Bela Talbot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
enjoythe_ride) wrote2008-10-30 08:07 pm
enjoythe_ride) wrote2008-10-30 08:07 pm
[JMM] James Branch Cabell quote
[Not binding on any Sam, or any verse, though this is wholly blamed on the mun of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
likely_evil and a cracktastic chat thing we were a part of a few nights ago. Bela just got all girly on me, and I didn’t know what to do with it. Apparently Sam brings this out in people? IDK. And this is so very Sam/Bela. Just saying.]
“There is not any memory with less satisfaction than the memory of some temptation we resisted.”
Dreams weren’t real. It may seem a pointless statement of the obvious, but for Bela it meant a lot more than that. In dreams, things weren’t really happening, therefore her natural reactions, instincts, were muted because she knew in the back of her mind that this wasn’t really happening. She had no reason to be scared, worried, anxious. This was a fantasy, nothing more—Sam would dismiss it as such when it was over and she would try to do the same. That was all it really was, after all. A fantasy. Something she could manipulate, could control, yes—but a fantasy nonetheless. A misfiring of chemicals in the brain that happened to produce a pleasurable response and nothing more. Bela would have to live with that pleasurable response, because if she had ever tried to make a moment like that a reality, the experience wouldn’t be nearly as pleasurable.
Having a person like Sam Winchester in her life was almost a pipe dream as far as she was concerned. Bela didn’t have the luck of earning a boy like him—the boy who always did the right thing, who tried to save as many people as he could. Sam was good people, the kind of person that was far too rare to see in the jaded society they happened to be living in. Compared to Dean, Sam was practically an angel, and that only made him all the more appealing—not that Bela would ever admit it. Admitting it would force her to admit that she actually desired more from Sam than his fountain of knowledge that in any other profession would be considered completely useless. Admitting it would force her to admit that this was more than just part of a job to get the gun that will save her life, and she certainly couldn’t do that. For once, she needed to keep her bigger picture in mind, the fact that she was coming down to the end of the line, and if she was going ot change the way her cards had been dealt, she needed to do it soon.
She didn’t consider this a frivolous choice, or something done for her own pleasure. Sam was the logical choice—Dean probably had sex dreams nightly; Sam, however, didn’t really seem the type. Dean would brush it off as though it was nothing—Sam would be the one to get flustered if the girl he was fantasizing about just happened to walk into the room five minutes later. It was logical, and necessary—having Sam uncomfortable only meant that he would have a harder time about putting two and two together regarding why she just happened to show up. She wasn’t going to deny the fact that it was a little selfish, but she figured that she needed to take those chances while she had them. She did only have a little time left, after all.
She’d never used dream root before. She heard about what it was supposed to feel like, but she never expected it to feel this real. It’s almost as though Sam really was standing right in front of her, and that tugged at the nerves in the pit of her stomach. For a moment, she doubted that she was going to be able to do this. There were too many issues, too many reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this, but she swallowed them, keeping herself calm and not wanting to have Sam think there was anything wrong. She wasn’t sure if he’d had fantasies like this before—she’d seen the way he looked at her, but there had never been anything concrete—but if he had, she didn’t want there to be any break in the stride. She was here to play to Sam’s fantasies as well as her own. Things needed to move smoothly, and she was willing to do her best to move that along. She was playing a part, being someone other than herself, just like she always did, and while it was tiring to do over and over again, day after day—it was what was necessary.
He looked away from her when she dropped her coat; when he kissed her he didn’t push. She wasn’t sure if that was really him, or her manipulating the fantasy, but she didn’t really care. The fact that he was pretending he cared only made things easier, and when he finally touched her, hands brushing against her ribcage through the soft material of the barely-there clothing she was wearing, any hang-ups or worries disappeared. They were there, together on this, at least on some level. She was allowed to not be the cold hard bitch she usually was, and be something else—something warmer. She was allowed to feel wanted, for the first time in so very long, and it felt good.
It was a fantasy, but she would take what she could get.
823 words
likely_evil and a cracktastic chat thing we were a part of a few nights ago. Bela just got all girly on me, and I didn’t know what to do with it. Apparently Sam brings this out in people? IDK. And this is so very Sam/Bela. Just saying.]“There is not any memory with less satisfaction than the memory of some temptation we resisted.”
Dreams weren’t real. It may seem a pointless statement of the obvious, but for Bela it meant a lot more than that. In dreams, things weren’t really happening, therefore her natural reactions, instincts, were muted because she knew in the back of her mind that this wasn’t really happening. She had no reason to be scared, worried, anxious. This was a fantasy, nothing more—Sam would dismiss it as such when it was over and she would try to do the same. That was all it really was, after all. A fantasy. Something she could manipulate, could control, yes—but a fantasy nonetheless. A misfiring of chemicals in the brain that happened to produce a pleasurable response and nothing more. Bela would have to live with that pleasurable response, because if she had ever tried to make a moment like that a reality, the experience wouldn’t be nearly as pleasurable.
Having a person like Sam Winchester in her life was almost a pipe dream as far as she was concerned. Bela didn’t have the luck of earning a boy like him—the boy who always did the right thing, who tried to save as many people as he could. Sam was good people, the kind of person that was far too rare to see in the jaded society they happened to be living in. Compared to Dean, Sam was practically an angel, and that only made him all the more appealing—not that Bela would ever admit it. Admitting it would force her to admit that she actually desired more from Sam than his fountain of knowledge that in any other profession would be considered completely useless. Admitting it would force her to admit that this was more than just part of a job to get the gun that will save her life, and she certainly couldn’t do that. For once, she needed to keep her bigger picture in mind, the fact that she was coming down to the end of the line, and if she was going ot change the way her cards had been dealt, she needed to do it soon.
She didn’t consider this a frivolous choice, or something done for her own pleasure. Sam was the logical choice—Dean probably had sex dreams nightly; Sam, however, didn’t really seem the type. Dean would brush it off as though it was nothing—Sam would be the one to get flustered if the girl he was fantasizing about just happened to walk into the room five minutes later. It was logical, and necessary—having Sam uncomfortable only meant that he would have a harder time about putting two and two together regarding why she just happened to show up. She wasn’t going to deny the fact that it was a little selfish, but she figured that she needed to take those chances while she had them. She did only have a little time left, after all.
She’d never used dream root before. She heard about what it was supposed to feel like, but she never expected it to feel this real. It’s almost as though Sam really was standing right in front of her, and that tugged at the nerves in the pit of her stomach. For a moment, she doubted that she was going to be able to do this. There were too many issues, too many reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this, but she swallowed them, keeping herself calm and not wanting to have Sam think there was anything wrong. She wasn’t sure if he’d had fantasies like this before—she’d seen the way he looked at her, but there had never been anything concrete—but if he had, she didn’t want there to be any break in the stride. She was here to play to Sam’s fantasies as well as her own. Things needed to move smoothly, and she was willing to do her best to move that along. She was playing a part, being someone other than herself, just like she always did, and while it was tiring to do over and over again, day after day—it was what was necessary.
He looked away from her when she dropped her coat; when he kissed her he didn’t push. She wasn’t sure if that was really him, or her manipulating the fantasy, but she didn’t really care. The fact that he was pretending he cared only made things easier, and when he finally touched her, hands brushing against her ribcage through the soft material of the barely-there clothing she was wearing, any hang-ups or worries disappeared. They were there, together on this, at least on some level. She was allowed to not be the cold hard bitch she usually was, and be something else—something warmer. She was allowed to feel wanted, for the first time in so very long, and it felt good.
It was a fantasy, but she would take what she could get.
823 words