#and no undershirt. which like i do understand but when you actually color the whole shirt red the collar looks fine. it just stands out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

a-large-orange-cat · 1 year

Note

Hello! I absolutely adore your Blackbird au, I've recommended it to all my friends and reread it dozens of times. I saw your answer on an ask where you said you might not be adding new installments, which, though I'm a little sad to hear it, I definitely understand and support you doing what works for you. I'm grateful for what you've shared with us as is. That being said, if you have any snippets or ideas of how the story was going to continue, I'd be thrilled to read it (if you're willing to share). Thanks!

anon you are a gift and a blessing. my greatest regret with stopping was that the third fic was the one where I was actually going to justify why the whole thing is called the blackbird AU. the third fic was going to have victor zsasz as its villain, with Tim balancing working with Jason, playing keep-away with the Bats, and not getting murdered. he was going to move more fully into the vigilante sphere in Gotham and cement his existence as a player and his relationship to the others.

with that in mind, i'm going to share 2 different scenes regarding Tim preparing for his debut (long post under the cut):

Tim takes his time putting on the layers Jason left strewn across the dining table. The underlayers cling to him in a way he’s not used to, tight against his joints. The Kevlar vest and titanium plate inserts sit more naturally, but they’re heavier than suit jackets or sweatshirts, and Tim has to shift the way he holds his shoulders to balance the weight a little better. The Teflon layers for the exterior of the outfit help hide the bulk; Tim looks like a bigger person than he is, but not an armored one.

There’s an almost-full-size mirror in the safehouse’s bathroom, with a single long crack running through a third of it. Tim stares at himself.

He looks—unremarkable. Nondescript. The majority of the suit is blacks and grays; enough variation to not stand out as a suspicious figure in a daytime crowd, but easy to melt into the shadows of Gotham’s hazy gray darkness. There are no distinguishing features, no emblems, no colors. The jacket looks like a lightly-insulated raincoat; the collar of the armored vest looks like a sweater, and the high collar of the undershirt is just that: a high-collared shirt. The pants are bulky, but still follow the line of his legs. Heavy boots.

Tim’s hair isn’t that long; his entire adolescence, it was whatever length Black Mask’s men decided to cut it when he asked them. He still has to push strands out of the way, shake his head back, to put the mask on.

It covers above his eyebrows to the line of his cheekbones. A reinforced structure runs along the line of the nose to protect it if he gets punched in the face.

He stares at himself through the white lenses.

When Tim was eleven, he dreamed of being Robin.

He’s not dressed like a vigilante. There’s too much practicality in the armor Jason got for him; no emblems, no declarations of intention. The design is meant to protect him, not to let him protect others. Tim looks like part of a strike team, not a superhero.

This isn’t a childhood fantasy. It’s an inevitability, a consequence of the person Tim was made into.

There’s no point in lingering. Tim takes the mask off and pulls himself away from the mirror, from his own reflection. He isn’t going to overthink this—to leave himself the opportunity to be convinced that this is a bad idea. Or even that it’s a good one.

It’s—it’s a purpose. It’s not a sentimental thing. Tim manipulated Red Hood into having a spare set of armor for him. Manipulated Red Hood into agreeing to help him. It’s for his own purpose, his own agenda.

He pushes aside the tangled knot in his chest; it’s not worth dealing with, not right now, not while Zsasz has just started the timer until he tries to kill Tim.

On the kitchen counter, next to the phone and the address, is a holster and a handgun.

A few trips to one of the firing ranges in Gotham had been one of those inevitable things Tim added onto his schedule, after his run-ins with Red Hood. Mostly to have a minimum cover of his bases; he knows how to load a pistol, take the safety off, and hit a still target from twenty feet away. That’s all he thought he’d need.

The gun’s heavy when he picks it up.

Tim makes himself ignore the weight of it. It’s another practicality. Another tool to remind himself that he’s a lot of things, but he’s not a superhero.

The holster is intended to conceal the pistol under his jacket. Tim buckles it on and checks the safety before he slots the pistol into place against his ribs.

There’s no point in overthinking it. It’s basic self-defense; a weapon that Tim can use with minimal training.

It’s not like Tim can’t make the call whether or not someone needs to die. He’s done it before. Jason pulled the trigger, but Tim’s the one who killed Roman Sionis.

It’s not like Tim’s intending to let Victor Zsasz live. He grabs a dark green jacket off the back of a chair, stuffs the spare phone and printed-out police photographs in his pocket, and leaves the safehouse.

Tim double-checks for cameras – very few in Crime Alley, he knows from the police’s complaints – and slips into a back alley to put his mask on. From there, it’s up the fire escape to the second-floor windows.

There’s two windows next to the fire escape landing on this floor; the first is a dark hallway. Tim spares a glance at the lock on the inside. Unlocked, if he needs to open it. Might be how Jason got into the building in the first place.

The one next to it has a light on. Tim stays low, moving forward just enough to peer around the edge of the window frame.

The scene inside is familiar. A table in the center of the room, covered in notes, markers, maps; the men that surround it, nearly half visibly armed; the single individual at the head of the table as the immediate threat in the room.

Except this is Red Hood, not Black Mask.

Tim looks over the others in the room. They’re varying states of attentive; it seems like four are actively engaged in discussion at the moment, and the rest are hanging back for now.

The ones hanging back aren’t even really paying attention to the proceedings. From what Tim can hear of the muffled voices, it sounds like Red Hood’s working something out with the ones he’s talking to.

Some part of Tim wants to wedge the window open and slip inside. He wants—

Oh.

He wants to be in this room.

The desire sits at the front of his breastbone like a thread drawn taut. Tim wants to hear what Red Hood’s saying. How he determines orders, how he distributes them. How crime works on this smaller scale, where Jason cares about individual people.

It’s not—the desire isn’t totally unreasonable. These would all be useful things to know. Things Tim could justify knowing, things that would make it easier for him to help Jason, to make use of him, to plan around him for other parts of Gotham.

Except Tim’s not sure this want is about any of those things.

He’s been hesitating outside the window too long. He’s too visible, and Red Hood’s helmet turns sharply, facing directly towards him.

Tim takes a step back, but not fast enough. He sees the posture of the men in the room react; sees a few reach for weapons. The muffled sound of conversation stops, and then the bottom half of the window slides up.

Red Hood sticks his helmet out. “We’re running late,” he says, tone flat through the filter. “Get in here.”

He moves back out of sight, further into the room. Tim approaches slowly, apprehension mixing with the desire in his chest into something sharp and uncertain.

Every face in the room is turned towards him. He slips through the window, privately relieved that he’s not large enough to make it an awkward fit.

Tim stands with his shoulders set, confident in the way he learned through blood and mistakes. Confident in a way that gives away nothing of the ache in his chest, the way Tim desperately wants to move to the planning table, to see and assess and maximize Red Hood’s resources, give the orders and watch Gotham reform under his guidance.

Confident in a way that gives away none of the reasons Tim isn’t going anywhere near Batman.

Inside the room, he can make out that this is about a dozen men, plus Red Hood. Somewhere from half to a third of the people in Jason’s employ, then; Tim’s not positive about the exact number, but it’s at minimum twenty-six, based off what Red Hood can do in a single night.

“This is a friend of mine,” Red Hood says, turning away from Tim to move back towards the central table. “And he’s good at what we do. He’s free to know anything you’d tell me.”

There’s deliberate undertone to that introduction that Tim’s not nearly skilled enough to start to unpick. But he can watch the reaction to it—the relaxing of bodies, hands moving another inch or two away from the visible weapons.

It’s easier to gauge the room’s reactions than to try and figure out why Jason just gave Tim, known criminal schemer, free reign to ask questions. Even maybe, implicitly, permission to ask questions when Jason isn’t around.

And fuck if Tim doesn’t want it.

Tim can’t be what Roman Sionis made of him. But Jason isn’t thinking about that, isn’t thinking about anything beyond his inexplicable attempt to gain Tim’s trust, and the casual extension of control in his organization makes all the sensible parts of Tim want to turn and start running.

He can’t show it. Tim rolls his shoulders back, shifts his weight deliberately. He’s the shortest and the youngest and the newest in the room, but he has no intention of letting any of that make him a target to these people.

Tim moves further into the room with no hint of hesitation. He circles behind the people standing around the table to fill the empty space of the room at Red Hood’s back, close enough to see what’s on the table but keeping Red Hood well out of his personal space. Keeping everyone in the room within his line of sight.

There’s a stilted pause, where Red Hood’s men are clearly hesitant to continue the conversation in front of an audience. But Jason starts them up again, leaning down to tap his fingers against a specific building on the map of Crime Alley spread out on the table.

“Li Wei, you’re doing inspection on our manufacturers in two days, aren’t you?” Red Hood asks.

Li Wei pulls his gaze away from Tim, to look towards Red Hood’s helmet. He glances down to the map, and says, voice accented, “Yes. Three labs heroin, one lab crystal. Also, we have three-man team doing quiet check on new interested parties.”

“Don’t bother,” Jason says. “I’m gonna be too busy to meet new suppliers for a bit. Reassign ‘em to run last minute inspection on a few of our currents. At least one’s selling whatever is mixing badly.”

“You’re investigating the speedball deaths,” Tim says.

The few people in the room who’d let their guards down snap back to attention. Tim makes himself take a couple steps forward, moving away from the back wall to put himself in Jason’s periphery.

There have been a few reports he’s seen in the police database: an uptick in deaths of drug addicts. Higher presence of both cocaine and heroin in the blood; speedball is the common name for the mixed drugs.

“Yes,” Red Hood says, turning just enough to see him. The mild, business-like tone falls away, replaced with something harsher. “One of my suppliers sold us coke cut with something that reacts with heroin. Killed nearly half the people who mixed ‘em.” Low and lethal: “Motherfucker’s gonna die painfully.”

Drug dealing is the main profit area that Red Hood makes. Tim’s managed to narrow down that he doesn’t technically manufacture anything himself, but his men throttle suppliers and keep track of dealers and drug dens in Crime Alley. They provide some oversight in an attempt to minimize overdoses, make sure what they’re selling isn’t laced or cut with anything, and try to support rehab attempts.

It’d be a terrible business model if Red Hood was in it to make money.

Tim pulls his gaze from the impassive surface of Red Hood’s helmet to look down at the map. Individual buildings marked out, a zoomed-in snapshot of the parts of Crime Alley that Red Hood manipulates.

There’s an offer on the tip of his tongue. Tell me who you buy from, and I can tell you who’s doing it. Because Tim could, he knows it. He knows enough about drug manufacturing – about both the pharmaceutical and the criminal aspects – to be able to pinpoint who’s weak enough to be used as an entry point to hit the people under the protection of Red Hood.

Because there’s no point in a single drug manufacturer lashing out at Red Hood. There’s simply not enough incentive in it; Red Hood holds them to slightly higher standards, but it’s hardly guesswork at all to figure out that he pays them appropriately for their conscientious effort to avoid low-quality product. A single manufacturer is just an avenue to hit Red Hood where it hurts.

The anger in Jason’s voice, the threat towards the manufacturer—he hasn’t realized that yet, has he?

Who are Red Hood’s competitors in the drug market? Who is he taking customers away from?

Tim asks, tone mild as anything, “You took a team against a tong’s incoming shipments a few weeks ago, didn’t you?”

The Xingyun Shou tong – officially recorded by the police as the Lucky Hand gang – has been scrambling for power in the last few months, ever since they had several large-scale issues with their drug trafficking. A mostly-unintentional side effect of some of the plans Tim implemented after he’d gotten the Drake Industries CEO position. It does set them up to act desperately, without considering Red Hood’s penchant for revenge.

Red Hood says slowly, “We took the Lucky Hand’s narcotics shipment, yeah.”

Ah. He needs more detail.

“Which of your manufacturers might respond to coercion from one of the tongs?” Tim asks.

He watches the anger roll slowly into Jason’s body. The slight drawing back of his neck, the set of the shoulders. The gloved hands that flex and curl into fists.

Tim’s closer to Red Hood than he wants to be, watching the anger build, but moving backwards out of Jason’s space would be too obvious. There’s too many eyes in the room, and Tim holds himself still, waiting patiently for the response. Waiting to see if he needs to duck.

Even through the distortion, the finely-held rage is clear in Jason’s voice. “Li Wei. That quiet team?”

Li Wei’s response is immediate. “Reassigned.”

“Good.” The deep breaths are visible, the rise and fall of Jason’s shoulders.

There’s a slow loosening of tension in the room, as Red Hood keeps holding himself still, keeps breathing, slow and silent under the helmet. Tim can finally tear his gaze from Red Hood, looking out around the room, at the faces of Red Hood’s men.

They’re—apprehensive, but none of them seem actively afraid. This is an acknowledged part of working for Red Hood. They’re waiting for the rage to pass before they move on.

It’s probably easier to be less scared when Red Hood doesn’t kill his own lackeys. Roman Sionis in a similar mood would’ve already killed at least one person here.

Red Hood stretches his hands, uncurls them forcibly. Turns back to the table, places his palms down over it and looks over the scattered documents.

“Was that the last of our business?” he asks.

No one speaks up.

“Great.” He spends a few long moments looking down at the table before he straightens back up, the last of the anger sliding off him like snow off a roof. There’s the hint of something like warm familiarity in his voice, Tim’s pretty sure, when he adds, “You should come by more often, birdie.”

“Blackbird.”

The name is out before Tim can swallow it back. He makes his body perfectly neutral—doesn’t allow a flinch, a flicker of an expression, an inhale or exhale too deep.

It’s too telling. Jason hears more than Tim ever intends to say, and this—Tim didn’t intend to say it in the first place. He has no way of knowing what Jason will find in it.

Except that people who don’t want to be superheroes don’t pick out superhero names.

And good people don’t name themselves after supervillains.

“Blackbird,” the Red Hood repeats.

Then again, Jason knows that last part already.

Tim thinks there’s more Jason wants to say. But this isn’t the place, it isn’t the time, not with a dozen career mobsters watching the two of them, trying to figure out if the tension in Red Hood’s body is the signal for an upcoming fight.

“Let’s get moving,” Red Hood says instead, and heads for the window.

#blackbird au #blackbird asks #THIS is why the whole damn thing is called the blackbird au #because Tim at one point wanted to be robin but so far he's mostly what black mask has made of him #and he acknowledges that it's irreversible #blackbird is the compromise between the hero Tim WANTS to be and the villain he knows HOW to be #anon thank you SO much for giving me the opportunity to post this #ily

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smurphyse · 3 years

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Loki is dating a young woman who is a fantastic cook and one day he realizes his pants are a tad tight. He’s gained some weight but doesn’t have the heart to stop eating her wonderful food

Southern Belle

Word Count: 1691 words

Tags: body issues (not like anything too triggering, I don’t think), mentions of sex

I always love feedback, but like, please be nice lol

Send me more Loki prompts! <3 I love doing oneshots!

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

“Here we go,” she sing-songed, carrying a large baking dish over to the table, the little hand-painted ladybugs that decorated it’s sides seeming just as excited as she.

Loki sat patiently, smiling at her as she set it down on the blue checkered tablecloth next to a tub of ice cream. She set down a few brightly colored plates, all painted with various bugs and flowers, decorated by her own hand- which were still stained with paint, he noticed fondly.

“Peach cobbler,” she grinned, shaking her shoulders in excitement, “Just like Mamaw used to make!”

She watched him closely as he took his first bite, giggling when his eyebrows knitted together in bliss. Fuck, everything she made seemed to come from Valhalla.

His girl, his Southern Belle. The two had been dating for only a few months, ever since Loki had come to San Francisco during his travels. She had been poking around an art fair, her long curls pulled up into two pigtails as she pulled out pieces to observe.

She’d been wearing a pair of dirt smeared overalls, detailed with little butterflies and flowers, obviously hand-embroidered. They were rolled up at the ankles, her neon Converse forcing his eye to her like a shining beacon in the night.

He’d been drawn to her, like a moth to the flame, unable to control himself as he pushed past the crowds to meet her. As he came face-to-face with her she glanced up at him and flashed him a megawatt smile. He’d been speechless, utterly besotted.

“Can I help you, darlin’? You look lost,” she drawled, and it took a moment for the Allspeak to translate her thick Southern accent.

“I think I’ve just been found, actually,” he chuckled, finally finding his voice.

Her smile seemed to grow brighter, the little crinkles around her eyes deepening as she flushed deeply.

Loki had offered her a coffee, and she took it. He’d been living in bliss ever since.

She’d come to San Francisco to be an artist, picking up little commissions here and there, working in various galleries and zipping from place to place to help out her fellow creators. She was constantly buzzing around, full of excitement and energy about the whole world around her, ready to take it on day by day.

She gave Loki courage, made him see the little details of this Odin-forsaken planet that he had mostly overlooked. He loathed to admit it, but she had made him love Earth, so long as she was on it.

One day he would take her to Asgard, and he would watch as she painted the skies in her excitement and ecstasy. His world would be born anew in his eyes, just from the little things she would point out, things he’d never seen.

They found time for one another whenever they could. Loki had kept himself busy working in various art fairs, finding himself a good organizer for such events. One activity that they had found pulled them together, besides the lovely rapture that was their sex, was cooking. Loki had taken it up when he arrived on Earth, mostly enjoying food closer to Asgard’s cuisines. She was from the South, whatever that meant Loki was not sure, but she insisted it meant all things ‘comfort food’.

And comfort it gave. She’d shown him Tennessee Barbeque, ‘Pop Pop’s Soaked Ribs’, a bunch of things having to do with cottage cheese, and of course, desserts.

He was settling down. Norns, if Thor could see him now. He’d likely have a joke or two to make of his unattached, emotionally distant brother finding love in such a creature as her.

Loki could hear her now, singing some country song in the shower, her deep twang echoing off the tiles and through her small apartment.

He was getting ready for the day, pulling on a deep green undershirt as he stood in his boxers. He pulled a pair of black slacks out of his little designated area of the closet and pulled them up.

As he buttoned them, he noticed they felt a bit tighter than the last time he’d worn them a few weeks ago. They had one of her art events to go to for lunch, and he’d been wearing jeans mostly when he was working at the fairs.

Turning, Loki checked out his ass in the mirror. He still looked fabulous if he had to say, but his pants were tighter.

Could this be a trick? Had Thor tracked him down and performed some spell to throw Loki off his game? It certainly would not be the first time something similar had happened.

He lifted the shirt, turning to the side as he patted his tummy, his finger pinching along his sides as he sighed heavily. He stepped closer to the mirror, pressing the back of his hand under his chin. His mouth dropped open in shock, and he glared at his reflection.

He’d gained weight.

“I wouldn’t have nothin’ if I didn’t have you,” she sang as she walked back into the bedroom in a fluffy pink towel. She came up behind him and wrapped her hands around his waist, giving him a squeeze as she placed a kiss between his shoulders.

“Hey, handsome.”

Loki scoffed, feeling quite uncomfortable suddenly. She frowned against his back, her hands squeezing his sides lightly, his love handles.

He pulled away from her with a groan, the air feeling heavy around him. He turned to look at her, her lip set in a pout on her concerned face.

“I’m not feeling very handsome today, kitten.”

“Oh,” her frown set deeper for a moment, but was quickly replaced by a mischievous smile, “Is there something I can do to make you feel handsome?”

She tucked her lip between her teeth as she sauntered back up to him, placing her hands on his chest. He smiled down at her, his heart bursting in his chest.

Loki dipped his head, catching her lips with his own. Her hands tangled into his hair as her towel fell away, and Loki took the opportunity to lift her into his arms and carry her over to the bed.

“I think I have something in mind,” he grinned, pulling her under the covers as she giggled from his touch.

----------------------

They arrived at the event a little late. The only craft she was not talented in was the art of makeup, but luckily Loki was, and they’d had to spend a few extra minutes covering up some of the hickeys someone had left on her neck and chest.

They were at some vegan restaurant in town that doubled as an art studio. Loki would never understand it, all these hybrid businesses were too niche, they’d have a hard time lasting in this market. But, she liked going and supporting other artists and friends, enjoyed having her art displayed on the walls of local businesses, and who was he to deny her that fun?

The little buffet table was filled with all sorts of leafy greens and vegetables of all colors. It was a vibrant exhibit, accentuated greatly by her art that complimented the bright green and orange paint job of the establishment.

“How come you don’t make food like this?” he asked, waving a blackbean taquito toward her as she gazed at another artist’s work.

“I make vegetables all the time,” she shrugged, snagging the taquito out of his hand and taking a bite.

“You make vegetables with Crisco, which I believe is just butter and animal fat mixed together.”

“I thought you liked my food, honey,” her big eyes clouded with worry, and his chest crumbled in an instant.

“Oh, my sweet,” Loki sighed, snaking one of his hands around her waist, the other moving to cup her chin, “I do, it’s just-”

“Just what? You’ve been acting weird all day, Loki. What’s going on?”

He felt the heat creep across his cheeks, embarrassment flooding his every vein as he looked down at her. He hated feeling like this, vulnerable, but he wanted to be honest with her, to invest in this relationship.

“I’ve gained some weight recently… and I think it’s from your cooking.”

Her eyes widened in shock, “I haven’t noticed.”

His head cocked to the side, his lips pursing in disbelief. She noticed everything, from the ants on the sidewalk to the stars in the sky, she saw it all.

“Loki, if you want me to make healthier meals, I’m more than willing. You just seemed to like my comfort recipes so much, and I wanted to make you things you liked,” she wrapped her arms around his waist, tugging his hips tightly against hers. “I have lots of recipes in my book, darlin’.”

“I do love your cooking. I guess I just feel a little… insecure right now,” he admitted, his face starting to cramp from the blazing blush across his nose.

“I really didn’t notice anything, but,” her hands dragged back to his belly, patting it softly as she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Now that you mention it, I do like the little bit of cushion I’m feelin’.”

“Wow,” he chuckled, kissing her again. He covered her hands with his, giving them a soft squeeze of thanks.

Suddenly, he had an idea. He leaned in and whispered hotly against her ear, “Think you can help me work some of it off?”

“Oh,” she feigned innocence, her southern drawl coming out in full force, “what kind of exercises do you have in mind?”

“The kind that includes me, you, and a locked bathroom door fifteen feet away,” Loki smirked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m gonna be so sore in the mornin’,” she laughed as Loki dragged her to the other end of the restaurant, admiring his ass in his trousers unabashedly.

Loki pulled her into the bathroom, locking the door behind them as he lifted her onto the sink. She grinned at him, her eyes full of light as he looked at her lovingly.

His girl, his Southern Belle.

His favorite thing to eat.

#Loki #loki series #loki oneshot #loki x oc #loki x reader #if you squint #make it about you #idc #smurphyse #loki fanfic #fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki friggason

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years

Text

Turns of Phrase

Prompt: I'd like you to consider: all the sides in the mindscape have the "way too literal" problem, like for example, Virgil actually grows taller when his anxiety is heightened, Patton actually grows wings when Thomas has a 'heart aflutter', e.c.t. But Roman just has a huge stack of negative ones. Creative block, bruised ego, shackled creativity, e.c.t. And then there's h/c when somebody (Logan) sees 👀👀

Thanks for the prompt babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, Roman whump

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 5722

This is Roman’s fault. Really. It is. He’s the one who works the closest with the Imagination, which means he’s got control over how Thomas interacts with his own imagination, which means that he’s got control over how Thomas sees the Sides.

So yeah. This is his fault.

‘Heart all aflutter.’ ‘Heightened anxiety.’ ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’ All the little innocuous phrases that are just turns of phrase, not supposed to be literal, well…they got into Thomas’s head when he was younger, and since, the Imagination has never quite gotten rid of them. Shouldn’t be too bad, right, this should be something they can deal with.

And for the most part, they do.

Patton wears the hoodie tied around his shoulders to block the chill from the slits sewn in the back of all of his shirts in case the wings decide to pop out again. When they do, everyone crowds around to make sure he doesn’t fly off into the sky or accidentally twist one. The feathers are the softest things you can imagine and work great for stuffing pillows or plushies.

Virgil’s clothes are made of stretchy, baggy material and the doorways are much, much higher than they need to be. There’s a special cupboard tucked high up in the pantry that just has Virgil’s comfort foods in them so he can reach comfortably when he’s tall.

And, well…there’s a reason Janus wears such a long cloak.

For the most part, these are just minor inconveniences. Listen, when you live in a completely imaginary world where you can summon anything you need and change anything you don’t like with a snap of your fingers, things like new clothes or snacks are easy.

Then there’s Roman.

Roman, who is tied most closely to the Imagination.

Roman, who represents not just Creativity, but romance, motivation, desire.

Roman. The Ego.

The problem with throwing around these types of phrases is how easy it becomes to dismiss them. And for Thomas, who has a creative profession, that’s good. For Thomas.

Not so good for Roman.

“Hey, you’ve been having some trouble getting ideas out lately, you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just going through a bit of a creative block at the moment.”

Roman’s fists ache as he pounds on the door, heaving sobs trailing off into hitched gasps as he slumps against the unyielding wood. As a desperate last resort, he throws himself at the door, barely making it shudder in its frame. It’s as if he weighs nothing, not an ounce, unable to make so much as a goddamn dent in the world around him.

“Let me—let me out, please, let me out, I gotta—I want out,” he sobs, over and over, as his room grows smaller and smaller, the walls pressing in around him, blank, sterile, cold, “I wanna—out, let me out, let me out, let me out please—“

He’s not even in his room anymore. He’s in a pure white cage, on the wrong side of a door that will not open.

“Dude, like…reign it in a little bit.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. That’s…like, way too much.”

“I dunno, I think it feels weird if we weren’t doing this.”

“C’mon, it won’t kill you to shackle your creativity a little.”

Roman wakes up to the quiet clinking of metal against metal. He goes to wipe his face and a bolt of pain shoots through his arm. The shackles spread him so far his chest aches, wincing as he tries to turn just a little to avoid the rush of agony that would come from having his arm trapped in the wrong position. At least he was lying down this time, and he’s on his bed. He isn’t being forced to stand the whole time, strung up on the ceiling.

They’re so cold.

The shackles sap the warmth from his body bit by bit, draining it until the weight of the cold pressing down onto his chest is enough to make him gasp. On instinct, he pulls, trying to get a little more of himself wrapped up, warm, safe, but the chains barely make a groan as they wrench him back apart. He grits his teeth and holds still.

He learned not to try and break these. He used to rage and slam against them like a brute, trying to pull their fastenings out of some mystical holder, embodied in his wall, only to come away with bleeding and scraped wrists from his pains, rubbed raw and chafed horribly by the cruel shackles.

For the most part, he’s able to keep the others from noticing. They can’t hear a thing when he’s trapped in the creative block. He’s careful to always wear long sleeves to hide the scrapes and burns from the shackles. They don’t know the true extent of what happens to him when Thomas decides he doesn’t want his creativity.

But he can’t hide all of them.

‘Bruised ego.’

Patton knows. Patton somehow always figures things out and doesn’t tell anyone, least of all Roman. But sure enough, after the audition, Patton showed up outside of Roman’s door and knocked, quietly asking to be let in.

Roman had let him, splattered as he was with blues and purples and greens and yellows, all the colors that didn’t belong to him, and yet here they were, painted on him. He’d kept his undershirt on, letting Patton feed him the soup that was sure to end with Roman lying on his back in the bathroom, panting, until the bowl had run dry and Roman’s smile had come back.

After Patton had gone, the smile had slid off, the paint cracked and chipped. Roman had stood, leaning against the bed for stability, and made his way slowly, oh, so, slowly, to the bathroom.

Getting his shirt off had been agony. Every time he moved skin had stretched, bruises had protested, even his muscles cried out. The undershirt was soaked in sweat and a light sheen had clung to Roman’s body as he stood there, panting, wincing in the mirror. He couldn’t look.

That had been the last time it had gotten very bad. Very bad.

They only ever seemed to notice when it was very bad.

His prince costume hides the shackle marks. His undershirt hid the bruises. No one cared to look for him when he was trapped in the creative block. No one could see. No one wanted to see.

No one knew.

Roman’s been lucky lately.

They’ve all been happening one at a time. The block never has shackles strapped to the wall. The shackles are never clasped around bruises spilling beneath his skin. The bruises are never from both beating on a door and from the outside world. He can deal with them if they’re like this. One at a time.

He’s had a few close calls, though. He almost missed a meeting with Logan because the block had him trapped. It squeezed him so tight it felt as if he hadn’t any room to breathe, not until the door and opened a crack and he’d hurled himself out, panting harshly, rushing to Logan’s. He was caught at his desk recently too. The shackles had formed and dragged him over to the corner where he’d bitten his lip to try and stay quiet as he desperately tried to draw himself away. He’d accidentally made too grand a gesture and his sleeve had ridden up, exposing the edge of a mark or bruise and he’d have to pull it back down quick enough so that no one would notice. And so far, it’s worked.

No one has noticed.

And what would he say? That this is just some dumb stupid thing he has to deal with? The others know about this whole ‘taking things too literally problem,’ look at Patton, look at Virgil, look at Janus. They all understand and they receive the same amount of attention Roman does. Honestly, they’ve been receiving what they’re entitled to. Their stuff actually runs the risk of harming Thomas. Fire, wings, banging your head, sure, that’s fine, but they—look.

Having your heart flutter signifies great emotions, the potential for love, you should pay attention to your emotions!

Heightened anxiety? It’s not great! It means we should be listening to Virgil and what’s going on, what’s upsetting Thomas, how to help.

And everyone should always be worried about spontaneously combusting pants.

And even if they did find out, what is Roman supposed to say? That it’s his fault they all have these issues? That Thomas’s psyche takes certain liberties with the hard-and-fast rules of what happens to metaphysical people? It’s his fault, after all, he’s the conduit. It’s fine. He can handle this stuff. It’s all fine.

He should’ve known his luck would run out.

Roman blinks awake to feel the walls pressing in on him, tighter, tighter, tighter. His breath catches in his throat.

No.

No, no, no, he’d been doing so well, so well, they’d just had a conversation about how he’d been so good, the ideas had been good, he’d had—he’d had so many he was ready to work on, he just needed to—

Roman squeezes his eyes shut, racking his brain. He knows he has ideas. He had them a little while ago. It wasn’t that long. They can’t have vanished so quickly. Wait, what time is it? How did they—how long has he been here? What is—how long has it been? Have the others realized he’s here yet?

What if they look for him and they think he won’t come out? What if they start to hate him because they can’t find him? What if he can never get out again? What if they realized they never needed him in the first place?

He—he’s not wrong, he can’t be wrong, he has to be right, he has to—he has to find a way out of here.

Quickly, Roman squeezes his eyes even tighter, mouth making random shapes as he tries to think. If he can just think of a really good idea, he’ll get out. If he just thinks, if he just does his job, if he’s really good he’ll get out. He can do this, he can do this, he can do this. He can—

Clink, clink, clink.

No.

No!

Roman snarls as the shackles encase his wrists, forcing to his knees, still crouched in this room that is too small, too pale, too awful. He lunges for the door as he hears the chains slowly start to tighten, their long lengths slipping over and over each other in coils.

The chains pull taut and he’s suspended there, in the dank air, snarling like a mad dog at a door that is just out of his reach.

For the first time in a long time, he slams against the chains, raging and bloody as he thrashes back and forth trying to just get to the door—

Roman, you’re on thin fucking ice.

Look I don’t wanna just hate a side but roman you royally fucked up bud

Yeah I’m definitely mad at Roman

Roman barely suppresses a whine when he realizes where the comments are coming from.

His nose breaks open and blood pours down his face. His eyes swell and darken until he can only squint through it. One of his fingers breaks and the shackle pinches.

Roman I have revoked your rights.

Roman shut the FUCK UP challenge please

After one line making fun of janus is enough to be cancelled, Roman

Even without looking down, he knows red and purple are blooming across his ribs. Roman winces pain as he howls again, trying frantically to get to the door, he’ll wrench his arms out of their sockets if he needs to—

I just hate roman!!! i don’t need a deep reason to hate roman, or anyone else

oh boi did Princey drop to least favorite side REAL FUCKING QUICK

It’s not that I don’t despise Roman he’s just never been my favourite. He’s too prideful, rude and while he does have his insecurities the way he hides them makes me uncomfortable since it’s at the expense of other characters. His treatment of the other sides is so awful.

…is he really that awful? Is…does he…is this…

Is this how it’s supposed to be?

I'm gonna spread my anti-roman doctrine. Fuck Roman. Hate that man

I genuinely hate Roman so. Fucking. Much. Like, can't stand him. Fuck him, I hate him

It’s always roman-hating hours.

A dry sob chokes its way out of Roman’s throat as he curls in on himself, another bruise leaving him gasping on the floor like a gutted fish. The chains let him fall to his knees, chest bared to the merciless door. He coughs. Blood flies out of his mouth and spittle drips down his chin. He coughs again. And again. And again. It hurts. Everything hurts.

He coughs.

The room presses in on him.

The shackles trap him.

Bruises bloom over his body.

He coughs.

This is all his fault, isn’t it? He’s the one in charge of the Imagination. He’s the one who makes sure the sides exist and can interact with Thomas. He’s the one who controls how they respond to turns of phrase.

He’s the one who’s awful to the others. He’s the one who didn’t tell them the truth. He’s the one stuck in this room, in these chains, taking a beating from words and thoughts that he can’t see.

This is his fault.

And he doesn’t know if he can fix it.

Roman gives up.

———————————————————

“Has anyone seen Roman?”

Patton looks up from the floor as Virgil rolls over. “No, I haven’t. Virgil?”

Virgil sniffs and shakes his head. “You asked Remus?”

Logan frowns. “I can’t find them anywhere. Do you know if—“

“Where the fuck is my brother?”

“Nevermind, I found him,” Logan mumbles as he turns just fast enough to avoid Remus barreling into him. “I was just coming to ask you.”

“He was supposed to meet me by the Imagination,” Remus says, bouncing up and down, “we were gonna go exploring. He hasn’t been by all day. Where are you hiding him?”

“I’m not hiding him,” Virgil yawns, “and neither’s Pat.”

“Nope! No princes here!”

“Pocket Protector?”

“No, I need to ask him about tomorrow.”

“Ugh.” Remus throws himself down on the couch. “Where’s Snakey? Maybe he knows.”

“What do I know?”

“Ah.” Logan turns to see Janus striding out from the shadows near the staircase. “We seem to be unable to locate Roman.”

Janus raises an eyebrow and flicks a speck of dust from his gloves. “What an unfortunate situation. My deepest apologies.”

“So you don’t know where he is.”

“Of course I don’t, why would I?” Janus rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’ve checked everywhere for him.”

Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Janus…please.”

“Have any of you even tried his room?”

“Of course we have, that’s where I looked first.”

Janus shrugs. “Then I guess our little prince has wandered away. What a shame.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Maybe he just stepped out for a minute. Why don’t you go look again, L, we’ll check down here.”

“Oh, will we?”

“J, I swear—“

Logan quickly heads back up the stairs as Virgil and Janus start bickering. He turns the corner and is soon faced with Roman’s big red door. He reaches out to knock.

“Roman? Are you in here?”

Silence. Logan sighs and goes to turn away when he hears it.

He stops.

Goes back.

“Roman?”

He puts his ear to the door.

A soft gasp.

“Roman, can you open the door please?”

“L-L—Lo—“

Logan swallows heavily. “Roman, I’m coming inside.”

“L-Logan…”

Logan pushes open the door.

He can feel his face go sickly pale.

Roman is lying on the ground, collapsed in a pool of what looks like blood. His face is swollen, his nose broken, his mouth barely forming the shapes to say Logan’s name. His prince costume is mangled. His wrists are rubbed raw. Even from this far away Logan can see the bruises forming all over his body.

“Roman!”

There are shouts from downstairs. The others are worried. Good. Logan’s going to need all the help he can get. He just has to move first.

Oh, Roman…

“L? L, what’s going on up there?”

“First aid,” Logan gasps, then clears his throat, “we need the first aid kit! Roman’s hurt!”

“What? How’d he—he hasn’t even been in the Imagination yet today!”

“We can figure that out when we’re up there, Remus, go go go!”

By the time the others are already rushing up the stairs, Logan has already crouched down next to Roman’s head, trying to figure out the best way to get him up, off the floor, or at the very least figure out what happened.

“Stay with me, Roman,” he murmurs, petting Roman’s head as his other hand starts to carefully test where it might be hurting, “stay with me, come on…”

“Lo? Lo, are you in here?”

“No, wait, don’t—“

Patton’s cry of dismay quickly followed by Virgil’s curse means he’s too late to warn them. Logan looks up to see their faces drop in absolute shock.

“Where are the others?”

“Uh…” Virgil tears his gaze away from Roman’s crumpled figure. “Remus said he…he has some stuff that would help.”

“And I am of course more than eager to see what our favorite little prince has gotten himself into this time,” Janus drawls, still out of sight, “I’m positively brimming with anticipation.”

Patton still hasn’t recovered. Virgil carefully takes the first aid kit from his hands and rushes it to Logan. An instant later, Janus appears in the doorway.

“My, my, Patton, you look so startled, what could possibly…”

Janus trails off as he finally spots Roman. His eyes widen as he takes in the bruises, the blood, the marks of what look like prison cuffs?

“Oh, god…” Logan blinks and Janus is crouched beside them, his hands hovering over Roman’s broken form as he starts crooning to the prince.

“Oh, honey, what happened to you,” he murmurs, his hands starting to pull away the fabric cutting into Roman’s throat, “you poor, poor thing…”

“Got it.”

Remus appears in a flash, crouching down as well as Janus and Logan start to help Roman unwind from the bloody mess he’s in. Logan glances over; it’s a kit that has more medical supplies than the first aid kit. Bandages, he can see antiseptic, surgical towels…

He catches Remus’s eye and they exchange a nod.

“Where does he need to go,” Janus asks as they start to get Roman upright, “you want him downstairs?”

“Let’s get him to our bathroom, J,” Virgil suggests, carefully getting his arms around the prince’s shoulders.

“Do you think it’s safe to sink with him?”

“Presumably he had to sink out to get back to his room, but I’m not sure it would be wise.”

“So we’ll carry him,” Virgil says firmly, “all of us.”

As it turns out, Remus and Janus can help Virgil just fine. Logan snatches up Remus’s kit as Patton grabs the first aid kit, hustling down the corridor to keep up with the others.

“Lo, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Logan mutters back, “but I…I don’t think it was…the Imagination’s been closed all day, hasn’t it?”

“That’s what I thought too. You don’t think—“

“I don’t know, Patton, I…”

Patton’s firm grip on his arm speaks volumes as they finally get to the bathroom.

The tile is already warm as the others carefully lay Roman down in the big place near the edge of the shower. Logan takes a moment to check what they might need.

The bathroom is one big open space with a tub in one corner, a large walk-in shower area at the other, and two sinks with a wide counter. Patton and Remus have already started setting up the first aid kit as Janus pulls on a different pair of gloves. Virgil still has Roman’s head in his hands, murmuring softly to him.

“Is he awake?”

Virgil shakes his head as Logan sits down. “I can’t tell. He’s looking around but I—he’s not saying anything.”

“That is not completely unexpected,” Logan murmurs, “we have to get him out of his clothes. They’re making it harder for him to breathe.”

“Someone needs to stay by his head,” Remus calls, “in case he wakes up and starts freaking out.”

“I’ve got him.” Sure enough, Janus slips two of his hands gently under Roman’s head as he unclips the back of his collar. “Shh, shh, easy, sweetie, you’re safe now.”

Virgil scoots back and starts tugging on his hoodie strings. Patton, still hovering by the medical supplies, catches it.

“Hey, Virge,” he says, shooting a quick nod at Logan, “why don’t we go make something to eat? Something small, and something to drink.”

“Yeah…yeah that’s a good idea.”

As the two of them leave, Remus kneels by Roman’s feet and curses. “We’re gonna have to cut them off.”

“You mean cut the rest of them off,” Janus mutters, “what happened?”

“You think I’m not beating myself up asking that same thing?”

“We have to get Roman stable,” Logan says quickly, “and that means we have to see what—“

“The damage is,” Remus growls.

“Quite.”

“Alright. Be careful by his wrists.”

“We will.”

“Jan if you drop his head I swear to—“

“I won’t, I promise.”

“…I know.”

“You’re worried about your brother,” Logan whispers as they start peeling the clothes away, “we understand.”

Janus keeps his promise, cradling Roman’s head as the work to get the rest of his prince costume off. Under any other circumstance, Logan admits this might actually be read as amusing. Peeling Roman out of his clothes, however, has never been less devastating.

Every inch they pull back reveals more bruises. Roman’s torso is warm, throbbing, carpeted with horrible wounds. Every so often a piece will stick and Roman winces, prompting Janus to stroke his face carefully, murmuring reassurances that they’re here, everything’s okay, Roman’s safe now.

Remus chucks bruise cream at Logan and they start, methodically applying the cream and bandages. Janus gives them an extra hand where they need it, while keeping up the constant litany of reassurances. Logan comes away confident that nothing is broken, just very badly bruised.

“So what now?”

“He has to rest.” Logan pulls off the gloves, running his hand over the ground to make sure they haven’t spilled anything. “I…I don’t know how long that will be.”

“I don’t want to leave him.”

They look around, eyes wide at the strangled whisper coming out of Remus. Remus stares down at Roman’s bruised form, thankfully clear of blood now, his hands trembling as they rest on his knees. Remus looks up at them, his eyes glistening.

“The last time I left him like this it was bad.” He swallows and looks back down. “I’m not leaving my brother.”

Logan looks at Roman. Brave, strong, sweet, kind Roman. Bruised, scared, exhausted, broken Roman. His hand tightens and without thinking he tucks a stray hair behind Roman’s ear.

“He hates it when his hair is out of place,” he murmurs as Janus raises an eyebrow at him.

“We’re not leaving our prince,” Janus says firmly, glancing back at Remus. “Would you like to come sit up here with us?”

Remus shakes his head. “If something comes through that door trying to get him,” he says in a low voice that Logan has never heard before, “it’s going to have to get through me first.”

Logan nods. They take up their watch. Remus’s hands twitch every so often, and Logan sees him lay his hand on an unbruised part of Roman’s ankle when they do with a tenderness that takes him a little aback. Janus can’t seem to stop running his hands through Roman’s hair, making comforting noises every time Roman winces as he breathes.

Logan, well…Logan is trying desperately to figure out what happened.

Roman hasn’t been in the Imagination today. Remus was waiting and he hadn’t seen him.

Roman hasn’t been seen by anyone else all day.

The last place Roman was seen was in his room.

No one else has been in Roman’s room today.

“Logan,” Janus calls softly, “Logan, you’re shaking.”

Logan looks down. Oh. So he is. He takes a deep breath and takes Janus’s offered hand. “I’m…thinking.”

“About…?” Janus indicates Roman.

He nods sharply. “I’m having trouble coming to anything but a most troubling conclusion.”

“What?”

Logan explains. Janus goes pale.

“You don’t think…”

“I don’t want to think that, no.”

“R-ro-Bro,” Remus whispers, “oh, Ro-Bro, you gotta tell us something when you wake up.”

He sniffles.

“Please wake up, Ro-Bro. I gotta…I gotta kick your ass for blowing me off and getting into a fight without me, I gotta—you gotta tell me what kicked your ass so I can go put it in the fucking ground…” He sniffs again, his whole body tense, even as his hand remains gently on Roman. “You just gotta wake up, Ro.”

After a little while longer, Virgil and Patton return carrying snacks and drinks. Remus doesn’t even look as Virgil sets his octopus water bottle at his elbow. Janus murmurs a thanks and eats a little. Logan eats and drains about half of his bottle. Virgil sits at Remus’s side, Patton at his other.

“Has he woken up yet?”

Remus shakes his head.

“He’s probably just sleeping, Remus, he needs to rest.”

“I know.”

“Do we know what happened,” Virgil asks quietly, “at all?”

Logan winces. “Well…”

“…don’t like the way you said that.” Judging by Virgil’s expression, he likes it even less after Logan’s finished explaining.

“Oh, shit.”

Everyone’s gaze instantly snaps to Patton. Listen. Patton doesn’t curse. It’s a thing. When Patton curses it’s bad.

“Patton?”

“Roman…Roman has a thing,” Patton explains, “you know like…like my wings? Or how Virgil gets taller?”

Virgil nods. “Yeah, okay, but those don’t…hurt us, why would Roman’s…”

Janus is the next one to curse. “Of course…the bruised ego.”

Patton nods sadly. “Roman takes, well, it’s not really his choice, Roman is forced to take the brunt of the negative reactions Thomas has. That’s part of his thing.”

Logan’s eyes widen. “Wait, but if this has been happening since…well, since Thomas has had an ego, and we didn’t know about this, then…”

How many times has this happened?

Remus growls. “New rule: no one is allowed to fuck with Roman.”

No one dares disagree. Logan scans over the injuries again. He frowns.

“Hold on…some of these seem…consistent with that judgment, but then why…”

A faint groaning sound snaps him out of his musings. A tense silence falls in the bathroom as Roman starts to stir in Janus’s hands.

“Roman,” Logan calls softly, “Roman, can you hear me?”

“L’gan?”

“Yes, Roman, I’m right here. Don’t try and move too much right now, you’re very hurt.”

Roman blinks up at them, his eyes focusing glassily on Janus, who smiles. He tucks another piece of hair away from Roman’s face.

“Shh, shh, my prince, hold still,” he coos, “you’re awfully banged up, sweetie, just hold still…shh…”

“J’nus? What’s…where is…” Roman’s face swivels back to Logan. “Where am I?”

“You’re on the bathroom floor, Roman, we had to see to your injuries.”

Roman’s eyes go wide and immediately all of them reach out to hold him still as he tries to move.

“Shh, shh,” Janus shushes, “none of that now, sweetie, you’re hurt, calm down…”

“I’m—I have to—“

“You’re not going anywhere,” comes Remus’s voice from behind them.

“Remus!”

“What? He’s not!”

“Yeah, but there’s no reason to scare the shit out of him.”

“I can’t see,” Logan hears Roman’s frantic whisper as he turns to glance at the others, “I can’t—let me—“

“Logan, is it safe for him to sit up?”

Logan nods. “Just take it slow, nothing too fast. It will probably be the best if he can lean against someone.”

“Jan—“

“I’ve got you, sweetie, I’m not going anywhere.”

When Roman is upright, his back against Janus’s chest, only then do Virgil and Patton relax the slightest bit. Remus doesn’t. Logan’s gaze switches anxiously between the two.

“Remus—“ Roman swallows— “Re, are you—are you mad at me?”

“A little.”

Roman shrinks under Remus’s glare. “I’m sorry.”

“Jeez, Ro, it’s not—I’m not mad at you like that,” Remus mumbles, “it’s mainly just—well, our thing is…you know, cat pile.”

“You’re—you’re mad because you can’t lie on top of me right now?”

“Yeah! It always makes you feel better! And now I can’t help you feel better!”

“R-Re—“

Remus lets out a wounded noise and surges forward, careful to avoid barreling into any of the others as he wraps his brother in a protective hug. Janus huffs lightly but stays upright. Roman’s eyes close and his head drops to rest against Remus’s.

“I’m the only one allowed to fuck with you,” comes Remus’s muffled voice, “no one else.”

“I know,” Roman whispers, “I know.”

Logan swallows heavily. “Roman,” he prompts softly, “we aren’t mad at you. We won’t get angry with you.”

“...promise?”

“I promise.”

“Promise.

Janus just squeezes Roman’s shoulder gently. “I promise too, sweetie. Now, will you tell us what happened?”

“I, um…” Roman’s gaze flickers over to Patton. “Have you—um…”

“I’ve told them a little, sweetheart,” Patton says when Roman can’t finish his sentence, “we’ve figured out the ‘bruised ego,’ is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”

Roman nods. He turns his head back towards Remus, his face contorted. Logan carefully reaches out to ruffle his hair.

“Take your time,” he whispers, “we’re not going anywhere.”

“I have three,” Roman blurts out after a moment.

“…three, honey?”

“Patton has…the wings, Virgil has the height, Janus…Janus…”

“Has the pants.”

Janus lightly flicks Remus’s head, shaking his head fondly.

“Are you saying you’ve got three turns of phrase, Princey?” Roman nods. “Okay. Is one of them ‘bruised ego?’”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay. Are you comfortable telling us the other two?”

Goosebumps rise on Roman’s arms and Janus carefully positions them so Logan can help rub them away. Remus growls protectively and huddles closer.

“…creative block,” Roman murmurs, only for Remus to tense. Remus raises his head slowly.

“Ro-Bro?”

“I, um, my room—my room shrinks and I—I can’t get out the door, I can’t move anything, I can’t breathe, I—“

“Shh-shh-shh,” Janus soothes instantly, “you’re safe, my prince, you’re in the bathroom with us, you’re not there, you’re not there.”

There are a few tense seconds of deep breaths.

“…what’s the third one, Roman?”

Roman looks at his wrists, turning them over as if he doesn’t recognize them. “…shackled creativity.”

Patton clenches his fists as Virgil muffles another curse. Remus follows Roman’s gaze, the line of his shoulders growing tenser by the second. Janus carefully laces his fingers through one of Roman’s hands, Logan lacing his through the other.

“Thank you for telling us, Roman,” he murmurs, “and…I do not know how much this is worth to you, but…we are so sorry this happens and that we could not do anything about it.”

“It’s okay,” Roman murmurs, “it’s my own fault.”

The bathroom falls silent.

“…Roman, it’s not your fault.” Virgil scoots closer. “How—this isn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it? I’m the one that’s the closest to the Imagination,” Roman says softly, completely convinced of what he’s saying, “I’m the one that makes it possible for Thomas to see us…the Sides, the Imagination…isn’t that my job?”

“Not like that,” Logan says firmly, “never like this.”

“Logan’s right,” Virgil says when it looks like Roman’s about to argue, “you’re the conduit for the Imagination, but you’re not responsible for everything that this place does, let alone how Thomas interprets and internalizes stuff.”

“None of this is you, Roman.” Janus rests his cheek against the top of Roman’s head. “None of it. It’s not Patton’s fault he grows wings, it’s not Virgil’s fault he grows taller, and it’s not your fault that this happens to you.”

“You’re missing someone off the list there, Jan-Jan.”

“Remus, I swear to god—“

Remus cackles, throwing his head back as Janus swats at him. Of course, the problem is that they all try and look mildly annoyed at Remus, and yet the instant it makes Roman giggle, even a little, they all have to break character because Roman’s smiling again.

“Seriously, Ro-Bro,” Remus says after a moment, “this isn’t on you. You don’t deserve this or some other fucked-up shit. This is fucked up all on its own. You’re not responsible for this.”

“We’ll talk to Thomas,” Logan says, “about…negative feedback and internalizing things, alright? This isn’t healthy, Roman, it’s not—it’s not supposed to be like this, and it’s definitely not your fault.”

“…okay.”

“Can you say that for me, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, reaching around to cup Roman’s face, “that it’s not your fault?”

“I-it’s not—“

Roman stops. Swallows heavily.

“Go on, my prince, you can do it.”

“…I-it’s not my fault.”

“Good.”

“It isn’t my fault.” Roman’s eyes go wide and something hitches in his throat. “It is—isn’t—I—oh, god—“

They catch Roman as he starts to cry.

“You did so well, sweetheart, so well, I’m so proud of you.”

“It’s okay, Princey, it’s gonna be okay.”

“I’ve got you, my prince, I have you.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Ro-Bro, I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

“You don’t have to do this alone, Roman.”

Roman rests there, in the arms of his family, bruised and exhausted, but not broken.

Not anymore.

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akumaalert · 3 years

Text

Medical Log Sixty-nine

Karl Heisenberg x AFAB Reader (Uses She/Her); Explicit Content, 18+ ONLY

CW: Medicplay, medical kink, medical examination, voice kink, roleplay, consensual voyeurism

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31802593

"Medical log...this is my...sixty-ninth attempt."

You rolled your eyes. Of course he would go for a sex joke the second the recording snapped on.

Staying still was a difficult task. The steel table was chilling your back and your muscles screamed at you to purse away from the cold.

The warmth between your legs, however, demanded that you stayed.

Heisenberg began exactly as he said he would - listing off your name and age with that ever lilting voice that made your cunt clench in delight.

"Body is in...fuck...the most gorgeous condition..."

Playing dead was so hard when he was out of view. Heisenberg was so expressive and you were missing all the nuances you so adored. You could only picture him studying you - licking those delectably thick lips that you loved to nip. The fact that he was fully clothed and hovering over your naked body was as thrilling as it was nerve wracking.

Part of you willed stillness on the sheer fear that if you moved, the spell would be broken and Heisenberg’s role of doctor would be traded for actual work. Convincing him of doing this had not been the simplest task. The first time he caught you listening to one of his medical logs, he had raised a quizzical eyebrow and chuckled lightly at your blush. When you laid in his arms after making love one morning, you had shyly admitted the desires that had been ignited simply by listening to his voice.

"I think they umm...I think it's technically called medical play..."

The swiftness with which he cut you off still made you feel shame. "I'm not experimenting on you."

It took all the strength you could muster to look at him despite your cheeks absolutely burning. You placed a hand on his own cheek to rub the pad of your finger over one of his scars. "No. No...that's not what I meant. It's pretend. For fun. Roleplaying basically..."

You loved when his glasses were missing from his face. Green eyes flickered - studying you intently - before his lips stretched into an attractive smirk. "Would that turn you on, buttercup?"

And so the two of you had planned. It was convenient that the toys you needed were inconspicuous medical equipment. Most you already had and the others were obtained from the Duke without suspicion. At least you hoped. He was always a jovial fellow and at least didn't question the use for the pinwheel. Where the rest came from, you did not question. It wouldn't do to dwell on the purpose or origin when living in the shadow of Miranda's clutches.

When Heisenberg's hand ghosted near your head in the present, you repressed the want to moan.

"Proceeding with inspection..."

One leather clad hand cupped a cheek while a bare, calloused fingertip lined your lips. You could not entirely make him out like this, but you could see his green undershirt in delightful detail if you rolled your eyes high enough. His trench coat and his outer shirt had been discarded and the thought made your skin prickle. The spirals of his chest hair peeking from his shirt made your fingers tent with a want to touch him.

But cadavers couldn't move. So you swallowed and resisted the temptation to dart your tongue to meet his caress.

"Subject has the softest lips...prettiest damn thing I've ever studied."

Heat and the ever lingering static that was Heisenberg radiated just a breath behind you. If you had any courage to move just so, you imagined that his crotch sat just above your line of sight.

Would he already be hard? Heisenberg had held his typical swagger when you had mapped out your wants and respected his limitations. But you could tell that hesitancy still sat not so lightly on his shoulders. Perhaps he would need to drag things out - let his pleasure build as yours boiled in every limb.

Eyes half lidded, you nearly missed the scalpel floating gingerly through the air. As Heisenberg had insisted, only the handle touched your skin. Beginning at the curve of your jaw, it traced ever so slowly down your throat like a breath. Despite the lack of danger, the sensitive skin pimpled and your throat constricted.

"It's as if I built her myself...everything I could ever fucking want. Absolute damn perfection," he muttered. Feeling drunk off his words, you struggled to keep up with them all. After all, you were not sure how sensitive the recording would be. Heisenberg was a loud man - a grand man - and so rarely whispered as he did now. "A lovely neck...if only I had found her sooner...might have given her a necklace of teeth marks to wear."

When the scalpel slipped to your chest, your gasp could not be stifled. But instead of stopping, Heisenberg simply removed his fingers from your face to set both hands in a frame on either side of your head. He was adjusting and leaning and soon his eyes met with yours. Though you could not see anything below the rugged slope of his nose, you imagined his mouth as slightly parted.

His eyes were normally flecked with golds and browns, but the darkness there now was not an uncommon sight. You saw it when he was angry - returning from family meetings or trips to the Dimitrescu castle. Whenever his facade had been tested for too long with his "mother" and the walls came crashing down the moment the doors to the factory were closed.

You also saw it when he was lost to lust - when he used arms as steady as steel to hold you to him until you were both limp messes on the floor or the desk or the shower or the bed.

It was a color you so treasured - especially when the hints of softness clouded them as they did now.

Heisenberg's voice careened and curled just like the scalpel's handle around your breast. So light but so heavy.

"I don't need any damn notes for these tits...have them fucking memorized. Fuck what I wouldn't give to put my mouth on them. What a damn waste. Body is so cold and those nipples are perked up so nicely. Inspecting..." He audibly swallowed, clearing his throat. "Inspecting chest in detail now."

While the scalpel handle swirled against one of your nipples, Heisenberg's gloved hand went to your ignored breast in a firm squeeze. You were already so worked up by the mere prospect of your play. To have it as a reality with Heisenberg towering over you and switching his attention from your breasts to your eyes to your lips and back again was absolute torture. The leather on his fingers did nothing to help you. The gloves were old and worn into a fibrous texture that made every hair on your neck stand on end.

Your lover was a cruel man, but not a patient one. With his pointer finger and thumb, he twisted your nipple. Eyes clapping shut, you shook when you realized a tremble in the scalpel. A telltale sign of his passions rising and his powers thrumming along with them.

"Color?" he asked in a voice of gravel.

It took you a moment to understand his inquiry. Your stoplight system. That Heisenberg was already checking in with you filled you with a whole new type of warmth. Nodding with flushed cheeks, you ran your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

"Green," you muttered.

So he continued.

"Nipples are extremely responsive." The scalpel and his hand pulled away but for a moment before the sides were switched. But with them came the feeling of his bare hand on your equally bare chest. "I could stand here all day just admiring the view. Not a damn thing to say to do it justice."

He flitted between a tender touch and a rolling, twinging pinch. The scalpel rolled along with it all, though there were intervals when it remained still against your skin. As if his mind could not keep up with it all. It would start back again with a lurch and small grunts of frustration from its master.

"Moving to the lower torso..."

Your body arched when he moved and broke contact with your skin. The scalpel's trail became steadier as it looped around your breast to slide so terribly slow down the middle of your chest. Down it slipped and once again your fingers were fidgety. The skin of your stomach felt particularly sensitive, especially when the scalpel began to dance in patterns too quick and too slow for your mind to process.

"These hips of hers...the legs...hard not to get too ahead of myself..."

Though you could not see him at all now with your head locked in its position, it made the situation all the more welcome to your growing need. In your mind he studied you - watched your body with all the appreciation he was so fond of giving it. He might pay attention to your stomach - to the invisible designs he was tracing there. But his eyes would inevitably flicker to look between your legs. There was no gown or sheet to protect you from his hungry gaze. There was nothing at all preventing him from doing the myriad of things that you longed for him to do.

By the sound of his breathing, you knew Heisenberg was not left unaffected.

"Subject...is gonna fucking pay for making part of my work part of her play," he growled. "Do you have any idea how distracted I'm going to be every time I go in for an actual log? But you don't care, do you? It's all about you."

Tension hung in the air and one of your legs stretched upward, suddenly aching.

Heisenberg's hand came down fast to push it back into place.

"Didn't say I wasn't gonna indulge you," he said, playfulness in his voice. He gripped your knee still held in his hand with a soft touch. "Just that you'll pay for this later."

Lightly nodding, you felt his hand leave you. Your entire body tensed when the scalpel - ever streaming down your skin - began a descent that told you just how impatient Heisenberg had become.

It didn't help that a series of items - familiar and agreed upon in advance - floated over you on a glinting silver tray. You could not tell if they moved slowly due to his powers flitting with his emotions or if he simply was intent on you seeing them.

A bottle of lube. A bullet vibrator and its controller. The Wartenberg pinwheel. Another scalpel for the hell of it.

If the scalpel on your skin ran near your aching cunt, you never felt it. The next thing you knew, it was landing on your thigh and stalling.

As if he could not help himself, his hands were on you again. This time instead of pushing a leg onto the table, he pried both of your legs open with a prodding touch.

Though it broke your play, you took a large inhale of air. You could not recall ever being so wet or so ready.

Heisenberg let out a low whistle.

"You're soaked, buttercup." A pause. The telltale sound of buckles being clicked and dropped to the floor.

You could not take it and spoke with a whine.

"Not fair...I can't see you."

The chuckle he gave was dark. "A shame. It's like someone asked for this. Ironic. You're such a whore that your little game is preventing you from watching me. And I know how you love to watch."

The asshole took his time to slowly unzip his pants. The heat in your body was palpable and painful. A small gratified groan told you all you needed to know about where his hands had gone.

"Pretty, pretty girl..." he cooed. "Show isn't over yet. You had some requests and what kind of a lord would I be if I was to ignore one of my subject's pleas?"

The knowledge that he was stroking himself - languid even as your longing screamed through your very soul - made the pit of your stomach pulse with delayed pleasure.

Trying to even your breathing, you focused on the ceiling laid brown and bare above you. Or at least you tried. Heisenberg chose the absolute worst moment to bring both the second scalpel's handle and the brand new pinwheel onto the scene.

Huffing heatedly, you scrunched your face into a grimace. What a sight you must be - a scalpel on each thigh and a pinwheel hanging dangerously close to your cunt. You pushed the thought aside, unable to bear the image in your head.

"To the main event," he announced, voice returned to a rumbling purr. "Planting the 'control device.' Inserting now."

When he had added lube to the bullet, you did not know. Probably somewhere between your embarrassment and the blood pounding in your ears. Small and sleek, it entered your folds gently but awkwardly. Heisenberg's powers going on the fritz would never cease to endear you. He was so strong - so normally loud and wearing whatever mask that a situation called for. But in these moments with you, he was raw and his powers were unhinged in the most intimate of ways. It made you feel powerful - the ability to bring this lord of metal to timid movements when he could likely destroy the whole village with enough metal and mental will.

Rounding its way deeper and deeper inside of you, the bullet suddenly stilled. The sensations of the scalpels skating up and down your legs combined with the threat of the pinwheel overwhelmed you. If you had wanted to speak in that moment, it would have been quite out of your ability to remember how.

"Insertion complete."

Babbling during sex was another staple of Heisenberg's. But he was eerily quiet and controlled in the seconds that followed right up to the click of the controller.

The jolt to your core was immediate and you gasped in hurried breaths against the most exquisite pleasure you had ever felt. The fight to keep your fingers extended was lost as all ten fisted. You were so wet that the lube had been a moot point. The bullet buzzed inside of you and your hips shook with the herculean effort of staying still.

Heisenberg exhaled, voice faraway and dreamy.

"Ausgezeichnet...excellent. Progressing faster than expected."

You choked on air. Beyond your control, your body flinched against the hum of the bullet.

"Fuck," bit out Heisenberg. "Have a proposition for you...since you're going to be punished for making me work, I'm going to go back to the recording-"

"Oh God!"

"I'm going to go back to the recording," he repeated gruffly, ever incensed at being spoken over. "And I'm going to count the seconds that it takes for you to come. And however many seconds that is...that's how many spanks you'll be getting. Right on that luscious fucking ass of yours."

Another click of the bullet's controller made your eyes roll to the back of your head. Fingernails bit into your palm with the want to hold onto something - anything. How could you be so stimulated yet so far from release at the same time?

"I can see everything from where I'm standing," he continued. "Can you feel that wetness of yours? Dripping into your ass...pussy such a pretty pink shade. It'll go so nice with a red ass. One, two, three...you're building up to quite the spanking. Might want to hurry it along."

He was indeed a cruel man.

But not a patient one.

The pinwheel's weight was noticeable, but not deep. It pinched and rolled its way directly down and over your clit and the sensitive flesh splayed and shaking from sensation.

How you hated the gargle that you let out. It was ugly and incoherent.

"Too much!" you cried.

"Scheisse!" The pinwheel flew to the floor as the scalpels stopped. Even the bullet seemed to rumble ever lighter. "Color?"

It took you several breaths to gather the ability to nod. When Heisenberg remained quiet, you grunted. "Green...green...fucking green. Floor it."

Heisenberg laughed - all throat and no breath. "Floor it. Gotcha."

Making a strange sound - somewhere between a groan and a grunt - Heisenberg returned his hands to your body.

The hand free from leather stroked your thigh. The leather, however, fondled your mound and found your clit with practiced speed.

Barely able to keep up with the bullet and the scalpels and the trembles and the sound of Heisenberg's guttural encouragements, you closed your eyes and focused on the circles he made against that sensitive bundle of nerves.

You could not open your eyes or close your mouth. You could not do anything but chase a high approaching as sure as any sunrise.

Apparently taking pity on the mess you had become, Heisenberg only took one swift last round on your clit before speaking.

"Now to pass a current...through the body...using six volts..."

The words had no time to settle in before the action was done with his gentle hand on your quivering thigh.

Screaming, too, was beyond your control.

"Come on," he said through the return to your clit and the massage in your cunt and the swirls of scalpel handles on your legs. "Come on, come on, come on."

"KAR...k...kah..."

Your orgasm knocked the very air from your lungs. Pins of light erupted as your eyes squeezed with every furious flutter of pleasure. Your cunt was actually twitching and the glove on Heisenberg's hand felt so exquisite as it barely pressed down on your clit.

"Yes! Yes!" Egging you on with a happy laugh, Heisenberg uttered praises that registered in a haze. "At last...wonderful...what a good girl."

As the absolutely mind-numbing orgasm faded into your very bones, you lay there exhausted and beyond satisfied. Breathing became a chore that your throat seemed unused to performing.

Heisenberg moved as efficiently as ever to complete his work. The bullet was removed with care by his own fingers. When it had turned off, you had no recollection. The scalpels clattered to the table with a metallic hiss.

Sweat built on your brow and dragging down your temple, you swallowed and swallowed again. The sound of rushing water perked your tired body. You were slow to rise, testing fingers and a palm burning with indents of your nails. Soon, however, you had sat up. A swirl of satisfaction still sat low in your belly.

As satiated as you were, you could not help but enjoy the sight of Heisenberg standing before you. In one hand was a glass of water begging to be brought to your parched lips. In the other he held the recorder. You watched with hooded eyes as he clutched at the recorder before dropping his hand to adjust his pants.

Pants that hung low on his hips with the zipper pulled wide. The adorable swell of his lower belly was visible underneath his shirt. His cock was curved at such a beautiful angle above silver hair. It was blushed a dark pink with veins reaching up to a head that was nearly purple with need.

Bringing the recorder back to his mouth, Heisenberg eyed you before huffing.

"...ending recording."

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #karl heisenberg #resident evil #re village #ao3 #smut #kinks with karl #x reader

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theloneliestshipper · 3 years

Note

What about a Soulmate or red string of fate AU for Leia and Boba?

I actually had multiple requests for this one. I came up with a premise years ago for this and yet writing it out only made me realize how hard it would be to get these two stubborn, independent people to buy into it. I dragged them as far as I could, I swear.

AO3 Link

“It’s Mandalorian.” Her father’s voice was hushed. He sounded worried. “I recognize the lettering.”

“Could we have it translated?”

Leia rubbed her leg just above her knee as she listened to her parents whispering outside her door. The darker patch of skin had always been there. Her mother said she always had. It was only after her tenth birthday that the color began to deepen and the foreign letters began to take shape.

“Yes, but should we?” Her father continued. “This whole business of soulmates, it’s a lot of pressure. Maybe it’s best if she doesn’t know.”

Her mother sounded uncertain. “There’s a lot she doesn’t know, Bail. What if this is one thing too many?”

---

“You have a soulmark?” Sabine Wren’s eyes went wide.

“You don’t think it’s crazy?”

“My parents have them...so, no. My dad’s says, “I’m looking” and my mom’s says, “look at this beautiful sight!” My dad was painting a picture of a lake when they met, and he wanted her to look at the view and she wanted to look at him.” Sabine shrugged. “And those were the first words they said to one another. My mom says she was just grateful that hers was in Mando’a.”

Leia fidgeted, keeping an eye out for anyone passing in the hall of the rebel base. “Mine is in Mando’a too.”

“It is? That means it’s your soulmate’s first language!”

“I looked it up, but the translation wasn’t exact. It’s just one word. Slana’pir.”

“Huh.” Sabine considered that for a few seconds. “That can mean ‘get lost’ or ‘go away’ depending on the context. It’s kind of a funny thing for someone to say as their first words to you. The first letter, does it angle at the bottom? This way?” She illustrated with her hand.

Leia had to think about it. “No. The other way.”

“That’s interesting. It means they’re probably Concordian, from Concordia or Concord Dawn.” She grinned. “A hick Mandalorian, you know? In some places they use slana’pir literally, from a Concordian it’s more likely to be a threat.”

“Great,” Leia replied dryly. “I’ll just keep my eyes peeled for a Mandalorian who instantly threatens me. Are your parents...it’s real for them?”

“Oh yeah. They’re really happy together. My dad always says he doesn’t mind dying at the same time as my mom, because he can’t imagine living without her.”

“Wait. You die if your soulmate does?”

“That’s part of the deal. Once you meet and exchange words, you literally can’t live without one another.”

“But what if it’s someone you pass on the street and never speak to?”

“Then I guess you do what you want like everyone else.”

---

Leia couldn’t understand the grunts of the Gamorrean guards who dragged her through the door. They tossed her in the direction of the bed and left, locking the door behind them. The room was simple, the only furniture was a bed.

Jabba had made the terms of her captivity clear with the scraps of metal and cloth she was forced to wear. She was a trophy for the Hutt to display. So why lock her in here?

She paced for a while. When she got tired of pacing she sat on the bed, her eyes fixed on the door. That quickly became boring and so she laid down, curled up on her side. At some point she fell asleep.

When she woke up there were voices outside the door. Bib Fortuna, the Twi’lek majordomo, and a second voice.

Boba Fett.

Leia bolted upright. Of course. Jabba was passing her on as a bonus to his pet hunter. Her hands curled into fists as the door opened and the Mandalorian bounty hunter strode in.

“Get out.”

She resisted the urge to cover her soulmark with her hand. “Congratulations,” she snarled instead. “You can read.”

He didn’t respond. He stood frozen in front of the door until it finally occurred to Leia that something had happened. “The fuck,” he whispered, the words barely audible through his helmet. Suddenly he was moving towards her, and before she could scramble away he was on his knees at her feet, his hand on her leg. His gloved fingers scrubbed across her soulmark as if he was trying to rub it off.

“Ow!” She pulled her leg up under her, shoving him away. “Get off me!”

He straightened, started to walk away and then turned back. And then away again, as if he had lost all sense of direction. “It can’t be,” he said to no one.

“Are you on spice?”

He laughed, a harsh, unexpected sound that caused a burst of static in his helmet. “I wish this were a spice dream, but neither of us is going to get that lucky.” He lifted off his helmet, setting it on a table before he removed his jetpack. He was in his thirties, with dark curly hair and tan skin. A handsome man, in spite of his grim expression. He looked as if he wanted to be doing anything other than what he was doing.

He stripped off his bracers and then worked open the flak vest his chest plates attached to. When he started opening the neck of his flight suit Leia realized that he was undressing.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” she said. “Lay a hand on me and one of us is going to die.”

“I’m not going to touch you.” He said it scornfully, as if the very idea was offensive. “I have to show you something.”

“Why?”

His anger faded a little. “I think you have a right to know.” He pulled his arms out of the sleeves of his flight suit and let the top half hang over his belt. He wore a white sleeveless undershirt beneath it, which he pulled over his head in one smooth motion. His back was all smooth skin and muscle, except for a few scattered scars and the line of aurebesh letters that ran vertically down along his spine.

Congratulations. You can read.

“Oh my gods.” Leia could scarcely breathe. “You...you didn’t read it. It was just...the first words you said.”

“Seems impossible that we haven’t spoken before. But even on Bespin we never talked. Not directly.”

“It’s you,” Leia said, still trying to process it. “You’re the hick Mandalorian. From...Concorda...or something.”

He blinked at her. “Concord Dawn. And I’m not. But my dad was.” He waited a moment, as if he was trying to decide something. “When did they show up for you? The actual words, I mean.”

“I was ten, I think.”

“Me too.” A smile appeared, fleeting but sincere. “My dad said they were funny. Like a joke.” He shook his head. “It’s a fucking joke, all right.”

“Tell me about it.” Leia rubbed her temple. “My soulmate is a bounty hunter.”

“And mine is in love with someone else.” Fett winced as if something had just occurred to him. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”

“What? Why?”

“Because if I don’t you’ll get yourself killed trying to rescue Solo. You know what happens now, right? Now that we’ve met? If you die, I die.”

“You could help me. Help me get Han out and-”

“And what? You’ll marry him, move to the outer rim and live a long, peaceful life?” His tone was rich with skepticism.

“Maybe I will,” she lied, trying not to think about the rebel forces gathering on Yavin IV.

He looked at her for a moment in silence and then dropped his gaze. “I’ll leave. Whatever plans you have, I’m not part of them. We’ll both just try to...stay alive.” His shoulders rose and fell in one sharp breath. “Since we probably won’t see each other again, is there anything you want to know?”

Leia plucked at the blanket on the bed. “I guess you’ve heard some of the same things I have.”

The bounty hunter shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”

“I didn’t feel anything when you…” she gestured at her leg.

“Might have been blocked by the gloves.”

“Yeah. That makes sense, I guess.” It might be her only chance to test it. “If you want to try it again…”

He worked his glove off his right hand and approached her cautiously. His hand spread over her thigh, covering his words completely. Leia felt nothing. She gingerly placed her hand on his naked back, over her own words.

And then she felt everything.

It was...a connection. She could think of no other word to describe it. This person belonged to her. His life, his body, his mind and his soul. He fit her like home. She looked up into his eyes, eyes that reflected the same intense longing. “Oh no,” she breathed, overwhelmed and shaking.

“Yeah,” Fett gasped as he leaned in and kissed her and it was perfect the way no kiss between two strangers should be. Leia’s hand went to his chest and then up around his neck as the kiss deepened and then she was wrapped around him and they were both nearly horizontal on the bed.

And then suddenly he was pushing away, detangling himself from the embrace. He turned his back to her and clutched at his head as if he had a stabbing headache. “No,” he growled. “No fucking way.”

Leia couldn’t take her eyes off the words on his back. Her words. She wanted to touch him again. To hold him and comfort him. But clearly that wasn’t what he wanted. She swallowed the lump that was suddenly in her throat. “So I guess that’s real.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, still facing away. “No matter what some stupid magic tattoo says, that was out of line.”

“It wasn’t…” She didn’t know how to finish that. Was it better or worse if it truly wasn’t what he wanted? For that matter, how could she be sure that it was what she wanted? “No apology necessary,” she said finally.

“That’s gracious of you.” He reached for his undershirt and pulled it back on. “I think I have all the information I need.”

“Yes,” Leia agreed. “So what now?”

“Now I ask you for a favor.” He turned to face her and he put his arms through the sleeves of his flightsuit. “Be careful. Play along with Jabba and don’t do anything that might get you tossed in the rancor pit.”

She inhaled slowly, weighing her options. “I’ll try if you do one thing for me.”

“What?”

“Don’t leave.”

His hands stilled for a second, and then he looked away. “It’s going to be hell,” he said, almost casually. “Not knowing where you are or what you’re doing. Fine. I won’t leave. I’ll help you if I can, but don’t ask me to lift a finger for Solo.”

“Fine.”

---

Things had taken a turn. Leia could feel it in her bones as Jabba’s minions raced for the deck of the sail barge. Fett clearly knew it too.

Artoo bumped against her leg with a quiet beep, and Leia took advantage of the Hutt’s distraction. She crouched down beside the small droid and held the length of chain between her hands. One zap and it broke.

But when she straightened, the bounty hunter was gone.

She heard Jabba’s cry of outrage as she bolted for the deck, but she ignored it. All of his guards were busy fighting. She caught a quick glimpse of her friends on the skiff and then the bounty hunter at the rail. The engines on his jetpack were lit.

Leia seized a pike that had fallen to the deck in the mad rush and swung it as hard as she could. Her aim was too good. Not only did she smash it into his jetpack but the force of the blow sent him over the railing.

Into the sarlacc pit.

She raced to the railing. He’d managed to slow his fall by grasping at the side of the barge, but without a good handhold in reach he was slipping down the side. She reached down with the pike and he grabbed it. A blaster shot ricocheted off the barge inches from his head. Artoo appeared on the deck and whistled sharply. Leia looked over at the droid. “What do you mean ‘it’s going to blow?’”

She jumped barely a second before the explosion. She collided with Fett on the way down and they hit the sand, rolling towards the mouth of the pit until suddenly they jerked to a stop. Fett had one arm wrapped around her and when she looked up she saw his other arm stretched over his head, bent at an angle that screamed ‘broken’ but anchored by his fibercord grappling hook to the skiff above them.

“Leia!” She heard Han shout, but she was too busy trying to hold onto Fett and keep herself from sliding further into the pit.

“Blaster,” Fett rasped. “Sarlacc…”

A tentacle slapped at her ankle and she pulled her leg up as high as she could. She managed to pull the bounty hunter’s blaster pistol from it’s holster and fired at the beast, causing the ground to shudder beneath them.

Chewie appeared over the railing of the skiff and then suddenly the skiff lurched and began to move. Fett let out a muffled cry of pain as it dragged them to safety.

---

“Can you see this?” Leia waved a hand in front of his face and Han squinted.

“I can see the motion.”

“That’s a good sign. Try to get some sleep, okay?” She bent down to kiss his forehead before leaving the Millennium Falcon's crew quarters. Fett was sitting up on the cot, his back against the wall. His arm had been set and placed in a sling and at the insistence of everyone else, his other hand was cuffed to the cot. His helmet sat beside him, and his eyes were half-shut. Lando had given him a pretty big dose of painkillers.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve felt worse.” His mouth curved into a bitter smile. “You fucked up.”

Leia folded her arms over her chest. “I still saved your life, Fett.”

He shook his head as if the motion took effort. “The sarlacc keeps its victims alive. You could have lived your whole life while I was being digested.”

“I don’t think I could have.” Leia sat down beside him on the cot. “I don’t want you to suffer. That’s not the magic tattoo, that’s who I am.” She brushed a dark curl off his forehead and laid her palm on his cheek. The sense of connection and wholeness she felt at Jabba’s was just as strong now. He leaned into the touch and Leia leaned over and gave him a quick kiss, which led to a longer kiss. And then an even longer one.

“What are we doing?” Fett demanded as soon as they broke apart.

“Nothing. You’re drugged to the gills and Chewie would love to have an excuse to throw you out the airlock.” She sighed and leaned back against the wall beside him. “I don’t like being told what to do. Even by fate.”

“My dad used to say ‘fate is whatever you make of your life.’”

He’d spoken of his father before, and always in the past tense. “When did he die?”

“Years ago. When I was still a child.”

“What about your mother?”

“Never had one.”

“I’m sorry. I can tell by the way you talk about your dad that you were close.” Leia turned her head towards him. “I’m an orphan too, you know. Maybe if we’d met at a different time or in a different place…”

Fett nodded and gave her a quick, tired smile. “If fate is real, maybe it’ll bring us back together when we have an actual shot at it.”

She laughed softly. “I like that idea, actually. Put it to the test.”

He lifted his hand as far as the cuff would allow. “I’d shake on it, but…”

“Nice try.” Leia sat up and gave him one last kiss. “For fate.”

#boba fett/princess leia #random au #my fic #rebelbounty #prompt fic #soulmate au #boba/leia #Anonymous

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masterjedilenawrites · 3 years

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Blueberries and Cowboys: Chapter 2

A choose-your-own-adventure style fic. First, 2 platonic chapters for set-up/build-up. And then, the story will split into 2 paths depending on your romantic pairing preference: You and Thrawn, or You and Eli.

Chapter Masterlist

Chapter 2: The Plan

Pairing: None...yet...

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of bullying

Length: 2k

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

The rest of the week saw the three of you using every bit of free time outside your classes and studies to gather information for Thrawn to build a solid plan.

Eli tailed his pesky classmate Arden everywhere, even skipping a class one day to break into his dorm, trying to learn anything about the guy that could be useful to get him involved in the plot. Thrawn analyzed the simulation software and protocols that would be used to administer the tests, mapping out every possible way Commander Burdick could hijack it. And you were the one spying on the Burdick himself. Since the commander didn't seem too interested in your grades, you were able to shadow him without suspicion, and had been able to slip a bug into his offices to eavesdrop on any potential conversations about his plans for sabotage.

Your classmates and the staff were none the wiser. That was the advantage of being social outcasts. Half of them avoided you all like the plague, and the other half already thought you were weird people doing weird things. So it wasn't long before you'd all gotten enough intel to work with.

It was late in the evening at the end of the week. You found yourself in Thrawn and Eli's shared dorm, which looked identical to your own in the opposite wing, because the Empire couldn't bother with things like individuality or comfort. Eli sat on the edge of his top bunk, his legs swinging casually, and his coat unbuttoned to reveal a wrinkled undershirt you knew he hadn't bothered to wash all week. Thrawn paced about in the middle of the room, his long strides only allowing him about four good steps before he had to turn around. He still had his uniform on, boots and badges and all.

You leaned against the railing of the bed, watching Thrawn as he went back and forth. Sometimes he sat still when he was scheming, with his fingers steepled and his gaze seemingly reaching into some unknown dimension beyond your comprehension. That usually happened when he was running through variables that didn't concern you, at least from his perspective. You and Eli had accepted long ago there would always be parts of his plans he would never share with you. He was kind of a control freak like that.

But tonight, he seemed to be more welcoming of collaboration, hence his steady rhythm of pacing in front of you.

"Only one variable remains, as I see it," he was saying. "We understand how the commander will manipulate the system to cause a redundancy in the simulation, thus rendering the test impossible to finish successfully."

You and Eli shared a glance; the only person who truly understood how that was going to happen was Thrawn. He'd tried explaining numerous times but when it came to codes and tech, the two of you weren't able to fully keep up.

"We also know through your investigating," Thrawn motioned to you with what you thought was an impressed look, causing you to feel a little pride, "that the commander plans to only sabotage my test, believing it will be too suspicious if Eli also fails. He will also manipulate his false code to originate from the computer of his former lover Eva Carroway, who currently works in HR. So if an investigation does ensue, it will be traced to her and not him."

You and Eli chuckled under your breaths. It had been a little amusing when you'd discovered Commander Burdick was using this plan to not only undermine Thrawn, but also get revenge on his ex-girlfriend. But even more hilarious was how awkward Thrawn treated the subject. He had been quite perplexed to learn people could be so vindictive after a break-up. And any time he explained that detail of the plan, like he was doing now, he hesitated over his word choice. You couldn't tell if he only pretended to be confused about romantic relations, or if that was truly an area he found himself lost in.

If Thrawn noticed your snickering, he didn't respond to it, only continued to recap the plan. "We have also determined how we will expose the altered code naturally, so it does not cast suspicion on us... What was the word you used?"

"Backfire," said Eli.

"Yes. It would not due to have anyone suspect that we altered the test ourselves, or to have our concerns disregarded altogether. Thus, arranging for the maintenance crew to get a mild case of food poisoning so their performance checks are postponed to occur right before the tests will take care of that variable. At the least, they will fix the altered code and I will take the test as normal. At the most, they will report it and the commander faces expulsion."

"So..." said Eli through a yawn as he stretched. "What's left to work out, then?"

Now it was time for you and Thrawn to share a look.

"Were you not interested in involving your classmate, Arden Fey?" asked Thrawn in his soft, contemplative voice.

Eli shrugged. "Yeah. But Burdick's already got his scapegoat, his ex. So it'll be easier to keep him out of it. Whatever."

You could tell he was trying to be nonchalant. But just this morning, he had spent the entire walk between classes ranting about some new insults Arden had come up with, and how badly he wanted to show the guy up once and for all. You knew your friend wasn't feeling "whatever" about it.

"It's not a matter of ease or difficulty," Thrawn stated plainly. He had stopped pacing and was standing with hands behind his back, highlighting the broadness of his shoulders and the height of his stance. His presence seemed to fill up the whole room, and not for the first time, you were glad to be his friend and not his enemy.

"Yeah," you added in encouragement. "We just have to get creative. Find a way to make Arden a more appealing scapegoat than Burdick's ex. In fact...."

You trailed off as an idea occurred to you. You darted out of the room, surely leaving your two friends perplexed, but you would only be a second. You sprinted down the corridor toward the lifts, where a bulletin hung against the wall with fliers and pamphlets. One notice was a bit larger than the others, a promotion of an upcoming gala event to celebrate the Academy's anniversary. You ripped it off and went racing back to the boys' dorm room.

Eli had come down from the bunk and held a concerned look, probably prepared to follow you if you hadn't returned so quickly. Thrawn was still standing composed, but there was a curiosity in his eyes that made you smile.

You held up the poster in front of your chest. "What do you think the likelihood is of us playing successful matchmakers this week?"

Thrawn understood your idea almost immediately, looking down on you with a pleased smirk. It made you flush a little, to know the Chiss was impressed. You rarely had a chance to contribute good ideas when his mind worked so much faster than yours.

Eli caught on next, and he started to grin, the happiest you'd seen him in a while. His smile was infectious and you grinned back. Happy looked good on him.

"We know Eva's not shy with younger guys," you explained. "Before Burdick, she was fooling around with some intern in the med bay."

"And Arden's vain enough," added Eli. "If he thinks anyone's interested, he'll go for 'em."

"So we get him to ask her to the gala as his date...." you said.

"Burdick sees the two of them together...." said Eli.

"And realizes he can get back at his lover in another way, by pinning the sabotage on another student...." joined Thrawn.

The three of you stood together, proud and satisfied that yet another plan had finally worked out. It was almost worth the stressful studying and petty bullying and all the other unpleasant things you had to endure at this god-forsaken school, just to have fun moments like this with trusted friends.

"We should attend this gala as well," Thrawn said eventually, holding out a hand for the poster. He inspected it thoughtfully. "It is only a few days before the tests, so I hadn't planned to pay it any mind. But now...."

"Yeah, we should make sure Burdick's as jealous as we want 'im," nodded Eli.

You were secretly pleased. The plan was already a win-win, but now you would be able to go to the event yourself, too. You hadn't mentioned your desire to go to either of them before, figuring they weren't interested and not wanting to sound silly if you suggested it. But you did love dancing, and it was so very rare you got a chance to wear something other than your Imperial uniform.

"It's a dance," you noted, in case they couldn't tell by the details on the poster. "We'll need to go in pairs."

"I suppose it would make the most sense for you and Eli to go together," said Thrawn quietly.

You looked between the two, realizing both of them were flushed slightly. Eli's cheeks were dotted with pink, standing out amongst his dark brown features, while Thrawn had more of a purple tint to his face now, a color you'd never seen there before. You could feel yourself growing warm and uncomfortable as well. It was only a dance... only a way for you to enact a much more important plan... but it was the first time your trio had had to engage in anything other than platonic friendship. The balance of your group seemed to be shifting ever so slightly in this moment, and you had no way of knowing if it was for good or ill.

You cleared your throat, pushing away any feelings that might have been brewing in your chest, and instead calling focus back to the mission at hand.

"Actually, I think I'd better go with Thrawn. Whoever doesn't go with me would have to find their own date, and no offense Thrawn, but I think Eli has the better chance of asking someone else."

You hoped they hadn't noticed how hollow your voice sounded, how hard you were trying to keep yourself emotionless.

Eli was pinker than ever. "Uh, I highly doubt that..."

"You're not completely hated around here, you know," you said quickly. "Definitely not with the girls. You're not bad looking, you can be charming if you try, and you're... you know, human." You glanced at Thrawn and added again quietly, "No offense."

Thrawn shook his head. His color and demeanor had already slipped back into his usual neutral self. "No, I agree. Those are the dynamics of our peers and we must work with it. I will take you to the gala, Eli will find his own date, and all three of us will push Arden and Eva together as well. It's a good plan."

You all nodded in agreement. But there was a knot in your stomach, a nervousness you didn't quite understand. You cared very much for both Thrawn and Eli. They were your best friends, your only friends. As a group, you were bonded by your ostracism, protecting and supporting each other on your journey out of this hell-hole.

And separately, you had something special with each, too. You and Eli came from similar backgrounds, and had the same need to disconnect from your surroundings and just have a bit of fun every once in a while. The two of you had spent many late nights together, either hopping between bars, exploring the city, making each other laugh uncontrollably, or quietly sharing the honest thoughts you both buried far too deeply inside. Some nights you'd done all of the above, and returned to your dorm feeling both exhausted and renewed.

But Eli didn't always appreciate the finer things in life, and that's where you connected with Thrawn. He wasn't necessarily an optimist, but he had this way of noticing the beauty that existed everywhere around you, even in the most simple or mundane of moments. Everything had the potential to be interesting. His calm but strong presence had kept you grounded and sane throughout your studies here so far. Sometimes you would talk, other times you would simply be in the same space. And either way, you felt better about life.

You didn't exactly want your relationship with them to change. But you couldn't help but feel this gala would do just that....

Next Chapter: The Preparation >

Blueberry Path | Thrawn x reader

Cowboy Path | Eli x reader

#star wars #thrawn #eli vanto #thrawn x reader #eli vanto x reader #choose your own adventure #friendship #romance #friends to lovers #mitth'raw'nuruodo

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ifmywishescametrue · 4 years

Text

like no one does

written for my @stb-bingo square: G1 - Tuxedo, with 1.8k of soft stevetony, love confessions, and single dad tony

also on ao3

Tony slumps back against the wall of the elevator, leaning his head against the cool metal and hooking his fingers under his collar to loosen the bowtie. There’s a dull throbbing at the base of his skull that’s been slowly spreading upwards all night with every painful conversation. He hates nights like this, where he has to dress in his absolute best just to talk to a room full of people he either doesn’t know at all or knows too well and doesn’t like.

Playing the game never gets any easier, he’s come to realize. Sure, he knows all of his lines now and knows how to play the part, but he still feels just as numb and empty at the end of each night as he did right at the beginning. The only difference now is that there’s someone waiting for him on the other side, and tonight he’s lucky enough to get two someones.

The elevator doors open, and Tony huffs as he’s forced to stand up straight again. The entry to the penthouse is dark when he walks in, setting down his wallet and keys on the side table. Light is flickering from the television in the living room, and Tony follows it like a beacon to find a blonde head poking out from the couch.

Tony flops down over the back of the couch, letting his head fall onto Steve’s shoulder without so much as a hello first. Steve must not have heard him come in, because he jumps at the sudden contact before relaxing when he sees it’s just Tony. Steve’s fingers thread through his hair, and Tony lets out a heavy sigh as his nails lightly scrape against his scalp.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs. He stretches one arm out for the remote without dislodging Tony’s head from his shoulder and turns down the volume of the TV so it’s just a hum in the background.

“Hi,” Tony mumbles. “Peter in bed?”

Steve nods, “For a couple hours now. He wasn’t a fan of how I did the voices in his book, because apparently Grover doesn’t sound like that. I thought it was pretty spot on myself, but hey, Peter knows best.”

Tony snorts, knowing exactly what Peter’s face would have looked like when Steve didn’t do the voice the way he likes it. The little frown on his lips and big brown eyes that always make him feel like he’s committed some kind of horrible offense by not getting his accents exactly right.

“If it helps, Rhodey is the only one who actually does it right. He banned me from reading that one to him a long time ago.”

“Oh, good,” Steve laughs. “I thought I was the only one on the banned list.”

“Nah, it’s you, me, Pepper, and Happy. The kid’s got specific tastes.”

“Wow, I wonder where he gets it from.”

Tony pouts, “Don’t be mean to me. I had a long night.”

Steve twists himself so he can press a kiss to Tony’s temple. “Why don’t you come sit next to me for a little while? I can tell you all about how you can make a grilled cheese wrong.”

Tony debates just throwing himself over the couch and seeing where he lands, but the consequences probably aren’t worth saving himself twenty seconds. He straightens to walk to the other side, then sets himself between Steve’s legs with his back to Steve’s chest. Steve shifted when Tony stood to rest against the corner of the couch, and their legs stretch out together. He’s badly wrinkling his tuxedo, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Tony twines his fingers with Steve’s on his stomach and tilts his head back to rest against Steve’s shoulder, sighing contently. “Alright, enlighten me on how you make a grilled cheese wrong.”

“First, you start by being anyone but you, apparently,” Steve says lightly. “Then you proceed with the rest of the steps exactly as you left in the instructions, and by the end, Peter looks at you like you’ve just insulted his very being.”

Tony laughs, covering his eyes with his hand, “Oh, God. I’m sorry. He didn’t do this to you all night, did he?”

“No, he was actually great,” Steve says, and Tony can hear the smile in his voice. “He said I’m better at coloring than you are, so watch out, because I’ll be his favorite soon.”

“You’ll be taking it from Rhodey, not me,” Tony jokes.

Steve holds him a little tighter, hand finding its way back to his hair. He massages the base of Tony’s skull with gentle pressure, alleviating some of the tension from the headache that Tony isn’t sure how Steve knows he has. “I don't know about that. He spent the whole night telling me all his favorite things to do with you. It was really sweet.”

“So things were good?” Tony asks hesitantly. It was the first time Steve has been alone with Peter for more than five minutes since the start of their relationship eight months ago, and he wasn’t really sure if they were ready for that yet. The gala forced his hand though, as his usual babysitter couldn’t make it and everyone else had to be in attendance at the same event. He was intending just to skip it when Steve offered to look after him for the night.

“Things were good,” Steve confirms. “We had grilled cheese, colored together, played with legos, then we watched Finding Nemo, and he handed me a tissue when I cried.”

Tony grins, “You cried?”

“He told me you cried during Up the other day, so don’t even start.”

“Everyone cries during Up, Steven,” Tony defends. “Well, except for Peter, because I don’t think he really understood what was happening at the beginning.”

Steve hums, “I can watch him anytime you need me to, you know. I like spending time with him, and,” Steve pauses like he’s deciding on the words, “I like that you trust me with him.”

“Of course I trust you. I wouldn’t still be with you if I didn’t,” Tony says. He tilts his head, pressing a kiss to the underside of Steve’s jaw. “Peter, he’s my most important thing, and you’ve never made me feel bad about that. You understand it when I have to cancel sometimes or when I’m late because Peter was having a bad day. And he doesn’t really like a lot of people, but he asks about you every day he doesn’t see you.

“I don’t really know where I’m going with this, because I’m tired and I don’t think I’m making any sense, but I guess if there was a point it would be that he likes you, and I know you care about him, and I really like that. It’s - it’s good.”

“I do care about him,” Steve says, leaning forward so he can kiss Tony’s lips softly. “And I care about you, which is why I’m going to take care of you and get you to bed.”

Steve slips out from behind him and gets one hand under Tony’s knees while the other arm wraps around his back. Smiling, Tony holds onto Steve’s shoulders and lets him carry him down the hall.

“How’s your headache?” Steve asks.

“It’s gone thanks to you,” Tony says as Steve pushes the bedroom door open with his elbow. “I don’t know how you knew I even had one.”

“Your eye was doing that twitchy thing.”

“That twitchy thing?”

Steve nods, setting Tony down on the edge of the bed. “Your left eye does a thing when you have a headache and the lights are too much.”

Steve kneels in front him and unties his shoelaces, while Tony tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. “You know that, huh?”

Putting the first shoe to the side, Steve puts the sock with it and starts on the other. “And I also know that you’re probably hungry still, because you never really eat at those things, but you can’t eat right now or else you’ll get a stomach ache because it’s too late at night.”

The second shoe and sock join the first, and Steve rises to his feet to work on undoing Tony’s bowtie with nimble fingers. “You should have some water before bed, though, or you’re going to wake up with a new headache. I’m sure you only had one glass of champagne, but you’re a lightweight nowadays, darling.”

Steve sets the tie on the bed and reaches down to undo the buttons on his jacket, then the ones on his vest. The cufflinks come off next, and while Steve sets them back in their box on the dresser, Tony shrugs out of the jacket and vest. Steve straightens them out of the crumple Tony left them in when he comes back. His hands move to the buttons on his shirt, and Tony catches his wrist before he undoes anything.

“You don’t have to,” Tony says, even though he wants him to. “I can do it myself.”

Steve smiles, dipping his head down to kiss Tony’s forehead. “I know you can, but I’m taking care of you.”

There are unspoken words behind the statement, and Tony thinks about them while Steve takes his time working open the buttons on his shirt. They haven’t said them yet because Tony wanted to wait. He said from the start that he needed slow, warned Steve that he would need more time than most, and Steve surprised him by not only saying he was okay with it, but actually being okay with it.

But eight months in, Tony doesn’t know why he’s waiting still. He’s felt it for a while now, and he knows that Steve feels it as well. It’s plain on his face every time he looks at him, in his eyes as clear as if it was written there.

Steve reaches the bottom of his shirt, and gentle hands push the fabric from his shoulders to leave him in the undershirt and black trousers. He turns after that, heading for Tony’s closet and opening a drawer.

He comes back with Tony’s favorite pair of gray sweats in his hand and asks, “Are sweatpants alright, babe?”

Tony doesn’t know why, but he laughs. Steve gives him a confused but amused look in return, not following along with wherever Tony’s head is at, but knowing well enough that he isn’t laughing at him.

“So they’re either okay or it’s a hilariously bad suggestion,” Steve says.

Tony stands up, walking over to where Steve is standing, backlit by the light from the closet. He stands on the tips of his toes and wraps his arms around Steve’s neck. Steve returns the embrace automatically, strong arms enveloping him in comfort and warmth.

He says it before he can talk himself out of it or find a reason why not to. “I love you.”

Steve gives him a soft smile and lifts one hand to cup Tony’s cheek. “Well that’s really nice to finally hear.”

“I wouldn’t know. You haven’t said it back.”

Steve laughs, and he leans down to kiss Tony soundly. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against Tony’s and whispers, “I love you, too.”

#stevetony #my writing #my fic #stb bingo #superhusbands #superfamily

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miraculousfanworks · 4 years

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How To Analyze a Character

Have you ever been reading a fic and found the character is not recognizable that causes you to say “I don’t know who that is in that Marinette suit but that’s not Marinette.”

Or when you’re writing there’s that one character you need and you just can’t get inside their head to save your life.

This essay is going to delve into how to analyze characters and how they work in stories. It will help you both articulate why you do or don’t like a particular character or their interpretation, and help you in your own writing of that character.

Characters, as well as other elements of a narrative, can be broken down into collections of recognizable elements often called “tropes.” (For the comprehensive taxonomy see tvtropes.org.) These commonly recurring literary and rhetorical devices, motifs or clichés can be combined in unique ways. They exist as recognizable and namable concepts because the same patterns are used over and over again in the creation of stories. We can use named tropes to describe what we are seeing in one story and relate it to other instances of the same phenomenon.

The advantage of recognizing the tropes that describe a character means that we can import into our understanding of them all of the other instances of that trope we have come across, and then compare and contrast these characters.

For example, both Chloé and Adrien exhibit the “Well Done, Daughter/Son!” Girl/Guy trope, desperately seeking the approval of a distant and withholding parent. (Faramir in the Lord of The Rings and Shinji Ikari in Neon Genesis Evangelion are also prime examples.) Knowing that they are both participants in this kind of relationship we can see how it plays out differently.

Gabriel seems like a deliberate ass, but occasionally manifests approval as when he played the duet with Adrien before sending him off to the Kitty Section concert in Capitan Hardrock. Audrey is entirely un-reflexive in her horribleness, dismissive rather than demanding and only ever recognizes Chloé’s worst feature as admirable. Kagami is also a “well done daughter!” girl and it informs how she relates to Adrein, Chloé, Marinette and Ladybug, providing both for character connection and thematic contrast.

On the production side, tropes can be used deliberately to construct a character to achieve a particular purpose. Adrien was created using the standard tropes of the fairy tale princesses beauty, musical talent, kindness to all creatures (even Chloe), kept looked up by an unloving parental figure. By creating a stereotypical Disney princess but swapping the gender it causes us to think harder about the assumptions we make about Princesses.

Symbols work the same way. We use symbolic images and language in media because it allows us to reference all the other ways and places that symbol is used. It becomes a shorthand for much bigger units of meaning. Pure originality would be completely unintelligible.

For example, Marinette displays two flower motifs on a regular basis. One is the cherry blossom spray across her shirt. Commonly this is associated with both love and passion, as well as purity and transitory beauty. In China, the last three are more closely associated with the Plum blossoms that decorate her purse, chair, and diary. Along with the additional significance of perseverance and hope, we can see that her dreams for the future, however heard she works for them, may not turn out as she plans.

The cherry blossom, in China, is a symbol of passion, strength, and feminine power and sexuality. As Marinette has this symbol peeking out from behind her jaket on the left side of her shirt, it represents how her civilian persona hasn’t fully come into the power she displays as Ladybug. Adrien’s kwami was chosen to be a Black Cat specifically to call up all our associations with them and bad luck as a counterpoint to Ladybug and her Lucky Charm.

Pikachu, I Choose You!: Artistic Decisions

You would think this wouldn’t need to be said but remember, remember, remember: these fictional characters are not real people. Why does that matter? Because everything you see on the screen or on the page is the result of a choice made by the writer or artist.

Images and dialogue may be selected deliberately, thoughtfully, thematically, instinctually, carelessly, haphazardly, or stupidly, but they are there because the authors and illustrators and creators selected them to be there.

Remember that the characters only exist to serve the story and everything about them ideally should serve to move the story toward its conclusion.

This is especially pertinent in an animated–and especially a computer animated–show because everything has to be made specifically for the show and they are expensive to make(MLB costs ~$460,000 an episode). That’s why you get only one outfit for most of the characters, except when absolutely necessary.

Saving their production budget for other things is why Theo Barbot has all of the odd jobs in Paris, there seems to be only one cop, Sabrina’s dad, and Alec and Nadja are the only people on TV. If you take a look in Bubbler, the first episode aired in the US, you can see that the school, the bakery, the hotel, and the Agreste Manor are all within one block of each other.

CallMeDale posted this to the Miraculous Fanworks Discord. Source unknown. Image originally from Bubbler.

What this production cost means for analyzing a character (or anything else) is that everything we see in a visual medium is important. Everything about a character has been picked for some reason. How they look, how they move–even how they stand says something about who they are as a person, who they are in their relationships, and who they are as an element of the story.

I did a fairly comprehensive essay on Chloé as a character so I want to walk through some of the things I looked at in order to write it.

Character at First Sight:

First impressions are vital. Because Marinette is picked to be our eyes as the OP starts (“In the daytime I’m Marinette,”) we know she is supposed to be our heroine and point of view. Everything that happens after that is to be judged in relation to her. The first time we see Chloé in the show is a whole 5 seconds into the opening, when she and Sabrina walk past a face-planted Marinette. Immediately afterwards, Chloé runs back in to glomp Adrien and push Marinette out of the way.

From these few brief seconds we know that she is both rich and domineering, Sabrina is walking just behind her with a huge designer purse and bookbag, obviously in a subservient role. Chloé laughs at Marinette, which establishes her as an antagonist to the Heroine. Chloé pushing Marinette out of fram when she comes back shows that she exists in part to block our Heroine from Adrien, our Hero, whose expression shows he really doesn’t appreciate the attention.

Not even three seconds of screen time and we already know who Chloé is in relation to three people: Marinette, Adrien, and Sabrina.

How much time a character gets in the beginning of a story also sets up how much brainspace we allocate them and our expectation of their importance. This is one reason I prefer Bubbler as the “first episode’’ (US viewing order) over Stormy Weather (South Korean/International Viewing order). Stormy Weather spends the first few minutes on Aurore, Mirielle, and Alex before getting to Mari, Tikki, Manon, Alya, and Adrien. Bubbler in the same first minute sets up Marinette, her parents, Adrien, Alya, Chloé, and Nino and all their relationships.

By choosing your descriptions carefully you can get the reader to think of other things without directly mentioning them. Ladybug’s costume, mode of travel and name all callback to Spiderman (she even does the upside down hang in Dark Cupid), and even though the iconic phrase “with great power comes great responsibility,” is never stated its influence is felt in the persistent characterization of Ladybug as ‘all business’ in fic, even though she is more playful in canon. Master Fu is modeled after classic inscrutable mentor Mr. Miyagi from the original Karate Kid movies, it gives him an air of perhaps more wisdom and knowledge than he actually possesses.

Come on Let’s Vogue: How the Look of a Character Informs Us

Now let’s look at what we get from the elements selected for Chloe’s character design. Slender, pale, almost-white blonde hair, sunglasses on the top of her head, lots of blue eyeshadow, yellow jacket over a black and white striped shirt, white capris and black and white flats. All of this says she is the top of the social heap at her school. Combined with her glomping and trying to kiss Adrien and we can guess she is–or at least wants to be seen as–romantically “experienced”. Yellow is a happy color, it’s what makes a printed picture look bright. Often, though not always, it is associated with success and general goodness (i.e. a heart of gold) so she is initially portrayed as a person who doesn’t have any cares. White jeans and shoes point to both her status as someone who doesn’t have to work and a certain level of naivete.

But she also has this very gothy studded belt around her hips. It is very obviously not holding up her pants. This hints at the darker emotions and experiences at her core. The black and white stripes of her undershirt hint at the way she is held prisoner by her past.

Because we have been set up to see Chloé as the spoiled,rich bitch with everything she could want, when the facade cracks and we see just how awful her mother is it hits all the harder for us. Chloé’s invulnerable image is destroyed.

“What’s in a Name?”: Tagging as Character creation

Names are also a good starting place for getting into a character.

Bourgeois comes layered with the connotations of wealth, but not too much, and shallow conformity. Chloé is derived from the Greek Khlóe, or ‘young green shoot’ (of a plant), which can also be interpreted as meaning 'blooming.’ Khlóe is an epithet, or nickname, for Demeter in her aspect of the Lady of Summer. We know the writers know and are thinking of these meanings because of these lines in Sandboy.

Nightmare Adrien: Marinette, for your birthday, I’m going to buy you flowers—

…

Nightmare Adrien: —hortensias, roses and Chloés. (Marinette shrieks)

Not only does her name sound like that of a Homecoming Queen/Cheerleader/trust fund baby, but it also indicates she is immature but with potential to become something more.

Queen Bee is also laden with meaning as it is a term used to describe girls in their teens who are at the top of their social pecking order (see Queen Bees & WannaBes). It perfectly describes bothe how Chloé acts but also how she perceives herself.

The Things You Do to Me: Character Action

Characters in a story are what they do and more importantly why they do what they do. If Marinette becomes Ladybug for the first time because someone needs saving (first Ivan, then Alya), and Adrien becomes Chat Noir in order to escape the gilded cage that is his house, Chloé dons the Bee miraculous in a desperate (and unsuccessful) bid to catch her mother’s attention.

Attention seeking is part of every subsequent time that her hero persona appears in the story. Consider the implications of the fact that the signal on her roof is a Bee signal, not a Ladybug signal. The gestursal tic she has of always examining her nails, often with the other arm folded over her chest, is a visual shorthand for both her self-absorption and that her unpleasant personality is a defence mechanism.

Dialogue clues are also important, especially things that come up more than once. Chloé’s persistent lack of remembrance of the Concierge’s name (Jean-whatever) shows her to be dismissive of the people she believes to be “beneath her” which becomes horribly ironic when we find out her mother doesn’t seem to remember her name. That Marinette is always Dunain-Cheng, emphasizing her parents status as tradesman and that Marinette is not pure French operates as a persistent put down.

Chloé is a Hero with an F in Good, primed by the writers for the Face–Heel Turn which happens in Miracle Queen. They telegraph this event by the choice to echo her “once a monster always a monster,” line from Stoneheart, in the S3 midseason Stormy Weather 2. There she mocks Aurore with “once a villain always a villain.” Highly ironic given the number of times Chloé has been akumatized and prompted it in others. Her bad heroing serves to show that actions and motives are not always aligned and to highlight the selflessness of the other heroes.

A great example of showing character through dialogue is Nino’s conversation with Gabriel in Bubbler. Nino was given a very distinctive, persistent, and casual speech pattern (“dude” in English), It’s so distinctive that Alya immediately recognizes that he is Carapace. The fact that he makes an effort to suppress it when he is trying to persuade Gabriel to let Adrien have a birthday party shows how much he cares about giving Adrien this gift. It’s part of what establishes him in our minds as such a great friend for Adrien (King of Bros!). Giving characters individualized vocabularies and speech patterns is one of the best ways to help distinguish them in both your, and the reader’s mind.

All Together Now!

As you read and experience more stories, you will recognize more and more common elements across the characters, places, events and ideas that make up the stories you read. As you recognize these building blocks, and how they can be combined and manipulated, they will help you understand better why certain characters do what they do in the story. You can then deliberately select them as you create your own stories to highlight desired themes, set up conflicts or call cultural resonances to your readers’ minds. Remember what you write is a conversation between you, your reader, and the world around you. The more of the world you can bring into your writing the deeper it will impact your readers.

#tag: guide #tag: submit #submission

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kys0g0i · 4 years

Text

Always

Pairing(s): One-Sided Romantic Moceit, Brotherly Anxceit

Started: March 14th, 2020, 1:21 AM

Finished: March 31st, 2020, 11:04 AM

Word Count: 2670 words

Warnings: Unsympathetic Patton, One-sided/toxic relationship, Cheating, Manipulating, Yelling at someone, Nonconsensual kissing

Summary: There’s only so much you can forgive someone for.

[Masterlist]

— — —

Horace hadn’t meant to fall for Patton Lov. It had been an accident, really. Patton was sweet, lovely, and kind. And Horace was... well, not that. He was a harsh, cruel, and a liar. Something that most didn’t look for when searching for a lover or a person to even try and befriend. But, here he was, heads over heels for the boy.

Patton Lov was a preppy boy. Curly light brown hair, sky blue eyes, and white, sunkissed skin. He wore pastel colors, usually very feminine clothes, and huge circular glasses. Horace, on the other hand, was more of the loner type, only willingly talking to two other people in his school, Remus Grimm and Virgil Anx. He had vitiligo, which made his dark skin lighter on the left half of him, for the most part. (He wasn’t self-conscious of it, he actually really liked it. He just didn’t appreciate how some of his peers would stare at him until he snapped at or embarrassed them.) Dark hazel eyes and short, curly hair that he almost always had hidden behind a yellow beanie. He almost always wore a black zip-up hoodie with either a grey or yellow undershirt, and dark blue ripped jeans that cuffed up just a little bit before they reached his yellow converse.

He didn’t think of himself as ugly, though not particularly attractive either. More of a middle ground between the two categories, but definitely not good looking enough for the likes of Patton to even so much as notice him. (Not that it bothered him. It /absolutely didn’t./) So when Horace had found himself friends with the boy, and much much later down the line, in a relationship with Patton? He was... a bit more than surprised or shocked.

“-ace? Horace!”

Horace snapped out of his daze with a small jump, blinking as he glanced towards the voice. It was his boyfriend, who was leaning against him. They were sat on the couch, watching some random movie. He had his arm around the blue-eyed boy, who he couldn’t tell if he looked pleased with the action or not. “Patton.” He replied back calmly.

“Did you even hear me?” Patton moodily complained, arms crossed.

“...Yes?”

The preppy boy grumbled dramatically at his response. “I said, that I wanted you to tell me you loved me.”

Horace, though not a fan of his tone, smiled down at him adoringly. Shifting so he could reach him easier, he pressed a kiss to Patton’s head, making him give a giggle that made his heart leap. “I love you, sweetheart.” He softly cooed. “More then you could ever know.”

Patton smiled up at him. “Always?” He asked. “You’ll always love me?”

Horace softened, pulling his love closer to him.

“Always.”

•

Horace quickly silently moved around the room with a smile, throwing a jacket on and tucking his hair into his usual yellow beanie before going over to his desk to retrieve his wallet. He couldn’t wait, not even for Patton to wake up, who had spent the night with him. He had been waiting for ages for the next game in his favorite series to come out, and it was finally here. He had spent so long saving up money while still trying to set aside almost all of his money for college, leaving some to take Patton out or get him something, and still trying to keep his grades up, he couldn’t believe he had managed to choke up the cash for it.

Picking up the brown wallet, he checked inside, wanting to make sure the sixty dollars were still there. But at what Horace saw made his blood run cold.

The money... all sixty dollars... just... gone.

Feeling panic start to rise in him, the brown-eyed boy began to frantically search for the missing money in the other wallet pockets, and when he didn’t find it there, he began to look through the entire room. He had managed to get through his whole desk before Patton finally woke up from the commotion.

Patton yawned as he woke up, reaching over to the bedside table to be able to put on his circular glasses before looking over at Horace annoyedly with narrowed eyes. “What the heck are you doing?” He asked, rubbing the sleep from his blue eyes and moving to the edge of the bed so he could see the other male easier.

“I, I can’t fucking-“

“Language.”

“I can’t freaking find my money. My sixty dollars. It, it was just in my wallet a day or so ago!”

Patton let out a long and quiet sigh, before speaking up five seconds later. “Oh, Horace, I spent that two days ago.” He said calmly. “Whenever we went to that one restaurant.”

Horace felt his stomach drop as he whipped around to look at his boyfriend with a look of devastation. “You what?” He asked with horror. “Patton, I spent so long saving up for this! You know how much this meant to me! I promised Virgil I would get this game for us to play tonight! Is that money what you used to pay for our bill, when you said you... you would...”

He didn’t have the strength to go on as soon as he heard Patton’s sobs. He had his head lowered, hands tightly gripping the fabric of his pajama pants as tears fell from his face. “Why are you yelling at me? I just wanted that, t-that restaurant date to be nice, b-but I didn’t have the money...! I didn’t... I didn’t want to ask you because I was too ashamed of myself, a-and...!” His voice trailed off as he brought his hands to his face to cover it, his trembling becoming apparent.

Horace softened in sympathy, feeling guilt creep up and stab at him for making his boyfriend cry. “Oh, oh Pat no. No no please don’t cry.” He gently said, dropping the wallet and rushing over to comfort him by sitting on the bed and pulling him into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry. It’s alright, okay? It’s just some stupid game. I... I can get it later. It doesn’t matter.” That was a lie. It was their senior year, and it was almost over, too. There was no way he was going to be able to get the money quick enough to be able to play it with his little brother, Virgil, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask it from his parents. They already did enough for the two of them as it is.

Patton shook his head, his crying having not stopped in the slightest. “I just... I-I just don’t understand why you don’t love me.” He whimpered. “You love Virgil over me, you even love a game more then me. That’s why you were mad, isn’t it? You don’t love m-me... If you loved me you would actually show it...”

“I do love you!” Horace protested, feeling his own tears prick at his own eyes, but knowing if he let himself cry around Patton, it would only make things worse. “I love you so much, I’m so sorry if I haven’t been showing you that. I love you more than anything else. Please don’t cry. I’ll make it up to you, okay? I’ll, I’ll try and work up some more money and we can go wherever you want. Is that good?”

Patton sniffed, and Horace could tell he was still crying, but it was beginning to slow. “O-Okay...” He murmured.

“I love you, Patton. So much.”

Horace wished he would have seen the cruel smile that spread across his boyfriend’s face. Maybe he would have seen the already obvious signs sooner. Maybe this could have all been avoided. “...Always...?”

“Always.”

•

Horace burst out laughing, leaning back against the end board of his fourteen-year-old brother’s bed before turning to look at him amusedly. “You’re such a sassy little bitch, you know that right?” He asked, taking one of his hands off of the controller to ruffle his jet black hair.

Virgil smiled at his words, playfully batting at the hand that was ruining his already messy hair. “It’s true!” He almost beamed at him, hitting pause on his own controller so he could look up at his brother without ruining the chance of ruining his game. “I bet I could kill more enemies then you any day!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

Horace laughed at his words, relishing the rare moment of his brother having actual confidence in something. He was about to say he was on, that he would show him just who he was messing with, when he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. Quickly, he pulled it out, only to see that Patton was calling him. Again.

Virgil softened, his excited smile fading. “Is that Patton again?” He asked, if a bit disappointedly.

Horace sighed, nodding. “Yeah, it is.” He murmured, getting to his feet. “I better remind him of why I’m not answering. I’ll be right back, alright?” As he hurriedly crossed the room to be able to take the call in the privacy of his own home, he knew that both of them could tell that it was a lie. Once he made it to his own room, he finally answered his phone, guessing he just barely made it in time so he didn’t get another missed call. (It would have been his seventh missed call from him this hour.) Almost immediately after picking up, he heard Patton call out to him in almost an irritated voice.

“Horace! Baby, I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for so long now! Where were you?!”

Horace held back a sigh, knowing he was most likely regret it more then words could describe if Patton managed to hear it. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that Pat. Didn’t you see my text? I told you I was going to hang out with my brother for a while and play video games together. We haven’t been spending much time together because I’m always out with you, and-“

“Do you not like to spend time with me?” Patton interrupted, voice lined with hurt and betrayal. “Is that why you’ve been ignoring me? That is, isn’t it? You don’t like me anymore. You’re bored of me. I should have known this would happen. Why would anymore like you ever want to be around someone like me?”

Horace softened, pushing down the small part of him that was annoyed with how insecure Patton was about these things. (Like he didn’t go out on a date with him just yesterday.) “Patton, you know that’s a lie.” He said gently, wishing he could be beside him right then so he could comfort him physically too. “I love you so much, why would I ever be bored of you?”

“Because you were ignoring me... I was worried, and I missed you...” Patton whimpered, making Horace feel as if a tiny part of his heart snapped and guilt poked at him. “If you really meant what you said, you’d come over today and spend the rest of the day with me. And stop spending so much time with people other than me, especially because you know it hurts me, Horace...”

Horace hesitated for a moment, not exactly wanting to agree to the words, but seeing that he didn’t really have a choice. He quietly sighed. “Okay, Pat. You can come over for a bit. I promise I’ll start spending more time with you.” He said, already regretting what he was promising. “And, I’m sorry I hurt you. You know I don’t mean to, right? I’m just dumb and miss signals that I shouldn’t.”

He heard a sniffle on the other side of the line before he actually heard Patton, and he became aware that his boyfriend had been crying over this, which just made his regret smooth over with fresh guilt. “Okay...” He murmured, though sounding upset, Horace could hear the slight happiness and almost triumph in his voice. “Promise you’re sorry...? And that you’re not just using me...? That... That you actually love me...?”

“I promise I’m sorry, that I’m not using you, and that I actually love you. You mean the world to me. I’ll always love you.

“Always.”

•

“-...Was this all just a game to you, Patton? A fucking game?!”

“Horace! Please, let me explain! You have this whole thing wrong!”

Horace laughed at his boyfr- Patton’s words, shaking his head as he ran his hand through his hair and tried not to let tears spring into his eyes. Never in a million years would he think he would find his boyfriend cheating on him with some girl, and the day before graduation too. But, that’s exactly what he found. And honestly? Maybe he should have seen it sooner.

No, he knew he should have seen it sooner. How could he have been so blind?

“It was all just an act, wasn’t it? An act so you can get whatever the hell you want from me! You didn’t actually love me!” Horace snapped at him, forcing his anger not to dull at the tears that sprung in the other’s eyes. Crocodile tears, that’s what they are, what they’ve always been, so he would give in to what he wants.

“No, it fucking wasn’t!” Patton shot back angrily, beginning to raise his voice at him. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him a little bit. (Would he get violent with him?) “I loved you! But you’re being such a bitch right now I don’t even want to love you!”

“Oh, I’m the bitch?! You’re the one who’s manipulated me for months and then cheated on me!” Horace could feel rage boiling inside of him, and he wanted nothing more than to storm away, their relationship done, but he had more he wanted to say to his new ex. “God, you’re such a horrible liar, Patton. That’s why you did all that shit, isn’t it? You cried to win every argument, didn’t care if I had to sacrifice something just to make you happy, basically forced me to spend time with you above everyone else. You were just using me! Fuck, why didn’t I see that sooner?!”

Before he could even think to say anything else, Patton lunged forward, cupping either side of his face and connecting their lips. Horace, quick to push his ex away, looked at him in disgust and horror. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Horace, I love you!” Patton pleaded, but he could still clearly hear the fury and bitterness in his voice as tears began to roll down his face. “Please, don’t leave me! I won’t be able to live without you! I’ll go insane! Please, I’m begging you, stay with me!”

And, just like that, Horace almost gave in. He could feel himself softening, wanting to give into Patton’s pleads and apologize, saying he loves him too. Because, really, he did still love him. But, deep down, he knew he had to leave him. He couldn’t do this anymore, not after realizing how blind he had been. He couldn’t bear to put the blindfold back on.

Horace forced himself to shake his head, staring down at him with cold yet hurt covered eyes. “No, Patton. We’re over.” He said sternly, almost choking on his own words as tears began to gather in his own eyes. “Don’t ever, ever talk to me again.”

Turning around, he pushed himself to walk away as the tears began to roll down his cheeks. But, he held his head high, ignoring Patton’s screaming to him to come back and that he’ll regret this. Horace knew, he would remember this for the rest of his life. That he would be forever unsure of entering another relationship, for fear of being used again. That he would remember Patton, what he had wanted for them together versus what he actually got.

Always.

#sander sides #sanders sides #patton sanders #deceit sanders #moceit #romantic moceit #virgil sanders #unsympathetic patton #unsympathetic!patton #tw toxic relationship #tw cheating #tw manipulation #tw noncon #tw nonconsensual kissing #DRV writings

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lostinaseaoffictionalbliss · 5 years

Text

Ride ‘em Cowgirl

A/N: If you like this then check out my bio for my Masterlist (for some reason it’s not working on mobile at the moment so you’ll have to use a browser)

Summary: Sam’s family owns the ranch next to yours and always has. For the past four years he’s been away at college while you kept nursing a crush on him. When he comes back and the two of you meet up will your feelings finally be reciprocated

Pairing: cowboy!Sam x cowgirl!reader

Warnings: Fingering, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

Word Count: 2209

Wiping sweat from your brow you leaned the rake against the stall you were currently mucking out. This wasn’t anything new to you. Your whole life has been about taking care of horses, cows, a few goats, and the chickens your family owned. It was tiring work, but it was also rewarding. When you were younger you had been the scrawny kid; lanky and hardly any meat on your bones. Some of the kids had mocked you because you were part of the ‘itty bitty titty committee’. But that had been years ago. Now you were 21 years old.

Your hair was no longer flat and dull. It now had bounce and a few curls. Your body had finally filled out giving you that perfect bubble butt, nice shapely legs for days, and you had finally gotten out of the itty bitty titty committee. Not to say they were huge, but they filled out your pale purple with white lace bra quite nicely.

A lot of your shapely figure was because you worked hard day in and day out. There was hardly any time for you to have a moment’s rest and merely relax. When you did you have downtime you enjoyed it with the Winchesters next door. Dean was quite a bit older than at 26, but you had grown up with him and his brother Sam. Unfortunately for you, Sam had been away at college for the last four years. You hadn’t admitted it to anyone, but you had been harboring feelings for the hazel-eyed cowboy for years.

Sam was only a year older than you and while everyone else had picked on you he had defended you. The two of you were close growing up, closer than you and Dean had ever been. You shared a lot of similar interests and living right next to each other made spending time together easy. Many times the two of you had went horseback riding together, had picnics, went swimming. There were study dates. And long car drives with nothing but the open road and the two of you. You two would laugh together over the things other students did. And when it came to pulling pranks on Dean, you were always there to help.

It really was no surprise that you ended up with feelings for the youngest Winchester. Even when he started dating Rachel from English class you still hung out. When his date for the prom ended up leaving him because he wasn’t what she wanted you were the one that was there for him. You helped him through all of it and never once did you date. But then he graduated while you were still a junior and went off to college.

For the first year you stayed single hoping that maybe he would come back during break and you could finally confess. Instead Sam decided that he wanted to completely have a break from ranch life and stayed in an apartment. He wouldn’t come back until he graduated. When word of his plan made its way to you, you were hurt. Your best friend, the man you had feelings for was going to be gone and you wouldn’t see him for some time. That was when you tried dating.

There was Chad who worked at the local grocery store. He was sweet, but he didn’t know anything about farm animals. Then there was Mikey the mechanic who didn’t know nearly as much as he thought he did. And last there was Joel. Now Joel was a good looking guy, smart, his family owned another ranch in the area. There was just one problem; he was actually into men and only dated you to get his parents off his back. You helped him find his now fiancé Tom and the two were happy.

You on the other hand were still waiting for love. Waiting, hoping, maybe even doing a little praying that when Sam came home you would finally be able to be with him. The only problem was getting the courage to confess. It wasn’t like you could go to Dean or even John and ask for their help. Dean would tell you to put on a sexy outfit, kiss Sam like it was your last day on earth or some other nonsense and hope for the best. John would be kind, but you didn’t exactly feel comfortable going to him with this sort of thing.

Part of you was starting to think maybe you and Sam weren’t meant to be together. Of course that was probably your own insecurities talking and not the truth. Being bullied for so many years has left you wondering if you were good enough for someone as handsome as Sam.

You reached out for your bottle of water, but it wasn’t there. You frowned in confusion. The hard reusable bottle should be right there. Turning around you have to lean back a bit as the bottle is suddenly in your face.

“Looking for this?”

You took the bottle and look up into the hazel eyes you were daydreaming about moments ago. You couldn’t believe that Sam was here. He was standing right here in front of you. It would seem that the four years you were apart had done him good. His body had filled out rather well and you could tell that beneath his tight flannel and undershirt he was in shape. His chestnut locks fell into his face, giving him a youthful, relaxed look. His eyes were still a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors and he had some slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes from the wide smile he was giving.

“Y-yeah,” you whispered, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. “I didn’t expect you to come here. I mean I knew you were coming home after school, but I didn’t expect you to come visit me so soon.”

Sam leaned against a post, crossing his arms. His biceps strained against his shirt and his jeans hugged his thighs. “Already been to the house and dropped my things off. Dean has caught me up on everything so I wanted to come see you.”

“When you say everything…” Did he know about all your dating failures? Would he think that you didn’t know how to make a man happy? You weren’t sure you could handle him thinking that about you.

He smiled. “Yeah everything. Things with the farm are going well, Dean has a girlfriend, dad is planning to enter our horse in the races this summer.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah I knew about that. Dean and I were hanging out quite a bit until he got his girlfriend. And I knew John planned to enter Bright Snow in the races.”

“He also told me that you had a few boyfriends, but none of them went anywhere. Why is that?” He eyed you curiously.

You shrugged. “One was gay and I helped him find his now fiancé. The other didn’t know a thing about ranch life. And don’t get me started on mister I know everything about cars, but don’t understand why your truck won’t start. It was the starter. An easy fix for any real mechanic.”

Sam made a face. “That all sounds terrible. Guess you haven’t found the right guy.”

You looked down. “Yeah. That’s it,” you mumbled.

“Or maybe you have and just haven’t told him yet.”

You lifted your gaze and Sam was a lot closer than he was moments ago. “What?” You whispered.

His hand cupped your cheek. “I’ve noticed the glances you threw my way when you thought I wasn’t looking, the jealous look on your face when I started dating.”

“If you noticed why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was young and dumb. I thought maybe it was just a crush because I was one of the few guys that was nice. I thought the jealousy was because you feared losing your only friend. I never imagined it was because you genuinely had a crush on me.”

“And now?” You moved a little closer to him.

“I saw that look in your eyes when you first spotted me, before you could mask it. That look of longing. And the truth is I want you too.” He rested his forehead against yours.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Sam’s lips crashed upon yours in a mix of teeth and tongue. Years of pent up frustration and desire fueled the two of you. Your rough hands worked at undoing his flannel while his large hands cradled your head, deepening the passionate kiss.

Growing frustrated and desperately wanting to feel his skin you ripped his shirt open and pushed it down his arms. Next game his undershirt and finally you could touch his abs, his pecs, his biceps, forearms, back to his abs. You couldn’t decide which part of him you wanted to touch most and so your hands were everywhere all at once. You moaned into his mouth as you slid your arms around his back to grab hold of his shoulders.

In the next moment Sam was pulling away and ridding you of your own shirts. Then came your bra and his hot mouth was around your nipple, sucking. You keened and let your head fall back against the post behind you. You carded your fingers in his thick dark locks and tugged gently. He let you go and gazed up at you.

“Sam,” you whispered, voice full of want.

He grinned. “I’ve got you.” He undid your jeans and tugged them down to your ankles along with your panties. He kissed your thighs and nipped at them. “You smell so good,” he mumbled, letting his hot breath ghost over you. A small whimper left you and you spread your legs once he had pulled your jeans over your boots and off. He teasingly ran his tongue through your folds, flicking your clit. “Taste even better.”

“Please,” you begged and moved his face between your legs.

He growled softly and dove in; sucking, nipping, and licking at every inch of you. He gazed up at you with dark eyes and eased two fingers into your wet and welcoming heat. You fluttered around him and breathlessly whispered his name. His thick digits filled you and caressed you in ways you had never dreamed possible. Your legs shook as the tell tale signs of your release began. Warmth pooled in the pit of your stomach and you could feel the coil winding tighter and tighter. “That’s it pretty girl. Cum on my fingers and tongue. Let me taste you,” he all, but growled.

The vibration of his voice coupled with his fingers pressing against that spot just inside and his tongue circling your clit had you spiraling. His name came out in a broken cry as stars danced before your eyes. You didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. You barely knew your own name. Closing your eyes you tried to catch your breath as Sam kissed his way back up your body. When his lips met yours you lazily kissed him and began to undo his jeans.

Sam’s cock sprung free from the confines of his Saxx and he let out a soft sigh. Holding onto his hips you walked him backwards and pushed him into a blanket covered pile of hay. You straddled him and slowly sunk down on him, moaning as he stretched you and filled you full. The slight burn that accompanied the pleasure of him feeling you was perfect. You had never felt anything as incredible as having Sam Winchester buried deep inside your pussy.

“Fuck babygirl. Wasn’t expecting you to ride me, but this is a damn fine view.” He cupped your breasts and rolled your nipples, lightly pinching them.

“Save a horse right?” You mumbled as you swirled your hips. Slowly you began rocking back and forth, up and down. He hit every spot inside you and some you didn’t know existed. Pleasure coursed through you from the tip of your head all the way down to your toes.

He groaned softly and gazed up at you. “You can ride me anytime you want. You feel so damn good. So tight and wet. Warm and perfect.”

His words only encouraged you and you picked up your movements. “Oh Sam,” you moaned, resting your hands on his chest. The muscle felt so good under your hands as you continued to spear yourself on his impressive cock.

“Babygirl I’m so close. Gonna fill this tight little pussy. Tell me you’re still on birth control.”

You nodded your head and moved his hand between your legs. “Yes. I want you to fill me up Sam. Give me everything you have.”

He rubbed your clit and watched his cock slide in and out of you. He threw his head back as you clenched down on him. Seconds later he was pumping you full of warm thick ropes of his cum. Your own release came after his and you managed to milk him for just a few more drops.

Laying over him you wanted softly. “Welcome home Sam.”

He laughed. “What a homecoming it was. I get to call you mine now.”

****

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#Sam Winchester #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester x reader #cowboy!sam winchester #cowboy!Sam Winchester x reader #Supernatural #Supernatural fandom #Supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn fandom #spn smut #spn fanfiction

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igottoomuchwriting · 5 years

Text

Speak Now (Klave)

Klaus stood in the mirror, staring at a man he almost didn’t recognize.

He was wearing a black and white tux with his hair tamed with gel and a pair of sleek black heels that he knows makes him legs look great. He had simple make up on, just enough to hide the bags under his eyes. He has stayed up for days crying and thinking about this day, debating if he should actually go or if he should skip and save himself the pain.

But he couldn’t. He promised Peter that he would go with him, to suffer with him, because Peter wants to go just as little as Klaus. Dave usually went with Peter to events like this, but that made sense. They were roommates. Dave was already going to this before Peter decided to, but that made sense.

It was his wedding after all.

Klaus never thought this day would come. He wishes he could think that sentence and have the day he would be getting married would come right after, but he can’t. He is going to a wedding to watch the love of his life to marry a woman. Why Dave was doing it made no sense to him, but Klaus also never cared about family. Family was all Dave had when he was growing up and he just wanted to have that back. The only way Klaus could understand was if Ben said he wouldn’t talk to him unless he was sober, but Ben would never do that. He would never abandon Klaus.

Dave said he didn’t want to leave Klaus. Dave said he loved Klaus, that he would die for Klaus, but in this moment, where Klaus is watching the clock tick down till he and Peter need to leave, he is wondering if those words were ever real.

Peter always reassured him that they were real, that Dave loves Klaus (not loved, Peter was convinced that Dave was still in love with Klaus, but Klaus knew he just wanted to make sure Klaus didn’t fall too far from the edge), that Dave knows he made a mistake. Klaus never listened. Peter may be telling Klaus this so that he would go back to be sober all the time, to fight for Dave, but Klaus had no fight. He never got as high as he used to, but he was nowhere as clean as he was when he and Dave were together. Everyone around him was disappointed, but Klaus couldn’t care. The only push he had to stay sober was so he could hug Ben as he cried over his love life, but he didn’t need to be sober all of the time to do that.

“Klaus?” he heard Peter behind him. He made eye contact with his friend through the mirror, taking in Peter’s outfit.

He was wearing a simple blue suit with a white undershirt. His brown hair was brushed back in what Klaus and Dave had always referred to as his “fuck boy” haircut, much to the annoyance of Peter. He had simple light blue makeup with a blue shimmer in the middle, as well as a winged eyeliner that he could use to slay any God that crossed his path.

Sometimes, Klaus wished that he could have Peter meet God and see if he could kill the bitch that has caused him so much pain in life.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked. There was pain in his voice, regret in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Klaus smiled. He grabbed his phone and followed Peter out into his living room, turning off the lights in the bathroom.

It hurt to be in their apartment. It used to be his home, somewhere he could run and hide, somewhere he could relax with his boyfriend and best friend. It was actually happy, a good home, something he was never used to. Now it hurts, to walk down the halls when all he can think of are the times Dave chased him down the halls, the times he was pushed up against these walls, the paintings he’s hung on the walls that now just sit in boxes somewhere in Diego’s attic. Klaus had thought he had finally found a home. He should’ve known better than to become comfortable.

“Are you sure you want to go?” Peter asked as he grabbed his car keys.

“And what, abandon you in your time of need?” Klaus jokes. Peter shot him a knowing look.

“He’s your ex. I can suffer through a wedding by myself if you’re going to be uncomfortable the whole time.”

“It’ll be fine,” Klaus assured. That’s what he has been telling himself, but he doesn’t know if it’s true. He hasn’t smoked anything in three days just so he wouldn’t embarrass Peter by being high at a wedding and he hasn’t had any bad feelings about it, but he couldn’t trust that.

“Okay,” Peter sighed. “If you’re sure.”

The drive to the chapel was a quiet one. Neither man had anything to talk about, both deep in their thoughts. Peter had tried turning on the radio to fill the silence but every song on the radio was a love song. On the fifth love song that played, Klaus hit the mute button before going back to staring out the window. Peter didn’t comment on it.

When they get to the venue, the families were running around, still setting up for the wedding, with some mingling around and talking. Peter and Klaus stay towards the back, hoping to stay out of the way and avoid drawing attention to themselves. Klaus was especially anxious about this. He knew that Dave’s family probably thinks that Dave liking boys was a ‘phase’ and won’t know Klaus, but he is still afraid that they will see Klaus and think he is here to stop it.

Which he’s not. This was Dave’s choice to get married and he was only here for Peter.

“Why are we here so early?” Klaus asked Peter. “It seems the only people here are the families.”

“Well, one person wanted to talk—” Before Peter could finish talking, they heard a female voice call them. They both frantically turned their heads every which way, searching for the voice.

“Are you both blind?” Klaus looked forward and saw Dave’s sister Dani approaching them.

She was wearing a sleeveless dress with an A-cut white lace top, attached to a long, flowing dark green bottom. Her dirty blonde hair was curled, with a braided crown going around her head. She had neutral eyeshadow and lipstick on, though like Peter she had winged eyeliner as well. Klaus always loved seeing her in makeup, always seeing it as a treat. She never really like wearing makeup unless she was in a good mood or there was an event she deemed important.

“Dani!” Peter cheered. He pulled her into a hug, to which Klaus followed. No matter how upsetting this day was, it was nice to see her. She was one of the main things Klaus missed after he and Dave broke up.

“I haven’t seen you in forever, Klaus!” she laughed. Klaus flashed her a bright smile, hoping to hide the thoughts of whose fault is that deep in his mind.

“Well here I am, in the flesh!”

“And looking spiffy!” She dramatically looked Klaus up and down, whistling that familiar tune. Klaus let out a laugh.

“I’m here to impress!”

“How is the wedding set up going?” Peter asked. Dani let out a groan.

“The set up itself is fine, but Elizabeth is going off on her bridesmaids and being a stereotypical bridezilla.” Both Klaus and Peter winced.

“That bad?” Peter asked. Dani nodded her head. In the back of his mind, Klaus wondered if he would have ever done that, but he shook his head. Right now was not the time to wonder how he would be if he got married. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get married anyway.

“She’s lucky Dave chose her to marry. He has better options lined up than someone who flips out on their friend for wearing a slightly different nude shade than everyone else,” Dani scoffed. “I mean, come on. It can be edited to the same fucking color.”

Pain shot through Klaus’ chest. He never even imagined that Dave would have other people to date. He probably had a list of woman he wanted to date before he broke up with Klaus. Hell, he probably only date Klaus because he couldn’t get with those women quite yet, or he wanted to fix Klaus before moving on. A good ol’ fashion charity case.

“Is she mad that you are Dave’s groom instead of her bridesmaid?” Dani let out a laugh.

“Oh yeah. She didn’t understand why Dave made me the best man, and I think it pisses her off even more for the fact that I’m wearing a dress instead of a suit like Dave’s other friends.”

“You still match the other groomsmen though.” Klaus had seen photos of the tuxes that Dave chose. Peter had left it open on his computer when Klaus was over and he couldn’t help but peak. “But I have to ask—why green?”

Dani and Peter glanced at each other. It was an almost happy look, a knowing look between the duo.

“It’s his favorite color,” Dani supplied, smug look on her face.

“He said it reminds him of happy times, when he felt the most like himself,” Peter continued. Klaus frowned, deep in thought.

Klaus can’t think of time that green might have represented a happier time for himself. The best thing he can think of is when he and Dani would play in the woods when they were younger. Green was his favorite color when they were dating, that much Klaus can remember. Did Klaus ever ask why?

“Usually people like a color because of aesthetic, not memories,” Klaus laughed. “Unless this is another part of childhood that I missed out on.”

“I don’t think it’s from our childhood,” Dani assured. “It’s definitely something somewhat recent.” They were really keeping it vague, but Klaus understood. It probably had something to do with his bride. Even if Dani doesn’t know how upset Klaus is, she still wouldn’t make it obvious how much she has affected Dave’s life after Klaus left.

Dani’s phone went off, startling everyone in the group. She grumbled and grabbed her phone out of her pocket—how she was able to make a skirt that small hold a pocket, Klaus will never understand—and held it up to her ear.

“Hello?” Klaus watched as a look of worry and concern took over her face. There also seemed to be a hint of hope in her eyes, and when she glanced at Klaus, she seemed torn.

“Okay, I’ll be right over.” She hung the phone up and shoved it back into her pocket, sigh on her lips.

“Is everything alright?” Peter asked, concerned.

“Yeah, um, it’s just Dave being...weird,” she trailed off. “I have to go, but I’ll meet up with you later!” And then she was gone.

Klaus stared at the spot she was standing, deep in thought. Hearing Dave’s name over and over and over again is hurting him more than he thought it would. Just hearing Dave without hearing and Klaus afterwards brings him so much pain. It’s just a constant reminder that he and Dave are over, that he is here for Dave’s wedding, not their wedding.

“Klaus?” Klaus snapped his head up to see Peter staring at him with a concerned look. His brows were furrowed and he looked ready to take Klaus away from here. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Klaus answered just a bit too quickly. “I’m great! I just got to see Dani, how could I not be happy?”

Peter let out a half-hearted chuckle. He knew Klaus was deflecting, trying to not admit what he is feeling, so he’s not gonna push. Klaus is grateful for that. He doesn’t need to be having a breakdown at his ex’s wedding, especially since he shouldn’t even be here.

“What should we do?” Klaus asked, looking around. “Dani is obviously busy with the groom, so I doubt we’ll be seeing her anytime soon.”

Peter looked up from his phone—when did he pull that out?—with a concerned look. Klaus wanted to ask what was wrong, if it was something on his phone or if it was something that Klaus said, but he decided against it. A part of him is telling him that he doesn’t want to know the answer.

“We could go watch speed paintings?”

Klaus let out a laugh, but agreed.

---

The wedding started off without a hitch. Peter and Klaus sat in the very back, hoping to avoid the crowd. They knew that there was a possibility that they could become annoying, knowing they would make fun of every person that breathed.

The music started playing and all of the emotions that Klaus was able to push down hit him all at once.

He was here, at his ex’s wedding. The only person he has ever loved, who Klaus thought loved him, someone who was there through every nightmare, through every relapse and weeks of being sober. He was through thick and thin, and Klaus had shared the same. Klaus made sure he was there for Da—his ex whenever he needed him. When he fought with his sister, or when his mom had decided to call. They had their moments, sure, but Klaus was sure they were fine, that everything was alright.

But he was wrong. And now he is at his wedding, and isn’t at the altar.

“Klaus, are you okay?” Peter asked for the hundredth time, and it was starting to wear down on him. He didn’t think that he was going to snap at him, no, but he knew if he kept asking, he was going to have a breakdown. He was truly trying to hold it together for his friend, trying to hold it together for the small amount of public decency he had left, and a small, small part of him was holding it together for Dave.

He knew it was ridiculous but he couldn’t get rid of the small part of him that still cared about Dave’s feelings. Dave obviously didn’t care about him anymore. He’s moved on, but Klaus didn’t want to be a painful reminder of his past.

Klaus felt a gentle pull on his arm. He looks over and sees Peter giving him a concerned look.

Oh. He hasn’t responded.

“No,” he answered honestly with a shrug. “Too late to turn back now though.”

“If we sneak out the doors, no one will bat an eye,” Peter offered, but Klaus shook his head. He has already decided that he was going to see this through till the end, even if it killed him. He told Ben that he would be strong enough to do this and he wasn’t going to let his favorite brother down.

Elizabeth passed Klaus as she walked down the aisle, dress falling beautifully on her body with a bright smile on her face as both her mom and Dave’s walked her down the aisle.. Dave was gorgeous as well but Klaus didn’t want to think about that too much or he would start crying. If he started crying, people around him would think it was because of the wedding and because he was so happy for the couple, but Peter would just start freaking out because he knows that the actual reason why. Peter freaking out would draw unnecessary attention to them and that’s exactly what Klaus was trying to avoid.

Klaus listened to the vows. Actually listened, as he was curious about what was going to be said for this short relationship. Elizabeth’s was actually very much generic, the normal “I love you and would die without you” or some bullshit like that. Klaus couldn’t care less.

Dave’s was strange to Klaus though. Dave was also generic, the normal “I found the love of my life and you made my life better”, but there was something off. The first thing that tipped Klaus off was that Dave stuttered over the ‘love’ part, and he looked away from her as he said ‘made his life better’. He remembers Dave grabbing Klaus’ face and forcing him to look him in the eyes as he made his declaration of love and reminded Klaus that he was loved. He would only stutter when Klaus started complimenting him, the worst when Klaus kept pushing for Dave’s kinks. Dave also avoided generic things. If he was saying something that he knows is generic, especially during love declarations, he says so. He would never want Klaus to think that he didn’t truly care and that he had just looked something up on the internet. This, though…

It sounded like Dave copy and pasted this off of the internet.

Klaus must have been deep in his thoughts because the next thing he knew, the preacher—rabbi?—was speaking.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,.”

Klaus looked around the room to see if anyone was going to speak, if anyone was going to speak out against this wedding.

He locked eyes with Dani. She glanced at Dave and his bride with a disappointed look. She seemed to be holding her breath as if she wanted to say something, as if she wanted to stop her brother’s wedding from happening. Klaus noticed that the rest of Dave’s groomsmen seemed to have the same look, glancing at each other with looks of resignation. Klaus could feel Peter’s eyes on him as well.

Was this all in Klaus’s head? Was Klaus not the only one who didn’t want Dave getting married to this girl? They would care in the sense of knowing Dave, knowing who he is. Maybe, just maybe, Klaus was not as far off as he thought he was.

And then he was standing.

Eyes all turned towards the man, eyes wide and mouths agape. Dave’s dad was glaring in anger and the bride was shooting daggers at him with her eyes. But honestly?

Klaus couldn’t give any shits about them. He knew what he was here for. He has never cared about what people thought of him, and that wasn’t going to start at his ex’s wedding.

“David Katz,” Klaus started, voice much steadier than he thought it would be. “I know I am not the kind of person that should be standing up and crashing a beautiful wedding. Hell, I am the last fucking person that should even be here,” he let out a laugh, shaking his head. Dave said nothing and stared at Klaus. He didn’t look angry, so Klaus continued. “Truly, I was never the kind of person who would do anything but drugs.”

“But you changed that. You made me someone who could do more with their life. You had me continue art, had me get a job, helped me fight the ghosts that follow me on a daily basis.”

“That’s a bit dramati—”

“Let the man speak,” Peter snapped at the old lady who decided to interrupt Klaus’ monologue. He ignored them. If he got off track, he would lose his train of thought and would never be able to win Dave back.

“You helped me become a better man, helped me control the powers that I have been cursed with since the day I was born. So I am now here to help you become a better man, because you are not the kind of man who should be marrying a girl!”

The bride’s face was glaring red now. Dave’s parents were standing and glaring at Klaus, looking ready to march over and stop him from speaking. Klaus took another glance at Dani and saw her beaming. She nodded her head and waved her hand, motioning for him to continue.

“Don’t say yes. Yes, she is a beautiful girl at a beautiful wedding, and I am sure she would make a lovely wife, but Dave! You are the gayest motherfucker I have met! Right after me and Peter! You have never liked a girl, even as a phase! You were never happy when people assumed you were straight—”

“That is enough!” Dave’s dad yelled.

“How could you crash a wedding?!” The bridesmaid yelled. “Why are you even here? To pull Dave back into a sad, lonely life?”

“Klaus—” Peter started, but Klaus shushed him. He directed his eye contact towards Dave, who was starting at Klaus with a mix of emotions. Klaus would usually think that they are bad, but the more he stared the more he realized… he might have a chance.

“Dave, I love you,” Klaus finished. He had so much more he wanted to say, so much he had on his mind, but it could wait. He had an angry mob of families wanting his head on a pitchfork and as far as he knew, he only had two people who were on his side right now.

“Dave, will you please kick that guy out?” Klaus heard the bride ask. When Dave didn’t look at her, “David?”

Dave didn’t move. Dave kept his eyes locked with Klaus’ and hands clenched at his side. Klaus didn’t move either. He was afraid that if he did, the trance that he and Dave found themselves in would shatter and all of Klaus’ hopes and dreams would shatter right before his eyes.

Movement caught his eyes. He watched as Dani leaned over to Dave and whispered something in his ear, her eyes finally leaving Klaus for the first time since he stood up. Dave’s shoulders seemed to relax at whatever she said, his mind being made up.

Klaus thought this was it. His anxiety was whispering to him everything that Dani was convincing Dave that Klaus wasn’t the man he wanted, that he should marry the girl, even though logic points towards Dani not wanting Dave to get married to her either. He was about to leave it all, walk away from the fire he started like he has done so many times, call it quits and start his addiction again. After this he would really have nothing else to keep hanging on to.

Then Dave started moving. He ran down the aisle, making his way towards Klaus, and the gasps filled the room again. Dave grabbed Klaus’s arm and pulled him close, wild and sporadic look in his eyes.

“Run,” is all Dave said before he pulled on Klaus’ arm. Klaus laughed as he and Dave sprinted out of the chapel, leaving behind the chaos of a failed wedding.

Klaus had somehow convinced his ex to leave his wedding, leaving this almost perfect woman and go with Klaus, making him a runaway groom. Klaus has never been able to convince anyone at any point of his life to make a drastic life decision like this, but somehow he has completed the impossible today.

They didn’t stop running until they were at least 5 blocks away, where Dave pulled Klaus into an alley. They both hid around the corner and were breathing heavy, staring straight ahead. If they moved, they could get caught.

Once Klaus started catching his breath—his lungs were really fucked, weren’t they?—he glanced over at Dave and was surprised to find the man starting back at him. Klaus watched the man breathe heavily with his eyes never leaving Klaus’.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” He said this in a joking tone, but he was terrified. Dave didn’t say anything. After a few seconds of him catching his breath, a huge smile broke out on his face.

And then, he started laughing. Not just a light chuckle, but a full on loud, breath stealing, double-over-laughing kind of laugh. Klaus watched as the man leaned on his knees and laughed so hard, coughing as he tried to catch the little bit of breath that he had from their run in between laughs.

“What is so funny!” Klaus asked, but he was also laughing. He couldn’t help it, Dave’s laugh always made him happy. It was contagious.

Dave leaned back against the wall, locking eyes with Klaus. Before Klaus could ask for a third time what was wrong, Dave finally moved. He brought his hand forward, wrapping it around the back of his neck, and pulled Klaus in for a bruising kiss.

Klaus gasped in shock but very quickly leaned into the kiss. His arms wrapped around Dave’s neck and he grabbed a handful of Dave’s hair, pulling the man closer into him. Dave let out a moan of pleasure and Klaus was oh so please.

Dave pushed Klaus back against the wall as the kiss became deeper, his hands roaming all over Klaus’ body. Klaus leaned into every touch, every kiss, every move that Dave made. He was the happiest he has been, only dreaming of having Dave’s hands on him again, yet here he was, pressed up against the wall with Dave’s hands grasping his ass as if it was his only mission in life.

Dave finally pulled away, much to Klaus’ disappointment. He chased Dave’s lips with a whine, but Dave just pressed his forehead against Klaus’. Klaus held him close, arms still around his neck and clasped against each other, not giving Dave any room to escape. Now that he had Dave right where he wanted him, he would never let him leave.

“I love you,” Dave whispered. He pressed a kiss to Klaus’ nose, cheek, jaw, everywhere he could reach as he mumbled those same three words over and over again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Even after I crashed your wedding and ruined your big day by embarrassing you and kidnapping you?”

“Technically, I kidnapped you.” Dave laughed. “But no, you honestly made my day better. Seeing you reminded me of how much marrying a woman would be a horrible decision.”

“Then why did you do it?” Klaus asked. He knows he should be more upset at Dave. He had left Klaus and went for a girl, nullifying everything that he had ever told Peter and Dave in the years that he knew them. He hurt him more than Klaus ever thought he could be hurt, the only thing that hurt more was Ben’s death. So he should be pissed, should be yelling at Dave, cursing him out, not making out with him in an alley.

“I wanted my parents to accept me,” Dave mumered. “I saw them when I was visiting Dani and I just remembered how much I loved them, that when they introduced me to a girl trying to set me up, I didn’t know what to say. I tried saying no, Klaus.” Dave let out a shaky breath. Klaus could tell the man was close to tears. “I tried to tell them I was with you, but they were insistent, and then I was going on a date. Dani was pissed and I did listen to her, tried breaking up with the girl, but then—I don’t know. My mom said how happy she was that I was able to give her grandchildren, and my dad said how I would make a great husband—”

“I could have been a great spouse,” Klaus interrupted.

“I know,” Dave whined. He moved his hands away from Klaus’ butt and wrapped his arms around Klaus’ waist, pulling Klaus into a crushing hug. Klaus hugged him back with the same amount of force. “God, I fucking know Klaus. I wanted to marry you so bad—hell, I still wanna marry you. I don’t know what came over me, but I was thinking that if I got with this girl, I could finally have my family back.”

“Then why did you run?” Klaus asked. “You were at the altar, and instead of kicking me out, you ran off with me. Why?”

“Because in an attempt of going back to the past, I lost everyone that actually cared about me.” Klaus gave Dave a look of confusion. Without any prompting, Dave continued. “When I broke up with you, Peter was pissed. He and I didn’t stop talking but it wasn’t the same. He was mad that I hurt you after spending so long with you and the promises I made. I was convinced that he was going to kill me.”

“You always did say he basically adopted me,” Klaus laughed, tears filling his eyes. Dave smiled and nodded his head.

“Yeah. Dani wasn’t too happy either, and she was even more upset when I proposed to Elizabeth. She kept asking if this was the choice I wanted, if I was doing what made me happy. I always said that I loved Elizabeth, but I realized it was a platonic love yesterday. Even my buddies at work were put off by me dating a girl, which I have never ever experienced in my life.” Klaus couldn’t imagine it. With the environment being filled with men and occasionally some women, being with a girl seems like it would be the norm. I guess that they have been so used to Dave and Klaus being together that it wasn’t something they thought would ever happen.

“I should be mad at you,” Klaus sighed. “You left me for a woman, broke my heart and left me and all of our broken promises in the dust.”

“I know,” Dave mumbled. “Honestly, you should be mad at me. If you don’t want to be with me or give me a second chance, I understand. I wouldn’t want to be with someone who did what I did to you.”

“I shouldn’t be with you.” Klaus held Dave’s gaze for that flare of dramatics. He kissed Dave with a passion filled move, holding him close. “But I have never been known for doing things that are good for me.”

“Klaus,” Dave mumbled against his lips. He pushed Klaus back and held him at arms length. “I don’t want to be another bad habit for you to have to break. I want to be the person that helps you fight those bad habits.”

“David Katz,” Klaus snapped. Dave blinked in surprise. Klaus was a bit surprised that he spoke to Dave in that tone was well, but he wasn’t going to back down now. “You have never been a bad habit. You have treated me better than any relationship I have had. You have helped me through so much, from mending relationships with my family to becoming clean and controlling my powers.”

“But I left—”

“Yes, you left me,” Klaus interrupted. “And yeah, that hurt like a fucking bitch and it took Peter and Ben a while to actually help me get back on my feet. But I came to your wedding and spoke in front of everyone, telling you I love you, and you pulled me out of the church and made out with me instead of your fiancee. So unless this is a cruel joke, I am willingly to believe that whatever we have right now is real.”

“It is,” Dave assured. “I swear to everything that is holy that it is.”

“Good.” As he trailed a hand down his chest, he continued. “And if you aren’t, I’m sure Diego and Vanya have no problems with ending your life, and it won’t take a lot for Vanya to convince Five to hide the body.”

“If I hurt you again, I’ll let them.” Before Klaus could retort, Dave leaned in and caught Klaus in another deep kiss, ending their conversation.

Klaus was happy to oblige, but once Dave licked his lips, a thought crossed his mind.

“Mm, wait wait,” Klaus mumbled. Dave let out a hum but kept kissing Klaus’ jaw and neck, holding him close. “Dave!”

“Wha-at!” Dave whined, burying his head in Klaus’ neck.

“Why did you say to Dani on the phone earlier?” Klaus asked, ignoring the man’s whines. It reminded him of a dog who wanted a treat, and that thought just made Klaus’ heart flutter.

“The short of it is I was having a gay panic because I saw you at the wedding and Dani was telling me it wasn’t too late to call off the wedding.” Dave gentle mouthed at Klaus’ neck and gave Klaus’ ass a squeeze. “Now can I keep kissing you? I have a lot of time to make up for.”

“I see nothing wrong with that,” Klaus sighed, brining Dave back up and crashing their lips together.

For once, Klaus believed that it would get better.

~Bonus Scene~

“Where the hell is he?!” Peter watched as chaos erupted around him. Dave’s dad was the one who yelled at Dave’s sister, the person who stayed the closest with him over the years. Dave’s mom was comforting the bride who was crying her eyes out. Peter honestly felt a little bad for her.

Dani yelled something at her dad—probably telling him off and letting him know that Dave wasn’t coming back—before marching her way towards Peter, determination in her eyes.

“I don’t want to stay here any longer,” she sighed, ripping off her fake eyelashes that she had. “Let’s just fucking dip.”

“Can I stay at your place?” Peter asked as they walked out of the building, ignoring anyone who tried speaking to them. “I’m gonna stay on the hopeful side and give the lovebirds some space.”

“Be my guest,” Dani grumbled. “We should look at tinder or something together. I’m gonna need some sad white boys to make this day better.”

“You read my mind,” Peter agreed.

#The Umbrella Academy #Klaus Hargreeves #Dave Katz #Klaus x Dave #Klave #sunwriting #fanfiction #Dave lives and is a mechanic

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inikavulpixelreviews · 5 years

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Let’s Talk About Pokemon - Galarian Mr. Mime and Mr. Rime

Galarian Mr. Mime:

I've said it before that I've kinda had a change of heart toward Mr. Mime, mostly thanks to Pokemon recently embracing the fact that it's just some freaky clown thing that also happens to be a wild animal. Especially with its appearance in Detective Pikachu. I don't LOVE it, but I like it well enough this time around. I do however wonder if Detective Pikachu helped in the creation of a Galarian Mr. Mime in the first place, since it's been a pretty understated Pokemon up until the trailers to that movie.

Galarian Mr. Mime though takes an interesting twist by electing to be an Ice/Psychic type, and putting its hat up on its miming career and deciding to instead take up tap dancing. And the whole idea is... eh. I can see where some of the logical through-line is coming through, but some of the execution could be better.

The Ice type comes in by having its “shoes” be frozen on the bottom, giving it the sound of tapdancing when it, well, dances. That much itself is a clever way to get in the tap-dancing theme. It's also easy to make parallels between the tap dancing and Irish clog dancing. I do like how it has a funny little ice “tie”. Its hands are also much less pronounced, instead now having “mittens”.

Everything else just feels a little off to me. The hair just doesn't feel as naturally rendered and it looks super weird. Its nose/stache also looks really weird to me. I guess the “earmuff” sideburns are fine.

It doesn't help that its idle animation looks really stiff. Its other animations are fine enough, but its idle in particular feels too much like they tried to cram an elaborate action into a single second-long loop. I do in general say that most new Pokemon have stepped up in animation quality, but Mr. Mime feel still feels like it's held onto the same awkwardness as the animations of the models introduced back in X and Y.

But I will give credit where it's due, it is probably the regional variant that changes up the original Pokemon's physiology the most so far. Kantonian Mr. Mime definitely has more emphasis on the upper half of its body with large dodge balls for shoulders and a big honkin noggin. Galarian Mimey goes in reverse, with more emphasis on its lower half with longer, more outstretched legs and bigger feet, while compared to its regular variant, it has considerably smaller arms, shoulders and head. The two even smile differently, but both have an uncanny clown stare. I may not be ENTIRELY on board with the execution but I do like the attempt being made here.

Personal Score: 6.5/10

866: Mr. Rime

Thankfully Mr. Rime brings it back around into good stuff. It's a shame Mr. Mime has joined the club with its fellow Gen 1 single-stage budies, Magmar and Electabuzz so late that it's gotten roped into this Regional Evolution thing to where it's no longer its original type. Curiously enough though, it's now Jynx's type of all things. I guess that may be indirectly ruling out the possiblity of Jynx getting its own evolution, at least not one that would also by Ice/Psychic, huh?

Anyway, while the hair still doesn't look that great to me, Mr. Rime steps up its game for everything else. Its face overall is quite amusing, with a classic bowler hat and 'stache. It's also developed the tap dancing theme to include a little cane made out of ice, which is cute.

It's also been classified as a “Comedian Pokemon”. When taking the way it “dresses” into account, it's all a pretty unsubtle reference to British comedian Charlie Chaplin. Who also tap-danced quite a bit for his routines. Mr. Rime in general is much better animated than its predecessor too. A much better idle dancing animation, as well as some really fun walk and run cycles that I wish I could find decent gifs of but no dice, sadly.

Speaking of animations, another interesting tidbit about Mr. Rime's animations is that its face doesn't emote much beyond eye blinks. But there IS an odd pattern on its stomach, made up of a huge button in the middle and two, what look like yellow coat buttons on the side. But in actuality, this belly pattern actually emotes a lot more than its actual face does! The buttons blink and what looks like a white undershirt is actually the only visible mouth on this thing. We could very well have another Wobbuffet situation on our hands where a Pokemon's face is actually a fake face, hiding its REAL face! Though it definitely is harder to tell which face is real on Mr. Rime here, since its “fake”, er, upper face does still emote here and there. But what does that have to do with the theme of comedy?

I'm sure we're all familiar with ventriloquism, right? A routine that most commonly sees use as a form of comedy where a person can use a trick where they can talk with their mouths closed to make it look like the puppet in their hand is actually the one talking. Sounds solid to say that Mr. Rime's design could be taking inspirations from ventriloquism when taking its dual-faced-ness into account. Funny then, that the word “ventriloquism” translated from Latin means “to speak from the stomach”! Ventriloquism, as you could probably guess by now, saw its earliest uses as entertainment in Britain.

What a cool way to do a ventriloquist dummy Pokemon! It's so subtle about it I didn't connect the dots until I was in the middle of writing this very review, and I’ve yet to see anyone else make this connection either. That only makes Mr. Rime even cooler!

The design itself is definitely quite pleasing. Again, a nicely downplayed color scheme with some nice bright yellows and a big red “belly button” to pop just enough while adding some humor to the design. It does definitely look like it fits right in with the exact same style of evolving something as Electabuzz into Electavire and Magmar into Magmortar. Just bumping up a base design to look a little bit more “mature.” If you were to take away the Ice motif, it definitely could fit right in with Gen 4's squad of Legacy Evos.

The one problem here is that it is a pretty far departure from Mr. Mime, so I could understand if any Mr. Mime stans that were holding out for it getting an evolution one day might be a bit disappointed that it's become not much of a mime.

Personal Score: 9/10

Heck it, I was gonna give it an 8 but sure. The ventriloquist part of its design is underratedly clever.

#Pokemon #Mr. Mime #Mr. Rime #Mr Mime #Mr Rime #Pokemon Reviews

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sirikenobi12 · 4 years

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Ah yes my friend!! Enjoy the beginning of my WIP where Siri travels to Stewjon and meets clan Kenobi! **************************************** He debated cancelling their plans. It would be so easy for him to just turn left and continue on towards the hanger, she would understand, duty always came first. And if she didn’t understand then the two of them needed to have a whole other conversation.

He sighed and turned right. He needed her help, so he pushed aside the guilt he was feeling, knowing if it weren’t dire he wouldn’t delay his assistance to the poor people of that village. He clenched his fists as he thought about the innocent being slaughtered needlessly just because someone wanted to hurt him. It was Kadavo all over again. His compassion was being used as a weapon, and the pain he was feelling in the Force was all too familiar and it felt as if someone was slowly peeling off his skin inch by bloody inch.

He couldn’t leave without seeking her advice, she had been right about Zygerria and the Hardeen fiasco. Her experiences undercover had granted her a strange sort of clarity that many Jedi spent their lives trying to achieve. It often reminded him of Qui-Gon, he probably would’ve gone to him for advice were he still alive...of course his thoughts would bring up Qui-Gon right now, because of course they would. The pain of his death still felt like a weight against his chest, and yet somehow the man who had dedicated himself to the light was gone, but the dark monster responsible for his death lived?

And Maul just happened to rise out of the ashes of the darkest corners of the galaxy now, in the middle of a kriffing war? There were no coincidences in the Force, he knew, but this was really just a dirty move by the dark side.

How could he explain his utter failure to her...to anyone? His knighthood was now based on a falsehood, in his exhausted mind it didn’t matter that he’d proven himself a capable Knight - no Master over and over again, it didn’t matter that he now sat on the Council - his braid had been severed for the simple fact that he had been the first Jedi in a milenia to kill one of the Jedi’s worst enemies. “Sithkiller” they had whispered behind his back for over a decade, he had always hated the moniker, but now he couldn’t even live up to a legend he had never wanted to be in the first place.

If Darth Maul had indeed survived he’d be surely seeking revenge, and a simple death would be the least cruel and therefore the least likely outcome. No, Maul’s appetite would want more than that. He hadn’t been able to protect his Master from this monster when he was still a Padawan, he only hoped he’d be strong enough now as a Master to protect everyone else he loved. Obi-Wan must deal with his own personal feelings and finish what he started just as Yoda had affirmed.

His thoughts dwelled on this as he opened the door, not bothering to ring the chime. Not that it mattered, technically speaking his hand print had been added to her lock months ago, and in this moment manners and propriety didn’t matter to him.

He found her meditating near the balcony window, soaking up the rays of sunlight as if she were a sleek Tooka-cat. Her hair was down, which was unusual, glowing almost ethereal in the light. Her long yet strong legs were folded beneath her on the brightly colored cushion, a patchwork of various fabrics. It had been a Life Day gift from her Padawan Ferus, one of her most treasured possessions. Her feet were bare, but that was par for the course for her, she was dressed in a pair of Obi-Wan’s old Blacks that she had cut into shorts and a white undershirt that hung off her shoulders. Not for the first time Obi-Wan marveled at how comfortable she was within her own body, though with a body like hers he could hardly blame her.

Always an enigma, Siri Tachi could simultaneously be both the most and least feminine woman Obi-Wan had ever met, she was whatever she needed to be at any given time. But, somewhere along the way she had discovered that she was able to just be Siri while with Obi-Wan likewise he never had to be anything more than Obi-Wan to her. Here he wasn’t General Kenobi, or Master to the Chosen One, or Council Member or Sithkiller and the pressure it took off his shoulders was one of the justifications he gave for skirting the line of the Jedi code.

Her Force presence brushed against his and he could sense her coming out of her meditation. Before she even opened her eyes she was able to pick up his emotions in the Force, she always did have a talent for reading people.

“What’s wrong,” her voice was a bit hoarse, she must’ve overused it on her last mission. “Grievous give you the slip again?”

“What else is new?” He sighed, sitting on the back of her couch. “But no, that isn’t my current concern.”

Two azure eyes opened and looked up at him as she unfolded herself out of the meditative stance. She stretched one of her legs up over her head and then cracked her neck. After a moment she rose to her feet and headed towards the small kitchen.

As she passed him she trailed her fingers over his cheek, he leaned into the touch.

“Is this an ale situation or straight up whiskey?” She asked, opening the cooling unit.

He remained silent, his thoughts were running away with him. Siri glanced at him from over her shoulder when he didn’t answer, her eyebrows furrowed in concern when she saw the haunted look on his face.

“What did Anakin do this time?” She tried to keep things light, but her worry only grew when he remained silent at her joke. “Hey, Obi-Wan…”

Eyes that were clearly lost in a memory looked up to meet hers, she reached out to place the back of her hand to his forehead, a part of her hoped it was something physical, that was easier to fix.

“Coruscant to Kenobi,” She softly said when she realized he didn’t have a fever. “You want to clue me into what’s going on at some point?”

Obi-Wan looked at one of his dearest friends, the person who knew him better than anyone, even on a deeper level than Anakin. A thought suddenly struck him as he looked at her, this could be his last day in the physical world. He had no idea what Maul had planned, except that he was going to be walking into an emotional (and most certainly a physical) trap.

Without warning he placed both hands on either side of her head and covered her lips with his in a passion most wouldn’t believe Kenobi capable of. He then gracefully rose to his feet lifting her up, she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist as their embrace deepened.

After several moments of finding herself almost out of breath with his delirious kisses she reached up to his hair and pulled him back. Breathing erratic, lips swollen and their faces flushed they stared at one another.

“Might I remind you that it was YOUR rule that we behave ourselves while we’re in the Temple.” She said between aroused breaths. “I’m definitely going to yell at myself later for stopping you, but I think it’s time you fill a girl in on what’s going on.”

He turned around so he could sit her down on the back of the couch, he moved his hands to rest on either side of her face, his thumbs gently tracing her delicate jaw. “I have to cancel our plans tonight.”

“No shit,” she reached up and grabbed his hands, looking intently into his stormy eyes. “Obi-Wan, we promised when we started experimenting physically that we wouldn’t hide things from the other...that’s fear which leads to attachment.”

The corner of his lips upturned. “Always bossing me around, aren’t you?”

“You’d be dead in a ditch somewhere if you were left up to your own devices my dear.” She gently ran a hand through his hair, fixing his one pesky strand that loved to fall into his eyes. “And you're still avoiding my question.”

He grabbed her hands and kissed them before placing them down on her lap. “Darth Maul is back.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Her body stiffened. “Like, Naboo Darth Maul?”

Obi-Wan nodded, unable to look at her.

“Are you sure it’s really him?” She asked, suddenly feeling cold.

He shrugged. “No, it could be a faked hologram. Doesn’t matter, the people he slaughtered and is continuing the threaten are real.”

“You know it’s a trap either way.” She stated, not questioned.

“Obviously.”

“How did Anakin take it when he heard?” She asked, running her hands over his arms in a comforting manner.

“He doesn’t know.”

“Obi-Wan…you promised him you’d be honest with him.” She tugged on his beard so he’d look at her.

“He’s still avoiding me after the Hardeen mission.” He sighed. “Which right now is actually a blessing in disguise.”

“You know he won’t let you go without him. It doesn’t matter if he’s angry with you.” She said.

He looked at her then with an intensity she had only seen on his face once before. “I will not let that monster anywhere near my Padawan.”

Siri bit back the correction of Former Padawan and simply nodded. This was something he and Anakin would need to work out on their own.

“Okay, so not Anakin.” She raised her hands to help calm him down. “Then who is going with you?”

“I must do this alone.”

She stood up from the back of the couch. “No, actually you don’t! If this truly is Darth Maul he is a Sith and no Jedi should go without backup.”

“I’ve faced him before, it’s fine Siri.”

She pushed past him, running a frustrated hand down her face. “Are you at least taking the 212?”

“No,”

“Obi-Wan, I swear to the Force…” She raised an angry finger at him, but he cut her off.

“I need your help.”

“Damn right you do, let me get dressed and we’ll leave at once.” She turned towards her bedroom, but he grabbed her wrist.

“Siri,” his voice was frustratingly calm. She hated that he could maintain a Jedi composure at times like this and she struggled with it.

“Don’t you dare try to talk me out of it.” She pulled her hand free. “And it’s not about my fear of losing you so don’t put that crap on me right now.” She was lying through her teeth and he knew it, but he didn’t say anything. “I’m a Jedi Shadow, my job is to go after the Sith...I should be there.”

He nodded. “You’re right, but I have a personal request to ask of you instead.”

“You can’t protect me like you do Anakin.” She argued.

“I need you to go to Stewjon.”

She stopped her next argument, taken by surprise. “Wait, what?”

“I have no idea what Darth Maul has planned, but I can’t bear the idea that innocent people will be hurt simply because they share my last name.” He reached out and held her.

“Siri, I need you to watch over my family.”

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