#instead what he got was a thousand smaller (not) things that affected him on a fundamental level | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

upagainstthesunset · 3 months

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Had this in my drafts for like a month. Instead of taking asks, I'm going through and answering all of these from Character development questions for couples for Heartbeat and Metron. It's been a while since I've posted about them and these are always a fun way to grease the mental wheels.

1. What, specifically, was the catalyst for their physical attraction (if applicable) to the other character? In other words, what in particular had them like “Oh, they’re...hot...”

Neither thinks the other is particularly attractive. I dont think Metron even feels physical attraction. As for Heartbeat, she's the kind of person who starts liking someone physically after she's already got feelings for them. I'm sure she thought Metron was pasty and old looking (because he is), but he really grew on her. Hard to say when though. Maybe gradually since she first opened her eyes and saw him standing over her.

2. Does this change over time? What things do they find “hot” about their partner after they’ve been together for some time, and have had more time to, well, notice and appreciate?

Heartbeat really likes how pragmatic Metron is. A lot of the things others loathe about him she sort of enjoys. And yeah the more she gets to know him, the more she becomes "into" him.

Over time Metron comes to understand that Heartbeat is someone he can trust. He goes through life assuming everyone has ulterior motives, and he likes using that to his advantage. But Heartbeat hides nothing from him. He doesn't like that but he also does. And eventually it means a lot to him. He knows that she's on his side.

I realize im not really answering what these questions are trying to get at, but im going with what comes to mind, especially since its not like theyre actually a couple or anything.

3. By contrast, what was the moment that first made their ~heart~ Soft for the other person? Not necessarily a conscious realization of “I love this person,” but a moment that had them like “Oh...I adore them...”

Metron only realizes when he's about to lose her bc he's an idiot. But in smaller ways, he enjoys repressing the fact that he likes hearing her in the other room while he's working. So probably the first time he became conscious of that. He misinterprets what few feelings he has bc theyre so foreign to him.

Heartbeat's first time feeling that way was when she felt taken care of by him. Again, it starts so small it's almost imperceptible, then it builds. So she doesnt even realize she feels this way until much later.

4. Does this change over time? What will always reliably make them melt with how much they adore the other character?

Just them being them. They like each other just as they are. (Some real Bridget Jones shit i know lol)

5. How do they consciously realize that they like the other character? Does it take them a while?

It takes them a frustratingly long time. If i could write a thousand chapters maybe they still would never get together. Heartbeat realizes first, and at some point down the road will tell Metron. And he isnt going to reciprocate. So yeah. It takes him A While.

6. How do they react to the realization that they like the other character? Is it an “oh my god I’m never going to think about this again” thing, or are they pretty comfortable with it?

Metron represses. Heartbeat isnt sure if her feelings are really hers, or if theyre rooted in the fact she has his Mother Box in her chest. It worries her that confessing any feelings to him would be dishonest. But dont worry, she'll get it sorted out sometime.

7. Do they (or would they) pursue the other character’s affection, and if so, how? Do they tell the other character how they feel? Try to earn their admiration? Woo them with romantic gestures? Flirt with them, skillfully or otherwise?

Heartbeat will try unsuccessfully in most ways. But its a question of what is the ultimate goal in this area? They already spend their time together, are closer to each other than anyone else, care for each other, understand each other. So is the physical part necessary? Is a word like "dating" necessary? Where does the line between platonic and romantic love get drawn? This is what i really like about having a ship where one of the parties is practically unshippable by conventional standards. Anyway, Heartbeat's constant chiding and ribbing will slowly morph into what we might as well call their version of flirting. And even after any confessions, thats where things level out to.

8. What do they think about romantic love? Do they have baggage surrounding it? Do they idealize it? Is it an object of longing and wanting, or were they really not thinking about it until they started falling for the other character? What are their expectations like?

Heartbeat thinks its fascinating and fun. Her highest priority is of course getting her memory and her life back, especially at first, so she isnt really thinking about romance. Metron thinks romantic love is a distraction and a waste of time. It drives people to make bad decisions. I mean, he's not wrong.

9. What do they think about commitment? Is a long-term partnership the goal? Are they thinking about building a life with their partner, or are they focused on the present?

Metron realizes at some point that he wants Heartbeat to stay indefinitely, and he is crest fallen when he realizes she isnt going to. And from Heartbeat's perspective, she never thought of that as an option since she's so hooked on figuring out her powers and going home.

I will say, the story i have in mind is three major arcs. The first is them getting to know each other and dealing with Darkseid and Metron's betrayal. At the end of that Heartbeat taps into her powers. The second arc is more episodic and they go on adventures, ultimately finding a race of beings that can restore her memory and send her home. This arc ends with her regretting her choice and Metron realizing he wants her to stay. And the third arc is the most half baked so we dont need to go into it. ANYWAY i mention this bc how they feel at different points in the two arcs means different answers to all these questions. Okay moving on now.

10. What scares them about entering a relationship?

Metron is scared that if he has even an inkling of feelings for Heartbeat, he cant trust himself and that his judgment is clouded. Heartbeat is very much intimidated by the fact that Metron is a god. Every once in a while something will remind her of this and it kind of sends her reeling. She doesnt feel worthy of his time and attention sometimes. It overwhelms her and makes her heart race.

11. What fears, past traumas, etc. would be hardest for them to talk about with their partner?

Well Metron stands by everything he's ever done. Even if in hindsight he thinks he didnt make the best move, he certainly harbors no guilt over past actions. His choices were the right choices at the time and thats that. And Heartbeat has amnesia soooo kind of a moot point. Oh, she will be VERY nervous when it comes time to tell him how she feels. So there's that.

12. How much independence do they prefer in a relationship—do they want to share their lives as much as possible with their partner, or do they prefer to mostly do their own thing and let their partner do their own thing?

Theyre not codependent even though of course at first Heartbeat has to rely on Metron a lot. They spend a lot of time together, but arent going to be upset if they have business apart. But i think they both dont want their adventures together to end. Id describe them as enjoying going places together and also preferring to work separately but in the same room. That kind of vibe.

13. What is their go-to for making a partner feel loved?

Metron takes Heartbeat places and shows her things. I feel like he actually loves show and tell. This is a man Obsessed with learning, and why would you want to learn about stuff you don't care about? So i posit he is enamored and fascinated with all the strange and beautiful things in the universe. He might not appreciate them in the way most people would, but rather in his own weird cold Metron way. And with that, sharing those things with someone might as well be his love language. And then Heartbeat makes Metron feel annoyed by getting under his skin lol.

14. What makes them feel loved? Would they build up the courage to ask for it?

Heartbeat feels loved by receiving attention and being taken care of. Pretty simple. Metron doesnt want to feel loved, but he wouldnt invalidate Heartbeat's feelings when she does finally tell him. Rather, hes true neutral about it. She tells him and hes like "oh okay so anyway this speed force thing..."

15. What, for them, constitutes a level of intimacy that they would only rarely share with someone? This can be physical, emotional, etc.

Heartbeat is a physical person if she feels comfortable. Its how she feels connected to some one. So likewise, if someone touches her it means something to her. And I guess for Metron, a rare kind of intimacy comes in the form of taking someone on as a companion, protege or successor. Its not a romantic thing, but a closeness thing. Its trust.

16. If they had the ability to just spend free time with their partner, what would they do? Would they go out or stay inside?

Theyd go visit some alien civilization and get into mishaps or shenanigans there.

17. Under what circumstances would they want to be left alone by their partner?

Metron needs to be unbothered when he has to think deeply or when he's working on something delicate. Heartbeat needs to be away from him if he does something to upset her. She might be the kind of person that storms off and needs time alone to cool down.

18. They’re going through something incredibly difficult—perhaps they’re very sick, have lost a loved one, or have gone through a traumatic event. Do they ask for or accept support and care from their partner, or try to isolate themselves?

Heartbeat is literally going through trauma as soon as the story starts, and its weird bc he is there for her in that he's present and making sure shes healthy. But he isnt at all there for her emotionally. Instead he studies her. Its very cold. She wants him to help her though. She wants him to tell her its going to be okay.

I havent thought from Metron's perspective. If he was going through something, maybe injured, maybe suffering a dip in mental abilities, of course Heartbeat would try to help him. I think hed try to push her away though. Maybe? Bc of his hubris? That kind of thing in arc 2 could help develop why he wants her to stay when he realizes it actually ISNT bad to let her help him.

19. Are they okay with public displays of affection? Do they like them?

No! Lol. Metron would never, and Heartbeat would be mortified. Like even in her wildest dreams if they did become physically involved even just a little, no way does she want others to see. Imagine kissing Metron and then Orion sees that? Nightmare situation. Nope. IF anything ever happens, she wants it to stay between the two of them.

20. When would they say “I love you?” Do they say it first? Do they say it often, or is it reserved for special moments?

Metron will never say it. Never. Heartbeat might during the confession. Maybe very, very, very rarely after that. Only at times that would be impactful storywise.

21. If sex is something that would be part of a relationship for them, do both or either of them have prior experiences? If not, how do they feel about it?

Okay so any sex topics im going to answer from a non-canon fanfiction of my own story kind of way. So just be aware.

Metron basically has to be experienced right? With all he's seen and done and years he's lived? I like the idea that he can have sex but isnt really that into it, and doesnt seek it out. But morally he's neutral about it. Its a thing that doesnt matter either way. I think thatd be an interesting way to take his character.

Heartbeat is a very average human and does have desires. Itches that need to be scratched, we'll say. And she's had her own experiences, but nothing of note. Plus she doesnt remember any of that.

22. What does sex mean for them? Socially, religiously, what attitudes are they bringing with them? Is “virginity” something they care about? Do they want sexual experiences to occur within a certain “level” of relationship, or does that not really matter so much to them?

Since Heartbeat is conscious of physical interactions, its very intimate and she wouldn't do it with just whoever. I don't think either of them care about virginity or have any religious leanings. Metron doesn't care for sex but understands its an incredibly common thing for most species.

23. How comfortable are they talking about, and openly communicating during, sex?

Heartbeat gets nervous and embarrassed. Metron is the same as he always is ... which im sure makes it very weird.

24. What would their partner do that would really turn them on, perhaps unintentionally?

Nothing is going to especially turn Metron on right? Like he isnt immune to physical stimulation but that's gotta be about it. Maybe he likes having his massive ego stroked lol. And i dont actually know for Heartbeat. Im not sure yet what fits her. I think maybe something like Metron telling her mid-sex (plainly and flatly) that shes the only one hed do this with.

25. They accidentally hurt or upset their partner. What happened? How do they respond? What do they do to make their partner feel better?

Metron is probably going to make things worse before he makes them better. Heartbeat wouldnt realize she's hurt him, but she does find out shed be genuinely apologetic and direct about it.

26. They have an argument with their partner—what is it about? Do things stay respectful, or is there some shouting and accusing going on?

Oh there's going to be shouting. Heartbeat's going to be emotional and Metron's not going to get it. Its going to be when she finds out he was using her, like more than he had already told her.

27. They have to apologize to their partner. Is this difficult for them? How do they approach it?

In this case its going to get resolved by Heartbeat coming to understand how she truly feels and acknowledging it and other spoilery type stuff for the end of arc one. Metron isnt going to apologize, but he is going to treat her better.

28. How do they feel about the prospect of parenthood? Do they plan on it? How would they react if they suddenly found out they were going to be a parent?

In my heart of hearts and headcanon of headcanons, Metron is sterile. Also no way does Heartbeat want kids any time soon. It would be an interesting filler story if they had to foster a kid for a while or something. Its be a mess but i bet itd be a fun story.

29. What compromises are they making in their relationship?

Heartbeat has to adapt to her surroundings and accept that the present is just as important as the past she lost. So that applies to her relationship with Metron too bc he is very much part of the present. Its not compromise, but more something to come to terms with. And Metron has to learn to be considerate of someone.

30. What completely petty topic (music taste, favorite food) do they find themselves completely at odds with their partner about?

Not petty, but how they treat others.

31. What little thing do they find incredibly (though harmlessly) annoying about their partner?

Sometimes (often) Metron's ego gets on Heartbeat's nerves and she wants to take him down a peg, which in and of itself is hilarious bc hes a god and shes just there with no memory sassing him right out the gate. And i think shed bother Metron kind of often just by being around bc he's used to being solo, especially if hes working on something.

32. How do their friends react to finding out they’re a couple? Do they have lots of mutual friends? Did their friends know, perhaps before they themselves did?

They're not really a couple, but i think people around them get suspicious maybe theyve got chemistry between them before they realize themselves. And there are gonna be rumors in Supertown. Gossip that Metron is keeping some young woman in his quarters. Lol the scandal. Heartbeat wont be aware of this, but Metron will know and do nothing to correct it bc he doesnt waste time indulging gossip. Don't worry though, Lightray will help clear things up ha ha.

33. Under what circumstances would they feel jealous?

Im not sure if its out of character, but maybe if the other gave more respect or adoration to someone else? Idk, i dont really have a good answer for this one.

34. Under what circumstances would they feel protective?

Heartbeat feels a bit protective when people treat Metron poorly bc of his cold nature (and past crimes tbh). She wishes they understood him better. And he's protective of her at first as an asset he's acquired, but over time he just wants her to be safe and well.

35. Would they get a pet? What kind? Who brings up the idea, and who takes a little longer to convince?

I dont really see them with a pet. Metron doesnt understand the point of one, and Heartbeat's kind of gotta figure out her own shit. Cant have a pet to take care of. But Metron does have some little robot helper things he's made, does that count?

Well this was fun. And it was good exercise to start thinking about these two from a relationship perspective. I know a lot of questions dont really apply to them bc theyre not together, but they do have a relationship and there are some sort of feelings in there in a way.

#ocheartbeat #otpsmartbeat #metron if i fits i sits

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bluejaem · 3 years

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7 THINGS — J.JH

❝ The seven things I like about you. Your hair, your eyes, your old Levi's. When we kiss, I'm hypnotized. You made me laugh, you made me cry, but I guess that's both I'll have to buy. Your hand in mine when we're intertwined, everything's alright. I wanna be with the one I know. And the seventh thing I like the most that you do. You make me love you. ❞ — ♫ 7 things by miley cyrus

↳ PAIRING — jaehyun × gn!reader

↳ GENRE — tooth-rotting fluff lmao, slight angst in the end, post-break-up!au

↳ WORD COUNT — 2.16k ; « 8 min »

↳ WARNING/S — a kiss, mentions of food at one point, like one curse word ig

↳ PLAYLIST — paris in the rain by lauv :: fly away with me by nct 127 :: king of my heart by taylor swift

↳ A/N — perhaps I fell in love with jaehyun while writing this fjsnfjdjf. low-key plagiarised some of my own works while writing this lMaO. Anyways, I just hit my 3-month mark with this blog on this hellsite. So this is a celebratory work ig?

↳ SYNOPSIS — Sure, he broke your heart. But you still weren’t over him. No matter how much you tried, he was the only one in your heart.

And here lie the 7 things you love about jaehyun.

the first thing — your eyes looking in mine

“Ooh, do you remember this one? We took this on our first ever date. You were so cute then — not that you still aren't—” you pulled out the polaroid picture of the two of you from the album and showed it to Jaehyun, who was sitting beside you.

But he turned out to be staring at you.

His eyes were like an empty canvas, gradually being painted with love after every moment that passed. His eyes were always gentle. They looked at you with a softness you had never encountered before. The gaze that was filled with nothing but warmth and fondness. His eyes that spoke a thousand words at once. With a thousand tales to tell.

You were lost.

Lost in his eyes. For who knows how long. But all that mattered was that he was too.

“What?” you giggled when you saw him smile. “nothing, you're just really endearing,” he gushed.

This statement was soon followed by a shy smile taking over your face. He couldn't help but chuckle at this sight. How you'd always shy away whenever he complimented you. Or how you'd try to be the flirty one, but when he said something next, you'd be the flustered one.

He loved the fact that he still had the same effect on you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the second thing — your smile

“hi bubs, and what's your name?” you crouched down to talk to the little toddler holding onto her mother's hand. “I'm Zoey!” the girl replied.

“Hi, Zoey! I'm y/n!” you flashed her your sweetest smile and put your hand forward for a handshake. She returned your smile with the same amount of affection and shook hands with you.

“And this is uncle Jaehyun,” you take Jaehyun by his hand and make him crouch down beside you.

“Hi, Zoey! That's such a pretty name!” Jaehyun cooed with delight. “Thank you,” the girl giggled, and you did too.

The way his smile grew wider, the dimples making an effortless appearance. He adored you so much, and you had no idea about it.

“Bye!” you waved Zoey and her mom goodbye and turned to look at a smiling Jaehyun.

His eyes, his lips, and his spirit all at once smiled at you. He paints a ray of sunshine all over his face. His smile lights up your world — always. His smile was one of happiness growing, much as a spring flower opens. You could see how it came from deep inside to light his eyes and spread into every part of him. In his sweet smile is all the love you'll ever need.

And there you went, falling for him all over again.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the third thing — your hand in mine

“Do you trust me?” he asked as he finished tying the black cloth on your eyes.

“with my life,” you replied, feeling the soft fabric of the clothing on your eyes.

“Well, then,” he smiles, taking your hand in his as he leads you to a surprise that awaits you.

The warmth of his hands penetrating through your skin. The way your hand fit perfectly in his. The feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours was one that couldn't even be described in words.

It felt like holding onto your world at your fingertips and never wanting to let go of it.

“And we're here! Please don't open your eyes until I tell you to do so,” he untied the cloth and ran to the other side.

“Can I open my eyes now?” you snickered because you kind of knew where this was going.

“Yes!” that was the last thing you heard before opening your eyes to a smiling Jaehyun holding a huge card that read, "”ill you be mine again?”

You slowly made your way to him, a candle-lit pathway made just for you. “happy 1st anniversary, love” he gave you a peck on the cheek as he kept the card down.

“you didn't have to do all this?!” you let out a shocked chuckle as you looked at the rest of the decoration. “Now you're making me feel bad that all I did was gift you a bottle of perfume!”

He smiled at your comment and took out something from his pocket. He went behind you, and you felt a cold chain making contact with your skin. He locked the necklace from the back and made you turn to face him.

“Don't feel bad — your presence itself is a gift from heaven above.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the fourth thing — your ears when you're shy

You woke up to the sound of the sizzling of eggs on the pan. You broke into a big yawn as you sluggishly made your way towards the kitchen.

“Good morning to you too,” he chuckled when he looked at you barely able to open your eyes.

You instantly found yourself smiling when you heard his voice. You walked up to him and hugged him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulders as he continued cooking.

“we're eating eggs again?” you groaned out of boredom. “What did you want to eat?” He snickered.

You wore a sly grin as an idea hits you at the right moment, "I want you.” you whispered in his ear. His eyes slowly grew wide, processing whatever the fuck that you just said.

He turned around — only to see you, a laughing mess. And as soon as you saw that smirk on his face, you knew it was time to run.

“aww, your ears are turning red. What happened, loverboy? Were you flustered because of what I said?” You teased him as you both were waiting for the other one to leave their side of the couch and run.

It was one in a million moments when jaehyun was the flustered one, and you were the one who provoked him to be. And so, these moments really had to be the most memorable ones.

“Jae, no–” you sprinted to your room as he followed you. “Let's not–”

Your legs hit the end of the bed, and the next thing you knew was that you had fallen on the bed and jaehyun got on the bed with you, tickling the life out of you.

“Wait, do you smell that?” you said as you sniffed dramatically. Jaehyun stopped tickling you for a moment, and the look on his face when the realization hit him was honestly the funniest thing you had ever seen. You let out the weirdest chuckle when your heard him shouting in horror,

“my eggs!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the fifth thing — your lips when we kiss

"”want a sip?” he offered you his coffee while you were sipping on yours. “How'd you know I wanted to try it?” You let out a soft chuckle while you take his coffee to try.

“I mean, even when you're sipping on yours, your eyes were on my drink. What else should I decipher it as?” he continued walking along with you, smiling when he saw your reaction to consuming his cup of coffee.

You let out a dissatisfied cough after drinking a little bit of his coffee. You hand him his coffee back. “How do you drink that stuff, dude?” you gulped hard, trying your best to get rid of the bitterness by taking long sips of your drink.

“Not like yours is that great,” he said in his cockiest tone in an attempt to provoke you.

You stopped on your tracks, disbelief was written all over your face, “Excuse you, for this is my best buddy!” you scoffed. Well, almost choked, but we won't talk about that right now.

“Then let me try yours—”

“Nope, sorry. And now you've lost the both of us.” Sure, you were fighting like an elementary school kid at that point. But in your defense— yeah, no. You were just being petty, and Jaehyun was just playing along.

You walk ahead of him while he stood there, trying to think of how to get back at you. An idea perks him as he looks at your figure slowly getting smaller the further you walked. He quietly jogged his way towards you, wearing a smug smile on his face.

Oh, dear y/n. You signed up for something you didn't know was about to come.

When he finally caught up to you, he tapped on your shoulder. As a reflex, making you turn around to look at who it was. But instead, you were met with a pair of lips on yours. Not just anybody, but the only guy ever, Jung Jaehyun.

Resistance — was something you were always pretty bad at. And especially when it came to Jaehyun.

No matter how hard you'd try, you always end up giving in. And as a matter of fact, that's what happened then too. He smiled in between the kiss, knowing very well that you had once again given in to him. Your other hand runs through his hair while he pulls you closer to himself, closing any distance between the two of you.

God, you missed kissing him.

He finally broke from the kiss, and started walking, leaving you totally confused. He wore a smile of triumph as he said, "I never liked Mocha anyway," not once did he look back at you before saying that.

For a hot minute, you were pretty confused as to what he meant by that. And that's when you understood that he was talking about the coffee.

You stood there, totally baffled — screaming on top of your lungs while he still kept walking,

“Get back here, Jung gorgeous-ass-man-who-just-tricked-me-like-that Jaehyun!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the sixth thing — your voice when you call out my name

“you coming?” you shouted as you got out of the water, walking your way up to where jaehyun was standing. He seemed to have been writing something on the wetter side of the sand.

“And, done!” He presented you with the small surprise he had prepared for you. You smiled when you saw what it was. He took you by your hand, giving it a kiss before making you stand beside him.

“Jaehyun + y/n forever” he read it out loud while pointing at the sand.

The way your name rolled off his tongue so easily, yet giving it its own unique color. It felt foreign but at the same time, it was so familiar and resounded through your whole self. No matter how many times he calls out your name, something about it still gives you a sense of serenity and you could never get tired of it.

“you plus me forever indeed,” you softly said, burying your head in the crook of his neck as you hugged him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the seventh I like the most that you do — you make me love you

“This is the last one for today, I promise,” Jaehyun said as you both climbed up the stairs of an unknown building. You both entered what looked like an empty terrace with a bench in one of the corners.

He sat on the bench and signaled you to sit beside him. “We're ready!” he shouted.

You were kind of confused by whatever that was going on at that moment. “For what?” you looked at him. Anticipation getting the best of you when you saw the proud look on his face.

“For that,” he put both his hands forward, pointing at the other side of the terrace, basically the wall.

And that's when the led lights lit up, and you could see some words coming the other way like a long led banner.

He read, “There are days when I feel down, and there are days when I feel joy, but the best part of it is going through it all with — you. I know what I'm going to say next is kind of cheesy, but”

This time he turned to you, reaching out for your hand “— will you be my once upon a time?”

It was like the flower of love bloomed once again. There’s something about him that you find so intriguing. Something to his aura that never fails to bring in pleasant surprises. It was like this weird force of attraction that never failed to make you fall for him all over again — if that was even possible.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But as history has seen it before, every story has an ending. And the one of yours and jaehyun's was of no exception.

Tysm for reading! Feedback is very much appreciated <33

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h2bakugou · 3 years

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Hey! i just wanted to say that i love your writing. So this may be a little complicated if thats okay but i had cancer when i was younger and i would like to see if you could write about kirishima and bakugo (separately) crush being hit by a quirk that makes them younger again or something like that and them seeing their crush in a horrible state like they cant walk anymore . IM SORRY if this is complicated you dont have to do bakugo if its too much.

a/n: hi! tysm <3!! of course, i hope you're doing well hun !! if there's anything you need me to change/edit within this please let me know!!

headcanon: them reacting to their s/o being hit by a quirk that makes them the age when they were sick

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, angst

;cut for length;

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

It’s been a tough day on the field, especially with a villain attack appearing from seemingly nowhere. It’s caused a mess, and everyone’s on edge.

Most noticeable though is Bakugou. You’re fighting one on one with this villain and he doesn’t doubt your abilities by any means, but you’re worn down and tired, your movements are slower, you’re starting to reach your limit.

And all it takes is one hit from this nameless villain’s quirk and you’re down for the count.

Bakugou’s tired of fending off goons and dashes over to you, taking down the villain to the best of his ability.

But what he doesn’t expect is when he turns back to you, instead of seeing you, he sees the pile of your clothes covering a much smaller version of you.

You’ve shrunk?

No, you’ve gotten younger.

Just barely lifting your head, you start to cough.

“Shit, hey get someone over here!” Bakugou shouts to one of the other students, hoping an adult could rush over and try and help-not that he needed it, but he was worried.

It wasn’t long before another pro hero was wrapping your younger self up in your clothes.

If Bakugou had to guess, he’d say you were around five to eight years old.

You sat in a hospital bed for a few hours before Aizawa finally arrived, noticeably worried about the state you were in. You didn’t even remember the people standing around you.

“They’re in critical condition. If this age regression quirk has sent their body back in time, we’re going to be in a bit of hurry to get them back to their normal state. They’ve had a history of medical concerns.”

Bakugou has to step out of the room, supported by Kirishima and Kaminari as he tries not to seem like he’s heavily affected by the state your in.

“They’re going to be fine, if it’s just some sort of temporary affect, they’ll be back to their healthy old self soon!” Kaminari tries to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t seem to help.

When you’re released from the hospital to return back to campus, you’re placed under surveillance.

You’re much younger now, and you can barely walk, it’s tearing everyone apart. All of your friends stop by whenever they can, trying to see if you remember them which usually never works.

Bakugou stops by often as well, normally at night when no one else comes around.

He talks about little things like All Might and always brings in his little toy figurines that he’d swore he’d never show anyone.

You laugh and smile, waving them around making all sorts of noises all while ignoring the fact that Bakugou is nearly in tears at the sight of you.

The effects last two weeks. It’s the longest two weeks of everyone’s lives, most importantly Bakugou’s.

When you wake up and see Bakugou sound asleep beside you, his head laying on the medical bed you’d been sleeping in for the past two weeks, you’re confused.

“Hey, Katsu’?” You ruffle his blonde hair and he’s up instantly.

He’s embracing you in the tightest hug known to man, surely putting All Might’s to shame.

Kissing you too, he can’t stop himself from holding you and mumbling about how worried he was about and how he’ll never let something like that happen to you again.

“I never dabbled in my past much, but I’m doing much better now, I’m sorry I gave you a scare.” You rub his cheek, wiping away a few rare tears that fall from his crimson eyes.

“I love you so fuckin’ much.” He utters, his lips pointing upward in a smile.

“I love you too.”

»»————-　★　————-««

eijiro kirishima

»»————-　★　————-««

The fight is surely rigged. There’s no way you’re going to win, not alone anyway.

Kirishima is making his way to you as fast as he can, but when he gets to you it’s far too late.

You’re cowering before him, your costume baggy on your visibly smaller and weaker frame, tears pouring from your eyes as your body strains to stand upright.

The villain is gone, but not too far gone that they don’t get captured by patrolling pros on the scene.

Rushing you to the nearest hospital to undergo some sort of evaluation, all Kirishima can do in the meantime is wait alongside Kaminari, Mina, Sero, and even a slightly less angry Bakugou.

When the nurse returns to explain your situation, Kirishima is mortified.

Refusing to leave your side until he’s forced to by Mina to take care of himself because it’s what you’d tell him to do, all he can do is wait and hope that you’ll get better.

You can’t walk without having someone help you, and the worst part is, you don’t even recognize him.

Kaminari takes the role of making you smile and laugh while Kirishima adds throws in random memories turned into stories hoping it’ll jog some part of your memory connected to how old you actually are.

But nothing seems to work and all you can do is sit in wonder as he tells you about how present-pre age regression quirk you is really super awesome.

After being scolded by Mina on day one, Kirishima manages to take care of himself, but he spends most if not all of his free time with you.

In a way it’s domestic, imagining the possible inevitability of raising a family with you, you’d always jokingly said he was great with kids.

Taking care of you is nice, he enjoys doing it now, buying you little gifts, helping you get something off a high shelf or just being a gentleman for you.

Holding the door for you, carrying your bags even when you yell at him not to and he swears a part of you has been inspired by Bakugou.

After the first week, he begins to get settled in, thinking if this is going to last a while, he wants to help however he can.

Aizawa ushers him to pay attention to studies and that you’re strong enough to power through this, and he understands, he believes wholeheartedly you are.

But part of him is sort of upset. He’d never known that you used to be like this. He hoped when it was all over you could explain.

And sure enough, after two weeks, you wake up, as if those two weeks had never happened.

You don’t seem to have much recollection of the two weeks, only a few hours on the last day seem to make it through to you.

Kirishima greets you with a hug and thousands of kisses.

He doesn’t let you go for hours, weeping into your embrace as he begs you to never scare him like that again.

You console him all while telling him about your past and the history of your medical condition and he understands. He’s thankful you’re where you are now, and he’s so happy to see back to your normal self again after those two weeks.

“I stayed with you as much as you could.” Kirishima whispers, kissing your cheek. Kaminari lifts his head up and starts laughing.

“Yeah, he was so worried about you. You’ve got yourself a keeper.” He jokes, making Kirishima’s cheeks match shades with his hair.

“I love you.” You mumble against his skin, hugging him tightly.

“I love you too.”

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

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project-paranoia · 3 years

Text

Let’s Watch: Yin Yang Master: Dream of Eternity

I have watched this movie 85 Whole Entire Times and I do not regret. The only thing wrong with this movie is that it wasn't a fifty episode series. I cried, I laughed, I fell in love. The cinematography is on point, the acting is amazing, the crew member who put snow on people's eyebrows did an amazing job, and the acting! The subtlety, the gentleness, the love and affection, the discussion of race is one of the best I've ever seen.

As people have pointed out before in series like X-Men that fear of mutant's is practically if not thematically justified due to the laser eyes in a way that fear of ethnic minorities just isn't in real life. In Dream of Eternity however humans are equally if not sometimes more super powered than the yao they hunt. Demons - very much not in the Christian sense - are a mixture of spirits, resentful souls, and animals and plants who cultivated to human form. They often appear human at first glance and in some cases the extent of their power seems to be the limited to turning into a smaller more vulnerable animal. Qingming's deliberate care and gentleness not only reflects his upbringing as a Yin Yang Master, but parallels the experience of racial minorities labelled as aggressive.

The movie takes particular care as well in the way it looks at trauma, grief, and love. The three of which haunt the main characters and send out ripple effects into the world around them. In the world of Dream of Eternity no loss is purely private, it spools out into the world around the person effected until they make an effect to acknowledge and deal with their experiences. Qingming's warmth and gentleness isn't just marked by his behaviour but by the orange light he's lit by and his variety of shishen - but he is also separate, standing alone in frame and facing away from the people around him. Boya's loss has made him unforgiving and as cold as the blue light he's lit in, and yet he is open and instinctive, talking and acting as soon as the thought enters his head. The Empress is lost and drifting, trapped and grief stricken, vulnerable to those who profess to love her. The film is simple, it says and shows what it means when it means it - but it is also as complex as the very human characters it depicts.

The movie is made even more complex by its pull from theaters. Claims of plagiarism drench the edges of the movie, which as true as the assertion that Fan BingBing went on a spa vacation in 2018. Although this blog is about Chinese censorship dealing specifically with BL content, Chinese censorship also effects those who criticize governmental policy. I hope that supporters of this blog will also support Chinese media threatened by censorship for many reasons so that artists and others involved in film making can continue to make meaningful content.

Doing a watchthrough of a movie is not feasible, but please enjoy a few thousand words - with spoilers on Yin Yang Master included:

* That gentle chiming and rain soundscaping is so soothing, what a great way to calm and lull the audience before the movie even starts * Qingming is so small and isolated in the frame - cinema! * The lighting and cinematography is just so good * Shifu, soft gentle teacher * So much love stored in the Shifu * Instant grow * This boy is Sassy * This theme of deflection in Qingming's character is established early * Deflection with a teleportation portal and then immediately deflection verbally * Shifu is certainly an attractive man aged up, but his face is also soft and gentle, something to note when his double pops up later * Also the awkward question of don't you have someone you want to protect, maybe part of the problem is that shifu is just really bad at wording things * The answer that yes he does has several meanings, one of which is immediately apparent when Shifu acts out one of those Father Saves Child By Yeeting them youtube videos * ACtion MuSIC * I love them your honour * The spirit guardian's design is so specific and elegant, absolutely superb you funky little shishen * I wonder if Qingming ever thinks about that if he didn't come back with all his fellow disciples that Shifu would have been fine * Maybe it's not that he doesn't have someone he wants to protect and more that he believes that he's not capable of protecting those he wants to * subtle indication Shifu's qi is corrupted * Precious Magic Childe ;-; * The framing, I'm living for it * The Serpent graphic is lovely * Also the way they set things up * Qingming cares so much about his shifu * Mark Chao just has the ability to crumple his face like paper * Sad Time exposition involving the corrupting influence of desires * "When you're gone I'll be all alone" in just about all you need to know about Qingming at this point in the story * Also like, sympathy for Shifu in raising this lonely child. By all accounts he was an absolutely superb father figure, and Qingming I'm sure was not an easy child to raise. He's the sort of kid that would take a lot of calm and patience. * Slumber party! * It's kind of interesting that this is an activity Fangyue and He Shouyue are doing together. He's definitely obsessed and in love with her and she's just doing friends and family activities with him * Also yellow/gold lighting is kind of their thing * It's interesting how they do the make up for He Shouyue. The actor is very attractive, but they make him up to look doll like, a little too pretty, a little too shiny. Like a porcelain doll. * Cool lit Boya and warm lit Qingming appear! * Camels! * The framing is so good, they're careful to be sure he's shown as obviously isolated as much as possible * And it should go without saying that I adore the City * The matte painting is outstanding * But there's also the lighting, the vignettes, the clusters, the foliage * It is a supremely beautiful set * The irony that Killing Stone is playing along with Boya's music and then it's Boya who kicks him around * A small note, but one I appreciate - even when Boya has warm highlight's they're red instead of orange * "It's Jason Bourne!" * I hope Qingming paid for that water taxi * It's interesting how Killing Stone goes from the safety of Qingming's orange light to the danger of Qingming's blue * Colour related foreshadowing! * Look at this poor sweet man, how could anyone suspect him of anything. He's just a sad man who loves his dead wife * Qingming's use of a fan is interesting - battle fans show up all over wuxia and xianxia, but it feels like it also ties into the way he's so very careful in how he presents himself. There's that quote that a sword can only be a sword but other weapons are also able to serve other purposes - not a perfect quote but the point is got across. * The way Qingming just knocks Boya back, like get An Clue, my dude * The way that Killing Stone curls around the pipa ;-; * So the movie is based on the book series 'Onmyoji' by Yumemakura Baku. The books start with Seimei (Qingming) and Hiromasa (Boya) already in a relationship talking about various cases Seimei has recently experienced. Plotwise, obviously the stories are different, however thematically Seimei and Hiromasa discuss why some yao stick around and solutions to the difficulties and dangers they might cause - which is generally from Seimei's very successful perspective to listen and treat them like humans. So in that way the plots of the books and the movie are quite different, but the themes are just about identical. * Boya says Don't Talk Me I Angy and also that demons don't have feelings and Qingming's face takes out a billboard that's just like Ah, Another Fantasy Racist, Excellent * Qingming also does what should be done in this situation, taking care of the victim not the racist * Fight scene! Fight scene! * Qingming's first few moves aren't to attack, they're to distract and just hold his fan up to block Boya's way and his view - it's only when Boya persists in attacking that Qingming fights back * Qingming's sassy smile, he is very much deliberately irritating Boya as much as he's refocusing his attention and distracting him * "nICE sWORD" * I've sighed that sigh before * This boy is taking great pleasure from teasing Boya, but also he makes a really good point * I understand and relate to what Qingming did, but also I can understand why Boya was ready to throw rocks at Qingming when he saw him again * Killing Stone lit in Qingming's orange light again * Killing Stone, my beloved * A good gauge to the state of the world for yao is no one has told this sweet boy before that demons have feelings too * There are several lines like this in the movie that just drop kick you with Implications * The same way Qingming clung to Zhongxing, Killing Stone wants to join up with Qingming to have some compassion in his life * The way he asks to be a spirit guardian is so formal too, and Qingming is so gentle with him, I cry ;-; * The warm orange light of Qingming's love ;-; * He heals the wounds * It took me an embarrassing amount of time to realise it's the actual imperial degree speaking and not one the of Jingyun Temple Masters * The mutual this guy again is delicious * "Is it because of your pretty face" * Boya draws his sword so fast and Qingming is so amused by it * Longye! Queen! I love her! * The two of them seem to understand each other instantly * Those sassy little smiles * He Shouyue looks even more like a doll than before * Longye has her head on a swivel from second one, she plays the Maiden so well like she's not a skilled master * And her customer service smile * Qingming is shooketh

* What happens next? You'll have to watch and find out!

#1683 words #yin yang master dream of eternity #yin yang master #censorship #chinese censorship

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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

Note

Yo, saw your post about levihan prompts:

How about Hange discovering Levi’s secret hobby (of your choice)

Feel free to do whatever you feel like

And I love your work! 💕 have a good day

Hello! So sorry for the delay in this one, but thank you so much for your patience 🙏 I got stuck for such a long time in the middle of this ksksks but it is finally done! I also played around a little bit with the whole...discovering a secret aspect, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway! And I hope you're ready for some sweet sweet childhood friends levihan~

Levi likes photography.

This, in itself, is no great secret. Hange can barely remember a time he wasn't following after her with a camera strapped around his neck, or packed into his bag—always within reach, should something striking catch his eye. A little neon plastic toy, at first; each click of the shutter cycled through preloaded images, expert shots of famous landscapes, places they could only dream of seeing. And then, a polaroid—still a toy, in essence, still plastic, still gaudy, but this one took real pictures in real time, and spit them out into their eager, shaking fingers within seconds.

Hange remembers them ruthlessly wafting the little laminate squares and watching with bated breath as black mottled into foggy grey, as the blurred silhouette of the park bench faded slowly into being. It was a fascinating thing, at the time. Magic at their fingertips. The picture turned out fuzzy and overexposed in places, where the sun had glared in over the corner of the park bench, but Levi had settled the little square on his little palms and looked at it like he held the whole world in his hands.

There were innumerable disposable cameras, too. Light little things with reels of film, never enough for Levi's insatiable desire to snap pictures of every single thing he saw. They spent half their childhood in the chemist, sitting in the hard plastic chairs, wriggling anxiously as they waited for the film to develop. Kuchel always handed them the envelope, fat with prints, with a small smile curling the corner of her mouth and a fond twinkle in her eye, and Levi always took it politely, while Hange gave a boisterous thanks, and the pair of them delved greedily into their spoils.

He was older, in his early teens, when he was gifted his first real camera. It was heavy, compared to all the others, a case made of metal with buttons and gadgets and a fancy screen on the back, to preview each picture he took. Levi was wholly enamoured with it. He spent hours adjusting it, figuring out what each button and knob did, how they affected each picture; took countless shots of the same rock in the park until he'd tested every combination of settings he could think of.

He had cycled through more cameras since then. Grown a small collection, each one a little different, a little more suited to particular shots. Hange understood the concept in theory, but the particulars were lost on her, and Levi never took the time to explain. Not that she minded—Levi's pictures were beautiful, breathtaking in the way he could capture even the most mundane details and make them something wondrous. Perhaps for the first and only time in her life, Hange had no desire for the magician to reveal his tricks.

He has an eye for things that Hange simply cannot see. She is observant—to a fault, at times, intensely analytical and endlessly curious. Everything is a question, an opportunity to research, to learn, but she doesn't see the way Levi does.

Wild daffodil. Narcissus pseudonarcissus. Hange sees a perennial flowering plant, native to Western Europe, classified by its pale yellow petals and elongated central trumpet. She sees phylogeny with a rich taxonomic history; subspecies originating all over the globe, some larger, some smaller, some more vibrant and some more muted. She sees anatomy, science.

Levi sees the way the evening sun rusts the buttery petals until they blush; sees the way dew drops hang like pearls from the tips of the leaves in the early morning, when the light is still smoky and thin. He sees a moment to be captured.

It should be impossible for a picture to hold so much detail. Hange can look at Levi's daffodil and feel the way the spring wind blows gently on her skin, the sun warm but the breeze a little biting, a remnant of the fading winter. She can smell the pollen heavy in the air, feel the tickle of short grass on her ankles, hear the trill of songbirds in the branches of distant trees.

His proclivity for photography grows with them. Hange's interests spear out in a thousand different directions, from physics and chemistry to botany, to engineering, to literature and mathematics, to history, languages and landscapes—life is a limitless source of information and Hange chases it every which way, insatiable.

And wherever she goes, Levi dutifully follows, with his camera in hand.

Until now.

Now, they are eighteen. The summer is lazily drawing to a close, and tomorrow, at 8:45am, Hange will be boarding a plane that will take her to the other side of the world to attend the university of her dreams.

And Levi will be staying here.

Despite Levi's perpetual scowling and indiscriminate grunting, their last evening together had overall been a pleasant one. Levi and Kuchel had worked hard on their meal, and it had been nice in a warm, filling kind of way, to spend her last night at home with the two of them.

Now, she and Levi are holed up in his bedroom, while Kuchel had insisted on doing the clean up herself. Hange's mind has been churning non-stop for weeks now, ramping up with each passing day, and tonight, her thoughts are unstoppable, and they spill from her with giddy, jittery excitement.

"The university is huge, but my course is pretty small—only like, 30 places. It'll be easy to get to know everybody."

"Nn."

"And did I tell you? There's a museum right on campus? They've got a huge collection, and I heard students can access it after the first semester."

"Hm."

"And there's a flower garden, too—they've got species from all over the world, Levi. They'll have plants I've never even heard of."

"You said."

"Oh! And—my accommodation isn't all that far from the coast. The water looks beautiful in all the pictures I've seen—look, see?"

"I know. You showed me already."

Hange looks up from her phone, where the screen is lit with a bright, sunny beach, tan sand and a stark blue ocean. Levi flicks his gaze over it and offers a noncommittal shrug of his shoulder. Hange frowns at him.

"You could at least pretend to be excited, you know."

Levi gives her a deadpan stare.

"It looks...warm."

Hange sits back with a thump, and kicks weakly at Levi's shin. She pouts over at him. "Better than nothing, I guess."

They sit at opposite ends of the window bench in Levi's bedroom, legs tangled haphazardly together in the space between them. The window was thrown open in some vain hope of tempting in a breeze, but the air is thick, and the soft wind that does blow is still stiflingly warm. It sways Levi's fringe against his brow, but does little to stave off the oppressive heat.

The sky outside is dark, but it is alive with stars. They cast bright sparks on an inky black canvas, and there is no moon in sight. Already, Levi has snapped pictures of it, twisted dials and pushed buttons and switched lenses until he was satisfied.

It is a beautiful sight. Infinite.

Hange lets one leg dangle out the open window. Levi gives her a sour look and wordlessly closes one hand around her other ankle. She has a long history of behaving carelessly—Levi has borne witness to one too many slips and stumbles to trust her entirely. It would be just like Hange, to miss her flight in favour of a trip to the emergency room.

His thumb strokes back and forth absently. There is a callus there, rough and catching, that scratches against her sensitive skin.

Her predominant feeling is one of excitement. Studying abroad had been a dream of hers for almost as long as Levi had owned a camera—to travel beyond the bounds of their small rural town, to see more, learn more, fuel the relentless hunger in her. But there is an undercurrent of something else, some squirming discomfort that refuses to settle. It intensifies with every sweep of Levi's thumb against her skin until it sits heavy in her gut.

She looks over at him. His gaze is trained out the window, a small frown furrowing the skin between his brows, but his eyes are glassy, with none of their usual sharp, unwavering focus. Whatever he is looking at, he is not really seeing it.

It would be a lie to say that his silence had not troubled her. He had been quiet throughout dinner, opting instead to listen to Hange and Kuchel's companionable chatter as he pushed his food around his plate, and he had barely said a word since they had cleared the table and retreated to his room. He had hardly even looked her way.

Irritation bubbles within her. Levi is always more subdued than she is, content to sit quietly while Hange babbles endlessly, about anything and everything. But he usually has something to say. His silence, today of all days, makes her angry. They have one night left like this—one more night to talk, face to face, before they will be separated for who knows how long, and Levi is offering her nothing.

"Levi," she says, before she can think. Something in her tone must startle him, for he blinks rapidly, as though pulled out of a daydream, and rolls his eyes to look in her direction. His gaze settles somewhere near her shoulder. She bristles. "Can you at least—"

"Levi?" Kuchel's voice is distant, floating up from the bottom of the stairs. Levi looks at the door instead. "Can you come give me a hand for a minute?"

Hange clamps her jaw shut. Levi casts her another sidelong glance, and ticks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He squeezes her ankle once, then pushes himself to his feet. "Don't fall, idiot. I won't be long."

Hange feels distinctly like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. It's immature, and perhaps it's unfair of her, but she had assumed that Levi's invitation for dinner might, at the very least, come with a little conversation.

She takes a deep, steadying breath. They never fight, not really—they bicker endlessly, poke each other's cheeks and pull each other's hair, childish rough housing that they never grew out of. But they don't fight and as grumpy as Hange feels about Levi's near silence, she doesn't want to start now. She runs a hand back through her hair and sweeps her eyes about the room, counting long, even breaths as she does.

Levi's room is immaculately neat and tidy. Everything has its place, on clean, dusted shelves, or stacked in straight, neat piles atop his desk. It is a level of organisation Hange has little energy for; she herself is a hurricane, picking up and dropping off detritus everywhere she goes.

But Levi's borderline obsessive cleanliness makes it easy to spot something that is out of place.

Hange's gaze falls on a drawer in the desk. The drawer itself is as immaculate as everything else, gleaming wood and a reflectively polished brass handle. What catches her eye is the corner of a glossy piece of paper, caught when the drawer had been closed.

Hange is a curious creature. Rarely can she hold herself back from exploring an unknown, and now is no different. She unfolds herself from the bench and stretches to stand, then crosses the room on light, tip-toed feet.

Levi is, by and large, a rather private person. He does not share much of himself openly, hides behind an impassive mask, guards what is dear to him close to his chest. Hange is an exception to this rule, whether Levi wanted her to be or not.

As such, she has no real issue prying the drawer open, and is unsurprised by the predictable contents within.

Photographs.

Of course it was photographs.

Her lips tug up in a fond smile and her eyes roll, but it is as she is reaching in to flatten out the rumpled picture that had been poking out of the drawer, that she notices what they are photographs of.

Her.

Hange picks out a stack and sits cross-legged in the desk chair. She flips through them, eyes growing wider with each new picture she uncovers. Every single one is of her. Some recent, some not so recent—some must be from the very first real camera, for she is still in her braces, all thin, gangly limbs and scruffy hair and taped up glasses.

There are pictures of her in the winter, mitten-clad hands wrapped around a paper cup of hot chocolate, blowing steam into the chill air. She can see in stark clarity, the red tip of her nose and the chill bitten over her cheeks; she can almost feel the cold, taste the cocoa on her tongue.

She finds a picture of her from an autumn years gone by. She remembers it as though it were yesterday—they had spent the whole afternoon raking fallen leaves in the courtyard behind Kuchel's cafe, scooping them into a terribly tempting mound beneath the shedding tree. Hange had been unable to resist. Levi had captured her moments after her dive into the pile, sitting up with her weight propped back on her hands, dry leaves clinging to her messy hair and sticking to the fibres of her cardigan. The sun was low, and it cast her in a golden glow, highlighting the vibrant red and orange of the fall foliage around her, drawing out the auburn undertone in her hair and the amber of her eyes. Her smile is almost blinding.

Another shows her in the spring, laying on her belly in the long grass beside a row of blooming daffodils. There is a book spread open before her and she is, as expected, engrossed in it; Levi has snapped the shutter as she was turning the page, the thin edge of the paper caught between the delicate tips of her fingers.

Hange has never considered herself to be particularly pretty. She is just...Hange, a little bit of wild, a little bit of manic, a lot of clumsy and dirty. Being attractive has never been of much concern.

But there is something in the way Levi has photographed her, time and time again, in the way the light catches her, the candid ease of each new picture, that looks....beautiful, in its own way. Somehow, he has made her mess into a masterpiece.

Levi likes taking pictures of things. Plants, rocks, rivers, landscapes and skylines—he likes capturing the mundanity of everyday life and turning it into something spectacular, but he has never done the same thing with people. As far as Hange was aware, Levi had taken very few pictures of anybody at all.

And yet, she holds this pile in her hands, and there are plenty more pictures littering the drawer before her.

There is a strange feeling brewing on her as she stares at them. She had been so excited about moving away to study, so eager to explore the world beyond their quiet countryside home, that the reality of leaving had never truly sunk in. She feels it now though, acutely; a hollow ache in her chest that grows with each picture she flicks through.

Levi has been her shadow for as long as she can remember. There are few memories that he is not a part of, few moments that she can recall in which Levi was not by her side—he has been a constant for her. Something certain and dependable.

And from tomorrow, he will no longer be there.

Hange had known this. She had known it from the moment she had accepted her offer, and she had known it as they looked through her options for accommodation together, as they explored the local area through pictures and videos and maps online. She had known it as they had prepared her visa, organised her finances. Booked her flights. Every step of the way she had understood, logically, rationally, that studying abroad meant leaving Levi behind.

But the weight of it is only hitting her now. The reality of it is like a slap in the face, a punch in the gut—it leaves her shaken and breathless in the worst way.

From tomorrow, Levi won't be with her at all.

Her grip tightens on the photographs hard enough to wrinkle the glossy paper.

She had done a pretty good job of not getting too emotional about the whole thing. For the most part, Hange had been overwhelmed by her own excitement—there had been no time for sadness between all the loose ends she’d had to tie up in order to make the move a possibility. Now though, all that is left is to head to the airport and board her plane. No more distractions.

Hange doesn’t realise she is crying until the bedroom door opens again, and Levi steps into the room, coming to a sudden halt halfway over the threshold.

Hange can't tell if Levi's look of shock is because of the open drawer and the pictures still clutched in her hands, or the tear tracks on her cheeks. He stops dead in the open doorway, fingers still curled around the handle, and for a moment he stares at her with eyes wider than Hange has ever seen them, but then his brow dips low and his lip curls, and his grip tightens around the door handle. Hange holds the pile of photographs close to her chest.

She is expecting anger. She doesn't suppose she could blame him if he lost his temper with her, then. She has a terrible habit of bulldozing into everything, after all, and perhaps this was the one thing Levi had longed to keep secret from her. Her snooping, on top of his already sullen mood—perhaps this is the final straw.

But instead, he turns his face away, staring resolutely into the corner of the room. Starlight spills through the open window. Even in the thin, muted light, Hange can see a vibrant flush colouring the skin high on Levi's cheeks.

Hange sniffles, and wipes clumsily at her cheeks.

"I didn't have you pegged as a closet pervert, Levi," she says, waving the handful of pictures at him. Her voice comes cracked, and weaker than she'd hoped. Levi's knuckles turn white.

It's a funny thing, seeing Levi embarrassed. His emotional expression is usually limited to small twitches, here and there—a slight furrow of his brow, a wrinkle of his nose, a soft twitch of his lip. Hange can count on one hand the number of times she has seen his feelings show so completely. It's almost painful to witness.

"I don't mind," she says. Levi doesn't look at her. Hange looks down at the pile again. "They're nice."

Levi finally releases his death grip on the handle and pushes the door closed. His eyes are still downcast and his cheek is still cherry red, but he hasn't run away and he hasn't snapped at her (yet). Hange takes these things as good signs.

"I didn't know you took pictures of people," Hange says.

"I don't."

"Are you saying I'm not people, Levi?"

Levi lets out a disgruntled sigh. He crosses the room, and plucks the pile of pictures from Hange's hands. His cheeks are still pink, and his brows are still furrowed, but he has composed himself some.

“No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re a creature. You’ve got snot all over your face.”

Hange laughs wetly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and rubbing the mess on her pants. Levi gives her a look of pure disgust, parking his hip against the edge of the desk beside her and skimming through a few of the pictures. There’s a curious expression on his face, a softness in his eyes that Hange isn’t used to seeing.

“Stalker,” she says. Levi kicks at the desk chair without looking up. “If you wanted a photoshoot, you could have asked.”

Levi scowls. He straightens the edges of the pictures with care, and sets them carefully on the desk. “If I wanted to take pictures of you posing, I would have asked.”

“Wanted to capture me in all my natural glory, huh?” Hange braces her elbows on the desk and rests her chin in both hands, grinning cheekily up at Levi. It must look ridiculous, with her watery eyes and the red point of her nose, but Levi isn't even looking at her to notice.

Levi says nothing. His gaze lingers on the pictures for a little longer, and the colour in his cheeks deepens. Hange nudges him with her elbow, smiling. The pictures are...sweet, in a way. There's something flattering about it. She slumps back in the chair, her smile wavering where a fresh wave of melancholy tugs at the edges of her lips.

“I’ll miss you, you know.” Hange’s voice cracks humiliatingly as she speaks. Levi looks over at her. Hange curses the wobble of her bottom lip and wipes at her eyes beneath her glasses. She isn’t expecting much; Levi is terrible at expressing feelings at the best of times, and so it’s more than surprising when, after a moment of consideration, he nods at her.

“Same.”

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. Hange presses her fingers into her eyes, trying to stem the flow, ease the sting there. She doesn’t want to spend their last evening together crying, but now that the tears have begun, Hange can’t seem to stop them. A lump builds in her throat, aching beneath her tongue and she can feel her chin wobbling, lips pulling down at the corners. She sniffles pitifully, draws a shuddering breath.

“Oi…” Levi says, though he doesn’t sound angry, or even uncomfortable like she had expected. His tone is gentle. It rips a sob from her.

Hange feels him move closer. He jostles the front of the chair, and when she opens her eyes to look at him she finds him standing right in front of her, between chair and desk, looking at her with a furrowed brow. It’s different to his usual scowl—his brows are a little upturned in the middle, exposing some kinder emotion; something like worry, or concern.

Hange tilts forward until her forehead presses into his chest. Levi’s hand comes up quickly to the back of her head. His touch is familiar, comforting, and Hange cries a little harder when his fingers tunnel into her messy hair, cradling her against him.

She cries until she feels spent, sniffling and gulping empty air. Her fingers twist into the hem of Levi’s shirt as she composes herself, mumbling, “you’ll keep in touch, right? You won’t forget about me?”

Levi clicks his tongue at her. “Stupid,” he says. “As if you’d let me.”

“I’m serious.” She sits back and looks up at her. Her eyes are burning, raw and wet, and the skin of her cheeks stings from crying, but she looks at him with as much determination as ever and says, “call me. Every day.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not! Just once, every day. Even if it’s only five minutes.”

Levi flicks her between her brows. “You won’t have the time, dumbass.”

“I’ll make time.”

Levi scrutinizes her for a moment, then says, “I’ll text.”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

Levi curls his lip and pulls at a lock of her fringe, muttering, “brat. Why don’t you call me?”

“I will,” Hange says plainly. Levi’s eyes widen a fraction. “I’ll call as much as I can. But you need to call me too, okay? I wanna hear from you a lot.”

There is a long pause, and then Levi turns his eyes away. The light in the room is pale and muted, but it is just enough to highlight the pale flush gathering anew on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. It’s almost cute.

“Fine. I’ll call. Happy?”

Hange grins at him. “Very. And I’ll send you photos of everything, all the time.”

Levi leans down towards her, pinching her nose between his thumb and forefinger and giving her head a little shake. “On your shitty phone camera?”

Hange nods. She bats his hand away and cranes herself up into his space, smiling something wicked. “You’ll hate it. They’ll be all blurry and I’ll have my thumb in the corner of every picture.”

“Pest.”

“Lots of selfies, too. So you won’t forget what I look like.” Hange blindly swipes up a picture from the desk, holding it up between them in front of her mouth and nose. Between Levi dipping down into her space and Hange stretching up into his, they are so close that Levi has to cross his eyes to get a look at it. “Not that I think it’ll be a problem.”

He rolls his gaze up to look at her over the top of the photograph. Up close, Hange can see just how bright the blue of his eyes is, how dark his lashes are; she can see the shadows they cast on his cheeks, the deepening flush bruising the skin red. Levi has always been a pale thing, but now, Hange can see the smattering of light freckles across his nose, barely visible in the low light. He looks pretty. Her heart stutters in her chest at the sight.

Hange has never fully understood Levi’s drive to photograph everything. To preserve any given moment, bottle up every minute detail. She sort of understands it, then—it’d be nice, she thinks absently, to save this particular view for forever. The thought makes her face grow warm.

“I won’t forget.” Levi’s voice is quiet, caught somewhere between embarrassment and uncertainty. He sways closer, rocks back, hesitates. And then he leans down and lets his forehead drop against hers. Hange can feel the press of his nose against her own, separated only by the picture between them.

Hange is used to being close to him. She’s a clingy person by nature, always grabbing him and hugging him, smooshing her cheek against his or shoving her face into his hair, but she is always the one to initiate such contact. Levi is tactile, in his own way—small, non-invasive touches, his fingers on her wrist or his palm at her back, always delicate, understated.

To have Levi enter so wholly into her space like this is new. It’s nice. Hange finds herself feeling very, very thankful for the paper between them, for the urge to lean forward and kiss him comes unbidden, so suddenly she isn’t sure she’d be able to resist the impulse if there hadn’t been a barrier in her way.

“Is it my dazzling good looks?” she says, acutely embarrassed by how breathless she sounds. Levi makes a small, noncommittal noise. His fingers find hers where she’s holding the picture, gripping it and pulling it until it slips out from between them. For the smallest moment, Hange feels the skin of Levi’s nose against hers, and the warm puff of breath on her lips, and then Levi straightens up, flipping the picture for her to see it.

“I’ve looked at your ugly mug every day for long enough. Don’t think I’d forget it so easily.”

It’s a truly unflattering photograph. Hange has her head tipped back, laughing boisterously at some thing or another, with her eyes pinched closed and chocolate sauce smeared over her lips, a drop of cream stuck to the end of her nose. Hange is sure she has looked better, but the thing is—despite her state, the picture still isn’t bad. Hange can hear the lilt of her own laughter and feel the tacky syrup, savour the sweetness of the cream on her tongue. There’s something so...animated about it, about the way the light dances over her skin and in her hair, and the way the background blurs around her, drawing her into sharp focus.

It’s nice, in a strange, unreserved kind of way.

But she’s still a mess. Hange snatches it and slams it down on the desk, glowering up at Levi.

“Why would you take that,” she whines, petulant. “You’re supposed to take pictures of nice things!”

“Because it’s very...you,” He says, neatly slotting the pictures back into the drawer, and moving back to sit on the window. Hange follows, drops herself onto the ledge opposite him with a pout.

“What, disgusting?”

Levi shrugs. “Messy. But...not bad.”

“I’m supposed to take that as a compliment, I guess? That’s almost sweet coming from you, Levi.”

Levi scowls over at her. She dangles one leg back out the open window, dropping the other heavily into Levi’s lap. He adjusts it until he is more comfortable, his hand wrapping again around her ankle, but does not let go once he has settled. He keeps a hold of her, his fingers tracing thoughtless patterns on her skin. The space between them is warm, comfortable. Hange leans her head back and breathes it in—the peace, the quiet, the simple pleasure of spending a tender evening with her favourite person in the whole world.

It’s nice. A small, frightened part of her doesn’t want it to ever end.

Hange has been set up in her student apartment for three weeks when the package arrives.

Moving had been harder than she had anticipated. She’d accounted for common issues—problems with her visa, her plane tickets, and had checked multiple transport options from the airport to her accommodation in case problems arose—but she hadn’t put all that much thought into what would happen once she settled at her apartment.

Unpacking had been boring. Her roommates were nice enough, the studious, bookworm-y type, but unlike Hange they weren’t overly sociable. They kept mostly to themselves in their rooms, perfectly content with brief conversations in the kitchen before retiring again, and with classes still two weeks away, Hange was finding the lack of social interaction difficult. She had explored some, but the city was vast in a cluttered, claustrophobic way. Hange had always enjoyed travelling, and had talked relentlessly of every adventure she could take herself on in a whole new country and all the new places she could explore, so much so that it was almost embarrassing, the way she had found herself so unwilling to stray too far from her accommodation without a companion by her side.

She’d felt a little homesick in the first couple of days, lonely and isolated. She missed the small comforts of the country, things she hadn’t even realised she had taken for granted. Quiet nights. Star studded skies. Long grass and trees and the fresh, earthy smell on the breeze. The city was unbearably loud at times, and even when the wail of sirens or the beep of car horns quieted, there was an unidentifiable hum beneath it all that never ceased even for a moment.

She felt Levi’s absence most acutely. Hange had known she would, but she hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt to be apart. She felt silly for it—it was ridiculous, to miss her friend more than she missed her own family, even. But Levi’s presence had been more constant than anything else, back home, and without him, she felt like a small part of herself was missing.

He called, as promised. Once a day, though oftentimes it was very late in the night for him, and he sounded tired. If Hange were less selfish, she might tell him to get some sleep instead—but she missed him. Hearing from him was the best part of her day.

It was about an hour before their designated call time when the post came. Hange answers the bell with a frown, which only deepens when the delivery driver hands her the package.

She takes it into her room, settling cross legged on the bed and inspecting the mystery item. It's a decent size, like a large shoe box, wrapped neatly in brown paper with her address lettered in tidy, familiar handwriting in one corner. Hange’s stomach lurches—she’d have recognised the writing anywhere, but her suspicions are confirmed by the return address. Levi’s.

She rips into the paper quickly, snatching up her keys to tear through the tape on the top of the box. It is stuffed full with packing paper, an envelope with her name on it sitting on the top. Hange picks it up and with trembling fingers, she opens it and unfolds the short note inside.

Hange,

Sorry things have been kind of shitty. This stuff might help or it might make things worse, but I figure you can just throw it out if it’s no good. Or give it away. Whatever. I don’t even know if all of this shit will make it through customs, so if you get an empty box it’s not my fault.

I don’t get how you eat half this junk, but I hope it makes you feel better, anyway.

Look after yourself. Eat real food.

Levi

Hange presses the note to her chest, grinning. Her heart aches, but having Levi go to this much trouble for her...it feels nice. Knowing he is still thinking of her. She’d never have admitted it out loud, but Hange had been concerned that perhaps Levi would forget about her after all, without her there to pester him all the time.

She pulls out some of the packing paper, and smiles widely at the rest of the contents.

Levi had put together what Hange can only call a care package. There are packs of her favourite snacks and sweets, things she’d complained she hadn’t been able to find in stores here; crisps, chocolate, hard candy, little mini boxes of sickeningly sugary cereal. There are tea bags with blends Levi knows she likes, each neatly labelled with instructions on what temperature to brew at and how long for. Levi had also packed some of the soaps Hange likes, the ones he uses but she refuses to buy for herself. The lavender scent drifts up out of the box and Hange’s heart squeezes tight in her chest. There’s a shirt in there, too—Hange recognises it at once, as one of Levi’s old, worn tees, thin grey cotton that feels impossibly soft in her hands. It’s far too big for either of them, and had always been the go-to item Levi would chuck at her when she decided she was staying over for the night and had nothing to wear to bed. Hange pulls it on quickly, savouring the soft feel and the smell of it.

In the bottom of the box, there is another envelope. This one is thicker than the first, and Hange knows what it contains before she even opens it.

Photographs. A small pile of them, depicting places she and Levi had frequented from when they were children right up until this last year—her favourite part of the forest, where the trees thin out and the river pools at the foot of a small waterfall. The great, open fields, sometimes full of long grass, sometimes clipped short and striped with windrows. Kuchel’s cafe, with umbrellas raised to block the sun on the tables outside, or else warm and low-lit and cosy in the cold winter. Hange settles back on her pillows as she flicks through each picture, a soft smile on her face. Looking at the images of home hurts, but it isn’t a terrible pain—she longs for these old times and these familiar places, but each recovered memory makes her happy.

In Levi’s pictures she can vividly recall moments in each and every location. He works some kind of magic with a camera, to trigger so many sensory memories—the scent of freshly cut grass, the feel of hay, dry and sharp, poking into her back through her clothing, and the gentle trickle of the river water, the splash of it as it runs over the falls, the feel of it cool on her skin. The tangy zest of fresh-pressed orange juice in the cafe, peach fuzz on her lips and the soft flesh of ripe fruit bursting between her teeth, sticky nectar coating her fingers.

Hange looks at each picture in turn, until she reaches the bottom of the pile, and there she stops abruptly, eyes widening at the last photograph Levi has packed for her.

It is one of Hange, taken in the window of Levi’s bedroom. She was looking out at the night sky, her elbow braced on her bent knee, chin in her palm, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. The starlight haloed her, shining from her hair and illuminating the jut of her chin, the curve of her nose and the slope of her brow. Behind her, Levi had captured the bright glow of the stars like jewels on a deep velvet canvas. She looked peaceful. Happy. For lack of a better word, beautiful.

Hange grins widely. Her eyes sting and her throat aches, but the picture—the whole box, really—makes her happier than she's felt in weeks. She brews her favourite cup of tea from the blends Levi had sent her and settles into the corner of her bed, lifting her phone to snap a quick selfie. She sends it to Levi, complete with a caption: thank you for my presents 😊 all ready for your call!

Levi responds almost immediately, first with a simple you're welcome. And then, after a minute, you look good. Speak to you soon.

Hange sinks deeper into the cushions, cradling her tea close to her face, masking the pleased flush on her cheeks with the heat from the steam.

Hange keeps him longer than usual, today.

There is a simmering warmth in her stomach as she listens to Levi's voice over the line. It comes tinny through the speakers, low and rough in the late hour, and his dark, grainy image looks tired, lamp light casting him half in shadow. They talk of everything and nothing, same as always—Levi tells her about his day, about the cafe and Kuchel, and Hange pouts as she tells him how little progress she is making in befriending her new housemates. Levi never voices any concern for her aloud, but Hange can sense it in the dip of his brows as she talks. She gives him a genuine smile when she reassures him that classes will start soon, and she's confident she will settle better after that.

Levi seems reluctant to leave, but after a little over an hour of aimless, comfortable chatter, he is yawning and blinking heavily, the lower half of his face nuzzled into his pillow. In the end, Hange makes up some watery excuse about visiting the coast while the sun is still high, if only to let him get some sleep.

"Sure. Have fun."

"I will! Sleep well, Levi."

Levi hums. The view shifts, blurry and indistinct, the mic muffled by the rustle of sheets, and when everything settles he is laying on his side, fringe mussed and falling over his eyes. He covers another long yawn with his fist. "I will."

"You'll call tomorrow?"

Levi rolls his tired eyes, but the corner of his mouth pulls up in a fraction of a smile. "Sure."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Hange grins. Levi watches her for a long moment, eyes scanning over her face. Then he holds up a hand in a tired wave. "Night, Hange."

"Night."

Hange stares at the screen for too long when the call ends. That terribly selfish part of her would have loved to keep his company for the rest of the day. Maybe, with a little travel sized Levi in the palm of her hand, she'd have been brave enough to explore some more, enthused about all the new things to see with somebody to share them with.

Sighing, Hange drops her phone to the desk and stands from the bed, stretching. There are still things she can do—she has plenty of recommended reading to get through, a small mountain of books at her disposal, and she has mapped the route to her campus often enough that she isn't feeling too overwhelmed by the prospect of the journey.

As she heads for the door, Hange notices something on the floor beside the bed. A neat, rectangular piece of paper; one of the photographs Levi had sent her, laying face down on the ground.

She picks it up again and brings the paper close to her face. Levi had written something on the back of it in small, quick letters, less tidy than his usual practiced script, as though he’d scribbled it as an afterthought, or else that he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to read it.

There is a date, the same night she had found Levi’s secret photo stash, followed by Hange’s name, and the location of the shot. And beneath that Levi had scrawled a few words. Hange squints to read them, and then her eyes grow wide, blinking owlishly down at the note. Her heart swells almost painfully and something solid balloons within her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her lips tremble into a smile as she props the picture carefully on the bedside table.

The day is still young. Hange brews herself another cup of Levi’s tea and settles on the bed with one of her books, content to spend the next few hours reading—though she finds it strangely difficult to focus, with the words Levi had written on the back of the photograph swirling round and round in her head. Hange doubts they will leave her any time soon. They left her feeling more homesick than ever, but there is a soft, giddy kind of comfort in them all the same. It's a feeling that Hange will savour for as long as she possibly can.

It's weird here without you. Come home again soon x

#ask #levihan #my writing #snk #the way this has kicked my ass for hjkjhg MONTHS #I'm so sorry for the delay but thank you so much for the prompt!!! I was so excited to work on it #and I'm glad I finally got it finished :)#sorry it once again got incredibly out of hand length-wise #drabble my ass

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ad1thi · 3 years

Text

2020 fic recs!! [Part 2]

part 2 of my 2020 fic recs!! as before, ive limited this to five fics per month; and fics are ordered by the month they were published. This spans fandoms and ships, and hopefully you find something you like!! credit for the idea goes to @iam93percentstardust

***

July

this is the start: @capnwinghead

Clark and Bruce continue raising the Wayne children and encounter a number of challenges along the way.

great minds (love alike): @starklysteve

Steve’s eyes flicks down to Tony’s knees on the floor.

“Are you – are you proposing to me with my ring for you?” Steve asks incredulously, eyes wide and confused.

---

Or, Steve finds Tony’s ring for him, Tony finds Steve’s ring for him. Panic happens.

Marvels Unsolved: @iam93percentstardust

Marvels Unsolved was never supposed to be this popular. It started off as a novelty web-series about Tony trying to convince Bucky about the existence of the supernatural—he firmly believed that if science could turn Uncle Steve from an actual shrimp to the god of muscles, then magic had to be out there—and then they’d started talking about an unsolved crime from the early 20th century after filming an episode one day, forgetting that the camera was still rolling, and had ended up with enough footage to make a second episode about real crimes. They had stayed pretty unknown throughout that first season but then true crime podcasts had exploded in popularity and Unsolved along with them.

it’s a small world after all: @maguna-stxrk

“Great speech.”

Smiling at the compliment, Tony turns around. “Thank y—”

And nearly drops his champagne flute.

His world comes to a stop.

They had only spent a night together, but Tony would recognize those baby blues anywhere.

It’s Steve.

Steve from Tony’s London business trip. Or, as Rhodey has become accustomed to calling him—The Soulmate That Got Away.

you’re in my blood, you’re in my veins: @nethandrake

Tony always figured that if they ever were to break up, it would be like a blaze. Scorching and hot and all-too blinding. Intense like the two of them have always been.

Instead, they break up on a Tuesday, with the rain pelting the windowpane and the midnight silence stifling.

August

Five Times Danny said he’d marry Steve (plus one): @five-wow

Danny humphs. “Look, all I’m saying is, I think I’d probably have married you by now.”

“I’d marry you, too,” Steve says.

Or: An experiment in how many times you can say something before you have to put your money where your mouth is.

Family (You’ve Always Had It): @/SunnyQueen

A black Camaro and a scowling blond was not what Junior had been expecting.

“Hi, sir. You didn’t have to pick me up.”

The blond looked up from the screen on his phone and groaned, completely ignoring Junior's statement. “You are right, I didn't have to."

Ode To Yoga Pants: @riotfalling

OR the continued terrible mating dance of Bucky and Tony, AKA when betting on your friends stops being fun

Through The Years: @hawkbucks

Tony brings home Natasha one day, proclaiming her to be his new sister.

Natasha takes this all in stride.

The broken road that led me home to you: @just-fandomthings

A documented list of conversations between Steve and Danny via text and phone call following the events of 10x22 "Aloha." (Where, even thousands of miles apart, Steve and Danny can't go without talking to each other.)

September

someday, we’ll pass it on to you: @starklysteve

Steve smiles.

Reaching up, he flattens his hand against his son’s far smaller one, curling gently around it. “You wanna be like him?”

“Da!” Peter agrees again.

One year old, and you already know who’s the best of us, Steve pauses to reflect, all his fears chased away by a fierce pride. “Your Dad’s coming home real soon,” he promises, “you should tell him that.”

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

Or, five times Peter did the repulsor pose as a toddler

+ one time he used the repulsors as an adult

Classic Sci Fi: @notdoingsohot

Bucky wakes up to Steve telling him he's lost his memory, but not to panic, it'll only last a few days. Easier said than done when the last thing Bucky remembers is fighting Hydra with the Howlies in WWII.

He tries to make the most of it however, and there's this guy... Tony Stark. It's pretty clear the guy hates Bucky's guts, which is unfortunate because god damn is he a sight.

He tries to figure out what he did to wrong Stark, but everyone just tells him he doesn't want to know.

They were right.

Blooms in Frost: @/Diomedes

Tony coughs up his first petal on the sixth of July. He has been married to the love of his life for two years.

Bury a Hanahaki corpse in earth and it will beget the most beautiful garden. All that love, it is said, must go somewhere.

Hanahaki AU: Established relationship

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

A Single Thread of Gold: @lovelyirony

Rhodey doesn't believe in love at first sight or any of that cheesy shit. He just wants someone who is nice, dependable, and safe.

Tony Stark is Housing Service's little problem for the school year, and now he's stuck in Rhodey's room because he's exploded the last two dorm rooms he's been in and won't live off-campus.

high roller, place your bet: @machi-kun

“Would you kiss Stark for a hundred bucks?”

“I would pay a hundred bucks to kiss him.”

October

press my luck: @omg-just-peachy

But... Steve is almost ten years his junior, and he could be with just about anyone, looking and acting like he does. And then there’s the not so small fact of Tony’s name and net worth and the fact that, okay, Tony had paid for Steve’s grad school tuition, and now he’s worried Steve feels obligated to stay. Or something.

Or, Tony is a billionaire, Steve is a grad student, and they learn to let themselves be taken care of.

see it with the lights out: @starklysteve

Tony goes on a business trip, and he does not - not at all - get jealous of Dodger hogging his husband's chest, a territory otherwise known as Tony's pillow.

(or, Steve goes on an Instagram spree and Tony misses home)

adulthood is looking both ways before you cross the street and getting hit by an airplane: @starkslovemail

It was a perfect plan, if Peter did say so himself.

The Buy In: @dracusfyre

For the ImagineTonyandBucky prompt: Mafia AU with Tony as the Boss (except he's a really good one, making the streets safe, keeping drugs away from kids etc) and Bucky as the detective sent to go undercover to catch him out but ends up realizing he's actually doing more good than harm and they end up falling in love

trinkets of your affection: @starklysteve

Kissed him once for every year I loved him, Steve had written.

By that count, Steve owes him five more kisses now.

Tony traces the words, hands trembling, and tips back a shot of Howard's ancient whiskey. None of it burns anymore.

One day, he'll have lived more days without Steve than there are words in the diary.

For the first time since he'd woken with shrapnel in his chest, Tony fears the future.

----------

Or, five things Tony keeps to remember Steve by, and one thing Steve gives him to remember.

November

“Hey Tony”: @riotfalling

Steve points out that Bucky never calls Tony by his actual name. Bucky doesn’t believe him, until he does.

Remembering You is Hard to Do: @lovelyirony

“The future’s crazy, honey-bear.”

Jim looks up.

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“Honey-bear. It’s weird.”

“Inside joke we have,” Tony says, chest tightening. “We thought those couples that have the lovey-dovey nicknames were ridiculous.”

overheard your heartbeat (calling me yours): @starklysteve

"Tony - "

"I wish I could promise to come home this time," he feels the armor crawl back down his arm, continuing unnoticed over Steve's red gloves, then up the blue uniform as Tony fights to keep Steve's gaze firmly fixed on him.

The last eyes Tony might get to see, and he wants to be lost in them.

In the end, his entire life boils down a few simple things: "JARVIS, take care of him for me."

----------

Or, Tony overhears a phonecall where Steve proposes, a battle happens, and a paper ring settles some misunderstandings.

i (really, really, really, really, really, really) like you.: @nethandrake

For as long as Steve can remember, he's been crushing on Tony Stark. The thing is, he's pretty sure Tony doesn't know Steve exists. And how could he? Steve's scrawny and little. He's a nobody compared to Tony who's Mr Popular and the son of a billionaire.

Or at least he thought so until Tony swings by the bakery Steve's mother happens to own to enlist Steve's help in finding the perfect Valentine's Day card.

The perfect Valentine's Day card for someone who isn't Steve.

One Song (My Heart Keeps Singing): @iam93percentstardust

When Thor is old enough to understand what a Heartsong is, he goes to his mother to ask her why he can’t understand the language his is in. He listens as she tells him about the first soulmates who couldn't understand their Heartsong until the day they meet, excited by the thought of a grand adventure, one that will take him across the cosmos in search of his One.

He’ll search all the Nine Realms if he has to.

December

Swiping Right: @s-horne

“Ouch. Definitely a hard pass for that one?”

Steve startled at the sudden comment from the row of chairs behind him and turned around. He’d been passing the time in the airport lounge by swiping through Tinder and had gotten lost in his own world. It was almost jarring to be pulled away from the screen of hot men and back into reality where the PA was screeching and there was noise everywhere.

Adjusting to the difference, Steve frowned. Wait, he knew that face. Oh, shit… he knew that face.

“No, no, it’s fine,” the man said before Steve could get out anything other than an embarrassed sort of yelp. Waving his hand through the air, the stranger smiled ruefully. “I get it. It’s the beard, isn’t it? True be told, it was a weird winter choice that year and I knew it would come back to hurt me.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He knew it must have shown on his face and could feel himself flushing, panicked and embarrassed all at once. What were the odds of swiping left on someone literally sat behind him?

set your flight path home (to me): @starklysteve

Tony puts down his welding torch. “I’m building you a plane.”

Stepping carefully over the gears and tools scattered about, Rhodey slowly makes his way to him.

“And when did you become an expert on how to build a plane?”

“Last night,” Tony grins.

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

Tony builds a plane, and Rhodey teaches Tony how to fly it. Or he would be teaching Tony, if Tony didn't distract him so much.

I Want A Man With A Slow Hand: @thefourofswords

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked on their way to a crime scene, because no time like the present, and Danny believed in ripping off band-aids.

“Why not?” Steve replied, eyes on the road. “You’re gonna even if I say no.”

“What do you like in bed?”

Danny undertakes a very important mission to get Steve laid. For his health. Ahem.

same time next year: @omg-just-peachy

“I forgot to ask. When’s your flight home?” Steve asks, draping his arm over Tony’s shoulder and settling in against him.

Tony ignores the knot that forms in his chest at the idea of it, leaving Steve again for his own impersonal apartment, his piles of books and projects and the nights without sleep.

“Day after tomorrow.”

Steve huffs a little sigh, then brings his lips to Tony’s neck. “Well, we’ll have to make the most of it, won’t we?”

Or, four (4) Christmases with two (2) idiots who can't admit they're in love.

rearrange my heart (to fit your smile): @starklysteve

"You dare," Howard's chair makes an ugly noise as it scrapes against the stone floors, the chatter of the room shifting into hushed whispers and stolen glances. "I am your father and your King!"

"My King is my husband," Tony tips his chin up, defiant. "And I refuse to hear you suggest that my husband has been anything other than good to me."

Next to him, he feels Steve's shoulders stiffen in surprise.

Howard's fist slams loud on the table. "Your husband does not even love you!"

Tony jerks back, burned. He knows that. Knows that Steve did not marry him for love – does not need any reminder of the cold truth, of what he desperately yearns for and can't even hope to have – but the harshness of Howard's words was scalding, and Tony can't afford for this to go any further.

----------

Or, King Steven marries Prince Tony, Tony is pretty sure he shouldn't panic when he falls in love with his own husband, and Steve tries his very best not to cause diplomatic crises.

Keyword: try

#adi's rec list #superbat #superhusbands #winterironfalcon #mcdanno #buckytony #peppernat #superfamily #rhodeytony #ironfamily #and that's a wrap!!!

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chemicalvelocity · 3 years

Text

Happy Friday! I need therapy

So I wrote a fic for Fingers in my mouth Friday! Hope Y'all enjoy it.

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No warnings apply

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel

Word Count: 3545

Read Below the Cut:

Dean's not a creep. He's not, he swears. It's just that he's... noticing things now that he's not on high alert for monsters anymore.

He remembers the first evidence of Castiel he'd ever seen, an angry burn scar of a handprint. He thought it was a demon's for christ's sake. He hadn't paid mind at the time to the fact that it took up his entire deltoid.

Now, however, he was absently tracing its outline after a shower, staring more through the mirror than at it while recalling the events of breakfast. Jack had playfully started the comparing hand sizes game that seems to entertain kids so much.

Dean hadn't even put any thought into it until it turned into everyone else doing it to humor him; which culminated in Dean foolishly slapping his palm to Cas's and then realizing just how much smaller his hand was.

Naturally, he'd joked it off and found his way out of the conversation, acting like it wasn't a bruise to his ego. He had thousand-yard stared his way through a shower, and now, here he was.

He carefully fitted his hand over the scar tissue on his shoulder, and yep, there it was, a literal physical reminder of Cas's massive hands. He got over himself as quickly as he could and threw on his clothes before going to the garage to wash Baby.

That turned out to be a bad idea, as many of Dean's ideas do. Cas was sat in a lawn chair with the tunnel doors cracked, rolling a joint. Dean had pointedly ignored him, turning to rinse the car until Cas spoke up.

"Would you like some?" He asked, looking over at Dean with a twist of his slender fingers as his tongue darted out to wet the rolling paper's adhesive. Dean swallowed.

"Y'know that shit's bad for you, right?" Dean grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. He opened a drawer to pull out sponges and brushes, tossing them into nearby buckets and setting them down near Baby's rear fender

"I think you know that's not true." Castiel hummed, placing the fresh joint between his lips, bringing the flame of his zippo to the end, and inhaling deeply.

"Whatever, Stoney baloney... Don't you usually smoke out on the roof, anyway?" Dean asked, filling up the first bucket with hot water and suds, the second with only cold water.

"It's raining," Cas replied, voice husky from the strain of holding in a hit. "Frankly, the Bunker is well ventilated enough that I could smoke in the library... where we still keep ashtrays on the table, but I figured I'd come in here to keep it away from Jack." He mused, blowing his lungful of smoke out the door.

"Right... Gotta say Cas, I'm sure second-hand smoke doesn't affect 20-year-old Nephilim toddlers." Dean chuckled, saturating the sponge in the first bucket and slung the soap across the Impala's roof, leaning up to scrub away the dust and bugs that come from hauling her back and forth across the Midwest.

"No, but I don't want to influence him, he's very impressionable, you know." Cas flicked the collecting ash into a labelless beer bottle that sat discarded in his chair's cupholder.

"I wonder where he could've gotten that from. Claire came to visit for one weekend and all of a sudden you're Bob Marley!" Dean teased, and Cas narrowed his eyes at him.

"I am not a musician, nor a Rastafarian, Dean. Claire simply pointed out that I think too much, and that cannabis is known to help." He drew in a deep hit and outstretched his arm to Dean, the cigarette balanced between two fingers. Smoke twirled lazily into the air around him.

Dean made a show of rolling his eyes before coming over to pluck the smoke from Cas's possession. Cas watched him appraisingly as he took a drag, then another, and Dean almost choked when Cas's lips parted for the stream of smoke to travel neatly into his nostrils.

Okay, so Claire taught him how to french inhale. Dean idly wondered if he knew what ghosting was, before passing it back and returning to his task, pretending like his lungs didn't burn from the comparative lack of practice.

Dean hit the wall hard, his breath punched out of him with a grunt. He scrambled to his knees and whipped his head around to see Sam in a similar position nearby. Cas was still standing though now surrounded by three, very pissed-off demons, one of which had Dean's angel blade. Dean attempted to gather himself and help out, but his vision went sideways and he steadied himself against a table, opting to call out the angel's name, stupidly.

Cas had slashed the leg of the demon to his right and grappled the one to his left. As the first one went down, his palm met its forehead and smote it out of its meatsuit. The middle one charged him, but he spun the demon in his grip, shielding himself by launching his captive forward onto the blade, then seizing the neck of the remainder, holding him in place firmly. He turned to the bewildered hunters casually.

"Did you need him for anything else?" Dean bit down on his tongue in a failed attempt to reintroduce moisture to his mouth.

"N-No, Cas I think we're good, knock yourself out..." he rasped as Castiel tightened his grip on the demon's throat, and light burned out from under its skin. Sam and Dean had picked themselves up off the floor by now and made their way to the middle of the room.

"Good work, buddy," Dean panted as Cas piled up the bodies at his feet, and wiped blood away on his jeans. "Guess you hardly need us."

"Of course I do, You made an excellent distraction." Cas smiled and while Dean was sure it was a genuine statement, definitely felt the hit to his pride. Maybe he was just getting too old for this shit. Sam snorted at something and walked out. Dean didn't know what, but he didn't want to hit him any less for it.

"Hey, Cas, I have a bit of a concussion from the hunt the other night. Can you work a little magic?" Sam rubbed at his eyes, setting his laptop aside. Dean raised his eyebrows from his seat, taking a sip of beer. He wouldn't have asked Cas to expend any healing energy on himself, but Cas didn't protest. Instead, he hardly looked up from his book and snapped his fingers. Sam visibly relaxed. Dean did not.

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it. I'm gonna go grab some grub, probably just pick up a pizza and some beers or something." Sam held his hand out for the impala keys. Dean tossed them to him with half a mind.

When Sam was gone, he was still staring at Cas in confusion.

"Can I help you with something too, Dean?" He quirked an eyebrow over his book. Dean cleared his throat and shook his head.

"Nope, no, I'm okay, just a few scrapes. Can't have you wasting your mojo on that... I was just wondering why you didn't, uh, y'know," He tapped two fingers to his forehead and Cas's eyes turned up in a half-smile.

"I don't need to do that to heal."

"Oh... okay." He'd already asked a weird question, probably best not to pry into why Cas always touched him to heal. He tipped back the rest of his beer and fumbled around for an excuse of some sort to break the silence, but Cas stood first.

"I'm going to go find Jack. Let me know when Sam's back with dinner." He passed Dean with a warm squeeze to his shoulder. Dean watched him go, then realized just how long it's been since he's been laid. Too fucking long, apparently.

Yeah, no. Way too long. Dean's half-convinced Cas is fucking with him, too. His suspicion stemmed from Cas's sudden love of eating every meal with them and requesting things like wings or fries.

"Morning sunshine, Sam and Jack already left to go check out a case. I made pan...cakes..." Dean's sentence fell flat when his eyes met Cas entering in a half-buttoned-up shirt. His long fingers slipped buttons into place as he yawned his greeting and trudged his way to the coffee maker.

Dean was a little concerned that he noticed Cas's hands before he noticed the toned and tanned chest underneath the shirt. He ran a hand down his face and moved to pour more coffee. Cas passed over the pot and turned to the stack of pancakes, tossing two onto a plate and proceeding to destroy them with fruit and whipped cream.

"When was the last time we cleaned our firearms?" Cas asked, swirling his finger through the toppings of his breakfast before popping it in his mouth. Dean set his mug down, a little too hard. Cas gave him a look.

"Are you fucking with me?" Dean tried not to sound petulant, but he can't catch a single break. Cas bit his lower lip, and then cleared his throat.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Was his response, innocent and hid behind a sip of coffee. Dean pursed his lips.

"You- you don't?" Dean was momentarily taken aback. Was he so unbelievably tense that he'd imagined the whole problem?-

"No, Dean, you've been staring at my hands all week, I have no idea what you're talking about." he deadpanned.

Dean's face burned. He didn't think he was being obvious about it or anything. Cas was observant, though.

"At first I thought you were just insecure about your hand size, but surely you'd have gotten over that in a day. Then I did some research and decided to... Encourage you." He continued casually as if Dean wasn't praying for the earth to swallow him whole.

"I uh, appreciate that, Cas... Um, what conclusions exactly did you draw?" Dean squeaked out because frankly he still wasn't sure what was going on here.

"You may have a sexual preference for hands, which makes sense, given your previous statements regarding slapping." Cas hummed into his coffee and, yeah okay Dean needed to end this conversation before he melted from shame.

"Okay, right, got it, I'll stop staring." He managed, grabbing his mug and turning to leave before Cas grabbed his arm. He glanced down at the sudden warmth around his wrist, then up to meet Cas's cobalt gaze.

"I never told you to stop," Cas said calmly, loosening his grip to slip his fingers into Dean's hand and pull him closer. "Dean, I researched it." His expression was earnest, and Dean shuddered involuntarily.

"Listen, man, It's not like, a thing... It's just, well, you have nice hands, and you kinda marked me... with your very large hand." Dean still wanted to disappear, but Cas didn't seem too bothered.

"I wanted to tell you, I touch you when I heal because I like the excuse to," Cas murmured, raising his other hand to cup Dean's jaw. Dean's breath hitched. "I enjoy the warmth. Everything else is always so cold." Cas whispered, running his thumb lightly across Dean's bottom lip. Dean couldn't stop the noise he made as it caught on his nail.

Cas's pupils grew wide, and he curiously pushed his thumb deeper. Dean closed his lips over it and sucked gently, noting the faint taste of the strawberries Cas had put on his pancakes. Dean pulled back before he embarrassed himself any further.

"Uh," Dean's brain replied dumbly. "Can I kiss you?" His dick helped with that one.

"I just put my thumb in your mouth and you feel the need to ask-" Cas's snark was cut short by Dean pressing him up against the counter and slotting their lips together. Cas gripped the front of Dean's shirt and kissed him back like a man dying of thirst. This is why Dean's thought process is filled with question marks when Cas puts a hand firmly on his chest and pulls back to speak.

"I don't think the kitchen is the best place for this." He rumbled into their shared space. Dean perked back up when he realized the proposition.

"Did you wanna finish your breakfast first? I can't guarantee we'll be back in here any time soon." Dean wiggled his eyebrows at the angel.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Dean," Cas smiled. "I'd love to. While I do I think you probably want to go get ready." Cas wiped the look off Dean's face when he reeled him back in for another kiss.

"O-oh, yeah, okay. Meet you in my room in ten." And then he was speedwalking out of the kitchen.

Dean turned off the shower after a very thorough cleaning and wrapped his towel around his waist, hurrying back down the hallway to his room. Cas was sitting on the bed patiently.

"Hello, Dean." He smiled, reaching up to tug off his tie. Dean's throat went dry again.

"Hi," Dean was clutching his towel like a lifeline. Cas observed him fondly as he unbuttoned his shirt. "Did you want me to put something on? Or..."

Cas just chuckled and beckoned him closer. Dean stood between his legs and his heart dropped out of his ass when Cas took his hands and pulled gently, signaling for Dean to kneel. He lowered himself slowly to his knees and looked up at Cas, expectant, and not at all freaking out on the inside. Cas leaned in to kiss him again. That, he could work with.

"I want you to put your hands on my knees, and you can't move them unless I say so, is that alright?" Castiel spoke when they parted.

Oh.

Apparently, hand kink isn't the only thing Cas researched. Dean felt the command go straight to his dick. He nodded hastily, but Cas said nothing, only waited, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes, Cas." He breathed, and Cas grinned and shrugged off his shirt, tossing it into Dean's desk chair.

"Good. Get comfortable." Dean sat back on his heels and placed his hands on top of Cas's thighs. Cas placed both of his hands on Dean's shoulders, rubbing small circles in the muscle before he slid them upwards to massage the back of Dean's neck. When Dean was staring up at him with hooded eyes and humming his appreciation, Castiel's patience grew thin.

Cas held the back of Dean's neck steady, tracing the fingers of his right hand down Dean's temple and across his lips. This time, Dean didn't have any reservations about darting his tongue out to meet them. Cas inhaled deeply through his nose and pushed his index and middle fingers into Dean's mouth.

Dean sighed and let himself go, he lapped at Cas's fingers like he was starving. He held Cas's heated gaze and felt his dick wake back up, twitching underneath his towel.

"So good, you're such a good boy for me, Dean." Cas praised. Dean thought he might pass out. The feeling of Cas inside him, even if it was just his fingers sliding along his tongue was heady. He looked down and took notice of the increasing tightness of Cas's pants. Cas slid his fingers out and leaned back on his elbows. Dean panted, his fingers gripping Cas's thighs with the effort of keeping still.

"Would you like something else, Dean?" Cas smirked down at him. "All you have to do is ask." Dean screwed his eyes shut and swallowed his pride.

"I want," He let out a shuddering breath as Cas ran a hand through his hair. "I want to suck you off."

"You can move your hands now." Cas hummed and leaned his head back. Dean practically sprung forward, ignoring the ache in his calves as he latched his mouth onto one of the angel's nipples. His hands made quick work of Cas's belt and fly, tugging firmly at his pockets to get them off. When Cas's flushed erection came free, Dean leaned forward to mouth at the head and cup his balls.

Cas wove a hand into Dean's hair and pulled. Dean moaned around the cock in his mouth, drawing a deep groan from Cas in response. Dean drank in the sound and relaxed his jaw to swallow him down further, bobbing his head rapidly.

"Dean." Cas sounded wrecked, and Dean's head snapped up to attention.

"Yeah?" He asked, breath heaving as he leaned up to his eye level.

"May I-"

"Anything, Angel, seriously." He pressed his lips to the heated flesh under Cas's jaw, sucking hard and nipping gently.

"I want to fuck you." Cas gasped, leaning into Dean's mouth. Dean nodded and climbed to his feet to get the lube from his nightstand. Cas sat up and wrenched Dean's towel away. His eyes roved Dean's body appreciatively before pulling him down on the bed. "Lie down on your front, please." He purred, and Dean was on his elbows in an instant, handing back the lubrication.

Cas caressed the contours of Dean's back reverently, before gingerly parting Dean's cheeks and licking a broad stripe across his hole. Dean felt his whole body twitch.

"Fuck, C-Cas..." Dean whined out, completely sideswiped by Cas's impromptu rimjob. He helplessly thrust his hips back against Cas's grip. Castiel reeled back a single hand and gave Dean's ass a hard smack. Dean dropped his face into his pillow with a keen from the back of his throat.

"Sit still, Dean. Let me take care of you." He growled, mouthing kisses from the base of Dean's spine to the cleft of his ass again. He laved his tongue in tantalizing circles, fucking it in and out nimbly and drawing a chorus of breathy sounds from the hunter.

"Please, Sweetheart... I need you... Need you inside me, c'mon." Dean whimpered, writhing under the sensation of Cas's hot breath and slick tongue. Cas finally gave in and sat up, reclaiming the bottle of lube to squeeze a sizeable portion directly onto Dean's entrance. Dean shivered from the sudden cold, only to cry out again when Cas's strong index finger slid in with very little resistance.

Cas continued to pepper Dean's shaking shoulders with wet kisses as he thrust his finger in, curling it hard against Dean's prostate and savoring the faint sound of Dean nearly wailing into his pillow. He slid in a second finger and scissored them back and forth to make way for a third. At this point, Dean had lifted his head and turned towards Cas with pleading eyes. Cas leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

"You're doing so well, Dean... Are you ready?" Cas mumbled into Dean's mouth.

"Yeah, Christ... Yes, Cas, please." Dean managed to get his knees under himself and Cas slicked himself up, working the head of his cock into Dean's fluttering hole. He clutched at Dean's hips and slowly rocked himself in deeper. "Fuck!" Dean yelped, trying to meet Cas's thrusts to no avail.

"Relax, my love." Cas moaned, rolling his hips into Dean, captivated by the catch of skin around him. "Do you want to move?" He asked, and released his iron hold on Dean's waist with a chuckle when Dean nodded eagerly. Dean thrust back against Cas with abandon. A surprised gasp was drawn from both of them as Cas sped up his thrusts to match. Dean was going to come if Cas didn't slow down, so he gathered his thoughts enough to speak up.

"Cas, wait. Can I flip?" He panted, and Cas's onslaught came to a stop.

"Of course, Dean." He pulled out carefully and leaned away for Dean to position himself on his back. Castiel admired the flush that spread down Dean's neck and covered most of his chest. He leaned forward to suck dark hickeys into Dean's collarbone to contrast. Dean reached down to guide Cas back inside, sighing amorously when he was seated again.

Cas rocked in and out once more with renewed enthusiasm. He snapped his hips forward, causing Dean to arch up off the bed with a shout. Stars burst behind his eyelids as Cas lifted Dean's legs to wrap around his waist and repeated contact his prostate shot sparks through his bloodstream.

"Ah-fuck, Cas, Baby... I'm gonna come. Are you almost there?" Dean gasped and reached up to pull Cas down for a vehement kiss when he grunted his confirmation. Dean felt the heat of his release coil deep in his gut and rocked up into Cas with a fervor, moaning heavily into Cas's mouth with each collision of their hips.

Then the tension in Dean's core snapped, and he was coming without so much as a moment's attention to his dick, clinging to Cas's shoulders with a fucked out whine. Cas kept going and Dean's synapses felt like they were being deep-fried as Castiel's stuttering hips drove him in deeply one, two then a final time as he emptied himself into Dean with a low groan. He then pulled out slowly and rolled off a now depleted Dean to spoon him.

"I think I'm in love with you." Dean wheezed, and Castiel grinned into his hair.

"I'm glad I could help you come to that epiphany. I love you too, Dean."

#Spn #spn fanfiction #destiel fanfic #my writing #minors dni #dean winchester #Castiel #Fimmf #Happy Friday!!#destiel #deancas #casdean #dean x cas #supernatural fanfiction

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

Text

For a while, after everything with Jack, it’s quiet. Sam gets up at the same time every morning out of habit but there’s no real need. It feels like there’s something—untethered, in him. A flying line that used to be caught on concrete, and now that the anchor’s gone he doesn’t know what to lash it to. Dean seems to be doing better but Sam knows it’s the same for him. They stay apart a little, in those first days, but they keep running into each other in the library—Sam looking at the bookshelves and Dean coming in from the garage with grease on his hands, and they look at each other and kind of shrug, kind of smile, but it’s—strange. Like there’s been some weight, counterbalancing the world, and now that it’s gone—

Sam goes for runs. Dean works on the car. They watch movies they meant to see when they were in theaters, and which can be watched now in the den Dean built for them, a six pack of beer between them and Dean hogging the popcorn. They drive through Lebanon together, pick up mail and groceries, and they argue over whether they’re having that tater tot hotdish recipe Donna sent again or whether they’re going to eat something that has a single vegetable in it, at all. They go out onto the empty abandoned farmland behind the bunker, and Dean’s found some battered lawnchairs from somewhere, and they sit with their feet kicked out into the long grass and pass a bottle of whiskey back and forth, and they watch the day slowly sliding into sunset, and then into night, and when there’s stars overhead Dean says, “Damn,” softly, and Sam laughs, just as quiet. Yeah. Yeah, that—about sums it up.

There’s a hunt, finally. Sam wasn’t even really looking, but he’s got the Google alerts set up and the hunt finds them, instead. He’s sitting in the kitchen with the remains of breakfast around, staring at his laptop. Missing women. Strange details, from the police reports. A mystery, that the locals can’t solve, and he’s got his teeth in his lip and he’s half-considering whether to just close the laptop lid and go—another run, another chore, just to not see it, even though it’s not like he doesn’t want to go—when there’s a scuff, and Dean says, “Hey,” easy, and then he’s caught, sitting, and Dean pauses and then comes up behind him, and leans in with one hand on the table and the other on Sam’s back, reading over his shoulder. Sam takes a deep breath. It’s like a thousand times before. A piece that had been missing starts to slide into place.

“Huh,” Dean says. His breath smells like coffee and Sam wrinkles his nose. Dean reaches around his arm and scrolls down on the webpage, reading. “Shapeshifter?”

Sam lifts a shoulder. “Could be,” he says, and he tries not to put any inflection in it. He doesn’t even know how he feels—he doesn’t want to affect what Dean might feel, either way.

There’s a look, aimed at the side of his face. Dean’s fingertips on his back dig in, just a little, warm and heavy. “Only a five hour drive,” Dean says, slowly. He stands up straight, but his hand doesn’t move. “Three women?”

Sam closes his eyes. “So far,” he says, and Dean’s fingertips slip away, and when he looks again Dean’s standing there in his robe with wet hair, healthy and burden-free and giving Sam this—Sam doesn’t even know how to read that face. Steady eyes, soft curve to his mouth. He shrugs one shoulder, too, hands in his robe pockets, and Sam huffs, smiles and doesn’t know why. That it can be a shrug, maybe. That it doesn’t feel like the end of the world. Just a job.

“I could get packed up in fifteen,” Sam says, offering, and Dean’s eyes crinkle, but he nods, and turns on his heel, and that means—a decision. Sam takes a deep breath and feels that dangling tether latch onto solid ground again. It’s been a month, free, but that’s the thing. They’re free either way.

Sam breaks his ring finger. Dean gets hit so hard on his shin, the bruise sinking so deep and painful, that they both think there’s been a hairline fracture, but the x-ray is clean and he’s just told to keep his weight off it for a few days. Sam drives home, Dean snoozing solidly in the passenger seat, and Sam keeps the radio down low but listens to the albums he picks (Zeppelin II and then Presence and then Zep III, both sides repeated twice), and he keeps smiling, off and on, the whole way home through the dark, because—they saved two women and stopped a fourth from being hurt, and they got the shifter, and it turns out—there’s still a reason, here. Still something.

He gets a crutch from the infirmary so Dean can stump down the stairs, bitching the whole way. It’s two in the morning but Sam’s not tired. Dean says something about a shower and disappears into the halls, grumbling about asshole shifters who get in lucky shots, and Sam’s left standing in the library with their bags, and he—god. God.

He pours a drink, from the good stuff Dean keeps in the crystal decanter. He sips at the glass and then presses it to his forehead, and smiles at nothing, thinking back. What an annoying goddamn week that case was. And yet, and yet. It was…

He sits, at the table. He sets his glass on a spare bit of scratch paper and runs his fingers over the carved-in marks. His and Dean’s initials are already worn smooth, nearly, from nights just like this. When he couldn’t sleep, and he couldn’t bear it. He can bear it, now. What a—gift.

Sam licks his lips. He sets his hand flat on the table, his splinted finger sticking out awkwardly. “Jack,” he says, to the empty air. The carved letters are rough, under his palm. “I guess—you can hear me. I haven’t—I haven’t been praying. I don’t know. It felt stupid. Weird. If you’re really a god now, then you know everything I might say. But maybe it…” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. The wood’s getting warm, from his palm sitting there. He takes a deep breath. “We went hunting, this week. I didn’t know if we’d—but it was exactly what we needed. We saved people, and we fixed something that was bad. Dean’s leg is gonna be okay. My hand hurts. But it’s—good. We did good. And it’s because of you, that we could do that, so I just wanted to say thank you.”

That’s what he’s been feeling, he realizes. All through the drive home. Just—thanks. That this is their life. That they can live it, now.

“Sam,” he hears, in Dean’s voice, and he opens his eyes, and—

Jack’s standing there, quiet, in the library. Dean’s leaned against the archway leading down to the map room with his crutch clutched in the other hand, and he glances at Sam but his eyes go right back to Jack.

He looks the same. Jeans, and that white jacket Sam picked out for him at the thrift store, and his hair falling softly over his forehead, and his face, set in gentle lines.

“Are you—” Sam cuts himself off. He doesn’t—what to say? What to ask?

“I heard you,” Jack says. He looks at Dean, frozen on the top stair. “Both of you.”

Sam’s attention snaps to Dean, who’s starting to flood up red in his ears. Jack smiles, small.

“I guess it’s…” Sam chews the inside of his lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you or anything.”

“You didn’t,” Jack says, and of course not, because he’s—god.

“Why did you come?” Sam says.

Jack’s smile gets a little smaller, but doesn’t disappear. He doesn’t answer, either. Dean hitches his weight, puts a hand on the wall.

Sam licks his lips. There’s so much. “I guess—you already know anything I’d say, right?” Because he’s god. It keeps flooding up in Sam. That this kid, this sweet innocent kid that they’d done their best for, who Sam had taught to hold a gun and who Dean had taught to tie his shoes, he’s—everything. The alpha and omega, the spark of life in every cell. But that means he’s gone from them, too. Sam looks down at the table, trying not to show it. Knowing that Jack knows, either way.

“I know,” Jack says, like an echo. “But it’s good to say it, either way.”

Heat rises, at the back of Sam’s eyes. He smiles, even if it feels a little shaky, and when he looks up Jack’s just—himself. Exactly like Sam is going to remember him.

“Miss you, kiddo,” Dean says. His voice is thick. “And no one’s eating those dumb Sugar Smacks you made me get, either.”

“Yes, you are,” Jack says, giving Dean a look, and Sam laughs out loud, tears smarting at his eyes. “And you don’t have to miss me. I’m right here.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, and Jack smiles at him a little sidelong and then is—gone, without a rustle of feathers or a thunderclap or anything.

The library’s quiet. Amber lamplight, and the slight papery-dust smell of the air, and the wood under Sam’s hand. He pulls his hand back a little and looks. Dean’s knifework—angular but legible, and the edges still rough. He runs his thumb over the lines of the J. It’ll get smooth, eventually.

A flinching step, and Dean’s there, at his side. A hand, on his shoulder. “I’m no good at it,” Dean says, low, “but say thanks from me, too, okay.”

Sam knuckles away the wet from his eye. “Yeah,” he says, and has to clear his throat. “Yeah, I will.” Dean squeezes his shoulder. “And keep buying the Sugar Smacks, okay?”

Dean snorts. “I was gonna do that anyway,” he says, and Sam smiles, and gets a splinter from the table in his thumb. Dean helps pick it out with tweezers, under the lamplight. They get some sleep. They wake up again, to a cool and sunny morning, and get to live the life they choose.

#spn #15.19 spoilers #jack kline #sam winchester #feeling that coda feel #it's been so long <3 #my writing #this is gen #and i cried like one tear while writing but it's not sad #(i think it's not sad anyway)

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caseywond3r · 3 years

Text

(this can now be read on my AO3, as well!!)

(started out as a reblog/response to this post by @phibii, but it got too long. still please go give the original post some love!!)

(also, please note that this is all in good fun. I don't actually ship DNF and I am not speculating about their sexualities or relationship. this is just a lighthearted drabble based on their internet personalities.)

- - -

George sits in Dream's lap while he's editing. Dream isn't really sure why. It just started one day when George decided he wasn't getting enough attention because Dream was too focused on his work. He's like a cat. He wants Dream's attention any time he's busy. He's not even that clingy usually, but he gets frustrated when he doesn't at least have the option of having Dream's undivided attention. So, he sits in his lap while he edits.

Dream loses his shit a little bit at first, doing his, "what? WHAT?" that he always does when George flirts with him, but he's also so used to George's antics that after the first time it happens, he's just like, "Okay. I guess this is a thing now." It becomes one of their things, one of the thousand little rituals they share, and neither would ever admit to it, but they really enjoy it. It feels safe, it feels warm. It makes them feel closer to one another, not only physically, but emotionally. Maybe Dream even starts putting out more videos just because he knows that George will sit on his lap when he's busy with editing—though that's probably just wishful thinking on my part. And maybe he doesn't fully realise that it isn't a solely platonic affection because it's George, ya know? This is his best friend and he loves him dearly and it's normal to want to spend time together and be close to each other, ya know? And yeah, when Sapnap walks in on them like this, he makes fun of them, but what does he know? This is normal.

Except... A few days later, when Sapnap tries to sit on Dream's lap as a joke, to make fun of him for doing it with George, Dream pushes him off immediately. It doesn't feel all nice and warm and sweet with Sapnap. Not like it does with George, despite being equally as good of friends with Sapnap. That's when Dream finally realises, This isn't normal at all.

He's nervous now. He doesn't know what he's feeling and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to label it. After all, it's always been there, hasn't it? He's always felt this way. He just didn't realise that what he was feeling wasn't normal.

He puts off recording for weeks on end. The fans are ticked. They're trying to be supportive of his break, but what can they say? They miss their streamer. After two months with zero YouTube videos, Dream runs out of excuses. He records his new video and dodges George's thinly veiled questions about when he plans to edit it, waiting until George is out with friends to do so.

The hours stretch on and Dream is getting more and more frustrated. His ADHD is flaring up. He can't focus on anything. Every click of his keyboard is too loud, every flash of his monitor is too loud. Something is just wrong and he's not stupid, he knows what it is, but he can't admit it. Because if he admits it, then it becomes real, and he's not ready for it to become real.

So, he sits, and he tries not to let the frustration spill out from his eyes, and he tries not to let his mind wander into wondering why he feels this way about his best friend. He hears the front door open and he can only hope that it's Sapnap because he hasn't gotten enough work done to go to bed now and hide under the covers and pretend he isn't awake when George comes in to check on him.

Unfortunately, Dream doesn't always get what he wants.

The door creaks open and Dream knows without even looking that it's George. He's the only one in the house who never learned how to knock. George pauses for a second in the doorway, noting Dream's screen curiously, before stepping forward into his line of sight.

"Dream?"

Dream's glassy, bloodshot eyes respond for him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" George asks. "Are you okay?"

"No," Dream snaps. "I'm not fucking okay. I can't fucking focus on any of this shit. I haven't gotten a single thing done tonight."

George steps ever closer, pulling Dream into a hug. With Dream in his desk chair, George finally gets to feel taller than him as he pulls Dream against him and feels his face press into his stomach. "It's okay, Dream. You're trying your best. Sometimes, you just need to call it quits and start again tomorrow."

"I can't. I've already put it off for too long."

"Well, then, at least let me keep you company."

"No." Dream rips himself away from George, pushing his chair back a few feet.

"Why not?"

"Because... Because... I don't feel right."

"What do you mean? Are you sick?"

"No, I'm not sick. Dammit, George, I just... I don't feel what I'm supposed to feel for you. I don't know what I feel at all."

George doesn't look disgusted, and Dream thinks he must've misunderstood him. If George knew about all of Dream's big, swirling, terrifying feelings, there's no way he'd be so steady. Almost like he's trying to calm a frightened animal, when he asks, "Does it matter?"

"What?"

"Whatever you feel, it isn't wrong. I feel it, too, I guess. And I don't know what it is either, but it doesn't really matter, does it? Because we both feel it. We both care a lot about each other and we both love to be around each other. How can that be wrong?"

Dream chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to think of all the million reasons why this is a terrible idea—whatever this is. He can't. He can't think of a single goddamn thing. Reluctantly, he pushes himself back toward George, opening his arms.

Instead of sitting on Dream's knee, facing the computer, like he normally does, George sits facing Dream, smaller thighs bracketing larger ones, and rests his head in the crook of Dream's neck, deep and slow breaths fanning out against the tanned skin.

It takes Dream a few minutes to find the courage to ask, "What are we?"

George pulls away from Dream's neck, giggling like that's the stupidest question he's ever heard. "We're us, idiot."

Dream chews on that for a second, lets the words perforate his stupid brain and calm the rushing blood in his ears. "I think I like that," he says finally.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He pulls George back in to rest against his neck, tucking his own face into the pillow of George's hair. "I like us."

#dnf #dreamnotfound #fanfiction #drabble #fluff #communication #feelings realization #this was written as queerplatonic!dnf with aro!george and questioning!dream but you can interpret it however :))#this isn't proofread at all. like not even a little bit. so I'm really sorry about that lmao #pls know that I'm not usually this shit of a writer and maybe check out my other works 🥺👉👈#or dont lol #anyways have a nice day ily byeee #caseywrites

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wondernimbus · 4 years

Text

ottery st. catchpole — cedric diggory

pairing: cedric diggory x female!reader

request #1: Hi! Do you mind writing a Cedric x reader fic where y/n loves and is the best baker? She hands him a treat and he finds himself slowly falling for for her (idk smth really cute please!) Thanks :))

request #2: Can you write Cedric and the reader sharing their first kiss together? 🥺

a/n: decided to combine two requests since i thought they’d work well together!

The muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole was a fascinating place.

The first time Cedric had gone there at age eight, he'd thrown on an odd assortment of muggle clothes: a pink strawberry-patterned shirt, overly large bell-bottoms from his father's closet, and a pair of flip-flops. He learned quickly that that was not the kind of attire that would get him unnoticed by the Muggles—rather the opposite, actually, as he earned odd stares everywhere he went. But there were no "ordinary" Muggle clothes in his closet and nor did his father, so the next time he went to the village and came across a clothesline hanging unguarded outside of a Muggle house, he snatched himself two shirts and a pair of jeans and made sure to leave a thank you note under their door.

Free to wander the village without skeptical stares of Muggles following him everywhere, curious, eight-year-old Cedric made sure to explore every inch of it from the park to the chapel to the tavern.

But his most favorite, perhaps, was the bakery.

It was a quaint little place, tucked away in the corner away from the bustling main road. Its battered sign read "Old Corner Bakery", and underneath it there was a window display of the most delicious, succulent-looking pastries Cedric had ever seen in his life. It looked—though he would never let her hear him say it—even better than the ones his mother would make at home.

And so one day, Cedric, oblivious to the workings of the Muggle world and the fact that their currency was very much different from theirs, walked through the door, marched right up to the counter where his tiny head only barely peeked out from, and held up a single golden galleon. "One of those, please," he told the old lady behind the cashier, pointing at a mouth-watering custard tart on display.

The old lady reached out for the galleon, baffled. "What is this?"

"For a custard tart," replied Cedric, handing it to her.

"I've never seen anything like this," she said in wonder, holding the galleon up to the light. "Good grief, is this real gold?"

Cedric frowned, puzzled. "It''s a galleon."

The lady's face fell. Scowling, she handed it back to him. "So it's a toy," she sniffed. "I would tell you to scram, but I've seen you pass by here ogling at my pastries once or twice before. I'll give you one for free. What was it you wanted again?"

Cedric, although a little confused by how she wouldn't take his galleon, beamed in delight. If it was for free, he wasn't going to complain.

And so Cedric walked out of the bakery a few moments later with half a custard tart in his hands and the other half already snug in his stomach. He wondered to himself if all Muggles were like this; if he went to that shop near the town square, would he get more stuff for free?

He tried, and needless to say, failed.

The next day, Cedric came back to the bakery bearing two sickles. As happy as getting free food made him, something about exploiting an old woman's kindness didn't sit right with him. If she didn't want the galleon, maybe she would take a sickle instead.

But when he walked through the bakery doors, he found that the old woman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, in her place behind the cashier, there was a little girl about his age.

"Welcome to Old Corner Bakery!" she beamed, childish face shining brightly. "How may I help you?"

Cedric drew towards her, a pout on his face. "Where's the old lady?"

"The old lady?" she asked. "Oh, you mean grandma!"

He nodded.

"She's in the kitchen—baking, you know. I handle customers like you when she's too busy and I'm not doing homework," the little girl explained, grinning.

"Oh," said Cedric. "In that case, I want a cauldron cake!"

She tilted her head to the side, brows furrowed. "What's that?"

"A cauldron cake," he repeated. "Have you not got those here?"

Bottom lip jutting out in thought, the little girl scratched her head and hopped off of the stool she was apparently standing on to look over the cashier; as soon as she did, she disappeared behind the counter and into the kitchen. "Grandma!"

The familiar voice of the old lady replied, "Yes, dear?"

"Do we have cauldron cakes?"

"What?"

Cedric waited patiently by the counter, hands fiddling with the two sickles he held in his hands. "Cauldron cakes, grandma!" the little girl yelled louder.

"Never heard of 'em!" the old lady replied from the kitchen.

A moment later, the little girl was clambering back onto her stool behind the cashier. "I don't think we have those here," she told Cedric, and then, in a curious tone, "They sound delicious, though! What are they?"

A wide smile stretched across Cedric's round face—he looked as though he'd been waiting to be asked that for centuries. At a rapid pace, he began to gush, "They're chocolate cakes shaped like cauldrons and they've got melted chocolate in them and sometimes my mum uses this spell so that the chocolate doesn't run out and you can keep eating forever. She takes off the spell sometimes, though, because she says if I keep eating I'll get as fat as dad."

The little girl giggled, but then, with her eyes wide, asked, "Did you say spells? Like magic? The kind wizards and witches use?"

Cedric's eyes grew as wide as, if not even wider, than hers. He took a quick step back and cleared his throat, eyes darting around the bakery in panic. He'd forgotten, for a moment, that she was a Muggle—he'd almost revealed the secret of the wizarding world to her and defied his parents' warnings!

"Um," Cedric stammered, stuffing his two sickles back into his pocket. "Nevermind. Sorry!"

And just like that, he dashed out of the bakery, leaving the little girl staring after him, thoroughly intrigued.

—

Cedric did not go back to the village the next day under the irrational fear of accidentally revealing the wizarding world's biggest secret; that magic existed. Obviously, an eight-year-old wizard letting such a thing slip to yet another eight-year-old Muggle would little affect the wizarding world, but Cedric, childish and oblivious as he was, did not want to take any risks.

And so it took him a week before he mustered up the courage to go back into the village. He hadn't been planning to go into the bakery—he only hoped to catch a glimpse of the pastries by the window—but he found that the little girl was sitting outside on the front steps, munching on a piece of bread.

Mere seconds from legging it, the girl looked up and their eyes met. "Hey!" she called out, perking up. "I know you!"

Cedric froze from where he stood several feet away. He thought it'd be rude to bolt when she'd already noticed him, and so he walked forward tentatively, half-expecting her to start badgering him with questions about wizards and witches and magic. But she only patted the empty space next to her and beckoned him to sit down, that same cheery smile on her face that Cedric had seen a week ago.

He sat next to her on the stone steps, crossed arms propped on his knees as he turned his head to look at her. She was tearing the bread she held in her hands into two halves, the other half of which she handed to him.

"Thank you," said Cedric, taking it.

"You're welcome!" the little girl replied, face positively glowing with the warmth of a thousand suns. Taking a bite out of her now considerably smaller chunk of bread, she tilted her head and said, "I don't think I've ever seen you at school before."

He took a bite out of his own, eyes skittering away to look at the pavement. "My parents teach me school stuff at home," he told her. It wasn't a complete lie, although he guessed that the things that she learned in her Muggle school were a stark contrast to the magic he learned from his mum and dad.

"Oh, that sounds fun!" the little girl said, beaming. "Don't you get sad, though? Not having any kids your age to play with? Assuming you don't have siblings."

"I don't," replied Cedric through a mouthful of bread. It was some sort of strawberry crumpet. "I'm an only child. I suppose it does get lonely, sometimes, but that's why I go out here—to the Mugg—I mean, the village."

She nodded, mouth moving to form an o shape. "Neat. So you don't have homework?"

He shook his head. The girl's shoulders slumped and a frown quickly found its way onto her face. "I wish I didn't get homework," she said sullenly. "They give us a whole stack of it over the summer. I hate it."

Cedric bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't quite like the frown on her face; something about it made him feel unsettled, like something had gone wrong in the world. He nudged her shoulder with his. "It can't be that bad," he said, offering her a tiny smile. "There's.. there's worse things than homework. Like—I don't know—losing ekleksiti or whatever you call it.. or unintentionally fumbling with the Quaffle and messing up your team's goal.."

"You mean the football?"

"Yeah.." Whatever that was.

She giggled, turning to smile at him. "You're funny."

There was something about her tone of voice—along with the overall aura that she carried—that awfully reminded Cedric of summer days playing Quidditch outside with his family and warm wind in his face and lying in the grass seeing the clouds drifting above him.

It was that feeling that made it easy for Cedric to forget almost immediately about his illogical fear of exposing the magical world. It was what had him smiling back at her, round face just as bright and filled with the kind of mirthful innocence only children would have.

—

Cedric came back to the bakery the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Both the little girl—who he learned was named [Y/N]—and her kind, albeit slightly cranky old grandmother, grew fond of him. The latter would make sure to bake him his favorite custard tarts, and [Y/N] would sit with him by the front steps of the bakery, talking about every tiny thing their brains came up with.

"Have you got a favorite movie?" [Y/N] asked him one day.

"A favorite what?"

"A movie. Don't tell me you've never seen one!"

Cedric scratched the back of his neck, abashed. "I don't think so. Is that a Mu—I mean, what is it?"

Looking utterly astounded, [Y/N] began to ramble on about moving pictures and fairytales and stories.

"I've seen moving pictures—but you're telling me they don't talk to you?" quizzed Cedric dubiously.

Frowning, she nodded. "The pictures talk to each other. Sort of. Although it would be cool if they talked to us, don't you think?"

Still trying to wrap his head around the concept of images that don't talk to you but talk to other images whilst following a story of sorts, Cedric rubbed his forehead. "This is giving me a headache."

[Y/N] giggled, shoving the last of her custard tart into her mouth. "Let's go see one one day! A movie, I mean. It'll be fun!"

Prying his palm away from his face, Cedric nodded and couldn't help but grin right back at her. The excited gleam in her eyes shone with the promise of more than just one day seeing a movie; it glowed with the promise of a friendship that would last for a long, long time. That gleam of promise was reflected in Cedric's own gaze, and rest assured it would stay there in the rest of the years to come.

—

Three years seemed to pass by in a blur of endless chatter, ridiculous inside-jokes, and shared pastries out by the bakery's front steps. The pair grew and their friendship did so along with them. Cedric learned to grow cautious about what he had come to call his "magical secret", although he suspected that [Y/N] had started to grow skeptical along the way despite her never bringing it up.

When his letter from Hogwarts arrived, Cedric knew that he had to tell [Y/N]—that, or make up some excuse. Or perhaps invent something akin to the truth, but not quite.

And so it went like this: "My parents are sending me to school."

[Y/N]'s eyes widened. They were sitting in their usual spot out by the bakery's stone steps, identical biscuits in their hands. Out of nowhere, she smacked Cedric's shoulder; he turned to face her, clutching the spot where she'd hit him. "What was that for?" asked Cedric, eyes as wide as hers.

She smacked him again, bouncing with the excitement of a five-year-old child waking up on Christmas day. "That's great!" she squealed, stuffing her biscuit in her mouth and chewing frantically. "I can introduce you to all my friends and we'll get to see each other everyday and not just on the weekends!"

Cedric's heart sank. "Um.."

"And we can do homework together and I won't have to walk back home alone and—"

"[Y/N], I'm not going to your school."

She paused. Her face fell and drooped into a frown so disappointed that Cedric had to tear his gaze away. "What—where are you going, then?"

He scratched the back of his neck, lips pressed together in a weak grimace. "Somewhere far."

[Y/N]'s brows were furrowed. "Where?"

"I don't know. Somewhere in Scotland, I think. I'll be back home for the summer, though."

Her shoulders had slumped, and so had Cedric's. The disappointment was evident in the sulky lines of her face and it was making Cedric feel all sorts of things he normally wouldn't feel around her; incredibly downcast being one of them. He'd known this day was coming one day or another, and so would the day he'd have to leave and not see her for several months—the day that loomed only a week from then.

"When are you leaving?" asked [Y/N], gaze fixed on the pavement, a pout on her tiny face.

"Next week," replied Cedric.

He couldn't bear it. He poked her side, which immediately led to her jumping up and frowning at him. (He'd discovered over time that it was a big tickle spot of hers.) Once he'd gathered her attention, he said in a quiet voice, "I've got a secret. Do you want to hear it?"

Still looking somewhat sullen, she nodded. [Y/N] would never pass up a chance to discover some big, mysterious secret, no matter her mood.

And just because he wanted to cheer her up, along with the fact that he knew he couldn't keep this from her—his best friend of three years who knew everything about him from his favorite pair of socks to his biggest fears—he leaned in, eyes wide, and whispered in a hushed tone, "I'm going to a school for wizards."

She drew back, brows pulled in together in the middle in pure incredulity as said, "You're joking."

"No," said Cedric, grinning. And then, in that same hushed voice, "You have to promise me you won't tell anyone, okay?"

Still looking utterly bewildered, [Y/N] nodded slowly, gaze locked with his.

"I can show you magic, if you like."

At this, her eyes grew wide and a moment later she was nodding excitedly. "Where? When? How?"

"Right now!" replied Cedric, relieved at the smile that split her face and replaced the disappointed frown from before. "Wait here, okay? I'll be back!" And then he sprang to his feet and dashed off.

Cedric was true to his word; he came back half an hour later bearing a mysterious purple package in his hands. [Y/N] was still sitting patiently where he'd left, and she looked up at him calling her name.

"What is that?" she asked, hands reaching out for the box, which Cedric handed to her. Turning it over in her hands, she saw the words "Chocolate Frog" written across the paper lid in shiny golden letters.

"Open it!" Cedric urged, sitting down next to her.

And so she did. Carefully opening the lid of the octagon-shaped box, she let out a loud shriek as a chocolate-colored pair of squirming frog legs poked out from behind it. Out of surprise, the package fell from her hands and onto the pavement, but Cedric's instincts were quick; he hurriedly hopped off the steps to grab the package, hands firmly clamped around it as he brought it back to her with a wide smile on his snickering face.

"Guess you don't scare easy, huh?" he grinned, teasing. "It can get away if you don't hold onto it as soon as you open the package. See, watch."

Heart still beating rapidly, she leaned over with wide eyes and a curious gaze, watching as Cedric carefully opened the lid. He caught something that, sure enough, looked like chocolate—but it was moving in his clasped fist.

"A chocolate frog," said [Y/N], eyes the size of golf-balls.

"Yep," said Cedric, bringing the still struggling treat to his lips and taking a huge chunk out of it. "Don't worry—it's not an actual frog. Just shaped to look like it."

Gobsmacked, [Y/N] stared as he handed her the bottom half of the chocolate frog, the legs of which was still squirming. "That's—woah," excitement bubbling in the pit of her stomach at having witnessed actual magic (albeit in the form of the so-called chocolate frog), she brought it to her mouth, where it instantly stopped moving and dissolved into a creamy mess of delicious chocolate.

Eyes glinting with the same elation that was in hers, Cedric sat down next to her and pulled a card out of the box. He handed it to her.

[Y/N] stared down at the small card in the palm of her hands. "Woah," she said again, voice a stunned whisper. Imprinted on the card was a photo of an old man whose beard stretched all the way down to his waist. He was wearing sparkling magenta robes and looking straight at her, a gentle twinkle in his wizened, old eyes. An odd name was emblazoned under his picture—"Albus Dumbledore"—but then he reached up to adjust the spectacles on the bridge of his nose, and [Y/N] let out another surprised gasp. "He moved!"

Cedric was grinning. "Magic, I told you!"

Exhilarated, [Y/N] looked back down at the card in her hands. The old man—Dumbledore—winked at her through his half-moon spectacles. "Is he—" she swallowed, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart, "Is he a wizard?"

Cedric nodded, beaming. "And so am I."

For a few seconds, [Y/N] could do no more than open and close her mouth in pure shock. All of this was a lot to take in—but perhaps her being of the mere age eleven helped, because while the ordinary Muggle adult would have downright refused to believe it, an imaginative young girl like her who had yet to discover the world took the news kindly.

"I'd show you more magic," Cedric said bashfully, "But I don't really know how to yet. That's why I'm going to Hogwarts—the school I was talking about, you know—so I can learn how to use magic. Spells and potions and all of that stuff."

At this, [Y/N]'s lips once more drooped with the threat of yet another painful frown, but she picked it back up with a small smile. "Here," she swiveled around to face him on the steps, knees knocking with his. Holding her pinky finger up between them, she said, "You promise me you'll write, okay? And you have to tell me about all the stuff that you learn there and all the other wizards and witches you meet—there are witches, right?"

Cedric nodded, lips pressed together in a tiny smile as he laced his pinky finger through hers. "I promise. Expect there'll be owls knocking on your window every week or so."

Her eyes widened once more. "Owls?"

He grinned. "We use owls to send letters and stuff around."

"Oh. Neat."

They broke out into a fit of giggles. "Okay," said Cedric, pulling his pinky finger away. "But you have to promise me you'll keep it a secret."

[Y/N] nodded earnestly, a look of the utmost seriousness crossing over his face as she pressed her palm to her chest like she was swearing an oath. "I'll take it to the grave with me, Ced," she said, eyes sparkling. "Trust me."

—

And trust her he has done, for the past few years of his life. Cedric would leave on the first of September every year, but not before bidding her farewell and promising to write at least once a week. To make up for the time they've lost, he would spend almost every day of the summer and winter break with her. His parents understand; he has long since told them about the Muggle girl at the bakery who his heart has grown close to. And perhaps it is his parents who first notice when the friendship that he has with her begins to blossom into something else. Something more.

"Out to meet with your friend already?" asks his father upon catching Cedric already on his way out of the front door. It's his first day back home from his fifth year at Hogwarts, and he has barely even finished unpacking his bags.

Cedric grins. He is a young man of age sixteen now, no longer the tiny eight-year-old boy he once was when he first met [Y/N] all those years ago. And yet despite all that has changed—despite his broader stature and the fact that he now towers over his father—he is still the same compassionate boy he has always been; the one who has always had a love for pastries and a certain girl at the bakery, although he doesn't quite know it yet.

"She's waiting for me," says Cedric, oddly exhilarated. His heart beating with the anticipation of seeing her for the first time in several months, he waves a brief goodbye to his father and dashes down the hill leading to the Muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

He goes down the same path he always has; past the small patch of trees at the foot of the hill, through the town square, and finally, in front of the bakery. The door is propped open as though it has been waiting for him to enter, and voices waft out onto the street from the inside.

A smile already having found its way onto his face, Cedric takes the front stone steps two at a time before stepping inside.

"Be careful, grandma—oh, no—no, let me do it."

"It's fine, I can—Cedric, dear boy, you're back!"

A tray of freshly-baked cookies are set aside on the counter before a familiar elderly Muggle woman rushes at him and envelops him in a hug, mitten-covered hands wrapping themselves around his middle—the farthest she can reach him at his tall height and her own short legs. Cedric meets [Y/N]'s gaze over her grandmother's shoulder; she is leaning on the counter, lips pressed together in a barely-suppressed smile as her eyes shine with the kind of light that reminds Cedric of everything good in the world.

It takes a while for [Y/N]'s grandmother to stop fussing over him. When she does, she disappears behind the kitchen with the promise of coming out with a fresh batch of his favorite custard tarts.

And then he and [Y/N] are left alone in the bakery, where Cedric wastes no time and hugs her as close to him as he can. He wants to tell her that he'd missed her—terribly so—but he knows that she knows, and so he just holds her to him and hopes that the words come across alright.

A moment later the two of them are outside of the bakery, sitting on the same stone steps they've perched themselves on so many times before.

"So let me get this straight: you intentionally didn't write about the fact that there was a mass murderer inside your school because you didn't want me to worry?"

"Well, the matter was taken care of—"

"And there were soul-sucking demendoids or whatever you call them roaming the castle and you didn't mention it to me in your letters because you—"

"I didn't want you to worry, yes."

[Y/N] stares at him, deadpan. "And I suppose if you suffer a horrible death you won't care to write to me either because you don't want me worrying."

"Well, if I were dead, I'd hardly be able to write to y—"

"Oh, you get my point!" says [Y/N], rolling her eyes, but she's laughing as she shoves him lightly on the shoulder. Sighing dramatically, she shakes her head. "You learn a few magic tricks and suddenly you cut me out of your life."

Cedric scoffs, but his annoyance is only about as convincing as [Y/N]'s, as he has a smile of his own on his face. "I leave a few details out of my letter and suddenly you want to end our friendship."

"I don't want to end it," protests [Y/N]. "I just don't want you keeping out the bad stuff from your letters just because you don't want me to worry. If anything, I want to hear more about the negatives than the positives so I'll know that I'm not the only one having a hard time."

Cedric raises his brows, the smile on his face drooping as he angles his head to look at her face from where she's leaning on his shoulder. "Why? Tough time at school?"

She shrugs, shifting a little. "Kind of. It's ridiculous, actually. My best friend—well, second-best, since you're first—thinks that her boyfriend," she makes a face, "likes me. She didn't talk to me at all during the last few months of school and I highly expect she'll still be an arse about it when we come back after summer. Rubbish, really." Cedric has fallen silent. When she looks up at him, she finds that there is a frown on his face, so immediately she reassures him by saying, "You don't have to worry, Ced. I've got other friends. Better friends—wizard friends. Or friend. Just the one."

Cedric raises his eyebrows at her. His mood has dampened a little; it shows in the disappearance of the crinkled smile lines around his eyes and the way his lips have tugged down.

"Oh, come on," says [Y/N], sitting up straight. "Don't look so bummed. I've told you it's not a big deal."

He looks away, and then, quietly, "I just don't like the idea of you having a hard time."

A grin slowly stretches across her face. A moment later, she starts laughing. "Always so caring, aren't you?" she teases, reaching out to poke his cheek.

Cedric rolls his eyes, clutching her hand and prying it away from his face. "Whatever," he mutters, making a face at her. She giggles and does one right back, and just like that, they're laughing again.

It's incredibly easy for the innocent, youthful part of Cedric to come to the surface during times like these, when he sits down in front of the bakery with his best friend at his side as they return to their naive, childish shelves and bond over everything and nothing with all sorts of pastries clutched in their chubby hands. Cedric finds that, no matter how much time has passed, [Y/N] still feels the same: warm and comforting and reminiscent of home.

—

Time passes as it has always done, and sooner than both Cedric and [Y/N] would have liked, the day of September comes looming above them a mere week away.

They are on one of the many hills surrounding the village of Ottery St. Catchpole—their favorite one, actually; the one that has a perfect view of the village if they sit at the very top, which is what they are doing. The night sky looms above them as they do as they have always done: talk. And whenever they lapse into silence, they bask in the comfort they have always found in one another.

At present, they are laying on their backs on the grass. Usually, they'd be pointing out random shapes they each notice in the clouds, but it is nighttime and only wisps of smoke from the village chimneys drift across the dark blue canvas. There are only a few stars visible through the pollution hanging in the air; "I could count them all on one hand," says [Y/N], arm stretched upwards as though reaching for the sky. "Bit sad, really. I remember when we were kids there were still a lot of them. Sort of."

Cedric, with his gaze similarly glued to the stretch of sky above them, lets out an exhale. "We can see the stars at Hogwarts," he tells her quietly like they're sharing a secret, which, in a way, they are. "We don't even have to go to the Astronomy Tower to see them—when we look up, they're right there. Right above us. It's.."

He trails off.

"Ethereal?" [Y/N] suggests, tone hushed.

Cedric nods. "I wish I could take you to see them, but. You know."

"I'm a—what was it you guys called us lame, non-magical folks again?" she rolls onto her side to face him, arm tucked underneath her head as her eyes narrowed playfully.

"A Muggle," Cedric says, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "And that doesn't make you lame. It just makes you.."

"Non-magical," she snorts.

"Doesn't matter," mumbles Cedric, shifting to turn on his side as well. "You've got a different kind of magic." And his tone is teasing, but there's a hint of underlying emotion hidden beneath that he wonders if [Y/N] picks up on.

"And what's that?" [Y/N] asks, feigning a haughty look. "Is it my—let's see—supernatural charms? Or my mystical beauty?"

Cedric laughs. "Something like that."

Facing her, mere centimeters away, Cedric sees that moonshine is dancing across the skin of her face; he sees the very stars they were speaking of gleaming in her eyes, and all of a sudden the atmosphere changes and he can't quite breathe properly.

The look on his face doesn't go amiss. The playful smile on [Y/N]'s face falls and reveals underneath it something more—something that has Cedric's heart beating wildly in his throat and his lungs seizing up in his chest.

Ethereal, Cedric thinks to himself as his gaze locks with hers and he finds himself drowning in the sea of constellations inside her irises. The stars at Hogwarts hold no competition to those which he sees in that moment in [Y/N]'s eyes. He wonders if they have always been there, waiting to be noticed, or if they have only just surfaced now.

And then Cedric finds himself leaning in and somewhere in the middle, she meets his lips with her own.

They pause for a moment, as though giving each other time to pull away if they want to, but neither of them do. And he really can't quite tell who moves first—him or [Y/N]—but they let each other's lips begin to whisper over one another's in gentle, slow carresses. They string up, unhurried and soft, one kiss flowing into the next with endless patience and want, and [Y/N]'s lips are inviting and alive and Cedric almost doesn't want to pull away, but he has to, eventually, and so he draws back, eyes blinking open.

He wonders, for a moment, despite the fact that she'd kissed back, if he had gone too far. If he had crossed the line that had always rested between them that made the difference between friendship and.. whatever this was.

But then familiar crinkles appear around [Y/N]'s eyes as she smiles at him. "I believe I've discovered my magic."

Cedric takes a brief moment to respond. Letting out a quiet exhale, he keeps his gaze fixed on hers as he furrows his eyebrows a little and asks with a tiny smile of his own, "What's that?"

She grins and jokes in a hushed, almost theatrical tone, "Seduction."

Cedric's face relaxes into a proper smile and he leans forward, pressing his mouth against [Y/N]'s for the second time. He feels the happy curve of her lips and feels his own curving up in response until they aren't really kissing anymore; just smiling against each other's mouths.

Ethereal, Cedric thinks to himself again, not for the first time that day. Absolutely bloody magical.

—

The muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole was a fascinating place, but perhaps the reason why Cedric thought so was not because of the buildings and the bustling streets themselves, but because of the little bakery owned by a Muggle grandma and a girl whose heart Cedric knew even better than his own.

When the first of September comes around and brings with it the inevitable need to say goodbye, a pair of friends bound together by the passing of time sit on the front steps of the Old Corner Bakery, joking and talking and making promises to write. [Y/N]'s grandmother has insisted on Cedric bringing along snacks in case he gets hungry during the train ride, hence the paper bag full of custard tarts he clutches in his hands.

"I think she loves you more than I do," says [Y/N], watching her grandmother disappear back into the bakery, weeping.

Cedric laughs. "Tell me something I don't know."

And then suddenly it is time to say their farewells, and Cedric is hugging her goodbye but it doesn't feel like enough, so he pulls away, places his hand on the back of her head, and presses a kiss to her forehead. He would press their lips together but he knows that will make it harder to say goodbye, so for now, he settles for this.

"You promise me you won't leave the bad stuff out of your letters, okay?"

"You can count on me."

So Cedric waves goodbye to her with the same gleam of promise from all those years ago sparkling in his eyes like stars that have yet to die out. He can't promise to stay, but he can promise that he will come back—and he will. He always will.

a/n: whether or not cedric comes back to ottery st. catchpole next year is entirely up to you (cough triwizard tournament cough)

#harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter oneshots #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #cedric diggory oneshots #cedric diggory oneshot #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory imagines #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory

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shi-chimera · 3 years

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Balan Wonderworld headcanons have been rattling around in my head for a while now so I'm just gonna plop them here. Enjoy, don't enjoy, whatever.

◇General◇

-The Balan Theater is MASSIVE and works much like the door in Howl's Moving Castle. Anyone can access it from a number of dilapidated old buildings if they know which ones to look for.

-The theater has at least two dozen rooms, a large restaurant style kitchen, a full bar, and a massive library with window seats, a day bed, and roughly five thousand books at any given time. The books change out at random because the library has a mind of its own.

-Other rooms include Balan and Lance's bedrooms (they live in the theater), Balan's office, and some guest rooms and lounge/living room type spaces. Some of the rooms have flippable floors and sliding walls to convert them into smaller or different rooms.

-The building also has a small rear courtyard with a single, ENORMOUS tree in it. There are also some small flowerbeds and in one corner by the building is a dumpster.

-The theater's porch lights indicate if an exterior door (i.e. an entrance) is active or not. If the lights are on, the doors are open!

♡Balan♡

-Balan feeds off positive emotions and energy. It's part of why he entertains people. Smiling people are happy and happy people keep him going.

-The most extra person you can find, and has a fixation with his appearance. The smallest stain or speck of dirt, loose thread, etc. and he LOSES HIS MIND. He WILL throw an absolute drama queen level spectacle. Everything he does is over the top.

-High energy, so much so that he tends to fidget, pace, or other wise be in constant motion to burn it all off. He's also ambidexterous, but favors his left so you're likely to see him writing paperwork or lifting things with his left hand more often.

-Is an excellent chef and will cook you the most delicious meal you've ever eaten.

-Balan enjoys tea (in a traditional cup and saucer, Earl Grey in particular), but enjoys it more with cookies. If you bring him tea, make yourself a cup too because he will insist you also have one. He will also probably share a cookie with you. Save yourself a headache and just take it. He considers anything he gives you a gift and if you decline or throw it away he will be very upset and assume you don't like him anymore. You can, however, throw away napkins and the like, of course.

-NEVER drops the smile if he can at all help it. He can and will be in emotional distress and you'd never know unless you knew what to look for. Subtle eye movements and shifts in his posture reveal his mood. Will drum his fingers in specific patterns to calm himself down depending on how he's feeling, though you'll almost never see them.

-He only takes off his hat around people he trusts wholely with every fiber of his being. Lance is one of the few. He's quite pretty underneath, with finely swirling gold patterns all over him similar to Lance and a golden heart shape on his forehead (also like Lance).

-He likes wine, especially red wine. He has a high alcohol tolerance. Can and WILL drink you under the table. He gets extra flirty when he's properly drunk, and if you can get him talking he'll definitely lose track of how much he's had. He can phase objects through one another, so you'll frequently see him fill his glass by tipping it against a bottle.

-Likes to play around with a vaudeville hook and will hook Lance out of the ether if they try to phase out of a conversation or if he expressly needs something from them.

-He's HUGE and all the furniture in the theater is sized for humans, and I do mean ALL OF IT, so his lanky ass looks ridiculous sitting on any kind of furniture. There is one exception to this and that is his bed.

-Speaking of, his room is huge and decked out in a red/white/gold/navy color scheme (hmm, I wonder why?). It has wall panels. He has a walk in closet filled to the brim and a large vanity with a mirror edged in lights. It's also MESSY. Piles of clothes, random objects, makeup all over the vanity. The bed is a 3/4 circle, and it wasn't his idea. Lance actually had it put in while Balan was distracted.

-Why did Lance get Balan a new bed? Well, Balan USED TO sleep in a human sized bed, and he sleeps like he's dead. As such, he can and did fall out of bed every night without fail, usually taking a nightstand or other large object out on the way down and not waking up at all. The crashing sounds kept waking Lance up and they had enough of that.

-Threw a hissyfit when Lance got him the new bed without permission. Sleeps splayed out in the "starfish" position, usually tangled up in the sheets like they came alive and tried to strangle him. One or more limbs will usually be hanging over the side, including his head. Doesn't fall out of the new bed NEARLY as often.

-If you fall asleep in the theater, expect to wake up in that bed. He will insist you sleep in comfort, and the bed is big enough for five people so you aren't inconveniencing him in any way by laying in it. He can sleep across from you on the other side, and will sleep still as a statue if you're there.

-Has little to no concept of gender as a whole. He has no biological gender and can be whatever he wants as he feels fit. Accepts any and all pronouns. As such, he doesn't assign gender stereotypes to ANYTHING (clothes, people, objects of any kind) and doesn't understand most human created gender related norms.

-Will frequently call people Darling. If he likes you, will sometimes call you Dear. I.e. "Lance, darling, why are you always like this? Just SMILE!" and "Look at that smile, dear girl! Positively RADIANT!"

-For the LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE LOVE HIM. There is NEVER such a thing as too much affection as far as Balan is concerned. He will PINE for it. Hug him, lean on him, ask him to hold your hand or carry you around. Something, anything! He WANTS as much attention as possible and will come at you like he's more touch starved than Lance. He has ZERO concept of personal space. He will toss you in the air (he will also always catch you, calm down), hold your face, pat you on the head, flat out glomp you, the whole shebang. Unless you clearly state otherwise, he will be all over you ALL THE TIME.

-Rarely if ever gets TRULY upset, and if he does the cracks will start to show. He will pace and rapidly teleport when stressed out, and will sometimes summon doubles without realizing. The doubles can't talk, and mainly just act as stand-ins in shows.

-Always puts the visitors first and will cancel a show if he feels someone is in danger, emotional distress, etc.

-His eyes glow in the dark, and the pupils get narrower instead of smaller (kinda like a cat). His dreads are also prehensile (they can be moved at will) and he has a set of four back tendrils like Lance. He never shows them unless absolutely neccessary or for intimidation. They're curled up like little nubbins on his back, under his clothes. They're extremely sensitive and are actually feelers that let him read the energy in a room so he can react accordingly.

-He DOES have casual clothes, usually semiformal (button up shirts, suit vests, etc.) and will pull his dreads back out of his face when his hat is off.

-He enjoys witty banter, and will have a "banter battle" with anyone willing, Lance unwillingly included. Annoying Lance is actually one of his favorite pasttimes. He's kinda a lil shit sometimes.

-Is literally millenia old and has been hanging around doing this showbiz thing for ages, just in different ways. Picked up the theater thing when it was immensely popular around Shakespeare's time. He's actually older than Lance, and despite his largely immature attitude, he's actually more emotionally stable.

☆Lance☆

-Angsty lil cinnamon bun.

-Absolutely starved for affection of any kind (Balan doesn't count), and very lonely. Will immediately doubt you/deny/contradict you if you compliment them. Will squirm and make desperation "THEY'RE TOUCHING ME. WHAT DO I DO? I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. BALAN HALP." noises if you show them physical affection. Will also blush profousely.

-Plays the villain role in all the shows, and as a result almost no one likes or acknowledges them. As a whole they tend to be antisocial with very clear touch boundaries (Balan does NOT CARE). Very quiet and serious, and only speaks when absolutely necessary.

-Will NOT sugarcoat things (unless they like you, then expect sugarcoating of unimportant/trivial things). Less than stellar at the whole "emotional comfort" thing. If they like you, will hold you if you ask (especially if you're visibly upset).

-Feeds on negative emotions, meaning they have a more constant energy supply than Balan (though Balan is physically and power-wise stronger). Tends to be emotionally unstable and will get easily fed up/throw a small tantrum when they've had enough. Generally low energy and sleeps/naps often.

-Strictly They/Them pronouns. Also lacks a biological gender like Balan and can be anything they feel like being. Understands human created gender stereotypes and social norms.

-Prefers more feminine clothing. You're more likely to see casual clothes with Lance. They rarely care about other people's opinions on the matter. They prefer comfy, truly casual clothing made of soft cloth. Will always be wearing heels of some kind, though, and usually a scarf. Hair will be pulled back, typically in a messy bun or something similar.

-Does all the repairs and maintinence for the theater, including costume repair (especially if Balan's costume needs it, he will weep LOUDLY until Lance fixes the issue). Not uncommon to see them with their head in a ceiling fixing wiring, etc.

-Will absolutely melt if you stroke/run your fingers through their hair. They find it soothing, and if you pull them to you they'll fall asleep on your lap, against your shoulder, etc.

-Back tendrils are PAINFULLY sensitive, please don't touch without permission.

-Is a terrible cook in all things except desserts and sweets. They excell at all sugary treat making. Also an excellent bartender with a wide knowledge of cocktails.

-Absolute lightweight. Will get drunk off two shots, and is a weepy drunk. Tends to steer clear of drinking alcohol as a result. Enjoys Shirley Temple drinks, and can tie cherry stems into shapes with their tongue. Will cut you off if they think you've had enough booze.

-Impeccable and neat room filled with crystals, candles, incense, and lots of glow in the dark things. Their room has a purple and dark theme with small gold accents and is in general a small room with one window on the left side. Modestly sized canopy bed with plain bedding. Expect to never see this room unless they really adore you. They will know if you've so much as touched the doorknob and they WILL show up immediately to shoo you away.

-Tends to phase through the floor in a puddle of shadows, especially when trying to avoid a conversation. Will flail desperately if Balan pulls them back with his vaudeville hook.

-Lance is a light sleeper and any small sound will usually wake them up. Balan leaves them constantly sleep deprived. Sleeps curled up in a ball with their face snuggled into the comforter.

-If they find you asleep in the theater, they won't move you, but you're likely to wake up with pillows under your head and hips and a blanket tucked over you. They will also fall asleep anywhere and everywhere so if you're drowsy they'll steer you to the best napping spots (the daybed in the library is one of their favorites).

-Will throw stuff at Balan, watch your head.

-Has two sets of upper fangs, one right after the other and the second set is smaller than the first set, and one set of bottom fangs. Will rarely if ever smile, and is hesitant to be happy around you if they like you. NO ONE likes them, and if YOU like them you're the only one so they don't want to scare you off.

-They are remarkably gentle (despite being constantly cast as the villain), and tend to move more gracefully than Balan. Excellent at the Waltz and Tango, though they don't dance often.

-Eyes ALSO glow in the dark, and the pupils are slitted like a cat. They get huge and round if something catches Lance's attention.

#balan wonderworld #headcanon #balan headcanons

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seriouslyblacklikemysoul · 3 years

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Like her - Bucky Barnes

Hello!! I did a thing... I big oops... I have no idea where this is going but honestly... gosh, Bucky is finally given the spotlight! Yes, I am talking about that trailer. So, I guess bear with me? From what I feel, this is going to be ... quite the journey. Spoilers, if I accidentally am on to something? MASTERLIST Word Count~ 2k. If you want to be tagged or you have an idea about this, please let me know! Love you all!

Nothing made sense anymore. The world seemed to be upside down and he couldn’t find an anchor to hold on to. A thousand thoughts on his mind, past and future blurred into a chaotic present. He had found a still moment in the universe, after his best friend retired and that was the only way he could cope with the ever-changing situation.

He had believed that a new beginning was all that he needed; but before he could begin, he had to be free of his past and that he simply could not do. Working with Wilson was not his cup of tea, either. He was searching for meaning but maybe fulfillment wasn’t about what he had already done, maybe it was about the things he hadn’t and that was worse. It was simple mission; keep an eye on a questionable individual. Well, at least, that was what the files told him. Girl, early twenties, not a very interesting life – to him, at least, he thought. She might have loved studying and serving coffee to people she didn’t know just so she could earn her living. And a clue that linked her to an old enemy – Zemo. No one knew what their relationship was, or even if there was any. They had been able to pick up a single message sent from her phone to an unknown number that it was later identified as Zemo’s. He was standing outside the coffee shop she was working, not knowing if he would be able to identify her; they only had a blurry picture of her – another clue that she was onto something as she was avoiding to be seen. Not that he could blame her for that. If she was working with the man that put him trough all of that a couple of years ago, he didn’t know if he would hand her over or… He walked inside, trying to appear as relaxed and nonchalant as possible, knowing that he would be awkward anyway. Sam could have done this, he thought, rolling his eyes at that. It was quite busy, actually, and the atmosphere was cozier than what he had expected. And so, he found the table that furthest away but had a good angle-view to keep an eye on the personnel and sat down. He scanned the place but there was no trace of the girl from the picture. He was pretending to read the menu so no one would come soon to take his order. He was about to stand up and leave, having spent almost half an hour being a jerk and not ordering a thing, when a soft tornado rushed through the front door. He was left gawking at her for a moment and then quickly shook it off. She murmured an apology to her colleagues but they just smiled at her, as if they knew why she was late. He was able to distinct two words: application, problems. He cleared his throat and not a moment later, there she was. “Hello! What can I get you?” she politely asked him, ready to take his order, not exactly looking at him. Whatever she was previously doing, affected her still. He was caught by surprise, because he actually never looked at the menu. “An americano and um, what do you suggest?” he had to act normal, he thought again. Maybe channel his inner long-lost self. She finally looked at him, with a questioning smile on her face. The picture they had was old and did not do her any justice. “Our sour lemon bars are amazing” she informed him after a second of brainstorming. Sour, huh? He noticed her body language – she truly didn’t know who he was. Then again, without his long hair and a visible metal arm, not many people could recognize him. He nodded in agreement and she left. She was in a pretty bad mood. The application she had sent to the university was still not accepted, her computer broke down, she was barely making it by and she was tired having had zero sleep the night before, tormented by nightmares. She handed the order to Jackie and sat down, behind the bar. While Jackie was preparing everything, she was making herself a cup of coffee. “He is cute” she heard – and so did he, thanks to his enhanced senses. He was not used to being called cute or anything like that. Maybe an older version of him was pretty good with women – this one, not so much. He wasn’t bad, unlike Steve, but … something wasn’t there anymore. She looked at him, for a split second before gulping her coffee down. “Better you than me” she whispered. The other girl was shocked. “What happened?” she asked her, a ton of concern laced her voice and that captured his attention. “I don’t know what to do” she said, almost desperate. As his lemon bars were being transferred to a beautiful plate, Jackie asked the one-million-dollar question. “What about that guy? Helmut?”. That was all Bucky needed to add her to his suspect list – well, to cross off everyone else but her, really. “Hasn’t delivered and I am running out of time” she murmured in fear of being heard. She was right to be afraid of that, he did eavesdrop. Bucky hoped that she would be the one to bring his coffee but unfortunately, another waiter came. For the better part of an hour, he tried to catch anything of importance, having already informed Sam. But there was nothing. She just did her job. Deciding that it was better to leave in order not to attract any kind of unwanted attention, he left the money on the table and walked out of the place, faster than he would have liked. Who was she?

It had been pretty hard for her, lately. That roughly translated into more than ten years. She was used to being treated badly by life but she was standing right on the edge and she had nothing to grab onto to stop her fall. As long as she could remember, she was alone. The first person she had met was a grim old lady, telling her to stop crying otherwise the Sinnerman was going to eat her. Once she was at an age, she could understand what was happening, she was made aware she had no family – that wanted her, anyway – and that was why she had ended up there. It more of a torture-place than an orphanage. By the age of fifteen, she had achieved an early high school graduation, and her caretakers saw that she didn’t have the potentials to become the next prodigy, no matter the hard work. Being fifteen and on the streets was something she wished on nobody. She was smart, though – she got a job and soon was able to afford her own place. It was small but it was all she needed. A roof over her head, a bed and a shower. Lately, things were just not easy. She hadn’t been paid for at least four months and she had no cushion of money to fall onto. Her landlord would kick her out any minute now, and she had no backup plan. Her study application hadn’t panned out yet and when a stranger reached her, promising her a ton of cash and a name, she didn’t think twice. When she agreed to hack into a couple of databases, she had no idea who that person was. Only that he knew her parents and was willing to pay. That was all she needed, really. Little did she know, she was helping a criminal to get out of a life-long sentence. She tried to back away, but a single threat was more than enough to persuade her. She wasn’t used to knives being that close to her neck. She had done her part, even though she regretted it, but he had still to deliver and she had no other option. She would stay awake, thinking why her? Out of all the hackers in the world, why her? “Don’t worry! They’ll choose you, they would be stupid not to” Jackie told her, as she was ready to leave. She laughed at that. “I am not gonna pay them, I am the one asking them for a fund. They would be stupid if they did choose me!” she explained again, waving her goodbye. She was closing up the place today. She didn’t mind. The later she got back to her place, the smaller the chances to meet her landlord. She liked working alone, being alone. That was why she had it easier than the other girls back in the day. They struggled keeping up with the classes, the training, the killing. She did her job, and got on with her life. Well, at least until she was kicked out. Placing the last cups back on their self, she heard the door opening and closing – footsteps were approaching her. “I’m sorry, we’re closed” she chimed, as she turned around. That guy again. Yeah, alright, he was cute but her mind was warning her. He smiled – but it was forced and she saw it. Something wasn’t right. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see any sign” he said and it was true, she hadn’t put on the closed sign. He knew that she knew – but instead of making a run for it, she played along. Sam was waiting outside, car ready. “Oh, yeah, that’s my bad” she calmly informed him, letting her towel down and picking up the sing to hang, moving slowly through the space. He recognized her moves but it couldn’t be. Her moves were familiar but not fully known. He was closing in. After a rather long eye-contact, she threw the metal sign at him, aiming his exposed neck, almost cutting him. She was strong. All it took was two steps and they were engaged in a full-blown combat. He threw up his forearms like an offensive lineman blocking a defensive back, but she slipped to the side, pushed his elbow down and away, caught his head, and rolled him into the floor. Not even a second later, Bucky threw her off of him and was on his feet, watching her rush toward him in slow motion. He reached under his shirt even as he pushed past the tables. She did not try to stop the gun; she rolled his hand under his wrist, drove his arm over and back, and pulled him backward and down. She had the gun before he slammed into the floor, and was pointing it at him. She wasn’t afraid to use it, and he was almost scared by the look on her face. He had seen that look before. He tackled her, grabbed her wrist with his right hand and held the gun hand against her chest, while he placed his left arm tightly around her neck. She headbutted him but neither flinched. Before she could do anything, Sam placed a cloth on her mouth and nose and knocked her out. “Took you long enough” he mused at an annoyed Bucky. He rolled his eyes at him, still very much confused as to why she knew those moves. “I think she was trained for the Black Widow program” he let on, as he picked her up while Sam made everything to look as if nothing had happened. He even closed up the place. Bucky placed her on the backseat of the car. She wasn’t a Black Widow, yet her fighting style… “Who is she?” Sam asked as they were driving away.

#marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes imagine #Steve Rogers #sam wilson imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier #avengers imagine #the avengers #captain america #Winter Soldier #winter soldier imagine

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letterboxd · 3 years

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In Focus: The Truman Show.

Inspired by Letterboxd data that revealed it to be a lockdown favorite, editor-at-large Dominic Corry looks at the ever-evolving importance of contemporary masterpiece The Truman Show.

It has long been apparent that The Truman Show is an unnervingly prescient film. The story of a man who becomes aware that his superficially idyllic life is, in fact, a live-streamed television show has gone from being high-concept to every-day.

Thanks to the three Ps—the prevalence of mass urban surveillance, the proliferation of reality television and the pervasiveness of video in social media—the notion of cameras filming our every move is no longer a paranoid fantasy, but real life. The twist being that, for the most part, we all willingly signed up for it, and did all the filming ourselves. As Yi Jian saliently observes in his review: “Not to get all ‘we live in a society’ on Letterboxd but I know a person or two in real life that would actually give anything to trade lives with Truman, it do be like that sometimes”. It indeed do, Yi Jian.

So it’s something of a cliché at this stage to point out how we are all living in some version of the The Truman Show, and you don’t have to be a member of the royal family to feel that way. Yet, somehow, the film has become even more pertinent over the last eighteen months. And it’s a pertinence reflected in the massive uptick in viewership for the film as seen in Letterboxd activity.

During the month of February 2020, the last moment of the Before Times, The Truman Show had a modest 1,235 diary entries. That number tripled in April of that year, by which time the seriousness of the pandemic had become clear. And by July, deep in the worst of the pandemic, Truman fervor peaked, with a further 178 percent leap over April’s numbers, firmly placing it in the top 200 films watched by our members in a year of lockdown. (By the way, ‘diary entries’ mean activity where the member has added a watched date; many thousands more also marked Truman as ‘watched’ in those dark months, but didn’t specify a date.)

It’s not difficult to imagine why we might become more interested in revisiting this eminently re-visitable film. During lockdown, social media—including Letterboxd—took on a greater presence in terms of how we communicated with each other. We got used to seeing footage of faces more than actual faces. We were all the stars of our own ‘Truman Show’, and simultaneously the audience of everyone else’s ‘Truman Show’.

Christian Torres boiled it down effectively when he wrote: “Now every movie I see seems to be related to my life in quarantine. I am Truman and I want to escape.” And Sonya Sandra eloquently captured the film’s increased contemporary significance in her review: “This is a real-life daylight horror film. The best kind. Even more relevant in 2021 than ever. We are all Truman, we all want to find what is real in our fake lives filled with media, capitalism and ideology. And it’s our job to fight the storm and get to the truth of it all. Nothing is real, everything is for profit, and everyone is selfish. Go out and find what is real, because it’s definitely not here.”

With its deft, dazzling blending of the profound and the humorous, the optimistic and the cynical, it’s difficult to think of anything released since The Truman Show that comes as close as it does to being a modern-day Frank Capra movie. It’s hopeful, but has its eyes wide open. There’s a darkness in the themes of the film that is never replicated in the colors on display.

While everyone involved delivers career-best work, we must principally credit the triumvirate of talent at the center of the film: director Peter Weir, screenwriter Andrew Niccol and star Jim Carrey.

Star Jim Carrey and director Peter Weir on the set of ‘The Truman Show’ (1998).

Weir is a director who inspires much online love whenever his name is mentioned, but he isn’t really mentioned all that often. Or at least as often as he should be. The Australian filmmaker has delivered masterpieces across multiple genres, and it’s extremely sad that he hasn’t directed a movie since 2010’s not-quite-true World War II drama The Way Back, arguably one of his lesser works. That’s also, insanely, one of only two movies he’s made since Truman, the other being Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, the wide and rabid affection for which regularly kicks up on Twitter (not to mention demand for a sequel).

Weir doesn’t do many interviews, and while this 2018 Vanity Fair article marking Truman’s twentieth anniversary has many quotes about the film’s modern relevance, Weir doesn’t offer any commentary to that effect, presumably preferring to let the work speak for itself—though in this 1998 interview he did talk about the relationship between the media, the general public and the people we become fascinated with, as a “complex situation”.

The Vanity Fair article does, however, reveal a fascinating ‘what if’ scenario relating to Christof, the god-like director of the in-movie TV show played by Ed Harris, who offers up a pile of pretentious auteur clichés: mononymous, beret, etc. (beyond the whole god thing, that is). When Dennis Hopper, originally cast in the role, wasn’t working out, Weir considered playing the role himself, which would’ve added yet another meta layer. It brings to mind how George Miller styled Immortan Joe (played by Hugh Keays-Byrne) after himself in Mad Max: Fury Road, or how Christopher Nolan’s haircut shows up in most of his films.

Ed Harris as Christof in ‘The Truman Show’ (1998).

And, at one point, it could have gone mega-meta. Weir, in the 1998 interview, talked about a “crazy idea” he had, a technical impossibility back then but easily achievable with live-streaming now. “I would have loved to have had a video camera installed in every theater the film was to be seen [in]. At one point, the projectionist would … cut to the viewers in the cinema and then back to the movie. But I thought it was best to leave that idea untested.” Imagine.

Weir also played a role in helping to shape the originally much more overtly dark screenplay into the cheerier (on the surface at least) shooting script, which is solely credited to fellow antipodean, New Zealand-born Niccol, also a producer on the film. Both men have done the majority of their work in America, but it’s tempting to credit the film’s tone-perfect sense of heightened Americana to the degree of separation offered by their foreign provenance. In any case, it’s clear that open-air mall designers were paying attention.

Niccol’s original screenplay made his name in Hollywood, and revealed a storyteller excited by big ideas. He moved into directing with the smaller-scale Gattaca, released a year prior to Truman (itself delayed to meet Carrey’s availability). Niccol’s subsequent filmography includes several legit bangers (Lord of War hive step up!), and his endearing dedication to lofty allegories in a genre setting makes him an increasingly rare breed in Hollywood.

Like Weir, he is not the greatest fan of giving interviews, but the Vanity Fair piece quotes him making an interesting point: “When you know there is a camera, there is no reality,” thereby making Truman “the only genuine reality star.”

It’s a sentiment echoed by MusicMoviesMe, who writes that “‘Truman Show’ beats all other reality shows out there like Bachelors, Survivors and Kardashians. Come on, when you know there’s a camera at your tail, there’s no reality. So yes, Truman beats all reality shows out there bar none!”

The role was perfectly suited to Jim Carrey’s affected mannerisms, and his status as one of the world’s biggest stars meant he could relate to Truman more than most people. Then, at least. Nowadays, of course, we are all Truman.

“It is always incredible to see how far The Truman Show was ahead of [its] time,” observes The Closer79. “In a world where celebs are monitored 24/7 and we are showered with unnecessary private information on the web, where talent-free wannabes become famous and where you sometimes [wonder] what kind of surreal show society you are in—Truman and his fake show life cleverly have anticipated all of this. Only Truman knew nothing of his luck and he was granted an escape from his glass prison. We don’t really have this possibility… Aren’t we all Truman? Sometimes even voluntarily…”

Austin Burke concurs: “I have always known that I really enjoyed this film, but I had no clue that it would hold up so well years later… Could this be because the strange world that he finds himself in is far more similar to our world today? Possibly, but the idea and themes are so much more relevant now compared to when this originally released.” And while DallasFrance is conscious of piling on about the film’s prescience, his review highlights how there really is no limit to the film’s meta qualities:

“Instead of writing a review about how this film predicted social media, or how we’re all Truman, or yadda yadda yadda, I’ll instead fixate on the miraculous fact that two absolute legends were cast as primary viewers of the Truman Show:

1. The old lady from The Running Man who starts betting on Ben Richards (Arnold Schwarzenegger). ‘He’s one bad motherf*cker!’

2. The villain from The Karate Kid Part II:

‘Live or die, man?!’ ‘Die!’ ‘Wrong!’ *hooooonnnkkk*

I’ve never seen either of these actors in any other roles. With the second one, I felt like I was watching a character from my childhood watch a character from his childhood come to realizations about the characters in his childhood. So actually… the movie’s really about me.”

Never change, LB membership.

We are all generally pretty aware of how ahead of its time The Truman Show was, but that doesn’t lessen its impact. Maddie’s review shows that there’s always some new angle to consider: “Imagine being an extra in this movie… You would be an extra, playing an actor, playing an extra. Think about that long enough and tell me that doesn’t make you want to walk into the ocean.”

Kev goes even further: “Watching other people watch somebody else while also watching that person while also watching the person watching over that person is a great reminder that watching is weird, and to be watched is to not own yourself. Don’t watch, don’t try to be watched. Just live.”

Or perhaps Will encapsulates the film’s ability to present an ever-evolving message best, writing that, “clearly, this is video proof that we live in a simulation.” Beyond mere prescience, The Truman Show is a telling mirror to whatever era it is viewed in. Its message will continue to evolve.

Now that we’re finally (touch wood) emerging from the pandemic, it will be fascinating to see what The Truman Show has to say about its audience and the world they live in, in years to come. Rest assured, it will be well-documented by you, the Letterboxd audience.

Also: can Peter Weir please make another movie? Like, seriously.