#also so much of it would not fly (no pun intended). hell there's stuff that didn't fly in 2005 thats still in it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

koalas-koalas-everywhere · 3 years

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Can’t believe I wrote a fic about my shitpost. Can’t believe it’s the first thing outside of schoolwork that I’ve finished in years. Outrageous. Anyway, here’s fanboy!Matt for your enjoyment.

G-rated. Gen. 2,799 words. Follows Daredevil and Spider-Man comics continuity. If you clicked the link, you know what’s coming.

So it’s Spring of 1962 and everyone’s talking about a new sensation, some masked guy who does flips on TV. It sounds dismissive, but that’s exactly what intrigues Foggy and Matt about it the most - it sounds like gymnastics and lucha libre rolled into one, which doesn’t usually get this much attention outside of the Olympics. This guy, though. Apparently, he’d made some waves after beating a big name wrestler in an exhibition match. Well, to be honest, Matt doesn’t know how big of a wave, exactly, because he found out from his dad, who found out because he ran in those circles. It could be that the average person hadn’t known anything about this “masked wonder” or his fight, until that TV host started using it to promote his upcoming appearance at his show.

Foggy and Matt missed it. They were on their last year of college, and had the work load to prove it. Besides, watching TV wasn’t their favorite pastime, even though Foggy had become a pro at narrating by then, and Matt’s dad had cultivated a healthy disdain for staged fights in him, which he had assumed was what the show was going to be about. So they were caught on the wrong foot the next day, when it was all anybody at campus would talk about. Apparently, there hadn’t been any fighting at all. It had been more like dancing, said some star-eyed students. Or a circus act, said their jealous partners. Even ol’ reliable Battlin’ Murdock had verified, with a certain “well, I’ll be damned” lilt in his tone, that, if there had been any trick to it, it was good enough to fool him and worth the while for that alone. Matt ended the call, shared a “look” with Foggy (the one that they’d practiced with the intention of unsettling clients, witnesses and prosecutors alike one day, which had been Foggy’s idea once he’d noticed Matt’s uncanny ability to locate people and angle his head their way to make it look like he could actually see them) and agreed to watch this “Spider-Man’s” next appearance. Luckily for them, after his raging success, another show was scheduled a night later, so they didn’t spend much time out of the loop. Also, they’d hired a commentator to explain to the audience (and thus, further impress them with) each of the stunts that their man pulled and assure them of their difficulty, which was always a plus to a blind guy “watching” a TV show.

Matt confessed to some excitement. He liked gymnastics. He liked to do them, of course, but he also liked it when others did it, especially when it was only described to him and he had to reconstruct the image out of his own muscle memory, the remembered sensations of coiling and pushing and tight breathing and weightlessness. That is, he liked it if it was described right, which this commentator didn’t do. He’d start well enough, saying, for example, that the spider guy was doing a forward somersault, but then he’d correct himself and say it was an aerial walkover. Or that he was doing a scissors leap, but he’d change it to an aerial cartwheel but horizontal? What even was that? It didn’t sound possible! Even the commentator didn’t seem to know. Matt had to assume that he was trying to compensate for the spider guy’s sloppiness by making up stuff and that, judging by the crowd’s and Foggy’s reactions, his efforts were paying off. Maybe this Spider-Man guy had some sort of sight-based, charismatic showmanship he was missing out on, he sneered in his mind.

(What Matt didn’t know, of course, is that he was right, and “this Spider-Man guy” wouldn’t know gymnastic training or form if it bit him in the butt. His thought process during all of it was more along the lines of “if I flip now, it’ll leave them all gagging!” And it did! Everyone except for the blind guy who couldn’t see it to believe it and thought he was at just the beginning of what promised to be a very frustrating show.)

Then it happened. Matt was sitting in disgruntled silence while Foggy described the guy’s “web”, which had aided him in his latest pirouette, thinking that everyone who’d paid to attend was getting scammed, when the commentator’s narration reached a near feverish pitch as he followed the latest string of stunts. The spider guy switched to multiple handsprings in a row, sometimes adorned with round offs or cartwheels or a random flip that was neither here nor there, but it was obvious from the change and the audience’s sudden tension that he was working up to something. Right when Mat was wondering just how long the stage was, the commentator announced a sudden leap forward into the air (twenty feet up? How could anyone buy this?). The commentator’s voice grew alarmed in a split second, screams came from the public just as Foggy’s breath caught and his heart rate accelerated. Matt returned to his previous thoughts — sloppy— a showman not a gymnast— no more space on the stage— and lunged for the remote. Like Hell were they going to watch a man get killed on TV.

He might have made it in time, if he hadn’t had to rely on others’ reactions, so much slower than his own and oh-so-much slower than Spider-Man. As it was, a brief struggle with Foggy over the remote that ended with them falling off the couch was enough to let him hear a thud… and the crowd go wild with applause. He thought, well, that’s callous, before Foggy’s gasped out, “He landed on the!”

And he was much better at judging Foggy’s emotional state (and morals) than that of strangers on a screen, so he knew, “Wait, he’s alive?”

“He’s standing on the!”

“He’s alive?!” he repeated.

“He’s on the! He’s crouching on the! Now he’s! Oh! Oh! He’s crawling! Oh! Oh… er, I get the spider thing now. That’s creepy. He’s, ha, he’s creeping. He’s a creepy-crawly.”

“Fog, what the hell? He can’t walk?! Is there a doctor to help him?!” How could everyone be so happy with a man so hurt he was crawling? Was it the relief that he hadn’t died making them loopy?

“No, Matt.” Foggy grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “He’s crawling down the wall!”

“Do a flip!” came a shout from the TV.

“Well, no, I can’t do flips up here, Max,” came Spider-Man’s voice. Gasps. “I’ve gotta toe the line!”

“He’s only got a toe on the wall, he’s got that leg folded behind him and holding the rest of his body parallel to the wall, now,” Foggy explained, awed. Through a mind hazy from the shock, Matt recognized that it would have been a very bad pun… if Spider-Man hadn’t been defying the laws of physics as he made it.

“Wait, actually, I can!” Thud and applause. “But only once!”

The act proceeded to something very much like a talk show, if talk shows were regularly interrupted by the guest pulling stunts like pirouettes or tricks with his webbing or lifting the host’s chair, host included, with the tips of his fingers. More or less what he’d been doing all along, except now Matt believed it.

“Wow,” he said slowly. “What a showboat.” Sprawled on the floor of Foggy’s living room, he knew. He would go to one of Spider-Man’s acts in person, one day.

He pestered Foggy with questions. Asked him for details where the commentator, only there to explain the technical aspects of the stunts and not to function as a disability device, wouldn’t cut it. Asked him to describe the stage. The set-up. The audience. The man himself.

(“Uh, average? I mean, muscly, but lean, not too imposing. Average height, a bit taller than the host, maybe? Then again, I don’t know how tall the host is… Looks like a spider.”

“How can he look like a spider as tall as a man and average at the same time?!”

“Well, no, he’s dressed like a spider.”

“Like—”

“No, no, forget that, not like a spider… a spider motif! Yeah, it’s a skin tight suit with webs drawn on it, with boots and gloves like that, too. Uh, plain pants and stuff. A mask all over his head, with more webs and blank, creepy, buggy eyes! Oh, and web armpits! Sort of like a flying squirrel. Do you think he’ll fly?”

He didn’t.)

By the end, once they were already back at campus and going to bed, Foggy seemed to have gotten over the childish wonder and commented, “could’a been all smokes and mirrors, y’know. Invisible ropes.”

Matt smiled and told him that he hadn’t seen enough to form an opinion either way. Foggy grumbled a bit and said something about mimes and muscle control before falling asleep.

Matt’s smile didn’t go away. He knew. There was no smoke, no mirrors, no invisible rope beside those webs. Spider-Man was the real deal. He was like Matt.

It was very embarrassing to become the intended target of those “don’t try this at home” messages. At least, he’d confirmed the relative possibility of Spider-Man’s most ambitious gymnastics feats. That is, that some of them weren’t possible for human beings. He supposed it was a good thing that people thought he was so helpless that he could explain his sprained wrist away as the result of a simple stumble on a sidewalk, and not a failed attempt to recreate that scissors leap/horizontal aerial cartwheel. Then again, knowledge was its own kind of reward, because he’d found out that some of Spider-Man’s tricks were possible, especially for someone with Matt’s pinpoint precision, reflexes and control over his own body. He just had to let go of caution and trust his senses.

Over the next few days, he didn’t miss a single one of Spider-Man’s shows. On TV, of course. Following through on his plans to go to one live was a luxury he couldn’t afford as a Columbia law major, not on his schedule and not on his dime. He loathed the thought of asking his dad for more money when he was already putting him through college, if he’d even agree instead of urging him to forget that Spider-Man nonsense and focus on his studies. It’d be hard to justify such an expense when, as far as he knew, his son wouldn’t even be able to tell what was going on. How to explain that he’d be able to follow the act better that anyone else there? Or the sheer need to stand in front of someone and sense their otherness, the way only like can recognize like? There was no way. He’d have to wait until he had his own job and no one to question him on his expenses.

One of those plans of mice and men. Not a month later, Spider-Man was making headlines for a whole different reason. He’d caught a murderer. Apparently, a home burglary had gone wrong and in a turn of events that only the man himself understood, he’d ended up bringing the culprit to justice. People’s minds went to the Fantastic Four, naturally. What did they have to say about a new superhero? Would he join them? Would he work solo, like that one scientist who gave himself ant powers? Could he be trusted with public safety? Was it even his plan to turn to fighting crime or was it a one time thing? Would his act continue? Tabloids said no, Maxwell Shiffman, Spider-Man’s producer (the most embarrassing part of the whole affair for Matt — having learned the name of a tv personality), said yes. Matt didn’t know what to believe. Of course, the news would make that assumption without any proof. What better way to cause drama, after all? “Everything stays the same, same old, same old” wouldn’t sell. But it wasn’t like Shiffman would admit the loss of the greatest tv sensation of the decade so easily. Anyone could be lying, or wrong.

As it turned out, they were both right, after a fashion. Spider-Man took to crime fighting, but he did go back for one last show, which Matt missed because it hadn’t been advertised as such, at all. After that, though, no more. Full-time do-gooder, was he. Matt wasn’t really bitter, but he’d admit to a bit of disappointment. Oh, sure, it was for the best, he was glad there was someone out there helping people. Still. He wished he’d gotten the chance to meet the now-hero.

He wasn’t quite thinking of that missed opportunity when he decided to buy tickets to his dad’s fight soon after, but the experience had left the lingering impression that it was best to grab your chances while you had them. He definitely didn’t spare half a thought to Spider-Man in the following months. It wasn’t quite outside of the realm of possibilities, though, that maybe, just maybe, when he devised his billy club and his preferred method of travel, some part of his subconscious flashed back to Spider-Man’s webs and thought, “that’s the way to go”.

There were also other people like them running around by then. Iron Man. The X-Men. The Avengers. A wizard, or something? There were rumors about people who knew people who knew someone who’d seen a Norse God fighting rock aliens going around, but Matt was a Catholic, so whatever.

It would figure, though, that with all that new variety, Spider-Man would still be the first other superhero he’d meet, and that it wouldn’t be as Daredevil, but as Matt Murdock, blind lawyer and seemingly attempted murder victim. It was a bit of a let down, t he way it went down. He could have dealt with those crooks. He’d wanted to. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the feat he should judge but the form - it was all over and done in a minute, and it had taken Spider-Man longer to wrap the four of them up than to take them down. That was impressive. He couldn’t help but feel a bit cheated, though.

Boy, would he change his tune not one day later. Spider-Man, in an actual circus act! It was everything he’d hoped it’d be, if he ignored the part of him that had grown a little too much in the last year to appreciate it as he might have, back then. It even distracted him from the Foggy/Karen situation for a bit. Spider-Man had a whole host of apparatuses now, which made his act even more impressive, according to Foggy. The poor guy tried to keep him on the loop, despite the noise of the frenzied crowd, but he had enough trouble keeping up himself. Spider-Man’s movements were quick and fanciful and playful. Matt was sure he was making up the routine as he went, often changing his mind mid-air. His private chuckle every time he pulled a particularly complicated stunt (which were most of them), or thought of a new joke or trick with which to drive the audience to bits made engendered a sense of rapport in Matt. He acted like there was nothing more enjoyable than hurtling himself from beam to unsteady circus beam several feet above the ground, and he got it. God, did Matt get it. He had to resist the temptation to go up and have a bit of fun on the tightrope himself.

Not for long, though. He got his chance on the stage, sure enough, as he half tried to save a hypnotized Spider-Man, half tried to escape him. Despite the advantage of a clear mind, he barely made it by the skin of his teeth. Then, Spider-Man’s sincere gratitude and kind of corny promise that “a Spider-Man never forgets!” suddenly brought home how young he was. Barely older than he’d been when he’d been blinded and got his powers. He was so caught up between this realization and an odd feeling of validation, like he’d been officially accepted into the ranks, that he almost gave his super-hearing away with a careless comment.

His insights didn’t change the fact that, when the other hero benched him so he could take his pound of flesh, clever little Matthew just went back to his seat. After all, who else could say they’d gotten two live shows from the Amazing Spider-Man?

He couldn’t resist a small barb, though. “I couldn’t have done it much better myself.” Yes, the guy was cool and all, but they were peers now. No need to get mushy.

#Daredevil #Matt Murdock #Foggy Nelson #Spider-Man #Peter Parker #comics #fan fiction #Matt can have a little a parasociality #as a treat

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iamanonniemouse · 3 years

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A Taste of Ink - Trust and Control

I found a new series a couple weeks ago, and it's really good and really hot, and I have so many feelings about it that here I am, writing meta about it.

But Mousie, you're all saying, what does this have to do with Inception?

Nothing at all.

But Mousie, you're all saying, have you ever written meta before?

Nope. Honestly, I don’t even know if this falls under a true meta header, or more the “word vomit your feelings” header.

BUT HEY YOU ALL SHOULD READ THIS SERIES. It's called A Taste of Ink, and you can get all the books here on Amazon! The basic premise is that Trinket, our main character, has been in a relationship with his boyfriend Zee for two years. To commemorate their two-year anniversary, Trinket decides to get a tattoo. He has a wonderfully ~steamy tattooing experience, then goes home and has some really great sex with his boyfriend. Zee confesses that he'd love to see Trinket covered in tattoos, so Trinket gets to start a long-term sex-on-the-side arrangement with his tattoo artist, Mini. I'm doing a horrible job explaining this, but seriously, this series is hot and layered and just :screams: SO GOOD. It very definitely falls under the category of Don't like; Don't read, and if it were fic, I'd put a big note to Read The Tags First, but I very, very highly recommend it. (Please, someone, go read this series so I have someone to scream with.)

And now I'm going to completely word vomit about some of the things that have happened in this series so far. Major spoilers for Books 1 through 3 below the cut.

I’ve always enjoyed the energy involved in power dynamics, and the way Daniel May writes the relationships between Trinket, Zee, and Mini absolutely fascinates me. And after reading book three, A Guilty Canvas, I had so many moments that were like the proverbial lightbulb turning on that I just HAD to share them somewhere.

Trinket’s first time with Zee was far from ideal, to put it lightly. The way Trinket told it in the first book, they both had too much to drink, and Trinket didn’t tell Zee he was a virgin, so Zee wasn’t as careful as he could have been. But it was okay, because that less-than-ideal night allowed them to end up together, and they’ve been happy in the two years since.

But here’s the thing. Ever since that first night, Trinket’s never been able to fully trust Zee in bed. It hasn’t really been an issue when they’ve just been having vanilla sex. But now that Trinket’s opened them up to kink, now that he’s encouraging Zee to let loose with all his secret desires and kinks too, it’s slowly becoming more obvious.

My big lightbulb moment was in book three when Trinket deliberately, with all the subtlety of a freakin’ sledgehammer, provokes Zee into fucking him into the mattress. (Francois fucking Ng, amirite?) Trinket’s wearing lingerie that Zee surprised him with -- that Zee made him go pick up himself, without a hint or a warning -- and he’s handcuffed to the bed. Trinket feels completely out of control, but he tries to ignore it until he can’t anymore.

Zee fucked him faster, and as much as Trinket liked it, he tasted something bitter in the back of his throat, almost like resentment. He watched himself getting railed in the mirror, saw his body outlined in wine red straps and black tattoos. He liked, in a general sense, Zee’s surprises. He liked Zee surprising him with the vibrating plug. The office redesign. The koi pond. There was something he didn’t like about this surprise. This situation. Maybe it was too many at once. Maybe he wasn’t the sort of person who liked lingerie. Maybe he wasn’t the sort of person who liked handcuffs.

And then, he provokes Zee. On the surface, Zee’s still in charge the entire time, but I think Trinket does this (plus the whole, no coming while you’re on your trip bit) to feel like he still has some control over the situation. It’s okay that Zee fucked him raw, because he made Zee do it.

Before this moment in book three, I had actually wondered if Zee was submissive, because Trinket kept telling Zee what he wanted and Zee was so eager, almost desperate, to do it all. But then I realized it’s actually that Trinket doesn’t feel safe enough to relinquish control.

Here’s the catch, though: Trinket wants to submit. He’s craving it. He wants someone to take charge, control him, humiliate him, even. But he isn’t going to be able to get that with Zee, at least not the way things are now between them. Because in order to give Zee total control, Trinket has to trust him enough to surrender entirely. And that ghost of their first night together still haunts him.

Now, let’s look at Mini. Trinket trusts Mini completely. It feels like it shouldn’t be possible. Mini’s barely more than a stranger, just some hot guy tattooing Trinket and having sex with him on the sly. But Mini’s experienced in BDSM, and his approach to sex with Trinket is a lot more centered on communication and consent. It’s just subtle.

The first example that comes to mind is when Trinket wears the plug to his tattoo appointment. Here’s what Mini says to him:

"Take off your shirt, get on the table, and let me put the stencil on. Once I get to work, I want you to turn on that plug. And then I want you to tell me the whole story. In detail...I want you to tell me exactly how good and nasty you felt, how much it turned you on...No jerking off. No messing around. Your man is paying a lot for this ink, so don’t fuck it up for him...By the time I’m done, you’re gonna be hurting. Not just the ink. The endorphins are going to fuck you up, the vibe is going to fuck you up, your own tongue is going to fuck you up. You’re going to be wound the hell up...And that’s why, afterwards...You’re going to let me fuck you for real.”

Yes, this is hot as hell. But it’s also a way for Mini to tell Trinket exactly what’s going to happen between them tonight -- no surprises -- and a chance for Trinket to say no. The sex between Mini and Trinket is explosive, but a good part of that is because Trinket actually, fully surrenders to Mini when they’re together.

Again, this didn’t fully click with me until book three. After listening to Trinket and Zee’s sex, Mini says very bluntly that Zee “needs to google basic BDSM etiquette.” And it’s true. Trinket doesn’t fully trust Zee, but Zee hasn’t done everything he needs to in order to gain Trinket’s trust. (This isn’t an anti-Zee post, I swear, even though I do have many :squint: thoughts about Zee. Maybe I’ll save those for another post, along with the post I want to make talking about names and pet names in this series.) ANYWAY back to consent and communication -- look at this part here:

“I don’t see why you’re hung up on this.” Trinket scowled. “I’m here. I consented. I’m still consenting. Maybe I don’t know that much about ‘kinky’ stuff, but everyone starts somewhere. And you said I had good instincts. What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” said Mini, and this time he lowered his voice to come in close, kissing the side of Trinket’s neck. Kissing with a hint of teeth. “Is that when I get you home, I’m gonna hurt you. Really bad. I’m gonna do it on purpose. I am, on purpose, going to make you scream, beg, and cry. And I need to know that, safewords aside, you have the guts and self awareness to tell me when to fuck off.”

I really liked Mini already in this series -- his attitude, his self-confidence -- but this gave him major points in my head. It just underlined the difference between Zee and Mini and explained why Trinket’s dynamic with each of them is so different.

What I’m interested in now is what’s going to happen long-term with these three. Will Trinket eventually talk with Zee and smooth out the kinks (no pun intended) between them? Mini had said he would teach Trinket the ins and outs of BDSM, and then Trinket could teach them to Zee. Maybe that’s what will happen. Secretly, in my wildest dreams, I want a scene involving all three of them, with Mini directing them both, and Trinket flying high... but I don’t know how Trinket could ever explain Mini to Zee. Either way, I can’t wait to see what happens next. And I will probably be writing another insanely long, unsolicited post about names, because that’s where I’m at right now. SOMEONE READ THIS SERIES SO I CAN FLAIL.

#a taste of ink #daniel may #not inception #mousie rambles #meta #random #this series is so great though #i have so many feelings good lord

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moodysnowflake · 4 years

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Please mind the Spoiler slap that might come your way guys...

Let’ talk about Rufus Shinra.

Yes, he has been exploited better than the OG, and yes, once you get the hint the assesment is trying to throw at you, it’s easier to whack his butt.

He still beats the crap out of you.

We have to realize that Rufus is a normal human being. He’s not a Turk either. Sure, he was a prodigy and has been trained by the military, and he might have trained with the Turks too during his “extended assignment oversea” (despite being him the boss, I bet Reno would still try to zap him in the crotch, if left unsupervised). Rude would gave him a sturdy run for his money (of course pun intended) and Tseng did probably manage to wipe the floor with his gorgeous platinum-blond ass at least once when they were younger. Rufus manages to stand his ground against Cloud, a final-stretch-game Cloud. Not an early-game Cloud. You have to run, dodge, parry and dive like hell, and when he hits you, it fluffing hurts. He’s the only human enemy in the Remake who actually manages to do some serious damage using a firearm.

He’s been designed to do that, you might say. Well, yeah, duh, he’s still the only one, so that’s awesome.

Moreover, he doesn’t actually look exhausted, nor particularly beaten up when the battle ends; he just smirks his way out. We couldn’t appreciate it in the OG, but heck yes we can now.

We might argue that’s all a façade, and I think that part of it could very well be true. Cloud did roughed him up after all. Plus, that’s his character, he would never show a speck of vulnerability (”nobody has ever see him bleed or cry” - can we seriously blame him for becoming an ice prince?). And he’s not stupid; once he’s disarmed, he immediately opts for strategic retreat. He’s not a brainless goof, he recognized his huge disavantage: a true tactician indeed.

Him and Cloud's battle dialogue...is it just me, or did they sound like ex-boyfriends angrily snapping at each other?...

C: Think you got my number? [Cloud?]

R: Not at all. You’re making me sweat. Good thing I came prepared. [Rufus?]

C: That’s a new trick.

R: Like it? ‘Course you do.

[Did they actually meet in Before Crisis?!]

R: Let’s make it a night to remember.

Okay guys, seriously, tone it down a notch, would you? That’s too much gold for a single scene!

His outfit might not have us all agreeing, I can totally see why. That off-white contrast to Cloud’s pitch black tho...

Here’s the knot my brain is twisting itself over.

The question slammed my brain like a train, pretty much the same as Rufus’.

I don’t know, you tell me how the heck are you seeing the Whispers...

Tseng going:

Rufus looks at him like “Wait, what? You’re not seeing this shit? You kidding, right?” then proceeds to glare him into submission, either because he thinks Tseung might imply he’s not okay after the fight and he might be suffering some side-effects, or he’s mocking him.

[If it’s the last one, that would open another pit of thoughts, like: if he thinks Tseng is teasing him, that means that happened before. If that happened before, it means he’s not a utter cold-blooded bastard, and they interacted like functional(ish) human beings up to the point of joking. What is this? Solid character background? OG-wise, we know he’s not a saint, but we also know he’s not totally batshit cracker either. Because WRO and Avalanche. (Can’t wait for Barret’s reaction when that’ll happen. That’s gonna be spectacular XD)

Reno’s line ‘You’re sure you wanna do this by yourself, boss? (ENG)//That’s dangerous (JAP)’ could support this theory, even if we know he would talk back to Sephiroth himself.]

Untill now it’s evident that he being able to see them is “Because Plot“

But my spider senses are tingling, feeling something lurking below.

He didn’t seem to be able to see them on the platform while Cloud’s smacking his way through. That could be arguable, ‘cause spotting dark stuff in a dark background is not that easy.

But after the Edge of Creation cutscene (and that’s another thing I’ll talk about later), he’s pretty well able to do that. And he’s the first character we see...

So what happened in between?

Well, there’s Wedge scene...but that’s the only thing we’re allowed to see.

Based on what’s happening in the game, you’d be able to see the Whispers because of Aerith/Sephiroth’s intervention or because the Whispers need you to see them.

That create some interesting choices, which might combine, ‘cause they’re not mutually exclusive:

1. Rufus finds/saves Wedge, or the Whispers are bringing Wedge to him (very unlikely, but you know, overthinking is so fun). He was minding his own businnes, and Wedge suddenly appears. If this happens, I don’t think he’s gonna kill him...Because Avalanche (and because if you resist Wedge’s puppy eyes you don’t have a heart, nor a soul). Yes, he’s ruthless, I know, but there are times during the story in which he doesn’t behave like a complete dickhead. Very few times. But maybe the Whispers need for Rufus and Wedge to meet, and maybe that’s what happened in the hall.

Also, my useless rambling neuron got stuck over a very stupid, very impossible, but very cute idea why Rufus wouldn’t kill him: what if Wedge and Rufus know each other? Barret and the other knows his face, but what about Wedge? Maybe somehow they casually met in Junon, or (god forsake it, my heart) even before in Midgar he saved him from whatsoever situation and he never mention it? Chances are never really zero in FFVII, but I’m well aware that this is far-fetched...like, a lot.

How cute would it be if Wedge woke up with Rufus crouched down there, skeptically looking at him.

‘What are you doing here?’

To which he would chirp “Hey Rufus, long time no see! How’re you doing? I thought you were still in Junon.”

‘I’m the boss here, I ask the questions. What are all these creepy things flying around.’

“Well, I don’t have that much of a clear idea...Also, you’re not my boss!“

‘That’s not helping. Also, technically, yes Wedge, I am.’

”Huh?”

‘I’m Rufus Shinra. (smug smirk)’

“I know that dummy (Rufus would scrunch up his face), what I don’t understand is how that would make you my boss. Blowing up one of your reactors using your explosive can’t make me pass as construction worker.”

‘I am not your boss because of Shinra. I am your boss because I’m the boss of the boss of your boss.’

“WAIT, WHAT?!”

*Whispers taking him away*

2. Sephiroth has a brief chat with him during the moment he’s left on his own (while we’re fighting his true self in the singularity). In the OG, Rufus always had this incontrollable drive to find Sephiroth, an inespicable and obsessive draw to hunt him down, which only Cloud match (and he’s the one guarding Jenova’s remants in Advent Children...). And no, it’s not because he killed his father...we know how idyllic that relationship was. That spark could have been started here.

3. A combination of the two. Because why not.

4. Something else within him helped the trigger.

Speaking about this, I discovered some interesting info. The Remake has retconned his age from 25 to 30, flopping back his birthday from 1982 to 1977. Five years shouldn’t make that much of a difference. We can agree, artistic licence.

Too bad 1977 is also the exact same year Jenova’s remnants have been discovered...As well as the very start of the machination for Project S and Project G.

Using Dirge of Cerberus as reference, 1982/1983 should approximatly be Sephiroth’s birthyear. Which leaves 5 years of preparation.

Is this a coincidence? Maybe. Or maybe the president let Hojo start to experiment on baby Rufus as he saw fit. Nobody would convince me that the president wouldn’t have done it, those two are just too fucked up. That could explain why he was so flipping good with a shotgun since he was 10, why he managed to face a SOLDIER without turning into minced meat (he didn’t show negative repercussions because he could have been resistant to mako poisoning, like Zack; plus he is the only human enemy with some resistance to Poison and Magic), why the president didn’t kill him when he sided with the Turk’s assassination attempt. That wasn’t paternal love; that was probably Hojo interceding to not have a succesfull test subject except Sephiroth eliminated, promising to have him brainwashed.

Like Cloud, despite Jenova’s cells, he wouldn’t be able to see the Whispers by his own. But Sephiroth, or Aerith, might have flipped the switch in some way. Or even Jenova’s or n#2′s bodies, to which we still have no idea what happened.

4.1. The annoyed/angry glare This could also be another reason for the angry/annoyed glare he shoots Tseng, like he’s saying “You know what I am” or “You know taking me down is not that easy”. The first one reminds me of Cloud’s line to Jessie...the look is pretty similar.

Another interpretation of this expression could be that he actually has, from time to time, some odd quirks or weird moments, residues of the mako treatment/cells' interaction. It is very likely that if that’s true, Tseng - and maybe even Rude and Reno - witnessed them.

That wouldn't surprise me: he’s sporting some serious dark circles under his eyes in this scene.

So, he could be also saying “What? Are we doing this again? You still think I’m frail and crazy? Do I have to beat that out of you like last time?”

5. He touched Jenova’s blood; it wouldn’t be that improbable, since it was smeared all over the floor. That might have done the trick by itself, or, if connected to point 4, he could have been drawn to it by the cells within him, which could have worked as catalyst.

6. Any combination of two or more of the previous points. It’s Nomura Testuya we’re talking about, they could all be true for what we know. He’s a goddamn psycho: it’s easier to build a house with a sand-pail and a plastic shovel than understand Kingdom Hearts' series plot .

Too many questions, but the revelation that Rufus can see the Whispers is very intriguing; the whispers needs him for something. Destiny needs him for something. That makes him an even more valuable character that he already was in the OG, and I’m glad they’re doing it.

Nobody seems to be left behind (in character development sense) this time.

We can only wait and hope.

Wish you all the best, Rufie (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *

#ffvii remake #ffvii remake spoilers #ffvii spoilers #ffviir #rufus shinra #ffviir spoilers #ffvii remake theories #ffvii theory

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caffeinatedingenuity · 3 years

Photo

[ This area kind of developed on its own and I ran with it. ]

[ OOC design stuff ]

The thought of nan Mizrelas risking his next generation design of personal research vessel/airship traveling near the ground made little sense, so I mulled over the concept of a hanger area for ‘Assault craft’ sized transports,( plus storage for small aerial magitek vehicles/machina..).

Such would allow the airship to more or less ‘stay off the radar’ so to speak by sticking on the fridges of civilization given current situation within the empire, but was initially intended for travel around the empire to act as a mobile research facility for major projects or to Allagan areas of interest for research purposes.

Such would lend to the vessel using transports and other smaller craft for logistics, escort, personnel transport support and so on, staying safely tucked away in the sky, while also allowing for it to filter whom has access to it.

For headcannon stuff, hit keep reading.

[ Headcannon stuffs]

[ General ]

The general loose idea is nan Mizrelas launched the vessel while still mostly under construction, yet in a ‘self sufficient flight ready’ state right as “as ‘the shit hit the fan” so to say when the empire began to truly go to hell, some where just shy of Fandaniel beginning his jackassery with the Telophoroi.

That idea has the exterior of the vessel, It’s power and reserve power systems, primary Allagan inspired engine systems, and some other support systems more or less finished.

Some other key focus areas were also largely finished, such as Cargo storage, assorted engineering areas, Hanger area for obvious reasons, Most the officers deck and his personal residential area ( as he did not anticipate having much of a crew at the time, the residential/crew deck was not a priority during the initial construction. ), and some of the vessels main focus, Magitek research facilities.

[ Currently ]

At this time the vessel is undergoing internal construction while in operation and staying away from conflicts as best it can. It’s crew would be collecting resources on the fly ( no pun intended ) from whatever imperial ports it’s logistics teams can safely secure supplies from.

[ Prior to launch ]

Upon the vessels launch, nan Mizrelas would of offered a good deal of the personnel stationed at imperial facility responsible for constructing the vessel to depart with it.

As the imperial civil war following the emperors demise began to get fairly crappy in region of the nameless facility, a good portion those aforementioned personnel likely accepted the offer, hence forth becoming it’s crew in exchange for likely not being killed by whatever the hell started to occur as Imperial factions began to have conflicts with one another while vying for power, or as the Telophoroi stuff began to occur.

At this time it’s intended to be left vague as to when the vessels construction first began, but nan Mizrelas would of used his personal influence, status, as well as past ( or the promise of future ) favors garnered over past few decades to secure the initial construction.

[ Basic vessel concept ]

Officially the vessel was designed to act as a non-military focused magitek research and development vessel, one that could be re-positioned as need be for current major projects, or to Allagan sites of interest to the empire.

Such a concept, along with his own extensive designs for much of the ship and it’s system, would attract enough interest ( along his own intensive campaigning efforts ) to to secure the resources in it’s construction.

Personally, it was to act as a replacement for a much smaller personal vessel nan Mizrelas had been using for more then a decade now, probably not much larger then an Assault craft, maybe double, at most, triple the size of one.

Such a vessel would allow him to pick and choose his research, and by extension, staff rather then being forced to work on, and with, whomever happened to be at the facility he would be stationed at prior to it’s completion.

#FFXIV #ffxiv roleplay #garlean rp #garlean empire #ff14 roleplay #ff14 rp #3ddesign #3drender #autodesk maya #Unreal Engine #This is all unfinished concept work ideas and art that is no where near finished

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wwwafflewrites · 4 years

Text

A Rewrite of History

Chapter 5—Phantom Traveler (Part 1)

Pads.

Castiel, or some other jerk with wings, had put a box of pads… in your car.

Yeah. That’s how this is starting. Not what you expected, huh? Not when there was a doomed plane or your quarrel with the Winchesters. This was completely unexpected and random.

It was a surprise to you, as well.

So, what, angels could predict periods now? Was that a thing? Or was there a puzzle piece you weren’t getting here?

Not that you weren’t… a little grateful for the gift. You weren’t going to pretend periods didn’t exist. Hell, you weren’t even sure why they were so taboo. This certainly was helpful when you were tight on money, but…

No, just, what the hell? Were you just PMSing that bad and you hadn’t noticed? Like, you did have a breakdown the other day. It also might explain your food cravings and unsteady moods.

But that was all completely justified. In fact, you were doing pretty good for having been thrown unexpectedly into a very unfriendly universe with nothing but what was provided—which wasn't much anyway. It almost felt wrong to blame it on period hormones.

Regardless, now you had... pads.

You got in the car and started the engine to drive to Pennsylvania, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of your head that something was off about all this.

///

Nazareth, Pennsylvania had a brisk, winter breeze on the day you got there. You primarily stayed in the warmth of your car for a few days, napping and resting, but you were forced to get out and stop in a store bathroom once and awhile.

At some point in that week, you bought the newspaper, too. The days were starting to blue together, and you needed to keep your bearings if you were going to try and follow the Supernatural timeline.

December 4th, 2005.

Damn. That meant Thanksgiving had already passed. Not that you had much to be thankful for.

Tomorrow was the first time the Winchesters saw a demon, which was just bizarre, considering that their future was full of demons. That is, if you couldn't stop it.

You counted the days in your head. November 2nd, Jess died. A week later, you took on the Wendigo. Then you took on the water-ghost about two weeks after that, hitting around November 27th. It took a good few days and then some to recover to wind up in Pennsylvania, so, yeah. This made sense.

There was nothing you could do but wait for the Winchesters, because you were getting on the same flight as them anyway.

No pun intended, days were flying fast. At the same time, the hours seemed to stretch forever. Maybe that was because all your extra time was put into recovering and sleeping, so the hours that were spent awake felt long, but most of your day had already been spent, if that made sense.

Yeah.

When you got back in your car, you noticed a little flappy object in the passenger seat. One that was becoming annoyingly familiar to you.

Another damn note.

How many notes am I going to get? Why can't they just talk in person?

You paused.

...probably because they gave me an angel blade, and they don't want me having leverage.

You shrugged, turning the slightly crumpled note and flattening it.

Check your trunk.

"Hello to you too," you muttered, throwing down the note and marching over to the truck. You sighed, "God give me strength," before propping it open.

There was a large suitcase for traveling on the right, and beside it was chaos. It looked like someone went all-day mall shopping and crammed it all in without any care for decency. Nothing was even folded. There was clothing everywhere.

You could identify a variety of pants and several blouses. There were plenty of shoes, eerily all your size.

You saw a lumpy article of clothing in the back, so you grabbed it, letting it unravel to reveal a dark, navy-blue trench coat. You cringed a little. "Are you trying to make me look like Castiel and the TARDIS had kids?" Upon further inspection, however, it wasn't all that bad. You could probably make it work.

You put your hands on your hips, looking down at the mess. You sighed. "Great. Now I really look homeless."

There was no point in driving yet when you had this mess to deal with. So you set the trenchcoat down, almost too calmly, and turned away for a minute. Those freaking angels were always making crap for you to fix. As if you didn't have enough to handle already.

Okay. Just breathe. There's no use getting angry when you have no one to punch.

You have to think for yourself. You have no one to turn to, so you have to ask your own questions. Why did they give you this? They’re not giving you this stuff to be nice, so what's the point? What exactly are they doing all this for?

It got you thinking. And being alone gave you a lot of time to think.

You stepped back watching the clothes as if they'd suddenly tell you all the answers.

The first too-obvious answer would be that more clothes will make your job easier. Keep you more comfortable. But… you've been doing relatively fine on that spectrum lately, regardless of how much money you now had. This was, in those terms, unnecessary.

Then that's what the angels want you to think. They want you to be naive.

Assuming it's not just Castiel that set you up here, and even if he did… the angels don't care about you. You're even less important than the Winchesters, who are seen as nothing more than maggots. So what's the point of doing this?

You closed your eyes, trying to focus.

Other than giving me things, what has their interaction with you been? Threats. Warnings. Nothing face to face.

What's their goal? To control me. To keep me isolated. Keep me quiet.

What would these clothes do to benefit that goal? They're... making me dependent. If I go against them, they can just snatch all they've given to me. Take it all away until I beg for their help again. They're not being nice. They're making me their bitch.

Shivers ran up and down your spine, and you recoiled from the trunk. You felt sick. You stared at the trunk in disgust, knowing that you had no choice but to accept the help, because you needed it.

Then, something caught your eye. A shiny strand of something peeking out behind a pair of pants. It looked like hair. Apprehensively, you reached for it, tugging until it revealed a wig.

You knew what they wanted now.

///

You sat brooding in your car for a very long time.

You refused to put the trenchcoat on, even though it was just going to get colder and colder. The wig sat in the passenger seat, taunting you. The rebellious part of you had a violent urge to whip out your hairspray and lighter and just ignite it until it was a burnt crisp.

You were at the point of shivering when a flap of wings sent you jumping a foot out of your seat. Your heart thrummed, and you slammed a hand against your chest. “Holy sh—!”

“I don’t believe there is anything holy about human feces.”

You turned, staring at Castiel, who had replaced the wig in your passenger seat.

So that was it. They had finally sent someone. This proved the angel theory, if your dreams hadn’t already. And of course they sent the only angel you didn't want to stab in the face.

"Castiel?" you breathed.

"I hear you are reluctant to wear your given disguise," he said. His expression was unreadable and stoic. Not an ounce of give.

You supposed that empathy was reserved for the Winchesters alone in Season 4.

"I know what you're doing, you know. I don't want to be any part of it," you spat.

He looked out the windshield, peering out at the city. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said, not sorry. "You understand we have your companion?" And if there was any warmth in his eyes, you did not see it. You just saw cold, icy blue. "I can assure you that she is well, but not safe if you do not comply with our orders."

Now this was personal. "Orders?! You mean these?" You snatched the note from the cup holder, making sure to crumple it some when you grabbed it. "This garbage is what you call an order?!"

Castiel didn't flinch.

You stared him dead in the eyes. "No. No, this is ridiculous. I want your 'orders', person to perss…" You paused. "Angel. Person to angel. You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure we can do that for you."

You shot him an incredulous look. "And why not? You're doing it right now!"

"It is not time for angels to visit the Earth yet. You know this."

"And I'm an exception?"

"You're a nuisance," he said, finally turning to stare into your soul. Probably literally. "Do as we say or things will get much more difficult for you." And then he was gone.

Now you understood Dean's frustration. "Freaking angels!" you screamed, punching your steering wheel.

What the hell am I going to do.

///

You were uneasy that night, sprawled in the backseat with your eyes shut but not asleep. There was no way to feel safe. Before, the car had perhaps felt like a barrier between the monsters and you. Now, it felt penetrable. You felt weak. The angels were watching, and they didn't need to sleep.

You thought about your best friend. Wondered if she was cold like you were. Wondered if she was scared.

You got a few hours in before you woke up. It was five in the morning when you first checked the radio clock, which was ironic, considering that's around when the Winchesters get the phone call. You know that you have a lot of time before you have to get on that flight. The Winchesters waste most of their day talking to the survivors and breaking into the plane wreckage as fake Homeland Security.

You smile to yourself a little, remembering their innocence.

"That's pretty illegal, even for us." "Demons? I mean, this is big, Sam!"

Too bad it probably would never be directed at you.

You liked the Winchesters. You did. You just wished things were different right now. You had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, an unfortunate chain of events that distanced you from the Winchesters. Coincidence.

Wait, coincidence? When is anything ever coincidence in Supernatural? You pinched your eyebrows together and relayed the events. That's a lot of coincidence, don't you think? What if all your failings and misunderstandings were manipulated? What if none of this was your fault?

You wouldn't put it past the angels.

Well, this made everything much more complicated. Because not only did you know what they were doing, they knew what you were doing, and they would do anything to keep you from gaining the trust of the Winchesters.

Your best bet was doing what they told you. Even if you hated it.

///

You looked like a different person. Which, you guessed, was the point.

You stood in front of the gas station mirror, adjusting your dark sunglasses and combing your hair. The blue trenchcoat… wasn't horrible. It wasn’t your typical style, but you made it work. You wore it with a black blouse and pants.

When you made it back to the car, there was something else in the seat. A makeup bag. Begrudgingly, you opened it. Trying to push down the guilt that was weighing on your chest as you got more and more. They probably stole all of this crap.

You did your makeup dark and heavy, trying to reshape your features enough to make you look not-like-you.

Now to get to the airport.

///

You bought your ticket at the airport. You were sweating profusely, terrified the entire time, thinking about the very near future. You'd never flown before, and you definitely wished your first experience wouldn't have to be a doomed one, but that was the job. There would be more firsts in your future, and you would have to accept that. Hunters weren't whiny babies.

Thirty minutes later, you boarded the plane. You had spent far too much time rationalizing this risk. These were real people, and this plane would definitely plummet in forty minutes.

Sucking in a breath, you decided to focus on step one: finding your seat. Your ticket said 20E. Which was somewhere in the middle of the plane.

You scanned the row. 20C, 20D… 20E. That was you. You took your seat, feeling yourself get panicky. You couldn't let that happen, now could you? It would be counterproductive if you got possessed.

You looked at the seats. They were smaller than you would've liked, but they weren't uncomfortable. The seats were a plush purple with little pinkish designs. You traced them with your finger over the fabric, hoping to find some distraction in the small action. It didn't offer you much.

You looked up, watching as people boarded. You stiffened as you saw two familiar faces enter and sit to your left. The Winchesters.

You were sitting right by the Winchesters.

///

Tag: @rosaren2498 , @pillowjj , @busy-bee-angel-misska , @elle-r , @dagnylokisdottir , @omg-we-really-doo

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quinnmorgendorffer · 3 years

Text

because i need to get this out here somehow...hopefully the cut works so you guys don’t feel obligated to read this lol

church was always a part of my life growing up, i know i’ve talked about it on here before. i know i’ve mentioned getting “saved” at recess and going to church lock-ins. i’ve mentioned missing some of the christmas traditions our church did, like ending on “silent night” in only a candle-lit worship hall. but religion has just a much heavier part of my life than i’ve talked about.

my family wasn’t always the best in attendance until i was around nine. to quote arrested development “i don’t want to blame it all on 9/11, but it certainly didn’t help.” but actually, yeah, i blame it all on 9/11. we went to a vigil the night of the attacks and suddenly every sunday my sisters and i were woken up to go to church.

i didn’t mind all of it. i liked being an acolyte when i was one on the first or last sunday of the month - first sunday was communion, which we helped with, and the last sunday was the “noisy offering”, where we went around with buckets to collect change for one charity or another. i liked singing in the children’s choir. i never cared for the sunday school or youth group stuff as i grew older and people i enjoyed hanging out with in my age group left our church to join different ones for various reasons. my parents had to deal with the multiple youth pastors we had over the years telling me and my sisters that, basically, believing in evolution was a sin. my parents were NOT okay with that since they, you know, actually believe in science.

i don’t regret all my time in church, though, if only for the music. i still love and miss the songs. it’s how i got my first solos, where i got to test performances at the annual variety show. i had a really bad relationship with my high school’s choir director, but i could always count on getting compliments and praise and love from my church community every time i sang. it was something that really kept me going when i felt very untalented.

when i was 13, i got to join the adult choir because the music minister thought i was good enough, which i was so proud of, because normally you had to be in high school before you could join, but i was asked early. and i even got to sing the soprano solo in fauré’s requiem, my first ever classical solo (which is funny to look back on now seeing as my voice is nowhere light enough to do that piece lol anymore lol). i would practice with the children’s choir every hour on wednesdays, then wait the half hour for the adult choir practice. the children’s choir didn’t perform every week, but the adults did, and we used to do two services every sunday, so i’d wake up early to sing at the first one, go to sunday school, and then go to the second service, where we would normally leave before the sermon started. eventually we went down to just one service (no pun intended but thank GOD for that). eventually i was asked to be the song leader for at least three years of vbs (vacation bible school, a summer camp for kids, normally some over-the-top story being taught through videos). i may have been asked/done more, i can’t remember for sure.

outside of church, my family wasn’t super religious - most of us, most of the time. my dad still had some hang-ups about gay marriage due to what i have to say is religion, because i don’t think there was any other reason. we’d say grace whenever my grandfather came over for dinner, and sometimes during our own bigger meals when he wasn’t there. it used to be a thing with my sisters (and my mom, i think?) when we’d go to bed that we’d say something about “don’t forget to say your prayers”. oh and at one point, when my sister and i expressed a desire to not go to church, my dad said he was worried we’d go to hell. that was fun.

all of this to say that.....i remember doubting a belief in god a lot. as i’ve grown older, i still haven’t been able to figure out my beliefs. i find it hard to believe there’s a god when there’s all this suffering, but i also find it, well, depressing to think that there ISN’T a god. i feel like it’s not “smart” to believe in god, at least not Christianity, but i’m afraid i’ll go to hell if i even speak that thought out loud. i’ve found comfort in prayer.....

......except, over the years, i’ve developed a bit of an ocd-style relationship with prayer. i’m terrified of flying, enough so i got a prescription from ativan just to help. and though it can knock me out, i always have to say prayers while the plane is taking off, or else i *know* i’ll die/we’ll crash/everyone on the plane will die. because somehow it’s all my fault, you know? it doesn’t leave me calm at all, but it makes me feel like i have SOME control over things. i’ll say my prayers during bad turbulence, too, any time we shake at all.

and i don’t know when i got back in the habit of saying my prayers at night, but i’ve been trying to prayer every night since covid hit. i’m sure i was praying again before that, too. they’re all silent and in my bed, no kneeling or anything. if it isn’t clear yet, i was raised in the united methodist church, so i was taught that we had a friendly relationship with god and could talk to him whenever. very much unlike how i’ve seen all my catholic friends talk about their upbringings. but i always do a silent prayer and then the lord’s prayer, just like how my church would do it.

and, again, it’s been a compulsive thing where i’ll start saying things in a certain order and HAVE to say them in a certain order with a certain wording, some of which i’ve kept since childhood. sometimes i’m spending several minutes just trying to get through everything because i’m falling asleep since it’s so late and i keep drifting off and i feel like i have to start over or something will go wrong.

i prayed so hard for joe biden to win. i’m still praying he can get power peacefully. i pray for the covid vaccine. and i spent the most time every night praying that my family, friends, and loved ones don’t get covid. i specifically list my family members, i try to bring up every group of friends - friends from school, theater, the internet, my rocky group, music, opera, etc. - and pull out specific friends who i worry about the most for various reasons and try to remember to pray for their families, too. i pray for my voice teacher and her family. and for everyone i single out, i have to have a reason for why they’re singled out. i pray for my roommate and her family, and then lastly i pray for myself, and always add that if i get it, my roommate will most definitely get it and vice versa.

so all of this is just to say that my faith has turned from any semblance of faith to something i think i’m holding onto just from anxiety. and i hate this jaded dumb story that they do on sitcoms and the like, that someone’s prayers wren’t answered so they don’t believe in god. that’s not my only reason, of course, but having my sister get sick with something she may not survive has led to me feeling this dumb guilt, like i didn’t pray hard enough, that i was falling asleep during prayers, that i wasn’t being a good christian. and i know it’s not true, but it’s how i feel and i hate myself for even trying to take any blame on top of it and i’m just a mess and i’m so scared.

#this is long and about relgiion #specificlaly mine and christianity #and my anxiety

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

Note

Navy, indigo, cobalt, teal, ocean, peacock, cerulean, lapis, and baby blue for Poe Dameron, please? If it’s not too much to ask

A rainbow of blue . . . Stuff’s below the cut!

Navy (If they could own any animal, either real or mythological, what would they pick?): A tiger. Oh, wait, no -- a winged tiger! Hell yeah! He loves orange for one, but also tigers are just plain neat. And if that bad boy can fly, then they could do all sorts of neat aerial tricks and traverse the land adventurer-style!

Indigo (What’s their favorite scent?): It’s very specific, but he misses the smell of the woods around his childhood home. Of course, it’s one that can’t really be replicated, but it’s still one he deeply enjoys recalling for obvious reasons. Aside from that, though, his guilty pleasure smell is the combination of metal and grease and the like from the mechanic shop on base. It helps him feel closer to his mother if truth be told. (He also really likes donuts!)

Cobalt (Childhood fear?): If you were to ask him yourself, Poe would’ve said monkeys. He still doesn’t like them. They’re too . . . “fingery”. But for a few years, Poe had a fear of water and of doctors. Nobody knows where the water thing came from, but needless to say, it made bathing difficult and he started showering younger than most tend to. Thankfully, it was a relatively brief period in his life, as Shara and Kes were able to slowly able to get him to be okay with having his head submerged in water. What wasn’t a short-lived fear, however, was his fear of doctors. When Shara had gotten sick, the expectation was that, with her fiery spirit, she could fight it off with no problem. Poe especially thought this -- she was his hero, after all. But when she didn’t recover, it left a huge impression on him. After all, he was only eight years old. He didn’t mean for it to, but the experience left him with a long-spanning fear of doctors and medical situations. Whenever Kes would take him for his pediatrician check-up, it was always a huge struggle to get Poe to behave or sit still. Not even the promise of a lollipop or a reward from the treasure chest of trinkets was enough to get Poe to stop running away from the waiting room. Thankfully, he’s grown out of it. Most of it, at least. Once he became a professional pilot, though, Poe sort of had to clean up his act about doctor visits and being afraid of hearing potentially bad diagnoses. He’s still a bit iffy about getting shots but he’ll do it; there’s just this primal fear about it going wrong or, if it’s for blood work, that it’ll come back with traces of some unknown disease that’ll claim him.

Teal (How do they flirt?): Come on, with a face like that? Does he really need to actually flirt? Poe is aware of how good he apparently looks to others, though he doesn’t really invest much stock into it. He honestly finds it a bit silly (and embarrassing, given how they once used his likeness to get people interested in joining their piloting unit. That being said, he’s not above using the looks people praise him for having. There have admittedly been a few occasions where he’s had to flash that dashing smile of his to get some information in a nonviolent way but if we’re talking about when he’s genuinely interested, it’s a lot less smooth. He fumbles over his words more, his smiles are less controlled and more clumsy . . . It’s admittedly adorable but definitely not the effect he wants to have. This is generally why Poe tends to fair better with and prefer those with whom he’s established a more friend or companion-based connection. He knows them, they know him, the banter comes along a lot easier because of a shared history that includes inside jokes. That being said, Poe works best when he’s allowed to be humorous. He likes making people smile, and the one he intends to flirt with is absolutely no exception. He’ll pull out his best material, offering quip after pun after so-bad-it’s-good dad joke until he at least gets a scoff-cloaked chuckle out of them. The moment he sees a glimmer of mirth in their eyes, he knows he’s got them.

Ocean (What are their hugs like?): You know that feeling of the early morning sun’s rays slowly creeping onto your skin, washing you in the golden light of a new day? Poe’s hugs are a lot like that, only more personal. You can feel how happy he is to have you around in every flex of his arms. He holds you close and tight, like he’s squeezing out any worries you had before releasing you, feeling refreshed and ready to take on whatever’s next. If you’re lucky and he’s in an especially good mood, he’s not above picking you up and giving the hug a little spin, usually accompanied by a laugh (because, usually, this hug happens when a crisis has been averted).

Peacock (Do they prefer showers, or baths?): Showers. Due to his stint with aquaphobia, Poe took to showering as a kid. Even after he got over it, though, he preferred the efficiency of showering. By the time he reached adulthood, showers were about all he had the option of anyway: The ships he became familiar with during the Resistance tended to only offering showers due to the space it allowed, and because showers require less water and time. On the rare occasion he does want a bath over a shower, it’s usually to have a more encompassed way of relaxing after way too long on his feet. Normally, these are reserved for the rare event that he’s home, or when he wants to try out a strange new oil that works best in a bath.

Cerulean (What’s their laugh like?): Surprisingly, they’re not huge belly laughs, but they’re appealing and even contagious nonetheless. In a word, it’s effervescent. Soft yet bubbly. Not in a flirtatious way, but in that there are slopes to it. If what made him laugh was a word or sentence, he tends to repeat it just to taste those words and keep the joy alive a bit longer. Once he’s laughing, it’s hard to not start laughing yourself, especially if you catch him muttering whatever words might’ve put him in such a state. The bigger laughs that have him bending over aren’t much louder but they do have the delightful addition of a cute hiccupy sound.

Lapis (Are they superstitious?): Surprisingly, yes, to a degree. A lot of pilots are, in fact. He’s not fond of talking about ghosts or snubbing the dead, he doesn’t really believe in gremlins all that much but would rather not tempt fate. He respects hallowed ground and collects talismans meant to bring protection while on his travels. He says it’s because they’re nifty and look nice in his apartment, but let’s be real: He likes the extra protection just in case. He’s made a bit of a hobby out of it, researching the various superstitions of cultures prominent in the areas he’s flying to so that he better understands cultural graces and boundaries.

Baby Blue (What Greek god/goddess are they most like?): Poe looks like Apollo and acts like Hermes. For the most part. Of course, Poe stunning good looks, musical capabilities (he is able to sing quite well), and tendency to take to the skies is reminiscent of the chariot-driving Apollo. However, his ability to travel at great speeds and travel about the galaxy brings Hermes to mind. Plus, Poe can be a bit of a delightful scoundrel both in and out of unpleasant situations.

Thank you for asking!

#poe dameron imagine #poe dameron headcanons #poe dameron imagines #star wars imagines #star wars headcanons #regrettablewritings #character headcanons #character headcanon meme

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lee-rambles-about-rwby · 4 years

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Non-plot things i loved about Volume 7 (since i’ve yelled about the story a lot but there’s so much more i loved): a rambly, bullet-point list

I may think of more if I get around to rewatching the volume, but this is off the top of my head I’ll throw it below a cut just because it’s getting really long (as usual) and I don’t want to clog people’s dash.

TL;DR i love a lot about this volume lol

Let’s get this one out of the way: M U S I C

like not just how hype I am for the vocal tracks but I didn’t think any score would top my faves from last volume and damn almost every episode had something in the score that literally caught my attention over the drama because it was so good

also so many additional vocalists!! like that’s so cool, I lost my shit when I heard Caleb Hyles IN a rwby episode

On that note (pun intended), sound design in general, yes, hell yes. War abruptly ending with a thud as Harriet runs into the ice? The dramatic shift in tone after Weiss says “Who are you?” and it hard-cuts to Watts with an ominous thunderclap?? The screeching sound over the shots of Summer??? Too much to list

SPLIT SCREENS, like I’m so glad the couple uses of it from last volume became a more regular thing, it’s so cool

The sheer amount of times the voice acting alone could have sold a scene. Like wow the amount of improvement so many of the VAs have had throughout the series is beautiful. Cinder’s desperation and screams in the finale? Top. Ironwood’s increasingly chilling demeanor?? Hell yeah. Willow sounding so realistically broken?? My fuckin’ heart. Oscar, Nora, Ruby, Ren, Qrow, so on and so forth. Again, too many to list

Literally anyone’s outbursts felt so real. I could go on and on with just how many of the especially emotional or tense scenes were made so much more by the VAs, kudos to all of them

The new(?) animation effects!!

Yang and Neo’s semblances are the first thing I think of. This is another thing from last volume, in The Lost Fable and later during the mech fight, I loved how the 2D smoke animation (when the castle is destroyed) and the mech fight explosions looked. Yang’s effect especially reminds me of that.

Same with just general fire and explosion effects. Someone said they thought it was hand-drawn and tbh it kinda looks it

If this isn’t new I’m just dense as hell, but the flickering of aura in fights instead of it just breaking after a while. I love that we see it flicker when they take hard hits. Tbh it makes more sense for it to do that. Then the little particle effect when aura finally does break! If you’ve ever played the mobile puzzle game Two Dots, it reminds me of the fireflies animation and i love that

OH also that Yang’s eyes seem to glow a bit now when she uses her semblance instead of just turning straight red. It’s so pretty

This is almost plot-related but I’m including it anyway. The general pacing of the volume felt nice. Like a lot of things were happening but it didn’t feel like a clusterfuck trying to keep track of it. Even just in individual episodes. The last few episodes were a lot of fights cutting back and forth and it never really felt messy or annoying (frustration because you want to see the end of the fight sooner doesn’t count lol). I wanna assume that’s in the writing/directing but either way it worked well

CINEMATOGRAPHY! Damn there was some solid camera work. Long tracking shots were so cool (Ruby’s in chapter 1, the one following the grimm invasion, so on), the framing of things for subtly foreshadow things (the political posters and poll numbers, having several seemingly inconspicuous shots of Watt’s bag, etc etc).

the wide shots in any scene by the vault were beautiful but so were like most of the wide shots in any scene. I know i’m forgetting so many camera shots that probably caught my eye when I watched but there were a lot

OH a specific thing I wanted to mention is the Ironwood vs Watts fight. That wide, rotating shot when Ironwood launched them both off the platform back into normal gravity was so good I had to rewatch just that clip a couple times

Also the fight choreo was fucking great. This isn’t exclusive to this volume, but wow there were some cool moments. The RWBY vs AceOps has to be my favorite, but it’s only barely above Ironwood vs Watts or Cinder vs Winter and Penny, and even still, all the other fights are so close behind that it’s less a ranking and more a “If I had to choose one..”

Lightning round of some other animation things I really loved because this post is too long already:

the gravity in the Ironwood vs Watts fight, but also in Cinder vs Penny and Winter. Like any time a character was flying (or falling) it never felt too floaty or unnatural. Like they still had a realistic weight to them, as much as they can for unrealistically flying lol

being able to really really see how hefty the mammoths were just by how they moved. Grimm animation in general tbh

Honestly the weight of everything felt very realistic; characters, grimm, etc alike

Ruby’s semblance animation looks improved too

Neo, who doesn’t talk at all, still conveying so much in every scene she was in

not technically animation, but the matte paintings used and just a lot of the background designs were beautiful

probably more i’m forgetting

OH the beautiful use of the whole “Show, don’t tell” concept. Like telling is fine, but this volume did so well with showing things through the animation that foreshadowed other things. Off the top of my head: like how they made sure to show how exhausted Oscar was from fighting Neo, or during several of the scenes in Ironwood’s office being able to just gauge a tone of a scene purely through silent, background facial expressions

Last thing, out-of-show thing: the amount of concept art and behind the scenes stuff crwby has been sharing!! Like i love so much getting to see early designs for character’s redesigns, or concept art for settings, concept paintings for scenes, etc etc. That video going from storyboard, to mocap, to playblast, to final render of Ironwood vs Watts was so fucking cool to watch

#rwby spoilers #rwby volume 7 spoilers #rwby #rwby volume 7 #Lee speaks #if you ACTUALLY read through all of this #I hope you agree #also thanks for giving me some of your time lol

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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So obviously, like, I make a big deal out of Dick Grayson’s intentions when naming himself Robin in the first place, and how it was meant as an homage and tribute to his parents and the generations of Flying Graysons before them, and that’s a huge part of the reason he was so pissed when Bruce gave it away without consulting him and why its kinda messed up that everyone characterizes Tim as massively resenting Dick for making Damian Robin, etc, etc....

But okay, like....Dick Grayson was most other child heroes/sidekicks’ inspiration, not to mention Jason and Tim’s (though Tim of course was just as influenced by Jason’s turn as Robin, if not more).

And then, my problem is...whenever talk of inspirations and legacies and mantles and all that comes up, the question becomes - who inspired Dick in the first place?

Because, I mean....the answer isn’t Batman.

THAT’S why the origins of the Robin persona are so important, because like, Dick wasn’t inspired to become a hero, the KIND of hero he was, because of Bruce. He just wasn’t. He loves, respects and admires Bruce of course, sure, that’s a given. But one of the primary characterizations of Dick across ANY canon or medium is that he’s NEVER wanted to be Batman. He HATES it when he has to wear Bruce’s mantle. Not because he doesn’t respect it or what it stands for, but because its not him, and it never was.

THAT’S why he was never Batboy, never modeled himself as a younger version of his mentor like Kid Flash, Aqualad, Wonder Girl, Speedy, etc all did. Because he wanted to work with Bruce, sure, he wanted to be a hero like Bruce, as in a person who does heroic stuff and helps and protects people.....but not in the ways Bruce did it, and not for the reasons or with the intentions that Bruce had for his own costumed persona. Robin was specifically created to be everything Batman wasn’t, because Dick, being one of the many survivors of tragedies in Gotham who fell through the cracks and would have been left behind and swallowed up by the system if not for a hero’s intervention.....Dick was aware of how catching the bad guys and putting them away, seeing justice served, like, it was important, but it wasn’t THE most important thing. Not to everyone.

Catching the bad guys only fixes a tiny part of what happened. It was Bruce’s solution to things - from the second the Graysons died, that was his answer, that was what he was sure was going to help Dick move on......but Bruce’s answer wasn’t Dick’s answer. Catching or killing Tony Zucco wasn’t ever going to help Dick heal or move on, because the murder of his parents was only PART of his personal tragedy. The other part was how it resulted in him being ripped away from everything he knew and everyone else he loved, never allowed to go back to the life he’d always intended to live, growing up performing and entertaining alongside his family, like all their family before them....instead forced to change basically everything about himself in order to fit into a structured life of routines he found boring and pointless and not remotely what he wanted out of life.

Robin was Dick’s answer to all that. Being Robin was the only thing that allowed Dick to heal, because it was the one and only way in which he got to take back a piece of control over his own life. If he couldn’t go back to his past, to the circus, to his family, then he’d bring all that into the present with him, carry it forward. Continue his family’s traditions in the only way he could think of now, fighting crime alongside Batman in the signature colors of the Flying Graysons, remaining true to that title by swinging from grappling lines rather than a trapeze....but still committed to the same work his family had made their livelihood for generations, the same work he’d always intended to continue in some form himself: making peoples’ lives better, just by his presence.

Entertaining, performing, not out of insecurity or to cover things up, but because that was what he’s always seen himself as born to do. To leave people a little happier than they were when they first encountered them. Cheering up the victims of crimes with his jokes and laughter and brightness while Batman dourly scouted for clues and conferred with the police. Giving them a reason to smile even on what might have been the worst day of their lives, otherwise. Making jokes and puns while fighting the bad guys, his own way of pushing back against the darkness of Gotham - by laughing at villains of the day, by refusing to let someone like the Joker be the only one who had any reason to laugh in Gotham.

And not one bit of that came from Batman. Bruce didn’t inspire Robin, didn’t inspire Dick - Batman only gave Dick an example of how his past, his skills, his purpose in life could be adapted to allow him to continue on in the spirit of his family, to ensure they lived on through him, not just in body but in spirit as well. Zucco, the system, they could take the boy out of the circus, but he refused to let them take the circus out of him before he was damn good and ready. They could physically keep him away from a trapeze and out of the center ring of a circus, but no one was going to tell Dick Grayson when he was or wasn’t allowed to be a Flying Grayson, with everything that entailed.

Except....that’s exactly what Bruce ended up doing.

And that’s why I will always call that a greater betrayal than anything that happened with any of the Robins since, despite any of their (usually still quite valid) issues with how the mantle ended up passed on from them. Because Dick was no different from any other sidekick or child hero in that he built his identity as a hero around the heroes who inspired him to follow in their footsteps....its just that for him, those heroes were his parents. They were the ones Robin was trying to imitate, live up to, make proud. That’s why Dick always insisted on being called Bruce’s partner and not his sidekick. Sure, he absolutely loved being Bruce’s partner, but that doesn’t mean that ultimately that wasn’t just a means to an end for him....a way to ensure he was allowed to keep going out at night doing what he damn well intended to do anyway. He wanted to work WITH Bruce but he never wanted to BE Bruce. Because he already had a concrete vision of who he wanted to be like, who he wanted to be.

(And of course, this is also why I always get so annoyed with the take that Bruce didn’t bring up adopting Dick earlier in life because he didn’t want to replace his parents, he was trying to respect Dick’s feelings towards them, etc.....because uh.....that doesn’t really track, considering that co-opting the Robin identity and annexing it as part of the Batman identity, BRUCE’S to take and then dole out as he wished.....like, hello, dumbass, what did you think telling a kid that you were forbidding him from using HIS mother’s nickname, HIS family’s colors, etc, like....what the hell do you even call that other than replacing Dick’s parents and disrespecting Dick’s connection to them - you pretty much literally told him there that screw who inspired it and what his reasons for being Robin were, Robin still only existed according to Bruce’s say-so).

Anyway. And yeah, that’s also why I’m eternally grumpy at the usual fandom take that Tim does and should resent Dick for ‘taking Robin away’ and giving it to Damian, because....a) that’s not really what happened, Dick literally said that he couldn’t treat Tim like a sidekick because he saw them as equals, that it was time for Tim to figure out his own identity and see who he was outside of Robin, who he’d become thanks to his time in that role.

And also b) because.....like, it was Dick’s right, like it or not. That situation WASN’T comparable with Bruce taking it from Dick in the first place, or giving it to Jason, because the problem there wasn’t that it happened at all, it was that Robin wasn’t Bruce’s to take, or restrict, or regulate, let alone give away. Fire Dick from being his partner, yeah, sure, whatever. But telling him to hang up the last vestige of his family and former life that Dick had managed to hold onto all this time despite every attempt to take it away from him? And that’s the difference with what happened with Tim, because Dick was clear - this had nothing to do with his respect for Tim’s abilities or not thinking he was good enough to fight at his side, it was about thinking Tim was TOO good to be stuck JUST fighting at Dick’s side.

And while Tim is completely justified in feeling any way he wants about not being Robin anymore, it was after all a huge part of his own identity.....like.....you don’t get to resent the guy who created it to preserve his own heritage and family identity, for having the nerve to think like....it should be up to him who wears it and when and why. If that doesn’t work for someone, if Jason or Tim had a problem with the idea that Dick specifically should always have more of a say in where the Robin mantle goes, like....that’s valid! BUT in the sense of like....they could’ve insisted on making their own identity/mantle in order to be Bruce’s partner/sidekick, if they didn’t want the originator of THAT particular mantle to have more of a right to it and its succession, ultimately.

Especially because the whole reason Dick made Damian Robin was he recognized that Damian needed it, in the same way he had needed it. Jason becoming Robin had nothing to do with Dick, and Tim approached Dick with his own perception of Robin and what it meant already firmly cemented in his mind - Robin was the light to Batman’s darkness, a necessary flip side of the coin that balanced Bruce out and kept him focused. Again, its totally valid for Tim to view Robin as whatever he viewed it as, for it to mean whatever it meant to him.....the problem is in acting like Dick’s perception of it should ever reflect that, or be altered to include that, or become less important than Tim or other Robins’ take on it as time went on. Not when Dick made it as a time capsule for his family and history, to make sure that WASN’T forgotten just because there were no more Flying Graysons on the trapeze anymore.

So when you factor in that for Dick, Robin always meant family and always will mean family, his offering it to Damian was him doing the only thing he knew of that would give Damian a reason to stay, now that Bruce was dead. Robin was the only thing in the world that Dick had, that didn’t come from Bruce. As Bruce’s son, Damian was already entitled to anything that they inherited from Bruce, the same as his brothers....anything Dick gave Damian that came from Bruce originally, Damian honestly would’ve been justified in saying he had just as much right to it as Dick already. It wouldn’t have meant anything. Robin meant something though, because it was Dick making clear to Damian that he wanted him to stay, not just because Dick felt obligated to Bruce, to take care of Damian....but instead, Dick was saying he didn’t view it as obligation, he was offering Damian the one part of HIS family, Dick’s family, that Damian WASN’T already entitled to, by being part of Bruce’s.

Because Robin is a family tradition, always was. Its just not a WAYNE family tradition. Its just the latest version of the Flying Graysons, and thus all of Dick’s brothers became honorary Flying Graysons in his eyes the second he affirmed that they were Robin now, that he was okay with it, that he wanted them to be.

And you just....can’t cut out that one connection you have to the family with generations of history behind the mantle, that inspired it, that is the entire reason it exists for you to take up in the first place. Like, if you want to be part of a legacy, specifically, as in, you want to take up where a predecessor left off, you want to continue something that someone else started INSTEAD of starting something of your own, even something in a similar spirit and clearly inspired by it....well, you don’t get to pick and choose which parts of the legacy are worth acknowledging. Especially not when the person who created the mantle in the first place, specifically to carry on with his family’s legacy, is still around to have his own opinion on who currently needs it most.

Like don’t get me wrong. I love every single one of the Robins, including Stephanie, but in a comic book universe where the entire concept of legacies is given so much focus and priority, Robin ends up being a very weird outlier in that its originator and inspiration is only given as much weight as fans of his successors feel like giving at any given moment. Nobody ever writes fic or headcanons around the idea that upon Bruce coming back from the dead, he’d have just....no opinion on who should be Batman, let alone any right to have an opinion on that. Y’know? And again, its made all the more frustrating given that Robin’s the one mantle in the DC ‘verse that was created by its original holder as an homage/tribute to his family’s memory, rather than emblematic of some abstract idea or ideal.

*Shrugs* So yeah, I find myself very much in disagreement with most everyone in fandom on this one particular subject lol. Because I love Tim too! I do! And I’m definitely not saying that the other Robins weren’t just as iconic as Dick, just as deserving as the title or whatever, like I definitely don’t mean that any of them weren’t AS much Robin as Dick was.

Just that from an IN universe perspective, viewed from the POV of the characters, I think it just ends up being very skewed for any of the later Robins to act like they’re entitled to MORE say over Robin than Dick himself, when he’s the only connection any of them have or ever WILL have, to the ultimate origin and inspiration for it and everything its come to mean.....and that’s just....not Batman.

Its the Flying Graysons.

#lol this is more of a fandom inspired post than a canon inspired post #because canon has of course largely moved past all of these events and isnt even referencing them anymore #but like....again I do love Tim almost as much as I do Jason and Dick #but it gets really frustrating reading the twentieth fic in a row where Dick has to grovel for forgiveness for giving Robin to Damian #before Tim relents and decides things are okay between them again #siiiiiiiigh #and also minor related pet peeve #given that one of the other fandom takes Im most frustrated by is the almost universally accepted headcanon that Dick hated Jason pre death #and was just the worst to him #when like....no....they had a few rough interactions initially (all while Dick was brainwashed but lol NO ONE remembers that storyline)#but Dick of his own volition got over his issues with Jason within a relatively short period of time in universe #and reached out on his own to make peace with Jason and try and be a resource for him and building a relationship #Jason died before they had a chance to add much to that relationship but that doesn't mean it didnt exist #and it definitely doesnt mean Dick hated Jason and Jason believed Dick hated him #but my point is....given how everpresent in fics and headcanons the idea that Dick was a terrible brother and has a ton to make up for #with Jason #its really frustrating that nobody bats an eye at the idea that Tim is completely justified in holding a grudge for 'being replaced' by Dami #when even IF you're writing based on the take that this was a direct parallel to Bruce taking Robin from Dick and making Jason Robin #that STILL doesnt work out because in that parallel Tim would be in DICK'S original position #which should either mean he now understands and sympathizes with Dick for how hard that was for him #and why Dick initially had problems with Jason #OR it should mean Tim recognizes that he's doing the same thing EVERYONE constantly gives Dick grief for bc of Dick doing it to Jason #back then #but i mean #how does it make sense to say Tim vs Damian is exactly like Dick vs Jason #and Dick here is like Bruce was back then #only to then turn around and make Tim the sympathetic victimized party #while Dick is STILL the one who was in the wrong even back then too!#I just #I honestly dont get it

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satan-chillin · 5 years

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All the Small Things

Summary: Two girls from the future claimed to be Sam's granddaughters.

Also available in Ao3 & FF.net

"So, Sammy. You and Rowena, I see," Dean spoke as a distraction. And Sam would have thanked him for it if not for his choice of topic.

Sam sighed, fiddling with his phone so he won't look at his brother. "Now's not the time, Dean."

Dean pointedly ignored him. "I mean, I'd say I didn't see that one coming—heh, no pun intended." He grinned at his own joke. "But that explains the new taste for porn. Redheads? I thought you're into brunettes, Sammy."

"How did you even—you know what, can we not have this conversation while there are children at the back?" Sam hissed, flushing from his cheeks to his neck.

"That's the thing, Sam. I didn't know. You just confirmed it." Dean sent him a wink and a strong pat against his chest. "Just call her, man. It's for a professional matter. She can be the grandmother of your grandkids later."

It started exactly the same way Sam and Dean encountered their grandfather, Henry Winchester: a previously normal-looking door at the motel that glowed from the other side and out came a person.

Well, two people, in this case. Two girls who tumbled in an ungraceful landing and pained groans on the floor. One was a brunette and another a redhead that made Sam incongruously remember a certain occasional ally witch.

Dean was the first to recover from the shock and out with a gun pointed at the two. "What are you and what are you doing here?"

Sam, despite the alarm and suspicion ringing their bells in his head and him mimicking Dean's guarded stance, oddly felt concerned at what appeared to be two roughly teenage girls who came out of nowhere.

"Woah, easy," said the brunette. She pushed up her glasses and grimaced upon seeing Sam and Dean. She nudged her companion who gave the brothers a stink eye. "We're not here to—uh, we're not here to hurt you."

Dean scoffed. "If there's anybody here doing the hurting, it's us, missy. So stuff it. What are you?"

The redhead scowled at the question, though the expression earned her a pinch from the brunette. "Right, right. Sorry. We're humans if that's what you're worried about," the same girl who spoke said. She raised her hands in surrender.

"Yeah because that's exactly what humans will say when asked 'what are you?'" Dean deadpanned. Sam thought he was being a special kind of bitchy today, but, right. He was supposed to be on Dean's side here.

The brunette sighed exasperatedly. "You have a point, sir," she said calmly, crossing her arms. "But I'm not lying about us. We are humans, and I do think it's important to assert that first thing especially when encountering fellow hunters."

"You? Hunters?" Dean snorted. "Please."

That irked the redhead girl, it seemed, because the next thing they knew, she was shouting, "Abi!"

Suffice to say, the impact sent both Sam and Dean flying against the walls, and, wow, they didn't miss that at all.

"Wena!" Sam heard the other girl yell, aghast.

Sam's back hurt like hell when he fell on the floor, and yet the first thing he registered was the name that sounded like 'Rowena' and that was neither here nor there.

"That's it. Witches, huh." Dean was already on his feet, loading his gun with two witch-killing bullets.

Sam watched as a blur of dark hair rushed towards Dean and kicked him in the crotch. The redhead girl cheered when Dean crumpled on his knees, hissing. Sam was on high alert, and kid or not, he has to subdue them before��

Sam paused within a few steps, not looking forward to being kneed in the groin. He'd had some phantom pain from the Nutcracker on occasion, thank you very much. Without any other choice that didn't involve roughing up some kids, Sam opted for words.

"Okay," he said, placing down his gun and kicking Dean's away. Dean shot him an incredulous look of are you insane?! that Sam readily leveled with a flat stare. "Give us a name and we can all talk peacefully. That good?"

The brunette relaxed immediately and stood straighter. "I'm Kelly, sir, and this is my sister Rowena. I know this is all weird barging in on you, but—this is Peoria, Illinois, yes?"

"Yeah," Sam managed to answer despite the names that sounded too good to be a coincidence. Kelly? Rowena? Sisters? What was going on here?

Rowena—the redhead girl, Sam thought unhelpfully instead—apparently looked relieved. "The spell worked then," she chirped with a smug grin to her sister.

Kelly shushed her a bit too late. Warily, she addressed both Sam and Dean. "As for your question earlier, we're not really witches witches, you know? We, ah, do a bit of spell, but not enough to label us witches."

"Let them, Lee." Rowena harrumphed. "It's not like they can touch us."

Dean chuckled humorlessly as he sat on the bed, still furious. "Pray tell, miss, why we couldn't?"

"Because if you do, Uncle Jack will find out, and so does grandpa. Oh, he's nice, alright, but you don't want to face his wrath."

Kelly looked like she was seconds away from facepalming or yelling for her sister to shut up. Whichever came first.

Dean, with injured pride and hurt balls, humored the girl. "And who's this grandpa of yours who's not ridden with arthritis?"

Sam racked his brain for names of any old hunters that they knew and tried to think whether there were some they have to watch out for. Senior hunters were no joke if they could live this long in the hunting business.

Rowena huffed. "Why, Sam Winchester, of course!"

Also, there was the matter of some tension with a couple of hunters who—

Wait.

What?

"Sam Winchester," Dean repeated, face blank. "Samuel Winchester."

"Unless there's another Samuel Winchester that you know." Rowena rolled her eyes.

Dean tilted his head, but when he glanced at Sam he was unable to keep the laugh that escaped him. "Dude, you didn't tell me you have grandkids already."

And Sam would have hit him for that, if that little fact registered as a joke, if it didn't make everything else click with sense and clarity.

When Sam met Kelly's stare with a gasp of realization coming from her, Sam was almost afraid to ask.

"Kelly, what year do you think is it?"

Even she was afraid to answer, but out came a low-voiced reply from her of a year that should be four decades from then.

Amidst his surprise, Sam tried with utmost effort on how to make the revelation with finesse because the two girls weren't their first time traveler for goodness's sake.

"Welcome to 2020," Sam said instead, with an awkward chuckle and the brazen tact of a lumbering moose.

Time travel was officially the least of his favorites.

"Time travelers," Dean muttered. "So messing with time runs in the family?"

"I don't think it's intentional," Sam whispered, warily eyeing the girls who were busy poring over the diner menu. They must be hungry. "I mean. Henry did it to escape, and Abaddon just followed. The girls must have thought it was a teleportation spell. They did ask about the place."

"What's with Illinois and their motel doors?" Dean grumbled. The girls looked at him briefly. Rowena scowled at him. Dean's expression turned even sourer. "You done yet? Don't tell me you're planning to buy out the diner."

The girls turned red, though Kelly's was out of embarrassment while Rowena looked irritated and close to yelling another spell until Kelly pinched her arm.

"Dean," Sam said in warning. He expected Dean to be the adult in this. Sam addressed the girls, "I'm guessing the time travel is purely accidental. Any reason why you attempted to perform the spell?"

"Gabriel was kidnapped," Rowena said when Kelly looked hesitant to answer.

"Um, are you sure it's alright for us to answer your questions? I mean, we're from the future and we might jinx it once you find out some things," Kelly said reasonably.

"Sure," Dean agreed. "But we have to make sure that the danger you were running to didn't follow you here. Happened once. Was a pain in the ass."

"The Henry Winchester and Abaddon incident," Kelly said automatically. When Dean raised an eyebrow, she glanced down shyly. "You told me that."

There was silence when their orders were brought in. The waitress eyed Dean and Sam and sent the two young girls a questioning glance. Sam would have felt offended if he didn't understand how they appeared in public: two men too young to be fathering two girls their age. It was weird.

"So are flying cars a thing in your time?" Dean suddenly asked with a mouthful of pancakes. When Sam sighed beside him, Dean just shrugged. "That's like an obligatory question when you meet someone from the future, dude. 'sides, that's a safe question."

"Flying cars? That's silly," Rowena huffed. "Back to the Future thought those were available back in 2015. Look how wrong they were."

Dean looked startled. "I made you watch that?"

"Uncle John did. He won't shut up about movies." She turned her little nose. "He got it from you."

"Oh." Dean's eyes softened imperceptibly. "John, huh."

Sam was against any other name-drop—it was bad enough that two of his supposed grandchildren from the future were just across the table—but watching Dean's expression reminded them that it was one of the very few things they looked forward to: a larger family and the setting down of roots. It was nice to know that there was still hope for them in that department despite their current lifestyle that they would hardly change even after the close call to another world-ending cataclysm.

"So, can you return to your time with the same spell you used?" Sam asked, changing the topic to the issue at hand lest he gave in to the temptation to ask about a lot of things, starting with whether he was the paternal or maternal grandfather of Kelly and Rowena and who was their grandmother.

"We're not sure," Kelly admitted. "You know that we only meant to transport ourselves from one place to another. We didn't bring ingredients with us to replicate the spell again." She paused, then jolted as if she remembered something crucial. "Oh, the bunker. That's already your headquarters, yeah? There could be a stock of the ingredients we need there. That is if you don't mind helping us out."

"Of course not. Help yourself with the bunker, we'll hit the road once we're done with breakfast," Sam said. He made a mental note to call Cas later and have him and Jack ready the ingredients and the tools needed in case they got back early.

"Are you not currently on a case?" Rowena asked.

"We're already done with it, actually. You caught us at the right time."

"Great!" Rowena chirped. "We can get to working as soon as possible."

"You got your mood swings from your namesake, alright," Dean commented tersely. "Speaking of—Sam, call Rowena. She might know something with this spell. Also helps that they have an expert's supervision. In case they mess it up again. No offense, kids."

Kelly looked chagrined, and Sam expected her sister to be livid; instead, however, the redhead girl was, in fact, excited, eyes gleaming as she smacked her poor sister by the shoulder.

"We're meeting grandma, Lee. Our young grandma! I bet she's prettier in person," Rowena gushed.

Dean stopped eating and Sam almost spilled his coffee when it dawned to him.

"You're saying Rowena is your grandmother?" Dean, the first to recover from the revelation, said slowly. "Rowena, the redheaded witch with the Scottish accent. That Rowena?"

The redheaded girl leveled Dean with a flat stare as if saying 'Duh'. "You mean my name didn't give it away?"

"Well, your sister's name is Kelly, who's obviously not your grandmother since you just referred to Jack as uncle," Dean reasoned like that was the most surprising thing they should focus on.

"I liked you more when you were older," Rowena said. "And I'll have you know that I look like my grandma Rowena. My mom even said so."

"But if Rowena's your grandma and Sam's your grandpa—well, it's possible they're on separate sides—"

"Oh my god. They're our grandparents, okay? That union started a line of strong blood born from a topnotch hunter and a natural-born witch, so obviously our mom—"

"Rowena, shut up right now!" Kelly suddenly yelled, silencing her sister and had the attention of the diners and the staff on them.

Sam left a couple of bills on the table and was well-aware of the judging looks on them as they followed Rowena after she stormed out of the establishment.

Sam couldn't blame them; a few hours in, they were clearly failing to reign in two teenagers.

"Hey, no jumping out of a moving car, capeesh?" Dean warned the girls at the backseat, particularly the redhead. Sam was sure Dean was close to addressing her as a drama queen.

Rowena completely ignored Dean. Kelly simply nodded and looked out the window. The sisters were both quiet half an hour on the trip, the tension palpable between them that even the brothers began to feel uncomfortable. They weren't strangers to sibling quarrel, and they both agreed that it sucked to have one especially in a car.

"I just don't want you spilling too much information about the future, alright?" Kelly was the first to speak after the tension became unbearable for her.

"I know," grumbled Rowena after a while, her face turned the other way. "I just—never mind."

That cleared the air a bit.

"So, Sammy. You and Rowena, I see," Dean spoke as a distraction. And Sam would have thanked him for it if not for his choice of topic.

Sam sighed, fiddling with his phone so he won't look at his brother. "Now's not the time, Dean."

"How did you even—you know what, can we not have this conversation while there are children at the back?" Sam hissed, flushing from his cheeks to his neck.

Sam pretended that he didn't see through the rearview mirror the girls stifling their grins.

"Right," Sam huffed. He found Rowena's number on speed dial and called.

"What's so important in this fine a morning, Samuel?" came Rowena's voice from the speakers, sounding groggy and mildly irritated to be disturbed from her sleep.

"We need your help," Sam said.

"Obviously. You never call me for a social meeting."

"Can you make it this afternoon? It's kinda urgent."

Rowena groaned from the other line. "Someone's dying?"

"Uh, no. Hopefully not."

"The world is ending again?"

"I don't think so."

"Then it's not bloody urgent, Samuel."

The two girls at the back burst into a fit of giggles at the exchange.

"You're not with Dean?"

"In here," Dean called like a student in a roll-call.

"Dean's driving." Sam wasn't obtuse enough to not get the underlying question there. "There are two kids with us. They're the ones who need your help with a spell."

"While it's commendable that children are introduced to witchcraft at a young age, I don't advice dabbling with it without adult supervision."

"Exactly why they need you."

Sam heard her hum in consideration. "And here I thought you're looking for any reason to see me, Samuel," she said sweetly.

Dean made a mock-gagging noise. "Hey, less flirting, more driving to the bunker."

And this was coming from the person who shamelessly teased Sam for his, er, acquired taste.

"We'll see you there," Sam said, disregarding Dean's ribbing. "Take care, Rowena," he added as an afterthought.

"Ever the gentleman, Samuel," Rowena remarked dryly, promptly cutting off the line.

Sam made a bitchface at Dean. "I called her. You happy now?"

"Are you?" Dean shot back.

"Shut up," Sam grumbled. He turned to the girls at the back. "You probably won't like this, but I think it's better if you won't tell her who you really are."

"But—" the redheaded girl—Sam was going to call her Ro; all these same names could be confusing—was about to retort, but upon looking at Kelly, she reluctantly agreed. "Fine. Besides, there's a possibility that we might wipe ourselves from existence. Right, Lee?"

Kelly nodded grimly. "Yeah. Us being here alone probably caused some changes already. Hopefully nothing too massive."

"That could happen? You can possibly jinx your birth or something?" Dean asked with a frown. When Sam raised an eyebrow at him, he shrugged. "I'm curious. Cas did warn us of making any changes when he brought us back a couple of times in the past, but the first time he also said that time is fluid. There's also the matter of alternate universes and such. I dunno. What if it's a quantum thing, you know? Wherein you won't return to the future you originally came from but on an alternate future where you barely notice the changes but they're still there. Like the movie Coherence."

"That's the term 'quantum' in movies are, Dean. Sci-fi films tend to slap that word along time-travel and physics mumbo-jumbo."

"So? Not all viewers are physicists."

"Fine, you have a point, but you don't have to needlessly scare them." Sam gestured at the girls.

"We're not scared, because we know we'll return where the others are probably looking for us," Ro said, though it sounded like she was trying to convince herself more.

"Worst case scenario is you're going to be stuck with us for a few more days, but rest assured that we'll do our best to bring you home," Sam promised them, earning him a small smile of gratitude from Kelly.

They came through apocalypses, alternate universes, and even God. What was sending two girls from the future compared to those?

Cas and Jack were already at the bunker when they arrived. Dean was clearly surprised to find them early.

"How's the hunt?" he asked once he recovered, tousling Jack's hair when he passed him.

"Good," Cas simply said.

They both averted each other's eyes and skirted around something that Sam couldn't put his finger on as he observed the exchange.

"These are the time-travelers you speak of." Cas approached them. "Hello, children."

Kelly gave him a small wave while Ro smiled at Cas impishly.

"And you plan to return them the same manner they did." Sam nodded in confirmation.

"I can help," Jack readily suggested, watching the two girls curiously. "I can bring them back."

"That'll be easier but also perilous. You're strong, Jack, but we can't have you risk it yet knowing you're untrained with time-traveling, and riding the stream of time is not easy even for the experienced travelers. Not to mention the two charges you'll have to carry with you," Cas reasoned that didn't leave much room for argument.

Jack didn't put up much of a fight against the fair argument, though he did look like a kicked-puppy for being denied.

"But you can help us remove this encounter in their minds," Cas said. "Yours and Dean's too," he reminded Sam.

Ro was ready to protest though beaten by Dean to it. "Woah. Why Sam and me too?"

"I assume you already know a lot about the future."

"The fact that Sam and Rowena's gonna bang more than once and I'm going to have a kid named John—that's it."

Cas shook his head. "It's possible that Sam and Rowena might not end up together, thus erasing their child and grandchildren from existence," he said amidst Sam's explanation to a terribly curious Jack who was strangely looking at Sam at the background. "That's only a minor example, Dean. You know the rules."

"Forgive me if I'm having doubts about having my mind erased, Cas, because while that didn't happen to me before, it happened to Mom when I could have warned her against her death," Dean said sharply. "There could have been no apocalypse and the retakes that followed; Sam could have been a lawyer by now, married to Jess; Dad wouldn't have died; we could've had simple lives where people wouldn't die on association with us!"

There was an uncomfortable silence that followed at Dean's sudden outburst.

For all his usual expression of blankness, Cas seemed like he was slapped on the face. "I didn't know that the life you have now makes you incredibly unhappy. I'm sorry I assumed." Cas walked out of the war room with Jack on his heels.

Dean's jaw tightened at Cas's retreat. He stood. "Call me if you need me for later."

Watching Dean's back disappearing in the hallway made Sam frustratingly blame himself that he should have seen this coming, starting with their parting with Cas and Jack yesterday. Sam had chalked Dean's testiness to exhaustion, and obviously there was more to it.

"Sorry you have to see that," Sam apologized, not forgetting the two girls one bit who witnessed the unpleasant interaction. He hoped that they wouldn't interpret it as them being an indirect cause of it all; they were way too young for self-blaming. "Let's get you lunch."

Sam was unable to fight off the urge to gather them both each on his sides, planting his hands on their small backs as he steered them towards the kitchen.

Dean wouldn't have answered the door if he hadn't mentioned that they get him should the need arise.

To his surprise, though, it was Kelly who came bearing him food and a beer and asking for entry. Reluctantly, Dean allowed her in for the peace-offering alone.

Kelly was taught well enough to just sit there, though she was apparently not told that staring was rude when someone was eating.

"Relax, kid, I'll eat it," Dean assured her wryly. It was one of Sam's salad and burgers that were thankfully not made of fake meat.

Kelly moved around while Dean ate, and Dean was far distracted to care about her touching his collection of records and cassette. His worry was unfounded when she returned them neatly the same way Dean arranged them.

"You a fan of music, kid?" he asked, still unsure what Kelly wanted with him.

"Even in this decade, most people are," she said absently. "My playlist is composed mostly of your suggestions. We pretty much have the same taste."

A smirk paved its way on Dean's face. "Oh yeah?"

"We like classic movies, and at Christmas eves you liked playing The Lord of the Rings that I already memorized Aragorn's speech. We both developed a taste for psychological thrillers. You liked Enemy, I think, because no matter how much you complained how confusing the ending was, you'd asked me to watch it with you so we could analyze it together."

Dean didn't miss the change in tenses, and he took a more somber appearance when he watched her sit on the edge of the bed and stared somewhere far away. Dean listened.

"You liked your burgers greasier the more you got older, and you make a mean one with bacon with too much cheese. That's my favorite," Kelly shared. "At fifty-eight, you got injured by a werewolf that clawed your back. You got a mean scar that looked badass, and you were so proud of it." She didn't turn to Dean, seemingly gathering her bony legs against her chest. "When Uncle John said he wasn't interested to join the hunting business, you sent him to the most prestigious school you could afford because you wanted the best for him. You were supportive of his choice of career so he became a good doctor. Uncle Rob's the one who became a hunter but he had to stop when he met Aunt Georgia and they had Gabriel. In the end, it was Aunt Jo who truly got into the hunting career. You were against it at first, until you realized that was unfair of you to her. Now, she and Aunt Claire make a fine tandem. Uncle John, Uncle Robert, and Aunt Jo might be your adopted kids, but that never stopped you and Cas from raising and loving them unconditionally. You were a firm believer that family didn't end in blood, and it showed."

Dean swallowed thickly, taking the load of information in. So he didn't get to make his own children, but it turned out that he would have two great sons named after his fathers and a daughter named in honor of Jo. And he raised them with Cas, a fact that caused some repressed feelings to well up inside him.

The thing was, Dean could picture that, a family. A family with Cas and three adoptive children. In some part of his mind, there was a surge of hope to seeing that future a couple of years from now.

Dean didn't have those yet and he was already unwilling to let that go.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked when he finally managed to speak.

"Because it doesn't matter anyway if you won't remember them in the end," Kelly told him. "Because I want you to know at least before that that Cas assumed wrong. You were happy. It wasn't an easy life, but if it was, you wouldn't have met the other people you have now. You wouldn't have known Cas, Aunt Jack, Bobby, Aunt Charlie, and everyone else that brought you here and made you to what you are now and what you'll be. You were happy, and you told me that yourself the day before you died."

Dean wondered if this was what his Mom felt all those years ago when she met her sons from the future, when Dean warned her about her death. He remembered that she cried then, overwhelmed, maybe. It was exactly what Dean was experiencing right now.

He could barely find it in himself to be surprised at the small arms that wrapped around his torso, squeezing him in an embrace.

Kelly sniffled against his chest. "I miss you, grandpa. So much."

Dean let her glasses dig against his skin. He was unsure how what to say to that, but maybe there was no need to reply. He let her take her time, his hand eventually found the top of her small head.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Dean rasped. He felt her shook her head. "How did I die, Kelly?"

"Heart attack." She sniffed, letting Dean go in the process. "I wasn't there when it happened, but they said it was all very sudden."

Dean didn't doubt that because after all the dangers of monsters and divine entities, he was more convinced that what would truly take him out of commission was something unexpected, something he didn't see coming. Because life was unexpected that way.

Looking at Kelly, Dean was proven his point.

"Where's Kelly?" Sam asked when he found Ro wandering the library alone.

"She went to see Dean," Ro answered, pulling out William Golding's Lord of the Flies. She wrinkled her nose at the dust and settled the book down on the table. She found Sam staring at her, and added, "They're probably having their chick-flick moment so I'm going to read something while we wait."

Kelly having an emotional moment with Dean? Not only that was uncharacteristic of Dean, but there was only one reason he could think of that Kelly would see him. Sam supposed all that precaution about revealing too much about the future was already thrown out of the window when selective memory erasure was mandatory. Sam sat heavily across Ro. "Why?" he asked.

"Aside from the fact that this is a one-time opportunity?" Ro tilted her head, pushing the book away carefully, losing her interest in it. "Kelly misses him. They were… close."

Sam took his time to swallow past the lump in his throat. It wasn't that he expected each other to live forever, but still. To hear that Dean would pass before him, well, it wasn't exactly pleasant news. "How long ago in your time did he..." he trailed off quietly.

"Last year. Cardiac arrest," Ro supplied. "I'm not as close to him as Lee was, but he was alright. Protective, just like you, but if it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have some of our cool uncles and aunts. Everyone took his death hard, as expected for someone loved and respected dearly. You've made peace with it quickly, you told Mom. Cas is—was, a different matter."

Sam was almost afraid to ask, and somehow Ro sensed it, continuing, "He disappeared a week after. We still don't know what happened to him, but Uncle Jack had grieved for him as well. He said that wherever they are now, they're both at peace, so there's that."

Sam took comfort in the knowledge that Dean would live a long, contented life either way, with children and grandchildren of his own, it seemed. He would have the rest of his life with Cas even. Sam was glad that he and Dean had both reached the point where they were comfortable laying each other to rest, with no talk of resurrections or second tries.

"You might as well ask me a lot," Ro said when a blanket of somber silence passed them. Sam believed that was her attempt to change the dismal topic. "We won't remember about any of this anyway."

Sam was lying if he said that he wasn't curious and was in dire need of distraction from knowing Dean's death in a few decades. He asked for the names of the next three presidents, the new technological development, the discovery of new elements, the sensational books released. Ro answered him to her utmost best, and Sam found her general knowledge impressive. For a moment he recognized the pride in him for having this brilliant girl and Kelly, who happened to be a jiu-jitsu black belter at a young age, as his future granddaughters.

"You know, I expected you to ask more specific things," Ro said wistfully. "Nothing depressing, just… specific."

The tone in her suggestion was unmistakable. Sam huffed out an awkward laugh. "Doesn't matter. There's no time for your matchmaking," he replied, a tad amused.

"Psh. If Dean said you're already showing signs of attraction before you knew you'll get together with grandma, then there's no need to worry, is there?"

"Better take precaution still. Things can easily change."

"So are people," Ro said knowingly. "If grandma didn't change for the better, I doubt you would consider her even as a friend."

Now that she mentioned it, Sam was there when Rowena was, in her own words, a villain, and he was there as well to see through her redemption. Sam liked the strong and capable woman he saw underneath the flaws and pettiness she deemed to have. While a work in progress, he liked the room for growth he saw in her, the ability to tremendously care and willingness to sacrifice if need to be. Sam developed a special fondness for her wit and particular brand of dark humor, the twinkle in her green eyes when she called his name in a teasing note. And don't get him started on her physical qualities.

Oh, damn, Sam glumly thought in realization. He had it bad already.

Ro raised an eyebrow at him and smirked smugly. The expression didn't last long, her young face settling for something unbidden. "She wasn't the easiest person to be with, but you didn't love her any less. Mom and her brother knew that. You had a good run with grandma."

Unlike the mention of Dean's death earlier, Ro made Rowena's passing sound less dismal, that—morbidly it might seem—it was inevitable. There was no uncertainty in Sam when he asked, "How did it happen?"

He promised to himself that it was the last question about another person's death that he would ask.

Ro's smile at him was ambivalent. "She died in her sleep. And before you ask, no, she didn't die by your hand. Mom said you almost forgot about that prophecy thing until her tenth birthday, when you finally acknowledged that if there was something fictional stories kept saying, it was that prophecies were not all pretty cut and dry. You married grandma a month after, and I guess that was it. You didn't 'kill' her, but you did just make a 300-year-old witch give up her immortality for you so that she can grow old with you."

Sam's reeling mind was unable to register the clicking sound of heels walking towards the library until Rowena herself entered with crossed arms, fuming.

"I was under the notion that when you called me for an urgent matter, everything is all set once I arrive," Rowena criticized.

Sam cleared his throat. "Cas said that we already have what we need." He gestured vaguely behind him. "I'll just uh—I'll just go get them."

Ro watched him beat a hasty retreat. When Rowena's attention was on her, critical, the girl straightened her back.

"And you wee girl would be?"

"Rowan, ma'am," Ro lied easily, extending her hand.

Rowena considered her small hand for a second before shaking it daintily. "That works as well."

Sam came back and helped with the initial set up. Ro took the moment to slip to the kitchen and bring out a teapot and cup, pouring Rowena tea.

"Where did you find such a darling girl? " Rowena whispered at Sam, humming in approval at the drink.

By the time Rowena was done, Sam looked relieved that she was easily appeased. Ro winked at him.

Rowena regarded the girl. "You don't look as young as Samuel made you to be."

Ro took the observation as a compliment, seemingly glowing at the words. "No, but I myself should be called a child for my mistake." She sighed dramatically and explained the situation for Rowena.

It was a bit frightening how Ro acted like a younger version of Rowena, easily winning over the latter's sympathy, and by the end of her tale, they were both in each other's personal space, with Rowena tucking away a stray lock of Ro's red hair.

Yeah, there was no mistaking of their relation there, Sam thought wryly.

"And you made sure that nobody else could follow through the door you used?" Rowena queried.

"The spell was specifically for only Lee and me," Ro assured her. "Designed to work only one way. Once."

Rowena looked mildly impressed. "You have strong foundations, dear. I wish I could say the same for the girls wanting to be my apprentice." She glanced at Sam. "Are you sure the consequences will be too dire if we keep her?"

"Rowena," Sam started, though he sounded more amused and fond at the same time.

"Samuel," Rowena returned obligingly.

"You know the rules on time travel."

"Och. Do I? Remind me to try it next time so I'll experience it for myself. Might have to slap someone back in the 17th century."

"I'm sure it won't be difficult for you, but the experience is not exactly pleasant. And pulling someone away from their timeline can have serious repercussions."

"But if you remember Gavin, there were hardly changes because he wasn't so vital to the history," Rowena reminded him. "Unless this girl is going to be an important figure decades from now, I don't see how there could be this so-called repercussions you speak of. No offense, dearie. I mean that in a broader sense."

Sam sighed. He knew she being purposefully stubborn. "Yeah, no." He smiled tightly.

"Because?"

He exchanged a look with Ro, who only gave him an encouraging, saccharine smile. "Right. Doesn't matter anymore." Sam fought an incoming headache. "She's your granddaughter from the future, Rowena. She and her sister are going to be the kids of your daughter."

Rowena blinked. "Oh."

"Both of you are our grandparents," Ro corrected Sam.

Rowena blinked multiple times. "Oh."

Sam looked away. "Yeah."

Rowena tilted the girl's chin to her, scrutinizing her thoughtfully. "That explains the hair and the eyes. Resembled us more than the parents, aren't you?" She patted Ro's cheek affectionately.

Sam waited for the relentless teasing that never came.

Rowena stood and clapped her fingers. "Let's get to bringing you girls back, shall we?"

Sam noted that Rowena wasn't any less fond of Kelly when she and Dean joined them at the library. Rowena merely nodded in greeting at Dean, and there was the typical lilt of her voice when she said 'Castiel' when the fallen angel came to the room with Jack.

Sam was surprised when Rowena didn't point out the apparent tension they could almost taste in the air when Dean and Cas met each other's eyes.

"Go on, dearies," Rowena encouraged the girls, seemingly excited to witness her granddaughters' capabilities. "Perform the same spell you did. Don't mind us here."

Somehow, the girls were hardly assured, suddenly self-conscious to be watched. Sam wondered if their meticulousness was due to them hovering over the two.

"Done," Ro announced when the cauldron began producing a thin trail of smoke.

"A modified spell," Rowena recognized.

Kelly nodded. "It's Ro's idea. Makes the spell difficult to replicate."

Ro preened.

"Well, to be fair to you girls, your only mistake was using the wrong phonetics; therefore, you overdid it," Rowena began to explain, pointing at the written incantation of the spell the girls wrote down. "Barely a novice's mistake."

"Did she just compliment somebody else's witchcraft?" Dean whispered to Sam.

Sam shrugged.

Sam and Dean watched with bated breath as Rowena walked the girls step by step to redo the same spell that would help them return in an exact time before they vanished in their timeline.

Jack's wandering eyes that bounced curiously between all the people inside the library went unnoticed. When Cas glanced at him questioningly, Jack turned to the small light show happening on the cauldron as Rowena cited an additional Latin phrase.

The whole affair was underwhelming, all things considered. Ro and Kelly wrote the slightly different inscriptions on the nearest door until there was a bright glow that came from the other side.

The door no longer led to the restroom, Jack mused, fascinated.

"That's quick," Ro muttered. Kelly agreed.

"Because you dearies are talented," Rowena told them with a soft expression that didn't usually grace her features. She was being sincere, that much was obvious. "Keep it up, girls. Your Mom must be proud of you two."

"So this is goodbye, huh." Dean approached. "Try to avoid accidentally time-traveling next time," he jested.

Kelly grinned at him. Dean allowed the urge to ruffle her hair. There was a kind of understanding that passed between them when he received a nod from Ro.

"Take care, will you," was Sam's last piece of advice to them, not wanting to be too emotional about something he would forget in a few minutes. "We'll see you girls around, I guess."

But damn it, it was hard not to.

"Uncle Jack," Kelly called, startling Jack at the title. "We're ready."

Jack's fingers tapped them on their foreheads. "You'll forget about this once you passed that door," he said. "Personally, I'd rather you remember," he whispered to them.

Ro's eyes that reminded Jack of Sam were lit in amusement, with Kelly equally so. Jack didn't get what was funny. "We know you'd say that. Just take care of Cas, okay? We'll see you around too." Ro winked.

With a final wave, Kelly opened the door for the both of them. It closed on their backs without showing any glimpse of the other side. The whole thing happened within five seconds without much of a fanfare.

"I'll go first," Dean stated once the moment passed, walking to Jack. He wasn't happy that he wouldn't get to keep this memory, but Jack admired Dean's decisiveness.

Jack shook his head. "I think it'll be better if I do this all at once. Castiel said that he wanted to be included in this too."

"I know very little, but it'd be safer this way," Cas told them.

"Now wait just a second, what is the angel saying?" Rowena butted in.

"We have to wipe this encounter from everyone's mind, Rowena, and that includes yours," Sam answered.

"Why, I don't remember agreeing to a bloody memory erasure, Samuel," she retorted.

"Rowena—"

"No," she said firmly. "What if not remembering is what changes the outcome? I don't want to forget that I saw what I'll have one day. I don't—I don't want to, Sam. Please."

Sam came closer, gingerly holding her by the shoulders in comfort. "Rowena," he tried again. "Nothing is set in stone, but if there's one thing I want to believe in, it's that some things will happen no matter what. And I know in my gut that those two sisters are one of those. You'll have them. We will have them and their mother and their uncle. For now, we just have to wait."

It was the point where Dean was supposed to make fun of Sam, of him and Rowena making googly eyes on each other in front of everyone. But that could wait, he thought, not when Cas was slotting his hand against his and Dean was letting him.

Dean wondered multiple things at once.

He wondered faintly if he would remember this particular bit afterward. He didn't want to forget Cas's fingers entwined with his for the first time.

Dean wondered if the brief moment counted as contentment and happiness on Cas's side.

Dean wondered if the Shadow was coming after Cas in the next ten seconds for feeling a momentary satisfaction.

Unbeknownst to them, Jack set to work.

It wasn't Jack's intention, but he saw them for himself anyway: the pieces of memories of Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Rowena as he sifted through their heads.

He witnessed, with an outsider's perspective like that of an audience to a TV, Dean and Castiel's heated conversation two days ago on the subject of getting together more than friendship allowed them to be.

He witnessed the pull of attraction that began to form between Sam and Rowena while one of them thought it was happening only on a single side and the other thinking it was a fleeting fancy that became inexplicable the longer it lingered.

Jack barely understood most of the concepts, though it did make him understood what drove the actions of these people in his close circle.

It would certainly be a tough project, but while Jack was helplessly inept in the subject matter, he could make up for it with immense determination.

Jack began to plan.

End

#samwitch #sam x rowena #samwena #samwena fanfic #samwitch fanfic #sam winchester #rowena macleod #spn fanfiction #Supernatural #post season 15 #rowena #fanfic #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline

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doseofheroes · 5 years

Text

Stalling

Summary: When Bucky is injured in the woods, he comes across a small cabin.

Words: 4072 (wtf)

Pair: bucky x reader

Warnings: violence, swearing

A/n: it is literally my first time writing anything besides a paper for school so sorry for how terrible it is but I had the idea and wanted to try! Also learnt the hard way about formatting so hopefully its somewhat coherent. Also also I wrote it in a night on my phone... Idk if literally anyone will read this but im kinda happy with how it turned out so enjoy!

When you moved out to the middle of nowhere a couple of months ago you knew you were just stalling. After graduating university four quick years later you were no more sure of what you wanted to do now then when you started. So yes, time off to be alone and think for yourself was a stall tactic, but doesn’t mean it was the wrong move right?

The first couple of weeks were peaceful. You were in a small cabin you rented off airbnb located somewhere on the outer edge of the ** forest. Snow fell as slowly creating a fresh layer as you sat inside cozied up with a blanket and some tea reading by the fire. A clichè but still nice.

You made yourself some pasta for dinner and listened to some old Amy Whinehouse tunes. Cleaning up the dishes you decided to call it an early night and went to bed. Little did you know what or rather who would show up at your door that night.

==============================

Bucky and Natasha had set out on mission to the depths of the ** forest where a known hydra base was located. Their job was to only collect intel for now so they could make a proper plan and bring back the group for execution. The base had turned out to be much larger than they had anticipated counting over 250 hydra agents working on the base so far.

“How the hell are we just getting wind of this now?” Bucky stared at the base in confusion.

“Somethings not right. We should’ve heard about this one when we took out the others.” Nat said sharing a concerned look with Bucky.

“We shouldn’t go any further until we get the others” Nat said as she started to pack up.

“We need to figure out what the deal is here” Bucky started “we can’t leave yet.”

“Bucky, there are 250 of them and 2 of us. I know we’re a little above average but thats a bit overkill. No pun intended.”

Bucky smirked at her attempt at humour but there was no way he was leaving just yet. He felt something was off and he wanted to know what. “I’ll do a quick look around. In and out. No contact”

“Bucky, no. Dont be stupid. I get it, but lets not do something we’ll regret. I’m calling this in, i’ll let them know were heading back.”

Bucky sits silently for a second and notices she’s looking for his agreement. He nods.

As Nat trails back to get a signal Bucky turns back to look at the base. “What are you up to...” he says to himself as he looks around. Thats when he sees it. The ever so familiar blue liquid. Fuck he thinks to himself. Theyre trying again...more super soldiers...more....me. His mind flashes back to his hydra days and all the stuff they made him do. This can’t happen.

Against all better judgement he looks back at Nat who is still facing away and starts to descend down the rocks towards the base. He just needs to get the suitcase filled with the serum and get out.

Reaching the outer gates he looks around to make his plan. Thats when all hell brakes loose. A guard patrolling the fence line spots him and starts to yell. Bucky runs over to take him out before anyone notices but it’s too late. Next thing he knows hes taking on an army of hydra agents, shots flying. Nat hears the commotion and turns around. “I don’t believe this.” She says into her comms. She’s about to start the descent when she realizes its too late. Bucky’s down. They’ve got him. This just became a rescue mission.

==============================

Bucky slowly comes to and tries to rub his face but soon realizes he is restrained. Taking in his surroundings he tries not to let panic set in as he looks around the room of the hydra base. Everyone is silently staring at him now that he’s awake. One of the men mutters something to a nurse and she leaves the room. The door bursts open a minute later and in comes a tall thin man with a lab coat. “Hello Mr Barnes. This is a pleasant surprise.” Bucky says nothing but gives the man a blank stare. “I see, the strong but silent type. Well your timing is opportune for us Mr Barnes. you see, we are finally creating our own little army of, well, you to be blunt, and I think you can give me the answers to the questions that remain.” Bucky stays silent not letting his panic show. The doctor doesn’t say much more telling the nurses to start the work up. They start collecting blood samples.

Bucky knows he doesn’t have long before this gets real bad so he starts to form his escape plan in his head. The restraints do not feel like they will be too difficult to break out of, its the building he is unsure of, having been unconscious when they brought him in. I guess we’re gonna wing it he thinks to himself.

Once the nurses clear and all the guards leave except the two at the door, Bucky knows its time. He breaks out of the restraints easily, as he suspected. He knocks on the door and the two guards turn around, eyes widening with realization. They start yelling as he bursts through the door knocking them both out.

As he makes his way through the building things are getting worse and worse. Thats when he sees the doctor, face not of fear, but perhaps interest? Bucky keeps making his way out when he sees a guy blocking the door. He takes a good look at him and he realizes. Shit. This is no regular soldier.

He starts swinging and while he is holding his own, he is still taking quite the beating. I just have to get out he thinks. The soldier now has a rifle. great. Using his arm to deflect the shots he runs full force to take him down but takes a hit in his side. Bucky grunts as the shot stings but the soldier pulls out a knife and Bucky rolls in a near miss.

Ducking and dodging Bucky reminds himself he’s not here to fight, he just needs to get out. He turns and makes a run for it, and is almost home free when he feels a sharp pain in his shoulder and is knocked down. He turns his head to see the knife sticking out of his back. Pulling it out slowly Bucky cringes at the pain but the soldier is already walking back to him.

A knife fight ensues as Bucky desperately tries to stave him off. A realization comes to Bucky. I gotta take the hit to leave. Bucky slows his movements and he feels the knife go straight into his chest. Screaming in pain bucky pulls out the knife almost regretting that, but now, with both knives in his hand he is able to make a run for it throwing the final two knives hitting the soldier twice as he makes his escape.

==============================

Bucky is out of breath and losing feeling as his body tries to recover from the two stab wounds and the shot. He needs to find a safe place to get the bullet out.

After wandering for a few miles Bucky smells smoke. That’s when he sees it. A house...out here? He checks the perimeter for any signs of hyrda or that someone is living there. There is a car in the driveway but no signs point to hydra. He takes the risk and starts to bang on the door.

What the fuck? You think to yourself as you slowly wake up to a loud noise. Fear sets in when you realize someone is banging on your door. You sit in bed waiting for a few minutes hoping they will go away. When the knocking doesn’t subside you decide to go down and check out who it is. God this is stupid, you’ve seen horror movies y/n!!

You look through the doors peephole and thats when you see him. Its dark out so you can’t make out much but you can tell he is handsome. Really y/n? A stranger is knocking on your door in the middle of nowhere at 2 am and you think ‘ooh he’s handsome’?! You mentally scold yourself. Thats when you notice he is clutching his chest.

“Please. I know you’re there. I can hear you. I just need some help and I will leave. I mean you no harm” please for the love of god let me in Bucky thinks to himself.

You are terrified but he looks really hurt. This is a bad idea...you think to yourself but unlock the door anyway.

Bucky perks up at the noise and the door opens slowly. Buckys eyes look up to you and he stares for a second. “Can I come in, please?” He says softly.

“Oh yes sorry!” You say as you let him in, adrenaline rushing. He walks inside slowly looking around before heading to the kitchen. You go to turn on the lights and flick them on before he has time to yell “Dont!” But its too late. You gasp as you take in his injuries and blood soaked clothes.

You look up to his face. “Please, turn them off” he says firmly but quietly. You do as he says. He has the most beautiful blue eyes you think before being kicked back to reality.

“Are you- are you o-okay?” You ask voice shaky. He stays silent. “Well you’re obviously not okay...but do you need...how can I help you? Should I call the police? You should really-“

“Im fine, no need to call anyone” he says cutting you off. “Do you have a towel or something?” You sit there frozen for a few seconds before you spring into action. You disappear upstairs for a few minutes. Bucky takes a deep breath after you leave trying to reorganize his thoughts. The moment he saw your face he forgot, even just for a moment, why he was there in the first place. You had such a calming presence even though you were clearly panicked. You came back arms full with anything you thought could be remotely useful. First aid kit, towels, and a sewing kit you didn’t know you had until now among other things. As you head back to the kitchen you almost drop everything as the man stands shirtless in front of you. You regain composure placing everything on the counter pretending not to see the man smirk.

“I’m going to need you to take the bullet out.” He deadpans. “What?!” You choke out almost laughing at the thought. “I can’t reach it with my other injuries....” he trails off seeing the panicked look on your face “you know what don’t worry about it I think I can manage” A wave of relief floods over you at his words but as he goes to sit you see him wince and you know he was lying for your benefit. Be strong y/n you can do this, you are a strong independent woman “ I can do it. I can take it out. You’re clearly not okay.” Bucky is about to protest but stops when he feels another wave of pain. He nods at you and sterilizes the tweezers before handing them to you. You grab them reluctantly but give him a small smile. He doesn’t know why but that small action gives him enough comfort he thinks he might just be ok. “Okay here goes nothing” you say as he exhale deeply and stick the tweezers in. Bucky grips the counter top and groans. “Im so sorry!” You quickly retreat from your real life game of operation. “No I’m fine keep going” he says and gives you a reassuring smile. “So..” you try to think of some conversation to keep his mind elsewhere. “Do you like cats?” Oh my god bitch are you for real, you are gonna die alone. You clear your throat awkwardly, too late to back out of this conversation. He cracks a smile at your clear embarrassment but answers your question. “Um Ive never had one but I dont mind them I guess. More of a dog person I think” she nods. “Are you...a cat person?” Yikes this is awkward Bucky thinks to himself. But he kind of likes awkward with you. “ Im in animal person in general. Love them all.” You say half focused on the conversation half focused on his side. You try not to let your eyes wander to his abs...and that chest.. ugh is this a man or a god and thats when you realized you had stopped moving and he was staring at you....staring at him. Your eyes quickly dart away and your face heats up at being so blatantly caught enjoying the view. He chuckles and you quickly change the subject. “So care to explain any of this or are you just going to bleed all over my kitchen?” You say almost defensively trying to hide your embarrassment. Bucky stiffens a little. “Are you going to find the bullet or just stare at me all night?” He says half joking, avoiding the question. “I think” you say before grabbing onto the bullet finally and pulling it out quickly. Bucky winces. “that you are avoiding the question” you finish. “You know me so well already!” He states pouring some alcohol over the wound, wincing again. “Here. Stay still.” You say ready to stitch it up. “You’ve really accepted the nurse role” he says smirking “I appreciate it.” He finished more seriously. You smile back. God he loved that smile. Get yourself together barnes, it’s just a pretty girl. “Wait you’re not actually a nurse are you?” He asks suspiciously.You laugh at the accusation. “No. I’m nothing.” Wow way to spill all you life problems in one depressing sentence y/n!! Ughhh why can’t I talk to men. Well when they look this good...”What do you mean?” He asks ignoring the pain of your amateur stitches. Definitely not a nurse...“I just meant I haven’t decided what I am going to do, or be yet...thats all” you give him a weak smile and he nods in understanding. “You want me to do the others?” You point to his stab wounds. casual. “Uh sure, if you dont mind. Thanks” You nod again and begin working. You sit in silence for a bit before something occurs to Bucky. He didn’t kill that solider...they’ll be looking for him...and he may have led them right here to you. You feel Bucky tense and he begins to look around. “Whats wrong?” You ask suddenly nervous again. Wait when did you stop being nervous? “Nothing” he said quickly. “Well sit still im almost done” you say and he nods. You finish the last stitch and sit up.

“There all done! I cannot believe I just did that” You begin to smile but it quickly fades as Bucky immediately stands up and puts his shirt back on. A confused look grows on your face which quickly turns to fear as Bucky starts pulling out your kitchen knives and shoving them in his belt. He grabs your hand and starts to drag you upstairs “come with me”. You follow.

Once upstairs he looks around before opening the closet door. “Uhhh what are you doing” you say ignoring the feeling you get when he grabs your hips and moves you into the closet. “They must have followed me. Stay in here and don’t make a noise. Dont leave until I come get you.” You stare at him waiting for your brain to catch up. “Do you understand? Not a word.” You nod slowly. “You will be okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you I promise.” He turns to leave then pauses. “Im Bucky by the way.” “Y/n” you reply weakly. With that he smiles then closes the door and you hear his footsteps walk back downstairs. You sit in silence the only noise being your heavy breaths for a few minutes before you hear glass smash. Bucky takes in his surroundings, five agents, all heavily armed but no super solider. That can’t be good. He takes them down one by one with ease mentally apologizing for everything he’s breaking in your home. Once the last agent is down he steps outside and listens for more. He can hear them every so slightly which means they can’t be more than a mile away. He needs to get you out of there, you’re sitting ducks.

He runs back inside and grabs your car keys before heading upstairs to retrieve you. He swings open the closet door and you let out a scream and start kicking. “Hey hey its me!” You look up and realize your safe. “Sorry...wh-what happened?” “We need to leave. I got your keys, leave everything here, stay behind me” You get up slowly and nod sticking closely behind him. He walks slowly and quietly down the stairs then pauses. Oh fu- Buckys thoughts get cut off as he ducks to avoid the super soldiers hand swinging at his head. Ho. Ly. Shit. You think watching Bucky expertly fight what looks like a man but appears to have the strength of an elephant. You hide behind a wall peering around to watch when it hits you. Super strong men...bullets...bucky...im in an airbnb with the winter soldier. The realization hits you like a truck and you turn around stunned. You catch your breath and begin to watch again. Fear settles in all over when you see the soldier choking the life out of Bucky. Without thinking you grab a knife from the floor run over and stab him in the back. The soldier loosens his grip just enough for Bucky to break free and snaps the guys neck before he has a chance to grab you. “Thanks...” he huffs out holding his neck “we have to move” He grabs your arm and takes you out to the car. You both get inside and Bucky just starts driving.

==============================

The drive is mostly silence as you try and process what is happening and Bucky tries to figure out what to say. “You don’t have a phone on you do you?” He asks. “No..uh you told me not to grab anything” “Right” More silence. I have to say something Bucky decides. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I wasn’t thinking straight and I-“ “You’re the winter soldier aren’t you?” You cut him off. Oh god. Bucky thought this couldn’t get worse, she called me the winter soldier, shes afraid. “I am- or was” He doesn’t know how else to say it without going off. You sit there for a minute in silence. “Ok” is all you say. Bucky looks at you in surprise. “Ok?” “Yeah, ok” you repeat. With that you shift in your seat and nod off. Ok...Bucky repeats this over and over in his head as he drives back to the compound.

==============================

“So..they’re going to be angry with me...just as a heads up.” Bucky says to you as you arrive at the compound. “What? Aren’t you the one who is injured and missing?” “Well, yes, but it’s my fault. I was reckless and I put everyone in danger. Including you. Im sorry.” Bucky suddenly felt even more guilty in remembering that you were now dragged into this too. “It’s okay, honestly, I’m just glad your okay” you said with a smile. It was true. Yes, you were scared shitless at the time but you’re not going to pretend you weren’t psyched to have met Bucky and soon the avengers! Plus..you were going stir crazy in that cabin... oh the cabin...there goes my deposit. Bucky smiled back and got out of the car. You followed him all the way through the front doors to the elevator and down the hall admiring the building around you. This is a Stark building all right...

Bucky slowed and you could hear the avengers in on the other side of the door discussing. He steps inside and stops. “Hey guys” they all whip their heads around to stare at Bucky. Smooth. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YOU IDIOT!” You hear a female voice. They all proceed to start yelling at him over one another. “Guys....guys...GUYS” Bucky yells finally prompting them to stop. He steps aside and you figure thats your cue so you enter the room. “Hello” you say awkwardly waving to everyone. They all stare at you then back at him. “Who is this?” Tony friggen stark asks Bucky. “When I escaped i was injured and I came across her house. She stitched me up but they followed me so we took her car and well... here we are!” “Buck, we went in to get you and you weren’t there. What happened?” Oh my goddddd captain america!!!! Neutral face y/n, neutral face, be cool. “I broke out about 30 minutes after I was...taken in... but they had a super soldier of their own. Barely got out of there with a bullet hole and two stab wounds.” Bucky says nonchalantly. Your eyes widen at the implications of his story. For some reason your brain forgot something happened before he showed up at your door. Dude was shot and stabbed twice! What the fuck! “And you coincidentally live up in a cabin in the woods alone near a hydra base?” Tony says to you receiving a glare from Bucky. “Wha- hydra base?- no, I rented that cabin, its an airbnb, I was just staying there for a few months” you say, looking around for confirmation that they believe you. They look at each other skeptically. “She stabbed the super soldier to save me- do I really have to say this?” Bucky tries to defend you. “Hey, look, I should just go home, I don’t mean to cause any trouble” you say suddenly feeling how tired you were. “I’m sorry, but they might have seen you, I can’t let you go home until this is cleared up.” Bucky says sympathetically. Your eyes widen at this statement. You look around at the other faces and your fears are confirmed. “He’s right. We need to figure out what their plan is...and no offence..but who you are.” Steve says earning another glare from bucky. You think about this for a moment. I guess I would be skeptical too... plus staying here wouldn’t be so bad...“Alright. Fair enough.” You say shrugging. Buckys face looks surprised but then relieved. In fact they all look relieved.“Well all right sergeant, show the lady to her room” Tony says grinning at Bucky. With that you follow Bucky through the building.

==============================

When you and Bucky finally reach your new room you can tell he wants to say something. “Im so so-“ “thanks f-“ You both speak at the same time. “You first” you say, giggling.Buckys heart clenches at the sound. ”Look, im just really sorry about all of this, I don’t know how to make it up to you.” You can see the guilt on his face. You want to wipe it away with your hands..mouth... god y/n, you sad little daydreamer. “Really truly, its okay. If it were to be anyone I’m glad its me, I was literally in the middle of doing nothing” you say laughing. “But I know how you can make it up to me” you say smiling. “How, anything” he says, face lighting up, not letting his mind go to the places her statement suggested. My first choice would be to for you to push me up against this door and make out with me buuuut... “give me a tour of this place tomorrow?” You say, the confidence of your subconscious not quite reaching your mouth. “Deal” he says nodding. His eyes linger over you for too long before he notices you stifling a yawn. “Sorry, youve had a long night, I’ll let you sleep. See you tomorrow.” “Tomorrow” you say smiling as he leaves the room. Left alone in this strange place, your thoughts swirl on only one thing, or should you say only one man.

=================================

To be continued?

Comments appreciated :)

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #fanfic #i dont know #fanfiction #winter soldier x reader #marvel

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ktrsvo · 6 years

Text

racing to sixty

In which Simon tells Bram that he is Jacques during the party.

@mia-the-dork *shows up 2 days late wearing sunglasses and a garbage bag* hey thanks for the prompt!!

Simon knows exactly how this story might go - how it might end - but still it does not stop him from staggering tipsily up the stairs, trying to fend off the fogginess that has settled in his mind. There’s that logical part of him that’s yanking tightly on the reins, warning him that he’s only setting himself up for disappointment, but there’s also another voice in his head, the loud, optimistic sunshine-and-rainbows one that says fuck, to hell with all caution. Like seriously, screw it.

Go for it, buddy.

Give this one your best shot.

Eyes forward, chin held up high.

When, at last, he reaches the second floor, he braces himself up against the wall for a moment. His knees threaten to buckle underneath his weight, and his stomach feels like it’s been wrung bone-dry and put in a trivection oven to bake. His insides, they’re this scrambled - though, arguably not as much as his brain is.

His outfit’s starting to feel real suffocating. Especially at the shoulders and around the neck. Simon sucks in a shuddering inhale, pops off the first three buttons on his shirt. His wig got lost somewhere along the way, so that explains the pleasant absence of weight on his head.

“You can do this,” Simon half-whispers to himself, as he disappears into the bathroom to mull over this situation a little bit more.

The pale white lighting overhead casts a strange aura to his face, Simon observes, staring at himself in the mirror. Not anything bad, not anything negative, no. It’s a glow of confidence, one he so often sees inhabit Nick’s face before an important game, filled with the belief that everything will turn out A-okay.

“Hey, Bram, it’s me, Jacques,” Simon says to his reflection in the mirror, fingers curled decisively on the countertop.

The sentence comes out flat, stale. Lame. So that one’s going out the window, definitely. Simon thinks for a moment, willing his addled brain to come up with something a bit flashier on the fly, but all that his wishing has got to show for is a dumb variation.

Hey, Barack, it’s me, Jacques .

A small snicker escapes Simon. Ha, ha, very funny - though, least this one’s got rhyme to it. A smoothness, a style - but Simon figures that instead of clapping himself on the back he’ll end up smacking himself if he seriously messes up the execution. Because Simon logic, you know.

Ah, the ever-frustrating, migraine-inducing physiology of the Simon Spier brain. Definitely not interesting enough to anatomize Freudian-style, but, whatever, Simon has better things to do than get pissy over being too unworthy for a hypothetical consideration by a guy who’s been dead since forever.

And so Simon makes his way out of the bathroom. Shuffles towards the nearest bedroom in the vicinity, because yeah, it’s totally where Bram’ll be chilling at, his job as gracious party host be damned.

Before Simon can get his hand on the doorknob, a wave of self-doubt comes crashing around his ears. He groans. Really? He’s just one second away from pulling the trigger, and the image that chooses to manifest in his mind is of Bram hooking up with a random girl?

“Stop,” Simon murmurs more to himself than anyone else.

A simple twist has the door clicking open, and then the worst case scenario disintegrates completely. Shatters like glass.

Simon’s breath sticks in his throat. There’s a sudden pounding in his ears that he’s sure has absolutely nothing to do with the shots he downed earlier. Also, Simon doesn’t remember his shirt being this stuffy. Or hot.

(Confidence restored? Kind of?)

Bram’s sitting down on the bed, looking deep in thought - a signature Bram expression that ought to be established as its own brand. Simon snickers. Then thinks: it always seems like there’s some sort of very important internal monologue going on inside Bram’s head. It could be about anything. Tax rebates, socialism, dumb puns, whether or not Keanu Reeves is truly immortal, the cool soccer moves he did yesterday, the lyrics of Between the Bars - assuming that he’s Blue, but even if he isn’t, it’s still possible, it’s not like Simon is the only one who knows and digs Elliott Smith.

So, yeah, a concoction of worldly issues, bad jokes, and depressing music - though, it’s probably leaning more towards the intellectual stuff. And, okay, definitely the sports stuff, too. Because Bram’s good at both. Great, actually.

(Simon is totally justified in his assumptions, because Bram’s always been one of those super smart, all-around guys. The handsome, sporty nerd types everyone has a crush on - grandmothers included. It’s amazing, really.)

“Simon?” Bram’s voice cuts through the haze of Simon’s thoughts.

Simon stops.

Functioning, that is. And it’s all because Bram’s got his soft, brown-eyed gaze locked onto Simon’s face, one that somehow evokes an image of an adorable puppy lounging on a stretch of sunlit grass. Simon’s cheeks warm. His pulse does a funny dance.

He stares, unable to look away.

It’s a curious thing, the cute, downward slope of Bram’s mouth when he’s thinking real hard, both dimples exposed, eyes glittering. Luminous.

God, has Bram always been this unfairly good-looking?

(Simon is reminded of how very gay he is. And repressed.)

I have feelings for you, Simon thinks with all his mind. And soul.

“Uh, sorry? I didn’t quite catch that,” Bram says, and Simon’s blood turns into fire. He actually said that out loud?The words leave a painful scorch in their wake, extinguishing what little rationality is left over in Simon’s mind. The motormouth in him has started to take off, racing at around sixty trillion miles per beat, and if Simon were in full possession of his mental faculties, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but since he’s not at his best - though, not exactly scraping rock-bottom, either - this can only bode ill for the next five seconds.

Simon moves forward. One foot in front of the other, slow, methodical, deliberate. He gets up and close, and then, exultant, he gets floored by the precise colour of Bram’s eyes. The crescent-shaped dimples on his cheeks. The pensive bend of his brow. The cupid’s bow of his mouth. The warm, rich hue of his skin - warm warm warm.

Bram Greenfeld is here, in the flesh, within Simon’s reach - physically speaking, of course; he’s still unsure about the mentally bit. Now, here’s the part where Simon should carefully consider what he should say next, but because Simon’s far from being an international gold-medalist at think-before-you-act, he ends up plunging himself into the deep end instead of simply testing out the waters - you know , just dipping your toes in, gauging for the feel of the moment so that you don’t end up fucking embarrass yourself.

“Bram,” Simon says, then shakes his head, “no, I mean - Barack -” At this, Bram raises his eyebrows -”it’s me, Jacques.”

A beat of silence ensues, then two, three, four. Just as Simon is arriving at the conclusion that he’s made a serious miscalculation, recognition, pure and unfiltered, settles along Bram’s features. His jaw goes slack, and his forehead creases, like he cannot believe that Jacques is really, really here. Fully corporeal. No longer a collection of pixels and Arial font letters.

And then realization hits Simon, too - hard. His mind spins, tilts, whirls, as it tries to reconcile this reality to the fantasy Simon has been constructing out of little more than a few vague hints.

“You’re Jacques,” Bram says, slowly, as though testing the heft of the name on his tongue.

Simon swallows. “And you’re Blue. Right?” He must be. Obviously. Simon doesn’t think he can bear the alternative.

Bram purses his lips. “Donner sa langue au chat ,” he says, and it occurs to Simon that he’s referencing a conversation they had a few emails ago. Give up guessing an answer. The funny thing is, the phrase could also apply to their current situation.

“Oui?” Simon says.

Bram nods. “Yeah.”

Five minutes later, they’re sitting side-by-side on the bed, knees touching, not speaking. Like they’ve both gone into shock, now on the verge - the cusp - of experiencing cardiac arrest, which, all things considered, is fair enough. Their hands are close enough to touch, and the proximity is electrifying - probably even more so than if they were actually touching.

“I still can’t believe that it’s actually you,” Simon breathes out, breaking the near-silence between them.

“So … you’re disappointed?” Bram’s voice is small. Quiet. Not at all the reaction Simon intended to draw out of him.

“No, no, no, you have it the wrong way,” Simon says impatiently, shaking his head. And it’s true. If anything, it’s Simon who should be asking that question. “Are you kidding me, Bram?” His tone rises up a notch, the way it does whenever he works himself up into an impassioned frenzy - which is next to never, because he’s too awkward for raw, heartfelt spiels, theatre club antics not included. “It’s just that you’re you, Mr. Everyone’s-Got-Their-Eyes-On-Me Greenfeld. I mean, ever take a good look at yourself in the mirror? Like, God, imagine exchanging anonymous messages with someone and finding out that Mystery Person is this smart, popular, sporty, good-looking guy who has always been totally out of your league, who you thought was totally straight and therefore would never have a chance with.” The words continue to pour, relentlessly. “See, this is pretty much the stuff of dreams, Bram, holy shit, I mean, you’ve got me over here, someone who’s a disaster when it comes to starting conversations with cute boys - or just people in general - and then we’ve got you, who -”

Bram’s hand closes around Simon’s. Simon’s mouth closes. “Simon,” he begins in a light tone of voice, the kind that typically precedes a chuckle, “for what it’s worth, I was hoping that Jacques would be you.”

Simon blinks. Lets out an exhale. So … the feeling is mutual, then. Oh.

“Since when?” Simon bleats, because the revelation still feels too brittle. Too new. Like it’s merely an illusion Simon managed to will into existence through sheer wishing alone, an easy-to-break fantasy. Cruel by virtue of it simply existing in its false, hollow state.

At least if Simon never dreamt this up, a desire for more would have never been incited in him.

But when Bram tilts up Simon’s chin with his fingers, saying, “I’ve been crushing on you for a long time, now, Spier. Of course I’d want Jacques to be you,” the impact solidifies - turns real - and then the gap between them is closing, closing, closing, until Bram’s lips are on his.

The kiss starts off awkward. Clumsy.

It is more mouth than feeling, a sweaty fumble of boy instead of exhilaration. But it isn’t bad, no. As a matter of fact, it’s the best kiss he’s ever had in his entire life - not that he’s had enough good or real ones to have a proper benchmark. Simon doesn’t know where his hands should go, if he should be touching Bram here, or touching Bram there, so he just lets Bram guide their mouths together into a slow, experimental rhythm.

And it works out just fine. Bram’s lips are soft against his, so pliant, so warm, and Simon nearly dies on the spot when Bram does the thing, nipping at his bottom lip lightly with his teeth. They break away for a second, to gather their bearings, before pressing up against each other again - this time with a little bit of familiarity and a lot more fervour.

Simon figured out along the way that it would be best to rest his hands right here, on Bram’s shoulders, so that’s what he does now. Every press of Bram’s mouth sears his skin, raises his body temperature a notch higher each time, until Simon’s sure he’s practically indistinguishable from flame. Made from it, even. Embers and all.

The sound that emerges from Simon’s throat is a needy, almost carnal groan that Simon’s sure will plague him later on in his dreams, but for now there is only this: Bram kissing him senseless, breathless, motionless.

They hastily pull apart when there’s a loud knock, the door swinging open to reveal some chick in a minion costume. But the moment she disappears, Bram draws Simon in for another kiss, and the rest is history.

#i woke up and realized that i actually have free time today #wild...#love simon #simon spier #bram greenfeld #spierfeld #my writing

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