This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester ‘s Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘dressing up as an anime character for his birthday.’ And I have to admit, I really enjoyed this one….
Characters: Dean x Reader
Word Count: 2,157
Smut. There is smut. Reader dresses as Sailor Mars (from Sailor Moon) for Dean’s birthday. Yeah. (Did I mention there’s smut?)
Also the Sailor Mars fan art is by Leandro Franci on Deviant Art http://lenadrofranci.deviantart.com/art/Sailor-Mars-201214685
You smile to
yourself, smoothing your hands over the costume hidden in the trunk
in the corner of your room. This plan will either kill you by
breaking your heart, or – well, it may kill you either way, but
there are worse ways to die.
Because if – if –
Dean is actually hiding his attraction to you, like you suspect, he
won’t be able to resist the bait. If not – well, then, you’ve
humiliated yourself to the point of no return, and you’ll have to
leave. But the truth is, it has come to that. Either you let him know
how you feel, and hopefully find out that he feels the same, or
you’ll have to leave anyway. Because it’s been tearing you apart.
The Winchester boys
have been a part of your life for some time now. You’ve shared
hunts, laughter, victory and defeat with them. You’ve joined Sam in
making fun of Dean’s love of Asian cartoon porn.
And that’s why, in
that trunk, lies the centerpiece
of your little plan of seduction.
In country rest and recreation for troops was found at China Beach in Da Nang. From an article in the Tropic Lightning newspaper (14Sep1970):
At China Beach, a soldier can shuck the war for three days to surf, swim, sail and sleep. Nobody hassles anybody at China Beach. Nobody wears their rank on their swimming trunks or carries it into the weight room. The only problems a soldier will encounter are determining how much sun to soak up, how much food to take in and how much beer to wash down.
Santi Aragon backstage in a pump room with a fellow muscle freak. The hair, that grin, the body, those fucking TRUNKS! It’s almost too much! Oh and the bald daddy in the purple posers (Russ Allen I believe!) is pretty fucking woof worthy too!
It was in the months following the murder of his step family, that Oswald began to make the Van Dahl manor his own.
However the very first thing he had changed was during a drunken night wandering through the house and wondering if his father’s words had been true. Did ghosts exist? Did they whisper in the stale air of the attic, disturbing nothing but the dust the coated over storage boxes and forgotten furniture.
He’d come across a old box hidden underneath old children’s clothes in a trunk shoved at the back of the room. Drawing it out and sneezing from the rise of dust that rose as he wiped a hand across it, he found pictures of his mother. Young and beautiful, that same shining light in her eyes seen so easily even in the black and white images.
Tears splashed down and he hastily closed the box. Tucking it under his arm he stumbled downstairs to pour himself another drink. Oswald had nothing from his mother. The contents of the apartment had been ransacked and thrown away during his disappearance to escape the wrath of Gotham’s justice.
Coming out of Arkham he had nothing and even now in some ways felt like he still had nothing. An empty house with painful memories and a weekly letter to an man within mad house walls who was his only friend.
The wine poured slowly, spilling over the edge slightly as he stared down at the framed photos lining the side table. It was his father, looking so happy… next to that murderous bitch. Pushing aside the bottle, it shattered over the ground, the dregs of it painting the black and white tile like blood. His hands shook as he worked open the gilded frame with a frenzy he hadn’t felt in weeks. The photo was pulled, uncaring of the tear in the edge, he purposefully ripped it in half. The side featuring Grace crumbled in his hand while his father’s smile brought a curve to his own lips.
It took a moment to realize what he wanted to do, but Oswald’s attention drifted to the forgotten box of photos. Searching through, he found the perfect one. His father’s torn photo placed over top of hers and reverently put back in the frame, Oswald closed the backing and set it in it’s rightful place.
Finally his parents were together, looking happy in a way he had never been blessed to see with his own eyes.
I feel like Heru-Wer is one of those gods who has a secret collection of some sort hiding in a room behind trunks of swords and knives and stuff.
Like he has an entire cabinet filled from floor to ceiling with beautiful teacups that started off as maybe a joke (oh that looks like me - I gotta) but accidentally turned into a serious need to collect beautiful teacups for the sake of beauty.
And he doesn’t share it with anyone because he’s not interested in that misogynistic bs that he’d hear because then he would actually HAVE to cut someone for daring to force that outmoded bullshit on him. So he just keeps all his pretty teacups hidden in a cabinet, surrounded by his weapons and dust.
And of course, it is the one place in the room that’s completely clean at all times.
He probably goes in to look at it when he’s feeling low because of the ptsd and depression. When he just needs to see a little piece of beauty when the world feels so dark and foreboding. And maybe he shares that secret collection of teacups with people he trusts to keep the secret. People who have access to his inner of most inner sanctums.
A Never tree tried hard to grow in the centre of the room, but every morning they sawed the trunk through, level with the floor. By tea-time it was always about two feet high, and then they put a door on top of it, the whole thus becoming a table; as soon as they cleared away, they sawed off the trunk again, and thus there was more room to play.
“And the joke is that the heretical ‘Inquisition’ – so they have dubbed themselves – had the gall to declare a literal witch as their Herald of Andraste. I have seen the beastly thing, a Qunari resemblance of a female, seven and a half feet tall dressed garishly in clinking discs of gold and purple rhinestones. She is magi, because of course she is, and I’ve no doubt she laughs at our misery and foolishness behind that street performer smile. She, and every miserable vermin in that Inquisition, must be eliminated before the whole of the Chantry is spoiled by their rot.”
–excerpt from the letter of a Chantry sister, located in a trunk within her room. Her corpse was found not far away, twisted and broken as though a beast’s maw had ravaged her innards from within. (Said to be the work of the Horned Witch, better known as Inquisitor Yawelor Adaar…all rumors, of course. Surely.)
I imagine the Hogwarts Castle with great shimmering silver and bronze blocks and spiraling towers that lean to one side slightly, the halls are lined with grand windows and paintings and tall mahogany doors. The classrooms range in sizes with long table desks and cauldrons, with books and papers floating above student’s heads. The Gryffindor Tower is beautiful and warm with soft love seats and a big fireplace, it’s stairs both spiral even though they’re in one tower and the doors that seemingly go nowhere go into the large dorm rooms, with big canopy beds and trunks at the foot of them all. The Ravenclaw Tower is elegant and filled with white marble and blue adornments, filled with bookshelves and comfortable chairs to read in and the ceiling has the same charm as the Great Hall so you can look through the telescope, with a beautiful fireplace, the rooms spiral like the Gryffindor Tower but the beds are elegant white wood daybeds with drawers underneath. The Slytherin Dungeon is beautifully decorated with Gothic architecture and furniture, the giant windows let you see into the green tinted lake and various creatures swim by every day, the fireplace is large and stone with snakes carved into the surface, emerald green pillows litter the silver couches, the dorms go down further into the lake, each room has a giant window and shelves for various treasures, and the beds are soft and floating above the ground. The Hufflepuff Basement is modest and homey, soft colors and wooden furniture with yellow cushions fill the room, the fireplace is simple with folded quilts on the side, the room is filled with various potted plants and you see level with the ground when you look out the round windows, the two barrel doors lead to the dorms where the beds are carved into the wall and filled with soft blankets and bedding with a little yellow curtain for privacy. each bed has a trap door compartment right under the bedding.
There are books, that one has for twenty years without reading them, that one always keeps at hand, that one takes along from city to city, from country to country, carefully packed, even when there is very little room, and perhaps one leafs through them while removing them from a trunk; yet one carefully refrains from reading even a complete sentence. Then after twenty years, there comes a moment when suddenly, as though under a high compulsion, one cannot help taking in such a book from beginning to end, at one sitting: it is like a revelation. Now one knows why one made such a fuss about it. It had to be with one for a long time; it had to travel; it had to occupy space; it had to be a burden; and now it has reached the goal of its voyage, now it reveals itself, now it illuminates the twenty bygone years it mutely lived with one. It could not say so much if it had not been there mutely the whole time, and what idiot would dare to assert that the same things had always been in it.
Requested by Anon: Hi
there😊! Could I pretty please
get a oneshot where Sherlock sees you in a bikini for the first time (you him
and John we’re going to the beach) and he is absolutely amazed and speechless
and is totally checking you out? Sorry if Sherlock’s a bit oc.
Guys! I just hit 1000 followers!! Thanks for deciding to add my blog to your dashboard!
John stared out the flat window looking at the rare London
sunlight wishing he was somewhere else rather than stuck inside his Baker
Street flat. He looked over to Sherlock who was conducting loud experiments in
the kitchen while you stood by supervising. “We need to get out more,” John
thought, fixing his gaze back to the window before been struck with an idea.
“Grab your things! We’re going to the beach!” he called to
you and Sherlock as he walked to his room in search of his swim trunks. You and
Sherlock both looked at each other utterly confused until you both shrugged and
retreated in your bedrooms to scavenge for beachwear.
Finally everyone had secured what they needed for a day at
the beach and you were all settled in a cab headed for the shore. “I think you
were exactly right, John,” you began. “We need this.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes next to you. “I, on the other hand,
think this was a complete waste of time,” he commented as the cab pulled up
your destination and everyone piled out.
The boys grabbed some of the bags while you headed out to
look for a prime beach spot. Eventually everyone was settled in, sitting
peacefully in their beach chairs.
“This is truly is lovely,” John said. “It feels nice to be
out of that stuffy little flat.”
“I’ll have you know that ‘stuffy little flat’ is perfectly
charming,” Sherlock told the both of you.
“Oh Sherlock grow up. When’s the last time you’ve been in the
sun anyway? You’re starting to look a little Casper-like.”
“Who?” Sherlock scoffed.
You and John simultaneously rolled your eyes and leaned back
in your chairs taking in all the sun. Eventually John sighed and stood up, “Well
I’m hopping in the water, is anyone with me?”
“Don’t count on it,” Sherlock stated.
“I would love to John,” you told him standing up and removing
your beach wrap.
“You two have fun,” Sherlock said before he caught a glimpse of
you in your bikini. His mouth dropped open and stared at you for what must have
“Uh, Sherlock?” you called.
“What- Sorry?” he mumbled snapping out of his thoughts.
“Um… I asked whether you were sure about staying here.”
“Oh me? No, I’m perfectly fine. I think I’ll admire the uh…
water from afar.”
You and John both took off towards the water leaving Sherlock
behind to just… watch. “I have never felt like such a pervert,” he thought to
himself as he appreciated your perfect beach body. After watching the two of
you from afar for a while Sherlock realized that maybe getting in the cold
water would calm him down as he went to find you and John.