reining is an exciting discipline of horse riding, but barrel racing is a whole other ballgame. She always enjoys watching it at the rodeo. The speed, the acceleration, the tight corners around the barrels, beating the clock, every fraction of a second counting; it’s the definition of thrilling.

“What’s your PR?” she wonders. Jo looks at her sideways, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “16.1 seconds.” Y/N huffs, amazed. “That’s fast!” The ranch owner’s daughter shrugs it off. “I’ve got a very good horse.” “My grandfather taught me that a horse will never become extraordinary unless it’s matched with a skilled rider.” Jo smiles at those wise words and gazes at the road ahead.

The beams of the headlights reach out several yards in front of them. Everything beyond remains in the darkness of night. Although the rain stopped falling down on the dry and thirsty land, clouds still shield out the frail moon’s radiance. They left Metro Phoenix about ten minutes ago and Y/N can barely see what’s out there, but what she can see, captivates her. For a girl who has never been to the southwest of the US, it seems foreign, not from this planet even. A pair of tail lights glides down the straight two-lane freeway towards an invisible horizon, while a few lights on the mountains give an idea of the relief in the east. Dust, sand, and rocks alongside the road are all that she can make out, joined with tall cacti and small bushes every now and then. This is the first time she has seen a cactus in its natural habitat. She didn’t know they could grow that tall.

“You should stay away from those when you go on a trail, especially the little fluffy lookin’ ones,” Jo suggests, noticing her passenger’s amazement as she watches the cacti pass by. “There’s nothing fluffy about the damn things when you get too close. I’ve seen the most gentle and laid back horses go full bronc after running their ass into a ‘cholla’.” Y/N chuckles; she can imagine that happening. Appreciating the tip, she turns her attention back to the driver. “Any other good advice for my first day tomorrow?” She dares to ask, curious about what lies ahead. Jo smiles at her, appreciating her eagerness. The girl beside her isn’t the first rookie to ask her this. To her, it’s a sign of insecurity, one that comes along with the lack of experience.

“You didn’t do a lot of ranch work back in Maine, did ya?” she confronts. Out of balance, Y/N looks aside at the driver, then averts her gaze. The gentle expression on Jo’s face should tell her that she doesn’t intend to make her feel uncomfortable, but she can’t help herself from moving in her seat a little, lost for words. “How can you tell?” she replies shyly. “Your boots are too clean,” Jo grins, nodding at the intern’s feet.

Somewhat stunned, Y/N looks down at her shoes. Wanting to make a good impression, she polished the brown leather. Honestly, she spent more time cleaning them than she normally would before a show, but it might have been a better idea to leave them dirty. A blush warms her cheeks as she shakes her head slightly; apparently, she’s a little too eager to prove herself.

“You got me,” she admits. “You’re right, I lack experience when it comes to stable work. But I really want to learn.” Thankfully, Jo takes away the embarrassment and seems to appreciate her enthusiasm. “Don’t worry about it. We had workers who didn’t even know how to pick out a hoof, let alone ride a horse,” she reassures. “You’ll be fine. Keep your eyes and ears open, your head low and if there’s anything you need, you can always come to me.”

Slightly put to ease, Y/N smiles at her shiny boots. Jo is right; she will be okay. There is no need to be nervous about tomorrow, she’s not completely oblivious after all. And with the ranch owner’s daughter as her new ally, she feels confident enough to believe that she will manage just fine.

A moment of quietness follows as the young blonde takes the exit and directs the pickup onto Superstition Mountain Drive, leaving route 60 behind them. Soft music comes from the amplifiers, a country ballad bathing them in pleasant tunes. Despite her insecurities, Y/N feels comfortable with Jo by her side, and as she glances over at her, a future image of them becoming friends forms in her head. It doesn’t seem unlikely, not at all. Her wit, her confidence, the joy that she seems to have in everything she does; she can appreciate that.

“There is one other piece of good advice I’m gonna give ya,” Jo continues after a while. “And it’s very, very important that you stick to it.” Curious, Y/N waits for a follow-up, eager eyes on the blonde cowgirl in the driver’s seat who waits a couple more seconds, underlining the importance of her message. “Do not, under any circumstances, fall for Dean Winchester.”

A little underwhelmed, Y/N’s facial expression shifts from confused to amused. She scoffs, for a second thinking she’s joking. Jo’s dramatic build-up prepared for a line she was going to remember during the tough moments while staying at the ranch, so it’s a bit of a downer when it resulted in advice on men.

“Who’s Dean Winchester?” she asks, unimpressed. “He’s a wrangler at the ranch,” Jo enlightens her. “Also a shameless womanizer who has broken more hearts than I can count. That bastard lures gals into his bed like it’s a fucking competition. Or in the haystack, his truck, the restroom of the saloon. Whatever place he finds fit to hump somethin’.”

Y/N’s jaw drops, after which she covers her mouth to muffle her chuckle. And ten minutes ago they were talking about the weather. Well, that escalated quickly. “I’m serious,” Jo underlines, noticing the cynicism in her passenger’s laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that. That’s not what I’m here for,” she assures the ranch owner’s daughter. “That’s what most of them say,” she returns, having heard this before.

For a second Y/N observes her co-driver as questions start to buzz around in her head. What are Jo’s motives? Might there be something more behind what seems like just good advice? “Did you…? Did you ever, you know…?” Insecurity overwhelms her once again, disabling her to form a proper sentence. A little confused, Jo looks over, but at the sight of Y/N’s raised eyebrow and a subtle smile twitching at the corner of her mouth, it suddenly dawns on her what she’s getting at. “What?! Oh, hell no!” She shudders in disgust. “Christ! He’s my cousin!”

Y/N eyes grow large when she realizes what she just implied, but then Jo snorts and they both burst out in laughter. How this conversation went from climate and desert flora to sex and men puzzles her completely, but she’s sure that she just gained a friend. When both of them can talk again after another convulsion of giggles, Y/N can’t help but wonder about this wrangler with a reputation.

“What’s so special about this Dean?” Jo wipes away tears that came running down her face in the uncontrollable laughing fit she endured. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

She switches on the turning signal and turns left onto a long driveway. Fenced pastures stretch out on either side, running up towards the hills. Cows are chewing their roughage at the hayracks, but look up when the headlights of the Chevrolet captures them briefly as the car passes. Up ahead, a wooden sign arches over the road. ‘Gold Canyon Ranch’ it says in bold capital letters. The pickup surfaces from underneath the sign and proceeds up the driveway, which fans out into a square. In front of a house - which is built from sandstone and has a red-tiled roof - Jo parks the car and turns off the ignition.

Amazed by the setting, Y/N gets out of the truck and takes it in. Several buildings, all in the same architectural style, surround the square as well. The soft and easing sounds of horses rummaging around in their stables originate from a large barn to the right of the family home. Then there’s that familiar and soothing smell of the farm, although the scent that’s reaching her senses now is sharper, more earthy than she’s used to up in Maine. Then another sound draws her attention; the sound of a cheerful crowd and country songs. Y/N looks over the top of the Chevrolet and watches Jo walk over to a building complex at the other end of the square.

“Leave your suitcase. Let’s fix us a drink first.” She hints at the saloon, from where the music is coming. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the bunch.” Y/N follows in a fast stride, forking her fingers through her hair and straightening it out quickly, then she tucks her checkered blouse into her jeans, even though she just decided that she was going to leave it hanging over her belt. This is ridiculous, she scolds at herself. Why are you so nervous?

She doesn’t have time to think about it, because when she’s about to catch up with Jo, the blonde swings open the double doors and makes her entrance. The musk of hard work mixed with beer and nicotine welcomes her, mingling with the lingering heat of the day. The music shifts to a new song, the guitars and a strong beat sounding through the space. Burning stares come her way as they walk into the saloon, making her feel like she got stuck in an old spaghetti western starring Clint Eastwood. Where is that cowboy to save her now?

“Look what I found out in the rain,” Jo jokes, casually putting an arm around Y/N’s neck. “Our Yankee!” Cheers rise from the group of men, glad that they made it back. Half-empty beer bottles litter the wooden surface of the table they are seated at; it’s clear that the party has been going for a while now, eyes getting hazy and laughs roaring louder. It’s a good thing that Jo basically drags her inside, because if she had been on her own, she would have frozen on the spot.

A middle-aged woman with chestnut brown hair steps from behind the counter to meet them halfway. With a dish towel hanging over her shoulder, she approaches the new face, smiling genuinely. “Y/N, this is my mom,” Jo introduces. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Singer,” Y/N greets, humble, remembering her name from the email exchanges they had to arrange her internship. “Please, call me Ellen. Welcome. Make yourself at home, honey,” she says as her husband flanks her. “And this is my old man.” Jo pats him on the back, triggering a mutter. “I’m not that old,” he states, redirecting his attention to the new guest. “I’m Bobby. Nice to meet you. Sorry ‘bout the delay.” “Oh, that’s alright,” Y/N smiles back at him, starting to feel more at ease.

The family seems really nice, but the group of men - which Y/N assumes is the ranch crew - still curiously lurks at her. Intimidated, she lets her eyes roam through the bar, trying not to stare. At home she had her brothers to back her up, their presence alone usually enough for guys to take a step back. But yet again she becomes painfully aware of the fact that she is on her own this time.

Her eyes glide over the workers and wranglers. At the far end of the table, a guy - who she guesses to be in his late twenties - looks back at her from under his cowboy hat. He has two poker cards in one hand and nurses a bottle of beer with the other, resting his strong forearms on the edge of the wood. Emerald green eyes seem to read her like an open book, taking her in with enough confidence in his expression to compensate for what she lacks. He puts his lips against the mouth of his beer bottle and takes a swig, slowly, without breaking eye contact. Did he really take his time or did her mind just process that in slow-motion? Suddenly aware that she’s staring, Y/N looks away and focuses on Jo again, who has continued the introduction.

“This is Ash, one of our wranglers and in charge of the cattle. Don’t let the hair fool ya, he’s a pretty swell guy under all the craziness.” She walks behind him, peeking into his cards. “Wow, you really just raised with a two and a three?” The guy next to Ash shoves two piles of chips forward, flashing the bluffer a big grin. Jo has settled between the two men, smirking at Ash’s annoyed face. Resting her folded arm on his shoulder, she turns her head and now puts a hand on her neighbor’s back. “Benny Lafitte. Best farrier in Arizona. Also, a master on the ground when it comes to starting young horses.” The man with a nicely trimmed beard tips his hat at Y/N, observing her with his blue eyes for a second before the ranch owner’s daughter moves on. “Over yonder is Garth. Wrangler and our man in the stables.” She nods at the fragile built guy with dark hair, who shyly looks up and greets the newcomer. “He’s harmless, great mounted shooter by the way.”

Jo straightens her back and folds her arms in front of her chest as she turns to her cousin. He doesn’t look back, though. His eyes haven’t left the new face, who forces herself to meet his gaze. After everything that Jo told her about this guy, she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being the spectator for her discomfort and shyness. But my God, she gets why the girls swoon by the sight of him. He has great features, a few days old scruff adding to his strong jawline. Broad shoulders pull at the fabric of his jacket, his strong fingers running slowly up and down the smooth glass of the bottle. He looks like he just walked out of a Marlboro commercial, western hat and all. “And this is Dean,” Jo states simply, observing them both. As the guy in question takes another swig of his drink, he finally tears his eyes away from Y/N. The weight that was pressing on her chest is lifted and instantly she finds it easier to breathe. “What? No catchy intro for me?” he asks Jo. “Now, I know it’s hard to describe a man like me with words--” “Oh, I already described you just fine, Winchester,” she returns impudently. “Every girl about to encounter you deserves a fair warning.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at that remark, not sure how to interpret the remark. His eyes flick back to Y/N again, startling her. She must have flinched, because her reaction ignites a grin. “You know us now, but what’s your name?” Dean asks, even though he is already aware. Pushing her self-consciousness out of the way, she speaks as clear as she can, not just addressing him, but the entire crew. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you all.”

When their gazes lock again, the cowboy’s smile grows a little wider and he flashes her a short and subtle wink. It’s close to unnoticeable, had she blinked she would’ve missed it, but she caught it, alright.

“Your turn, brother,” Benny calls for his attention on the game. Dean glances down at his cards once more. A pair of queens; surely he’s going along with the raise, but he doesn’t want to be obvious about his good hand. He shoves two stacks of chips forward to meet the stakes and waits for his friend’s response. Translating his expressions and possible tells, the blue-eyed wrangler stares back at him while dealer Garth unfolds the final card; a queen of hearts. Benny seems to ponder, but Dean doesn’t give him an inch.

The farrier throws in five more chips. “I raise with five hundred.” “One thousand,” Dean counters. Benny chuckles. He’s got to be bluffing, right? “Fine,” he agrees, adding five more to the pot as he throws down his cards on the table for his opponent to see. “A pair of Aces.”

A good hand indeed, but not good enough to win. Dean bites his lip, looks down at his cards, then back at the young woman that caught his eye. This time she’s prepared; Y/N doesn’t look away. All she does is stare back into those green orbs, standing her ground. Before it becomes obvious to the others in their company, Dean averts his gaze first. For Y/N it feels like a big win in this strange staring contest that started from the moment she walked in. The hand that Dean lays out on the table is his victory. Three of a kind just won him over three thousand chips. Interesting, how a queen of hearts in the last draw is the key to winning this game of cards.

“Well, shit!” Benny laughs, leaning back in his seat and admitting his defeat. “Guess the next round’s on me then.” “Let me pour you a drink, sweety,” Ellen suggests, bumping her shoulder into Y/N lightly. “You can use one after all that traveling.”

A heavy breath falls from her lips as she joins the ranch owner’s wife at the bar. Ellen isn’t wrong. Boy, she needs a drink, but not because of the long flight. The attention from Dean, him looking at her like he did; it’s unlike any attention she has ever received. It felt exciting and suffocating at the same time. Unable to truly understand what she is experiencing right now, Y/N thinks about what Jo said. The words she spoke in the car are starting to make sense now. The way this man has a grip on her since the moment she laid eyes on him, throws her off. He shouldn’t be having that effect on her, she’s not that kind of girl, after all. She’s the kind that keeps her eye on the ball and doesn’t let anything distract her. And if guys would try? She would give them a run for their money. With three brothers, Y/N learned to stand her ground in order to compete with her siblings. She developed a smart mouth and isn’t easily intimidated by men. But somehow all the lessons learned flew right out the window the moment Dean Winchester laid eyes on her.

“What are you having?” The one person who got her drowning in her thoughts settles on a stool on her right. She glances aside at Dean, who has a gentle smile on his surprisingly plump lips. “A beer would be great.” She turns to Ellen, who is waiting by the fridge for an answer. The wrangler puts up two fingers as he makes contact with his aunt behind the counter, signaling her to double it. Skillfully, she flips the caps off the bottles and hands them over. “Here ye go. On the house,” she insists, her expression gentle. “Thank you,” Y/N returns gratefully with a slight nod of the head.

As Ellen Singer leaves to join her husband, Y/N is forced to deal with the guy in the seat next to her. Conflicting emotions battle each other inside her chaotic mind. Working on this ranch is going to show her Dad that she can build a company worth his investment. It will teach her everything she needs to know about ranch work. She made an agreement with herself that she is going to use every second of her time to learn. Wasting it by fooling around with one of the wranglers does not fit in her schedule and it certainly isn’t going to deliver the message that she’s taking this internship seriously. But she cannot deny that a part of her is curious about this cowboy. He ignited a downright confusing interest, all that with a few lingering stares and a couple of words.

When she glances aside at the handsome man, elbows on the bar while holding her beer loosely by its neck, Jo moves into her peripheral vision. With a stack of plates in her hands, the blonde cowgirl enters the area behind the counter and continues to the kitchen, but not before shooting her new friend a glare that asks her what the hell she’s doing and tells her to stop it right now. Jo’s good advice fights its way to the surface and Y/N’s common sense takes over again. Dean didn’t take a seat because he likes her, he took that seat because he wants to get laid tonight.

“So--” he starts off. “Just let me get one thing straight,” Y/N interrupts, “I’m here to learn about the ranch management, not to entertain you during lonely moments. You might be able to wind any other girl around your finger, but not me, so forget it.” It’s out there before she’s able to stop herself. She doesn’t fully understand where the words came from and how she managed to gather the courage to speak up, but the harsh message is out, hovering between them and throwing her admirer off his game. Jo - who spied on them from around the corner - seems impressed and smirks, amused, before disappearing again.

She’s not the only one who is left stunned. Dean has raised his eyebrows and needs a moment to recover. “In my defense, I was gonna ask you if you were looking forward to your first day tomorrow,” he says with a chuckle, rubbing his chin. “I like to set boundaries,” she states, taking a swig of her beer. “Apparently.” Dean clears his throat, collecting himself before he speaks a little lower. “Good thing I like to break them.”

The charismatic man has turned towards her now, his hand holding the beer resting on the counter. He’s not hiding that this hard-to-get demeanor actually intrigues him more. His arrogance, on the other end, only fuels Y/N’s persistence to shut his attempt down. “It wouldn’t really be breaking boundaries if I’m just a number on the long list of girls you picked up. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long day and tomorrow probably isn’t going to be much shorter, so I’m going to get some sleep.”

With those words, she knocks back the last of the beer and leaves the bottle on the bar. Before he can stop her, she hops off her stool. “I’ll show you the way,” Jo offers, surfacing from the backroom again. With a suppressed grin on her lips, she passes Dean, who watches the two girls walk away from him, flabbergasted.

It’s then when the puzzle pieces fall in place. That little bitch... Jo just cockblocked him! He bets his lovely cousin told all about his intermezzos with some of the women that have passed through these doors. She just ruined a perfectly good chance to get together with the new girl.

Without giving him one more second of her time, Y/N starts to walk towards the exit of the saloon, followed by Jo. “G’night, everyone.” They all reply, either with words or by waving, all but Dean. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head, turning on the stool to meet his beer again. It doesn’t happen very often, but his pride has taken quite a punch. When he looked at the woman that had him do a double-take when she walked through those doors, he could have sworn he saw her react to him. Maybe you’re getting sloppy, he thinks to himself. Maybe you’re getting too old for this shit.

No, that can’t be it. Just because he’s heading towards those dreadful thirties, doesn’t mean he has to change the way he plays this game. Benny is half a decade older than him, he still lives like a bachelor and will most likely do so for the rest of his days. The intern probably has some history that causes her to act this way, a backpack full of misery; not something he wants to deal with anyway. Too complicated, at least that what he’s tries to convince himself of.

“Hey, amigo? What’s that on your face?” Ash looks over at the bar, observing the man who just got rejected. He shuffles the cards for the last game of the night. “Oh, I see it too,” Garth acknowledges, pretending to be shocked by the sight. “That doesn’t look so good.” Dean feels his cheek and casts a confused gaze at his friends as Benny starts to snigger. “That’s one ugly lookin’ red handprint that’s swelling up, man,” Ash continues.

Garth giggles, his laughter coming out in a high-pitched sniggering sound. By now Dean gets what’s going on and rolls his eyes. Who needs enemies when you have friends like these assholes. “That’s gotta hurt, Chief. Want me to get some ice for that?” Benny adds, sparkles in his bright blues. “Y’all can kiss my go-to-hell,” Dean mutters, unable to appreciate the banter.

Now all three burst out in laughter and even Bobby can’t help but join in a full belly laugh. After the fun, Benny gets up from his chair and walks over to fill the empty spot beside him. “I think this is a good thing,” he comments, his accent as gentle as Southern comfort. “It'll keep you sharp, a gal like that.” “She’s quite somethin’, isn’t she?” Dean smiles at his drink. “She ain’t easy, that’s for sure,” he agrees. “Good thing she ain’t the only lady friend in town.”

Benny redirects Dean’s eyes to a beautiful dark-haired woman at the pool table. Casey is a guest that enjoys her time at the ranch every holiday, especially since most of that time is spent with a certain wrangler. She must have arrived just now, because he didn’t notice her earlier. Or was that because his eyes and mind were too occupied by someone else? It doesn’t matter, because when Casey makes eye contact before pocketing the striped number thirteen, the sexual tension between them is already stirring up. He might not spend the night between the sheets with Y/N, but he will be satisfied by the end of the night either way.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part three here

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preyed-llama · 5 years

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Masterlist

Help yourself all 42 of my currently published fics. Under read more because there’s 42 of them.

Wordless - Summary: No one listened, they didn’t care he was there. He was silent not by his own choice. Patton centric, no happy ending no ship

What’s wrong with me - Summary: you said you’re looking for fanfic ideas? how about some angsty hurt/comfort of remus being upset that thomas was scared of him? Demus

You are my moon - Summary: analogical angst? Maybe Virgil finds a poem Lo wrote before they got together or after a fight? Analogical

Objection - Summary: Roman couldn’t handle this. He needed Virgil back. He wasn’t going to stop until he was here in his arms. Comedy, Prinxiety

An Alien feeling - Summary: In a spaceship travelling far away from everything they knew, Virgil can’t help but enjoy the company of someone so safe. Analogical

With love, your Prince - Summary: “They said I have a month left.” Roman muttered one day upon Logan entering the room. Logan sat down next to the bed and grabbed his hand, rubbing circles on the back. He whispered soft apologies until Roman looked at him with a look that just pleaded him to stop. Angst, logince

Slumber - Summary: Logan takes a moment to reflect. Fluff, romantic analogical

Who can I fool - a duet I wrote pre AA for roman and Virgil

An interesting night - Summary: Roman’s forced to go to a party to clear up a mess, although how could things go as planned. Logince, hurt comfort

Snowed in - Summary: Moxiety cuddles (platonic or romantic), maybe on a snowy day or after one of them had a bad day

Got a secret can you keep it - Summary: “Yeah, so what? You hire painters, I hire assassins, what’s the difference really?” Unhealthy analogical

Penguins - Summary: “I didn’t know what to say, so I started talking about my vast knowledge of penguins.” Logicality, Fluff

Dogs - Summary: “You own a dog too? So do I!” Logicality, fluff

Starlight - Summary: 2 in the morning was a good enough time for an adventure, right? aka Roman and Virgil go on a date, Prinxiety, fluff

Ti amo idiota - summary: super short logicality fic in italian for practice

The horrors of an adventure - Summary: Patton gets lost in a weird land. It hurts and everything seems out to get him. Familiar faces were painfully different. Hurt comfort, no ship

Suits you - Summary: When Roman walked in with a smile and two suits, Patton knew he was done for. OR Why Roman is rarely allowed to plan dates because does it look like they’re billionaires? Royality fluff

True loves kiss - Summary: A Prinxiety Ficlet based on fairy tales and Roman being a romantic dork.

Sanders sides literature club - Summary: DDLC but as sanders sides, no ship, angst and horror

Gifts - Summary: I have a head canon that Virgil knits (or sows) in his free time, so maybe you could write a fanfiction where Virgil makes Thomas and the sides sweaters for Valentines day. Platonic LAMP/CALM fluff

An afternoon with the Orient Express - Summary: Logan had stayed in his room for days on end with his books and Virgil decides to end the cycle of isolation. Analogical Fluff

A numb world - Summary: Is the world real? Why didn’t it feel real? Virgil centric

Why don’t you do right? - Summary: ‘Virgil wasn’t sure if he was in heaven. Was Logan secretly an angel? It would explain his angelic voice and his inability to understand human emotion and interaction.’ OR Logan sings in a nearby bar and Virgil loves him. Fluff, analogical

In retrospect - Summary: A ball to the head must have knocked out all sense he had, why else would he befriend such different people. Hints of logince, fluff or hurt comfort

Enscrolled - Summary: A strange feeling bubbled in Virgil’s chest as he stared at the screen. Love. No! He could not be in love with Roman! That obnoxious, loudmouth, idiotic… generous, charming, sweet, caring, warm, loving, handsome-.Or Virgil falls for Roman after he has been dropping hints for weeks. Prinxiety, Fluff

Infatuation - Summary: Virgil would give anything to be with Roman. Hurt comfort, Romantic prinxiety, getting together

I want to believe - Summary: Aliens land on earth, shocking the planet. Fluff, no ship

A pink sea of unfortunate choices - Summary: Logan has a long night only to wake up to Flamingos? You’ve got to be kidding me. Fluff, no ship

Insurrection - Summary: The Corrupted King was exactly what he sounded like. The rebel forces were down to four; Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil. The King isn’t even kind enough to let a few Rebel’s survive… But maybe there was some things The Corrupted King couldn’t do. Angst with happy ending, no ship

Aliens? - Summary: Virgil spends a night with Logan and relaxes with his boyfriend. Fluff

Lunch - Summary: Logan forgets his lunch and home and some days Virgil really hates his Youtube Fame. Fluff, analogical

Pardon me, are you aaron burr sir? - Summary: Roman needed to learn a song for the musical, but he highly doubted he learned anything when the attractive worker with nothing better to do ran his lines with him. It’s sort of a song fic, but not quite, either way. Aaron Burr, sir, from Hamiltion: the musical is a key part of the story.

Math - Summary: Logan really likes math and his world is his and his intelligence isn’t something he should be ashamed of. Fluff, no ship

Luminous - Summary: When Roman shifts out Virgil needs to find someone else to stay with, but it appears something else has already chosen him. No pairing, Fluff

The Lone Survivor - Summary: Virgil survived the Zombie apocalypse so far. But will anything ever be okay again? Angst, no pairing

Distress - Summary: ‘Like glass, he shattered.’ or Patton is an emotional wreck. LAMP, Hurt/comfort

Sleep Bound - Summary: Logan and Virgil are tired and happy together, Fluff, analogical

Them - Summary: Virgil suffers heart break, angst, any pairing you want.

Romans Secret Admirer - Summary: Roman gets a secret admirers gift on Valentines day. Royalty, fluff

A powerful game with Malicious Intent - Summary: Logan and Virgil struggle through some ludicrous puzzles.

The process of Creativity - Summary: Roman sharing a new creation/idea w/ Patton and Patton just being super supportive dad

Beach Break - Summary: Virgil didn’t really like the beach, too many things could go wrong, so why did he ever let himself get convinced to go to the zone of slow deaths and horrible ideas. LAMP?

Broken Goodbyes - Summary: Roman dreamed of the stage and of Virgil. Virgil dreamed of being with Roman. Sometimes reality seeps in and reminds us that they must remain dreams. angst, prinxiety

Cold hands, warm heart - roman is the sort of person to mention being cold then shove his hands up someones sleeves (post from royally-anxious), logince

There you are, all my one shots in one place, magical.

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dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt · 5 years

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Imagine being in a relationship with: Myriad

Their world was alien. The thudding beat was a second heart, the lights an extension of your veins, neon flowing under your skin. An uncertain landscape of feverish, dancing bodies, pretty pills in all the colours of your desire, flutes of liquid ever-shifting under the lights. They always made sure to take you to the backrooms when you grew overwhelmed, knew how your brand of panic looked and tasted. They would wipe the saltwater from your eyes and tip your chin back, studying your face with a serious expression, until they grinned and kissed you. Every kiss stole the breath from your lungs, replaced your blood with electricity. They learnt so quickly, far more experienced than you could ever hope to be. They knew exactly what you wanted, how and when you wanted it. But it took you a long time to know them.

He was an enigma. Came as he pleased, flitted in and out of your life so randomly you never knew when you would see him next. An hour? A month? The best part of a year? He seemed to act entirely on his whims, you couldn’t have held him down if you’d tried. He only seemed to return for two things: sex, and to make sure you were alright. He always seemed pleasantly surprised by the latter, which should probably have worried you more than it did. “You mortals can be so fragile, but look at you, you’re still doing fine!” He would tilt back your chin and kiss you with that wicked, beautiful smile, and you would melt. You didn’t know how he made you feel so at ease, but you couldn’t help it. He radiated such a genuineness despite his obvious games, always kept a carefully respectful distance between you both until you expressed your wants. He tested boundaries, almost goaded you, always so playful. It was infectious, drew you in and made rise to meet the banter. He was always delighted whenever you shot a barb back, a grin wide and glittering sharp. He never hid what he was, not for one second. You believed him after you saw him draw the venom from his fangs and use it to paralyze a mouse. “It will be fine in a day, don’t worry,” he murmured and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. You should have been afraid. You should have run. You knew he would have left you alone if that was what you wanted from him, but you didn’t.

It was strange, those nights in the apartment she had bought for you. Clean and chic and quiet and so different from the nightclubs. The moonlight bleached the colour from everything, leaving things pale and beautiful. It only served to brighten their eyes, though, as they roamed over you lazily, shifting greenbluegreyyellow with every breath you took. Her fangs too, caught this light. She was hypnotizing, terrifying and reassuring. You would watch Netflix and laugh with the primordial being next to you, since she was so fond of her jokes, mostly dark and dirty and childish. She was tall, had to fold herself in around you for you both to be comfortable. You had never felt safer than when those fangs were within kissing distance of your neck.

They liked to tease you. A hand skating down your side or beckoning you into a room alone, a lick of their lips, a flash of a smile or lace. So many games. You didn’t often win - they had a lot more practice, after all - but you did occasionally. Sometimes when he wanted you to, others because you surprised him. It took a lot to catch him off guard, and yet here you were, tiny and vital and bold enough to dally with Hell’s master of punishment. You were nothing they weren’t; aware of rules, consequences, your own strengths and limits. When she was reckless, she had nothing to lose. When you were reckless, you had everything to lose. That impressed her; she appreciated it, and so she took care of you, made sure never to break what couldn’t be fixed. Above all they respected you, your bravery and your intelligence, your willpower and your life.

She was not used to ‘normal.’ You would invite her to your home and she would follow you with a quizzical look on her face, watching with fascination as you went about life. It was so ordinary. It was fantastic. They looked so at odds helping you with the laundry, baking, going through old clothes, sleeping in your bed with those faded sheets. You knew they were dangerous and otherworldly, they should not be brushing their teeth next to you, pulling funny faces and messing up your hair, smiling around the toothpaste.

“Demons use toothpaste?”

“Cleanliness is next to ungodliness. I have a reputation to keep.”

You knew they hurt people. Mostly because they told you very matter-of-factly. They knew they could live without you if you left, knew they didn’t need you, and so they didn’t see a reason to keep anything from you. They were an assassin, a silencer-of-problems, a nightmare for anyone with a lot of enemies. But they did admit one secret to you.

“I make sure who I will be working for before I take a job. Who is in the right and who is in the wrong. If the person with my payment happens to deserve my punishment more... I can always collect my money after I kill them instead. I may be a monster, but only to others of my kind. That is my job, after all.”

You didn’t know how to feel - eventually you just put the knowledge aside. They never came to you bloodied, always impeccable and grinning, no matter what they were wearing. They even occasionally let you wear their favourite sweater, which hung off your frame in all its pink, knitted kitten-patterned glory. It was absurdly adorable, so much so you couldn’t help but laugh whenever you saw them wearing it. No demon had the right to look that cute. It was almost enough to make them look innocent, if you hadn’t known better.

Your relationship wasn’t exactly romantic. He didn’t seem to label that, or anything else. Sex was sex, she spent more time with you because she enjoyed your company. Friend or other, she didn’t seem to care. You found yourself not caring, either. You had someone to sing terrible karaoke with in your pajamas late at night. You had someone who would remind you of the cookies so you didn’t burn them. You had someone who would stay close and wouldn’t let you get lost in the haze of neon and dry ice smoke, who would pull you aside when you needed a rest and slide his tongue into your mouth to comfort you. You had someone who would send you cute cat pictures and binge watch whatever show you wanted. You had a brilliant, chaotic person who’s only solid foundation seemed to be caring about you. You had Myriad.

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coffee-or-murder · 5 years

Note

For the gallusrostromegalus OC questions: Zimri-5, 12, 14, 18, 20 Rosalind- 2, 6, 10, 15, 16

ZIMRI, Yolo High Femme and my daughter. We’re talking Modern!AU Zimri for this since I will most likely never play her actual character again and that’s the most developed version of her.

5. Does your OC get lost easily? What do they do when they do get lost?

Her sense of direction is pretty good, but that direction is always towards people who can help her. Stick her in the middle of a corn field and she’ll find a farmhand, flirt with them, and get a ride to wherever she needs on their tractor.

12. What perfectly-normal-to-them-thing does your OC do that confuses/pisses off/terrifies their neighbors?

Full on photo shoots in the front garden. Or the rose gold lambo that she takes pics of herself laying on or in for one of her glucose guardians on a near daily basis.

14. What thing did your OC’s parents do that your OC wishes they had a better explanation for?

HOW THE FUCK DID YOU LOSE ME? I WAS LIKE THREE! HOW DO YOU NOT WATCH A THREE YEAR OLD?

18. What’s the trashiest item in your OC’s wardrobe, when was the last time they wore it and why do they still have it?

You know those Borat swimsuits that are literally a V-shaped piece of string? One of those in black. It was a request for a photo shoot and she wants to burn it but occasionally that guardian will ask for more pics in it.

20. What’s your OC smell like? no, not that “Vanilla and Anxiety” evocative stuff, realistically. Body odor? what have they been touching all day? When was their last shower? Did they put on any kind of artificial scent?

She is super conscious of how she smells, so she controls that shit with deodorant. She’s most likely been clinging to one of her girlfriends, or out sunbathing. She showers once a day in the morning unless she gets a little sweaty in which case two showers. There is a body oil from this company Hemp Seed called Moroccan Nights that smells EXACTLY like what I picture her smelling like, and she would wear it as either an oil or a perfume.

ROSALIND, a 132 year old Halfing Great-Great-Great Grandmother who adopts as many random children who feel like they don’t belong. She is a cleric for a god that one of her grand kids isn’t sure is real or not, but Coyote comes to her kitchen and eats stale food.

2. What are your OC’s food preferences (flavors/textures/spiciness/calories/ when and how they eat) and how did they get that way?

She is overly fond of sweets, but nothing overly sugary. Think citrus based deserts, but butterscotch is a rare exception. Flaky pastries and tender meats are best. Since she runs a baking empire (with some maybe not so legal dealing on the side) the sweets are just in her blood, but she also broke her jaw in a fight decades ago and has never been able to eat tough foods since then.

6. What would STOP your OC from Doing The Right Thing in a tense situation?

Her idea of the right thing is a little skewed. If some creep had one of her people by knife point she is the least likely one to hesitate on killing the guy. Rosalind is too old to take the moral high ground at this point.

10. On a scale of “Complete and Justified nervous breakdown” to “Conquer The Entire Galaxy and become an Immortal God-Emperor”, how well would your OC handle being abducted by Aliens?

She would adopt the nearest alien race and just expand her universe of grand kids from there. Aliens have to like baked goods right?

15. How often does your OC “zone out” or do things on autopilot and how severe have the problems that have arisen from that been?

Her mind sort of wanders a good bit. She’s the type of person you have to call her name at least twice to get her attention. Mid knitting a sweater for one of her grand kids her mind left to plan dinner and when it came back the sweater was seven times wider then it was supposed to be.

16. How strong or weak is your OC’s Impulse control? What’s the worst thing that happened because of their Impulsivity or inability to be so?

Very. She’s reached that stage of “too old to care” that I aspire to be. In the middle of an important museum opening for a benefactor of the business she picked up a statue and said “This is one of the ugliest things I’ve ever seen, and I had seven kids with my first husband”, put it down, and wanders away with her new husband cackling behind her.

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cmerysdfyghksj-blog · 5 years

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.･:*:･ﾟ’ twenty-two year old demiboy emery redd was made in brooklyn and attended st. jude’s. he/they still reside in new york, and are currently studying classical piano at mannes school of music and working as a library aide. they are oversized sweaters and a hot cup of tea, old books with creased spines and yellow pages, bright blue eyes behind smudged glasses, fingers like butterflies on a keyboard, anxious hands fidgeting with a decaf cup of coffee. onlookers say they resemble troye sivan.

hello friends! i’m nev n i’m so excited to meet all ur characters n plot with you !! i’m bringing u a tiny soft anxious nerdy baby about whom you can read a bit below ( it’s like……….half bio half intro idk rly just bear w me im tiredt )

trigger warnings for: eating disorder mentions, homophobia

emery was born on the gold coast of australia with a twin brother ( @mvrlcy ) and a younger brother, both of whom managed to capture their parents’ attention more successfully than emery ever did. with marley being a phenomenal dancer and following in their mom’s footsteps and their younger brother being the more masculine son their father had hoped for, emery grew up feeling distanced from his family and not especially important–save of course for marley, who always went out of his way to make sure emery never felt neglected. because of this–and because of a mild-to-severe anxiety disorder as well as burgeoning gender confusion–marley became from a very young age emery’s life support. as children, you would never find emery anywhere that marley was not, and when marley was at his dance classes, emery was typically at home, either reading or practicing piano ( for which he had an incredible affinity, but in which neither of his parents took much interest )

much as marley looked out for emery, em had sneaking suspicions early on of a growing eating disorder in his twin that their parents were not aware of, and in his own soft, anxious way would often try to urge marley to exercise a little less and eat a little more, but has never found it in him to bring it up as a real subject

when he was very young, emery had a stutter as well–he’s grown out of it through a combination of aging and speech therapy, but he’ll still talk a little slower out of anticipation of messing up, and because the anxiety still exists to a large degree, he doesn’t talk much in general. so when he does, it’s something he very much wants to say, and he’s painstaking about trying to articulate things clearly

because he was unable to explore his gender confusion at home for fear of alienating his parents further, it was only once he and marley moved out together that he began experimenting and learning to be more himself. you’ll typically find him in soft, oversized sweaters and a pair of jeans, and although he generally refers to himself using he/him pronouns, they are entirely flexible

he’s relatively nerdy, wears glasses most of the time unless he feels like putting in his contacts, spends a lot of time transcribing piano music and writing some of his own stuff, but mostly learning to play his favorites. he’s in school for classical piano at mannes school of music on a scholarship and the only reason he can afford being here is because he came with when marley’s dance company put him up in a nice apartment

they moved from australia to brooklyn when they were about 13 !

does a tiny bit of photography on the side, mostly doing marley’s photoshoots

does not particularly like the nickname baby redd ( which came as a play on marley’s nickname of little redd ) but will never actually stand up for himself and tell anyone to stop

he got broken up with about a month ago by a bf who was cheating on him with marley but em doesn’t know.........that’s the case. so he’s still very sore about that bc it was his first bf and he’s heartbroken !!!

all in all, em is a very soft, anxious little baby with a warm heart and a great yearning to start living life in a way his anxieties have always kept him from doing

connection ideas

a close-knit group of friends, people emery can be himself around and shed a little bit of his crippling shyness

maybe?? some?? people who are not particularly nice to him?? idk bc he’s rly quiet and weak looking he’d be easy to pick on euyrafghdjs

the bf! who cheated on him w marley! i’ll make this a wc if no one takes it up ✌️

probably a boy he has a lowkey new crush on but will absolutely NOT SAY ANYTHING EVER and just admire from afar and barely be able to talk to him tbh

alternatively someone who has a crush on em but he literally has no idea

would love to have the kind of thing where?? em was friends w someone back in hs but they sort of left him behind after school bc he’s literally so shy and impossible to get to go out

AND in that same vein somebody he wasn’t friends w at all in hs and has become rly close to these days

somebody who’s rly protective over him

hookups of marley’s that em’s rly awkward w when they’re over at the apartment

somebody or somebodies who have mistaken em for marley and tried to make a pass only to realize!! they’ve got the wrong twin

um anything angsty ok hmu to plot w any other!!! ideas!!!!!!

#xointro

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sexualintimidationdemon · 6 years

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Day 2 Reflections on: Full Circle AKA The Haunting of Julia (1977)

I knew from the first 5 seconds that I was going to like this movie. It checked all my favourite horror film boxes right away: spooky snyth heavy soundtrack, great opening title typeface, excellent feathery hair and beautiful, soft focus cinematography.

Mia Farrow and Keir Dullea play a husband and wife still at their peak-cheekbone.

There’s a menacing, malfunctioning heater in the film that has to be an homage to the HAL-9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). It is a black rectangular shape with a single menacing red light in the middle of it. At one point Keir Dullea’s character is in distress in a bedroom full of antique furniture staring at the dark obelisk with its red eye glaring at him. This cannot be a coincidence.

Mia Farrow plays an wealthy woman with no discernible form of employment who decorates a new home - which is very reminiscent of Rosemary’s Baby (1968). Although that film was made 9 years prior to this one she hardly looks as if she’s aged a day.

The plot reminds me of elements of The Changeling (1980) staring George C. Scott. In both movies the protagonists decide to seclude themselves in huge, spooky houses after the loss of a child. Very normal reaction.

If you’re going to move into a creepy old house by yourself make sure to bring your freakiest bald clown doll to keep you company!

The costumes are excellent. Julia’s clothes in particular are exceptional. Grey turtleneck sweater underneath beige corduroy overalls? Oh yes. Thick knits? Hell ya. Taupe has never looked so radiant!

This is less of a horror film and more of a ghost mystery.

In Britain if a stranger stabs your child’s pet turtle to death in a park the proper retort is “Piss off”.

Staircases are their own character in this movie.

There are a few too many dead ghost children in this story. At least 3.

15 minutes before the end of a film it’s probably a good idea for the protagonist to drive to Swansea, Wales.

5 minutes before the end of the film 89 year old Cathleen Nesbitt gives a genuinely weird and inspired performance from out of nowhere as a purple haired senior in one of the quaintest psychiatric hospitals in all of cinema.

Mia Farrow is a dramatic alien.

I had no idea how this movie was going to end. It was excellent.

#Full Circle #The Haunting of Julia #1977 #Mia Farrow #The Changeling #2001: A Space Odyssey #Keir Dullea #Rosemary's Baby #Cathleen Nesbitt #George C. Scott

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orbemnews · 3 years

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Global Brands Find It Hard to Untangle Themselves From Xinjiang Cotton Faced with accusations that it was profiting from the forced labor of Uyghur people in the Chinese territory of Xinjiang, the H&M Group — the world’s second-largest clothing retailer — promised last year to stop buying cotton from the region. But last month, H&M confronted a new outcry, this time from Chinese consumers who seized on the company’s renouncement of the cotton as an attack on China. Social media filled with angry demands for a boycott, urged on by the government. Global brands like H&M risked alienating a country of 1.4 billion people. The furor underscored how international clothing brands relying on Chinese materials and factories now face the mother of all conundrums — a conflict vastly more complex than their now-familiar reputational crises over exploitative working conditions in poor countries. If they fail to purge Xinjiang cotton from their supply chains, the apparel companies invite legal enforcement from Washington under an American ban on imports. Labor activists will charge them with complicity in the grotesque repression of the Uyghurs. But forsaking Xinjiang cotton entails its own troubles — the wrath of Chinese consumers who denounce the attention on the Uyghurs as a Western plot to sabotage China’s development. The global brands can protect their sales in North America and Europe, or preserve their markets in China. It is increasingly difficult to see how they can do both. “They are being almost at this point told, ‘Choose the U.S. as your market, or choose China as your market,’” said Nicole Bivens Collinson, a lobbyist who represents major apparel brands at Sandler, Travis & Rosenberg, a law firm in Washington. In an age of globalization, international apparel brands have grown accustomed to criticism that they are profiting from oppressed workers in countries like Myanmar and Bangladesh, where cheap costs of production reflect alarming safety conditions. The brands have developed a proven playbook: They announce codes of conduct for their suppliers, and hire auditors to ensure at least the appearance of compliance. But China presents a gravely elevated risk. Xinjiang is not only the source of 85 percent of China’s cotton, but synonymous with a form of repression that the U.S. government has officially termed genocide. As many as a million Uyghurs have been herded into detention camps, and deployed as forced labor. The taint of association with Xinjiang is so severe that both the Trump and Biden administrations have sought to prevent Americans from buying clothing produced with the region’s cotton. For the apparel brands, their dilemma is heightened by the fact that the Chinese government has weaponized China’s consumer market. In fomenting nationalist outrage, Beijing is seeking to pressure the international brands to pick a side — to ignore reports of forced labor or risk their sales in the world’s largest potential consumer market. Framing this choice is the reality that China remains the world’s central hub for making clothing. In pursuit of alternatives, many international brands are shifting production from Chinese factories to plants in countries like Vietnam, Cambodia and Bangladesh. But moving does not eliminate their exposure to Xinjiang cotton. China exports unprocessed cotton to 14 countries, including Vietnam, Thailand, India, Pakistan and Bangladesh, and yarn to 190 countries, according to the International Cotton Advisory Committee, an international trade association in Washington. China is the source of nearly half of all cotton fabric exported around the world. Most of that material includes cotton harvested in Xinjiang. “Supply chains are long and opaque, and the journey from field to shelf involves cotton gins, mills, weaving or knitting, dyeing and finishing — all steps that may take place in different parts of China, or different countries,” said Leonie Barrie, an apparel analyst at GlobalData, a consulting company in London. “Even if a brand had no direct relationship with Chinese factories, they can’t completely rule out any links to Xinjiang’s cotton.” The Long March to Xinjiang The ubiquity of clothing made with Xinjiang cotton is the result of forces that have shaped the global economy for centuries. Cotton’s history is intertwined with the barbarity of slavery, given that it is vital to the production of textiles, and dependent on large numbers of people to harvest and refine in a grueling process. The lucre of cotton prompted plantations in the American South to turn to the African slave trade. In modern times, the cotton trade has frequently drawn accusations of forced labor from human rights groups, most prominently in Uzbekistan. As China has transformed itself from an impoverished country into the world’s second-largest economy, it has leaned on the textile and apparel industries. China has courted foreign companies with the promise of low-wage workers operating free from the intrusions of unions. The brands have turned China into an export colossus. They have also invested heavily in selling their products to a growing Chinese consumer class. Xinjiang, a rugged expanse more than twice the size of Texas, holds China’s largest oil reserves. Its abundant land and sunshine have made it fertile ground for cotton. The Chinese government has rejected claims of worker abuse in part by claiming that much of Xinjiang’s cotton harvest is now automated. But manual picking remains common in the south of the region, where most Uyghurs live. There, nearly two-thirds of cotton is handpicked, the regional government said last year. As human rights groups have focused on the exploitation of the Uyghurs, apparel brands have sought to distance themselves from Xinjiang. Nike, Burberry and PVH, the parent of Calvin Klein and Tommy Hilfiger, have issued assurances that they have ceased buying cotton from sources in the region, while conducting audits of their suppliers. But supply-chain experts caution that multinational manufacturers frequently game the audit process. “The key tool it’s used for is rubber-stamping conditions in supply chains, as opposed to trying to deeply figure out what is going on,” said Genevieve LeBaron, an expert on international labor at the University of Sheffield in England. In Xinjiang, efforts at probing supply chains collide with the reality that the Chinese government severely restricts access. Not even the most diligent apparel company can say with authority that its products are free of elements produced in Xinjiang. And many brands are less than rigorous in their audits. Major apparel brands have coalesced around the Better Cotton Initiative, an organization based in Geneva and London whose official mission includes improving working conditions for those in the trade. Last fall, the organization announced a halt to its activities in Xinjiang amid persistent reports of forced labor. But the body’s China branch recently asserted that its investigation in Xinjiang “has never found a single case related to incidents of forced labor,” dating back to 2012, according to a statement reported by Reuters. That assertion flew in the face of a growing body of literature, including a recent statement from the United Nations Human Rights Council expressing “serious concerns” about reports of forced labor. The Better Cotton Initiative declined a request for an interview to discuss how it had come to its conclusion. “We are a not-for-profit organization with a small team,” the initiative’s communications manager, Joe Woodruff, said in an email. The body’s membership includes some of the world’s largest, most profitable clothing manufacturers and retailers — among them Inditex, the Spanish conglomerate that owns Zara, and Nike, whose sales last year exceeded $37 billion. Angering Chinese Consumers Even as statements about Xinjiang cotton from apparel companies have failed to ease human rights concerns, they have provoked outrage among Chinese consumers. On Chinese social media, people have posted photos of themselves throwing away their Nike sneakers or — for the less committed — covering the logos on their sweaters with masking tape. An auto body shop in Hohhot, Inner Mongolia, put up a banner barring customers who wore Nike or H&M. A bar in Beijing offered free drinks to customers who wore apparel from domestic brands. In the southern Chinese city of Xiamen, Polly Cai, 24, said her taste for clothing and shoes from brands like Nike and Uniqlo had been trumped by her disgust for what she viewed as a blow to her country’s dignity. “Western brands want to take Chinese consumers’ money and still step all over Xinjiang cotton,” she said. “It’s ridiculous.” The brands are putting stock in the enduring popularity of their products in China, while seeking to avoid further provocation. Inditex removed from its website a statement in which it had promised to avoid Xinjiang cotton. Yet in muting their condemnation of forced labor in Xinjiang, the brands risk amplifying their problems outside China. “If they do the right thing, they face serious commercial risk in China,” said Scott Nova, executive director of the Worker Rights Consortium, an advocacy organization. “Yet they know consumers globally will be repulsed by a brand that willfully abets forced labor. It is a profound moral test.” Beyond China For the apparel brands, the furor over Xinjiang is merely the latest development driving them to move production to other countries. As labor costs have climbed in China in recent decades, many industries have shifted operations to lower cost nations like Vietnam, Cambodia and Bangladesh. The Trump administration furthered the trend by pressuring American multinational companies to abandon China. “All of the economic forces that pushed this production to China are really no longer at work,” said Pietra Rivoli, a trade expert at Georgetown University in Washington. Still, China retains attributes not easily replicated — the world’s largest ports, plus a cluster of related industries, from chemicals to plastics. Other countries present their own human rights concerns. Last year, the European Union revoked duty-free access for garments from Cambodia in response to its government’s harsh crackdown on dissent. Some global brands are seeking Beijing’s permission to import more cotton into China from the United States and Australia. They could employ that cotton to make products destined for Europe and North America, while using the Xinjiang crop for the Chinese market. Yet that approach may leave the apparel companies exposed to the same risks they face now. “If the brand is labeled as ‘They are still using forced labor, but they are just using it for the Chinese market,’ is this going to suffice?” said Ms. Collinson, the industry lobbyist. Last week, H&M issued a new communication, beseeching Chinese consumers to return. “We are working together with our colleagues in China to do everything we can to manage the current challenges,” said the statement, which did not mention Xinjiang. “China is a very important market to us.” Those words appear to have satisfied no one — not the human rights organizations skeptical of claims that apparel companies have severed links to Xinjiang; not Chinese consumers angry over a perceived national indignity. On Chinese social media, criticism of H&M remained fierce. “For you, China is still an important market,” one post declared. “But for China, you are just an unnecessary brand.” Joy Dong, Liu Yi and Chris Buckley contributed. Source link Orbem News #brands #Cotton #Find #Global #Hard #Untangle #Xinjiang

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impendingexodus · 6 years

Text

Make Your Own Merry

gen, 2.5k

Rating: G

Tags: fluff, friendship, holidays

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to @tea-and-lemons! I’m your secret santa for the @voltronexchange :D I saw that you’d asked for holiday-themed stuff and I couldn’t resist doing a Christmas story in space. I hope you like it!

Read it on Ao3 here.

The stuff covering the trees wasn’t exactly snow, but it was close enough. The trees weren’t exactly trees either, their purple bark shining like crystals as the twin suns set on the distant horizon. In fact, the whole scene wasn’t terribly Christmas-y or Earth-like but the paladins were obstinately festive regardless.

Snow -- or, as Coran kept explaining, frozen deuterium -- crunched underfoot. Shiro was leading the way, his black armor standing out like a beacon against the white landscape. Behind him, Lance and Hunk packed down the knee-high snow with their boots, making it easier for Pidge to wade through. Allura, in her pink armor, brought up the rear with Coran, observing the happy chatter of the Earth paladins.

Shiro paused and glanced at his wrist computer, trying to match up the position of the suns with the displayed map. “We should be almost there,” he said, sounding less than certain.

“Almost?” Lance echoed. “You said that twenty minutes ago!”

Behind them, the white spires of the Castle had long since faded into the drifting snow. They’d landed the huge ship far enough away that the secret base shouldn’t pick it up on scanners, but close enough to make a trek feasible. Except if they got lost, that could slow down things considerably.

“There it is!” Pidge shouted. She had climbed Hunk like a tree and was perched on his broad shoulders, pointing out toward the snowy hillsides up ahead. “I can see the door!”

Lance darted forward until the snow mired him down to a slower pace. “About time. I’m freezing!”

“You’re the ice paladin,” Allura pointed out. “Shouldn’t you be more immune to cold than the others?”

Lance pouted in her direction, where she had taken off her helmet to let the snowflakes land in her hair. “I’m from a very warm climate. I like water just fine when it’s liquid and, y’know, not freezing.”

“How are you holding up, princess?” Shiro asked. “Aren’t you cold too?”

Allura shook her head, letting her hair fly in the wind. “I have full conscious control over my internal temperature. I simply increased the bloodflow to my extremities and raised my core temperature a few degrees...”

“Not to interrupt,” Hunk cut in, “but we humans can’t do that. And we’re all really cold right now so could we talk about it once we’re inside?”

Pidge kicked her heels into his shoulders. “Let’s move.”

Luckily it was a very short walk to the hidden entrance of the Blade’s listening post. The door opened easily for them even without Pidge resorting to hacking.

“Think he’s expecting us?” Hunk asked. “I don’t want to think this is a trap.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Lance patted him on the back. “Keith wouldn’t hurt us.”

“We might as well head up to the control room and let him know we’re here.” Shiro once again took the lead through the base’s maze of dimly-lit corridors. Allura followed close at his shoulder, glaring at the purple lights and Galra architecture.

“You know,” Pidge said, finally having climbed down from Hunk’s shoulders, “if a year ago someone had told me I’d be spending Christmas on an alien planet, tracking down my part-alien teammate, while I’m wearing alien armor and in the company of aliens...” She paused for dramatic effect. “I would have jumped at the chance.”

“A year ago, I was home for Christmas with my whole family,” Lance added.

Hunk nodded. “Me too.”

“Last year, I --” Shiro started, then stopped abruptly.

Allura filled in the sudden uncomfortable silence, “Around this time last year I was still in cryosleep and had never heard of your holidays. So I think this is definitely a good thing that we all get to celebrate this ‘Krissmuss’ together!”

“I’ve been thinking,” Coran piped up from where he’d been quietly watching for a while, “this holiday seems similar to the winter solstice. In terms of gift-giving and feasting, that is. The winter solstice on Altea was also the time of the biggest meteor shower so it was too dangerous to go outside; there were more falling rocks than normal. Everyone stayed indoors and played games instead.”

“That sounds like fun?” Lance tried to act sympathetic.

Allura shook her head. “I think your holidays sound much more friendly, to be honest.”

“We’re here,” Shiro announced, stopping before a large imposing door. “Try to act happy.”

There were several eye rolls, as well as an exaggerated grin from Pidge. Grumbling to himself at their lack of holiday spirit, Shiro opened the door and they all stepped into the main area of the base.

Keith was standing at the far side of the room, his back to them as he scowled at battle schematics laid out on a holographic screen.

“What --?” he startled, turning partly around and reaching for his knife.

“Happy birthday!” Coran shouted, then covered his mouth at the glare Hunk sent him. “Sorry, I mixed that up.”

“Merry Christmas,” the paladins said in unison.

Keith stared back at them in surprise from the depths of his hood, then slowly a radiant grin spread across his face. “You guys came all the way out here just to see me?!”

“Not like there’s a lot else out here,” Lance commented.

Keith turned back to the control panels for a moment, setting functions to run automatically so he could step away for a while. “I still can’t believe you’re all here. How did you know where to find me?”

“Magic,” and “Kolivan,” Hunk and Shiro said at the same time.

Allura sighed and shifted her backpack to the floor. “If it’s all right with everyone, could we start the festivities soon? The walk here was a bit longer than expected.”

“Festivities?” Keith echoed, looking more and more surprised by the moment.

“There’s more to this than just a courtesy call,” Shiro said. He turned to Lance, who procured a red, lumpy sweater from his pack and tossed it to Keith. “Black may look good on you but I miss seeing you in red. Plus it’s the color of the season.”

Keith caught the sweater and raised an eyebrow at the texture. “Knitted?”

Beaming, Lance nodded. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find yarn in space?”

“And we brought tons of food, too!” Hunk indicated the bulging pack he was carrying. “It’s not ham and mashed potatoes, but it’s the closest I could get with the ingredients I could find.”

“I’m sure it’ll be absolutely perfect.” Keith moved in close, stance open. He was still smiling softly and the others took it as an invitation for a group hug, something they hadn’t had since Keith had first left to become a full-fledged Blade.

While the war had kept them busy, the paladins hadn’t realized how much they missed him. But now, with each other as the only humans around for lightyears, it felt like home.

----

Hunk was in the galley kitchen, fussing over Keith’s lack of proper food and cooking utensils and “what the heck, Keith, some of this stuff has gone bad. Are you really eating it?!”. Lance was with him, staying out of the way and handing the chef ingredients as he called for them. The Green and Black Paladins had been kicked out, Shiro on principle and Pidge because she suggested frying the meat in rocket fuel to make it cook faster. Keith was lingering on the fringes of the scene, standing by with the Alteans and watching events unfold.

“Who’s up for a snowball fight?” Pidge asked, pulling out of her sulk at being forced from the kitchen. “I bet I’ll win.”

Allura looked perplexed. “I thought you wanted a vacation from fighting?”

“I bet I’ll win.” Shiro reached over and pulled a wool-ish cap down over Pidge’s eyes.

Grinning, Keith got into the fray. “You sure? How many hours have you spent practicing your marksmanship?”

“Only one way to find out.” Pidge darted off down the corridors, back toward the main door. “I’ll bet you a tray of Hunk’s cookies that --” Her voice trailed off as the door opened, revealing a swirling curtain of white.

“That’s a problem,” Shiro said. He stuck out his right arm and watched as snowflakes clumped on the metal. The freezing wind whisked through the open door and made them all shiver despite their armor and various winter clothes.

Keith shivered and pushed the door shut. “On second thought, we’ll have to delay the fight for another day. Blizzards here can last a while and they’re very dangerous if you get lost in them.”

“Good thing we brought plenty of supplies!” Coran looked, as usual, surprisingly chipper. “On Altea, this sort of thing would happen all the time --”

“What are we supposed to do now?” Pidge crossed her arms and let her winter hat sink down to cover her eyes. “We can’t go back to the kitchen.”

“We could...” Shiro paused, clearly searching for ideas. “We could sing carols?”

Once again, the Alteans were confused. Keith looked dubious as well.

Pidge giggled. “Clearly you’ve never heard me try to sing.”

“We could build a fire,” Keith said at last. “And maybe sit around and tell stories? Or just be together?”

That earned him another hug, squished between Shiro and Pidge.

“Fantastic!” Allura looked around at the network of hallways. “I assume you have fuel to burn? And a safe place for the fire?”

“The control room has a concrete floor, it’ll be safe there. It’s also close to the kitchen so we could have dinner there too.”

So that was how the next hour saw the two Alteans, two paladins, and one Blade rearranging the main room of the secret base. They scooted the mobile parts of the control consoles to the very edges, then hauled in crates and cushions to act as tables and chairs. Keith set up a fire in the middle of the floor, a neat pyramid of wood that flamed up merrily when he lit it.

“Anyone want to go see if Hunk and Lance are done?”

Pidge shot Shiro a suspicious glance. “No, thanks, they already shouted at me once.”

Keith rose to his feet. “It’s my base. They can’t kick me out of my own kitchen.” As he left the room, Shiro took his place by the fire, warming his hands and looking around at how they’d transformed the room.

“Decorations?” Pidge asked, already reaching for her backpack.

“You bet!”

----

Hunk was crouched down level with the countertop, trying to get a reading on the measuring cup. “Lance, I swear if you don’t stop shaking the counter...”

“Hey, Keith!” Lance jumped up from where he’d been perched on the counter, landing with a thump on the floor and jostling Hunk’s measurements again. “You need something? Dinner’s almost ready, right, Hunk?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Hunk stood up and moved to the stove, stirring a pot of what might have been green beans except they were colored deep blue. “Want to lend a hand?”

Keith reached for a potholder. “I’m not the best cook, but I can follow directions.” As he bent to retrieve the rolls from the oven, Hunk and Lance shared a conspiratorial smile. All they had to do was keep Keith busy long enough for the others to set up the decorations, and they’d have a truly wonderful surprise for their friend.

“What sort of Christmas stuff did you used to do, back on Earth?” Lance asked. All the other paladins had talked about their families’ traditions on the trek to the base, and it was only fair for Keith to get a turn to share.

Keith gave a small shrug and set the rolls on the counter. “Most times, the orphanage would set up a tree. All the kids would get to decorate it, so most of the ornaments ended up around the bottom of the tree because no one could reach the top. There were always a lot of cookies, too, and hot chocolate.”

“They probably aren’t what you’re used to, but I’ve got plenty of cookies in the oven now!” Hunk bustled around the small area, checking pots and stirring their contents. “Chocolate is hard to find in space so I hope you like cider instead?”

“You could give me hot water and I’d appreciate it, Hunk.”

The bigger man frowned. “I knew you weren’t eating well --”

“It’s the thought that counts, right?” Lance interrupted before things got too upsetting. “Besides, you don’t want to miss out on Hunk’s cider, he makes the absolute best!”

“I’m sure he does. Speaking of, what’s in the big pot? It smells amazing.”

Hunk beamed. “It’s roast... something, with yorra-root gravy. I haven’t made this recipe before so you all are in for a real treat.”

At that moment, a timer started beeping and both Hunk and Lance hurried to take care of the food.

“I hope you have enough plates for all of us,” Lance said, helping move the roast off to the side so Hunk could use the stove to heat up the half dozen other pots and pans.

Keith brought out a huge stack from one of the cabinets. “Lucky for us, this base used to house several dozen Blades, before the war started getting so hard on them. I don’t think place settings will be an issue.”

“Why don’t you go call the others?” Hunk asked. “Everyone can come get their food, then we can go sit around the fire while we eat.”

Keith headed off without a word, and the two shared a quiet high five. Knowing Keith, he wouldn’t expect anything special to be done on his account, so they could imagine the surprise and glee on his face when he walked into the newly-decorated control room.

All the purple lights had been replaced with soft white, giving a homey glow around the edges of the room. Garland hung from the ceiling and strands of it draped the walls, along with more lights and strings of green and red ornaments. The fire was burning cheerfully, surrounded by handfuls of fake snow. On every table there were sprigs of fragrant greenery and little striped disks that looked almost like peppermints.

The rest of the team was there, armor set aside, decked out in sweaters and pompom-topped hats.

“Hey, guys, dinner is --” Keith went silent as he crossed the threshold and realized the scene inside. He swallowed heavily and let his gaze drift around the room. “I can’t believe you’re doing all this for me.” There were almost tears in his voice.

“Well, it’s Christmas for us too, so it’s not wholly selfless,” Pidge pointed out, but her tone was kind.

“It wouldn’t be the holidays without you.” Lance and Hunk joined everyone else by the fire. “Come on and join us.”

----

It wasn’t exactly Christmas, just the same as everything else on this planet. Not-snow, not-trees, not-Christmas. But it was something close enough: friends, food, warmth. Just being together without any intergalactic matters looming over them.

Keith looked around the fire at everyone’s smiles. Lance was laughing at his own jokes, Hunk was passing around a tray of cookies, Coran was tending to the fire. Pidge was trying to explain marshmallows, much to Allura’s confused delight. Shiro was sitting next to the princess, a mug of not-cider in his hand as he watched the mesmerizing flicker of the fire.

Definitely not-Christmas.

But it was something just as good.

#voltronexchange #secret santa #tea-and-lemons #voltron #shiro #keith #lance #hunk #pidge #allura #coran #my writing #fanfic

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