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btswishes · 3 years

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Love me for who I am now

Bucky x Reader ( Chapter 4)

Previous / Next (5)

Summary: You apply for the Stark internship and end up getting it, so now you have 5 months to make a good impression to continue working with the Avengers.

A/N: Ok. I think I need to calm down with the descriptions a bit. They might be a bitt too much for everything. Good thing this is an experiment and a challenge for my damn bratty authors block. Sorry for any mistakes made, hope you enjoy it even a tiny bit.

Tag list: @vicmc624

Word count: 3,305

Warmings: fights, harsh language, not part of the original MCU

Y/N- Your name

Y/L/N- Your Last Name

40s Vocabulary:

killer diller - the best, amazing

grandstand - show off in a boastful manner

snap your cap - get angry

flip your wig - lose your temper, lose control

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The compound was overthrown by silence, such a sweet melody combined with the sound of the nightly creatures, passing by at such heights. One would be surprised at what could even survive up here, at least the city was just a distant presence. The clock hit 12 as you closed the door of the lab behind yourself. After tiding up you decided to brush over some stuff, ending up just doing 3 more hours of work. Steve wouldn’t be happy to find out you did exactly what he expected.

Your feet tiptoeing snuck around the halls, making sure no one noticed or got woken up by you. No sound came out, not even by your breath. You were expecting to see the glimmer of light from at least 2 rooms, but apparently no one was up. Palm against the metal of the door, it slid open ever so silently as its owner.

“Ah~…” you let out a deep breath, letting your body sink onto the bed- work books and empty laptop bag on the covers under your right hand. Replenishing the oxygen, you took in the smell of the sheets. A mix of fresh, crisp mountains with a hint of floral tones.

Knock knock

Your head came up first, allowing the guest access to your room, before pushing half your body up with hands firmly pressed into the bedding. The hissing sound of the door revealed a head pocking from the side, illuminated slightly by the dim lighting coming from inside.

“Am I bothering?” the female voice asked

“Um no, actually I just came from the lab.” You explained, beginning to identify the owner of the rich voice slowly

“Come over to my room then.” blunt and direct, a woman that never beat around the bush. Something you wanted to be able to do as well sometimes

“Nat!” another sweet note flew into your room, rapidly cutting off the residual command “You are supposed to ask her if she wants to come, not demand. She could be tired.”

“Oh come on.” Natasha looked back at the second companion, reading her a lecture in the corridor “She can say no.” with the corner of her eye she was indirectly actuating you in her favor. Agent habits die…well - never.

“ I am a night owl so if you don’t mind I would love to join you.” Still whispering in case someone woke up, you were pulled out from your room by the two women. It felt like a blink of an eye when you found yourself cross-legged on the soft mattress. The situation was not expected and very much tense for you. Soft tapping sounds of rain filled the room, creating a cozy ambiance. Natasha was leaning onto her elbow - body sideways, while Wanda was completely laying onto her stomach- both looking at you.

“Relax.” Natasha tapped your shoulder. It felt almost like magic when your body did exactly that, well maybe it was since Wanda’s hand flashed a bit. I don’t think anyone would complain about the sudden stress relieve. Compared to your pretty empty living quarters this place showed the years spend. The color of the wall was a warm light tone of dark amber. Combined with the wooden style furniture and small knickknacks, it had a warm cabin like feeling - welcoming. You did not regret coming here at all, now that you were situated. And the rain, the light drops just added so much to this, almost like you were on vacation in the woods and star-gazing with your closest friends.

“So, how did it go with Mr. Always Grumpy?” Wanda uttered below you, attention spilling out of her very existence

“Bucky?” you asked strings pulling a nod from both of them “Thought so.” sighing, your elbows dug into the soft cover supporting your upper body “ He just threw a tantrum that ended up with him almost choking me out on the spot and not in the good way. Fixed his arm though. ”you added proud of the last sentence

“Wait, wait.” Natasha swung her hands side to side in front of her face in disbelieve “He let you fix his shoulder? No, no let me rephrase that. James Buchanan Barnes let you touch him? Someone he doesn’t know?”

“How?” Wanda sat up in a split second, making the bed shift a bit from the kinetic energy applied to it

“Simple.” Your pointer finger flung up positioned between your eyebrows, before pointing at the two women “Treat him like a moody antisocial child.” A wide evil smirk tugged from side to side onto your lips “ I just told him that if he doesn’t get it fixed he will be a burden on the next mission. For someone trying to erase his past by doing good deeds and being useful, this was like a jab to his ego.”

“That…” Wanda’s fingers wrapped around her chin, letting her sink in thought “…that makes a lot of sense honestly. I would have never come up with that.”

“Enough about fossil number 2.” Natasha clapped her hands “Since we will be neighbors from now on, let’s go around and do a short introduction happy campers.”

“I will go first.” Wanda rose her hand beginning “Wanda Maximoff here, your teammate living right in front of you.”

“You can just call me Nat, no need for formalities, Captain’s orders.” She joked

“I mean for me just Wanda is ok.”

“I guess the introduction is directed more towards me.” A giggle rung out “ Y/N Y/L/N, studying in Stark University with a very weird past, that I can’t explain to myself either. Your new neighbor and teammate from what I can gather. Pleasure to make -“ too formal you thought to yourself, it was time to let go a bit “Nice to meet yall.”

You found yourself getting along with the girls much faster than with anyone else in the compound. Maybe it was because you didn’t have an awkward first confrontation with any of them or a choking one.

“By the way.” You lured them back with your voice “Tony said something about me using the gym. What’s all that about? ”

The two turned to each other questioning for a moment, before deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to know what Tony was mixing in his little pot of mischief – had to get used to it sooner or later.

“He is testing an Avengers new generation program on you.” Nat concluded from their numerous conversations about you prior to your arrival or, as a matter of fact, even your application acceptance “The gym is for well, to make sure you don’t die on missions.”

“Ok, hol’ up hol’ up.” Your eyes squeezed shut when your hands waved air side to side “Not only am I a ‘build an avenger’ type of deal, but I will be going on missions?!”

Their non verbal agreement pulling a deep and already exhausted sigh out of you. It hadn’t even began and your muscles were in pain. You got yourself in this mess, you kind of wanted it so no backing down now. Your pride wouldn’t let you.

The rest of the night was filled with jokes, snarky comments about the men in the compound. Natasha had dirt on almost all of them with the occasional help of Wanda. The three troublesome birdies soon fell asleep each in her own corner of the bed, till later in the night when you huddled up. The window in Natasha’s room was the main culprit causing you to ball one next to the other.

Light slowly creeping into the common room and welcoming the men stumbling early for a cup of coffee - drowsy and very much looking like bird nests. Tony dressed in his fancy pjs was quick in his preparations, while Sam and Steve were still waiting next to the bubbling machine, on each side of it. Arms crossed, pressed against firm muscles and fighting the sleep.

“Morning early birds.” Tony teased Sam when Bucky’s heavy steps passed behind the playboy. He looked the most awake and ready for a mission out of everyone. Steve pulled out a couple of mugs and poor the hot dark liquid, passing 2 out to his buddies.

Peace covered them like a comfort veil, sips frequently reminding that time was indeed still flowing and not paused. Boredom began crawling up their spines, when Bruce’s emerging presents lit them up. The need for some vibrancy was soaking into the air.

“What is up with the serious atmosphere?” he asked grabbing one of the cups resting on the bar.

“Something is missing here.” Sam pushed his lips to the side speaking of things everyone noticed “It’s...too quiet.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Tony released his grip on the mug, resting it on the table

Yes Sir?

“Where are the rest of us?”

If you are speaking of Miss Maximoff, Miss Romanoff and Miss Y/L/N they are still in bed.

“I know I buy the best beds, but this is a bit too much.” Tony got up and walked over to Wanda’s room, knocking on the door. He waited for an answer, but none was given. His head pocked in just for his eyes to be met with emptiness.

��F.R.I.D.A.Y. where are they?” Tony stomped over to your room, which was in the same condition maybe a bit emptier since you were a new arrival

In Miss Romanoff’s room Sir.

“All of them?” Steve pushed his hips off the counter, tall figure stalking after Tony.

Yes Sir.

The door slid open and Steve almost choked out a loud laugh at the sight. The three of you were cuddled up like stray cats trying to keep warm during the cold winter days, waiting for an owner to come and pick you up. Hands pushing his lips closed, Steve snuck in closing the open window. As simple as the action was it released a calming moan from one of you, the space already getting warmer.

“I don’t have the heart to wake them up.” Bruce announced with a cheerful whisper

“Yeah, keep them like that.” Sam pulled out his phone and started taking pictures

“What are you doing?” Bucky’s body leaning onto the doorframe, the newest member to this room-visit

“What does it look like tin can arm?” clicking sounds bouncing off the wall “Getting some dirt on Nat. The amount of blackmail material she has on me is too much.”

“Ok, you had your fun bird brain.” Bucky grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled the phone way from your resting figures, specifically you.

“Calm down you two.” Steve tried to pull them away and out of the small space

“What got your panties twisted?” Sam’s body stood up confidant, clenching the muscles being wrapped by the cold vibranium plates “The Winter Soldier look is showing on that smug face of yours.” The dark glistening skin pushed closer to Bucky as he was almost picking a fight “ Shit, if I didn’t know better I would say someone was whispering them trigger words of yours.”

Sam finally had something to use for revenge, but this whole righteous behavior of Bucky was spoiling his fun. The rest of the guys felt the pressure accumulating around the menacing men “Zhelaniye and Semnadtsat something like that right? Oh wait that is right~...Wakanda whipped your ass clean.” The awful Russian accent awoke Natasha, but feeling the heavy air she decided to wait her time to get those pictures back. Sly one.

The words were loud enough for everyone to wait for Bucky’s reaction.

“Rzhaviy or some shit li-“ the word crept inside your ear together with the sentence beforehand. Your left hand decided that the position it was in wasn’t comfortable anymore, swinging your left foot in the opposite direction. Hands pushing off the bed with a rough creek, let your left knee hook onto Sam’s neck – body hanging like a chain in front of him. Your fingers didn’t waste time to snake around his own calves pulling them up.

“Wha-!” Sam gasped when the heels of your feet pushed his shoulders back – head hitting the soft carpet with a loud thud and grunt. There was no time to take a breath for the poor man before your arms locked the air in his throat.

Natasha grabbed the phone quickly and deleted whatever she could find about herself, while everyone else sat stunned.

“I give- I give- up!” Sam tried squeezing the words out of his mind as he began tapping the floor and your elbow.

“I got the pics Y/N.”Nat waved the phone at you, but your hands began to tighten around his neck. Sam was starting to turn colors his skin wasn’t supposed to have.

“Y/N!” Bucky growled out loud and commanding, shacking up the whole room. It felt like a bubble popped from in front of you, body jolting at the voice.

“Ha?” your lips fell open as your body relaxed, letting Sam finally suck in so much ai,r the covers on Natsha’s bed almost went inside his mouth. Your jaw closed just so your throat could swallow a bit of spit seeing as it was feeling dry, before it opened back up. Sam’s body heat pulled your gaze down to him when you started to register the situation.

“Oh God!” you pulled away from him, apologies spilling out of you, too many in a second “I was sleepwalking again!”

Dumbfound, that was exactly the expression on everyone’s face hearing you say that. You were used to your nightly habits, even your family found it natural at this point.

“Usually when I have nightmares I either mumble or sleepwalk.” Trying to explain yourself didn’t change what everyone was feeling.

“OW!” Steve screeched out upon feeling Tony’s fingers pinch his arm

“I am not dreaming am I? You all saw that too.” He felt Cap swat his hand away sending a warm wave of pain through his limb

“Test it on yourself next time!” he hissed

“I call that sleep fighting not walking.” Bruce pitched in feeling left out “You are trying to tell us you are…used to this?” your head nodded, roughed up hair flying back and forth

“My mom calls them night terrors. Tried to get help for it, but I guess the only one who could help me was my uncle. One of the reasons why I spend so much time with him.” You grinned trying to get out of this mess as fast as possible with less casualties

“I am stopping this now.”Tony threw his hands in the air “I am not awake enough to deal with all this...and that tiny assassin.” You followed him hastily to the kitchen whipping yourself a cup of tea and flying over to one of the seats. The rest of the Avengers followed your stumbling figure out of the room – slow steps, a mix of amazement and confusion, pain for some. Sam sat on the couch pretty far from you, keeping quiet. Your eyes scanned the room waiting for someone to say something or to cut the thick atmosphere with a butter knife.

“Can I take Y/N over from Nat?” Steve was the hero in this moment . Tony waved his hand, swallowing his almost cold coffee

“Do what you want, I am not capable of decisions right now.” The screeching floor yelped under the chair’s feet. Sam followed Bucky out the room, after Tony announced his departure.

“Come with me kid.” Steve’s heavy yet warm hand fond your tense shoulder muscles. Your body jumped and followed the man like a small chick behind its mother. You ran to your room taking a quick shower, a dash of deodorant and putting on workout clothes. Washing yourself before sweating made no sense, but the warmth tended to relax you. Taking into consideration the amount of stress you were feeling for awhile now – it felt good.

The gym was maybe 3 levels before the floor you lived on, information revealed to you in the not so comfortable awkward ride with the elevator. The doors slid open unveiling a whole new world. Stylish…there is nothing you could say at this point but Tony owned it, it talked for itself. Steve told you to leave the duffle bag onto a bench and come to the equipment.

“Have you used any of these?” he pointed at the machines and you shook your head. You knew about them from youtube videos and maybe 1 or 2 gym visits, but saying up right being able to use them properly was questionable. “Ok, let’s start with a quick evaluation of your body’s capabilities.”

With the corner of your eyes you could see Bucky lifting an absurd amount of weights – super soldier let’s not forget that again. You started first with the bar without anything on it, before Steve began adding. You were struggling, which made him know when to stop piling stuff and changing the muscle groups. What felt like 2 hours later he gave you a small break, walking over to his friend to spot him.

A dust cloud swirled around the metal arm before the weights floated in the air. Once more finding yourself eyeing him head to toe – his arms were glistening from the sweat droplets forming onto them. The t-shirt was tightly clinging on his muscles like glue was applied to them previously. His hair fixed to patches of his lovable face. That untamed beard and ice blue eyes made his existence mirror that of a Greek God statue. Fingers tingling around your water bottle unknowingly wishing to touch him, before noticing Steve walking up to you – not before Bucky’s eyes met yours for a split second for who knows what time.

“He is a killer diller aint he.” The blonde snickered at your flushed face, being caught staring. Taking a quick drink from your bottle ,you stood up and threw it to Steve

“Grandstand.” you coughed out at the man leaving him stunned in place from what just erupted from your mouth “You coming?” you coaxed him successfully.

Aside from the small playful teasing Cap tried to play on you,F on his best friend’s back - training was though. He wasn’t going easy on you, ass hitting the floor one too many times for your liking. You could already feel the bruises coloring your skin a midnight blue with a hint of a bloody red.

“Time out!” puffing out the words with the last liter of air left inside your lungs “I-I can’t Steve.” The dull thudding sound your legs made hitting the mat echoed in the big gym. It was loud enough to wake up the dead.

“That is enough for today. You did surprisingly well. Don’t you think Mr. Grandstrand?” a towel flung on top of your head turning off the lights in your mind. With a trembling hand you pulled it off to look at the one and only Sergeant, looming over you. Steve’s words summoned a low groan from Bucky filled with annoyance.

“Hey now, don’t snap your cap.” A type of teasing only possible between friends gone through decades and countless near death situations. The towel was soft enveloped in a calming and nostalgic smell. Having gained some of your strength back, your palms pushed off the floor with a fling. For a moment your demeanor mirrored that of Steve, calmly tapping Bucky’s back and throwing him a playful look, that of years long pals.

“Come on cap, don’t tease him that much. He gonn’ flip his wig soon.” The sentence dripping with a heavy old school Brooklyn accent. No war could prepare them both for this one sided conversation they just witnessed.

“Did she just?” Bucky pointed at you, finger hovering in the direction of your disappearing body silhouette.

“I don’t know man.”

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kulaykape · 4 years

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Ina Kingsley x MC: Receiving Gifts

This is the longest one yet 😳 but I've been wanting to put it out for a while so here it is 😁

Tags: @nydeiri @thepotatobleh

•••

"What, you think I forgot?"

Rarely was Ina Kingsley appreciative of her status as 'Professor Dreamy'. This was one of those times.

Thank god that these Belvoire brats were rich kids. That meant, at this time of year, all the starry-eyed students harboring crushes on her would pull out all the stops for the perfect Christmas gift.

Ina was currently munching on a To'ak chocolate bar. Which, she didn't know what the hell was until Chloe St. James told her it was the most expensive chocolate in the world as she presented it to her. Definitely not worth two hundred dollars in Ina's opinion, but she wasn't about to complain. The benefits of being deemed the hottest professor on campus were far and few between, so Ina was going to take all the dubs thrown her way.

One of those dubs being the Golden Ticket candy bar sitting in a gift bag under her desk. Was it really that well-known that Ina had a weakness for sweets?

A knock on Ina's door made her start, and she scrambled to stow away the overpriced chocolate. "Uh, c-come in!" She called, checking her watch. Only one person ever came into her office at this hour.

"H-hey, Professor K-Kingsley," Aliyah greeted her as she stepped into the office. The first thing Ina noticed was how she was shivering so hard that she might as well have been trying to escape her own skin.

"Aliyah!" Ina stood up and quickly made her way over, "Christ, you know it's in the negatives outside, right?" She cupped the side of Aliyah's neck before she even knew what she was doing, and winced at the biting cold she was met with.

"I d-do now," Aliyah said, tone drier than her lips. She didn't even have the energy to react to Ina's warm skin against her neck, partly because she could barely feel anything. She started to shed her coat, but Ina stopped her.

"Leave that on for now, else you'll be the next boy in the iceberg," she said.

Aliyah's jaw dropped. "Ina K-Kingsley, was that an Avatar reference I just heard?!" She practically screeched as Ina led her to the fireplace by the armchairs. Damn, were all the professor offices pimped out like this? This woman wasn't even tenured.

Ina gave her a small smile. "My geekier side tends to come out when I'm in a good mood," she replied.

Aliyah smiled right back as she plopped down in an armchair, and started to brush snow off her nose. "Uh oh, Christmas fever?" She suggested.

"You could say that," Ina gestured behind her to her desk. Aliyah could see gifts overflowing from beneath Ina's desk, where she'd probably hidden them for the sake of good sportsmanship with the other professors.

The younger woman's smile faltered a bit as she glanced down at her backpack. "Shit," she muttered under her breath. She'd forgotten that she'd be faced with so much competition around Belvoire.

"Aliyah?" Ina asked softly. Aliyah's head snapped up.

"Yeah, sorry," she said as she started reaching into her backpack, and then pulled out two thermoses. She'd start small. But apparently not too small, as a grin practically burst onto Ina's face when she realized what she was holding out. "Merry Christmas?" Aliyah asked, smile sheepish.

"You're the most wonderful person I've ever met," Ina said as she took a mug gingerly from Aliyah. And her tone was joking, but Aliyah still felt her face grow hot (which was honestly a welcomed feeling, seeing as she was a literal ice cube at the moment). This was supposed to be the part where Ina went 'what I meant was…' but it never came.

"Oh god," Ina groaned as she took a sip, "Now I know what heaven tastes like."

Aliyah couldn't help but laugh. It was almost ridiculous how good of a mood this woman was in. "What, the thousand dollar chocolates and pearl necklaces don't do it for you?" She asked. Please say no, she thought.

"It was two hundred dollar chocolate, mind you," Ina pointed out with a smirk. Aliyah jerked back in that sarcastic 'my bad' gesture. "And not to say that I'm ungrateful for them, they just… don't possess the same level of sincerity."

"'Cause they bought it with daddy's money?" Aliyah asked.

Ina nodded, and Aliyah relaxed. "Because they bought it with daddy's money," she confirmed, and the two women shared a laugh as they drank Aliyah's (patented) red velvet hot chocolate. "I'm surprised you haven't left for the holidays yet. Almost nobody is in school these last couple of days," Ina quipped.

"Well, there's not exactly anyone for Leon and me to visit," Aliyah replied offhandedly, not realizing how morbid that sounded to Ina, who frowned. "What about you, Professor 'Anthropology is the love of my life'? You gonna leave this office any time soon?" She asked.

Ina blushed profusely. "Am I really that bad?"

"You're horrible, honestly," Aliyah said, even though her grin translated into 'you're wonderful, and I have the fattest crush on you'.

"I myself am not traveling, but my sister and my niece are coming up from Boston for the break," she said with a wistful smile. Charlotte was going to go insane when she saw her Christmas present.

Wait a minute… present.

Shit!

Ina started in her seat, lurching towards her desk. Then she paused. Aliyah shot her the most confused look Ina had ever seen. "Now would really not be a good time to have a seizure Ina, I'm tired," she said. Ina refused the urge to roll her eyes as she looked at her desk.

Had she brought Aliyah's present? Yes, of course, she'd been keeping it in her desk so she wouldn't forget.

…Should she give it to her right now and send her on her merry way home? (pun intended)

Selfless Ina said yes, she had a little brother and some good friends to spend time with. Selfish Ina said no, keep her here as long as you can. Neutral Ina decided to listen to Selfish Ina for once.

Ina cleared her throat as she settled back in her seat, "Sorry about that." Aliyah's brows bounced up in that unconvinced manner as she took a sip of Heaven's Hot Chocolate.

"So, what all did the student body pour on top of you in gifts?" Aliyah asked. She'd heard murmurs around campus of ideas from other students. She wondered if that one guy had actually followed through on buying Ina lingerie…

Ina tapped her chin in thought. "Plenty of chocolate, some jewelry, perfumes, gift cards," her face twisted oddly, and Aliyah was laughing before she'd even said it, "One student got me some… ahem… bedroom wear."

Aliyah was wheezing like a deflating balloon as she slapped her knee. "You can say lingerie, Ina," she managed to say. It's not like I haven't seen yours before.

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it lingerie," Ina replied, before stalking over to her desk and pulling a bag out from underneath. Aliyah started wheezing again when Ina held up some kind of abomination to her. "If I was any less compassionate, I would've thrown it back in his face," Ina said.

For God's sake, the thing was yellow and green. It looked like something that would be sold at Babies R Us, but someone took it and then tried to make it sexy. Ina was holding it gingerly by the hems, like just touching it was messing up her sexual mojo.

"Oh my god, put it away, put it away," Aliyah flapped her hand towards her. Ina laughed as she did just that. "Jesus, did he think he'd come back to school after break to see you wearing it just for him?" She asked.

Ina smiled in good nature. "Well, it's not like he could have known I favor warmer colors," she quipped.

Aliyah smirked under her thermos. "Actually, purple's considered a cool color," she replied. Ina shot her a challenging look from her desk, and Aliyah was surprised to see it lacked the typical sternness of Professor Kingsley. Her brow was arched sharply, and Aliyah swore she could see a hint of a smile playing on her lips…

…Wait, was she playing coy with her?!

"Anyway, you need to try this chocolate Chloe St. James got," Ina said as she sauntered back over, packet of To'ak in hand.

Cheap instincts kicking in, Aliyah leaned away from the forsaken bar. "I swear, I'll deserve to go to hell if I ever eat some two-hundred dollar chocolate," she said.

Ina rolled her eyes as she set a square piece down in front of Aliyah. The younger woman would have gagged if it didn't… you know, actually look pretty good. "You've accumulated enough blessings in your life to deserve a piece of overpriced chocolate, Ali," Ina said.

'Aliyah' was the only term of acknowledgement Aliyah had ever heard from Ina, and so her head snapped up when she stopped one syllable short. She really was feeling loose.

Aliyah picked the chocolate square up off the table, appraising it suspiciously. "If I have to see the devil when I bite the dust, I'm blaming it on you," she said, before popping the piece in her mouth.

Ina leaned forward, waiting impatiently for an explosive reaction. Instead, she was met with the most unimpressed side-eye God could have made possible on anyone's face.

"Wow," Aliyah drawled, "It tastes like chocolate."

"Hard to impress as ever, hm?" Ina asked. Aliyah shook her head as she gulped the piece down.

She wasn't about to admit it, but that definitely was the best chocolate she'd ever had in her short life. By a mile. "I'm actually embarrassingly easy to impress," she admitted, "It's just that overpriced chocolate isn't the right angle."

Ina tapped her chin in thought, narrowing her eyes as she scrutinized the woman before her. A smile slowly creeped onto her face. "Let me guess. A fast food restaurant date where you don't have to pay?" She suggested.

If that had come from anyone else, Aliyah might have actually been annoyed. But since it came from Ina, she threw her head back and laughed. "Well… are you offering?" She asked.

"Would that be a satisfactory Christmas present?" Ina countered.

Aliyah hummed contemplatively, while the little devil on her shoulder screeched 'hell yes!' Hell, Ina could offer to take her dumpster diving, and she'd say yes. "I mean, it'd be rude of me to say no to such a generous present…"

Ina chuckled as she rose from her armchair and started for her desk. Aliyah's gaze followed her curiously. "I'll keep that in mind for another time, then," she replied, "But for now, I'm hoping this will do."

When she made her way back over, she was holding a small gift bag out to Aliyah. Aliyah stared at it, wide-eyed. "You didn't," she said. Ina laughed a little nervously.

"Except I did," she replied, "Merry Christmas, Ali."

With the most cautious touch, Aliyah took the gift. To be honest, she'd gotten into a habit of forgetting that you were supposed to receive gifts as well as you give them during Christmas.

A grin slowly broke out onto her face, that mischievous one that made Ina anxious but also… other less than appropriate things. Aliyah shed her coat before unzipping her backpack, and pulling out a rather clumsily wrapped rectangular package. "Do not make fun of the wrapping," she said sternly.

Ina laughed as she took the gift graciously, "You really didn't have to."

"Except I did," Aliyah replied with a smirk, "Merry Christmas, Ina." She looked back down at the gift bag, shaking it slightly. "Open at the same time?"

"Sure."

"1… 2… 3," Aliyah popped the bag open while Ina tore away the wrapping (Aliyah didn't totally know why, but that made her kinda upset… she'd spent, like, an hour trying to wrap that thing). Aliyah's jaw dropped first, and then she laughed as she pulled the first thing out. "You weren't kidding about getting me a mug," she said as she held the '#1 TA' coffee mug up to the light.

"Of course I wasn't," Ina replied as she tossed the wrapping she'd pulled off on the coffee table. Her eyes promptly widened as she stared down at the half-visible gift.

Aliyah peered up at her nervously. She wasn't sure if that expression was one of positive or negative awe. "Ina…?" She asked carefully.

Ina breathed out a laugh as she pulled the rest of the wrapping off, and held the book tightly. "I can't believe you did this," Ina said, grinning. She held up the copy of The Tailend of Humanity (some old book that mashed sci-fi with anthropology; right up Ina’s alley) with a near reverent gaze.

"What, you think I forgot?" Aliyah replied with a cocky smirk. Chloe St. James and her overpriced chocolate could kiss. Her. Ass. 'Cause Aliyah had never seen Ina smile so wide.

"How did you even get a hold of this?" Ina asked, "There are only twenty copies!"

"Uh, I got one of them, duh," Aliyah replied, "Had to haggle with some guy down on Sixth for a few hours, but it was worth it. Plus, he had a signature in there." Aliyah gestured to the inside of the book cover. Ina had never flipped a book open so fast.

Yep. That was the author's name alright, written in his unmistakable cursive hand. "You really remembered my whole lamentful spiel about losing this book?" Ina asked.

"Well, that spiel included your apartment burning down," Aliyah replied pointedly, "I wasn't exactly gonna forget that." Ina shot her an amused smirk, and Aliyah gave her a wink. "Sooo… is it better than the green and yellow lingerie?"

Ina threw her head back and laughed, before setting the leather-bound book on the coffee table and sitting down next to Aliyah. "That has to be one of the best gifts I've gotten in the past years," she said. Fireworks set off in Aliyah's head. She was honestly winning so hard.

Ina gestured to the gift bag at Aliyah's feet. "There's one more thing in there that I think you'll appreciate," she quipped.

Would she though…? The doubtful persona in her head asked, I mean, you're definitely gonna look like the materialistic one here. Ina told that particular facet of herself to shut the hell up before she could get too far in her own head.

Aliyah raised a brow suspiciously as she picked the bag back up, and it did indeed still have a little bit of weight. "Two presents? You're spoiling me," she said.

"You deserve to be," Ina replied fearlessly. Aliyah's face flushed red as she turned her gaze back to the bag.

Slowly, as if she thought she was taking out the wrong gift, Aliyah pulled out a long, thin jewelry case. The younger woman looked up at Ina with a wide, doe-eyed gaze. "Ina, what is this?" She asked, bewildered.

"Open it," Ina urged her in reply. And Aliyah did exactly that, and holy shit, that was a nice necklace. She actually gasped, and would've been embarrassed for it (and Ina also would've teased her to no end) if she wasn't so busy marveling at the piece.

Aliyah lifted the silver chain out of the case and let it spill into her hands. Jesus Christ, did it look expensive. Ina had gone from Aliyah's chemistry-fired infatuation to her damn near sugar mama in a New York second.

A flicker of recognition passed over Aliyah's face the longer she marveled at it. Her head snapped up and she looked at Ina. "This looks…"

"An awful lot like the necklace you had that Bea Hughes snapped?" Ina suggested, "Well, I didn't remember exactly what it looked like, but I tried to get as close as possible." For a moment, Aliyah couldn't even remember her propriety and say thank you.

Bea goddamn Hughes had some nerve. Aliyah couldn't quite recall what had been said, but she more than vividly remembered Hughes reaching up and snatching the chain clean off of her neck. She was nearly impressed.

But then she also vividly remembered giving that girl a black eye, and threatening to knock her out so hard her soul flew back to Farmsville. Ina had stopped her before she could uphold that promise.

"Here, let me," Ina shifted behind Aliyah, holding her hand out for the necklace. Aliyah snapped back into non-violent consciousness, and fumbled to give the necklace to Ina.

"That necklace meant a lot to me," Aliyah said as Ina brushed the hair away from the back of her neck.

Ina hummed thoughtfully. "I could tell. I'd never seen you so absolutely livid before," she replied as she brought both arms around Aliyah's shoulders. Neither of them were ignorant to Aliyah's sharp intake of breath.

She smells good, she smells really good, why does she smell so good? Aliyah thought as Ina's perfume wafted incessantly into her nostrils. She could feel the warmth radiating off of Ina, the lapels of her blazer just brushing her back. Aliyah wished she would hurry and put that necklace on, before she started thinking with something besides her head.

Ina's fingertips brushed the back of her neck, eliciting goosebumps as she worked to clip the necklace into place. "There. Hopefully it's a worthy enough replacement?" She asked as she shifted beside Aliyah again.

Aliyah touched the necklace, and smiled down at the silver as it winked in the fireplace light. She looked up at Ina again, whose fingers were caressing her hand absently. Dark brown eyes crinkled at her in a subtle, knowing smile. Aliyah was powerless to resist smiling back.

"You're perfect," Aliyah said. Ina's eyes widened. "I-I mean, it's perfect! It's awesome!" She stuttered as her face turned the reddest shade of red on the color spectrum. Aliyah cleared her throat gruffly, ignorant to the small smile plastered on Ina's face.

"I'm glad you think so," Ina replied mercifully, before checking her watch. She frowned slightly as she realized that this Cinderella night was about to come to an end. "It's getting late. You should head home before your brother starts to get worried," she continued.

"He's with my uncle right now," Aliyah replied. Well, not really her uncle uncle, but everybody was your uncle when you were Filipino.

But why did she say that? Ina was either compassionately giving her a way out of this, or telling her to get the hell out now, and Aliyah was a useless lesbian who couldn't tell which one it was. But it only took her a moment to decide that there was one more thing she wanted to do before she left…

"Hey, uh, I've got one more present for you," Aliyah quipped. Ina cocked a brow curiously.

"Oh? And what might that be?"

Aliyah's eyes darted not so subtly to her lips, and Ina had her glasses on, so she saw it. The younger woman bit her lip pensively, but Ina's hand squeezing her granted her the necessary confidence. Slowly, she leaned in…

Aliyah hovered not even half an inch away from Ina's lips, their breaths one and the same. "May I?" She asked softly. Ina's eyes met hers underneath her long lashes. For a long moment, the two of them only stared at each other. Contemplating, waiting.

"Please," Ina finally replied. Aliyah's eyes creased in a hidden smile before she leaned forward, lips just barely brushing against Ina's. Ina's breath caught, and the hand on top of Aliyah's shifted to her waist. "Come here," Ina demanded, pulling Aliyah towards her and crashing her lips against hers.

"Mm…" Aliyah smiled against Ina's lips, dragging her hands up her arms and into her brown hair. Something had cracked in Ina, and Aliyah could see it through the light filtering through now. "Ina…"

After a long, long moment, Ina finally tore away with a gasp. Her eyes stared wide and lost at the floor, as if she’d just committed the indefinitely worst taboo. Aliyah watched her face expectantly...

And like clockwork, it slowly grew cold again.

"I… I can't. I just can't. I’m sorry," Ina said, "Aliyah… I think it's time you headed home."

Aliyah let out a mirthless laugh, practically tearing her hand away from Ina as she stood. Ina winced as the air around Aliyah shifted. She didn't so much as spare Ina a look as she scooped her jacket up into the crook of her arm and slung her bag over her shoulder.

Only when she was at the door of Ina's office did she look back at her. Aliyah’s eyes were glassy with what she would say was frustration. Ina stomach tightened painfully. "You need to figure your shit out, Ina. You're about as decisive as a horny high school sophomore," she spat, “If I wanted to be your little college girl plaything, I would’ve just told you so. This isn’t fair.”

Ina flinched at the sting, and then once more as the door slammed shut behind Aliyah. Neither of them saw the other as Aliyah brushed her fingers over the necklace and let out a sorry whimper, or as Ina ripped her glasses off and threw them across her office.

But, Dammit! They both thought.

~end~

#ina kingsley #professor kingsley #ina x mc #queen b #i love one (1) dorky nerd #that sexting scene left me dryer than a desert

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fourrarri · 3 years

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He’d never thought himself much good at giving gifts. At least not the traditional way. A general non-interest in materialism and a fondness for practicality that grew with his age having made a habit for him of gift giving at random to address a need rather than wait for any specific occasion. Not something that anyone ever seemed to mind but had always caused him a prickle of disquiet in him when it came to birthdays, or christmas. Anytime he was left floundering for gift ideas really. Especially when the occasion for gift giving was someone near & dear to his heart & well within means to buy whatever they wanted much less needed.

Still, he’d always loved a challenge, and Lance. . . Well, the hitman was nothing if not that no? And so much more besides, as he’d been delighted to find in the time he’d gotten to know the man thus far. Knowledge he’d put to proper use making the birthday boy’s gifts over the last month. Gifts that not only fullfilled Joel’s fondness for practicality but that he hoped would meet the other’s fondness for aesthetic beauty as well.

But perhaps above all, he hoped they’d translate how much he appreciated what Lance had been willing to share of himself with him. His openess. His history. How very genuine he always was in any response he gave him. Joel wanted to honor that. Show him somehow beyond words that he’d heard him, that he cared. That he was glad to know him. Who he’d been, was now, and if Lance was keen, who he’d become.

“I uhh--, made each of your gifts myself. Well, mostly. I didn’t actually make the packaging on these first two, just what’s inside em.”

The first of the gifts was a bottled set of massage oils. Each one had a color scheme of preserved blossoms to indicate the essential oil he’d picked for fragrance. Flowers that he’d picked himself either having found them while hiking or from various flowershops. The florals he’d then dyed, dried, arranged, glued, and set inside each bottle before adding the oils.

It was no secret that Lance not only enjoyed attention, but absolutely thrived on it. Had made it clear on a handful of occasions that he was not above demanding it, loudly. Or turning into a complete bratling when it wasn’t given to him for longer than he had patience to wait. Lance also liked to touch, to be touched. And if Joel had thought to indulge himself his fondness for ‘taking care’ whilst gifting the man something that encouraged lavish amounts of pampering and focus all on him, well. He rather doubted the other would have issue with it.

“These are massage oils infused with aloe and other essential oils for skin care and fragrance. Should come in handy the next time the sun toasts ya a bit more than you meant. Or when you’re feeling neglected.”

The second wasn’t any less playful or indulgent. They were at a glance a bit of an inside joke, one that only a very small handful of people would probaly ‘get’ if what Lance had told him was anything to go by for how many people knew how he really made money. The gift was a set of lip balms he’d made with a mix of beeswax, shea butter, vaseline, and jojoba oil. Each one had been carefully colored with a combination of powder made out of the leftover blossoms, and food coloring to add tint to them along with their protective and restorative properties.

The set itself was shaded from translucent to various nudes that ranged from natural pink to warmer spice hues. When adding the tint, he had paused, idly wondering if the addition of color to the balms would be too feminine a detail for Lance’s taste. A thought that had gone as fast as it’d come when he recalled the man’s new habit of painting his nails. How much value he placed in his appearence, how little he placed in social norms, how he was seemingly content to enjoy what he liked and not question it beyond that. How very fond he was of Lance for it.

His favorite part of this particualr gift however, was that the case for each one was a hollowed out, reforged, and repurposed rifle cartridge. This detail had probably been what’d taken the most work on his part but in the end he was more than pleased with the results, was certain Lance would be to, as evident in the smile curving his lips as he spoke.

“All that drinking and sunshine dries out your lips chéri. These should help with that, keep you kissable. Some of them are tinted to if you’re feeling flirty.”

The last was the only gift that he’d actually bothered to wrap. To hide. He’d wrapped it meticulously, kept the corners pristine. The paper was ocean blue, patterned with metallic designs. Tied with gold ribbon, topped in an immaculate bow. Inside was a simple white box, and below the lid, buried within more blue, delicate tissue paper was a driftwood picture frame. The frame scaled perfectly for the sketch portraying a memory Lance had described to him in detail from his childhood and coupled with his recall for the one picture Lance had, that he’d shown him upon asking. A picture of him in his boyhood and his mother.

The sketch had taken the whole day. Had been born from a deep rooted desire to somehow give Lance something of that day beyond what he held in his memory. To replicate the warmth he’d had in his tone when he’d spoken of Marianna, described her for him, how she’d been more of a mama to him than the one who’d actually given him life for the most part.

A fact that the man himself had seemed content with upon it’s revealing but had cracked open something hot and hurting inside his throat, in his chest. Something that felt like tears. Was tears. Tears he’d furiously blinked away, turned his face & hid when Lance seemed to nearly notice. Had fallen free once home and he’d contemplated how his friend had learned to normalize loneliness. Normalize family being something you acted out for company and performed rather than actually had. Normalize not having any pictures of them in your home for everything family photos were meant to be and never had been for him.

He hadn’t thought about it. Simply grabbed his sketch book, sat on the chaise in the corner of his living room, just beside the french doors that led out to his porch. The same ones that allowed sunlight in enough to warm him as he worked.

He’d let his hand skate across the page, pencil loose in his fingers, slowly, slowly, the shape of child Lance, the details of Marianna he’d given him coming to life. The profile of her face was hidden, back to the viewer’s sight as she turned, scanned the ocean debris at her feet, the tumble of soft sand in the churning wave line. Smile lingering at the corner of her lips. A peek of profile through her hair but only details, not her whole face. Curls tumbling down her back, the wind catching them, lifting a few stray tendrils. Pointing, reaching, directing a grinning Lance to another sea treasure she’d spotted for him to bring back home.

He wasn’t sure how many hours he’d spent on it; shading in her shadow on the sand, working to capture the gentle folds of of her sundress, capturing every detail Lance had told him about her. All he knew for certain was that it had been early noon when he’d started, and when he’d finally stopped the sun had already gone down.

He didn’t color it. Knew he wouldn’t have to explain to Lance why. How sometimes the best and worst memories looked better in black and white? In the crisp shadows of grayscale, how if you tried to bring back too much you could lose it all? That a memory was its own breed of ghost? How he knew beyoind a doubt he could never capture the blue of the ocean, the warm shade of her eyes, the soft highlights of her hair. Like trying to pin down the wind. Same as capturing her visage without a picture, he didn’t dare attempt bringing the life of color to this memory. Didn’t want to trespass any further than he potentially had.

The smile from before fades, breath catching in his throat enough it hurts to swallow around. Makes him work to force words around his words, his feelings, how little room they leave for anything else.

“Really not good at telling people about how I feel about them when it really counts. Always preffered to show them instead so---.” the words trail off, and he reaches out a hand for the last gift, pushes it within Lance’s reach as his heart begins to hammer away at the cage his ribs suddenly are.

“Not sure if it’s anything like you remember but I wanted to do something for you. Something special. And this wouldn’t leave me alone till I finished it. Ended up drawing it the same day you told me about it. Really hope I didn’t fuck up.” He elects not to tell Lance he means in general, not just the sketch itself.

“You mean----, a lot to me Lance. I don’t even have words for it and I have a few languages to choose from. Hasn’t helped. But I wanted you to know, wanted to show you. Anyways, happy birthday.”

💸 ║ ❛ ————— It always overwhelms him a bit, all these feelings towards Joel and how observing he actually is. Definitely not a man he’s ever met before. And Lance had men before that showed interest in him, tried to promise him the world but in the end the motives were completely focused on the MONEY and lifestyle of the rich and famous. And it’s not like Lance never understood, money and luxury are things he himself enjoys the most as well. But that thought just always runs around his mind; people wouldn’t give a damn about someone like him if he didn’t have all the money, the cars and the big mansion. JOEL is a different kind of man though. Lance managed to convince himself that even if there wasn’t all this money and luxury, Joel would still be there. But most importantly, Joel IS actually here, between all these nice things and in the end all he cares about is putting the smile on Lance’s face.

Lance examines all the gifts while Joel goes off explaining the details. He does listen to what he has to say very carefully but his mind is telling him things. What is it that Joel sees in him that makes him so sure he’s deserving of these things. It only makes Lance notice that he’s only good at accepting gifts as long as he knows the person didn’t really put any effort into it. But all the effort Joel put into it, Lance doesn’t wanna ruin the good moment. Ruin it with his bad thoughts punishing him for feeling grateful for something he doesn’t quite deserve. He is pretty good at shutting his mind off if things make him too vulnerable, so that’s his solution.

A bright smile forms on his lips while looking at all these nice things. Suddenly it just feels so warm inside him, almost pressuring as if there’s something he just has to let out. It’s just a feeling of genuine HAPPINESS that Joel manages to break free, and usually that feeling is archived once he’s had a few shots. No alcohol this time, there’s no need for it. Not even his mind is running to it. Blue eyes wander from all these beautiful gifts to Joel, only for a short moment though. He’s desperately trying to form a sentence in his head to not seem like a child who’s got all the presents it wished for. But talking, expressing himself is hard when he tries to not get over that spot of vulnerability.

❝ Qué digo, qué digo.. Thank you, amorcito, honestly. I really don’t know what to say. ❞ And just as he tries to fight his brain to throw out ANY WORDS, there is another gift coming. Joel seems much more nervous about it, much more emotional. Lance doesn’t wonder too long after he eventually unwrapped it and now examines this personal work. It just causes him to feel a lot of emotions, they just hit him like lightning, yet he’s QUIET for a moment. While there’s still this burst of happiness, there’s also an ache in his heart that’s not easy to handle. A picture like that doesn’t exist but when he looks at it it feels like there’s something real about it. Lance never had a picture of MARIANNA, but if he did he wouldn’t hide it away like he does with the picture of his own mother. Marianna deserves much more than what he’s able to give her. And the fact that Joel actually took the time to awake the memories in his heart does cause him to get very emotional about it. Things like that make him cry like a baby when he’s alone, so he’s really fighting some tears. He doesn’t wanna cry on his birthday.

❝ I can’t believe you did that. Man, soy demasiado emocional para esto. This is a lot. I love it. ❞ At least he got out a little bit before his emotions make his eyes all watery. Still, he fights hard not to cry over it. So the best way to hide that is to simply throw his arms around the other man’s shoulders. The hug holds on for a moment until Lance interrupts it to place a kiss on Joel’s lips. ❝ Merci, chérie. ❞

#themechaneer #💸 ║ ❛ ——— answered.#i'm crying this is so sweet ;____; <3333 #thank you so much for this!!!! <3333 #long post.

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dgchg · 3 years

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his eyes and horns and spinal plates blood red

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imhereforbvcky · 4 years

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Vivid - Part 8 (End)

Masterlist - Series Masterpage

Summary: Have you ever met someone who completely embodies a color? Not an aura, not synesthesia. Just… They walk into the room and when you spot them, you think to yourself, “Wow. That is a walking hurricane.” When Clint Barton serendipitously meets a free-spirited stranger, he sees red. Chapter: the longest epilogue ever

Warnings: Swearing, goofiness, fluff.

Word Count: 3951 (whoops)

“Do we have to go?”

Clint hadn’t even opened his eyes as he grumbled the question into your pillow. Afternoon sun sifted through the window like a beacon. It called for him and warmed the smooth skin of his shoulders as they rose and dipped over a haphazard heap of rumpled linens.

As a rule, Clint didn’t sleep much. Coffee and stress and a hundred half-healed wounds (corporeal or otherwise) made that a certainty. But when you did manage to coax him to bed, he slept like the dead and was more reluctant to rise than a corpse.

“’Fraid so,” you answered, smirking at him as you dropped the dress over your waist to examine it from every angle in the mirror. “I baked.”

“You didn’t have to,” Clint argued. When he felt the bed dip beside him, he dropped a long, heavy arm over your legs. Ever-restless fingertips tapped eratic drumbeats against your hip.

“I wanted to,” you shrugged. “I want your friends to approve of me. For you.”

You bent forward and kissed his sleep-tossed hair. He smiled, eyes still closed, fingers still drumming away.

“What do you think? Does this color go well with anxiety?” you asked, fluffing your dress into a wide sweep.

Clint looked at you then, over hills of rumpled down and bright white cotton.

His heart stuttered as you shoved damp hair behind your ear and gave him a lopsided grin. You sat there, fidgeting with your dress, smiling at him in the late morning sun, alive and bright as a red silk scarf caught in the wind, waving and beckoning to be held and loved and savored.

It struck him that even now, after all this time – after mistakes and missions and trepidation – you still looked exactly the same to him as you did the day he first saw you. You still blazed the same impossible shade of red.

Right then, in your bedroom with its messy and overflowing closet, sitting on your bed surrounded by discarded clothes and sunlight and his nicked-up, bruised-to-hell arms… he knew.

Well shit, he thought, because he knew he loved you. He was in love with you. Head over heels, lasso the moon, walk five thousand miles kind of love.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you challenged with narrowed eyes and an exaggerated frown. “Is it too much? I was gonna wear leggings so it’s not so over the top. It’s all wrong, isn’t it?”

He breathed a soft chuckle and reached for you with lazy hands. You let him drag you down beside him, forgetting about all the places you needed to be. Not one of them held a candle to this, just being right here with him.

Reticent lips pressed a quiet kiss to the top of your head. The sweet familiarity of it brought a smile to your face that could be described as nothing but content. But when you tipped your chin to look up at Clint it stopped short.

There was a hint of a smile, a softness in the clear blue of his eyes. But it was tainted with a heavy dose of sadness. Heartbroken and heartsick. It radiated off him in waves and knocked the wind from your lungs. It was like standing chest deep in a great rolling sea and watching, motionless as the waves crashed over your head.

“Clint, what’s wrong?” you whispered. Even your voice had fled for higher ground.

A warmer smile started to grow. “Nothing,” he said, tugging softly at the ends of your hair. But he still looked at you as if you might disappear, or worse. He looked at you like you were too good to be true and it was breaking his heart just to look at you.

He wanted to say it; say ‘Nothin’s wrong, I just love you, that’s all.’ But he was so afraid of shattering whatever illusion he was lucky enough to be living in just then. In his world love was a tool and a weapon, power over someone. It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t fun, and it sure as hell wasn’t safe. He wasn’t quite sure how to make that word fit on you.

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s perfect. The dress.” He cleared a suddenly very dry throat. “You... I love it.”

Your gaze danced over his features for a long moment, reading and measuring, trying to see what he wouldn’t say. He swallowed hard, with apparent resolve, looked up with a smile and kissed the back of your hand.

“Are they really that bad?” you asked, frowning at his this sudden shadow and smoothing his hair. It sprang back to its wild places. Just like Clint always did.

“No,” he chuckled, kissing your palm when you circled his ear and scratched over his jaw. “Actually, yes. Sam will love you but harass me. Natasha, you know. Barnes is a pain in my ass...”

“Sounds like a long day for you.” You kissed the tip of his nose. He smiled and relaxed a bit more.

“Wanda will send us both knowing looks, which is a little unnerving when you’re not used to it, but she’s aiming for comfort. She’s trying.”

“Should I be taking notes? Should you be getting dressed?” You ran tingling fingers over his bare chest.

“And if I can help it…” he grabbed your hips and with one swift roll, dragged you over top of him. Lithe, archer’s arms caged you in quicker than your yelp of surprise. He kissed you, happily and none too gently. “You will never ever meet Wade.”

You never fought him, never pushed away. It wasn’t in your nature. Your affection came freely, along with all your other emotions bubbling just below the surface. Instead, you nuzzled your nose against the long line of his neck and pressed your cheek to his toned shoulder, glad for his easy laughter. He could always calm you in an instant. The buzzing worries that bounced around your over-active brain stilled the instant he curled around you.

“Who’s Wade? And why can’t we meet?” you hummed against his sun-warmed skin.

Clint chuckled and shook his head lightly. “’Cause he always says red’s his color.”

“C’mon!” you pleaded. A wide smile brightened your entire face, and you nearly choked on your own laughter, it was so big. Clint loved your laugh. It always made him grin one of those loose, dopey smiles that Natasha teased him about.

In the narrow space of the elevator, so close to that laugh and your warm soft skin, he blew right past grinning and straight into snickering.

His hands held your hips tightly and spun you to face him. His sorry excuse for a stern reply crumbled the second you started giggling. His head fell to your shoulder and you let him push you gently back against the elevator wall.

“No,” he grinned, kissing the top of your shoulder before pulling back and looking more seriously. “No. I’m way too heavy for you.”

“Are you kidding me? I have the legs of an Olympic cyclist!”

“No you don’t,” he chuckled.

“Fine, a Scottish Caber tosser.”

“A what?” his nose crinkled. You loved when he did that. The little nose-scrunched frown. He never really frowned at you. He’d still have this sweet lop-sided grin and his sharp blue eyes would be bright and soft all at once, and his nose would crinkle or his brow would crease. Just like it did now. “That sounds dirty.”

“You know the giant pole thingy.”

“Getting dirtier.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to make a good impression!” you shoved him in the chest. He didn’t budge.

“Why not an impression of yourself? No one cares about your squat record.”

“Uh because myself is the fool who got herself taken hostage at a concert. I refuse to live another day as the damsel in distress in your friends’ estimation. Ya know, the mcfreakin’ Avengers.”

Clint shook his head and gently curled his hands around yours, and drew them to his chest. “Nobody thinks that. And what about me? I’m a mcfreakin’ Avenger. Don’t you care what I think?”

“I gave you the Heimlich last month when you choked on your In-n-O—mmph!”

He’d clapped a hand over your mouth with a shush. “No one likes a tattle-tale.”

A muffled laugh tickled his hand and he grinned down at you until he felt a wet slippery glide against his palm and jerked his hand back. “Did you just lick me?” he scowled down at his hand. You only grinned up at him. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“I can’t believe you won’t help me make a good impression!” you whined. “Please?” Stepping toe-to-toe, you kissed his knuckles. He still held one of your hands curled tight to him.

He knew you well enough now to recognize that the bright red energy that he loved so much was an overflow of emotion. It was every sense burning hot and wild right at the surface of your skin. Every thought – good or bad – came over you with equal strength. The spontaneity he loved, the affection he enjoyed, and now the anxiety you couldn’t settle, and the regret you couldn’t swallow.

The elevator chimed, announcing its arrival on the requested floor. Clint groaned, relenting at last.

Steve heard the ruckus as he passed and paused.

First he frowned. He’d been a soldier now longer than not, and even as a civilian, he’d spent much of it waiting for a fight. When he heard sporadic thuds and grunts, his mind went first to trouble.

But when he heard a snicker, then a full-bellied laugh that he recognized, he relaxed. Even smiled, albeit while shaking his head.

Clint always came with a clatter.

“Ow! Clint! No, put your knee up here.” He didn’t recognize the voice, but he could guess who it might be. Natasha had threatened them all to be nice.

A cacophony of giggles followed another hollow thud.

“Holy shit, what did you eat for lunch today? A brick?”

“Just one of Marco’s pizzas.”

“So… a brick.”

The door slid open and Steve stumbled back. From within the elevator two people barreled out as one. Clint was perched on your back, and you wobbled forward for two short steps before tumbling to the ground in a fit of laughter.

“Oh my god!” you wheezed and rolled into Clint, burying your face in his chest to try to quell both the hysterics and the shame.

“Do we need a medic?” Steve smirked.

Clint was rubbing his elbow and shot Steve a half-smiling glare.

You looked up, thwarted, sore, and thoroughly embarrassed. “Hi.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. Clint made clumsy introductions to match your graceless entrance.

“Pleased to meet you.” Steve was raised with politeness perpetually on the tip of his tongue. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“Aw, you talk about me?” you teased, tipping your head only slightly to give him a swift peck on his neck.

He shivered and squeezed you tight. “Nat overshares.”

“That doesn’t sound like something a spy would do,” you frowned.

“I’m a spy!” he complained. “You didn’t even know I was an Avenger when we met, I’m that good.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin and reached up to offer Steve a handshake. Steve obliged and leaned down to shake it, chuckling at both your antics and your reluctance to get off the ground.

“As you can tell, I make really great first impressions. And I make uhm, muffins too.” You sat up finally, scanning the area for the bag of home-baked treats you’d prepared for the day.

“I’m not sure they survived the fall,” Steve grimaced, glancing behind Clint.

“Excuse you,” you argued immediately and didn’t even think to regret it. Most people would think twice about contradicting Captain goddamn America within the first 30 seconds of meeting him. Most reasonable people, anyway. But you had never been governed by reason. “That was a semi-successful piggy-back ride! The fall was just… just…”

He looked at you with half a smirk, waiting. Clint was chuckling at your side. His hand closed around yours. Relax.

“The fall was a less-than-ideal dismount.”

“Well,” Steve leaned down, gently pushing Clint forward and freeing the plastic bag full of half demolished muffins he’d been laying on. “Clint’s not a very good rider then. He ruined your muffins on the uh, dismount.” He passed the bag as you and Clint clambered over each other to get to your feet.

“Oh no, Clint’s a very good ride,” you said with a huge grin and a wink.

Clint’s laugh ripped out of him like a released balloon. It came in a sudden burst and bounced off the concrete walls. Steve, on the other hand, had turned seven shades of red.

“Yeah!” Clint agreed, snatching the bag form Steve, who stood frozen and mortified. “And they’re not ruined.” He reached in and shoved a handful of loose, crushed muffin into his mouth. Crumbs tumbled between his fingers and bounced off his shoes.

“I’m judging by this reaction,” you made a sweeping circle with your finger around Steve’s face as he shook his head, cheeks working their way backward through the progression of color you’d just witnessed. “…that I should ease up on the ‘that’s what she said’ jokes.”

“Oh no,” Natasha chuckled. She was walking quietly down the hall, sliding a coat up her shoulders. “Making Steve blush is one of our favorite team-building activities. Hello, милая.”

You waved, returning her greeting with an easy smile.

“It’s not team-building,” Steve grumbled.

“Sure it is,” Clint grinned over at Natasha, holding out one of the few in-tact muffins. “We have a leader-board and everything.”

“Friendly competition builds relationships, Steve,” Natasha scolded.

He rolled his eyes.

“Leave him alone,” Wanda chuckled. She gave his arm a convivial squeeze.

“Thank you.”

“He’s a gentleman.”

“That’s what he wants you to think,” Bucky winked as he joined the little crowd now gathering at the elevator.

Clint tossed him the last undamaged muffin.

“These don’t look like bodega muffins.” He frowned down at it, carefully drawing back the paper and fixing a wary eye on Clint. “Since when do you cook?”

“Hell yeah!” Sam cheered as he jogged down the hall. “Road snacks!”

Clint held the bag out for him and Sam looked in, opened his mouth to ask what happened, then thought better of it. Clint Barton might be an expert archer, a grade A SHIELD spy, and an Avenger, but when he didn’t have an objective, the man was clumsy as all hell. Come to think of it, even on-mission, he was the first one with a bruise and the last one out of med-bay.

“Clint, what soccer mom did you lift these off of?” he teased, poking him hard in the ribs.

“Hilarious.” Clint instinctively hunched over to avoid Sam’s prodding. “Assholes,” he grumbled.

The group piled into the elevator, full of smiles and an easy sort of excitement for the day. New York City was a big place and they were a big team. They came together in odd groups and last-minute pairings in their down time. Today, Steve had decided to go to one of the city’s many well-supplied museums and a little group had formed. Clint decided it was as good a time as any for you to meet the family, so to speak.

“They’re home-made,” Clint said, beaming down at you as he threw an arm over your shoulders and squeezed you to his side. You grinned up at him, equally excited for the day ahead. The nerves that had been roiling in your stomach all morning had begun to settle now that the worst possible introduction had already come to pass and evolved into something rather pleasant.

The group’s smiles slowly turned to stifled giggles and meaningful looks, unspoken conversations that you couldn’t understand. The silence stretching on in the elevator had begun to border on discomfort.

You glanced between them, trying to read them. Nothing, of course. A room full of spies and soldiers. Finally you turned to Wanda who gave you a sympathetic smile. That worried you most of all. A wave of anxiety rose like an ember kissed by a strong wind.

“What?” you asked, turning to glance at Clint, then back to Wanda. “What?”

“It’s nothing,” she said softly, glancing helplessly at the others, biting her lips. She was trying to find the right words, trying not to blurt out the wrong thing. She knew how badly Clint wanted this to go well. Even worse, she could sense how anxious you had become.

Bucky finally caved with a groan. “I can’t do it.”

“Barnes!” Natasha fired a look so lethal, you wondered if looks really could kill.

“I’m sorry,” he turned to your wide, nervous eyes. “But these are awful.”

Clint promptly elbowed Bucky in the gut. He doubled over with a laugh, all while your mouth fell agape and all the color drained from your face.

“Quit ganging up on me! I’m not messin’ around.” Bucky complained and snatched the bag of muffin remains from Clint. “Try one,” he said before tossing what was left of his inside.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Clint hissed in reply. He reached into the bag with his eyes still locked resolutely on Bucky’s and shoved an entire fistful of crushed muffin into his mouth.

“Oh my god,” you groaned and buried your face in Clint’s shoulder.

He merely shrugged, and grabbed another handful.

Bucky looked to Steve, who demurred, avoiding all eye contact. Instead, he stood picking at the parchment paper, absolutely refusing to join this conversation.

Bucky’s last possible ally – Sam – chewed on his lip for a moment before he too sighed and tossed his handful of crumbs in the bag. “Shit. They’re not good, man.”

Willing yourself to take a deep breath, you shoved your hand into the bag, grabbed a piece, and took a bite.

One bite was enough. More than enough. It was salty and tasted of raw flour. Every couple of bites, your teeth sank into something chewy. There should have been absolutely nothing chewy in a cinnamon swirl muffin. They were beyond repugnant and you immediately reached for the bag and spit out your mouthful.

You looked around the elevator at the defenders of the earth that you had just inadvertently tried to poison. Some were smiling, some chuckling, Wanda looked at you with only a soft, kind brand of sympathy.

If it weren’t for the cool and unwavering calm of the man at your side, you’d have bolted. You looked up at him, still chewing on a mouthful like it was the best thing he’d ever eaten and you laughed. He was a walking pillar of courage and he was always willing to let you lean on him. Let anyone who needed it, really. He was kind that way.

He was a cool breath, a sturdy hand, the midnight pizza date after a bad day, the guy who ate the muffins. He would be there no matter what. So you would be too.

Natasha was one of the smilers. She dropped her mostly in-tact muffin into the bag when you took it from Clint and held it out to her. The others followed suit.

The elevator chimed your arrival on the ground floor and you sighed, trying to rally your spirits. A few steps and you’d spotted a garbage bin in the lobby. Before you could take another step, Clint’s hand wound around your arm. He took the bag and unceremoniously guided you to follow the others toward the exit while he reached for another bite of muffin.

You looked up at him incredulously.

“Clint!” you balked. “What are you doing? Those are awful!”

He shrugged and gave you one of those lop-sided grins and kept walking, bag in hand while you stood frozen on the steps.

Natasha joined you, linking her arm through yours and urging you forward to join the group.

“Why did he do that? He’s probably going to get food poisoning,” you worried, watching him every step.

Natasha looked over at you. Half a smile curled her lips and a single brow arched sharply. You know exactly why, it seemed to say. She was an expert at non-verbal communication. Probably part of the reason she and Clint got along so well.

“Yeah, I know,” you smiled, looking ahead to him again. It grew into a chuckle, a little watery, like a cup filled too full and spilling over in lapping waves.

“He might not say it,” she conceded.

“Yeah, I know that too.”

“But he does.”

You looked her steadily in the eye and nodded; an acknowledgement and a promise. An ‘I know’ and a ‘me too.’ She smiled and you squeezed her arm against your side before untangling yourself from her.

“Hey!” you hollered until the group ahead turned to look back at the pair of you. Your gaze never drifted from Clint for a second. “My turn.”

You charged forward toward him. Toward the constant calm that cooled your wild energy, toward the shiver up your spine, and the safety in the fire. He laughed, warmed by the ease with which you loved him, and turned. He let out an involuntary huff when you leapt up onto his back.

He carried you like that all the way to the museum and up the steps and inside. You pressed your cheek against his and closed your eyes, enjoying this for just a second more. It was an easy stillness, a comfortable coolness in your chest, as opposed to the raging red blaze.

Before Clint, you’d thought love was a fire and it was meant to burn you up. So you’d chased gasoline and called it passion. Now, you realized that was never love. It was a mirage in the dessert and it was a lie.

In the time you’d spent getting coffee in the middle of the night, sharing pizza with a dog on the sidewalk, and protecting each other from the sting of the flames, you’d come to understand. When you love the right person, it’s not a fire or a battle and it shouldn’t hurt.

The little things were where you’d learned to find love now, not in the pain of a fight and the salve of making up. That was a dance of fire and war, and you’d found something softer, gentler, happier with an embattled Avenger. You’d found the little things. And when it came down to those things, you found yourself fitting together as easily as breathing. It was like finding a part of yourself that you didn’t know was missing.

You’d found a piece of yourself there in Clint Barton and you didn’t ever want to let him go.

“I love you,” you whispered in his ear.

It had been an impulsive thing to say. But you trusted Clint not to hurt you, because you don’t hurt the ones you love.

He turned his head just slightly and smiled. You couldn’t see it from your spot clinging to his back, but you could feel his cheek swell, pressed against your own. He gave your legs a squeeze tight against him. A small action, a little private affection in a room filled with people.

He didn’t say it back, and you didn’t expect him to, didn’t need him to. This love had never been in words. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a clanging battle or a raging fire. It was sure, and calm and comforting. And as long as you were both breathing, it would always, always be there.

The end! yay, i finally made it a month later than promised, my b. Ran out of steam. Hopefully I didn’t lose too much of the flow picking it up again so much later.

Will reblog with tags shortly!

#clint x reader #clint barton x reader #clint fanfic #clint fluff #clint barton fanfic #clint barton fluff #vivid part 8 #vivid chapter 8

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mysticsparklewings · 4 years

Photo

Fire Flower

Note: I originally made this painting and typed most of the description towards the end of March. I meant to upload this sooner, but things happened it obviously got pushed way back. Oh gee, would you look at that. It has somehow been 8-9 months since I last made a full acrylic painting... But! I have a video for this one to make up for it! Link: youtu.be/8IgVvgTiZjM I promise I've been trying (and failing) to come up with ideas to do more with this medium. Acrylic paint just isn't my thing. I swear I said this somewhere before, but I have no idea where; It's just hard for me to commit to an acrylic painting when I know I can get the look I want usually much faster and much more easily with other supplies. Acrylic painting just takes so much more time, set up, and patience. This very painting I know I probably could've had done in half the time using primarily watercolor instead, for example. So why is this an acrylic painting instead of something quicker and easier? Because my dear Sparklers, I made this painting and filmed it as a bit of a blending demo for a friend. They tried their hand at an acrylic painting with a sky going from red to yellow...except they lost most of the yellow in the process, and even they weren't really sure how it happened. So since I'm in sort of an art teaching/mentoring position to them, I decided I'd pull out my paints and take a shot at a similar look. Now, to be fair, my end result is very different from their's intentionally. They painted a boat on the water during sunset, I wanted something different and more me, so after some browsing around on Pinterest, I settled on this flower silhouette. I made my own job harder because the reference image had a blue and orange background with lots of black, almost like a vignette, so once I got past the stage of putting the base background colors down, I had a lot more work cut out for myself in trying to replicate that. Speaking of which, you can see most of my process in the video, but a recap just in case: I started by picking out my paint colors, and to be fair I could've gotten away with less or slightly different colors, but I got extravagant and picked a total of nine colors from my Liquitex Basics set (also known as currently the only decent acrylic paints I have):

• Mars Black • Ivory Black • Titanium White • Cadmium Red Deep Hue • Cadmium Red Light Hue • Portrait Pink • Naples Yellow Hue • Cadmium Yellow Medium Hue • Primary Yellow Why the two blacks? Mars Black is a "denser" black so to speak, it's more opaque (less transparent/see-through). The Ivory Black is less opaque, and it's a bit warmer in color than the Mars black. I used the Mars black in areas where I wanted a total and complete black and the Ivory black where I wanted some of the colors from the background to leak through a bit. It's subtle, more of a "feeling" to the eye than something you can clearly see. Also, I used the Portrait Pink, which like the name implies is a very pink flesh tone, and the Naples Yellow Hue (think a shade similar to Yellow Ochre...or fancy Mustard if "yellow ochre" doesn't help you visualize) primarily for blending and not so much for the colors themselves. And the Cadmium Red Light Hue is much more of a reddish-orange in person than it is red, which is why I picked it. It's also pretty transparent (yellows and oranges often are in acrylic paints, especially more student grade ones like the Liquitex Basics) so it also got lost in the mix fairly easily and I had to build it up a lot. In the video, you can definitely see as I start that I do indeed do a lot of back and forth with the paints, blending and layering to my heart's content to try and get the right color balance while also getting a smooth transition. And this goes on for quite a while; the background was definitely the part that took the longest. Initially, I did sketch in a couple of lines as markers for roughly where I needed certain parts of the gradient to begin and end, and with the paints, I went in and got down the base of red and yellows so I could then start working on marrying the two together. And I have to admit, even I let my yellows get a bit lost/pushed down more so than I would've liked. It's a difficult balance to strike; red is already a strong color that easily overpowers yellow. It's even easier when the yellow and your transition colors are more transparent while the red is more opaque. And even more so when your painting has a vignette feel to it. But once I finally had something I was comfortable with and blocked in most of the black (which was a pain in the butt to blend out, by the way, as I'm sure is obvious by how much I go back and forth with it in the video, misusing a fluffy watercolor brush as a mop brush to blend), I then took my outline for the silhouette that I'd already prepared on another piece of paper and used a Faber Castell Gelato (first a gray, then later I'd use a black) on the back to be able to transfer it on the canvas by tracing it with a mechanical pencil with the point pushed in. Personally, I really do think the Gelatos are the best method I've tried for making faux-transfer paper. They're soft so they transfer the color without much fuss without making a powder smudge-y mess (like charcoal, chalk, or pastels might), and they're also water-soluble so they play nicely with the wetness of the acrylic paints, especially if you've thinned them with a bit of water. Then I got the lovely challenge of trying to paint and blend out a nice bright setting sun on top of the blackish mess I'd made. (It actually wasn't that bad; the Titanium White is pretty opaque so once it mixed with the yellow and I got a couple of layers on it really didn't have any problem covering the darkness that it had to.) After that, I transferred again some of my lines I'd covered up and then got to work on the black silhouette parts. I did have to alter the look slightly because I wasn't quite as careful with lining up the placement of my "transfer paper" that second time and also because the brush had different ideas about how much black should be in some places than I did, but it wasn't too much of a hassle. And then, of course, the real challenge of blending the black up to meet the silhouettes without completely covering up my sun or messing up my other blending. Although, this also wasn't as tricky as I had thought it would be. Ironically, I think by the time I got this far I was finally starting to get a handle on the acrylics after having been away from them for so long. Believe it or not, this tiny 4"x6" painting took well over two hours to complete. I had at least two hours of footage that I trimmed down and sped up like four times, and that doesn't include the dry time in between two background layers, the background and the sun, and then the sun and the silhouette. I'd say it was probably closer to 3 and 1/2 hours total, although technically longer because I kept getting interrupted by things and I had to figure out how to set up the camera and everything before I actually started painting. Once I was done with the painting, I also had to actually edit the thing together, which took many more hours than I bothered to document or care to admit. (P.S. Whoever decided all free video editors that don't come pre-installed on a computer either must have stupidly low export limits and/or super obnoxious watermarks, I hate you.) Yeah, there's a reason it's been almost a year since I last posted an actual video of me making art... It just takes so long to edit everything together and I also have to make an extra effort to get stuff set up before and after for filming...Like, maybe it would be different if I had the space and resources to have an area where I could just leave everything and have a camera set up that doesn't move, but right now when my space is limited and my phone is my camera it's just so much easier to...well, to not. At any rate, here's one. One acrylic painting, and one video. A two-for-one special! Sort of! And I think both turned out pretty okay in the end, at least for someone that 1. Doesn't acrylic paint and 2. Doesn't make videos regularly. I call that a win, wouldn't you? Although, I have a few canvases stockpiled. I really should work on trying to squeeze more acrylic paintings into my art regimen somewhere to use those up, if nothing else... ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

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highwaytosickfics · 5 years

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Chazz sickfic

(Realized I posted it on AO3 and Fanfiction.net, but forgot to put it here. Here’s a lovely sickfic I made. Note that this fic takes place after events of Yugioh GX, so the characters are about in their 20s at this point. Might make a part 2 if i get the urge)

A roar of cheers erupted from the audience of a colorful stage, lights flashing and circling round as the last duel of the national tournament had finally come to a close. When the duel stands lowered to the ground, Chazz walked off stage, hiding a slight stumble in his steps. It wasn’t a walk of shame, he’d won afterall, but it was a close match and his head was still reeling from it all. The hallway to his dressing room was thankfully empty, as fans were just barely getting out of their seats, though it still took some time to get there as the walls kept spinning around him. He should’ve still been in the arena area, participating in PR activities like sitting for the post-victory interview and signing autographs. But Chazz needed a huge dose of caffeine in the next few minutes if he wanted to stay upright.

The smell and warmth of something brewing greeted him when he entered the room, and Aster stood against a wall, sipping from a steaming mug. Chazz let the door shut on its own, wincing at the noise from the excess force as he went to the makeup table and grabbed a remover cloth. Aster turned eyes his shambling protege with a cautious yet neutral expression. “Didn’t want to stay for the after-party?”

“Figured I’d let the losers get some screen time” Chazz replied absentmindedly, more focused on throwing away the dirty wipe and stumbling towards the coffee maker. “Makes me seem more valuable.”

“Right…” He could feel his manager sizing him up, noting all the little flaws that were just starting to show. From the sickly paleness of his skin to the bags under his eyes that were almost as dark as the eyeshadow he’d put on earlier. Even just trying to get something to drink was proving to be a challenge, as the room around him was swaying slightly and he couldn’t get his hands to stop shaking long enough to grip one of the complimentary mugs.

Chazz knew he didn’t look or feel as great as he should’ve, but he was a pretty busy guy these days and he couldn’t afford to slack off. It’d been a constant stream of back-to-back duels and PR events, combined with paperwork he’d work on late into the night. He barely had time to grab a bite to eat, much less to sleep more than a couple hours at a time. Chazz loved it though, it kept his wallet full and his mind distracted from some of the more stressful things in his life, namely his brothers or a certain energetic brunette that kept dropping off the face of the earth for months on end...because not knowing where his danger-prone rival was didn’t spike up his anxiety levels at all...

“So, what’s our next move? Another tournament, maybe?”

“Chazz, the season’s over! We’ve got a while before we need to start prepping for your next official match!” Chazz felt a hand rest on his shoulder, attempting to steady his jittering frame. “I think it might be time you started using your vacation days, you’ve got a few months piled up now after all.”

“I-I can’t just quit now! What if someone like Mr. Kaiba decides to throw an off-season tournament or something?”

“Well, Kaiba’s off on his honeymoon right now so we don’t need to worry about him at least. But if someone else tries something, we’ll figure it out…” Aster lead Chazz to the small couch in the dressing room, pressing him to sit. “But to be honest, right now you look…”

“Like crap?”

“Pretty much, yeah. You’re also way too hot.”

“Thanks, I was born beautiful.”

“I meant temperature-wise, smartass. I think you might have a fever.” Aster walked away for a moment and returned with a forehead thermometer. Chazz looked back to his manager in confusion.

“Where did you even...?”

“You’ve kinda been looking worn out for a while, so I decided to be prepared.” Aster moved the thermometer onto Chazz’s forehead, sighing at the numbers on the screen. “39 degrees celsius, you’ve definitely got a fever. I’ll drive you back to your apartment, and I should get someone to look after you.”

“Hey, I can take care of myself!”

“Can you though? Can you guarantee that you won’t just go back to work and not take care of yourself?”

“...um…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’ll see who's available, though your friend pool is pretty small. Maybe I should call your family-”

“NO!” Chazz winced at the sound of his own retalization, it made his head hurt and his vision spun faster. “Y-you don’t need to call them, I can take care of myself if you don’t find anyone, I promise I…I…”

“Chazz?”

He couldn’t find the energy to respond, couldn’t even think. Black spots were appearing in his vision and his head was throbbing harder. He blinked, and when his eyes opened again Chazz could feel himself being moved. Shivers racked through him at the change in environment, and he suddenly felt cold and weak.

“I’m gonna help you into the car, alright? You’ll be home soon. I’ve already got-” Chazz couldn’t hear the rest of Aster’s fast ramblings as he was too distracted with sitting down again. The car’s seats were leather, and his manager had seemingly turned the heaters and seat warmers on already as Chazz felt his shaking ease off a bit. Aster got into the driver’s side, though now he seemed to be talking with someone on the phone. Their voice went through the car’s bluetooth speakers, and while he couldn’t really understand what they were talking about, the warm tone sounded familiar. Chazz closed his eyes, feeling his consciousness slip under the heat from the car.

#sickfic #yugioh gx #yugioh chazz #sick chazz #chazz princeton #yugioh aster #aster phoenix #manager phoenix #my post

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ichigo-daifuku · 5 years

Text

Crossroads

SLBP Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

Sakakibara Yasumasa/MC

The fleeting companionship of the Divine General and the kitchen wench who both fell like leaves in autumn.

Mature | Mild Sexual Content

This oneshot is set after certain events of Ieyasu's Act 1(!!!), but for the sake of the plot, this MC is not Ieyasu's MC. Think of it as an AU of a sort. ʕ•̀ω•��ʔ✧

Word Count: ~5.1k

Part 3 of 春夏秋冬 | Shunkashūtō

落葉 | Rakuyou

Fallen leaves.

Beneath the glow of the waxing moon, a man and a woman sat in front of each other.

Pampas grass decorated the entrance of a bustling teahouse in Mikawa. The leaves of deciduous trees had begun to metamorphose into warmer colors, the slight chill in the night air welcoming the customers for dinner. In a far corner table hidden from prying eyes, Yasumasa had a row of chestnut manju on a ceramic plate while his companion, a woman with long dark hair, had seasonal daifuku shaped like rabbits on hers. He was quite fond of this particular teahouse; everything they served him suited his picky palate, although if he were to be asked, he would not answer with those exact words. As he took a bite of the sweet treat, a glance across the table made him aware of the eyes trained on him intently.

“What are you looking at, you irritating little thing?” he challenged.

She chuckled and took a sip of her tea, unperturbed. “Another irritating little thing.” With a sigh, she set the cup down on the table and shifted her gaze towards the cloudy expanse of the sky. “Do you think there really is a bunny making mochi in the moon?”

“What a foolish question. Of course, there is nothing.” He followed her line of sight, only there was not much to see, except for the moon shining down the land like a happy smile in its crescent phase.

Absentmindedly, she took a bite of the tidbit of daifuku on the small dessert stick. “By the way, Lord Yasumasa, that house…”

“What house?” He took a sip of his own drink and feigned ignorance in hopes that she would drop the subject.

“That house where we… you know… don’t make me say it.” Her voice transitioned into whispers with every word spoken, her embarrassment apparent with the way her eyelashes fluttered when she cast her gaze downwards and fiddled with what was left of her food.

It irked him that she insisted to approach the subject matter right then and there, but at the same time, he knew they could not avoid it forever. Yasumasa leaned back and crossed his arms. “What was that? Speak louder, woman.”

“That house where we just had our… our secret tryst! It’s yours, isn’t it?” She opted to move her face closer to him instead of speaking louder. “Is that where you stayed when you… left?”

“You don’t need to sugarcoat everything. You mean after I betrayed the Tokugawa.”

“Well, if you prefer to put it that way, yeah…”

“Hmph.”

“Lord Ieyasu said that you requested for a second chance.”

“...I did.”

His quiet admission took him back to the time when he committed the greatest mistake of his life. With his subsequent decision to redeem whatever he could of himself, he had received permission from Tokugawa Ieyasu to stay on the outskirts of Mikawa and live in a house an average resident would live in. Every morning, Yasumasa would wake up before sunrise and farm some land near his dwelling. Afternoons meant honing his skills in swordsmanship, a craft he was proud of and sought to even improve on. When the sky darkened, he would light a lantern in the silent company of books of strategy and philosophy. He spent his days in simplicity, struggling but striving to deserve his second chance at living.

Those patterned days ended on a certain afternoon. The morning started out with farming as usual, and with the thought that his crops would soon produce yield, he took his lunch in a nearby teahouse alone. As Yasumasa was making his way back to his house, he was greeted by the sight of a man dressed in dignified finery, looking so out of place as he stood near the humble abode’s entrance.

“Milord Ieyasu!” Yasumasa strode over to him and bowed in respect.

A usual smile graced upon Ieyasu’s lips. “I was beginning to think you’d already died.”

“I have not, Milord.”

“Good. Show me around.”

Although still overcome with surprise, Yasumasa gave his lord a warm welcome to the residence. He had to admit, it was strange to be so casually strolling around with him again. It reminded Yasumasa of those times in the past when he still served as Ieyasu's page, when circumstances were complicated but also simpler.

“Never thought you’d be one to take care of flowers,” Ieyasu commented and gestured over the colorful bunch of chrysanthemums around the compact space of the yard.

“They were already there when I arrived. Might as well.” Yasumasa stopped in front of the flowers as Ieyasu did and waited for his lord to reveal the purpose of his sudden visit.

“Yasumasa,” Ieyasu began after a few moments, the tone of his voice grave and serious, “another war is upon Mikawa’s horizons. I want you to return to the castle.”

At Ieyasu's words, Yasumasa felt suddenly aware of the empty weight of the swords detached from his hips. He clenched his fists in frustration with himself. “But Milord, I don't deserve it… I have yet to prove myself worthy.”

“You can, in the battlefield,” Ieyasu turned to him with an expression bare of any mockery, “I will lead the Tokugawa to victory, one you will see with your very own eyes should you decide to fight under my banners again.”

Yasumasa witnessed the determination that burned brightly in Ieyasu’s eyes and believed in the greatness his lord was meant to accomplish—that they were meant to accomplish as lord and retainer. He had wished for death during the crucial moment of his failure, but it was Ieyasu who cut the ropes that bound him, freeing him not only of his crimes but also of his weaknesses. Reverent, Yasumasa bowed his head to the ground and swore that his faith would never falter again. “On my life, Milord.”

He took the leap and returned to Hamamatsu as a retainer—a Divine General. From the second Yasumasa stepped on the castle grounds, the rift his mistake cost him had been palpable. But somehow, the strained relationship he shared with the other retainers was nothing new. They trusted him so little, yet he could place no fault in them. He was similar to the person Ieyasu used to be: arrogant, independent to a fault, and able to put trust in no one. Day by day, Yasumasa witnessed how what he once considered as his lord’s weakness had become the strength that bound the clan together tighter than ever. His mind couldn't help but race with the possibility of the person he could become. That was when he saw her again.

Now, she was right in front of him, a small chuckle bubbling from her lips.

“Ah, no, we are not husband and wife,” she corrected the shopkeeper who Yasumasa had failed to notice the approach of earlier.

“Is that so? Pardon me, then,” the shopkeeper turned to him, “Anything else I may get for you, young man?”

“No, thank you.”

The shopkeeper nodded with a smile of recognition and left.

Yasumasa resumed eating and dared to peek at the woman who sat across him. As if she felt his gaze, she looked back at him with a quizzical expression, but it caught Yasumasa so off guard that he had to look away. During the first few days of his return to Hamamatsu, the two of them barely had a chance to speak with each other. Truth to be told, Yasumasa went out of his way to avoid her. It was futile; living in the same castle and working for the same man made their encounters inevitable. The first few times were simple greetings, he would respond with a nod and go on his way. Soon, there were words exchanged as they touched on safe discussion topics, which consisted of only a few possible matters. When they found themselves on the verge of the dangerous, he would often find excuses to leave or to make her leave, but she was stubborn, filling in the voids in their conversations with her kindness and enthusiasm.

“Look, Lord Yasumasa! There are red spider lilies growing around there!” She motioned towards the distant woods where clusters of the flowers grew, barely visible in the darkness.

He scoffed. “How unsightly.”

“They say that red spider lilies grow on paths where people part, did you know that?”

“Or there could be graves somewhere near the area and they were planted there to ward off pests.”

“Maybe.”

The two of them finished the last of their meal at around the same time. She turned his way to ask him of his thoughts about it, but it was then that Yasumasa spotted the short trail of powder on her cheek, no doubt from the daifuku. With a click of his tongue, “You eat like a child,” he chided in mild displeasure and tossed a handkerchief into her direction.

The suddenness of his actions made her struggle to catch the item, but she did so successfully. “Is this clean?”

“Do you think I would carry around something filthy?”

“I suppose not.”

“You’re so bothersome.”

The way back to the castle was quiet, save for their footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves. Yasumasa's thoughts remained on her, the woman beside him who had become a prominent figure in his mind for a long, long time. He had been indifferent towards her back when she still dressed as a man to conceal her identity, but once all of her secrets were revealed, he became nothing but resentful. In the course of her earlier days as a woman in the castle, Yasumasa had been reprimanding some retainers when he saw her pass by and chat with the other generals.

“You don’t care for Yasumasa, do you.” Tadakatsu's words had been more of a statement rather than a query. The mention of his name caught Yasumasa’s attention; he had no choice but to listen.

Her eyes widened, taken aback by the assumption. “Huh?! I… It’s not that I don’t like him, not at all…”

“You don’t have to pretend. It’s written all over your face,” Tadakatsu continued, voicing out Yasumasa’s own thoughts.

To add to the vitriol thrown at him in secret, “I don’t like him either,” Toramatsu declared without hesitation.

Yasumasa had gathered that they didn’t know he was within hearing distance, yet back then, he couldn't care less what they thought of him. But as he regarded her, a mere step or two away from him as she strolled along the pathway in a manner that he would describe as almost happily, he found the memory leaving a bitter taste in his mouth—although he knew that she has most likely forgotten about it already. The light of the moon seemed to bounce with her hair whenever she moved. He clenched his fists at the memory of its silkiness between his fingers.

The reality of it all sunk in: they had slept together, and they both wanted it. Questions echoed like gongs in his mind. For someone who once could not deny outrightly that she did not care for him, she treated him with kindness, like she held no grudges for every mistake he has committed and actually cared. Something in her drew him in, even long ago despite his hostility towards her and especially now that his views in life were linked with a new resolve. It was the first time he felt that way for anyone. The raw attraction unnerved him. The slight flush of her cheeks when they happened to be in each other's company gave him thoughts he immediately crushed. He could not dare think of something when there was none. The next thing he knew, the beginnings of subtle, innocent touches and occasional close proximity ended with the two of them laying on the bedding he once spent lonely nights on.

“I will defile you. Are you sure this is what you want?” he had asked her then, giving her a final chance for a way out should she want it. He knew not what to do with himself. He had desired her in secret for so long, and though the frustration would eat him alive, he was prepared to accept her decision and understand the reason for her refusal. In truth, he expected her to flee and say that all of it had been a mistake, but like a moth drawn to a flame, she touched his cheek ever so gently and nodded, her answer clear with the fervent kiss she bestowed upon his lips.

Yasumasa made his stop by a tree a few minutes or so away from the castle. Once she realized he was not beside her anymore, her steps faltered one by one until she ceased moving as well. He kept his demeanor in check before speaking, “Enter the gates first. I’ll go in a short while.”

She turned to face him slowly. “Why?”

“This can never happen again. Keep your mouth shut and no one will know.”

“You regret it?” she snapped, each word laced with self-deprecation and disbelief, “You seriously regret it?”

He sneered. “What do you think? Of course, I do.”

Her knuckles tightened over the knot of the cloth that contained the package of white rice dumplings she insisted on bringing back for everyone. “Well, I don’t.” Upset, she spun around swiftly and began to storm inside the castle grounds without him, just the way he wanted to.

As she disappeared from his sight, a strong gust of wind blew, making a few leaves fall weightlessly to the earth.

“Damn it!” Yasumasa cursed, overcome with anger directed at no one but himself. He was nothing but a liar. What would people say about her associating herself with the likes of him, someone who had the nerve to betray the clan and come back? He should know better. She was too good for him—too good to him. It was far from anything he deserved. He needed to do everything he could to stop her from coming too close to him and to stop him from ruining her even more.

But perhaps, it was too late.

Beneath the glow of the waning moon, a man and a woman sat in front of each other.

Chrysanthemums bloomed all over the backyard of a small home in the outskirts of Mikawa. Seasons had gone by and changes, both subtle and tangible, happened as they drifted from one to another. Traces of warm colors in the leaves developed fully into vivid shades of red, some deep oranges, while others shone golden. Though in the night, all of them were the same, dark as their shadows.

“They make it very lively even though no one really lives here, don’t they? Especially during twilight,” the woman commented at the hidden medley of autumn hues and took a slow, dainty sip of her sake. “So, why did you call me here? It’s not like our usual meetings, from what I gather.” She placed the half-empty cup down on the table with a faint thud and raised her gaze to meet the jade green eyes of her companion, Yasumasa.

He had been wrong when he said that what happened on their first night together could never happen again. It happened more times than she could count, not only in his residence but also in other places. It was risky, thrilling, altogether rewarding. When she happened to pass by those areas, memories of their times together would take her head in the clouds, and with burning cheeks, she would look away with a secret smile. They had visited his old dwelling far too often that soon enough, she became familiar with its every nook and cranny, including where he kept his precious tea set, the one which has been passed down to the heirs of the Sakakibara clan for many generations. If the two of them were to be around during afternoons, she would expect to find Yasumasa hanging around the chrysanthemums in the garden he kept—those flowers he claimed he wasn’t taking care of but were all blooming so beautifully. Contrary to what he insisted, she recognized the special care he gave them, reminiscent of how one would treat a bonsai, only a single wrong move with the latter could be fixed through the passage of time, but the former would not be as resilient, having a single chance to bloom during its season.

Most of all, she knew him, Yasumasa. Once, she had woken up in the middle of the night with his side of the bedding warm but empty. She got up and slid the doors open to find him seated on the floor, silent as the still night air. The same thing kept him up at night time and again; Yasumasa recognized the value of trust at this point in his life, although the idea was still foreign to his comprehension. He would never admit it, but she knew he would like to be able to build that trust with his comrades, akin to the way his lord came to the light. As he stared into the dark space, struggling still to reconcile who he was and who he wanted to be, she believed he would get there one day, he was stubborn that way.

“No one holds a grudge against you, you know? Not even Lord Ieyasu. Lord Tadakatsu is worried. I’m sure he misses his friend.” She leaned against a pillar and pulled the fabric of her robes tighter against her body to protect herself from the chill. “Forgive yourself, Yasumasa. We have.”

He was so quiet that she thought he did not hear a word she uttered, but then he stood up and met her eyes, his stare determined and passionate. “Even you?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I haven’t.” She walked closer and reached to embrace Yasumasa by the waist. In an instant, she was warmed, the steady beating of his heart a soothing sound. She spoke the truth; she did not hate him. In fact, she already had an inkling even at that time that it had grown to be quite the opposite. Every single encounter with him strengthened the attachment she felt, almost like a bond. There had been times when she made sure she had at least a swipe of rouge on her lips whenever there was a chance they would pass by each other, and she felt like she tried too hard. Yasumasa had already witnessed her at her best and worst, at her most pleasured and most vulnerable. It all sounded a bit backwards in her head, she didn’t know whether to smile or frown at the idea.

They were the castle’s open secret. Almost everyone suspected it, yet no one dared to ask either of them for confirmation or denial. It seemed that the idea of them together was an odd one. A mismatched pair of chopsticks, that was what they looked like. Scandalous curiosities were disregarded in order to avoid evoking Yasumasa’s ire. She supposed it was something she should be grateful for—if someone did dare to ask, she would not know how to answer. Long ago, he considered her his enemy. Were they friends? Not quite. She wouldn’t do what she does with him with a mere friend, of that she was sure. They were not explicitly lovers either. Still, she found no desire to lay with another man, and she suspected that he was not sleeping with another, with majority of his time spent on training and military campaigns along with the frequency of their activities when he wasn’t occupied with either of the two. It wasn’t that they were only good enough to be intimate companions and not… more. No, it was rooted on something deeper. No matter how strongly she felt for him, whatever was between them was fragile, as it was impermanent. Regardless, she cared for him deeply, knew him far enough to trust him in spite of the mistakes he made in the past. As much as she tried to keep those thoughts at the back of her mind, it bothered her time and again, but she decided that she would cross the bridge when she gets there.

However, as she sat in front of Yasumasa in the place full of their memories, she knew that the moment to cross the bridge has come.

“Lord Ieyasu has granted me the domain in Tatebayashi,” Yasumasa stated with pride. Their most difficult battle had resulted in the Tokugawa’s greatest victory. A new beginning was in the entire land’s horizons, the prospect of peace closer than ever. She couldn’t be prouder of everyone in the clan.

“Sakakibara Yasumasa, Lord of Tatebayashi,” his name and new title rolled off her tongue, and she smiled. “Congratulations.” He had come so far. She was happy for him.

He drank his sake in response, eyes trained on her all the while, holding her in place.

“Is there something else you wish to tell me, Yasumasa?”

“Why? Do you have something you wish to tell me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she broached the subject and fiddled with the hem of her kimono. “Soon, I won’t be under Lord Ieyasu’s employ any longer.”

He stilled as he took in the implication of her words, but quickly recovered as he moved to set the empty cup down on the table. “And? Where are you going now?”

“For now, the plan is to go back home to Kyoto.” As a young girl, she had a lot of dreams, one of which was to take over the restaurant as her late father did. Many years had passed since then and circumstances changed. The kind of future she envisioned as a young girl has shifted into something else now that she was a woman—one who has met someone.

If he were to ask her to come with him, she would say yes... yet she knew he would not. It has always been that way—close enough to cross the boundaries they set in silence but never doing so. He said nothing. She expected it, but no matter how much she knew that she would never receive those few specific words, a part of her still longed to hear them. Her little ray of hope dimmed, and she blinked a few times in an attempt to quell her emotions. She wondered where it went wrong or if it had been wrong from the very first night they spent together. Whatever the answer was, she found that she still had no regrets in terms of the intimacy they shared. Alone in her innermost thoughts, she gave him a bittersweet smile.

“One last time?” Her proposition had been a whisper, but in a few seconds, the low table, pair of cups, and empty bottles of sake had been set aside. Her hand clutched his as she led him inside the house all the way to his chambers, where she pulled him in for a kiss once the doors slid close.

Every time she would remember that instance when Yasumasa mocked that she possessed the body that would drive no man to lust, she wanted to burst into laughter. It pleased her to see him this way, almost pliant and very responsive to her kisses and touches, as if his hatred of women never existed, or at the very least, was shelved away in particular moments where she was involved.

“How long has it been, Yasumasa? Years?” she whispered right next to his ear, her fingertips tracing a line from his jaw to his neck and further down to the inside of his collar, “Aren’t you a hypocrite? Still going to pretend you never wanted this, hm?”

He hissed and kept her lips occupied from talking by taking them with his own. His palm felt warm against her lower back as he pulled her even closer. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget everything. She was never the kitchen wench, just a woman who wanted him; and he was never a Divine General, just a man who desired her. Lost in his every touch, she has never felt so free, her body pinned down the bedding with his own, perfectly fitting together. In their final hours, she eagerly accepted all that he had to give her, again and again. She cried for him, not the inevitable separation that would prove change was constant once they go out of the doors of that little house, the one she unconsciously considered home on certain days of her life.

The journey back to the castle was slow and steady, contrary to the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that ran through her mind and heart. Above all, the sights she took in evoked a strange sense of nostalgia. Her vacant eyes followed the movements of the autumn leaves as they clung to the tree branches, and even without the disturbance of the wind, fell to the earth constantly. Yasumasa’s horse would let out an occasional whinny, and she would pat its back in response, knowing that it would be their final trip together. Soon enough, they neared their destination, the end of their journey. The castle, tall and glinting in the light of dawn, stood in their field of vision from the woods. Yasumasa pulled in the reins, and they came to a halt. Minutes passed, but both of them stayed quiet and unmoving.

“After we cross the gates, I will never speak to you again.” She felt proud of herself for breaking the silence with a voice filled with conviction. It gave her enough courage to adjust her seat so she could face him. The moment she did, her lips drew into a fond smile. She reached for the maple leaf that had gone stuck in his copper locks and pulled it away. It crumbled at the most gentle of her touches, fluttering in uneven fragments towards the ground. “I suppose this is goodbye, then.”

“...So, it is.”

“Have a good life, Lord Yasumasa. Be happy.”

His lips parted and closed, as though he wanted to say something but thought otherwise. It took a few more moments of silence before he finally replied, “You, too. Be happy.”

As she moved to alight, his arms tightened around her waist so slightly that she almost missed it. In the split second her eyes locked with his, the two of them found their way together in a desperate kiss that left her emotional and breathless. Seconds spent on pulling away solely to breathe were followed with another bittersweet meeting of their lips, over and over, as if the two of them were reluctant to part and were pouring all the words left unsaid with each caress. Her eyes began to water, but before tears could fall, she gathered enough courage and drew herself away from him. She alighted from the saddle and brushed off the invisible dirt from her kimono. Fallen leaves crumbled underneath her sandals, but without ever once looking back, she marched inside the castle grounds on her own.

With every step, a piece of her fell apart as she relinquished everything she had with him.

Cruel, the hands of fate were cruel. It seemed that all they had gone through had not been enough, that even the days of their departure were one and the same. She had packed all of the little things she acquired over the years, each item tied with a memory she would hold dear for the rest of her life. A day before she was set to leave, she and Tadatsugu, whose wisdom she considered greater than anyone, looked after the plants on the castle grounds like they would on a regular day. In the midst of doing so, he thanked her for her service and the great cuisine she introduced the whole clan to. She went to town with her dear friends, Toramatsu and Tadakatsu, with whom she shared countless moments of laughter and tears over the years, and who respected her silent decision to keep all of the things she wanted under wraps to herself. Finally, she visited Ieyasu before sunset to express all the gratitude she had for him. In the Shogun’s grand library, a copy of her recipe book was placed neatly in one of the shelves at nightfall. True to her word, she did not seek Yasumasa again, and neither did he.

She bowed in greeting to the few people who would accompany her on the journey back to Kyoto and proceeded to wave everyone goodbye, ready to go home. She passed by Yasumasa and his men preparing to leave. From her peripheral vision, she noticed him pause in his stacking of his luggage to train his eyes on her every movement. The sight of him awakened her thoughts of the impossibility that it could have been the two of them who would be off to Tatebayashi that day. The roads they would take were in the opposite directions of each other, that was the way their circumstances were always meant to be.

An unexpected gift waited for her in the palanquin. With a smile, she picked up the arrangement of bright red chrysanthemums and boarded inside. After the curtains were drawn and they departed, the mask she wore for so long finally shattered. She clamped her hand over her mouth to prevent any sound from escaping the four corners of the small space as tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped on the scarlet flowers on her lap. She wept at the knowledge that the moment he would open his food compartment in the middle of his journey, he would find a package of chestnut manju wrapped intricately with the pristine white handkerchief he once owned, each piece made with her best wishes for his life and eternal happiness.

In a little house on the outskirts of Mikawa, a garden once filled with the most colorful flowers turned bleak as they wilted through the passage of many seasons. In time, mysterious red spider lilies sprung in their place in such large numbers, it prompted the villagers to forlornly believe that it was either a place where someone had passed away, or where lovers had parted, never to meet again.

Beyond grateful to @photoproses reading through my initial draft and brainstorming with me!

Happy Mid-Autumn Festival (and Friday the 13th)! 🎑

Thank you for reading this story! 🍁

春夏秋冬 | Shunkashūtō [AO3]

lit. spring, summer, autumn, winter

春 || Heartstrings (Tokugawa Ieyasu/MC)

夏 || Sunkissed (Honda Tadakatsu/MC)

秋 || Crossroads (Sakakibara Yasumasa/MC)

| 秋 | Destiny [Crossroads Alternate Ending]

冬 || ???

Ichigo Daifuku's Masterlist

#slbp #samurai love ballad party #slbp fanfiction #slbp fanfic #slbp smut #slbp yasumasa #sakakibara yasumasa #slbp ieyasu #tokugawa ieyasu #slbp toramatsu #toramatsu #fanfiction #fanfic #ichigo bakufu #shunkashuto #autumn #aki #crossroads

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skullinacowboyhat · 5 years

Note

🎁🌈🎼👐?

🎁 Do you prefer drawing fandom stuff or your own characters?

I prefer drawing my own characters, though most of them are related to one fandom or another (like Star Wars and stuffage).

🌈 Do you use more warm or cold colors?

Ermmm.........I’m not....sure..........

No but really I definitely prefer colouring with cold colours, but I try to include warmer tones as well for contrast, and also to challenge myself.

🎼 Your favorite music to draw to right now?

I’ve got a pile of songs I’ve been listening to, but these are some of them:

• Bring It On Home, by American Authors• Kids, by OneRepublicAnd literally anything by AURORA, because her music is amazing.

🙌 Draw a doodle with your non-dominant hand

I drew an eye and a hand for you. I’m crying real tears now I hope you’re happy.

Thanks for the ask!

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dianacloudburst · 6 years

Text

Box of Shadows (Supreme) - August 2018

☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾

The August BoS is out, and I have to say, I really liked this one! Every single item is something that I like and will use, and they all seem to be of decent quality. I think this is easily one of the best months for BoS since I first subscribed.

The theme this month is along the lines of “As Above, So Below.”

☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾ ⚝ ☾

Here’s the Seeker’s guide, for anyone interested.

The first thing I noticed when I released the box from the sealed priority mail envelope was an overwhelming scent of Blood Orange. The Barley Moon votive candle from Modern Magix contains Blood Orange and “Driftwood” (whatever that is) scents, and is topped with Chamomile, St. John’s Wort, and Rosemary. Since it’s the only thing in the box with Blood Orange in it, it must be what caused the heavy scent that clings to everything from the box. Weirdly, though, even though it contains Blood Orange scent, the candle itself doesn’t actually smell much like that--it has a very toasty, brown-sugar like scent with just the barest, distant hint of citrus. I really like it. I think it might be my favorite Modern Magix candle so far, and I can’t wait to burn it!

While we’re on the topic of smelly things, this box also contained an essential oil roll-on vial. The oil is Jojoba oil with little pieces of Lepidolite floating around in it. I’m not that familiar with Jojoba, but it smells fresh, bright, and a little bit spicy. It really gives off an autumn vibe, like spiced ciders.

The last of the scent-related thing would be the chunk of Palo Santo. I have another piece from a previous box that I honestly haven’t burned yet, so it seems like I’ve got a lot of this stuff in my future!

We did get a lovely crystal this month--a nice chunk of Selenite. It reflects light with a beautiful soft glow, and leaves little sparkles on my fingers when I handle it. It’s thicker, shorter, and heavier than my Selenite wand. I think this piece will be great to set out when making Moon Water, and for other Full Moon activities.

The last smaller items in the box are jewelry. The Tree of Life pendant perfectly fits the box’s theme, with the roots and branches both extending around the center of the pendant. So much of the jewelry, especially pendants, from subscription boxes are a neutral silvery color. It’s actually really nice to switch it up with some brass, so that I have a few witchy pendants to coordinate with my warmer-toned outfits. And because it is made from brass, this pendant feels decently heavy and durable--I think it will last for a long time!

The lovely multi-colored Jasper bracelet is perfect for the end of Summer and early Autumn, mirroring the leaves just as they begin to turn. And here’s an interesting quote from EnergyMuse: “If Jasper has found its way onto your spiritual path, it could be a sign that you might be courting a case of existential burnout.” This is weirdly accurate to my life right now, as I navigate what is either a full-blown quarter-life crisis or some other form of massive burnout. I am going to keep this bracelet with me for a few days to see if it can help stabilize my feelings and bring me strength during this challenging time.

And last but not least, a book! I love receiving books, and this one seems like it could be useful to anyone who dabbles even a little bit in Witchcraft or Magic. Like many of the books BoS provides, it is published by Llewellyn. I know some people have issues with Llewellyn as a publisher, and I personally have found their books to be very hit or miss. But they do have some good ones out there, and I have a feeling this one will be a good one!

I really enjoyed opening this month’s Box of Shadows. The team did a great job pulling together a combination of interesting and useful items. I’m wearing the pendant as I type this post! If this month is a sign of what’s to come, I feel very encouraged by the future of this subscription. There will always be some things I take issue with--like the fact the the different subscription levels get completely different items--but the contents have improved greatly and I think I can feel myself looking forward to next month’s box already!

#witchblr #witch blog #witch #witchcraft #boxofshadows #box of shadows #subscriptionbox #subscription box #monthly subscription #wicca #wiccan #original post

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littlepiecesoftimebyjoni-blog · 6 years

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My Cameras

Kicking off my new blog by introducing my babies - the cameras I use!

I started playing around with the idea of taking pictures with Polaroids about 2 years ago. I knew they were still around, the ones that are actually from the 80′s and 90′s, but I wasn’t sure where I could get my hands on it exactly.

So I started off with what was easily available at any electronics store; a Fuji Instax Mini Camera! I wanted to see if it was for me, walking around taking photos of things around me, and I felt that the film for it was affordable enough for me to make mistakes with it and just try it out for fun. It was with this camera I fell in love with the concept of walking around with a camera that would print out a physical photo of something interesting I’d run into that day.

From there my camera collection grew very quickly. I started off with the Polaroid OneStep 600 to get a good feel for the original Polaroid cameras. Polaroid One 600 and Polaroid Spectra QPS quickly followed suit, all found through a small camera and film shop called Beau’s Photo Supplies.

Polaroid OneStep 600 was a great camera for someone who’d just stated to dip their toes into the more vintage Polaroid scene. It was very simple to use because it was just point and shoot!

Polaroid One 600 was also similarly simple to use and great for someone just starting out in the Polaroids scene. I found it a bit better for scenery photos compared to the Polaroid OneStep 600.

Polaroid Spectra QPS (Full switch) was definitely the camera that pushed me from “getting my feet wet” to “I love this and I want to do this seriously”. This one I got trying to challenge myself and to get started on using a Polaroid camera that wasn’t so simple as a point and shoot. What I mean by “full switch” is that there are multiple knobs just under the viewfinder at the back of the camera that allows the user to have more control over the outcome. Things such as flash or no flash, a timer if you wanted to set it down and get in the picture yourself, brightness of the photo, and auto focus or manual focus. At first I didn't’ know what knobs made which difference, so I just started out by playing around with different knobs. When I figured it all out, I genuinely fell in love with this camera! It made the colors, especially on a sunny day, just pop and look so vibrant! the wider frame also allowed me to capture better scenery shots. So needless to say, I was absolutely heartbroken when it stopped working a few weeks ago! RIP! thankfully I was able to find the Spectra SE model at Beau’s photo supplies a few days ago, and it seems to have the same settings as the QPS! Can’t wait to get out there and give it a whirl!

Polaroid SX-70 Land was the next camera I got. This was such an iconic camera in its day, so I was VERY excited to get one. After getting a good grasp on how to use the spectra, I wanted to further challenge myself and found that the next most fussy camera to use was this SX-70 model. And boy was it fussy! One of the most common mistake I would make was with the manual focus dial. As someone who’d never had to focus an image myself in the previous models, I definitely struggled with it and would often end up with a very blurry or out of focus shots! I’ll admit, this annoyed me to no end! But I learned to actually take however long it takes to frame a shot and focus it to get it just right. It was worth it once I got it right though, because the camera delivers images with this grainy quality that I’d admired in vintage photos.

Polaroid Land 350 was my most recent addition to the family. And here I thought the SX-70 was the fussiest! boy was I wrong! Not only is it manual focus, but there are variety of knobs/dials that must be switched in a particular order, and the peel apart film for it must be peeled apart around after 50 seconds (but also dependent upon the temperature!). If kept too long you’d end up with just a blank, dark photo! But when found the right balance, it is very fun peeling apart a photo and watching the colors come to life! It doesn’t have as grainy of a quality as the SX-70, but it adds this (for the lack of better word) “vintage filter” to the image with a warmer tone. It is quite a bit heavier in weight compared to my other cameras, but because of how ancient it looks I just love it even more!

And there we have it, my cameras! I loved my journey through each of them and I can’t wait to shoot more with them!

Stay tuned for more Little Pieces of Time!

#Polaroid #PolaroidOnestep #PolaroidOne #PolaroidSpectra #PolaroidLand #Vintage #film photography #Polaroid Originals #polaroid sx70 #photography #filmisnotdead #analog #analogphotography #Canada #camera #LittlePiecesofTime

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kitsoa · 6 years

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Lyric Comic Q&A

So it turns out when you work on a project for half a year, you get a lot of Thoughts and want to express them whether people are actually curious or not. Without further ado, your un-requested Birdmen Lyric Comic Q&A

(Warning: I’m long winded)

*Why a Lyric Comic?

Dude, lyric comics are cool. I’ve always been fascinated by the beautiful, multifaceted artistic experience they provide, because of my love for music and art. Furthermore, I am often plagued by cinematic trapped in my head, spurred by the movement and lyrics of my favorite songs. Since I have no means or experience in the animation category (which would free these phantoms from my head) the lyric comic was a godsend of a medium for this inspired idea of mine. Kiki-kit of the Gravity Falls fandom and Tides-miraculous’ lyric comic in the Miraculous Ladybug are my main inspirations, I’ve adored their sense of motion and emotional savviness. It’s quite the powerful medium.

It’s also a good medium for me personally. I am a ‘looper’ with my music, allowing me to listen to something over and over without tiring. This is useful in the drafting stages! I loved the challenge (though I definitely didn’t anticipate it’d take this long).

*Why this song?

“Out of Mind” was one of those songs that spoke to me, in an overly cathartic, heart-yearning-- almost funnily sardonic ways. Birdmen being on the brain, I started to easily see how much the singers voice reflected that bombastic frustration our Eishi is so known for. The Pre-Chorus “Are you kidding me?” speaks to me the most, reminding me of his cry of frustration during his first blackout, screaming against his fate as he fell from the sky (this exact image did not make the final cut in the end, but I certainly vied for it until other themes overtook it-- let’s face it, there are many screaming Eishi’s to choose from).

This period of time between Takayama’s disappearance and the inevitable reunion is super intriguing to me. Eishi’s in the role of the heartbroken singer, hopelessly betrayed and unable to get over the good thing they had.

*Breakdown the story:

The progression goes like this:

Eishi’s loneliness consumes the first verse, Takayama’s empty seat, Eishi standing alone… all the while peppered with Takayama’s broken promise, which culminates with Eishi’s defiant Death Tweet. The Refrain then serves as these hallmark moments that define them. This is what they had. Every rescue, every proclamation or venomous defying of fate-- it’s what made them. And you’d have to be out of your mind to think that these moments could be forgotten.

Verse 2 is all about that shift in Eishi to follow him. Wistful memories drive Eishi as he chooses to leave and depart from everything he knows, just to get him back. Meanwhile, that opinion of Takayama is still weighed down by that grating irritation (like hell he’s in touch reality, how could he do this?) culminating to his call for him in the Himalayas. The Refrain fires again with the same point as the last but this time I tried to go for a more fervent angle, some of the scenes actually focus on Takayama’s feelings for Eishi and ultimately the pull they have towards each other.

The Bridge is where things get desperate. The moments in the manga where Eishi is in physical pain because of the Whiteout shake me so much. It reminds me of a straight up panic attack. I let this crescendo with the music, making the black void swallow the chaos in a quick snap. Building to the final chorus.

The whiteout is special because Eishi both yearns after this figment emotionally (his friendship with Takayama) and intellectually (what the hell is it and what does it mean?). It represents his unique position in the realm of the story being able to see it, but it ultimately captures the almost divine force behind the relationship of Eishi and Takayama. The outro then brings us back to Eishi failed call at the Himalaya’s, the whiteout ripping him up and forcing Takayama to save him. All the while calling back to that first interaction between them. A mysterious moment that obviously held more weight than any world shaking rescue. And I cap it off with a warmer depiction of their reunion.

*Are you shipping in this comic?

Despite the romantic song, my affections for the pairing, and any other subtext I’ve provided, I went in with the project with a platonic angle. Like I’m not lying. I’m on the ace spectrum or whatever so I kind of interpret every strong bond in the same realm. So that means, if you think it’s a romantic interpretation-- then you’re right. If you think it’s not, you’re also right. Love comes in many forms. Have fun kids.

*What was your process?

Storyboarding

Listen over and over and figure out where to phrase the panels. I then divided the lyrics up accordingly in a draft and reviewed the pacing over and over again. Does it flow? How many words would comfortably fit with each panel?

Determined the thematic arc. At this point I already had a few anchoring moments so I wrote a description of the panel in the draft. I went with the formula of Verses= move the ideas, Refrain= emotional accents, and the Bridge is like… the climax with an epilogue of an outro. This was tricky step. I debated a lot of ideas and some lyrics didn’t feel like a good fit until I really sat on it for a while.

Fill in the draft. This is where I sketch the general shape of panels. This is also where I look at the gestalt of the thing and make sure the composition is easy on the eyes. I tried to make it dynamic and zig-zaggy so as not to be boring. This is the step where one gets really excited about the project. Cause it’s no longer trapped in your head.

Sketching

Gathered references. Surfed the web, made some myself.

Made time to sketch, I did a lot of them at my summer job, made sure to draw about 2 or 3 a day. I had the time then because it was before I took on my day job. I was very surprised to find that I rarely went back to edit a picture or dispose of a draft. I went through with the mantra that I was going to finish the picture no matter what.

Stayed disciplined with said time. I would not let myself take a break from drawing because half the success came from the fact that I was on a roll.

When I finished them I then went through the process of scanning them (my scanner broke between the first 20 panels so RIP)

Coloring Stage

...Good lord. This is where I probably went the most wrong. Make sure you have a good process in place before starting out this stage. I was not one to digital art much as of late so my familiarity with my program was lackluster (and it also is literally the worst program in the world), and my laptop couldn’t handle more than 10 panels. So hurray for a very desperate fix. I did everything from my brothers computer, in his room. Sometimes at terrible hours because that's the only time I’m home.

Color planning. I rushed this process but I pulled up the textures and color pallets and reference images from internet searches and stock piled them. While planning I approximated the overall ‘tone’ of each pane; (is it a dark shade, a light shade, blue, or red in hue…) and then I adjusted that so the colors didn’t repeat or blend unless the panels where connected in the same scene. There was a lot of problem solving in the actual coloring so some of this was not as smooth and I paid for it later.

Sketch Editing. I was able to go back in, move around things and edit certain aspects of the sketch without compromising the entire work. This was a life saver.

Actually coloring. Because I color sketches it’s actually a painstaking process where I can’t use a wand or a fill. I’m not familiar with certain masking and coloring methods that would have sped the process up and I wanted to be consistent. This would take 3 to 5 hours a panel which I would do in small bursts.

Type-setting

Deciding font. I was hunting around for a good font for ages until I just decided… to use my own handwriting. This meant that I had to makes sure my tablet pressure specs were up to date and I had to practice my style. It’s not perfect but its cool.

Apply font to panel. There were moments when I literally said ‘screw it’ and left my handwriting a little more sloppy than standard.

Consultation. I worked with my graphic designer friend on improving the placement of text and the color choices. This was an interesting step she is a saint.

Finalize

Every single panel is extremely large. I had to resize each one. Before this I had many tests in the drafts to see how certain sizes would load or format.

*Will you make another?

Probably. Like, there is nothing more satisfying than getting something stuck in your head out of it. I have a lot of tunes I am fond of but barely any qualify for lyric comics (need to have a good pace, easy to latch on musical phrases, thematic content that works etc.) The fandom is important too. Now that I think about it I have storyboards for an old DCMK ‘lyric comic’ idea to Imogen Heap’s “A-ha” (it was like some hidden dark side!au shit I still come back to it). I can’t let my interest wan or it straight up dies. Birdmen is a really unique series for me because its held on for a remarkable amount of time and strongly at that.

Fun Facts:

I colored a total 77 panels, 11 of which were scraped versions of the core 66 because perfectionist tendencies.

It took me 3 months to sketch all the panels out, sometimes drawing 3 a day. I would often cradle my sleeping kitten while I drew.

Panel 54-- the final chorus, whiteout splash page-- took three days to draw. At first it was two pages taped together, then it was three. I had my friend mend the images together into a massive pic for me to color, then break it apart for blog distribution. The full version is used in her video edit of the lyric comic.

I didn’t use pressure sensitivity on my tablet until I got to the last chunk. RIP

It usually took me over a day to do one picture.

I do not have a computer in my room that utilizes the art program I need. I literally did every panel after #10 in my brothers room. Sometimes hella late at night too. Props to my generous brother, he tells me he likes the company.

I took a few notable breaks. All of Inktober was used on the art challenge. The weeks leading up to Birdmen Week. And at least half of the Christmas season was spent on coloring hiatus.

I like adding a ring around the pupils of the seraph eyes. This is not canon, but an error that I really liked. You can see it as a sort of glow.

I am having my friend edit the panels into a video for your convenience. I have no idea how long it will take but I’m tired.

#lyric comic project

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starcunning · 6 years

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This Beast that Rends Me: 11 Apr

A challenger appears! Also, I seem to have all my rigging questions from the last chapter answered, but if you have something to contribute I’m always ready to learn.

Previously: Week One Previously: 8 Apr, 9 Apr, 10 Apr

Chapter Five

Spring’s temper seemed to break in the days that followed, and cloudless skies stretched from the mountains to the wall, visible in the hazy distance. It made the greenhouse warm and close, especially at midday, when Shasi often visited.

She had come in the morning, after their night together. It seemed the responsible thing to do. It also seemed more responsible not to spend her evenings there—however much she wanted to. Still, she could not regret it.

Sometimes they played megalith, but today she was teaching him Triple Triad.

“It’s very popular, you know, in Ul’dah,” she said. “The Platinum Mirage would stage tournaments.” “I can’t imagine why a gambling house would favor it,” he drawled sardonically. “Especially that ‘Plus’ rule you mentioned? It’s impenetrable. Which I’m sure they use to their advantage.” “I wouldn’t know anything about the inherent discomfort of facing an opponent with better insight than you,” Shasi said, grousing playfully in return. “That’s because you’re usually on the dealer’s side of the table,” he told her, reaching out with his long fingers to flip one of her cards. “And then I met you,” she told him, playing to the opposite corner. “And I found myself outmatched.” “I haven’t done it in weeks,” he said, defensive. “I know,” she told him, “but you might. It’s terrifying.” “Really,” he said, laying out a card. “I suppose I would find it liberating. You might, at any moment, come to know anything about me. Why demur, in that case? At least then I have made a choice.” “I don’t want people to see me that way,” Shasi told him. She set her last card down, flipping two of his, and smiled. “A draw,” she said. “Now we each take the cards we claimed in that match and play again until we decide a victor.” “What way?” he asked, taking up the cards and organizing them in his hand. “A relentless interrogator,” Shasi said. “It seems you are relying on being seen that way in your dealings with me,” Zenos said, smirking over the fan of his cards. “And yet you still won’t tell me about the situation in the outer provinces.” “I would, if I knew more. There was discussion of sending me to Dalmasca, as I was sent to Doma.” Shasi only hummed thoughtfully, playing her first card to the corner. “I see.” “They treat me as they treat you,” he said. “A blade to be unleashed as needs be. You’ve told me yourself they don’t tell you everything.” She felt the sting of pity, though it was quickly forgotten as he laid his next card and took hers, subsumed by her momentary annoyance. Shasi opened her mouth, conjuring some retort.

There was a knock on the window, the gentle rap of knuckles against glass. Shasi’s ears pricked up, and she turned her head toward the source of the sound. Thancred stood there, no less familiar despite his absence, and she could feel the way surprise rose upon her face. “You’re not supposed to be here!” Shasi greeted him. “I know,” the rogue said, his voice half-muffled through the glass. She rose from her seat at the table, setting her cards aside. “No, really. You’re not allowed to speak to me.” “No,” Thancred said, a smile twisting his features, “I’m not allowed to speak to you face-to-face after I’ve been briefed. But I haven’t been. Not until tomorrow morning. Let’s talk.” “Later,” she said, teeth catching at the curve of her lip. “Later, then,” he agreed. “Good luck,” he drawled.

Somehow, despite the conservatory allowing her almost a full panorama of the gardens, he seemed to disappear a moment later. She sank back into her seat. “I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her chin onto her fist. “About the interruption.” “A friend of yours?” Zenos asked, in a tone that told her he knew perfectly well. “Thancred recruited me,” she said. “I’d seen him before then, but we didn’t meet until after … after the awakening of my Echo.” “But you were paying attention to him before then.” “I wouldn’t put it that way, exactly,” Shasi said, cautiously setting down a card. “He’s one of the Archons, and he’s rather distinctive. He’d been operating in Ul’dah longer than I’d lived there. People took notice of him. But I suppose I was thinking of … Carteneau.” “You were at Carteneau?” Zenos wondered. He laid his card, and flipped hers. “With my mother,” she said. “We were protecting them. The Archons’ levy.” She tossed another card onto the board. Zenos flipped that too, and she looked down in surprise to see that he’d tabled her. “You’re distracted,” he said, frowning. “We’ll stop for now, and resume tomorrow. I will see you tomorrow?” he asked. “You will,” Shasi promised.

He was right about her distraction, so Shasi sought focus the way she always did. The menagerie was a pleasant enough place for her sword drills: the late afternoon sun was warm but not cloying, and the breeze refreshed her. She could hear the rustle of leaves and the shuffle of her own feet as she moved through the forms. It required an exactitude of movement that meant her focus remained on her weapon. Nothing outside the reach of her sword existed.

So it was a surprise when Thancred stepped into the sphere of her world, turning her blade aside with one of his daggers. “What are you doing here?” she asked, advancing on him, sword at the ready. She struck, and the blow rang as he knocked it aside. “Urianger told me you’d asked for me. I hadn’t imagined it was to help you beat the Viceroy of Ala Mhigo at tarot.” “Triple Triad,” she corrected, taking a step back as he struck, a backhand sweep that made an arc of steel. “All the worse for you, from what I recall watching you play in the Seventh Heaven,” he laughed. She made a swipe with her sword that he caught, and the rasp of steel on steel rung down her blade, catching the rogue’s dagger in the cross guard of her sword. They were inches apart. Shasi reached out, grasping his forearm to hold it away from her body, the tip of his hunting knife kept from her flank as they struggled.

Her blue eyes locked to his—the one that was left him, the other secreted behind his blindfold. She could smell the leather of his garb, the sandalwood of his soap. With a twist of her hand, she forced him to give up his dagger, which fell to the grass beneath their feet. His hand, now freed, locked on her wrist in turn. He was taller than her, and should have had better leverage as they wrestled, but she set her shoulder against his chest and planted her feet.

“You never end it, when you could,” Thancred said. “I don’t know how to pull my blows when it’s magic instead,” she admitted, gritting her teeth. “And you don’t have any. It hardly seems fair.” “Don’t worry about fairness,” he said, and she felt his heel against her calf. Then her knee collapsed, and they fell to the ground, his knife and her sword clattering beside them.

The earth at her back was cool; his body was warmer, and she laughed. “Oh, they’ll sing songs about this for sure,” he said, pushing himself to his knees. “The day I put the Warrior of Light to her back.” Shasi’s face colored, and she quickly sat up so that she could drop her chin, looking down at his boots, watching him stand. He offered her a hand, and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet. He let go a moment later, looking back at the glass panels of the greenhouse.

Shasi followed the line of his gaze. Through the glare of the golden sun, she thought she saw a figure—Zenos—moving inside, as though stepping back from the window. “Has he given you anything?” Thancred asked, all the joviality robbed of his tone. “A bit,” Shasi said, dusting herself down. She flicked her ears, and Thancred leaned over to pick a blade of dried grass from her hair. “Mostly internal politics, but … they kept him ignorant of a lot. I suppose they were afraid of him developing his own agenda.” “He did anyway,” Thancred reminded her. “What about the Resonant? That was his project, one of the few we know about. Has he spoken of it to you?” “No,” Shasi said. “Only briefly.” “Find out what you can,” Thancred said. “Aulus mal Aesina’s research may not have died with him.”

So perhaps he had not come for her after all. “I’ll ask,” Shasi promised, stooping to retrieve her sword and return it to its keeping at her belt. “I’m supposed to produce a precis on it—and on the facility—for the council,” Thancred said. “So the more we know, the better.” “I’ll ask,” Shasi repeated, feeling suddenly distant from him. “He just … tells you things?” Thancred asked, seeming confused. “His thinking seems to be that I could come to know them anyway, thanks to the Echo, so he may as well disclose them and shortcut the whole process,” Shasi said. “At least then he has some semblance of agency in the telling.”

It struck her then how transgressive it was, to see into another’s soul at will. And, as Thancred shrugged, wishing her luck as he retreated from the sunlit lawn, she realized how paradoxically distant it had made her.

#tbtrm #x'shasi #zenos yae galvus #thancred waters #wol/zenos #original content #starcunning writes

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lokisgame · 7 years

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Between The Lines & Behind The Lines

It was a brisk March morning in Alexandria. A man in his thirties was running through still sleeping streets. The sun was rising and the sky was clear, a good Sunday ahead of him.

He took the stairs to his fourth floor apartment, the last stretch of his morning workout routine. He let himself in, flipped the switch on the waiting coffee machine, and headed for the bathroom to take a shower, undressing as he went.

Under the hot spray, he took care of the last part of the start of his day, the images in his head of tall, slender, dark haired women, willing and there.

He was alone at the moment, but that was about to change. His morning reading for today consisted of a undergraduate thesis by a young agent, who was soon to become his partner.

He was notified some time ago that he could expect his freedom to be curbed and his activities to be placed under surveillance and he wouldn't be himself if his curiosity didn't take the best of him and lead to a personal file waiting on his desk with a copy of said paper.

He got out of the shower and dressed in jeans and plain white t-shirt, towel drying his hair and skipping the shave. He has read the file before and started to form some idea about the woman inside his head. His profiler skills were useful in many ways.

Straight A student, two faculties in completely different areas of expertise, spoke of her thoroughness and diligence but also of courage in taking up new challenges. To switch from physics to medicine, was remarkable even by his standards, especially giving that her grades in both disciplines were far above average.

Why someone so obviously brilliant would agree to be sent into the basement to poke around cold cases? Why were they wasting her talents on him? The easiest reason, the lazy assumption, would be that she's a teachers pet and might want to use him as a stepping stone for her career, a chance to win favor with her superiors by destroying the FBI's most unwanted. On the other hand, she might be an obedient doe who's afraid to say no to anyone, and got herself manipulated into accepting a dead end job, following orders without a fight, as would be expected from a navy captain's daughter. Possible, but unlikely. There was also the matter of her varied interests, to be great at everything she touched looked kind of suspicious to him. Her Midas touch seemed a little too heavy-handed to be real.

He stirred the scrambled eggs in the pan pondering the possibilities. Cold blooded career woman, or maybe gray mouse slash book worm better suited for lab, or autopsy bay in her case, than field work. He poured himself some coffee (black, no sugar) and dug into his breakfast, looking through the personal file.

His thoughts drifted around the bio as he studied the picture of a pretty young woman, slender and fair skinned, with shoulder length red hair, possibly of Irish descendant, a hair over 5 feet tall. Not a winning combination for a field agent, even if the results of her physical evaluation where as spotless as everything else about her. Well, maybe except her face with the cute little mole above her lip, he loved that. The picture, being a simple portrait used probably for her badge, didn't say much about her. Her face was a mask of detached professionalism, devoid of any clues about her character. Unless she was truly a cold hearted bitch which was highly doubtful, or so he hoped at least. He had enough of those for the time being. Dana, sounded awfully like Diana to him, like a cruel joke from the people above pulling the strings. He pushed away those thoughts from his mind to keep himself from projecting any feelings he might still have. That chapter was over but he made a mental note to keep a safe distance anyway, for the time being, just in case.

He finished his food, too lost in his thoughts to really taste anything, left the dishes in the sink and took the coffee with him into the living room to start on her thesis. His plan being to try to decipher some things about her character from it. The title was surely intriguing, especially giving the young age of the person who wrote it. Yes, he had some more recent articles written by her for various medical journals, but it was a too bright a morning and he was in mood for a lighter reading.

He sat on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table, Elvis was playing quietly on the radio in the kitchen, and immersed himself in Dana Kathrine Scully's interpretation of Einstein's Twin Paradox theory.

An hour later, his coffee has gone cold and his smile grew warm. He warmed up to her with each page he read. The person who wrote that, deserved the benefit of the doubt at least. His eyes drifted back to the picture of her. Her eyes seemed warmer and her lips had a slight upward curve that he couldn't believe he did not notice before. No cold hearted bitch here.

"Well Scully, we'll see if we can put your talents to good use" he said to himself and went back to the first page, smiling as he started to read again.

"Although common sense may rule out the possibility of time travel, the laws of quantum physics certainly do not."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was a warm June morning in Alexandria. A man in his late thirties was running through the empty streets of a still sleeping town. He took the stairs to his fourth floor apartment and quietly let himself in. He passed through the kitchen and started on coffee, then headed for the bathroom to take a shower, undressing as he went.

A woman was sleeping peacefully in his bed, just as he left her. She laid on her side, hugging a pillow, the sheet slipped low down her back revealing planes of cream colored skin dotted with freckles, perfect in her imperfections. Real.

He shut the door quietly, careful not to wake her, and took a quick shower, then shaved. Dressed in a clean pair of sweats and a towel around his neck, keeping as quiet as possible, he made them coffee. Black no sugar for himself, skim milk no sugar for her.

He set the mugs on the bedside table, leaned over her and kiss her cheek softly.

"Good morning Agent" he whispered sitting behind her, watching a slow smile spread across her face. Her skin looked radiant in the morning sun, free of makeup and professional masks. This was her true self, her most vulnerable and intimate face. This was how he saw her. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and watched her blink her eyes open.

"Good morning" her voice soft and heavy with sleep "what time is it?"

"It's Sunday" he replied vaguely, because to him the time was now, this moment was all that mattered. He waited for this moment for years. Her eyes focused on him, taking in his fresh appearance.

"You started without me" she smiled and sat up, stretching her arms above her head, gloriously naked.

An hour later, she was back in bed, dressed in his t-shirt, with her head resting against his lap. He sat with a pillow behind his back, reading a book about black holes of all things. The radio on his night stand was set to some late 60's rock station. She played with the fingers of his right hand, abandoned medical journal laying beside her. She was reading the titles of the books on the shelf above the headboard instead, searching for something lighter to read. One slim unmarked volume caught her eye. It's size made it stand out, the spine looked well worn, clear evidence of being read many times over. She reached for it, trying to slip it from under thick volumes filled with alien abduction accounts and theories. He reached out to help her without looking up, keeping the books from falling on her head.

She read the title on the cover and stared at him upside down.

"Mulder"

"Hmmm?" He glanced at what she found and a faint blush colored his face.

"Why do you still have this?" She asked, noticing the dog eared pages and underlined paragraphs.

"Because you wrote it?" His tone was hesitant, as if unsure what was it exactly she was asking.

"How many times have you read it?" She went back to the first page and ran her fingers over the first, underlined sentence.

"A couple times" he replied noncommittally, but she saw right through him. He most likely knew it by heart at this point.

"At least, from the look of it, I would say." She caught his eye and smiled at him warmly. That must have been one of the sweetest things about him. Those little gestures that spoke volumes about his caring nature, sweeter still since he usually was a major pain in everyone's ass.

"That was years ago" he shrugged returning to his reading, the sun reflecting of his reading glasses as he did. "It's a good read."

"Oh really" she sat up and moved to straddle his hips "I thought that in your line of work the laws of physics rarely applied" she teased wrapping her arms around his neck. He put down the book on the night stand, face down to mark where he finished.

"Who said I read it for the science?" She smiled and took off his glasses, placing them on top of her head, after all the years together they could share even that.

"What else would you read it for?" His hands found their way under the t-shirt, circling her hips, caressing her waist.

"To learn" he pulled her closer, "I've learned a great deal from it" his palms fitted her body as if they were made for her.

"About what?" She leaned in and kissed his cheek, following a path up to his temple, his arms closed around her, holding her as he surrendered.

"About you" he had a hard time focusing on his point as she ran her fingers through his hair, leaving kisses wherever she went "about myself."

"Yourself?" Her tone disbelieving, her breath tickling the side of his neck

"Yeah, you made me realize what a lousy profiler I am" he pulled her down and laced his fingers through hers "you disproved almost every theory I had about you inside the first two days."

"And how did you feel about that?" She rolled her hips against his, kissing his shoulder and trying to stay on top of him, feeling him grow hard and thoroughly enjoying it.

"Happy" he grunted as she forced him to keep still with the weight of her body, flexing against him "a little surprised" she bit on his shoulder then soothed it with a kiss "and turned on as hell" his voice was rough and strained from fighting the urge to take charge, from forcing himself to surrender to her.

Her lips found his and the fight left him. She let go of his hands only to pull down his sweats and guide him inside her. After that is was only them, grinding and kissing and meeting half way. She gasped, he groaned and the world shrunk for a moment into a pinpoint of light. Time passed by without touching them.

She rested on his chest for a long moment, releasing his hands, letting him wrap his arms around her. She listened to his heart as his hands roamed lazyly over her back. He usually liked to follow up on their conversations in moments like that.

"Do you still believe it's possible?"

"What is?"

"Time travel" he chuckled "what would you tell your younger self, once she came back?"

"I don't know" she moved to slip off him, but stayed in his embrace "maybe I'd tell her to not get on that plane? To live in the moment"

"Wise words my friend" he kissed her forehead then the palm of her hand.

"Whichever of us has you, I want to be her."

"I don't think I would let you get on that plane anyway."

"I wouldn't think about going without you. What good is an eternity, future or past, if it's filled with loneliness."

"You say the sweetest things Scully."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"It's my heart that I'm worried about."

"No need to worry about that either" she snuggled closer and her breath tickled his chest. "Let me sleep for a bit"

"Whatever you say."

The radio played quietly in the background and he returned to his reading as she slept.

#msr fanfic #x files fanfic #originally posted on AO3 #because I want happy things #behind the lines #between the lines

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lilibug--xx · 7 years

Text

Black Cherry Chutney

alright everyone, here’s the whole thing! i hope you guys like it! it gets a little dark for Bughead here. once again, based on the prompt provided by @cooperbettycooper over on @bughead-fanfic-wishlist

It’s also up on ao3 - http://archiveofourown.org/works/12312234

it also makes me anxious to post this, as it’s out of writing comfort zone, but i’m proud of myself. mentions of blood and knives, so be warned.

Tell me something, what do you think Betty Cooper has to hide? She’s got a 4.0 GPA, is a cheerleader, editor of the school newspaper, tutors other students 2 days a week, and is always home by curfew. She’s always careful, too careful. Curious? So is Jughead.

In a world where blood runs white and darkens with each sin, only time will tell who runs with the devil.

He sat at his booth at Pop’s, laptop opened to a blank word document. He stared at the screen, fingers poised above the keys. The sounds of the dinner behind him, low and barely registering as he zoned out. Why couldn’t he think? Why couldn’t he get the words out? There was this frustration that was bubbling up inside him, hot and clawing it’s way up his throat. His hands slammed against the table, a resounding ‘smack’ ringing out and causing a burst of silence around him. He only brought a fist to his lips, holding back the curses he wanted to scream at everyone who had turned to stare at him.

“Everything okay?” a voice sweet as sugar. He wanted to groan.

“Yes, Betty. Everything’s just fine.” His tone was short, words clipped in anger as he stared defiantly out the window, not looking at her. He heard her sigh and he waited for her to walk away. She was still standing close to the table because he could still smell her. She was always this alluring combination of vanilla and honeysuckle that clouded his brain like a thick fog billowing out, drowning him. He fucking loved it.

Instead of leaving, he heard the squelch of the vinyl booth as she sat down. Not across from him, but rather, right next to him. She was close enough that their arms were brushing and he could feel her bare skin ghost across his – it was too hot out to wear anything more than a t-shirt. A shiver ran down his spine, gooseflesh rising on his arm. Shifting slightly away from her he put his arms back on the table, closing his laptop and staring ahead towards the booth in front of him at the back of some woman’s head.

Her fingers closed around one of his hands, small warm fingers squeezing.

“Jughead,” her voice was close to his ear and he didn’t dare turn his head.

“Yes, Betty?” he questioned, voice aloof as he waited for her to say her peace and then leave.

“I’m worried about you,” he scoffed at her words. When had she ever really paid attention to him? How could she be worried about someone she didn’t really know?

“You haven’t been at school for three days,” her voice was soft, like a whisper blowing in the breeze.

“Did you just come here to state facts Betty? Or was there a purpose to this little visit..” He trailed off, lips pursing tightly. The hand that wasn’t under her grasp tightening where he had pulled it down to his thigh, fingers digging into the muscle.

“I came here because I saw you this morning, at Sweetwater River.” There was something in his throat that he was trying not to choke on. She had seen him?

“I told you, I was worried about you. Archie had said something about how you’d been going down there lately. And when you hadn’t come to school for the second day in a row I thought something might be wrong.” Oh Archie, you idiot.

“So you took it upon yourself to try and do something about which you have no control over?” he couldn’t help how sharp his words were, biting through the air like a knife. He heard her slump back into the booth, the red vinyl squeaking from the press of her back.

“Jug, I can’t worry about my friend?”

“No, Betty, you can’t. Because we’re not friends.” That probably wasn’t an accurate statement, but Jughead was trying to be mean on purpose now.

“I’m serious Jughead. Stop trying to push me away!” she hissed at him, her voice against his ear as her fingers pinched the skin of his hand causing a bite of pain to flame up. He yanked his hand away, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Listen to me, Jughead.” Her voice demanded attention and he barely turned his head, the piercing green of her wide eyes at the corner of his vision.

“I understand what you were doing there. You shouldn’t be skipping school though,” he wasn’t expecting her to say that, not really. Well, maybe the skipping school part.

“It’s not like anyone cares, Betty.”

“I care.” He rolled his eyes at her.

“Whatever, Betty. Are we done here? I promise I won’t skip school to go down to Sweetwater River anymore.” Jughead couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. Maybe he hadn’t decided yet. He couldn’t help the twinge in his chest at her declaration. He could have sworn she only had Archie-vision.

“You better be at school tomorrow. I didn’t skip today for this to be for nothing, okay? I mean it. Go to Sweetwater River after school if you have to.” She scooted out of the booth, her shoulder knocking into his briefly as she turned. He looked over at her, his eyes glancing to her hands where they were clenched into tight fists. She left like that and he watched her out the window as she stomped to her car, eventually leaving.

However, he would never know that when Betty got to her car and uncurled her fists that the blood she had brought to the surface with her nails was a deep, rich red. The color of sin.

He of course, couldn’t keep his promise to Betty. Monday morning he was back at Sweetwater River.

In the beginning he wasn’t sure why he came down here, but then he had found this little wooden shed in the forest. He had watched it for a while, no one seeming to come around it. It was close enough to the river that he could see it out the small window inside. Just slightly larger than where he used to sleep at the projection booth at the drive in last year and just a bit smaller than his room at his dad’s trailer.

He had made it his little home away from hell. Sleeping bag tucked into the corner, small camp stove, extra propane, a cooler, lantern, and a big charging brick for his laptop, phone, and a fan he used for these warmer months. He charged his things at school or when he was actually at the trailer. His personal stuff was strewn about the small space in a manner that he found pleasing, with a single picture of himself and his sister that he had been carrying around forever.

Jughead was ill at ease knowing Betty must have seen him come here. Had been watching him. Did she believe him when they had talked Friday afternoon or was she watching him right now? His lips turned down into a frown, looking out the small window. Archie must have told her where exactly he was, what a bro, dude. He hadn’t seen anything out the window but trees, grass, leaves, the squirrel that skidded across the dirt.

He got down to the floorboards, pulling a pocket knife from his jean pocket and flipped the knife out. He looked at the blade briefly before using it to pry up one of the boards closer to the window. From the space in the floor he pulled out a rectangular metal box with a lock on it. He dialed in the combination and popped the lid.

Jughead was no angel.

He ran his fingers over the items in the box. All things he had nicked from people around town, his friends even. All precious things to people, some valuable and others only sentimental. Rings, necklaces, a compact, a hair comb, watches, a set of cufflinks, an iPod, bottles of pills, an engraved lighter. The pearl necklace and spider broach he had were his favorites. The look on Cheryl’s face when it had gone missing was priceless. She had drove him up a wall with everything she tried in order to find out who had taken it. He knew it was worth a lot of money, but he would only sell it if he was desperate. It was fun, challenging to have his eye catch something that might be missed, to figure out a way to get it. It wasn’t super hard, when everyone thought you were invisible.

Except for Betty fucking Cooper.

He ground his teeth together tightly, fist slamming into the wood of the wall next to him. He couldn’t believe the nerve of that girl. Why did she care? He certainly wasn’t making it easy. Did she just like a challenge as much as he did?

Jughead licked his lips, thinking of her briefly. She had always been around, chasing after Archie. Perfect girl next door, Betty. Baked cookies for everyone’s birthday Betty. Cheerleader and student mentor, perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect smile Betty. What was wrong with her? He wondered what color her blood was. Would it be red like his? Or white as snow? Maybe she was the color of bubblegum, sweet and pink, just starting to turn the corner.

He ran the blade of the knife over the pad of his thumb, catching the skin with the tip and slicing a shallow line. He stared down at the red line that appeared, the color he equated it to would be that of red brick. He still had a ways to go before he reached the end of the line. He had figured, why stop? There was only so far he could go and he wanted to see what that was.

Sticking his thumb between his lips he licked the blood drop that had welled up, the copper tang sharp on his tongue before mellowing. The taste was different as well. His blood had started to get much sweeter and more sticky as the color changed. He remembered the first time he saw his blood – a nose bleed after being knocked in the face with a ball at recess many moons ago. It had been the color of antique lace, surprising his mother. He supposed the other children had still been purely white. Was that part of why she left?

He tucked the box back underneath the floor, slipping the board back in place and lying on his sleeping bag, one arm up behind his head. His beanie lay next to him. The hat combined with his thick, dark hair made him uncomfortable as they approached summer. He still wore it out, but here in his little shed he lay without it. The coolness from the woods seeping through the floorboards and just taking away the edge of heat that made him sweat.

Jughead closed his eyes, slowing his breathing as he tried find some peace in the quiet he had built here. He could hear the birds outside and quiet rushing of the river in the background. So different to his life at home with his father, the perpetual garbage dumpster for empty alcohol bottles and remnants of cocaine dust. He hoped his father overdosed and died.

Okay, that was a little too dark Jughead. He just wished for a different life with a different family. One that involved loving parents and opportunity to do something with his life. He tried to imagine what it would be like but always came up with pictures of other people’s families, ones he knew that still had problems. No body was perfect though. He sighed, turning his cheek to the silky satin of the sleeping bag.

He dreamt of a river that looked to be made of blood, rushing red waters. It was reminiscent of Sweetwater River, wide and tumultuous with jagged rocks and bends in the line it ran through the woods. The rocks that lined it were stained black, like little pieces of coal. There was someone floating on their back, hands ghosting across the top of water as they drifted down the current. They were naked, pale skin shining in the moonlight that overcast the trees. He could tell it was a woman, soft and curvy.

A crow screeched over head and he turned to look at it, realizing he’d been standing on the bank of the river. The large black crow had three eyes, and it stared at him before tilting its head at an odd angle. He felt something crawl up his spine, little tingles pressing along his vertebrae. The crow cawed at him before diving towards the woman floating in the river.

He stepped forward, to call out to her in warning but nothing came from his throat. His bare feet touched the red water, realizing it was indeed blood. His toes squishing in the mix of sand and blood, sticky and wet. He looked up from his feet, the woman and crow gone. Gazing around, he saw nothing but the trees.

He turned around to leave the river and was met with the woman. He stepped backwards, up to his ankles in the blood. Her skin was stained red, like someone had taken a brush and painted her, then let it dry. Jughead’s eyes glanced the rest of her body briefly, taking in her curves. His breathing got heavy as he drug his eyes away from her breasts. Her hair was red too, but only because the blonde hairs had soaked up the color as well. Green eyes stared at him and he at her. Her hand reached out to him, fingers coming up to graze his chest which he realized was bare.

She slid her hand from his chest up to his neck before her eyes turned black and a terrible scream came from her mouth. Black blood spilled out over her lips, running all down her throat, thick and foamy. Her hand suddenly clenching around his throat, compressing his windpipe with her thumb, the pressure bordering deadly.

He couldn’t bring his hands to move, they were glued to his sides as the woman advanced, stepping into him. She tilted her head, drawing her other hand up to cup his face as she brought herself closer, as if to kiss him. His heart was beating erratically in his chest, and despite the fear of her hand around his throat, he was excited.

He never got her kiss. Instead a loud clack of thunder booming through the air woke him.

Jughead brought his hand from behind his head and bit the knuckle of his index finger, pain searing through him. He released his finger, hand falling down with a sigh. He could never have anything nice. Things were prone to being ripped away from him.

He shuffled to his feet, looking out the window to see that it had turned dark and stormy. The cloud cover and mist making it seem much later than 6pm. He saw a strike of lighting flash across the sky, bright white against dark grey, the thunder booming only a second after. It must have been fairly close.

The air had cooled significantly, and he was thankful that he wouldn’t have to use his fan tonight. He was actually going to go to school tomorrow, just so he could see the look on Betty’s face. He wondered how disappointed she must have been, with him missing again today. He chuckled lightly to himself, he could almost imagine her green eyes filled with sadness.

Suddenly, there was a gentle rapping on the wooden door.

“Fuck,” he swore, looking to the door with confusion. Only two people knew about him coming here and he knew that it wasn’t Archie knocking like that.

He ripped open the door about to tear Betty apart, harsh words that died on the tip of his tongue when he saw her. She was standing there soaking wet; tendrils of hair dripping, nose red, and shoulders shaking. The white blouse she was wearing clinging to her like a second skin, giving him a good show of the baby blue bra she had on underneath. She was wearing rain boots on over her jeans though, so she must have known it was going to rain. Where was her fucking rain coat? His eyes flashed dangerously, arm reaching out and yanking her inside without saying anything. She yelped, but didn’t fight his grip on her arm.

Jughead slammed the door shut, turning to look at her. “What the fuck are you doing here Betty?” he growled, stepping closer to her. She backed up as far as she could, which was only a couple of steps, her back hitting the wall by the window. She whimpered, the sound doing wicked things to him.

She straightened up though, fixing him with a stern look, despite looking as helpless as a drowned rat. “I’m sorry Jughead, but I told you I was worried. And you promised me.” She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing his attention down once more. He flicked his eyes back up to hers, the green causing him a sense of Deja vu.

“Betty,” he started, stepping closer to her again. He raised his arms up to press against the wooden wall, hands on either side of her head as he leaned down. “Everything is fine. So stop fucking worrying.”

She was looking up at him, frown on her face and a small wrinkle in between her eyebrows. His fingers twitched, wanting to take his thumb and smooth out her skin, tell her that frowning wasn’t pretty. He almost laughed.

She scoffed, her arms dropping from her chest to her sides, hands curling into tight fists. “I only came here because of the rain. I got caught in it while out, so why not check up on you and get dry? Kill two birds with one stone.” He assessed her words, trying to figure her purpose. If he wasn’t the reason for coming out here, what had she been doing? He pondered, curious as to what she’d been up to in the woods around Sweetwater River. Her voice brought him back from the bubble he had slipped into.

“It’s not like I’m enjoying this, you’re always an asshole to me. Why would I want to spend time with you when all you do is hurt me? I’m just checking to make sure you’re alive.” Betty arched a brow at him, challenging him to a duel. She wouldn’t win this.

“Betts, I have barely touched you. You don’t even know what I could do,” he breathed into her ear, voice low, breath hot. He was thinking both physically and emotionally here. He was pretty rude the other day, but she kept coming back. Part of her liked him, liked this dynamic they had or she really wouldn’t be here right now. His heart beat faster, mixed feelings swirling in his gut.

Jughead felt her small tremble, their chests just barely touching. He could feel her nipples through her bra and shirt, they were hard against his chest. Smirking, he backed up from her, his arms dropping back down, shifting to lean against the wall across from her.

“If your going to get dry, you might want to get out of those clothes.” He was surprising himself today. Her eyes widened at him, his own catching the small quiver in her lower lip.

Running a hand through his hair, he froze. His beanie was lying on the floor to his left and he sighed. Fuck it. Twirling the curl that was dangling in front of his vision he motioned with his hand for her to go on. He was sure that Betty would shove past him, give him the finger, anything but actually take her clothes off. So he was actually impressed when she pulled her rain boots off, tossing them to the floor where his black boots were sitting. Her bare toes were touching the wood floor, her toenails a dark purple. He flicked his eyes up, watching as she slid her backpack from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Her hands started unbuttoning her shirt, having to peel the wet material from her skin. Once it was off she wrung it out right there, water hitting the floor. His eyes darkened, roaming over the new skin he’d only seen briefly when they had gone swimming together in the past. She hung her shirt over the little desk chair that made up the only furniture besides the desk, in the room. She started wiggling out of her jeans, his eyebrows rising as her lacy blue underwear were revealed. She had great fucking legs. He wasn’t immune to her beauty or her short cheerleading skirts and shorts.

“Can I at least borrow a shirt?” she said, tossing her pants over the desk and spreading them out to dry. He stayed quiet for a moment, drinking her in, she was standing there in only her underwear after all. Then he was reaching up and pulling the grey t-shirt he was wearing off, holding the fabric out to her. She took it from him, their fingers brushing, lingering too long. Betty slipped it on over her head, the hem falling above the middle of her thighs.

Jughead now only stood in his black jeans, slung low on his hips. Her eyes trailed his chest, slipping further down. His smirk was growing and he cleared his throat, her eyes shooting back up. She looked embarrassed, glancing away. She pulled her bag up off the floor, setting it on the desk and riffling through it. He came up behind her, leaning over her shoulder and catching a glimpse of what looked like black hair before she was closing the zipper and holding out a pack of twizzlers to him. He raised an eyebrow but took the package, lowering himself down to his sleeping bag to stretch out.

Betty shuffled in place, trying to decide what to do. He was content watching her as he was getting a nice eyeful of her ass cheeks due to the high cut of her underwear, they were pretty much all lace. But she decided to sit herself down across from him, by his feet. Her legs were pulled up to her chest, an arm wrapping around them as she held her other hand out.

He munched on a twizzler, pretending not to notice her reaching hand. He was a little distracted by the view of her crossed legs, the glimpse of blue lace haunting his gaze. She let out a frustrated whine, “Juggie,” she waved her hand around, frown marring her features again.

“Yeah?”

“Give me a fucking twizzler.” her tone was clipped and his stomach clenched at her cursing, the sound hot in his ears.

“What’s the magic word, Betty?”

“Please, Juggie.” Oh that voice did things to him, low and breathy, sounding like sin itself. He wanted to hear it again and again. He only passed a twizzler over to her though. “Good girl,” He praised with a wink. Color filled her cheeks at that, and he caught the subtle movement of her thighs tightening together and he chewed the inside of his cheek. It was in vain, as he spoke anyway.

“You got a praise kink Betty?” he questioned, head tilting to the side. He watched her choke on the twizzler she had in her mouth, hand coming up from her legs to her touch her throat.

“Excuse me?”

“I said—”

“I know what you said!” she huffed, glaring at him. He just smirked at her, throwing the pack of twizzlers towards his camp stove and clicking the light of his lantern on, bathing them in a soft glow of light as it was getting hard to see her pretty pink cheeks.

“I don’t have a praise kink,” she said resolutely. She was a fucking liar.

Jughead threw his head back, raising up on his elbows to look at her better. “Betty. You’re such a good girl, always perfect for me.” He groaned, voice dropping down, low and husky. He watched her carefully, the way her eyes darkened and the movement of her knees pressing tighter together. He laughed at her and she blushed a brighter red.

“You’re wet right now, I know you are.”

She whimpered slightly and his jeans were unbelievably tight now.

“Maybe I am, so what?” she finally plucked up some courage.

“Have you ever been touched Betty?” he licked his lips, eyes trained on her. She shook her head, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “Come here,” he jerked his head, motioning her over. He sat up as she crawled over to him shyly. He pulled on her wrist, yanking her forward to fall into him. She shuddered, her hands clasping his shoulders. Jughead captured her lips in a bruising kiss, arms tight on her waist. Their teeth clashed together and he adjusted his angle, the push and pull of their lips finding a rhythm eventually. He bit down on her bottom lip, almost hard enough to draw blood but she tore her mouth away from him panting as she leaned her cheek over his shoulder.

“Be a good girl and lay face down for me Betty,” he said pushing her from between his legs. She nodded at his words, lips swollen. She lay down with her arms tucked under her chin, biting her lip again.

He hovered above her on his knees before drawing the scrap of blue lace down her thighs and stuffing it in the pocket of his jeans. His hands cupped her bottom, massaging gently before he drew one hand back and gave her a hard slap to her right ass cheek. She jolted forward a little, but her hips snapped up, a groan leaving her lips. Jughead licked his lips again before popping the button of his jeans and pulling his zipper down to relieve the pressure. He smacked her again, grinding his hips down against her ass this time as she snapped back, seeking friction. He leant down, buried his nose into her wet hair, the scent of vanilla and honeysuckle cloying and pulling him into a haze.

Fisting a hand in her hair he shoved Betty’s head down, cheek pressed against satin of his sleeping bag. She was panting, her cheeks flushed and eyes tightly closed. He nibbled on her earlobe, causing a shiver to run down her spine, back arching in response. Pulling back, he slid his other hand from her hip down to her pussy, sliding through her wetness with a growl leaving his lips. “You’re fucking soaked for me Betty,” he slipped his hand through her folds easily, rubbing up and down, fingers searching for what made her breath hitch the most. Jughead circled her clit with two fingers, rubbing gently as she writhed into the floor below him.

He knew this wasn’t going to take long.

He rubbed around her clit some more, pinching it gently before pulling his hand back and diving two fingers inside of her. She was a virgin, that was for sure. Her tight heat like a vice around his fingers, but she accepted him easily enough with how wet she was. She was a moaning mess underneath him, hands clenching and unclenching the material of his sleeping bag. “God, Juggie, please,”

He slid his fingers out of her and she gasped at the sudden empty feeling. “Please what, Betty?” he asked, fingers barely touching her clit now. She had to catch her breath and he tugged sharply on the hair in his fist, bringing her head up as he kissed her neck. “Say it.” He demanded.

“Fuck me with your fingers, Juggie.” She let out in a gasp, almost chocking on the words. He smirked, grinding his cock down against her ass, her hips pushing back against him as he did so.

“Is that all?” he questioned, breath hot on her ear as he blew the words. She shuddered beneath him, thighs tight together. “Please, make me cum.” She breathed, voice low and quiet, lips trembling.

Jughead relented, “That’s my good girl,” sliding his fingers back into her quickly, a squeal from her lips meeting his ears. He let go of Betty’s hair with his hand to hold her hips down as he pumped his fingers in and out of her. She was grinding against his sleeping bag, chanting his name over and over. He could feel her tightening around his fingers, muscles clenching inside, her thighs quivering. He brought his other hand around her hips, sliding between the sleeping bag and her body, fingers finding her clit and rubbing slowly. He could feel her shaking now and he pressed to back of her neck, she was sticky with sweat.

He bucked his own hips against her ass, cock grinding to find some of his own relief. He grit his teeth, chocking out a groan. “Come on, Betts,”

Jughead pressed against the front wall of her pussy as he pumped his fingers faster. She finally shattered when he pinched her clit again, letting out a wail, his name continuing to tumble from her lips. He pulled his hands away from her, her hips falling to the floor as he put his hand covered in her slick around his cock, bringing it out and pumping himself up and down. It didn’t take him long before he was moaning her name and emptying himself against her ass. She was still catching her breath when he tucked himself back into his jeans, doing the button and zipper back up.

Swiping his fingers across the mess he’d made of her bottom, he gathered up most of his cum across his index and middle fingers. He pulled back on Betty’s hair, bringing her face up in the air as he held his fingers in front of her lips. “Let’s get you cleaned up now,” he nodded to his fingers and her dark eyes darted up to his before she parted her lips. He dipped his fingers inside her mouth, her tongue swirling over them. She moaned, the hum carrying all through her body and making him buzz at each point they were connected. Fuck. He was going to get hard again.

When Jason Blossom was revealed to be missing the next morning, he wasn’t sure what he should think. Good riddance, was his immediate thought and he decided after a little deliberation that it was a good statement and he’d stick by it. The fact that the last place Jason had been seen by Cheryl, his twin sister, was Sweetwater River yesterday afternoon, was another thing entirely. He really wasn’t sure what to make of that.

The memory of Betty last night came to the forefront of his mind then. Her hair and clothes dripping wet from the torrential downpour of the thunderstorm that had been raging. Her hands had been shaking and at first he thought she must have been cold but he remembers touching her arm and she had been surprisingly warm. She never said what she was really doing out in the woods when she got caught in the rain. She mentioned coming to him because of the rain.

Thoughts swirling in his head made him space out all day in school. Not that there was much going on, things were tense for the students and the teachers seemed to be giving everyone a free pass. You’d be interested to know that this has happened before, a student going missing. About six months ago, the beginning of their junior year, Chuck Clayton disappeared after the homecoming dance. Everyone had seen him at Veronica Lodge’s party hooking up with Ethyl Muggs – the poor girl. Chuck wasn’t a saint; he had blood the color of a red delicious apple and didn’t care who knew it. He used and abused girls. Jughead hadn’t batted an eye when that cocky ass jock never showed up to school again.

But now Jason too? It was interesting, that’s for sure. He had been dating Polly Cooper, Betty’s older sister. They were only a year apart, and seemed very close. He remembered seeing Polly crying into the shoulder of another girl this morning. Betty didn’t look terribly upset, but then again she wasn’t dating him. Jughead just watched Betty from afar.

The way she bit her pencil between her teeth, the adjustment of her ponytail every 30 minutes, the way she kept looking at the clock, her fingers clenching into fists and the way she always checked her hands when she caught herself doing it. They hadn’t spoken since she left yesterday, his shirt still covering her. Her blue underwear was tucked into this metal box at home, and now he had a new prize in mind. More of Betty’s underwear, and also her virginity. He felt like she’d willingly give both up though, so it wasn’t really a challenge but a ‘how can I make this interesting?’ thing now. He wondered how dark his blood could get from the wicked things he wanted to do to her.

They were currently in their creative liberty period – basically a fuck off class. Some people did art, some people did homework, Jughead liked to work on his novel, Betty did a multitude of things. Today she was organizing some big binder for the Blue and Gold, article clippings, flyers and the like. He heard her curse under her breath and looked across the table at her. She was holding her thumb between her lips. His eyes narrowed, flashing back to the way she had sucked his own fingers yesterday. He opened his mouth the say something but decided against it, too many other ears.

“Ugh, I hate paper cuts.” She muttered, still sucking on her thumb. He raised an eyebrow, going back go his typing. He watched her carefully, as her thumb finally lowered. He could see the faint line of the cut, just a slit in the skin, the flesh around it pale from where she had been suckling it. He was disappointed, he wanted to see what color her blood was. He flicked his eyes up to her face for a moment and then back down to his laptop.

What?

He brought his eyes back up, her lower lip seemed more red. Had she been wearing lipstick today? He couldn’t remember. He gazed at her lips intently. Where they always that red or was he being paranoid? They looked red, her bottom lip like the color of a dark strawberry. He blinked, bringing a hand to his own lips, rubbing over them.

“Betty?”

“Yeah, Juggie?” she answered without looking up.

“My sister is getting really into makeup lately. Her birthday is coming up and I thought I’d get her something.“ He threw a shrug in there for effect, but she hasn’t really looked up for more than a second. “Any recommendations?”

“Hmm, I would say the easiest thing to buy would be a tube of lipstick.” Well that was easy. That must be her favorite makeup item.

“Oh, okay. Any color recs?” he hmm’d, backspacing a bunch of nothing on his laptop as he pretended to sound only mildly interested. He tapped his lower lip in thought, watching as she seemed to stop what she was doing this time.

“She has dark hair, like yours right?” Jughead nodded. “Then I would go with something dark, maybe a merlot, raisin, or cinnamon spice color.” She said tapping her lip in thought.

“What color are you wearing today?” he asked, tilting his head. Now or never.

“Oh, I’m wearing precious peach, silly. It’s way too light for her.” Bingo. He rolled his eyes, giving a shrug of his shoulders. “Right, duh. Thanks. Maybe I’ll go with cinnamon, that’s sounds spicy like her. She can be a firecracker.” He nodded to himself, reaching a hand up and sweeping a loose curl away, tucking the edge back up into his beanie.

Betty smiled at him, returning to her work. Jughead eyed her lips again, wondering if her blood was really dark enough to turn her lip that color. He imagined himself buying her lip, hard, and seeing the darkness spread across her lip.

Betty fucking Cooper.

He had never been more attracted to her, and just yesterday he had his fingers inside her, his name rolling off her tongue as she came. He closed his eyes, had to steady his breathing. He was sitting in Pop’s, he couldn’t do this here. Peeking an eye open, he watched Betty sip on a strawberry milkshake, laughing with Veronica a couple booths down. How was he going to do this? He needed to think. He was having trouble with that because he kept imaging smearing his blood across Betty’s lips and watching as she licked his cock. Shit.

Jughead shut his laptop, giving up on the pretense of working. He tugged on his beanie, glancing over to Betty and Veronica again. He was going crazy.

He stood up, throwing a couple dollars down for the shake he had devoured and left the diner. He decided he would just break into her fucking house later. That would be interesting. He grinned wickedly to himself as he walked back to his dad’s trailer to gather what he needed.

Later, he would find that the Coppers made it ridiculously easy to get into their house. He found the basement window to be unlocked and easily slipped inside. He had actually been inside enough to know where Betty’s room was and how best to get there as quietly as he could.

When he got to her room he flipped the lock on the door, his eyes gazing to her bed and find her curled on her side. He look around the rest of her room, eyes landing on the backpack she had with her at the shed and he couldn’t help but look inside. He found the black hair he had seen the other night. Turns out it was a short black wig, cut into a bob hairstyle. He whistled quietly, low-key wanting to see her wear it. He also found a thing of rope, a knife similar to his, another bag of fucking twizzlers, and a bottle of sleeping pills. He looked at everything, trying to fit the pieces of this puzzle together.

Jughead probably stood there for a solid five minutes, thinking, before his hand tightened in the wig. He dropped it to the floor, looking over at Betty laying on the bed. The sheets drawn down due to the heat. She seemed to only be wearing the shirt she had stolen from him. He climbed over her on the bed, settling himself above her, poised to sit down on her thighs to hold her in place.

He pulled his knife from his pocket along with the pair of Betty’s underwear he had kept the other day. He drug the knife up her thigh, pressing down lightly. He had just pressed the tip of the knife down when she stirred, eyes flying open and he slapped a hand over her mouth, shoving the lace of her panties in. Her eyes widened impossibly looking at him until she realized it was him and she relaxed slightly until she felt the bite of the knife at her thigh again. Then she really started struggling, trying to wiggle away from him, eyes watering as she threatened to cry.

“Betty, baby, come on. I’m not really trying to hurt you. Stay still,” he hissed at her, hands clutching at her shoulder as his legs trapped her between his, hips pressing down on her thighs. She was still struggling, begging around her gag and shaking her head. He rolled his eyes at her. “I know Betty.” He said slowly, taking the knife up to her belly where his shirt had ridden up. “I know your dirty little secret. And I think it’s so fucking hot I can’t stand it,” she froze at his words, looking up at him, eyes glistening. He pulled the underwear from her mouth, her lips staying parted with just her ragged breathing coming from them.

Jughead pricked his thumb with the knife, drawing a bead of berry colored blood on the tip. He held it up for her to see. “We’re the same, Betty.” He said, sticking his thumb between her lips and grazing her tongue with his thumb. He felt her shiver as the drop touched her tongue. She fell limp to the bed, all her muscles that were tense relaxing, her fight seeming to be gone. Oh Betty. It seemed she was really torn up about this.

“I killed Chuck Clayton,” her voice was low and rough and sent shivers up his spine. He looked down at her incredulous. She what? He hadn’t actually expected those exact words to come from her lips. He didn’t expect her to admit anything, for one thing. He was also thinking that maybe she just played a part, with someone else, tagging along for the thrill.

“I killed Chuck Clayton for what he did to all those girls. I killed Jason Blossom for what he did to my sister.” Her voice was chilling, hard. He blinked down at her, frozen on top of her. She lay underneath him, docile and beautiful with her golden hair fanned out across her pillow. Green eyes had hardened, staring up at him without reserve.

Jughead drew the tip of the knife along her collarbone suddenly, her sharp intake of breath sent his chest fluttering. The blood that welled to the surface from the small cut was a very dark cherry red, almost black. He blinked down at her before dipping his head down and swiping his tongue across her skin, picking up the red droplets. She tasted so good, sweet like sugar. He groaned, his pelvis grinding hard against her thigh where she could feel how hard he was.

She tilted her head back, moaning softly. “Juggie, please, I want you to fuck me.” She was begging him and it’s what he came here for after all.

He pulled his shirt up past her breasts, keep it on her body. He tossed the knife to the floor, his shirt floating to the ground after it. His eyes traveled the skin before his eyes, falling lower, eyes darkening when he realized she hadn’t been wearing any underwear. “Fuck,” He growled low in his throat, hand coming up to grasp her throat, his fingers wrapped around the delicate skin there. He leant forward, kissing up her jaw, fingers pressing in lightly. Her breath hitched slightly and he could see her eyes darken, feel her thighs clench where they were still trapped between his. He chuckled, releasing her throat from his hand and burrowing it in her hair. He tugged on her scalp, tilting her head and bringing his lips down against hers.

Betty wrapped her arms around his shoulders pulling him closer to her. He kissed her fiercely, trying to pour his emotions into her. He grabbed her around the waist, flipping their positions so that Betty was laying on top of him between his legs. Pulling back from him, she sat upright, hands going toward the closure of his jeans, fumbling with the button and zipper with shaky hands. Jughead helped her slide his pants and boxers down, her shirt coming off and falling to the floor with the other garments. Betty knocked his beanie off his head, throwing it toward her nightstand. She climbed into his lap, straddling his hips, his cock pressed against her belly as they kissed. “Betty..” He murmured, running his hands down her smooth back, hands cupping her bottom and rolling her hips toward him. Her hands fisted in his hair, tugging gently.

He slipped two of his fingers inside her, thumb rubbing her clit. She gasped, arching her back, fingernails digging into his shoulders. She was already so slick and he had her panting in no time, eyes clenched shut as she rode out her orgasm on his fingers. “Oh Juggie, god.. please,” she whimpered, his fingers still sliding against her sensitive sex.

Jughead wrapped a hand around his length, guiding her down onto him. She sunk down without much resistance, but he felt her still once their thighs were touching. He clenched his eyes shut tightly, breathing out his nose as her pussy clenched tightly around him. She started to relax and breathed a sigh of relief, his hands moving to her hips where he began to them in a steady rhythm. They were doing this slow and sensual. He could feel Betty’s heart beating with his other, their chests pressed together. Trailing his lips up her neck, he sucked a dark mark into her skin by the cut he had made on her collarbone. Flicking his tongue against the line that had ceased bleeding, he made his way up to her ear whispering her name as he nibbled on her earlobe.

He leaned back against her headboard, eyes watching her tits bounce as she moved up and down on his cock. He groaned, hands reaching up to squeeze them gently, then moving up and down her sides. Jughead gripped her hips, pushing and pulling her faster as he dug his heels into the bed for leverage. Betty’s eyes were fluttering and she brought her hand down to her clit to rub slow circles, the gentle pressure of her fingers and the grind against Jughead’s pubic bone sending her over the edge as she fluttered around him. “Juggie,” she sighed sweetly, breath catching in her throat.

He closed his eyes, grit his teeth and pulled her down hard against him a few more times before he was following her release. Jughead moaned her name, it rolling of his tongue and making him feel dizzy as emptied himself inside her. He could feel their fluids mixing, sitting low in her belly.

In the aftermath, they held onto each other. Betty straddling his lap, her arms wound around his neck. She pressed a kiss to the skin of his neck, right on his pulse point, felt her teeth graze over, sucking gently. She sighed, leaning her forehead against his, picking his hand up from her hips holding it against her chest so he could feel her heart beating.

“I love you, Betty Cooper.” He spoke softly, lips grazing her temple, hand clasped in hers as they laced their fingers together, hers still a bit shaky.

“I know,” She whispered back to him, fingers carding through his hair. The glow of the moon in the window making her eyes look even more glossy, eyelashes wet from held back tears. Her red lips curving into a smile as she leaned forward to press her lips against his, tongues tangling together. She tasted sinfully sweet.

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