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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

The Late Shift

Characters: Paul Sevier x Female Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings/Tags: There’s actually none (I hope). I know. I’m surprised too.

Authors Note: This is so dumb. I’m aware. Look, I’ve been dealing with a horrendous writers block and shattered confidence and I made Paul Sevier gifs to ease my pain. It turned into this. I just wanted to try something a little cute and fluffy to get back into the swing of things. So... here it is.

It was going to be a long night.

Stuck on the Wednesday evening shift for the third time this month, you mindlessly fiddled with the pen in your hand. Twirling it between your fingers, your mind drifted away from the present moment, wondering why your boss seemed to dislike you so much to keep you here past 6pm in the middle of the week. He’d always been adamant this was prime selling time for this boutique suit store, with corporate clients needing to do their shopping outside of normal business hours.

You, however, knew keeping this place open was senseless, barely seeing more than a few unenthusiastic customers in these agonizingly slow stretches. Working on commission also made you all the more bitter about being paid minimum wage to stand behind a counter and doodle sketches of imaginary clients dressed in the outfits you personally tailored. This isn’t where you thought a Bachelor of Arts in Fashion Design would take you, that’s for sure.

“H-hello,” you heard a deep voice quietly greet you, startling you into focus. “Are you busy? I… think I need a little help.”

Eyes flickering up from the notepad, you were sure your pupils blew wide at the sight of the man in front of you. Standing at an imposingly large height, his hair a severely murky shade of black, with honeyed irises shining brightly behind delicate spectacles.

A human personification of tall, dark and handsome. Well, except for the clothes.

The stranger wore the layered combination of a grey tweed jacket and argyle patterned sweater, arranged over a particularly heinous, mustard-coloured button up. While the ensemble made you internally cringe, it gave him an air of intelligence, like the kind that hangs around stuffy, old college professors who have more academic accolades than you have fingers and toes.

“Me?” you coughed out, knowing full well you were the only other person in this tiny little shop. “Uh, yeah. I mean- No, no I’m not busy. What is it you need help with?” Even when you stood, the man towered above you, making you silently begin to calculate the high-numbered measurements you’d need to fit him in something.

“I have an important meeting scheduled for Friday. You know, the type you need to wear a suit to?” Evidently the thought of it made him nervous, as you noticed his cheek twitch slightly, his eyes scanning momentarily at the garments filling the space. “I’m… uh… not so great with clothes.”

Clearly, you chuckled inside your head, holding the word from your tongue. “You want me to pick out something for you?”

He took a defeated breath, his mouth twisting into an awkward yet wonderfully endearing smile. “Would you mind? Only if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble!” you burst, maybe a little too excitedly. “It’s my job!” Bounding out from behind the counter you’d been imprisoned by, you moved directly to the section of classic navy business suits. Slim line. Something to accentuate his well-built frame, rather than hide it away. You had to pause, swivelling back around to the dumbfounded man. “Is price an issue… uh…?”

“Paul,” he answered for you, slowly moving to where you stood. “And… I suppose not. Probably should spend the money on something that will last. If you think it’s a good idea.”

Oh thank god, you mused without showing the relief on your face. He’s not some rich asshole trying to flash his cash. “A good suit can last you five years, if you treat it right.” Your hand reached over to graze one of the deepened blue sleeves of a jacket at your left. “And a classic colour will never go out of style.”

Paul let out an embarrassed chuckle. “I think you’ve already noticed how lacking in style I am…” He glanced to your nametag, murmuring your name with a goofy smirk curling his lips. You’d never seen a grown man, especially not one of this stature, appear so adorable. It was horribly distracting.

“I’m sure you have expertise in other areas,” you stumbled, realizing only when the words came out how offensive they might seem. Yet Paul conceded to your comment, his rumbling laugh making your chest feel tight.

“Debatable,” he shrugged. “I’m just glad I found some qualified personnel to help me in this instance.”

Oh boy. Humble and charming? You were in so much trouble. Surely someone as sweet as this had another waiting for them at home. “I’m sure your partner could help you pick out something nice too.”

“Not an option in my case.”

Shit. Single too. You were truly fucked.

You turned, trying to calm your erratic heartbeat by focusing on finding an outfit that would contain his longer limbs. Plucking out a matching jacket and trouser set, with an ivory, collared button-up, you offered them to Paul, his features having melted into a sweetened look of intrigue. “Go and try these on. There’s a changeroom just behind the counter. See how they feel, and we can go from there.”

He nodded, taking the pieces with both of his large hands and shuffling away to where you’d pointed to. No sooner than the latch had locked were you dashing to where your phone was sitting at the register, flitting out a rushed text message to your favourite co-worker.

There was rustling you heard emanating from the changeroom stall, doing your best to ignore the urge of picturing Paul, a man you’d met only minutes ago, gradually slipping off his clothes to reveal the toned muscles underneath. You grimaced at yourself, shaking your head to banish the imaginations. God this was unprofessional.

Finally, a response lit up on your phone screen.

You laughed softly through your nose, about to type a reply when you heard the lock click open again. The breath in your lungs was stuck as Paul made his way out, the expensive textiles draping over his burly frame in a way that made your whole body tense.

He rustled a hand through his hair, looking up to you while fidgeting with the starchy material stretched over his chest. “Does it look okay?”

After all these years working this job, the enticing novelty of attractive men in well-fitted suits had slowly worn off, especially when most of them treated you with about as much respect as the used gum they spit out onto the sidewalk. Suddenly, all those preconceived notions were gone. On Paul, this ensemble instantly became the most captivating thing in the entire universe.

The inside of your mouth flooded with saliva, having to swallow hard before speaking again. “Great… it looks… great.” You did your best to conceal a settling exhale. “What do you think? How does it feel?”

Paul shifted to look at his reflection in the mirror, pupils trailing up and down, flexing his limbs in an attempt to get a proper impression of the new apparel. “It feels really good. Makes me look… sophisticated.” He turned to you, his expression unsure. “Right?”

Your smile was sparkling, nodding to his question. There was a small amount of work to do, noting how in your effort to make sure everything complemented his physique, you’d oversized him. The waistline of the jacket needed to be taken in, the shoulder lines sitting slightly off, and the trouser length needing to be taken up slightly. “A couple of adjustments and it’ll be perfect.”

“You mean taking it to be tailored?”

“No need.” You pulled out the wheel of berry pins from your pocket, kneeling down on the floor next to Paul’s feet. “All our tailoring is included in the price. Done completely in house.” You began to fold the bottom edge of his pants, pinning it to an adequate length. “I can have it ready for you tomorrow, all ready for your Friday meeting.”

“You do all the tailoring yourself?” Paul asked as you slinked another pin through the fabric.

“Sure do,” you chirped, moving onto the other leg. “3 years at a design school taught me a few things about cutting and sewing.” With the hemlines in place, you straightened in front of him, plucking out a roll of measuring tape from your other pocket. “I just… need to take a few measurements to properly alter the jacket.”

His cheek twitched, the line of his jaw seeming somewhat strained. “Sure. F-fine. Do what you gotta do."

You went with determining his arm length first, feeling out the boney point of his shoulder and striping the lined tape all the way down to his wrist. Then, after taking a deep inhale, you curled your arms around his hips, focusing hard on the little black numbers to ignore the fact Paul’s breath had started to skate over your skin with this close proximity. It was when you were lining up the thickened stripes indicating his chest circumference that you made the mistake of peering up, finding his alluring stare fully concentrated on you.

There was a moment. A spark to waiting kindling. Where impulse could have led you to do a dangerous thing. You’d never been the hasty type, never acted without considerable thought. Usually so shy and composed, never making the first move. Although right now, you could scarcely hold yourself back, desperate to know the sensation of Paul’s lips, how they’d move over yours, what they tasted like.

No. This was so inappropriate.

The compulsion was about to wither away when you felt a hand skim up your waist, the lightened touch shooting a thrill over your skin.

“Excuse me,” a gruff voice called from your side. “How much are these dress socks?”

You immediately stepped back, smacked into reality again. “$12.99. Exactly what it says on the box.”

The older gentlemen scrutinized the packaging, lids narrowed until he finally saw the numbers plastered at the border. “Oh, right. Eh, a little expensive for my taste. Thanks anyway.”

Flustered, you began to coil the measuring tape into its resting spiral, forcefully glaring at the floor. “I’m all done. You can get dressed into your own clothes now.”

In your periphery you saw Paul regarding you with a gentle nod, walking back into the changeroom without another word. Every part of you wanted to sink beneath the wooden floorboards, so horrendously embarrassed you could feel a smoldering heat prickle at your cheeks. Only to relieve some of the nervous energy, you ran to your phone.

Again, Paul was exiting out of the stall just as you were going to submit your reply, placing the neatly arranged garments over the counter. It was difficult to look directly at him, having to summon all remaining shards of your courage to drift your eyes up to his face. “Was there anything else you needed?”

His mouth parted, only to quickly snap shut, scratching at his hairline in the seconds it took for him to give you a response. “No. Nothing else. Unless there’s something more you think I need.”

You shook your head, wishing you could give another answer just to keep him here. “You’re all set.” The full price of his items flashed on the monitor in front of you, spouting it to him as your fingers flicked across the keyboard to finalize the purchase, with a personal discount that wouldn’t show on the receipt.

“When should I come by to pick it up?” he queried, passing you his credit card. “Oh, but there’s no pressure. Whenever you have the time is just fine.”

An idea flared. “If you give me your number, I can text you when it’s ready.”

“That works for me.”

Erasing all evidence of the conversation you’d been having, you brought up the number pad, handing your phone over. Paul swiftly typed in his details before placing it back in your palm. ‘Paul the Suit Guy’ the contact read, unable to stifle your laugh.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His eager expression made your heart quiver through a beat.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered. “I’ll see you then.”

Paul waved his hand in an awkward flourish to signal his goodbye, eventually moving far enough from your vision for you to finally take a full, relaxed breath. In a dazed hurry, you keyed in your returning message to your co-worker.

It was the precise moment your thumb had pressed into the ‘Send’ button that you realised your recipient wasn’t the one you’d intended.

You’d sent this message straight to Paul.

Fuck. Oh fuck. This was bad.

While you were scrambling to formulate a believable excuse, a new message popped up onto the screen.

Tags for my lovelies who might tolerate this nonsense: @tlcwrites @roanniom @princessxkenobi @hopeamarsu @blowthatpieceofjunk @mariesackler @leatherboundriot @foxilayde @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @direnightshade @safarigirlsp @blackberries45 @mylifeisactuallyamess @caillea @jynzandtonic @beskarbabs

#paul sevier #paul sevier x reader #paul sevier x female reader #midnight special #adcu #adcu fanfiction

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spacedikut · 3 years

Note

hi different anon here! but what if spencer had to take a mandatory arts class of some kind for his degree (i don’t know how caltech or phd courses work but we’re going to ignore that) and he’s getting super frustrated because he’s so good at all of his other academic classes but he just! can’t! figure! out! the arts!!! but then reader is in the same class as him and notices that he’s struggling so they offer to help him out?

it’s kind of a role reversal of the usual spencer-tutors-reader in college (because he’s a genius so it’s an obvious [and very good!] dynamic)

and bonus points if it’s a pottery class and they have a “ghost” moment 🙈🙈 (reader is obv patrick swayze 🤤) but make it any medium you want! or even a music class!! up to you my dear <3

ok for some reason i immedaitely thought of finger painting but. have decided against that

idk how art classes work either but if it’s anything like art was in school then you’re kind of left to you own devices? so let’s go with that. it’s fiction babey!

this was meant to be headcanons/random concepts but turned in a messy blurb so it’s under read more

he loves art and isn’t so bummed out that he has to take the class because - again - he likes it But the issue is he likes Looking at it, Not creating it. he’s got jiggly hands that squirm and twitch without his consent constantly and that doesn’t bode well for drawing fine details and intricate patterns, so he’s hoping because it’s an introductory course it’ll be. maybe more theory than anything else? or at least just basic tools and mediums so he can struggle through with a grimace from the professor

he ends up with /oil/ paints though and he’s looking from the bowl of fruit to his easel to thr OIL PAINTS and derek is there, in spirit, going hahahaha good luck pretty boy! and spencer Could ask to change the type of paint he’s using but he’s awkward and so. grits his teeth and goes. alrighty this is it this is life im using oil paints, something notoriously difficult for a beginner, which is what i am, a beginner, and i am now putting these expensive paints to this expensive easel with my inexperienced hands-

and you’ve been watching him since he stepped in, because he’s pretty, and now you’re grimacing cause Oh Boy he does not know what he’s doing and he’s. he’s breaking the paintbrushes. you can hear the bristles cracking from across the room.

spencer would’ve noticed you if he wasn’t so Humiliated (he, too, easily notices pretty people) so when you creep up behind him and say, “oil paints are difficult, aren’t they?” in this understanding voice that he follows with his head, his first thought is- oh, so to top it all off a piece of art has come to life? this is where we are now?

he does that thing where he forces out a little breath along with a small smile and goes, “ah, yeah. i didn’t want to ask for something else, so,” and weakly lifts the palette in his hand as if to say, it is what it is.

“i could help, if you’d like?”

and he agrees cause he’s eager to learn! and you, a masterful artistic genius, blow him away with not only your knowledge (you’re into the theory kind of stuff too and at one point he jolts himself, realises he was staring at you with his mouth open, and deeeeep down wishes someone would think of him the way he thinks of you when you ramble) but your actual skills too! and you’re a great teacher! patient, understanding, and did he say patient? because he has painted a damn sky at least 15 times and every time he Somehow makes clouds look phallic and you just go hehe :) and he’s like I love u (internally)

several weeks in, when you and spencer have become arty friends, the subject turns to drawing people rather than objects - you tell him getting people /right/ is something you struggle with yet you love doodling your friends and family in your sketchbook. the first body spencer draws (that isn’t a stick man) is done in crayons, which he’s found is the medium that works best for him (only when the crayon is properly wrapped. because the waxy feel of them Freaks him out)

you help him learn about drawing anatomy while he tells you /about/ anatomy, he attempts to sketch a hand and it’s so odd looking he laughs so hard he CRIES and you finally convince him to try charcoal, your personal favourite

it’s messy and gets everywhere (spencer opens his mouth to complain about his expensive grey cardigan but then- the little mark is a physical representation of this memory between you and him, huddled close together as you both draw aimlessly in your sketchbook, and the mark feels more like a blessing) but spencer ends up agreeing that charcoal sketches look the best.

then he sees something he shouldn’t have.

you’re talking about how you sketch your family all the time - there’s several of your roommates and your pets and a sheep u saw this one time - then there’s...someone oddly familiar? that he catches a glimpse of? and before he can think he goes “wait-“ opens that page and it’s him. him, standing too close to an easel with his tongue slightly poking out in concentration and it’s a charcoal sketch of him from last week.

you’re embarrassed. “that’s weird, im sorry-“

“you make me look good” he tells you, smiling sweetly, and you’re convinced it’s just to comfort you but you’re too glad he isn’t filing a restraining order you let it slide

i mean. have you seen his face? how can anyone look at that and not want to start chiselling marble?

then he gets secretive, weird, a little odd and definitely is avoiding you. he paints and draws with his back to you, still talks to you but over his shoulder and can never really look you in the eyes. you think this is it and that the sweetheart you’ve come to see as more than a friend is Done with you, because you’re a CREEP, and then after a weekend of silence on his end this happens:

while you’re getting your stuff ready, he walks up silently and slides a small sketchbook in front of you. you stare at it, wondering what it’s for, and he nods at it and tells you to open it. when you go to, he stops you-

“a-actually, let me give you a page to start on-“

when he manhandles the book his hands brush yours, his already bright red cheeks get redder, and you bite your tongue so you don’t sigh dreamily.

he’s drawn you.

it’s not perfect and kind of not pretty - a lot of harsh edges and weird shading - but you can tell its you. it’s you, drawn by him, probably from memory, and he’s drawn little hearts around your head because he’s the cutest? evidently?

“it’s really bad, but i thought-“ you look directly at him, making him freeze. he’s got a little charcoal just under his eye. unabashedly, you reach up and wipe it away, hand remaining at the side of his face when you’re done. “i thought you deserve to feel how i felt when you drew me.”

“and how did you feel?”

he gulps. “loved.”

all you can do in the Classroom you’re in is beam sickeningly sweet at one another, lost in your own world while there’s a wordless exchange. the rest of the sketchbook is full of half attempts at sketching you - in different positions, with different expressions, some with a full head while others are half a face. some of them are hilarious, but they’re all made with the purest intentions. “i love it.”

and when you share a look then, you don’t need to verbally say what comes next just yet.

(and. yes. the second you see a pottery class is available you drag him and Make him sit between your legs and he’s never blushed so much in his life the teacher asks if he needs air. at one point you think it’d be funny to peck his neck and the shiver it sends through him is so shocking your mould on the wheel is squished between his hands)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #ask #long post #this was supposed to be short #and turned into this shit thing #that's why it feels rushed (more rushed than usual)

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guileheroine · 3 years

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by your hand is the only end i foresee

1.2k of catradora angst written for the pine4pine exchange 💔 / ao3

Aside from her old cadet uniform and a few ration bars she kept tucked away for midnight cravings—items she was very happy to leave behind—Adora’s personal possessions in the Fright Zone were few, enough to fit in a tied-up old pillowcase.

Precious few: her first official commendation (back when those things mattered), a bracelet she had woven from the leather of her old training shoes, and a few folded up pieces of paper, held together with a blackened elastic that would snap any moment. She wanted to leave these behind, too, but it was easier said than done. Much easier, considering Adora had gone out of her way to grab the little pile from the secret place under beneath her bunk, and cram it, running, into her jacket, before she and her new friends stole away from the Horde forever, again.

She knew she shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t even have been thinking about it. It could have cost them dearly, actually. Yet she couldn’t help it then, with their old quarters just a dash down the corridor—and she couldn’t help it now, as she unfolded the creased old notes and read. She pored over each word, like she was five years old again and barely learning how, just to make them last. Crayons from The Horde came in four colours: black, grey, red, and brown. Catra always made the most of them, scrawling like a machine, her hand skidding out of the borders of the paper sometimes. In an instant, Adora could almost smell them again, a memory she could never have imagined relishing. Could never have imagined feeling so complicated.

AdoRA

DO NOT try to steal my bars again EVER .

just ask. i got them for us!

Then there was a crude heart, before Catra signed her name the way she always did, with a claw-groove underscoring the letters. There were a handful like that, short—and sweet, in hindsight, whether they were meant that way or not. And now, more than a little bitter. Adora traced the groove on each one with her fingertip, her brow threatening to crinkle, hating how tender her own touch was, how quickly her stupid eyes welled.

Adora— remember we need a bigger bunk. It’s gonna come quicker if you ask. If you kick me in the face again you won’t sleep for a week.

Adora, Thanks for standing up for me after training today. Let’s be on the same team next week?

Adora. This is gonna be your face after I kick your ass tomorrow. (Accompanied by a pretty scary drawing of Adora frowning furiously and crying puddles, with Catra cackling in the background, flexing biceps she had never had in her life.)

Adora missed her crazy doodles. She regretted that there weren't more of them here.

The messages were actually fewer than she remembered, too; and as she flicked through them she knew that most of them were missing. She had probably just tossed them behind her shoulder without a second thought, because what had it mattered when they had each other right there, forever? She wondered if Catra had kept any of her notes and figured she had probably torn them to shreds the first chance she got.

Why couldn’t Adora do the same?

Maybe it was just that clinging to them felt like a way of holding on to their friendship, even though all signs told Adora that it was beyond hope of repair now. After all, the scribbles they shared had felt like something so private, so special to them. There weren't exactly gifts to give in the Fright Zone, so they sufficed as tokens of friendship in a way little else could, like evidence. They fell into the habit of writing the kind of things that got said aloud much less often—how they would look out for each other, how they worried sometimes about the future. Adora, and only Adora, knew that Catra often found it easier to express those feelings in writing, in a kind of private that could never be overheard or interrupted. So yeah, it was special. It was the last shred of love Adora had from a friendship that seemed to have slipped through her fingers before she knew it was gone, and she treated these notes carefully. Evidence.

Sniffling, she wondered if she could take a page out of Catra’s book. If writing something down might make her feel better. It hurt horribly to feel so far away from Catra, but if Adora focused hard enough on the page and imagined she was talking to her maybe that pain would recede. Adora fetched the journal Glimmer had presented her with when she moved in and found a fresh page, bending the spine over in that way that always seemed to make Bow wince.

Dear Catra,

Then she held the pen frozen to the page for so long that the ink seeped all the way through. She blew on it to make sure it wouldn't smudge easy, and wrote.

You are my enemy now and you always will be.

She read it over like a drill. It was important to get this into her head. And only then did she write out the rest of her feelings, the words—and tears—finally flowing freely.

...I will always miss you.

When she got to that part, it felt like an exhale, even if the admission was guilty. Because it was the other irreversible truth, the other side of the coin to the animosity she was still struggling to understand. She let the pen clatter momentarily before picking it up again, resuming speed as if she had never stopped. By the time she came to the end of the page she found that her head was clearing even if her tears weren’t, because she was being honest with Catra—

I’m sorry things ended up like this, I really am.

—And herself.

But even if we could go back in time, I wouldn’t do things any other way.

Love,

Adora

Adora didn’t read it over when she was done. She just stretched her wrist and folded the page over. Then she wrote a quick note beside it, because she didn’t quite trust Glimmer and Bow not to snoop. No, it wasn’t her intention to give this letter to Catra. What good would it do? Even if she sent it, Catra probably wouldn’t understand. She couldn't trust her to understand: that was still such a strange and new feeling. Adora felt the distance between them like a throb, like a chasm wider than space. She wondered if they would ever be connected again. Forever without her seemed like such a hard bargain, such a slog…

The same forever that she had once been able to promise Catra without blinking twice.

Adora rubbed her eyes and left her head resting in her hands when she was done. Maybe there were other forevers, other universes. In a desperate moment, she wondered if she could send Catra a sign that would survive the end of the world as they knew it, that could bridge the gap between them just by biding time and space for as long as necessary… It felt as impossible as the distance. She rubbed her temples as if to literally ease the pain. She could only hope that it would let up with time.

#catradora #spop #she-ra #catradora fanfic #**

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amuseoffyre · 3 years

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Lo, a writing meme acquired from @indieninja92 - should you wish to do the meme, feel free to steal it :)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

407 - you can poke through my account here

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3,437,876 since December 2007

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

On AO3, about 40. Pre-dating AO3, I think I hit over 100. I'm not listing them. There are too many. Main one at present is Good Omens.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Training Buddies - my Bucky Barnes and Matt Murdock friendship fic.

Anatomy 101 - GO smut through the ages

Thaw - a re-write of Captain America: The Winter Soldier with the Winter Soldier sent in as a distraction/honeytrap for Steve.

Elegance and Taste - My MCU Miss Congeniality AU :D The Captain America Pageant.

An Inward Treasure - Once Upon a Time regency AU

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Sometimes. It depends on how my brain is doing at remembering stuff from day to day

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Kindling a Blaze - Once Upon a Time. The one fic that made me cry like a distraught baby as I wrote it.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

AHAHAHAHAHAHA omg yes. YES I DO. They were my speciality! I've done so many :D Although for weirdest, I would have to go with Shadow Over Valinor - a crossover between the Lord of the Rings world and The Matrix back aruond 2002. And I tried to do it as plausibly as possible :D I wish I'd finished it, but life got in the way.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Oh, I got in trouble for one of my twisted Disney ones :) They don't like it when you use Jafar's shapeshifting for kinky reasons, turns out.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

All kinds, depending on mood.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Once, but by the time I found out about it, enough people who followed my fic had ferally rugby tackled the person off ff.net that I was like "oh. right? Do I do anything?" It was my biggest fic in that fandom as well, so bold move by that moron.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I prefer not to in case there's ever a day where I have to hide all evidence of my presence in fanficcing world.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

A couple of times.

13. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Eh. It varies depending on which fandom I'm paddling in at any given time.

14. What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

... rude. But also lots. Mostly in old fandoms. So many in old fandoms that died when the show/film/book in question murdered my affection for it.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I am good with make word.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

"was". Every editor, every time, yells at me about overusing "was"

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I like it when people include a translation and don't just assume everyone and their mother speaks the language. We get it, Charlotte Bronte. You speak French. That's nice. Now wtf is Adele saying?

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I doodled a Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles comic when I was 9. Actual writing (again on paper) was Star Wars. First online fandom was Cats the Musical.

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Eh. Don't really know. I just create them then lob them into the void.

#writing #fanfic ho!#fanfiction #meme

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wkemeup · 4 years

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By Any Other Name (3)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.9k warnings: flirty heart eyes, excessive emphasis on fluff, love is in the AIR, the knowledge that these happy times won’t last forever....... 👀 🌹series masterlist 🌹

“You did what now?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, explicitly ignoring Sam’s full-bellied laugh as he struggled not to spill the open lidded coffee cup on the impossibly small table between them. There were near tears in his eyes and patrons of the Brooklyn based café were all staring in their direction. Bucky tugged the bridge of his baseball cap lower over his eyes.

“Leave him alone, Sam. It was a good idea,” Steve warned, voice low, as he turned to Bucky to clap a hand on his shoulder. He gripped at the muscle, massaging the tender scar tissue, before dropping his grip. “It gave him an in with Y/n. He needs to work on building that foundation of trust before he can start figuring out what she knows about Hydra. Ain’t that right, Buck?”

Bucky nodded, his lips pressing to a thin line, though it felt forced, jarring against his features.

“Yeah.”

He could still picture the shock in your eyes; the surprise and the realization as he placed the book in your hands. He had thought for a minute that you were going to laugh at him and discard the old, worn down copy he’d stolen from his high school library as a sophomore because it in no way compared to the first edition novels worth thousands of dollars sitting upon your shelves, but the smile that lifted your lips had made his heart feel like it was going to burst out of his chest.

Sure, maybe there was a part of him that knew that your library and your clear love of fiction would be an easy target to begin building a connection, a layer of trust, before he could start getting the information from you he needed, but it wasn’t why he’d spent two hours tearing apart his childhood bedroom in search of the book.

He wanted to see you smile again.

He wanted to see your eyes light up and the way you bite on the corner of your lip. There was just something about it that made his stomach twist in knots, that made his own mouth start to curve at the edges, and his heart beat just a little quicker. It was so rare to see it from you, especially in the days your husband lingered around, but suddenly, it was all he could think about.

He could have asked for the funds from the Bureau to buy you the first edition, writing it off as a necessary expense for his cover, but somehow, he knew you’d appreciate the hand-me-down copy more. It had character and a history. It was messy, and a little broken; a glimpse into his life, his real life, something he was never supposed to cross the boundaries of, but it served its purpose.

He’d seen you around the house carrying it under your arm for nearly four days after he’d given it to you. Sometimes he’d spot you sitting in the living room, nose deep in the pages as he walked in the front door behind Rumlow before you’d get up and quickly escape to your library without a word to your husband, though you stopped and caught his eye before you left, holding up the book so he knew you were reading it and giving him that short, stolen smile before you disappeared.

You had run into him on the fifth day and swatted him with the book in a rare moment when he was standing by himself in the kitchen, Rumlow having gone up to the office to gather some paperwork before they were meant to head to the Lernaean.

“What did this poor book ever do to you?” you had teased him, flipping open the pages of his copy of A Farewell to Arms to find stains of Dorito dust in the folds on page 76, mindless doodles done in blue ink pen on the top corner of page 117, and a sticky note taped to the inside back cover of a crude drawing of a lanky, high school version of Steve with big angry eyebrows and a boxing gloves held up by his face.

“Sorry, I guess I should have looked it over before I lent it to you.” Bucky laughed, swiping the book back from your hands and earning a pout in return. “I mean if you don’t want to finish it, I’ll just take it b--”

“I never said I was done with it, you vandal!”

Your laugh was like music to his ears, melodic and captivating, and he hated the moments you cut it off short and closed it away to the darkest parts of yourself; moments like when your husband walked back into the room.

Rumlow had eyed you with a kind of look you must have been familiar with because your smile fell away instantly and Bucky released the book to your grasp. You held it down by your hips, eyes glued to the floor. He had watched as you left the room without another word, book gripped so tightly in your hands, the pages started to crinkle.

He knew what he was feeling was dangerous. It went against every code he swore an oath to. He’d be pulled from the case the second Director Fury got wind of his personal attachment to you – if that’s what he was going to call it. There wasn’t really a way to describe what he was feeling.

Infatuation. Admiration. Longing. Ease. Attraction.

He didn’t know.

All he knew was that he wanted to see you smile more, wanted to knock Rumlow’s teeth in for more reasons than why he was stationed undercover within Hydra in the first place. He wanted to know why you were involved in this world to begin with and how you ended up trapped in a marriage you clearly wanted nothing to do with.

He wanted to protect you from all this; from Hydra, from his investigation.

A few conversations, a couple smiles from across the rooms, and it changed everything.

“Buck? You awake in there?” Sam chuckled, tapping a finger on Bucky’s forehead until he swatted his hand away with a grunt.

“Knock it off, Wilson,” Bucky grumbled, bending down to take a sip of the burning hot coffee resting in his grasp. It stung on his lips but he swallowed it back anyway, the heat of it warming down through his chest.

“It’s been almost two months,” Steve said casually, “how have you been holding up?”

Bucky glanced around at the busy café. It wasn’t unusual for them to meet in public places and talk about the case, as long as they kept details vague and didn’t draw any attention. Hell, Bucky just needed an outlet sometimes outside of the conference rooms and safe houses he usually met the team in. He was thankful Nat typically elected out of their Sunday coffee runs because she was always able to read him like a hawk, and he was certain she’d be able to pick up on his affection towards you in an instant.

“It’s fine,” Bucky shrugged. “Boss is still a piece of shit.”

“Yeah, well, we already knew that,” Sam agreed, pursing his lips with a shake of his head.

“You said there were some guys there who seemed to be blackmailed into their work?” Steve asked, voice a little quieter now.

Bucky nodded. “Seems that way. Not everyone is there by choice. Still working out the details of who but I’ve got a list going for Nat when we meet up next week. I’m supposed to be stationed out on the docks this week so I’ll talk to the guys then.”

“Good, good,” Steve said. He paused for a moment, staring down into his coffee, studying the swirl of the soft chestnut coloring. “You being careful?”

Bucky smiled at that. For a kid who spent his youth getting himself into trouble and leaving Bucky to watch over his back, he sure as hell got protective himself once his body grew into his rebellious and reckless attitude.

“Yeah, pal, you know I always am.”

“Something just feels different about this one,” Steve said, leaning back into his chair. A woman behind the counter was staring at him, and he cleared his throat awkwardly upon noticing her eyes, shrugging the collar of his jacket up to cover the pink blush in his cheeks.

“Well this is the biggest profile case we’ve tackled,” Sam offered casually as he took a sip of his coffee, grinning at the way the girl at the counter shamelessly ogled at Steve.

“I don’t like that he’s in there so deep with no one to watch his six,” Steve shook his head, teeth gritted.

“I’m not alone and you know it,” Bucky responded, reaching across the table to grab a firm hold of Steve’s forearm, squeezing just enough to get him to meet his eye. There was hesitancy there and Steve wasn’t usually one to worry. “I’ve got you guys, remember?”

“You just need to watch yourself, alright?” Steve exhaled, patting at Bucky’s hand until he released his arm. “This is the first time you’ve been put in so close to the target. You spent most of your time in his house, Buck, and with Fury tellin’ you to get close to the wife, I just... I worry there’s too much on your shoulders and somethings going to fall through the cracks.”

Bucky sighed, exchanging a quick look with Sam who’s teasing smile had faded away upon noticing the genuine concern and anxiety in their friend.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to him, Steve,” Sam said, sending a wink at Bucky before he added, “you know he’d never let us hear the end of it.”

Bucky laughed, nodding. “Damn straight.”

Sam punched at Steve’s shoulder, grinning again, and didn’t let up until Steve finally relaxed and sat up further in his chair, the tension clearly washing from his muscles.

“Now that that’s all settled,” Sam teased, clapping Steve on the shoulder, “how about we focus on getting you the pretty barista’s number?”

***

Sundays used to be your only good days.

You used to find solace in warm teas and coffees from Café Ramos and freshly baked bagels from the Marselli’s; freedom in the wind gusting through the open back streets of Queens. Far away from tourists and amongst the bodegas and apartment buildings, you walked dozens of blocks from where your driver dropped you off; an added precaution to keep Brock from tracking down where you spent your time, and who you met up with.

Peter was sitting on the stoop of the brownstone, cheek resting on his hand and slouching up his face as he stared down at his phone. There was a lovesick look in his eye and you wondered if he ever got around to asking that girl out from school he’d been crushing on.

He was a sweet kid. Kind. Compassionate. Intelligent beyond belief. But his optimism and habit of overlooking flaws to see the best in someone, while admirable, was dangerous. It was why you worked so hard to keep him away from Brock. Your husband had a talent of convincing kids like that with an eagerness to please and a family tight on cash to join his ranks.

Peter was like a brother to you, having grown up with him running around your father’s house at all hours of the day when Aunt May was working, but lately, you kept him at an arm's length. You never let him over at the house, kept details vague about Brock’s employment, and insisted on walking the fourteen blocks to his apartment to pick him up, even when he offered to meet you at the subway stop near where your driver dropped you off.

He was a sweet kid, but he was naïve. Young. He had some learning to do. It was what you liked so much about him. You could use a little unending joy and positivity in your life.

“Hey Aunt May!” you called, waving at her as she walked by the front window folding a shirt from the dryer. She paused, turning towards you with a big smile and made her way to the door.

Peter had nearly fallen over on himself, clutching at his chest, his phone on the ground where it flung from his hands upon your sudden arrival.

“You okay there, kid?” you laughed, bending down to pick up his phone. No cracks. You handed it back to him with a wink.

He chuckled nervously, brushing off the screen with the edge of his shirt. “You scared me.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so nose deep in your phone, Z.”

“Yeah, okay, Mil.”

“Z? Mil? You two develop another coded language or am I losing it?” Aunt May folded her arms over her chest as she leaned against the frame of the door.

“Gen Z,” Peter explained, pointing to himself, and then to you, “Millennial.”

You and Peter had some years between one another and, sure, you didn’t always understand the other’s lingo or quirks in their behavior, but it didn’t make much difference to either of you. It was another reason to poke fun at each other. Siblings were like that.

“I still think it’s funny you spend as much time together as you do,” Aunt May smiled.

“Hey, I keep him out of trouble!”

“-- and I keep her young.”

“Okay, watch yourself, kid,” you warned, laughing as you poked him hard in the side, causing him to jump away a few feet to escape another attack.

Aunt May always did like you being around so much after Uncle Ben died. Peter didn’t take it so well, not after losing his parents too, so he spent hours every day at your house when Aunt May was on shift at the hospital. You’d occupy his time and keep his mind from wondering back to finding his uncle in the streets, alone and bleeding. He was so young when it happened, you were surprised that when your father died just a few years later, he had insisted on doing the same for you.

The years between you didn’t matter. Not when it came to a bond like that.

“Will you come say hi already?” Aunt May teased, stomping her foot playfully as she opened her arms to you and you rushed up the stoop to fall into her embrace. She smelled of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and you peaked around the corner to find trays lined up on the kitchen table. Your stomach growled.

“Do I smell--”

“You want some before we go?” Peter asked before shoving his way inside, not quite bothering to wait for an answer as he started grabbing a few cookies from the table, bouncing a particularly hot one between his hands before he shoved it in his mouth.

He grabbed two for you, slipping them into your outstretched hand as you stepped out of Aunt May’s hold. She smiled at you, brushing your hair from your eyes in that motherly way you’d missed since you were a kid. You supposed it was another thing that drew you and Peter together.

“Don’t think I forgot about that science project you have due this week!” Aunt May called as you and Peter started to walk to the sidewalk. He visibly winced. “I want you home before dinner, Peter.”

“Okay, okay!” he groaned, shooing her off with a wave of his hand and sent you a glare as you struggled to contain your laughter.

“Oh, man. I do not miss high school,” you grinned, taking a bite of the cookie and nearly choking on a moan that slipped out. Buttery soft and warm gooiness melting on your tongue. Heaven.

Peter rolled his eyes, nudging you with his elbow playfully. “Don’t rub it in.”

***

Your Sundays were never exceeding exciting. Most of your time spent with Peter was just running errands, taking deposits to the bank for Aunt May, picking up lunch at one of the sandwich shops, getting him a new pair of sneakers he so desperately needed even though he fought you on paying for them for about an hour before he gave in.

They were often mundane and filled with idle chatter, sitting on park benches and watching the people walk by and the tourists taking photos in front of brick walls. He’d sit there and talk for hours because that’s amongst the things Peter did best. He'd tell you everything from his latest science fair project, the progress on his Lego set with Ned, the kid named ‘Flash’ who pranked him again and filled his locker with whipped cream.

It was simple. It was easy and comforting.

It was an escape.

Peter had nearly forgotten he was supposed to pick up a few things from the corner store for Aunt May, so you were on your way to the shop with the black cat who liked to sit perched in the window just to get a good look at her again while he tracked down the milk and bread.

The wind was picking up and you tugged your jacket tighter around your chest. You glanced over at Peter who had his hands shoved into the thin layer of his jacket, cheeks a little pink from the wind and he shivered.

Your heart ached a little and you decided you’d talk him into a new coat on your next Sunday together. He’d never make it through New York winter with holes in his pockets and no protection from the blistering wind.

While Brock didn’t give you access to enough of your father’s money to make it on your own, you had enough to buy things for Peter, to collect your first editions, and to remain moderately comfortable.

It was a ploy to keep you content, a carrot to dangle for the arguments when you’d threaten to storm out of the house you shared and he’d remind you, you had nothing without him, that he could implicate you in each and every one of his crimes, and you’d stay. Every time. You’d stay.

You had no choice.

And for years, you’d grown accustomed to the prison your home had turned into. Until you met James Karpov.

You’d almost forgotten what it was like to feel the twist of nerves in your stomach, to seek someone out amongst a crowd and to feel the relief deep in your bones upon finding them, upon finding blue eyes and dark brown hair, warm smile and that slight nod. So impossibly subtle and somehow it became the best part of your day.

Maybe you were naïve, and maybe it had simply been too long since anyone within that home had treated you with even an ounce of kindness or respect that you clung onto the first man who so much as smiled in your direction and asked about one of your overpriced books, but it gave you back a sense of yourself you’d been missing.

You started smiling again, starting looking forward to the days Brock held his meetings within the house in hopes that James would be there and you could ask him how far along he’d gotten in Fahrenheit 451. You were careful about your interactions with him, knowing that Brock was an exceptionally jealous man, even if your conversations with James were innocent.

And they were.

They had no greater meaning or underlying feelings.

So you told yourself, anyway.

The wind was picking up again and Peter was finishing up a very long and overly detailed recount of he and Ned’s favorite comic book series, when you realized you’d walked nearly five blocks without realizing it.

“Did you give Michele the necklace yet?” you asked him as you crossed the border into Brooklyn. He nearly choked on air, coughing to alleviate his surprise and you laughed into your scarf, trying to hold it back for the sake of his ego.

“Oh, um, not yet! But I’m working on it,” he chuckled nervously. “I’ve got a plan.”

Peter was starting to tell you all of the intricate and perfectly timed details of this ‘plan’ when you spotted someone across the street that caught your eye.

Tall, with long brown hair swept behind his ears and hiding under a baseball cap, hands tucked into the pockets of a familiar bomber, he swatted the arm of a friend on his left while the other scolded him.

You narrowed your eyes, not even realizing you’d pulled to a stop until Peter came rushing back a few paces, complaining he’d kept on walking without you. You apologized quickly, a little out of focus, and asked him for a minute. He nodded with a shrug and pulled out his phone, sinking down to the sidewalk and waited patiently.

“James?” you called over the rush of traffic. He didn’t seem to hear you.

You’d never seen him outside of your husband’s home and it was strange running into him in such a personal environment. He was with friends, off the job, his guard was down. A bright smile, brighter than you’d ever seen it on his face as he laughed loud enough for the sound to carry across the street. It made something in your chest clench.

You called his name again, a little louder this time, but the blare of a horn drowned you out.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you held up a hand to warn oncoming cars that you were crossing the street and quickly wove your way in and out of lanes until you made it to the other side of the road. You glanced in his direction, brushing out the dirt on the thighs of your jeans before you approached him again.

“James!”

You were only standing a few feet from him and he still didn’t respond. You closed your eyes, gritting your teeth and feeling a rush of embarrassment.

This was his day off; he didn’t need to be dealing with his boss’s wife.

All this time, while you were caught up in your own head with fantasies of ‘what if’s’ and finding solace in his short, kind smiles, he was probably just appeasing the wife of his boss. He must have known how lonely you were, could sense it a mile away, and he was simply being polite. You just misinterpreted it for interest or kindness or something, but it was clear your stolen moments over classic fiction and subtle glances across the room were exclusive to the walls of your home.

You turned to leave, clenching your hands into fists and puncturing the skin, when you heard your name called from behind you.

“Y/n?”

You spun around to find James staring at you with wide blue eyes. He was clearly surprised, caught off guard in a way few men of his rank within Hydra ever were, and he glanced back at his friends hesitantly before they quickly departed, retreating to a table on the edge of the café they had left from. He walked closer to you, enough so neither of you would have to shout over the rush of traffic.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to see you,” James said, that smile tugging on the corner of his lips as he everted his eyes. He was nervous, swaying in his stance and running a hand through his hair.

“No, it’s okay!” you replied quickly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything with your friends.”

He clenched his jaw at that, the smile fading from his face. “Friends? What friends?”

You peered around his towering shoulders to find the two men he was just standing with sitting over at a table at the café, talking to one another and stealing glances in your direction over the tops of newspapers they had just nabbed from the adjacent table. It was endearing, if anything.

“So, the guys siting over at that table pretending not to watch our every move aren’t your friends?” you asked, a slight laugh in your voice as James shook his head.

“No,” he responded shortly, though when you narrowed your eyes on him, grinning, he sighed, “yeah, ok. I know ‘em.”

You pursed your lips, glancing between James and two men sitting over at the table; the dark-skinned man with the toothy grin seemed to be thrilled to watch James fumble his way through half of a conversation, while the tall blonde one punched at his friend’s shoulder, seemingly warning him quietly to knock it off.

You sighed, noticing the way he kept glancing back at his friends, shuffling his feet like he wanted to be just about anywhere else than this conversation. You tried to ignore the free-falling feeling in your stomach.

“Look,” you started, feeling a little uneasy in your stance now, “it’s totally okay you don’t want me to know about them. I get it. You want to keep your personal life separate from work. It makes a lot of sense, especially with, um, with what you do and, um, I’m part of work, right? Different worlds. Don’t need to be bothering yourself with the boss’s wife in your free time...”

His whole body seemed to freeze and his eyes went wide.

“What? No, that’s not it at all!” he quickly explained, but he seemed to relax for a moment, glancing back towards his friends. “They don’t know what I do outside of the cover at the club. I just don’t want them catching wind.”

You nodded, knowing full well how that felt. A wave of relief swept through you; like a rush of water pushing away the aches and twists and breaks in your chest, leaving behind only that pleasant little tug you felt every time he walked in the room.

“You must be the new guy!” a voice chimed from behind you and you nearly flinched from the shock of it.

Speak of the damn devil.

Peter was suddenly at your side, a little out of breath as he looked James over, wide eyed and grinning. “Holy cow. He really is all muscle, huh?”

You shoved Peter hard in the side, cheeks flushing with heat as James laughed a little under his breath.

“I thought you were gonna stay on the other side of the street until I was done?”

“Got bored,” he shrugged, pushing you aside and turning to James. “So! What’s the likelihood you’ll let me sneak into the Lernaean? I’ve got an in with the owner and Y/n never lets me get anywhere near that place. Tell me you’re cooler than my cousin, man, I’m beggin’ you.”

You must have stopped breathing because your lungs felt like they were on fire. Peter had never been so brazen as to bypass your carefully constructed boundaries like that, but then again, he’d never met anyone from Hydra before. It was your mistake to confide in him about the strange new ‘bouncer’ with the blue eyes and the unexpected appreciation of fiction. Peter was curious by nature and he just liked seeing you happy.

James must have sensed your distress because he raised a brow at you, but your jaw was wired shut. Peter couldn’t know about this world. You had to keep him out of it. You tried to convey that to James with a simple glance, but he didn’t owe you anything. What would he care if this lanky kid knew about Hydra and the world you lived in? He was still Hydra himself and you had to constantly remind yourself of that.

“Please, man,” Peter begged. “It’ll make Flash so jealous and I need a win over that jerk.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, kid,” James replied. Peter let out a very dramatic groan and it got James laughing. “It’s not a good place for a minor to be hanging out, anyway. Listen to your cousin.”

The fear didn’t escape you, even as Peter seemed to let the topic go. You liked James, that much you were able to admit to yourself, but did you trust him enough to protect Peter from Brock’s world... you weren’t sure.

Trust wasn’t so much a step as it was a cascading waterfall into an abyss. It didn’t come easy to you.

“Fine. But I’m not giving up that easily,” Peter huffed, folding his arms over his chest. He caught sight of the watch on his wrist and pouted. He turned to you. “I should head home anyway.”

You nodded. “Okay, I’ll walk yo--”

“No, you won’t,” Peter argued with a massive smile. “I know you still have stuff to do before you head home. I’m fine on my own, you know that.”

You did. Didn’t mean you liked it.

“Besides,” Peter continued, that cheeky grin tugging on his face, “I’m sure Mr. Karpov here wouldn’t mind escorting you the rest of the way.”

Your throat ran dry. “T-That’s entirely unnecessary... Peter.”

You sent him a glare but it only made him laugh harder as he started to back away down the sidewalk. He winked and quickly turned his shoulder and jogged down the remainder of the block just to deprive you of the chance to argue back. The little shit.

Spinning back around to James with an anxious grimace on your face, you quickly held your hands up to apologize but he was laughing to himself, causing you to lose your train of thought.

“I really don’t mind, you know,” he said, and of course he didn’t, because he simply couldn’t make it easy to disregard that nervous feeling in your stomach when he looked at you.

“It’s super boring,” you warned and he shook his head with a smile, some stray pieces of hair falling into his face. Damn that smile of his.

“What are we doing?” he asked, like it wasn’t even a second thought.

“There’s a café a few blocks from here,” you started, carefully watching his face for signs that he was surely making fun of you or appeasing you to be polite, but came up empty. “They sell paintings by local artists and I’ve been wanting to replace this godawful modern abstract Brock’s interior designer hung in one of the spare rooms. He wouldn’t notice anyway, don’t you think?”

James shrugged, a nodding slightly as he chuckled. “I don’t suppose he would.”

You chewed on the edge of your lip, gesturing for him to follow you down the street and he did so without hesitation.

There were only a few minutes of silence, of walking side by side with hands tucked carefully into jacket pockets and side stepping pedestrians with their noses stuck in their phones, before you worked up the courage to say something.

“Peter doesn’t know about our world,” you said suddenly, keeping your eyes trained ahead of you, scared that if you even looked at him, you’d lose your nerve. “I work really hard to keep it that way, so if you could-- if you could avoid mentioning to Brock that I was with him today, I would – I would really appreciate that. You know how Brock can be; always trying to recruit kids on the street to push his product and I don’t-- I don’t want Peter anywhere near--”

“You have my word,” James said simply, genuinely, and you let out a heavy exhale that released like flood gates. “No reason to tell the boss what I do on my days off and who I run into, right?”

You nodded, a little lost for words. “Right.”

You paused at a stop light, stealing glances at him as he mumbled a soft apology to the elderly woman who was attempting to push past him to get to the front of the sidewalk. She was uneasy on her feet and using her walking cane as weapon as she clicked it against his ankles and he quickly stepped out of her way. He winced, rubbing at his right ankle with the back of his left shoe.

As the light turned green and the old lady pushed past, shoving a few other pedestrians out of her way, you turned back to James, grinning so wide it hurt in your cheeks. He was chewing on his lip.

“This could really damage my rep, huh?”

“Just a little,” you laughed and you were certain if your hands weren’t shoved deep into the pockets of your jacket to hide from the cold, you may have offered your hand to him. Just instinctively. His hands were so big, they seemed warm, safe.

“I finished 451, by the way,” he said as the two of you rushed to cross the street before the light turned again.

“What’d you think?”

“Never as good as the first time,” he shrugged but there was still a semblance of that smile on his lips. “Still pretty great though. Didn’t even spill coffee on it or anything.”

“I suppose I should be impressed, considering the way you treated Hemingway,” you laughed, shoving at his arm with your elbow, and though a hit like that would have had Peter stumbling a few paces, James barely even flinched, but he did start to laugh.

“Come on now, you know I was in high school when I last touched that thing and you can’t trust a teenage boy with shit,” he teased and you found yourself grabbing onto his arm for support from that laughs making your unsteady on your feet. He didn’t seem to mind at all, not even as you suddenly realized what you were doing and quickly released him with a quick nervous brush of your hair from your eyes.

You cleared your throat, continuing to walk down the sidewalk. “I finished it last week, actually. I can return it to you tomorrow if you--”

“It was a gift,” James said simply. “Keep it. If you want, I mean. I know it doesn’t exactly fit in amongst all the first editions and fancy copies so you can get rid of it if you--”

“No! It’s, uh, it’s perfect. Thank you,” you said and he pressed his lips together to keep himself from rambling.

He was right. It certainly did stand out amongst the novels on your shelves with the cracked and broken binding, the doodles in the pages, and the stains on the cover, but it was so entirely human. It was a relief to have something of imperfection amongst masterpieces.

***

Bucky wasn’t quite sure what to make of you.

It was the most relaxed he’d ever felt on an assignment as he walked alongside you down the busy streets of Brooklyn. You tried to lead him down less crowded alleys and avoid the cross-section of tourists taking photos in the street because you noticed the way he tugged at the bridge of his cap to pull over his eyes but it was near impossible. You must have mistaken his attempts at concealing his identity in a part of the city that knew him well for anxiety around the bustle of people.

It was sweet, he thought, that you were observant enough for things like that and tried to make it easier on him without saying a word. You’d give him silly excuses to travel down abandoned streets and act like it was you that wanted the space away from the crowd, but he knew you were doing it for him.

You told him about the café you liked to visit with the family you’d grown to know well over the years and the bagel joint a few blocks away that Bucky spent many years grabbing breakfast at as a teenager. You talked like you knew the owners, spent time with them and caught up on their weeks when you waited for your orders, and somehow that didn’t surprise Bucky at all.

He felt an ease by your side he’d never felt in all his years in undercover work. He was used to be on edge, to watching his every move and purposefully concealing parts of himself to create firm boundaries between his cover and himself.

But not with you.

The rare moments he spent alone with you were the only times he felt like Bucky Barnes, even under the guise of James Karpov.

But he still had a job to do.

You were smiling, telling him about a pain-in-your-ass student from your time teaching at Columbia and he could tell how much you missed it. There was a brightness in your eye, a flicker of nostalgia, of loss, and he hunched his shoulders against the cold with a steady breath.

“Why’d you quit?” he asked when you’d finished your story. Your smile fell away quickly and he nearly regretted asking. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I mean, it sounds like you really loved what you did. With all the books you collect and all, figured you’d quite enjoy an outlet with people who are as obsessed with fiction as you are.”

That got a slight laugh out of you, but it was tense. Your eyes were on the sidewalk, jaw clenched.

“Oh, I… um…” you were struggling to come up with an answer, one to bullshit to him. You weren’t ready to trust him and he should have known better than to ask so soon. “I stepped down when I got married. Brock has more than enough money. I don’t need to work anymore.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t want to,” Bucky offered because part of him simply just wanted you to know that not every man would isolate you from the things you loved and demand you give your entire life to him. The other part, the one screaming in the back of his head, knew that validating you like this, giving you the support you so clearly craved, would only build on that trust; trust he would need to use you as an accessory to bring Hydra to ash.

He hated that part of him. He never used to.

You nodded, chewing on your lip. “Doesn’t mean I can.”

He changed the subject quickly after that.

He knew well enough that it wasn’t a good sign that he was putting your feelings over his commitment to the job. On any other assignment with any other target, he would have pressed harder, would have asked how you met Rumlow and why you married him at all if this was the life you’d end up in, but he bit his tongue.

You were talking about a local kid’s high school musical you wanted to attend and suddenly you were smiling again. The tension left Bucky’s chest and he felt at ease, pushing aside the nagging voicing in the back of his head, reminding him why he was stationed next to you in the first place.

It seemed to quiet down the longer he walked with you, the more he stole glances at your smile, the more his stomach seemed to twist to pleasant knots whenever you look at him.

***

“What do you think of this one?” you asked, pulling his attention back to the painting hanging above two teenage girls huddled around a single laptop, sharing a pair of headphones as they struggled to contain their laughter.

The painting you were looking at was filled with reds and oranges, yellows and dark blue, soft brush strokes in gentle waves across the frame; it looked like a sunset, warm and comforting. It was in stark contrast to the cold and isolating nature of the house and he supposed it was why you liked it.

“It’s nice,” he said. He wasn’t as attuned to the arts as you were, but he knew it was nicer than the one you were trying to replace. It was one that made you smile. That was enough, he thought.

“Think Brock will be mad if he finds out I’m replacing a $50,000 painting with one done by...” you squinted your eyes, leaning in closer to read the tag, “a lovely young art major named Wanda at NYU?”

“Not if he never notices it.” He winked, nudging your arm.

You smiled, the lines of it wrinkling up by your eyes and Bucky had a hard time tearing his gaze away from you as you politely waved over the owner and pointed to the painting on the wall.

Bucky leaned against the counter, watching from a distance as you conversed with the owner for a few minutes, and after a while, he gasped, staring at you with wide eyes. You must have told him how much you were willing to pay for the piece.

Steve and Sam were going to rip him a new one at the next meet up, he was sure of it. There was no way they didn’t catch on to how easily he retreated back to Bucky Barnes, highly capable FBI special agent and nervous wreck amongst pretty women, from James Karpov, enforcer to the world’s deadliest mafia.

You turned back to him, raising a thumbs up with the biggest smile on your face he’d ever seen as the owner moved to take down the painting. You were practically giddy with joy and he found himself smiling until his cheeks hurt, even long after you turned away to start writing the check.

He was such a goner.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes one shot

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0zzysaurus · 3 years

Note

Hey, look. I don't know you well - and most of my friends are proship even though I think of myself as neutral, so I understand if you don't want to respond. But I do hope you are doing okay. Yesterday got blown out of proportion on both sides, though it just started out as someone trying to vent about the stress they'd experienced... but it turned personal, which sucks. But please don't leave the fandom! I don't agree with you, but that doesn't mean you should vanish. We should be able to talk!

Just replyin' under the cut!! There's nothin' mean down here, but I vented a lot. TLDR, I'm not doing great, but thanks for checking in.

My big issue is that it didn't start out as just venting on their part, it started with a huge, and I mean HUGE personal attack post aimed at me - and direct references to me, as well as directly talking at me (regardless of what they want to say, this post was aimed at me, and anyone who reads it can clearly see that). This is all from an account who has been in my DNI for quite some time and who I HAVE NEVER SPOKEN TO before. It was also a post utterly drenched in manipulative lies and false claims - all made very vague as to avoid accountability. Claims that I'm a bully, claims that I have encouraged harassment, claims that I have sent "violent images to minors" (which was literally an MS Paint doodle of Alonzo being turned into a smoothie, which the person I sent to have told me personally they found it funny and were not offended by it). None of it's true - they backed none of it up with any evidence, and they have pinned on their account for everyone to see. I wasn't not going to defend myself against it. The most I have ever done is.... Say I don't like proshippers and explain my reasoning in depth. And that warrented a goddamn NOVEL filled with personal attacks about how much of a horrible, unkind, immature, awful person I am. All because I firmly believe that fiction does affect reality, and child erotica is wrong. It's not bullying to be vocal about how disgusting I think it is. As much as the word harassment gets thrown about, I think it's fair to say yesterday was a very one-sided situation. Ultimately, I just want proshippers, anyone who I have in my DNI list, and people I have blocked to leave me alone and not continue to taunt me or make up wild, crazy shit about me. From what I hear tho, this isn't the first time this person has lied about people and gone on these ludicrous rants. The fact that they think this is some kind of wondrous victory drives me insane, too?? ike, they're treating it like some kind of holy war. A LOT of people are acting like they're being caught in the crossfire of some war. It's not. It's people with too much free time shitting on me for voicing my opinion - victimising themselves because I don't agree with their behaviour. Using toxic positivity to drown out how horrible they've just been. Honestly? I'm not doing too great. But it is what it is. I'm trying very hard to stay positive and not let them get me down. I suppose thanks for checking in on me, but I'm very on edge right now.

#tw #discourse #drama #proshipping #blacklist #vent

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princessjungeun · 4 years

Text

All I Need: Wendy x Reader

Request: RV Wendy scenario where her best friend since childhood goes on her first date which makes Wendy realize she’s in love with her 🥺

You scribbled random doodles onto the corners of your notebook, mindlessly humming to yourself as your teacher lectured the class. The bell was what snapped you out of your trance, indicating it was finally time for recess. A group of kids started a game of tag and you happily joined in.

“I’m gonna get you Y/N!” One of your classmates shouted as she chased you. Running as fast as you could, you ended up tripping over your own feet, scraping your knees on the asphalt.

Tears stung your eyes as you tried your best to not show that you were in a lot of pain. Your knee was bleeding, quite a lot at that. The other kids around you were too busy with their own games to see you needed help. You looked around for a teacher, but they were busy with other students, leaving you alone.

“Um...are you ok? Can I help?” A small voice spoke up a few feet in front of you. The voice belonging to a girl, she looked around your age, a book tucked under her arm. You’d never seen her before but right now you didn’t care about that, you just wanted help.

She helped you up and helped you to the nurses office. You told her “What’s your name? I’m Y/N.” She responded “Seungwan. My English name is Wendy though.” Without looking at her you looped you’re arm in hers and said “I’m gonna call you Wannie.” She looked at your arm then at you, clearly this wasn’t something she was used to.

It wasn’t the physical contact that surprised her, but the butterflies that erupted in her stomach due to the skin to skin contact. She smiled softly while looking at your arm linked with hers, you stared at her feeling the same fluttering sensation.

You hesitated before saying “do you wanna be best friends?” The girl looked at you with a bright smile “can we?” You nodded and she hugged you tight, happy she finally had a best friend.

Ever since that day nineteen years ago, you and Wendy had been inseparable. Even during the time she was a trainee, you still managed to call her when you could. The two of you never stopped talking even when she was supposed to only be focused on her debut.

Back in December of 2019 when Wendy had her accident, you were by her side from the first day. You slept in the hospital next to her bed, even though she didn’t wake up for almost a week.

Since then she’s been inactive with Red Velvet in order for her to heal properly. She was anxious and dying to get back to her members, but you as well as her family and friends always reminded her that her health came first.

Although she was having trouble not being able to work, there was one perk. She was able to see you and spend time with you almost every single day.

Like today.

You watched a random nature documentary on your couch, your kitten, Uyu, on your lap. Not taking your eyes off the screen you didn’t notice your best friend welcome herself into your place.

“Ahh the stability of these icy wastes is crucial to all life on this planet. I didn’t know that, did you Y/N?” A familiar voice filled your ears. You placed your kitten on the floor before getting up to greet your best friend.

Seungwan laughed and said “I swear Y/N I don’t know anyone that watches these documentaries that’s under the age of 75.” You pointed her to a chair so she could sit down while you poured the two of you something to drink.

“Where are you coming from? It’s 10 am, you usually aren’t up this early these days.” You sipped from your glass, raising an eyebrow at her. She responded “I had physical therapy this morning, and I have another appointment later this evening.”

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably and you asked “what’s wrong?” She responded “nothing...my body is still getting used to all the moving they’ve been making me do that’s all.”

Smiling softly you reached your hand out for her to hold, guiding her to the couch. She sat across from you, her feet resting in your lap. As usual you held one of her feet in your hand, rubbing it softly, something you’ve done for her as long as you can remember.

“Any plans today?” She asked you, petting your kitten in her lap. You responded “actually I do have plans for once...I have a date.”

Immediately you noticed she tensed up, releasing an awkward laugh. She placed Uyu on the ground and sat up, her feet now placed in the ground. Plastering a fake smile across her face she asked “Who’s the lucky lady?”

You responded as nonchalantly as you could, hoping she couldn’t sense that you were excited. “Kim Minji, you know her right?” Seungwan nodded and said “oh yeah, JiU...she’s cute.”

A awkward silence fell over the two of you before she decided to stand up. “I actually have to get going...I want to stop by the dorm to see my members before they have to leave for the day. Tell me how your date goes okay?” You nodded and before you knew it she was gone.

The second Seungwan knew about your date she felt a weird sensation in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to be happy that you finally were going on a date, but she couldn’t. Something about seeing you with another girl made her stomach turn.

Seungwan didn’t know why she felt this way but she didn’t bother to look further into it. She simply deemed these feelings as jealousy. Telling herself it would be selfish of her to only want you to herself, not realizing the true identity of her feelings.

She has in the past thought about having a crush on you, but pushed the idea aside, not wanting to think further about it. Without a doubt she felt differently about you than anyone else she knew, but she refused to admit to herself that she was in love with you. Despite the fact that this was the case, as well as you could tell.

•

Your date with JiU was actually really really nice, the two of you got along really well together. However, it was almost too well. Minji was literally like a carbon copy of you. So much so that the two of you realized being together romantically wouldn’t work.

You and Minji both were looking for someone to fill the gaps you had within your own personalities. Everything that you were, Minji also was, so everything you lacked, she did as well. You both also found that you talked more about Yoohyeon and Seungwan, than your own selves.

The two of you both ended your conversation laughing about how you both helped each other realize that you had feelings for someone else. Grateful that it turned out this way, the two of you made sure to schedule a friend date before parting ways.

•

Walking home you smiled to yourself as you thought about Seungwan. Now you realized that you did in fact have feelings for her, in more than a friendly way. You’d always pushed these feelings aside and decided that this was just how best friends loved each other. However now after talking with Minji, you realized you were in fact head over heels in love with her.

Pulling out your phone you clicked on your most recent contact:

Y/N 💞: hey i’m on the way home from my date, come over in twenty?

Wannie ❤️: i have a doctors appointment in the morning...i don’t want to stay out too late

Y/N 💞: please Wannie 🥺

Y/N 💞: you can stay overnight and i can take you to your appointment in the morning

Wannie ❤️: ok fine, i’ll be over soon

Smiling at your phone you tucked it into your pocket as you broke into a sprint. When you arrived at your apartment you quickly took a shower and did your skincare. You pulled on your favorite pajamas and cuddled Uyu while waiting for Seungwan.

After what felt like an eternity, you heard a small knock on your front door. When you opened the door, there she was looking perfect as ever. Putting on yet another fake smile, she asked “how was it?”

You pulled her inside and led her to your couch where she sat next to you. Frowning you motioned that you wanted her closer to you. She settled in between your legs, leaning back into your front. You placed a hand on her waist, rubbing her soft skin subconsciously. With a smile you told her “it was good...we get along really well.”

The amount of jealousy bubbling up within Seungwan physically pained her. She wanted to be happy for you, she truly did, but she just couldn’t.

“That’s nice Y/N, when are you two having your next date?” She tried her best to sound supportive, but hurt was evident in her tone.

You slid your hand over hers, interlocking your fingers. A smile ghosted Seungwan’s lips as you said “I’m not going to see her again, in a romantic way of course.”

She asked “why not? What happened? I thought you just said you got along well.” You told her “we do, but we get along so well that we’d be better as friends...it’s kind of funny though. We both realized we were in love with someone else.”

Seungwan’s breath hitched before asking “w-who?” You responded “you know her...she is everything I need and more. Everything that I lack, she has. She’s like my other half. I denied my feelings for her for a while and I know she’s done the same. I know she valued our relationship too much to act on her feelings and I think that made me more attracted to her...She’s all I need.”

Bringing your lips to her ear you whispered “you’re all I need Seungwan-ah. It’s you I want.” Immediately she released the breath she was holding and she said “You’re all I need too Y/N.”

You ran your thumb along the top of her and before kissing her temple softly. She pulled your arm further around her waist and looked up at you. Her eyes found yours and slowly you leaned down. Her lips captured yours and you held her tighter in your arms. She pulled away with a smile before telling you one last time.

“You’re all I need”

#kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #red velvet scenarios #red velvet imagines #wendy red velvet #red velvet seungwan #son seungwan

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radioactivepeasant · 4 years

Text

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

(Full disclosure, this is a chunk of a toshinko fic I wrote a few years ago purely for my own amusement. I may upload it someday, but I haven't decided on that front yet)

She almost turned his offer to escort her home down on the grounds that she was a Nobody and he was going to get swarmed with people asking weird questions.

She didn’t turn him down in the end.

Forever after, neither of them were sure how they’d fallen into discussing personal matters, especially when under normal circumstances neither would be caught dead pouring out their heart to a stranger. Perhaps she’d just needed the catharsis. Perhaps he'd needed the human connection. When they reached her little apartment at last -- at least Hisashi had stayed long enough to help her move -- All Might handed her the umbrella.

“Wh- no I can’t take- what about you?” Inko sputtered.

“Ahaha no worries! I’ll be right as rain!” All Might flashed a peace sign, then broke into muffled giggles. “Wow. That was horrible. I’m so sorry.”

Inko laughed, and All Might jumped away, and that should have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

[[MORE]]

A few weeks later Inko found a note taped to her door in the unmistakable handwriting of All Might.

Hoping there have been a few less rainy days in your life lately! :D

There was even a small doodle of an umbrella with his distinctive eyebrows and smile.

After taking an hour or two to get over the sheer shock of All Might remembering her -- let alone where she lived -- Inko found herself sticking the note to her refrigerator.

Second-guessing herself the whole way, Inko taped a note of her own on her door, a short and sweet heartfelt thanks for him going out of his way to make sure she was alright, and listening to her complaining. After a moment’s hesitation, she added a doodle of her own. A rainbow with his smile.

The note stayed on her door for two days and Inko tried not to be disappointed. Logically she knew it was extremely unlikely that a hero of his caliber would even be in her city, let alone on this end of town, and even if he was, he’d be far too busy for social visits. (Why was she expecting All Might to make social visits?!)

On day three the note was gone and something else was in its place.

It wasn’t carefully written on blank paper this time. It was hastily done, as if on the spot, and on the back of what looked like a grocery list. Still, it was fairly obvious who it was from.

It was no trouble at all, please don’t worry about it! Truthfully, it was nice to get to just talk with someone like that. Actually, I don’t get to do that very often! :D

Wishing you and the baby the best! - AM :D :D

Oh lord. The baby. That’s right, she was pregnant. She was literally constructing a human being from scratch!

...okay, it sounded kind of metal when she thought of it like that.

Inko shuffled back inside to make a stiff cup of chamomile and figure out how to organize the very bizarre amount of money Hisashi had sent her. He was as broke as she was, probably, going to that exclusive medical school. But he'd somehow managed to scrape up enough in mismatched bills to cover at least two doctors' visits. And he'd sent a pack of pacifiers?

Bless his heart, but Fujioka Hisashi didn't know much about babies. Inko taped his "sorry I'm an idiot, can we still be friends" note up on the fridge. Then, after a moment's pause, she added the second note from All Might.

Somehow, the notes became a regular thing after that. He started slipping them through the mail slot rather than taping them to the door, which was probably safer in the long run. And she started hiding hers under the mat, in a plastic bag.

She probably could have just sent the notes to his agency, like every other fan, but she worried that it would be lost among the hundreds of thousands of other letters.

Short “how are you” notes became mid-length “fought an umbrella themed villain today and thought of you, how are you?” notes. Sometimes Inko left letters about everything and nothing, talking about how she saw a flower blooming in a place it shouldn’t have been and it looked so hopeful there that she felt like everything was going to be alright. Sometimes she sent a favorite poem.

Once, about two months in, she’d just barely referenced rent and a doctor’s bill coming at the same time and within a week he’d sent her an envelope with a check to cover both. She’d been horribly embarrassed, and there was an awkward tension in the letters for a week or two until they settled the fact that she wasn’t looking for charity and he only wanted to help.

Three months of letters and Inko had begun to feel as though she knew the Symbol of Peace. Actually knew him. Oh, it was just a silly fantasy, of course, it had to be. No doubt he was barely sharing anything about himself, and he probably did this with other fans too. Or at least, she’d thought that until one of his letters questioned a mention of Mitsuki asking why she was happy all the time now and her not knowing how to answer. Hadn’t she told anyone about the letters?

No, actually, I never told anyone, Inko had written back, I’m not sure why. I’m sure this is a normal thing you do, since you’re so kind, but I can’t help worrying that some people will say nasty things about you if they find out you’re penpals with a pregnant lady.

The response had come on the same day, a post-it note on her door in the space between getting off the couch and walking to the door. She’d just missed him, evidently.

Had to run, sorry for shortness, it said, But you’re the only one I write to.

Inko had needed to sit down after that.

The following morning there was a three page letter resting on the floor just under the mail slot. It was handwritten, as all the others had been, and expanded on the post-it note. All Might was writing to say that while he did try to personally answer fanmail, this wasn’t fanmail. This was a correspondence with a friend (at least, he hoped it was, he was pretty sure it was, he wasn’t trying to overstep any boundaries or anything--). That he felt that he’d come to know her as a person in the last three months, that he looked forward to getting her notes every week. That he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, not ever, but perhaps it would be best if at some point they could meet and discuss things in person so there were fewer chances of misunderstandings?

Inko had to read it six times before it sunk in that All Might was asking to meet her. All Might was asking to meet her! She was in a daze all through her commute to work and most of the way through her workday. Her boss was forgiving enough to chalk it up to pregnancy and simply remind her to actually answer the phones when they rang. When her lunch break came, Inko wandered down to a small grocery store on the same street as her office -- much better prices than the one in her neighborhood, but an hour was a long trip just for groceries so she tended to use the other store. Still in a bit of a fog, Inko didn’t notice until too late that the canned fruit she was looking for was on a shelf much much higher than she could actually reach.

She could’ve just used her quirk to get it down, but...well, unlicensed public quirk use was illegal, no matter how impractical that was. Inko stretched up with one hand, keeping the other hand on her stomach. The baby apparently disapproved of this sudden movement and was rolling around. He liked it when she was walking, not so much when she was stretching. (And still she hadn’t picked a name for him. She’d tried a few, but nothing seemed to stick.)

“Here, let me-!”

Someone reached up over her head and brought down the can. At first glance, out of the corner of her eye, Inko almost mistook him for All Might. But that was ridiculous, right? His hair was wild and curly, all save two long bangs he’d sort of let flop loose in front of his face. And while he was definitely muscular, he didn’t quite seem to have the same level of definition as All Might. Very close, though. Inko realized she was staring at him and blushed bright red.

“S-sorry! You didn’t have to do that!” she stammered as he handed her the can.

“Well I didn’t want you to get hurt,” the man said with surprising sincerity, “Sorry if that was awkward haha I’m...bad at social things.”

And that was Inko’s introduction to Yagi Toshinori. He’d clumsily introduced himself and then dashed off blushing the moment her back was turned. Odd fellow. There’d been something strangely familiar about his eyes, though, and she just couldn’t place it. They looked almost like...nah. Couldn’t be.

Four weeks later, one of her neighbors asked her about “the buff American-looking guy” who slipped letters through her door at weird hours and Inko had an epiphany. If it was All Might, they’d have seen All Might. And probably called the presses. But the things in the letters were things that only All Might would know unless someone else had been reading her letters. With shaking hands, she wrote her next letter and slipped it under the mat.

If I met you while you were off the clock, would I still recognize you?

If she hadn’t been sore and unwilling to move from the couch, she would have waited by the door to see if she could catch her mystery penpal. She fell asleep there, waiting, and didn’t wake up again until her phone alarm went off the next morning to tell her to get ready for work. Grumbling, Inko showered, changed, and managed some form of breakfast. The baby really really hated miso and natto, so she’d been sticking to things like eggs and yogurt and citrus.

“Come on kid, I miss soup,” Inko groaned as she shoved an orange into her purse for later and bolted. She almost stepped on the folded piece of paper at the door. Already running late, she stuck it into her purse and didn’t even look at it until hours later that day.

Well, you would now, was all it said.

#free day thursday #bnha au #bnha #toshinko #toshinori yagi #yagi toshinori #midoriya inko #inko midoriya #Izuku isn't born yet #self-indulgent au is self-indulgent and i make no apologies #pen pals #Toshi is like 'this is safer than texting right?'#somewhere Gran Torino is having a conniption #fic excerpt #fic prompts #writing prompts #long post

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sidneyeldtam · 3 years

Text

Introduction (Class of Lies)

Where did I head from here?

Where could I’ll be heading from now, after all this that I would have to go through.

If I’ve made a fair and right decision back then when I was in my youthful adulthood to follow and head on towards my dreams, I would not even have to endure forcefully all of the trauma and also all of the lies I’ve to go through for making such a terrible choice against my own will.

It is my mother’s choice for me to be in this pretty ruthless industry, and out of her naïve thinking that by so, the very industry that enabled the very worse out of authority, and the very one that had truly muted the ability of the children to be their own people of their kind and the very one that had truly support such deeds of ableism. Honestly, there is a reason on why I would not therefore wished to stray off from this wishful dreams that my mother would want me to pursue, I was bullied and I was clearly a victim of this very system even from the start, let off my disability in my childhood that I could not even read or write or socialize with anyone, plus alone not being able to count properly was the very reason why I did not wish to pursue even further into being an educator.

“Why can’t you be like other kids you bloody fool! Everyone in the family and your friends are doing the best in their lives, but not even you!”

This are the very words that my mother will always use to bring my esteem down, perhaps as I’ve wondered, was it ever because that I was not even that able or was it because she had lost everything that she could had own, my long distance father, the superficial ‘friendships’ or even so all of the things that an Asian family would consider it as an epitome of success and wealth. Many of my peers would consider me as a strong willed person, probably because I did not even show an emotion or shed a tear when I was bullied or if things did not plan out as how it could, but deep down I am always shedding tears of sorrow for all I’ve been through. In other wise, my comfort road to escapism is by writing, probably by being a journalist so that I can see the best of the world which I couldn't due to our limited levels of financial funds in the house as my mother could only earn that little by being a self employed learning support consultant, but because of the risks she thought she knew from others, she was skeptical about that very dream that I’ve hold closely to having.

“If you are darn good, you could have already made it.” my mom kept on sniping every time I’ve always reason about my dream, often due to my failed accolades that has disabled me from succeeding from my dream.Otherwise from being that of a journalist, I was a very person that had far more as several dreams; screenwriter, film director; producer or even so as an concept artist because of my love for doodling and sketching, however none would had even impressed my mother as she is the kind who would want to see credits to prove if I was worth in such industry that I’ve wanted. Still I went to a local art school and had succeeded, but it is far not enough as she wished to had far more evidence of success in the relevance in the field that I’ve desired. By getting all cherry top scores in my grades, being involved in competitions that I could not even win, or even having the best grade in my final year work, such matters is not important to my mom as she still schemes for me to do what she wishes.

Until the flawed internship that I’ve done in a local publishing and media firm, though it gave me good money.My mother took that as an excuse to sabotage my dreams and my aspirations and thus I’ve ended up giving up the vision that I’ve could had envisioned out of her own benefits .Never mind about the same cherry top grades that I’ve still had in the teaching school as it does not compares with some of the ruins and despair that I’ll have to face ,not getting paid or being given less wages or witnessing the same narrative that triggers my past memories that I’ve truly wished to run away and denying it from, let alone all of the cruelty and the lies that I would had to encounter with all of my colleagues shady dealings and their soft core moral skills. Though my protective passion for the children’s best interest is there, let alone my desires to bring this industry to its reckoning for all of the issues that I had endured, let alone some of my good university course mates and friends who left because of their strong sense of integrity, I felt that day and day ,plus year by year, after being in this very ironic profession that supports truth and integrity, I felt that I was therefore becoming much more demoralized that I did not wished so.

So this is the worse part of my immediate demoralization that had lead me to a far breaking point. Very fast forward to 2020, and a sudden ounce of darkness had happened. Pandemic wise or not, I found it very heartbreaking to write about it as I could not imagine myself being taken advantage off, let alone being most of myself being ripped off of bytes far worse than my own sanity and virginity, all from someone whom I’ve thought as a mentor and a friend, a working colleague who started off as an advocate to my work ethic, my craft and also my own as myself. In all terms, he had muted all of me to the point that I could not speak for myself till today.

But by now, this silence is defeated and his play is over. I would therefore lash out my story to start my endgame with this very perpertrator who had viciously done this towards me. Whether or not he had done this towards others far before me, I will narrate everything as this story goes.

Also my name is Aleesa, Aleesa Chung Jia Lim, aged 27 and born and raised as a full scale breed of Selayang, which is part of a border between Selangor and Kuala Lumpur and the better scale of the KIang Valley. The name Aleesa was therefore given by my mother since birth and it means a warrior to all.

So when you get a chance to read this tale, please sit down and take your time to read, and if you do ever know this story by either perspective, forget every bias stances that you’ve ever know, and see things in both perspective as this is the stance of the bigger picture.

In other words, this is the truth to this story and the point of a human reckoning.

#Class of Lies #Writing #Literature #Introduction #Original story #Malaysian Stories #feminism #education #social issues #blog #writersnetwork #writer #writer of malaysia #writers of tumblr

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letsperaltiago · 4 years

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i don’t wanna miss you like the other girls do

#12: I can't stop thinking about you, #22: Sometimes I just can't control myself when around you and #28: I have never felt this way about anyone

Jealous! Amy and brand new relationship-Peraltiago

Also: Do I need to make a statement saying that Amy obviously isn't the kind of person to think she owns anyone, but means it well and in an endearing way? There you go.

Enjoy!

Read here or on AO3

It had all gone down in a spur of the moment-kind of moment that no one, even less Amy, had seen coming and honestly would’ve preferred to be without. It wasn’t really her place to say or do what she did, nor even as much as react upon it, alas… she did; she was in so deep with Jake Peralta and so she did it anyways.

Said moment had gone down during a weekend spent in Hartford, Connecticut, where the squad had attended a two day-seminar hosted by their brothers and sisters in the HPD.

Since the drive to Hartford was one of two hours, plus the seminar took place Saturday through Sunday, the squad had huddled together in two cars and were spending the entire weekend, Friday through Sunday, north of their respective homes in Brooklyn.

Immediately from the moment they arrived at the the hotel slash conference venue where the seminar was to be held everything seemed to set the scene for a pretty smooth, perhaps even fun, weekend where the squad would get to be entertained by other things that the wondering of why they weren’t at home on a weekend.

No one on the squad had any kind of expectations for the unknown city, except Holt who mentioned The Mark Twain House and Museum as a highly ranked point on his to be done-list, which meant their collective surprise upon exploring the city after checking into their rooms Friday afternoon was indeed positive enough for them to not hate the fact they were spending their weekend away from home doing work-related activities.

The very second the clock obnoxiously signalled 7 AM the following day, because not being home wasn’t an excuse, Amy Santiago was up and out of bed leaving Jake to regret, just for a tiny second, that he shared a room with his brand new paramour. It’d only been two weeks since coming to terms about “screw light and breezy”, and so far everything was smooth sailing although that morning was clearly an example of the two still figuring out this new dynamic of theirs.

“Ugh, can you stop being a decent person and get back in bed,” Jake groaned in pain when Amy without hesitance pulled aside the curtain to let in the bleak east coast-sun. If they’d been away on vacation in Mexico, even just as far as California, then maybe Jake would’ve accepted this. But there sure as hell was nothing less motivating than a sad barely there-sun hiding behind puffy clouds but still shining brightly enough to rip him out of his comfortable sleep. Especially when all there was to “look forward to”, quote Amy, was seminars; learning and powerpoint presentations that would haunt him in his next sleep.

“Stop whining and get up! The seminar starts at 8!” Amy hurried carelessly at him used to his many complaints of this childish nature. She didn’t let it take up too much of her time and had already moved on to grab clean clothes from her duffle bag to put on after her routine shower.

From where he had indeed not moved an inch Jake could hear the shower being turned on, door to the bathroom still open, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was exhausted from staying up just a bit too late watching stupid videos on his phone then he would’ve attempted to sneak into the steaming water with Amy because he could do that now… Insane.

On the other side of the shower curtain Amy had expected the same. There was very good reason why she’d added the little detail of leaving the door open and hoped would lure him out of bed. To her disappointment she quickly noticed her so-called sneaky plan was in vain leaving but one last attempt up her sleeve.

“Jake, the breakfast buffet closes at 7.30!” she called out momentarily turning off the shower to allow her to pick up on potential sounds which could indicate her victory.

Indeed the last attempt was the right one: seconds later she heard the sound of quick footsteps and the ruffling of what she guessed was clothing items before a messy-haired, baggy-eyed Jake stumbled into the bathroom stark naked and on the edge of out of breath. The way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach, Amy though to herself amused.

“Mind if I join in real quick?” he smiled sheepishly trying his best to hide exhaustion.

All complaints and opposing to her morning ritual went down the drain with shower water the moment Amy turned it back on and smiled through biting down on her bottom lip.

Santiago: 1 - Peralta: 0

—

Perhaps Amy had twisted the truth just a tiny bit to get him out of bed so early. Jake figured this out when they 20 minutes later walked downstairs and saw a sign announcing that the first part of the seminar wasn’t scheduled for 8, like Amy had said, but rather 9 and buffet as well only closed an hour later than Amy’s information had told him. Lucky for her he was so infatuated that he let her off the hook with a playful jab to her sides and a comment about how she probably didn’t even want to date him but was simply a double-agent sent to improve his habits and lifestyle. This in return earned him a very familiar by now laugh, roll of this eyes and smile-combo: a combo he’d never get tired of and already felt like getting an eternal subscription to.

The seminar was okay, he guessed; either that or watching Amy furiously yet impressively neatly take notes with the speed of light beside him was enough to make it feel so. He was convinced of the latter when she afterwards with the brightest smile on her face showed him all the knowledge she’d managed to boil down to a few neatly organised pages in her notebook. It felt dangerous so early on in whatever they would turn out to be, yet also so very natural that in his world nothing was greater than the sight of Amy Santiago smiling at him. A sight he’d quickly grown addicted to already years back although without coming to terms with it until some months prior.

“Are you sticking around for the Q & A?” Amy interrupted his wandering thoughts whilst getting a new page in her notebook ready as a few people started leaving their seats and the conference room.

“Nah,” Jake shook his head honestly knowing that it would be lying to both himself and her if he tried to act like he genuinely cared about sticking around for an additional 30 minutes of re-explaining what he’d already spent 2 hours zoning in and out of. “I think I’ll head to the lounge. I’m feeling snacky.”

“Of course,” Amy smiled shaking her head in an evident manner. “See you at lunch then?”

“Yup,” he got out of his seat before adding a “see you at lunch, nerd,” accompanied by one last teasing smile before joining Rosa on her walk towards the exit. The comment combined with his soft brown eyes and warm smile was enough to have Amy feeling like a puddle of mush in her seat. To know that said brown eyes and warm smile were… hers? It felt weird to say or even just think it since they hadn’t officially declared themselves boyfriend/girlfriend but definitely were something; something not light and breezy; perhaps solid was the appropriate antithesis to use?

No matter what - light, breezy, solid or whatever they could be defined as - when her eyes trained after Jake walking off for just tiny bit longer than intended, Amy definitely noticed how a group of four women, colleagues, she assumed, sitting on the other side of the middle isle between her and them where Jake was walking chatted and giggled as their eyes switched back and forth between each other and Amy’s favorite partner. In spite of the fact that she was en excellent lipreader Amy, to her curiosity’s dismay, couldn’t exactly tell what these women were saying or giggling about however two things were certain: one was that they were in one way or another very interested in Jake, even after he’d left the room, and two was that Amy didn’t like it. An uneasy tightness formed in her stomach telling her so and she for the following 30 minutes of a Q & A she had looked forward to couldn’t focus enough to take any actual notes. All she was left with post Q & A were mindless doodles on an otherwise blank page which was both a waste of paper and but even worse of no good use for her knowledge.

The second the seminar was officially completely over which was everyone’s cue to leave for lunch, Amy did her best, notebook and pencil case held tightly to her chest, in an attempt to get as close to the giggly group of women from before as the room’s population walked out of the room in one big stream. Completely forgetting that she was supposed to meet up with the Jake and the others for lunch she automatically followed the four women to the hotel bar where they settled down - and so of course so did Amy simply opting for a few seats further down in conjunction with ordering herself a soda as to not attract herself any suspicion or attention.

“Oh my gosh, Sydney, you have to figure out who that guy from the seminar was!”

This definitely caught Amy’s attention, both to her pleasing and bitterness: pleasing because she’d been right about her gut-feeling and bitterness because that guy was her guy. Not whoever this Sydney was.

“Yeah, he was pretty cute right?” Who Amy guessed was Sydney, a tall, beautiful blonde clad in a nice pantsuit, Amy had to admit, answered just as enthusiastically.

“Totally! And since he’s here, probably, also a cop,” the same friend who had started the conversation chimed in and Amy wished to God she’d just shut up rather than stuff her friend’s head with bad ideas like hitting on Amy’s own guy.

“I smell work place-romance, ladies,” a third friend giggled riling the other’s up along with her. To them it was all a joke, fun, some kind of competition of cat and mouse but Amy, at her respective end of the bar, was feeling herself starting to boil, more than she’d like to admit, at the thought of someone else taking away from her what she’d just struggled for so long to obtain. It was her cute cop-guy from the seminar; her work-place romance; her… whatever! And also what kind of dumb name was Sydney even? Jake and Sydney? So dumb.

“I mean we are here for another entire day so I’ll have to make sure to run into him at some point. Tonight…” the tone of Sydney’s voice took on a sultry undertone that had Amy shuffling uncomfortably in her seat. “… wouldn’t be a bad time to run into him.” The smug smile on the blonde’s face had Amy feeling like punching it right off of her.

As if on cue, like timing couldn’t have been any worse, friend number four made her presence be known and squealed with excitement while pointing which of course immediately earned herself the three other’s full attention. “Girls! There he comes! Right there!”

Within seconds all four girls heads snapped to the side with wide hungry eyes reminding Amy of what a flock of vultures looked like prior to ripping apart an animal cadaver in a documentary she’d watched a few days ago.

Vulture-like or not, Amy’s head was included in this collective redirecting of focus and followed the direction in which the friend had pointed to.

And there he was indeed: Jake Peralta, clad in his navy blue long-sleeved NYPD-shirt and freshly cut hair with the tiniest hint at a beginning forehead curl, was walking into the lounge that very moment seemingly looking around for someone and also completely unaware of the people watching him as his entrance seems to unfold in slow-motion. Amy almost couldn’t blame the girls for drooling because the cocky detective looked really good walking into the room completely oblivious to the attention he’d brought upon himself.

“Damn… He looks even cuter than what I remembered. I have to give it a try, don’t I?” Sydney questioned, obviously rhetorically already knowing what she wanted as she almost drooled like an agitated Doberman.

“I mean if you won’t, Sydney, then I will!” the friend who’d noticed Jake enter the room playfully challenged, and even though it was all fun and games to them, Amy felt like her seat was on fire making it almost impossible to stay passive and seated for much longer.

“Oh, hell no. Stay away from him. This one’s mine, Jasmin!”

There was no telling if the line had already been crossed multiple inappropriate remarks ago and she’d managed by the grace of God to stay seated or if this last comment was the one to exceed what Amy considered her very flexible limits. Either way, no matter what, the first one option or the other, this time Amy failed to bite her tongue. She threw a comment out into the open without thoroughly considering its consequences out in the open fora first thus letting the group, especially Sydney, know what was weighing on her mind.

“You've got a lot of nerve to call a complete stranger ‘yours’,” the borderline growl of a tone in which the words came out in had Amy feeling like another person: not one she specially liked. This person, or perhaps even primitive beast was a better way of describing this persona, rooted deep down in her apparently found it very necessary to protect what she already within two weeks had come to mark as her territory. Never before had she felt so green-eyed, so absolutely reckless. This being said her instincts were more vigilant than ever before and it virtually felt out of her hands.

In the meantime, while Amy was looking at her decision in retrospect yet not at all since she wasn’t doing anything to prevent any further complications, the women had turned in their seats to collectively shoot quizzical, annoyed looks resembling daggers with their eyes at Amy.

“Excuse me?” The blue-eyed blonde challenged Amy to take her statement back which roughly said only goaded her raven-haired opponent further down the warpath.

“I said: You've got a lot of nerve to call a complete stranger ‘yours’.”

Feeling herself so ice-cold, so sure about something partially dumb and actually really petty would normally have Amy back down right away but something deep inside of her, like a raging fire, had her stand her ground. Apparently that’s what Jake Peralta could bring out in certain people, both Amy and Sydney included, because the blonde was not backing down just, rather instead coolly took another shot at Amy in the hopes to have her back off.

“Why shouldn't I? It’s not like he’s everyone, right? I’m for sure not letting any of these girls run off with him,” she pointed to the her friends behind her, the switch from threatening Amy to mindlessly joking and giggling with her little girl-squad having Amy metaphorically slack-jawed. Luckily not physically: there was no way she was showing this bimbo any sign of weakness.

“Okay, well…” Amy had had it for good and all consideration of rationality was out the window. Crowded police seminar or not there was no way in hell this light haired pest with her greedy crystal blue eyes and three flippant followers were getting the last word.“…let me explain to you why how you shouldn't assume and make people your property. Especially when you don’t even know them.”

Yes, she was being a hypocrite saying this but she was actually Jake’s special someone and not just some stranger: she did have a say in this.

For a brief second Sydney seemed shocked and like she actually considered Amy’s bold statement, but it didn’t last and before long blondie was back in the game apparently not satisfied with the way things could be left off. They way things should be left off, if you asked Amy.

“Oh, so you’re his “girlfriend” or what?,” the tone of Sydney’s voice clearly implied she didn’t believe anything Amy said.

All the, not doubt per se since she knew she wanted to be with Jake and he with her, but perhaps the insecurities about what stage they were currently at melted and slipped away as water off a duck’s back. It didn’t matter what exactly they were when one thing, the most important fact, was sure: they liked each other and they were going… steady. They were each other’s, politically correct to say or not.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I am,” Amy’s voice and eyes drilled into Sydney’s with a kind of confidence she’d never felt before, perhaps something Jake had brought into her life along with himself.

In return it earned her a mocking scoff.

“Easy for you to say. He might as well be a random guy you’ve spotted in the crowd,” one of Sydney’s friends stepped in to help her friend in what Amy knew was a lost cause on their part.

“He could be a stranger,” Amy paused very briefly biting her lip as to refocus, hopefully managing to not say anything that could potentially make the pointless, stupid conversation even worse. This but also she still did want to make very clear that the random, cute cop walking into the lounge (who even knew where exactly he was at this point?) was hers.

“But he’s not: he’s my boyfriend.”

It was as Amy allowed herself a small halt to provide her lungs with fresh air, just in case Sydney felt like dragging out the discussion, when cute cop-guy very suddenly made his exact position known. He was walking straight up to the bar and them displaying smiley lips and eyes plastered on Amy. All the women’s eyes - Amy, Sydney and friends - immediately forgot about their opponent to focus on newly reappeared target who obviously had no clue about the fact that he was walking into the belly of the beast when he made it to his destination next to Amy.

“Hey, Ames.”

He nonchalantly stretched out his right arm to place a hand on the bar behind her crating a point of support for him to lean his weight onto.

“You catching up with some old friends?”

Oh, sweet naive Jake, Amy thought but also lowkey melted as he very credulously sent Sydney and her friend’s a warm, welcoming smile wanting to make a good impression on who he believed were part of Amy’s social circle.

“Eh,” Amy smiled culpably knowing telling Jake the truth about the situation would be the epitome of an embarrassment so early on in this new relationship of theirs. “I was just making small-talk, I guess. You know… meeting new people - yay.”

She couldn’t have sounded any less awkward and enthusiastic, even if she tried. Jake, on his part, was either really openminded or had figured out there was a good reason as to why she acted like she did and didn’t want to dig deeper into it, settling for an understanding nod.

“Well, anyhow… I don’t mean to interrupt anything but you never showed up for lunch and so I just popped in to try and find you.”

Even head turned to look at Jake who was slightly behind her meaning she could only see Sydney out of the corner of her eye, Amy could tell her smug, confident look from before was faltering with every exchange of words between Jake and Amy though they were far from flirty or telling about their relationship in any way. And, yes, she could’ve left it at that, as undramatic at it had all managed to turn out but Amy, well aware of how petty it was, she knew, couldn’t help but want to conclusively knock in the nail of victory.

“Aw,” Amy spun a quarter of a round on her barstool to face Jake behind her before affectionally placing a hand on his chest - both for the sake of the show but also because, wow, she could actually do that as she pleased now. Something she was still getting used to.

“That’s very sweet of you, babe,” the word in focus was always said in an affectionate tone but this specific context definitely had it over-enhanced and laced with extra sweetness to make her message very clear.

Then breaking her own no making out at work-rule, the only rule to have survived “screw light and breezy”, she couldn’t help herself and gave into the enraged possessiveness inside of her. She leaned in to place a soft, just a bit longer than a peck, kiss to Jake who automatically lightly bent his neck to eliminate the remaining space between their current height difference. The kiss was good, they always were with him, but it definitely had to send a signal that hopefully Sydney would pick up on: do not touch.

Amy, not wanting to break her own rule too much and give in to straight up inappropriate PDA, then pulled back to throw the women-squad a smirk over her shoulder as her hand never left the safety of Jake’s blue shirt.

“Anyways… I think we’re done here? Right, girls?”

To her immense pleasure Amy was met by a mixture of bitterness and surprise which had to mean she’d proven her point. Finally. Jake Peralta, officially boyfriend or not, was not to be considered anyone but hers - apart from being very much his own person as well.

In the meantime, slightly shocked but also far from displeased by Amy’s very out of blue-kiss, Jake stood passive by waiting for his partner’s upcoming directions. He didn’t have to wait for long because whoever these other women were, Amy was done with them and hopped off of her stool promptly grabbing his hand to walk away with. It took him a few feet of walking in silence before Jake could fully assemble and give meaning to everything that had just happened. He turned to question a still smug, also a bit guilty-looking, Amy.

“Okay, so are you going to tell me what all that was about?”

They kept walking out of the lounge and down one of the many halls of the hotel.

“Nothing.”

Jake was perhaps naive at times as he saw a lot of good in everything, which Amy loved, but he knew a guilty lip bite when he saw it and it was currently on full display on the raven haired beauty.

“Hey,” he pulled her aside into one of the many small wall pockets leading to individual hotel rooms as he wished to seclude them in hopes of it easing her into telling him the truth. “What’s up with you?” he smiled knowingly taking some intensity out of the moment. It’s not like he was angry or anything, curious being a better word for it.

“Nothing,” she smiled sheepishly trying to hurry out of the secluded area but quickly realising she’d failed once she felt his hand wrap around her upper arm to gently pull her back in. Her back gently fell back against the wall before him forcing her to face him.

He lightly tilted his head to the side much like a puppy would when feeling peculiar which was hard to resist when his eyes, soft and brown, had so much resemblance with a sweet puppy’s as well. She could tell he was teasing her, aware of the fact that he knew something she didn’t and it drew her insane in both the worst and best way - Jake Peralta summed up for you.

“Now I don’t believe that… girlfriend.”

In contrast to the playfulness controlling her body seconds ago Amy Santiago suddenly felt much more put on the spot, it clearly showing by the way her blood all at once seemed to fire up her cheeks. He’d overheard her talking to Sydney and the others; he’d heard her declare herself as his girlfriend when they hadn’t even agreed on calling each other that yet. The nervousness tricked her into making a loud swallow; yet another tell.

“Oh… y-you heard that?” She stuttered.

Jake nodded firmly almost encapsulating her against the wall when he took a step forwards, but made sure to leave just enough space for her to not feel straight up trapped against her will. A small smug smile on display. Why was he enjoying this? Didn’t he see that he was torturing her?

“I’m sorry - I really didn’t mean to. I know we’ve just barely begun seeing each other as more than friends, it’s just these girls were saying things about you and sometimes I just can't control myself when around you and then it just kind of-“

He cut off her rambling by pressing his lips to hers, much needed, gently pressing her up against the wall although. Only because they were hidden from the majority of the hotel’s population, Amy allowed and excused this - or so she told herself. The feeling of his welcoming lips made her forget the mess for a few seconds, just giving into how good of a kisser Jake Peralta was, and even for a few seconds after their lips parted again she was speechless and dumbfounded by how she’d gotten herself a guy this great.

“Stop apologising,” he chuckled quickly using his thumb to wipe the corner of his mouth which inevitably made him look that much hotter.

“I know we didn’t exactly “agree on it” and that it’s still all very new, like you said, but, Ames…” his eyes mellowed after looking just a tad too cocky and alluring before, during and right after the kiss. This was definitely a different shade of Jake looking into her eyes and talking: a very soft one. “… I don’t need a certain trial period or approval from anyone to know that I’m your boyfriend and you’re my girlfriend.”

Upon hearing these words coming from the one and only Jake Peralta with recipient being herself, Amy Santiago she felt her heart shoot through the roof, take a trip around the moon and fly straight back into her chest where it had her feeling like crying, smiling, screaming and laughing all at once: a very maniac-like but also wonderful feeling. The most wonderful as far as she could recall.

“And I’m not going to force you to tell me exactly what happened, but just based on the way your fists were basically clenched when I walked up to you, am I wrong to assume that they were, let’s say, treading on your territory…”

If she’d been blushing before then now her face was definitely on fire and looking down at her feet apparently didn’t help cover it at all. The silence was enough of an answer, one which he chuckled in reaction to.

“It’s okay, Ames. At least I came around before you could Jimmy Brogan them.”

At this sympathetic joke reminding her of a time that seemed to be so long ago she had to look back up. She couldn’t hold back a chuckle and it warmed her heart to share it with him just like when he shared his with her. All the previous insecurities: had she gone too far? Let her tongue run away with her? Given too much of herself too fast to something as brand new as her relationship with Jake? It had all been answered by a few simple words, caring eyes and a kiss that told her everything she needed to know.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m this crazy-jealous, possessive type. I’m normally not like this, I promise. I guess I have never felt this way about anyone before and maybe that’s why I’m acting up. Amy I crazy?” a tingling feeling of vulnerability made an encore.

“No, you’re not because I’m right here freaking out, in the best kind of way, because of what you just said. This is the first time I feel like this too, like I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s scary and great all at once.” Jake was quick to wash away said vulnerability she was feeling and replaced it with a prickling affection and hope.

“So… no more feeling insecure about us?” he offered some kind of peace-offering, partly to her but mostly to their shared insecurities, trying to not come off as too gluttonous as he slid his hands onto her waist wanting to soak in a new feeling of belonging. A feeling he’d found in her.

“Deal,” Amy accepted the offering with a sheepish smile as her insides flipped upside down witch excitement. All she wanted was to be with this guy, fully and greatly, and this confrontation and mutual agreement would allow her to not give a damn about future external factors.

“Noice. Smart,” escaped him in optimistic relief but before she could roll her eyes at it he leaned in to softly kiss her again. Being held by him, hands gently tracing the front pockets of her pants while his lips took her to another world, was something she could never deny him or herself - screw the rules. Lips collided over and over again, one tug bringing on the next until they lost sense of anything and were full on making out like a pair of horny high schoolers in-between classes. This is what they brought out in each other: happiness, fire, want and so many more things they’d both spent the last two weeks wondering how they’d lived without before.

Unfortunately their movie-like moment had to be cut somewhat short as people coming back from lunch started flooding the hall passing by their little intimate pocket in the wall. Amy liked Jake but she also liked staying professional and this Jake respected. They jumped back, creating an exaggerated amount of space between them before sending passing strangers innocent smiles as if they hadn’t just spent the last few minutes declaring feelings and making out at an interstate police seminar.

“So, Detective Santiago…” his voice took on a brand new tone of gravity - a tone she also recognised as acting. “Shall we head over for lunch?”

“I’m sorry to come bearing such bad news, Detective Peralta, but people are flooding the hall as per consequence of the fact that lunch is over,” Amy played along taking on a serious tone and posture.

“Aw, man… Seriously?” he whined childishly, his recent serious persona from seconds before immediately forgotten.

“Sorry… boyfriend,” she smiled sheepishly in an attempt to cheer him up which she had to praise herself, as it obviously worked seeing his face instantly lit up.

“Whatever… It was worth losing lunch over, girlfriend.”

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the-princess-atta · 3 years

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Changing Seasons || Attendy

Summary: Atta tells Wendy the truth and they break up :(

@flippin--corduroy

ATTA:

She’d been avoiding Wendy.

She did not want to avoid Wendy, but at first she’d not known what to do. There was much to organize now that Atta would resume her talent, and the Hollow was full of buzz at the reveal that there was not only a royal, but that the royal was...well...her… the list-making tinker from the Orkney Hollow. She needed space and time to deal with all of that first. This was what Atta told herself. Once things calmed, then she’d contact Wendy and explain…

But when things did calm, she realized that an explanation would come with an ending. That was the only choice. That had always been the only choice. Royals could love, of course they could love. There was nothing in the rules, really, that said they couldn’t. But they didn’t. Because it wouldn’t be best for the Hollow.

And loving a human mundus? They certainly never did that.

And so Atta needed to stop being cruel, and sending unclear texts and making up excuses about her classes and her duties. So, finally, she asked Wendy to meet her somewhere, and they returned to Chippamunka, where they’d had their first date.

Atta’s first ever date.

She regretted coming here the moment she sat down and she stared at the menu in front of her. An awkward silence festered between both her and Wendy in those initial minutes. The words were lodged in Atta’s throat. She didn’t want to say them. She still wanted a way around all this, but she knew there wasn’t, and this-- like so many things-- was her responsibility.

She stirred a little sugar into her water and finally cleared her throat. “I ah...first of all, I just… wanted to apologize for things in recent weeks. And for scaring you on the ice.”

WENDY

Wendy knew something had been up. Atta had been dodging plans and texts for the better part of the last few weeks. She was always busy with something in the Hollow or with her sister or with school. Honestly, Wendy felt like the needy one in all this and it wasn’t a great feeling when you were used to being the girl who was aloof and chill and noncommittal.

What worried her more was that when Atta had next resurfaced again, she asked her to Chippamunka. It was their first date spot. The night where Wendy really got to know and understand the fairy she’d been crushing on and flirting with. It was the night of their first kiss and the night she gave her the case for the log that had begun their friendship. It was all just so heavy and Wendy wasn’t one to get into heavy.

So she gave Atta a smile and they had a little bit of a small talk but that awkward silence came. The moment where Wendy could ask what’s up with Atta but didn’t because well, she didn’t want to make it seem like she’d made more of this relationship than what Atta had intended. Maybe she was just more attached. Maybe they were just on the wrong pages of this story.

Wendy played with the condensation on her soda glass, fingers drawing little patterns in the beads of water, leaning back in her chair a bit and glancing between the glass and Atta.

Then Atta started and although Wendy had expected it to go this way, she still felt her heart sink lower. It wasn’t a good beginning and it sounded really formal, like she and Atta were in a meeting or something and not two friends (or two something-mores).

“It’s alright. I mean, it’s not every day you save a girl from an icy fall.” Wendy tried to joke but it landed flat. “I’m just glad you’re okay, and you know, now that I’ve seen you, there’s physical evidence to prove it.”

She gave a shrug of one shoulder and a slight smile before breathing out, maybe she should just come to the conclusion first before Atta had time to say it, rip the bandaid off, “As for the last couple weeks, maybe I just read signals wrong and put more into this than I should have. I didn’t mean to badger you with texts or anything.”

ATTA:

Her eyes widened. Oh no, no, no, that wasn’t what she wanted Wendy to think at all! The guilt turned into a cascading waterfall, drenching Atta underneath it. She reached forward without thinking, taking Wendy’s beautiful strong hands and squeezing one of them, as if she were much smaller. She’d always loved Wendy’s hands, since the second she saw them. They made beautiful things.

“No! No, you didn’t-- nothing you did was wrong,” blurted Atta. “I was the confusing one. I...didn’t mean to be. Everything I said was true. Well--”

Atta had practiced this speech. She had turned this whole conversation into a task to be checked off, or perhaps similar to a duty to perform. However, now that she was sitting right here, she couldn’t find her way to the words. Everything felt just...wrong.

She drew her hand back and her eyes got a bit shiny. She glanced away quickly, breathed in softly, and then out again.

If she were to be honest, then she’d have to confess to Wendy now that she had lied from the start. Wendy would probably be angry with her, as she should be. Maybe that would be for the best. It would be a sudden, painful break.

“No, it wasn’t. It--” she stumbled, took another breath and then finally looked back at Wendy again. “I haven’t been honest from the start, actually. You see, I...I’m not a tinker, like I told you or everyone else. In my old Hollow, before it was destroyed, I…”

It was still hard to say it. Every single time, she wanted to break down and cry as if she was confessing to murdering her own Hollow. (For some reason these two things felt the same.)

“I am what’s called a royal-talent. A princess. I...was going to become queen when our King stepped down. But then...the oil spill and…” she trailed off and looked down, fiddling with a braided bracelet on her wrist.

WENDY

The redhead’s brows furrowed as Atta started backtracking and trying to explain herself into a circle. Atta took her hands and she felt warm again, like awkwardness had melted away to a warm feeling and she wasn’t here getting broken up with. Because that’s what was happening right? That’s what this was leading up to. Atta’s hands were small and soft, but strong. Her thumbs ran along the backs of them as they held hands for a moment before Atta pulled back.

And when Atta pulled back and hesitated, it was that she’d lied about something. Was she seeing someone else? Wendy had heard polyamory was kind of a thing in fairy culture was that it? She bit her lip, wondering what she’d lied about. She thought they’d told each other everything. That’s what this was. It was honest, right? They could just be themselves.

Well, apparently Atta hadn’t necessarily been herself with how this conversation had turned.

As Wendy let Atta talk her mind raced as to what she could’ve found so terrible as to hide from Wendy. The redhead never thought anything Atta had ever been was bad. Atta could’ve honestly done no wrong in the woodworkers eyes, but then again, maybe she’d been seeing all this with rose colored glasses. Blinded by her infatuation or something like that.

Her heart hammered in her chest when Atta confessed she was lying from the very beginning. She just wanted to know.

And then it came out. A royal talent. She was supposed to become queen. She was… a princess? Wendy had literally been dating a fairy princess?

She was silent a moment as her eyes widened, trying to process this new information before a small grin appeared on her face, “So… I’ve been kissing a princess this whole time?” She snorted slightly, “Atta… I’m not gonna judge you because you’re a fairy princess or something. I mean yeah that’s like a big part of your life but that doesn’t change things for me.”

And once that came out of her mouth her smile faded because it finally dawned on her, her voice grew quiet and a bit meek. “But… it does for you, doesn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question. “I… well, I mean I don’t want to be like offensive to fairy culture if this is wrong but are you about to tell me that you need to marry a fairy prince?” She looked down at the table a bit, drawing little doodles with her finger tips on the table top.

This was like getting the shit end of the stick in a romantic comedy wasn’t it? When a royal hides their identity and you find out you’ve been dating them all along. If Wendy were the character in that movie, she’d say she could learn. They’d stand up to the king or queen and say, this is the person I’m going to marry. But this wasn’t a movie and Wendy wasn’t ready for marriage, hell she didn’t even know if they’d been dating. And try as she might… Wendy would never be a fairy.

ATTA:

Atta was once again a coward. She sat there and let Wendy stumble her way through the news. She watched, like watching a dam collapse in on itself, as Wendy realized what Atta was really saying. It was easier that way, wasn’t it? She didn’t want to have to explain that she could not kiss Wendy anymore. That they would not have any more coffee dates on campus, nor go ice skating on the lake.

In fact, Atta did not know what her life was going to look like in the coming moons. She was still discussing her training with Clarion, considering she had come so far in her old Hollow before its destruction. She and Clarion were in completely new territory, unsure how long it would take for Atta to make a proper connection with the pixie tree, to absorb the amount of memories she would need to. Perhaps they would flood in. Or perhaps it would be a mere trickle, and she’d spend the next twenty years starting her training all over.

Either way… she knew what the duties would be. There was no place for Wendy there.

Her heart sank. The tears in her eyes shined, making her blue eyes even bluer. But she was a royal-talent and she had to start acting like it again. And in this respect at least, it was easy. It was much, much too easy to hold all those tears back.

But when she took a breath, it was a heavy breath, and she felt exhausted already like she’d been flying for days without rest.

She smiled very sadly. “No, I don’t...have to marry a fairy prince. We don’t have those. In fact, the way our Hollows work...there is only one royal-talent at a time. Two, I suppose, if there is an apprentice. But when it’s my time to protect the Hollow and become Queen, Queen Clarion will lose her connection with the tree. She will step down and live the rest of her days out peacefully, and I will rule for as long as it takes for another royal-talent to be born. So you see, I… I won’t… it isn’t appropriate for me to see anyone.”

Before Wendy, Atta had not even given it much thought at all, for she had wanted to do her best, and she had more than enough love for her Hollow and her family.

“Which is why I’m so grateful I was able to experience a little bit of that with you. I...know it was unfair of me, and selfish, but I really didn’t intend...I didn’t think I would make a new connection with the Enchantra’s tree because it wasn’t mine, I really didn’t. When it happened, I was shocked and scared and...I didn’t know what to do. I handled it poorly, and I’m so sorry if I’ve hurt you because of that.”

WENDY

The minute Atta’s eyes shone those tears, Wendy wanted to reach across the table and wipe them from her eyes. She wanted to do anything. Honestly, just anything, other than have this conversation and be told that they were too different. That they came from different cultures and had different responsibilities. Because in the last few months, Wendy had only known that they had become more and more the same. They shared the same interests. Laughed at the same things. Wendy’s smile reflected Atta’s. And even now, Wendy’s eyes and heart fought hard not to join Atta in the hopelessness and just glisten with tears.

“Queen Atta.” Wendy said simply with a sad sort of smile, “Fits.” She said simply, her fingers playing with her napkin as her eyes broke from the other girl’s. “You always sort of were one to me you know. A fairy princess, basically. You just… It was hard to not see that there was something inherently special about you.”

Wendy glanced up at Atta again, this time her eyes definitely betrayed her, “I mean this is all like a lot and from what I’m understanding you couldn’t have known, not after what had happened so I don’t--Atta just please don’t think I’m mad at you for this.” She bit down on her lip trying to figure out her words, “Did I think the whole waiting game of it all was kind of you know, handled not so great the last couple weeks? Well, yeah. But, I’m not mad. I guess I just sort of know where I stand with you which is I guess what I wanted in the first place.” That was a lie if she dug deep enough, what she wanted in the first place was Atta.

“I wish I knew what to say, you know?” She gave a slight laugh, looking up at the ceiling as if that would somehow give her an answer and stop her eyes from watering. “I just never really expected circumstance to be the reason we ended.” The redhead ran her fingers along the table, leaning forward a bit and adjusting herself in her seat, she took in a breath trying to focus on something other than the clenching feeling in her chest and the emotions that washed over her, “Um, do you still think we can hang out or are you going to be kind of in the Hollow more?”

ATTA:

Atta hadn’t expected this either. Her time with Wendy had really been a faerytale, to use the language of the humans. It was an escape from her life, from her grief, from her sadness, and from herself. She’d learned so much. She’d become so much. And it was all thanks to Wendy, really-- she owed her so much. Without Wendy, Atta wasn’t sure if Swynlake would have felt close to something like...home.

But what could have been a terrifying, strange place, full of new challenges, had transformed into an adventure. Because she had Wendy there to help her.

The tears pricked her eyes again, but she knew they were not the type of tears that would fall. The weight in her chest was too heavy for something like tears. It was the type of weight that carved out a huge canyon between the two of them, and that boundary was something that Atta knew she shouldn’t cross. She wanted to. But--Atta could play out what that relationship would look like and she knew it was a ship beached from the beginning. After all, she wouldn’t have time to spend much time out of the Hollow. Atta would stop aging quite soon. Wendy wouldn’t. Wendy couldn’t live in the Hollow, even if, like Atta had said so many times, she would make an excellent tinker…

And even if she could remove some of those obstacles, Atta would never be able to share the most important things with Wendy. The traditions, the stories, the day-to-day struggles…

That wasn’t a relationship. Wendy deserved more than that.

All Atta could offer was friendship instead. And so she smiled and nodded. “I will be in the Hollow a lot more but-- I mean, I talked to Queen Clarion and she actually thinks it’s a good idea I continue on in my Pride U studies. So we can definitely be friends. I--I would love to be friends, if that isn’t asking too much,” she finished quietly. “I understand though if...you don’t want to.”

WENDY

Well that was good right? Atta was going to keep up her Pride U stuff so they could still hang out. That was totally fine. They could hang out and not like cuddle or kiss or make out or flirt or you know, act coupley right? That was totally doable. Sure. Lesbians always were better at remaining friends with their ex’s right? If Atta was even an ex. She kind of felt like an ex but they had never been dating officially.

Wendy gave a slight smile at that, “I think we can be friends, Atta.” And that was the truth. She thought they could. She didn’t know for sure that it would work but she thought, sure, why not, they could do it. They had common interests and it would be totally fine.

They’d had a really good run. She might’ve really fallen for the fairy if they’d continued so its probably better off that they didn’t. She could just go back to flirting with women in Pixie’s and hooking up without thinking about Atta and faltering. She was uninhibited now. She knew where they stood, she should be happy right?

Then why did this feel like she almost knocked herself out with a low hanging tree limb she hadn’t seen before? (Yeah that had happened more than once being out in the forest at her height). Whatever, it would have never worked and now it won’t. Good to know.

ATTA:

Atta smiled back, but it didn’t really reach her eyes. Though Wendy was taking everything gracefully, all Atta could feel was… sad.

In that moment, staring at Wendy, it was like looking at a life she could never have. That was her punishment. If she had been honest from the very first day she stepped into the Enchantra Hollow, she would never have pursued Wendy in the first place. She would have resumed her training. If she and Wendy met, she would have introduced herself as Princess of the Hollow, and remained at a distance always. There would have never been dates to Chippamunka, kisses in dusty workshoppes that smell like the forest, or laughter on ice skating rinks.

And there would never have been a need for good-bye.

But then… if Atta played all that out, she supposed the two of them might not have even become friends. Just...acquaintances. Perhaps business partners, considering Oaken’s deal with Queen Clarion. And that alternative was even more sad, even if it would have spared Atta’s heart and Wendy’s time. Everything happened for a reason; wasn’t that what fairies believed? And didn’t fairies also know that nothing was permanent? Friends came for a season and were gone the next, but that didn’t make the time any less special.

Atta just wished things were different. One day, she supposed, that feeling would fade like the colour on spring leaves.

“Thank you Wendy. For everything. I… am so glad we met, really, truly. I’m sure we’ll be friends for a long time.”

#attendy #para #they were the cottagecore lesbians we needed...#rip

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seeds-and-sins · 4 years

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F**kin’ Diabolical (Chapter 4)

Master List

Pairing: Homelander / Original Female Character, Billy Butcher / Original Female Character

Rating: M (Strong language, sexual themes)

Decription: Carly Danvers is a reporter/radio show host/annoying little piece of- For reasons unknown to Vought, she decided to start a one man investigation on Vought’s operation. Her efforts had been quite successful so far, so much so that Stillwell would have done anything to see the young girl dead. Turns out Stillwell didn’t have to do anything at all, while one piece of evidence against Vought causes Danvers to fly too close to the sun. And Homelander flies after her.

Chapter Summary; Homelander didn’t realize that getting Carly to the Vought tower was only half the battle.

Her apartment complex was small, but in a cozy kind of way. She got lucky with the expanse of square footage the landlord had offered her, considering that she had seen other apartments and hers was the biggest in the building. At first, it was all concrete floors, scratchy wall paper, and a broken sliding glass door onto the balcony, but once she started making more money, renovations came into play. With Carly’s creative expertise, the place was a fun house in not time.

The floors now were sandalwood and the walls painted a darker beige, where the longest wall was left a solid white, covered in doodles and painted pictures that she had spent hours on. She opened up the room to expand the windows out, now they spanned around a corner of the living room. The living room opened up at the entrance, where an L-shaped sectional with brown leather graced her guests as they entered. Off to their left would be a wall with an entertainment center and a flat screen tv, to their right the crimson granite counter tops that stood with bar stools, on the other side a kitchen of that counter. Aside from the hallway that led to her room, her apartment was fairly open, lots of seating areas because she liked variety. There were bean bags and stools for her bar, which had an array of liquors that she had saved up over the years. Her kitchen was closed in by the counter, an island in the center, with a dual sided refrigerator that she also had worked her ass off to get.

It was fairly lit, but sometimes she liked to dim the lights and turn on a flashlight to read her books with, as she cuddled into a giant bean bag. In her bedroom was a king sized bed, with tons of pillows, that was her favorite part of the apartment. She often drew pictures and played on her guitar in there, that was her safe space, where no one could bother her.

Across from her lived a rough looking, older man by the name of Billy Butcher. He was rowdy, single, and he had the cutest dog she had ever seen. They didn't spend time together or anything, but they certainly talked more with each other than they did with the other residents. Down the hall was a fresh frat boy/jock, and across from him was a single mother and her two kids. Billy and Carly felt more alike, more drawn to each other, so whenever they just so happened to cross paths they would share a few words.

"Ey, I listened to your show today, definitely sticking one up to those cunts."

"Right?! They deserve it." They both shared laughs, cracked jokes, were extremely profane, and even a little too open with each other at times. Carly and Butch were similar in that they didn't have a sensor, so God forbid the two of them were ever together for a few minutes in passing. That poor mother had to shield her childrens’ ears in the elevator more than a few times.

"Can you bloody believe that they even stretch that far?"

"I don't even want to imagine that happening to anyone, not even me."

"Well, its a bloody process I am sure..." Naturally, as they crossed paths, the two of them spoke that night before she went to the lab. She was grabbing a few things, Allen and the Doctor waiting outside in the car. As she shut her door, jiggling the key with a twist, jacket slung over her shoulder, he was also exiting his apartment.

"Oh, well, what do you know? My favorite celebrity." He teased, she faced him with a grin and an eye roll.

"Oh look, my favorite asshat." She mocked in the worst cockney accent she could muster.

"You shut your pretty mouth there, those are fighting words." They started towards the elevator with laughter bubbling up from them, cheeks rosy, God it would be a sickening sight to anyone. The two of them were like peas in a pod, munchkins, cuddle buddies or some shit like that. "So, where are ya' off to tonight?" He pressed the button to the elevator for her.

"Some stupid shit with Vought, you know me."

"I like stupid shit. Does it have anything to do with your show this evening?" The doors slid open with a ding.

"Sure does, between you and me..." She came in closer to whisper into his ear, exhaling a giddy giggle behind a cupped hand. "I am breaking into a Vought Lab." He smirked, shaking his head, but never in disapproval as much as it was at the ridiculous stunts she'd pull. The door slid shut, the both of them now completely alone in an elevator. Nothing much different than the hundreds of times before.

"You think you'd have any time for drinks afterwards?" She blushed at the question, just drinks, right? No, she felt like the question was more than that and the way he awkwardly leaned on the elevator wall, said so much. As if he was nervous she would say no, or something worse.

"I'd love to, but I don't know when I will be back." He nodded his head, fiddling with his thumbs out in front of him. "But hey, how bout tomorrow for sure?" His face lit up with that shit-eating grin of his.

"Yeah, I'd like that." The elevator doors dinged open, but Billy didn't make a move when Carly stepped from the elevator. She faced him with her own grin and smiled, he waved at her. "You be careful there, sweetheart, some of us like seeing your ugly face every day." As the doors slowly began to close she stuck her middle finger up at him, and he stuck his tongue out. Children at best, that's always what it seemed like when they were together. When he was gone and they were apart, always after seeing each other, Carly felt empty almost, like she was missing out. She always shoved that away.

"Ms. Danvers! Are you going to answer me?!" An aggravated Madelyn shot out from across the desk, Carly blinked her eyes, coming to from her daze. She met Stillwell's steely gaze, Homelander pacing around the desk, eyes targeted on Carly in some threatening fashion.

"W-What-What did you ask again?" Madelyn groaned, straightening herself and plastering a fake smile onto her lips, she crossed her fingers over the desk.

"Did anybody else know you were going to the lab last night?" She stated more firmly, pronouncing each word with venomous emphasis, as if she was talking to a three year old child.

"No." Carly responded instantly, perhaps too soon, as Homelander's jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. He was surprised. Carly had always been fairly good at lying to him, better than most, but she was in an emotional vulnerable state, not on her A game truly. Madelyn rolled her eyes and then sat back in her seat, arms crossed.

"You do know the position, you've put me in, right?" Carly sighed, shakily holding her hands on her lap, she gulped.

"Look, I just want to get back to normal."

"Back to normal?" Madelyn chuckled at the thought, she stood up and waltzed around the desk over to the window that spanned the wall of her office. Homelander stopped pacing at the other side of the room, still watching Carly like a hawk. "You are as powerful as Homelander now, Danvers, there is no normal for you ever again." She twisted in her seat to consider Madelyn with sorrow filled eyes, and Homelander couldn't hide his deep huff of amusement. Carly tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill, she had never felt so weak or insignificant in front of anybody before. Heck, she'd stand up to Homelander any day before this shit happened. Now she wanted to hide in a cave and wallow in her own self pity.

"Maybe there is a way, right? The doctor told me its genetic modification, all we have to do is convert my DNA back to what it was officially."

"But you would die." Homelander said with sardonic glimmer in his tone, he shuffled around the coffee table and plopped down onto the couch. His arm rose up, spanning the length of the back rest. He held his other gloved hand up, crushing his fist into a ball. "It blows my mind that you would want to be normal again, Carly. You have all the power in the world-"

"And I don't want it." She shot out, frustration taking residence over the desperation and she stood. She held her palms out and shook her head. "This isn't who I am. I am a simple girl, made of flesh and bone, nothing more." Homelander opened his mouth to reply, but Stillwell beat him to it.

"You are right, you are absolutely right. And I might just have some options for you, Danvers." Madelyn paraded back over to her desk, perhaps she was having more fun with this than she expected she would. When Homelander told her about Carly’s situation, Stillwell was pissed beyond explanation. Here she was wanting the girl dead, and now the only person that could truly make that decision themselves was Homelander. Madelyn knew Homelander wouldn’t kill Carly, at least not without riding this high first.

"I have two options for you..."

"I don't have time for games. This isn't a joke." Stillwell laughed, leaning onto her desk with one hand, the other propped on her hip.

"I'm not so excited about this either, but this might just be good for us."

"Whatever you have to say, it better not be what I think it is."

"It better be what I think." Homelander stood, soon coming to stand alongside Carly with that grin.

"Option one," She placed a hand on her chest, "My preference..." She added slyly, and then, "We pretend you died from the fire, get you a nice place in Alaska and you live the rest of your days in solitude." Stillwell patiently waited, as if there wasn't a second option, and if there was she definitely didn't want Carly to have the ability to choose.

"What's the second option?" Homelander's voice was all too solid, glaring at Stillwell, forcing her to procure that second option like her life depended on it. It probably did.

"Alright," Stillwell sighed, "We make you a hero. You denounce your previous claims against Vought and in return you live more famous than you've ever imagined." Since Carly woke up that morning, there was a stray thought that constantly teased to slip past her lips. The knowledge that she had against Vought, she could fight them, and now, more powerful than ever, she could fight them hard. Compound V was real, she was proof of that, all the heroes were. The compound injected into babies as if they were lab rats, the thought made her sick. She was reminded of why she was here, how she ended up in that lab. Now being offered a chance to be one of them, knowing all the cruel things they've done, if anything it made her heart race.

Homelander must have felt it too. The feeling made her want to do something but she didn't even know what. Impulses working through her mind, the need to just jump out that window, the realization that nothing can kill her now. Perhaps Homelander, but still. The options before her, and she had always been one to make an option three, to force it. Now there was no choice, one or the other, they say. Homelander’s hand landed on her shoulder and he laughed, harshly patting her on the back, a pat that would have anybody else coughing up their broken bones.

"She'll do it, option two. She'll be wonderful!"

"I would like her to say it." Stillwell didn't like the feeling of not having control. Although for so long Homelander had been loose, the reins were gone, this was still different. She hated knowing that Homelander wanted Carly around and that she couldn't do anything about it.

"Okay." Carly found herself choking out, despite her better judgment. She didn't know what logic came with the response, but she knew that it felt sound. Like something was in her path, something big, like it was worth it, like the universe was talking to her.

"Perfect." Homelander said with such joy in his voice, now both hands on her shoulders, massaging at her neck. She closed her eyes and allowed him to shake her forward and backward for a moment.

"I will work with my marketing team. Until then, Homelander can keep an eye on you." Stillwell hated that too, but the girl had zero to no control over her powers. Carly could destroy this whole building and without Homelander around, there would be no one to stop her.

"I've been waiting for this moment. So exciting..." Both women glared at each other, both for different reasons. "And I have already picked a name." Stillwell crossed her arms, cocking her head at Homelander, trying to hide the agitation surging through her. The level of absolute excitement he was feeling struck a nerve in Stillwell, the hero was crossing a big line.

"Oh, you have, have you?"

"Lady Liberty." He held his hands up like the name was gospel, like it was the most obvious name, the most fantastic name. Carly admitted to herself the fact that he even thought of a name was extremely unsettling, like this had been his plan all along. "Come on guys, get with the program." He waltzed over to the office door, now fixed after yesterday's door slamming incident. He waited, gesturing to Carly as he motioned out the door. "Let's go. Come on, the more we wait, the less time you have to learn those new powers of yours." Carly didn't think she'd ever beg in her life, but as she left Stillwell's office, that last glance to Stillwell was full of silent, raw begging. The last person she'd thought she'd ever beg for help, beg for a plan, beg for safety from him. But both of them knew, Homelander was not letting Carly go anytime soon. Carly made her choice, the moment she entered that lab.

#homelander x ofc #billy butcher x ofc #Billy Butcher #homelander #the boys #vought #the seven

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nonsensicalobsessions · 4 years

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Tom & the Cookie Monster Take 2

Author’s note: @villainousshakespeare , this idea came and hit me like a brick. Hopefully it did not leave any lasting damage, nor will it give you any by reading it. Anyway, you requested: “May I please have a Tom himself fic (since you are so good at those!) maybe something set during the Broadway run of Betrayal?“ I do not know if this will live up to your praise, as this is but a shortie, but I hope you enjoy, here is your promised prompt, my dearest friend:

Two male Hiddlestons made their way through the hallway towards their apartment door. One was prancing, sprightly and happy. The other was proceeding at a trudge.

Tom was tired, and he had every reason to be. It was Saturday night, which meant there had been the matinee production, as well as the evening show of Betrayal. And while the show was going extremely well, the pace was still grueling some days.

Like today. And yesterday’s. And last week’s...

He rifled through his keys, snickering as he remembered how one fan he spoke to was under the assumption he was living in a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue. Erm, no. He had quite a nice furnished flat, in a secure building where he did not have to be concerned any random fan could interrupt his rare moments of private life, but it was simply a nice flat. And at the moment, one of his neighbors was evidently baking biscuits, and his stomach growled.

And not just any biscuits, but chocolate chip biscuits. Damn it. Now he was hungry, and even though he knew of at least half a dozen places that would deliver even at this hour, he was tired, and didn’t feel like interacting with anyone. He wished to take his public face off, just as he had removed his stage make up a couple of hours ago, but then went and spent the time afterwards doing stage door appearances for his fans. Which he loved doing. But now, he just felt drained.

As he found the right key, Bobby was sitting at the door obediently, but Tom could see the dog was all but vibrating to be let in. “Bob, what is it, man?” As Tom unlocked the door, Bobby let out a joyous bark and sped in so rapidly Tom was grateful he had dropped the lead, or his shoulder would have suffered a hell of a jerk.

Tom walked in, his eyes bouncing quickly, dropping his bag and pulling out his phone in a reflexive action. While he had never had a fan break into any of his digs, it had happened to several of his friends, and his fingers were already preparing to call security, even as he recognized the smell of biscuits was even stronger now.

Apparently whomever Bobby had run to greet had baked for him. Which was a pretty decent thing to do, stalker-behavior aside.

“You forgot I was coming tonight, didn’t you?” The familiar female voice was amused, as her yet-to-be-seen form was bent over in the kitchen, acknowledging Bobby’s slavish adoration.

Oh, shit. He had.

He dropped his keys in the small dish she had given him to keep his keys when she learned he kept misplacing them.

“How much trouble am I in?” Even his voice was dull.

“Oh, honestly, Tom.” An arm came up from behind him, hugging his waist and brandishing a freshly baked treat, so fresh it was being held in a napkin. “If you’re so tired that you can’t even remember having given your extra key to someone for just this purpose, I think that speaks more to exhaustion than culpability. Have a cookie, Cookie. I made them just like the recipe printed on the bag, so I can’t have messed it up too badly...”

Then another hand snaked around his waist, this one bearing the body and face of none other than the Cookie Monster, who proceeded to menace the other hand’s bounty. “Delayed gratification, Hiddleston!!” Now the female voice behind him was growly and raspy. “No cookies for you, you must practice the art of...”

“Oh, fuck that,” quoth Tom, grabbing the napkin and spinning around to the laughing face of his baker-cum-stalker. “Get the hell away from my biscuits, Cookie Monster, and take your delayed gratification and get stuffed...”

“It’s a puppet, darling, I don’t think they can get stuffed...”

“No, but they can get a fist right up their...”

“Shut up, Tom, and eat your cookie! I am shocked, shocked and appalled by your uncouth behavior...” laughed Sabrina Wright, who was clearly neither shocked nor appalled.

Tom met Sabrina three months ago, when he did an impromptu visit at a children’s hospital as Loki, complete with costume. The entire event was kept under wraps and unpublicized, as it wasn’t sponsored by anyone. Chris Evans had come to the area to visit a friend who was facing surgery, and between him, Charlie Cox, and Tom, they hatched the idea. Then at the last minute, Brie Larson found out about the plan and came along as well.

The children were ecstatic and a “Marvelous time was had by all” as Tom kept saying later, much to everyone’s general disgust as they kept throwing things at him at his apartment...but Tom had noticed that while everyone, children, parents, siblings, and staff were excited and clamoring to be involved in the fun, there were a few patients that were just too ill to participate, and he and his friends made a point to leave some things aside for those kids to have, and to see if there was anything they could do for them once the furor calmed down.

There was one nurse that never joined in the carefully controlled chaos, but went about caring for, and ultimately consoling, the ones who wished to play but couldn’t, or were too ill to notice, or care. Tom saw her picking one child up, and simply rocking him in her arms in a rocking chair for awhile, rubbing his back, and apparently singing to him. He made a mental note to say hello to her as well. He knew there was always someone that had to stay behind and work when everyone was enjoying these kinds of parties, and he wanted to let her know he saw and was touched by the work she was doing with so much heart.

Once the brouhaha and the dust settled, Loki stepped aside, found Nurse Sabrina, and asked if the other children would be interested in seeing the Marvel crew, and she grimaced.

“It’s very kind of you to inquire, uh, Loki, if you and your...cohort would like to perhaps wave at the children from the doorway if they are awake, that would be fine, but that is the most I can allow. They really are quite sick.”

Chris stepped up. “Is it all right if we leave them some signed posters and things like that?”

“Cap, I know that would make them very happy, even if we have to put them up outside of their rooms, looking in...!”

Loki looked into the room where he had seen the little boy Sabrina had rocked. He seemed so frail... “Erm, that little boy...will he be alright?”

Sabrina’s face buttoned up. “I’m afraid I cannot comment on his prognosis, Loki. I will say...I wish you had healing powers. For all of these children, obviously...but especially for him. He was so distressed he could not come out and see you, in particular. He thinks you are, ah, badass. I do not bother correcting his more colorful speech. It’s not relevant.”

“I see. Is he awake?”

“Yes, he is, but I cannot allow you to go in...”

“I understand...tell this young Midgardian to expect a visit in a few minutes...”

One of the giveaway items they had was a small t shirt, which Tom had signed by both characters and actors, and then proceeded to his room.

Small Tim Curran was wondering why Nurse Sabrina had come in, and insisted that she comb his hair, and wash his face...and then...

“Midgardian.”

“Holy sh...smokes,” the little boy breathed. Standing in the doorway was none other than the OG, the badass himself... “Loki?”

“I understand you are unwell and as such I am not to enter your presence. I would not wish to undermine your recovery. However, I come bearing gifts.”

Sabrina entered, grinning from ear to ear, and showed him the T-shirt. Loki had even doodled his face next to his name. “I have embued it with as much healing seidr as possible. I do not know if it will be effective against your Midgardian illness, but I do know it will aid your prodigious courage and strength, provided you heed the instructions of Healer Sabrina, and all others who are working in your aid.”

Captain Marvel, Captain America, and Daredevil also spoke to him personally, adding what qualities they added to his shirt.

Tim was in heaven, and as Sabrina was looking at his vitals, saw he was getting over excited, and thought she would have to cut the visit short, but seeing as she was getting concerned, the actors all proclaimed they needed to depart to return to their duties.

Tim fell asleep that night clutching his shirt, and would not be parted from it. Loki would be pleased to know it did impart healing powers, because it brought the little boy so much happiness...

Tom called Sabrina the next day, and asked if there was anything else he could do for the children in the wing, and Sabrina replied they were still very excited, and he had done more than enough. She was very grateful. She was also very thankful he called to speak with her personally, not because she was flattered on a personal standpoint (although she was) but because her superiors in administration would be quick to turn it into a publicity request or worse, a financial one).

Tom shyly admitted he did have an ulterior motive for asking to speak with her personally...he wanted to know if he could see her sometime.

Something about the small nurse had gotten under his skin. Maybe it was the way she stuck to the background the entire afternoon, even when everyone was getting into the big group photo. Maybe it was the way she never asked for a thing herself, even when they were all speaking casually and privately at the end, when she easily could have. No one would have minded, and even Evans and Larson commented on it over pizza and beer later that evening, how she didn’t ask for a selfie, an autograph, nothing, even though she was as friendly and pleasant as old be...

Cox noticed how Tom blushed when Evans joked about he couldn’t get over someone didn’t want to get a photo with the man who saved New York, or the bastard that almost destroyed it. Cox noticed everything...as he was leaving for the night, he asked Tom, “Are you going to try to get Nurse Ratched’s phone number?”

Tom had flared, “Don’t do that. Don’t make fun of her.”

Cox grinned. “Ah hah. So that’s the way the wind is blowing...” and walked away, whistling.

Coffee became an exchange of What’s App phone numbers. Both of them worked long hours, so texting was a godsend. Texts became marathon phone calls at odd hours of the day, which became meetings in strange places to avoid the paparazzi, until they stumbled into each other’s arms, and each other’s beds.

Sabrina was like no one Tom had ever met: calm, compassionate, cheerful, and not giving a tinker’s damn about the industry, gossip columns, and all the rest of it. When he hesitantly pointed this aspect of her personality out to her she looked at him as though he was something of interest under a microscope.

“Sweet man, I act like I don’t care because I truly don’t. It’s completely irrelevant. Unimportant. Trifling. I have held children’s beating hearts in my hands while doctors have desperately tried to sew them back together in operating rooms because bullets ripped through their little bodies and their bedrooms in housing projects. I’ve held hysterical parents back as they’ve tried to somehow willtheir dying children back to life as they take their last breaths. I’ve held newborns in my hands as they have been only seconds old, and I have held children in my arms as they’ve breathed their last. That, to me, is real. That is life. And it comes wrapped up in tears and laughter and vomit and shit and blood and love and love and love. If some paparazzi, interviewer, man on the street, or tabloid tried to give me shit for loving you, ask me how much I’d care? The answer is not at all. It’s not going to change my mind, or my life.”

Tom knew, then, he had found his one, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and grow old with, maybe even have a family of his own with...the question was, would she want the same...?

“...Tom? Tom?...Earth to Major...oh, you know what? Forget about it, Major Tom has crashed, Houston, we have a problem,” sighed Sabrina looking at her lover who had fallen asleep on the sofa still clutching part of a cookie he had yet to finish.

“Well, Bobby, it looks like another night of delayed gratification for me...good thing he’s so cute, and I happen to love the charming beanpole,” she commented wryly, only to see that Bobby was also lying on the floor asleep...and farting.

“Good God, what is it with the Hiddleston men tonight, I wonder?” Laughing quietly, Sabrina got up and made sure the bed was ready (and not in the hapless disarray of clothing tossed all around, which was not usual but happened enough to be worthy of a check). She turned down the covers and made sure there was a bottle of water on Tom’s nightstand.

As she was doing this, Tom woke up with a jerk, and he looked around for Sabrina. He wasn’t quite awake, wasn’t asleep, and Sabrina wasn’t there...she wasn’t there, she had finally done it, come to her senses and left him, he had forgotten she was coming to spend the weekend with him, one the rare occurrences she had the entire weekend off, and then he goes and falls asleep on her, no, noton her, but next to her like a right pillock, as if she wasn’t even there...no, no...he knew it was going to happen eventually, she was too lovely a person to put up with him and his bullshit, the way he was so self-absorbed and caught up in his own problems and life, she was right, she dealt in the real world, and...

He put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Sabrina...so sorry. You deserved better, but I loved you the best I could,” he whispered. “I gave you all the heart I have...”

“What’s this then?” A soft voice, sweet like melted chocolate, soothing as a warm kiss...

“Sabrina!” His head shot up so quickly she winced at the cracking sound from his neck, and then saw his reddened, swollen eyes.

“Ah, love, what is it? Nightmare?” She came and extended her hand to him. “Come with me, you’re exhausted, and we’ll cuddle.”

“You’re still here.”

She looked at him tolerantly. “Yes, Tom. Still here. Complete with my Cookie Monster puppet, just to drive you mad. Come to bed. I’ll snuggle with you and chase the bads away, I promise. The only monster here is the blue one eyeing your cookies, and I’ve put him away.”

He took her small hand, and smiled. “There will be no delayed gratification in this house. We will enjoy the things we love, and live the one life we have to its fullest...no longer am I going to delay giving my heart what it desires most...I shall be bold, and decisive...Bobby, you have my express permission, nay, encouragement, to destroy the Cookie Monster, and anything else that dares come between myself and my love...”

Yes. He would be bold. Tomorrow, he would ask her if she would consider becoming a permanent star in his sky, he would stop living in fear of her disappearing the moment he closed his eyes, he would throw caution to the four winds, and belay any idea of delaying his happiness, and hopefully, hers, for any reason, a moment longer. There would be declarations made, and promises, and...

He tripped over his shoes.

“Careful! Harsh, Tom, very harsh...and Bobby, don’t you dare.” They turned off the lights and made their way to bed, Tom sleepily stripping along the way, making Sabrina laugh. “Ah, what the world to pay to see this strip show...”

“Quiet, Woman. This is not a strip show, this is a ritual divestiture of armor.”

“Uh huh,” she skeptically agreed, looking at the trail of clothes behind him. “So, if I was to get undressed like that...”

“Ah, now that would be a strip show, and a lovely one, indeed...”

“Sexist double standards...here, sit down, I will tuck you in...”

“Promise?”

“Tom!”

The naughty little boy expression he gave her was ruined by his yawn he could barely cover. Sabrina laughed as she quickly undressed and put on her sleep clothes, only to be greeted by Tom’s gentle snore the moment she turned out the light. He was so very tired. She was glad he could relax, and find some rest.

And while yes, it was definitely a night for delayed gratification, they had the whole weekend to look forward to sharing. She, for one, was so looking forward to bringing out the Cookie Monster puppet in the morning...maybe as part of a wake up call...

Tagging @villainousshakespeare , @winterisakiller , @vodka-and-some-sass , @lotus-eyedindiangoddess , @just-the-hiddles , @yespolkadotkitty , @hopelessromanticspoonie , @theheartofpenelope , @sabine-leo , @wegingerangelica , @ciaodarknessmyheart , @wrathkitty , @rhemasky , @catsladen @sourpatchkidsandacokecan , @redfoxwritesstuff , @the-insomniac-cat2 , @alexakeyloveloki , @myoxisbroken , @ladyfluff , @toomanystoriessolittletime

#Tom & the Cookie Monster Take 2Nonsensical Writestom hiddleston x octom hiddleston x ofclook Christine I did a thing200 follower prompt

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inikavulpixelreviews · 4 years

Text

Let’s Talk About Pokemon - The Rolycoly Family

837: Rolycoly

OHHHH!!!! OH OH!!!!! THE COAL MONSTER!!! THAT I PUT ON MY WISHLIST! OH How I instantly fell in love with this little guy when it was first revealed. This design is so neato in its lovable simplicity. At first glance it's little more than a chunky hunk of coal with a single eye. Oh, but they eye GLOWS as if it has coal burning on the inside! That on top of its general body shape makes it look like a living miner's helmet! Hah, how clever and original for a little coal critter!

It even has a unique ability that has it interacting with Fire and Water, boosting the Pokemon's speed if its hit with moves of those type! Cool! And how I LOVE that grumpy little visage it has. It's just a single eye but it still lends so much fun personality to the thing. But Rolycoly comes with a little something extra:

It's on a WHEEL! It has an entire wheel-shaped shard of coal on its underside that allows it to roll around like a unicycle! That is PRECIOUS! And boy howdy has the excitement for what this thing could possibly turn into get me pumped. So many neat Fakemon ideas floating around. That and I absolutely KNEW I was gonna be using a Rolycoly once I started playing the game myself. I just HAVE to see what this coal dude turns into!

Personal Score: 10/10

838: Carkol

Oh, well... hrmmmm. We're not off to a fantastic start, I guess. My instant turn-off on the other side of that evolution screen was that Rolycoly instantly lost its cool cycloptic eye in favor of a much more regular looking face. Why does it just look like Golem's face??? Like I can't stress this enough. If a Pokemon has a unique feature, especially one that is a rarity like a single eye, or a droopy face, or having shaggy hair cover the majority of its face, or even a complete LACK of face, it absolutely should NOT lose these features unless it has a compelling enough reason to, like fulfilling a design theme. There are so little Pokemon that are cycloptic that it's SO ANNOYING that it instantly fails at step 1.

I also don't really like that's already SORTA lost the wheels. They're there, and they function as wheels, but they're behaving a lot more like legs most of the time. It doesn't even keep its glowing eyes. They light up during certain animations but that's it. Nor do I like that a pile of coal is precariously going over its back. It makes it stop looking like a coal monster and just that it's a monster that carries coal. The shape of its back should evoke the look of a mine cart filled with coal and not BE a mine cart full of coal, if you get what I'm saying?

Even if it was just the face that was redone, I would've taken it. But if I could do a little tidying up and redoing of Carkol, it wouldn't take a TON to do it. The basic shape is fine to me, just good lord please give it its face and wheels back.

Personal Score: 5.5/10

...But not all hope is lost just yet! There's loads of Pokemon with a good beginning, and low middle, and a good end. Awkward teenage stage am I right? Even if its face isn't just a single eye anymore, at least it's keeping the wheeled theme! In fact, you could really build off of that! Like making it a train! A TRAIN POKEMON, LIKE ON MY WISHLIST AGAIN! That'd be knocking out two birds with one piece of coal! Surely they couldn't possibly think of ditching that aspect of this line, especially since it's been present in two stages so far! Surely the least possible thing that could happen would be if this almost literal mine cart Pokemon had suddenly lost all its wheels and miraculously turned into a generic bipedal dinosaur that walks like literally any other Pokemon out of nowhere. That’d be like, the worst case scenario. But that wouldn’t happen, right?

...

...Right?

839: Coalossal

Not to come off as blunt right off the gate here but this did it. I didn't think it was gonna be possible. Gallade is no longer my least favorite Pokemon of all time. Because in the end, as much as you could say Gallade sullies the Gardevoir line's unique take on a knight just by association, you can at least IGNORE Gallade. Just evolve your male Kirlia into a Gardevoir anyway because Gardevoir is just better than Gallade in every way anywho. Gallade? Literally WHO??? But Coalossal is impossible to ignore if you were a fan of what Rolycoly was putting down. And even Gallade had a FEW merits to it. Coalossal has almost systematically taken every little bit of what has cool and unique about Rolycoly and thrown it out the window in favor of being an all-around copy-paste job.

Okay, for a moment, let's pretend Rolycoly and Carkol never existed. Coalossal was just a single-stage Pokemon on its own in a cave somewhere or whatever. What about Coalossal is individually unique to it and it alone? Sincerely close to absolutely nothing. No single individual aspect of this design is unique in any way. Want to know the major reason why? Because Coalossal already existed. We've already had Coalossal for about ten years now. But back then, we called it Rhyperior.

I'm personally not a gigantic fan of Rhyperior either, but look at this. This is absolutely comedic. They're the fucking same. They are the SAME creature. Coalossal is nothing but an off-color Rhyperior. Like come ON. At least Rhyperior has the benefit of having is rough body serve a visual motif where it's wearing construction gear, with sound-canceling headphones, complete with wrecking ball tail. A solid rock monster design, even if I personally prefer Rhydon. I can confidently look at Rhyperior and see that it’s gone through revisions, redraws, and polishes to make it unique even in its own evolutionary line.

Can I say the same for Coalossal? I honestly can't say I do. With Rhyperior fresh in mind, what's Coalossal's visual motif? It's made of coal, I guess? Its face SORT OF looks like a cowcatcher on a train. But here's a question, why doesn't it look MORE like a train if train was clearly a motif they wanted to go with? If it's a train monster, why is it bipedal in the first place?

The only bit of its design that's even a little eye-catching is the pile of coal clumsily piled onto its shoulders, but I already said why I don't like that. It makes it look like Coalossal itself isn't a coal monster, it just carries coal around. Besides, most well-done designs aught to still have at least some value to them even if you took away one aspect of said design. Rhyperior with a plain tail with no wrecking ball is still a funny construction site rhino man. Even Carkol with no coal on its back would've still been a weirdo mine cart monster. Coalossal without the pile of coal is just naked Rhyperior.

Things only get worse when you add Carkol and especially Rolycoly back into the equation. Rolycoly's unique features were that it was a coal monster with one eye, riding on a wheel and it's shaped like an object. Carkol at least continues most of this, mostly ridding of the single eye thing. Coalossal gets rid of all that's left. No more wheels, no more object shapes, no more fun, it's just a coal thing now. Literally the first thing that comes to your mind when you think “I want to make a coal monster.” A rough draft in monster design form, printed and published for the full release.

I have to wonder, how many questions of whether this looked good or not the decisions to make in a train monster but also a bipedal dinosaur-thing was a well enough thought-through idea? Is being a dinosaur with a cowcatcher on its head visually interesting? More visually interesting than its previous stages, where it had far more visual motifs going on? Was it a conscious decision to say yes or was there a time crunch where they had to settle on a “close enough” design to pad out the Pokedex?

And you know what's more than likely the thing that murdered this line? Time.

I feel bad for possibly implying it was going to be nothing but smooth sailing this Gen when I made my little Sword and Shield pre-review. Because the more I've dug into Gen 8 the more I've realized how many designs in here are heavily flawed. And I can only blame the very evident drop in quality on the clear lack of time Gamefreak has these days. Generations are getting shorter and shorter and it's starting to show. Had SwSh not happened for another couple years, I guarantee I wouldn't be making this rant right now. This kind of blunder is simply so uncharacteristic of Gamefreak's art department. Like say what you will about the games themselves but Pokemon's been running strong from Gens 5 to 7. It's hard to believe the same company that made creatures like Mimikyu, Buzzwole, Sigilyph, or Pumpkaboo churned out Coalossal here.

Here, I'll embarrass myself and share a bit of concept art of a personal project of mine. These designs aren't too terribly spectacular, are they? That's because they're just the rough drafts. The very first instance of me drawing a creature in order to have their design idea on paper, because I can flesh them out later. They’re very wonky looking, weirdly generic at best because later on, “Ash Wolf” there would later become...

“Billowolf”. And heck, it’s plenty possible that it’ll go through one more redesign or so before I’m fully satisfied with it. Coalossal feels like the former. A sketchbook doodle of a “coal dinosaur” base idea that was meant to be more fleshed out later but wasn’t given the opportunity.

And I'm noticing more and more that this is gonna be a repeat complaint going into Gen 8. Lots of ideas with decent or even excellent potential not being lived up to because the designs haven't been through enough revisions. We're well aware of an internal approval process that happens within Gamefreak for these Pokemon to get accepted, and I can only wonder if they just settled with “good enough” designs simply because they were running out of time. Like for PETE'S sake this annual release schedule needs to stop. I hope this new trend of DLC will alleviate the Pokemon Rush. Hell, I'd encourage it so long as they're fairly priced and maybe even bring in a handful of new Pokemon designs each. It's not quite a year off the constant Poketrain but DLC is a lot easier to make than an entirely new game or even a “deluxe edition”. I don't care if we go back to a release schedule of one generation per major Nintendo system. Just let these guys have the time and leeway to do their dang jobs without the stress of ridiculously tight deadlines. There's still so much talent within Gamefreak and it's maybe easy to forget that they're the ones that made the more beloved entries in the series back before they forced a game out almost every year.

And to be clear I DO NOT mean to say all this to shame whoever designed Coalossal, even if they themselves are proud of it. Nor am I shaming anyone that does like Coalossal (just given I’ve gotten comments before acting like I’m being the opinion police with this review series.) Alarmingly enough, my taste isn’t law! And that’s fine. I’m just wondering if the higher-ups on the art team have given Coalossal a pass under less time-constrained circumstances? Or would they have sent it back in to go a few more rounds in a feedback loop? The basic point of this rant is just

Obviously, I'd want this line to follow through on the train motif and have Coalossal actually be a goddang train. And of course keep the single eye.

I do hear one of the defenses of Coalossal being dinosaur-shaped being that “it's a fossil fuel coming back to life.” If that was the intention, that should've been the theme from the very start instead of the rolling wheel idea. (Even under this light, I still wouldn't call Coalossal a very good design. It's far too generic to be doing even that cool idea justice. If that WAS the idea, I’d say it’d be way cooler to do a monster that’s moreso crudely trying to imitate the look of a dinosaur.)

...Awkward thing is, Coalossal wound up sticking in my team for the whole game. Mostly because I wasn't sure if any more new Fire types would be coming afterward (there weren't) so. My Sword team has my least favorite Pokemon on it. I still love ya though, Obsidius. It's not your fault your design wasn't finished. ):

Personal Score: 1/10

I'm sorry if it feels like I'm just dunking on Pokemon after Pokemon here. I PROMISE there's some Pokemon I'm excited to talk about coming up later. In fact, oooh, Applin's next! Applin will be a good palette cleanser, yes.

G-Max Coalossal:

Oh yeah, Coalossal has a G-Max form too. It's better, I'll give it that, and it SORTA brought the wheel thing back but only in having tire-shaped thighs. Pbbbth. The scale is imposing and at least its eyes look a little bit cooler again. I can't bring myself to like it much better just by association with Coalossal. It's fine, I guess. I'm not even gonna rate it. I just don’t like it. It’s fine. Eh.

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#Pokemon #Rolycoly #Carkol #Coalossal #Pokemon Reviews

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