#$1 more per hour 😂

[juniperhillpatient]

update apparently all my years of being a teacher’s pet kinda girl the type of girl your parents say “oh she’s so well behaved” about have payed off & the corporate lady told my boss to promote me

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Holy shit, y’all are insane. My tag list is over a HUNDRED (wtf y’all I’m kissing every single one of you on the forehead it was EIGHT before this) and the first part got over 800 notes in 24 hours. I love y’all 😂 With that being said though, Tumblr only allows for 50 mentions per post. So I’m drafting another post with the other 50-odd mentions that I’ll link this to. Unfortunately I’m not willing to make more than two posts, meaning my tag list is officially CLOSED. I’m so sorry, y’all, please know I love every single one of you SO much!! If you’d like to follow along and didn’t make it onto the taglist, go ahead and follow the ‘#if I should stay’ tag. I’ll make sure to use this tag for every update! Thank you all SO SO MUCH!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ and if you want to be dropped from the taglist, that’s fine too; just let me know! ❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Steve is terrified.

Honestly, after the Russians and the Upside Down and everything else, Steve thought he’d never be scared again.

Then he woke up in school in 1984.

He looks around, wide-eyed, only to stop when Tommy and Carol look at him weirdly. “Uh, Steve?” Carol asks. “You look like you’re about to puke.”

Full of tact, just like always. He shakes off the feeling of wrong crawling on his skin and smiles at her. “I’m fine,” he says, when nothing could be further from the truth.

She opens her mouth to respond. Steve breathes a sigh of relief when the bell goes off, only for him to realize he has no idea where he’s going.

Thank God for Carol, apparently, because she throws her head back with a groan. “Math,” she complains. “I hate math.”

Steve feels a zing of recognition dart through him. He had English while she was in math. They used to complain about it between classes.

He feels excited when he realizes Robin will be in this class, then just as suddenly excitement turns to nausea when he realizes she might not remember him.

He walks into class, trying to keep his hopes down, and briefly makes eye contact with her.

She’s doodling in a notebook, looking around the room. Their eyes meet.

Robin’s pencil lead snaps.

Steve freezes.

He opens his mouth, he’s not sure for what, but she shakes her head slightly.

She stands and makes her way towards him before her eyes flutter back in her head and she drops.

She would’ve fallen on the ground if he hadn’t caught her. Whispers start up, enough to get the teacher to look up. “Mr. Harrington,” she says. “I’m not sure what dance moves you think you’re trying, but I will remind you this is an English classroom.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says. “Um. She passed out. I think I should probably take her to the nurse.”

She leans over her desk to peer first at Steve, then at Robin, who still has her eyes closed. “Very well,” she says. “I’ll give you a hall pass. Please ensure she returns once her little spell has worn off.”

He nods, shifts Robin completely into his arms, and walks out of the classroom.

He walks down the hallway and stops by an empty classroom, darting in when nobody’s looking. “Robs,” he chokes, and her arms are around his neck and now he’s choking for an entirely different reason.

She’s shaking, and he feels hot tears land on his shoulder, and he knows she feels the same from his tears. “I thought-”

“I know,” Steve whispers. “I thought the same. I woke up and I was with Tommy and Carol again and I didn’t know what was going on and I was terrified you weren’t gonna remember me.”

“Jesus,” she says. She’s laughing a little, through her tears. “Imagine how I felt, waking up in Mrs. Click’s class. Thought I’d had a weird fever dream. Then you walked in, and…”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Jesus, Robs, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Right back atcha, Dingus,” she whispers, which really just makes his tears start all over again. “Who else do you think knows?”

Steve sighs. “I don’t know. And other than asking them, and risking getting sent to a padded room…”

“Yeah.” Robin sighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says, tensing up.

“What?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m still with Nancy.”

I tried to tag everyone who wanted it… I’m so sorry if I missed you! Once again I’m so sorry about closing the taglist. Thank you for understanding! ❤️

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @local-writers-corner @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

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Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @little-gae-shit

Me @ all of you:

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Cherry Pie Kiss

Slice Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: Out on the hunt, out of state and out of options; with your life on the line, Dean makes a call you're not happy with. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he brings a peace offering.

Haven't read Part One? - Catch up here.

Words: ~3.5k

A/N: This is part 2 of 3 of what started as a short one shot, but someone asked for another slice of pie so I'm here to deliver. There isn't any smut in this part (its all going to be in part 3 😂) but there are graphic depictions of gore, violence and death which is why I ask minors not to read or interact. Reader is female but generic, and obviously has feelings but is kind of stuck in this hate to love him type thing which carries on from part 1. I hope you enjoy the read and are ready for the goonfest and gratuitous smut coming in part 3.

Warnings: gore, death and gruesome depictions of canon-type violence, profanity as standard for my work, bit of angst, bit of fluff right at the end.

***Minor do not read or interact***

Dean Winchester.  You hate him.  His saviour complex, his unwavering strength, the way he’s so damn selfish though not in the ways that count… But boy, can he wear a pair of jeans.  Phew-ee!

You hate that you can’t stop looking at him, leaning on the jukebox of the bar you’re in, feeding it quarters in exchange for some feel-good tunes.  Ugh!  Asshole!

Tonight had been a tough night.  Even Sam was feeling the burn.  Out on the hunt, out of state and out of options, the three of you had played a Hail Mary and it had paid off.  Those damn vamps had just kept on coming.  Sam was down and you were in a bad way with what felt like a hoard of those fuckers piling into the abandoned factory to make a meal out of you all.  Starting out, you had all been so sure that you had this little group in the bag but, as per usual with these goddamn things, the plan didn’t pan out.

Dean had dragged you and a semi-conscious Sam into a tight space between the machines.  One way in, one way out.  You were both toast if you were found and of course you would be found; the vamps had your scent.

Groggily, you watched dean uncoil something from his pocket and string it across the opening at about neck height.

“Guitar string.”  He winked at you as if this idea was the best idea he had ever had and should have been plan A from the start.

“We’re fucking bait?”  You hissed furiously.  No, surely not?  Dean would never use his brother as bait.  Would he?  “Goddamn asshole!”  You snarled with as much vitriol you could muster between your gasping breaths and painful ribs.

He just gave you that weary look he had been wearing for the past hour and shrugged his shoulders before pulling out his machete and hiding himself out of sight.  “Get ready.”

You brandished your blade and hauled yourself to your feet, ready to fight.  There was no point wasting any more breath insulting him.  If you got out of this alive, you would have plenty of opportunity to call him all the names under the sun.  IF you got out alive.

The first vamps that found you came rushing in, right down the tight alley framed by the large machinery and with a sharp twang, Dean’s trap garrotted them straight through, taking their heads clean off.  Of the next three, the wire took the first two but the third approached cautiously despite you calling him to come get you.

Dean ran out from his hiding place and attacked the vamp from behind, slashing at the guy’s thick neck twice in order to cut all the way through.  As the body fell you saw why the vamp had stopped – the trap had remnants of flesh and blood along it from its previous victims making it easier to see.  You wiped your sleeve along it to clean the bits of hanging flesh off making it almost invisible again. Dean gave you an impressed nod.

Another two vamps fell to the wire but the last one got snagged as she fell, snapping it and making it useless.  Well, it was a good idea while it lasted, you thought.

It took you two a little while longer to attract the remaining few vamps who obviously knew something was up.  Sam was in no fit state, still groaning on the ground.  You were weak and in a lot of pain but you kept swinging your blade, struggling to breathe let alone stand.

The fight had been brutal and both you and Dean were covered in blood by the time it was over.  You were on your knees, slumped over a vamp you had had to hack into to remove the head, your blade surely blunt by now.  You were ready to close your eyes and give up when Dean pulled you to your feet.

“C’mon,” he said gruffly, “up and at’em.”  Helping you out over the pile of decapitated bodies, he hauled a now mostly conscious Sam through the mess.

You had made it to the Impala and, for once, Dean hadn’t grumbled about getting blood on Baby’s seats but throwing a couple blankets down instead.  Sam slumped in the front while you crawled in the back, weary and sore.  Your eyes met Dean’s in the rearview mirror but yours flicked away immediately, unable to look at him without getting angry.  When you looked back so did he, like he knew you’d be looking, and held on, asking if you were okay without actually asking.  If he really cared he wouldn’t have used you as bait.

You let your head fall back onto the seat and closed your eyes frustrated by his dichotomy.

After a while on the road, Dean turned the radio on, breaking the silence which opened the door for you to say what was on your mind.  Sam hadn’t been bothered one bit by the fact that Dean had used you both as bait, but you were furious.

“It worked, didn’t it?”  Dean snapped, frustrated by your anger.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and a whole long list of other people.  Aint nothin’ new.”

Around five miles out of Crocker, Missouri, Dean pulled into a truck stop complex which had a convenience store, gas station, diner, a small motel and a dive bar.  The dawn was still hours away and the need for a couple of hours sleep in a comfortable bed was showing on all three of you.  Sam was the cleanest so he made the arrangements; two rooms because there was no way you were sharing a room with that asshole after what he did.  You were just as likely to fuck him out of anger as fight him at that point.

You used the showers in the truck stop to clean off all the blood and get into some clean clothes, relishing in the feel of the warm water and decent water pressure.  You felt a slight pang of guilt that someone would likely be picking vamp chunks out of the drain in the next couple of days but it passed quickly, it probably wasn’t the worst thing these truck stop attendants had seen over the years.

Refreshed by the shower and a take-out burger from the diner, you decided you needed a drink or five, which sounded good to Sam and Dean – you all deserved it.

So, here you are, several drinks in, pounding another tequila shot, trying not to stare at Dean Winchester’s ass while Sam bids you goodnight and takes himself off to one of the two rooms you had paid for at the run-down motel on site.

It seems as if you’re not the only one with an eye for a firm ass in tight Wranglers; a scantily clad barfly sidles up to Dean and strokes her hand down his back as he plugs his final song into the jukebox.  When her hand reaches that ass of his, he straightens and turns, grinning at her with that look you know means he’s going to ride her all the way to dawn.

You can’t watch this.  You don’t have the stomach for it, not tonight.  You pound your remaining two shots and eat the lime slice, peel and all.  Then you’re up off your stool and pushing past Dean and his lady friend, and out into the night where the air cools your heated skin but not your confusing emotions.

In the second of the two rooms, you look at your bruised face and neck in the mirror.  No wonder he didn’t look twice at you, you’re a mess.  It shouldn’t pain you like it does to think of him with another woman.  He asked once and you said no, so that is the end of that.  Plus, you hate him, can’t forget that.  Still, it gives you some small satisfaction that he now has no empty room to take his new friend to so he’ll have to bang her in Baby, on the bloody blankets.  With a spiteful smirk you flop on the bed and fall into a light disturbed sleep.

A loud knock on the door wakes you up with a start.  At first you don’t know where you are.  So used to your room in the bunker, you had almost forgotten what it feels like to sleep that first night in a new place, never truly resting for fear of attack.  It’s only an hour or so since you left the bar and you’re groggy from the tequila and from the waking.

You don’t turn on the lights when you go to the peephole, looking out with your pistol muzzle pushed up against the flimsy wood door.  Dean sways on the other side, his head turned as though he’s listening.

“Sam’s in the other room,” you call, clicking the safety back onto your pistol.

“I know,” he grumbles, “open up.  I got something.”

“It can wait until the morning.”

“Can’t wait,” it sounds muffled, “owwww!” he hisses.

“What the hell,” you sigh, sliding the chain and turning the handle.

Dean stumbles in with his mouth shaped like an “O” as he slides two bowls onto the unit next to the TV, shaking his hands afterwards as if burned.  You close the door and engage the chain out of habit.

“Got you something.”  He grins goofily, obviously much more drunk than you had left him in the bar, and you wonder what happened to the barfly.  Surely the womanizing Dean Winchester hadn’t banged and dropped her in that short a time?

“It’s two in the morning, Dean.”  You wipe a hand down your tired face, lifting your eyes again to see him handing you one of the bowls from the diner.

“Peace offering.”  He says with a smile as he pushes the hot ceramic into your hands, his eyes glistening with mirth and the effects of all the whiskey he shot back earlier.

You look at what he brought you and your heart almost stops.  It’s a steaming hot piece of cherry pie, drizzled in a large puddle of vanilla custard just the way you like it.  You look at his, with his tiny dollop of cream just the way he likes it, and you can’t help but smile.

“Why?”  You ask as you sit on the edge of the bed with him in the chair by the TV, the bowl in your hand, spoon loaded with goodness.

He finishes chewing a piece of the hot pie, sucking in air to cool it in his mouth before he replies.  “I know you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you admit too quickly but the words are out now whether he believes them or not.

“And I know it’s my fault,” he looks at you with those eyes, “I shouldn’t have made things awkward from day one.  So, I’m sorry about that.”

“Thank you.”  You never thought you would ever hear Dean Winchester apologise, or what you would say in return.

“I didn’t know how to take the rejection,” he sighed heavily, “especially not from someone I have this amazing chemistry with, y’know?  But that’s on me.”

What great chemistry did Dean think he had with you?  All the years you had known him, you’d harboured a bit of a crush on him but he always acted like you were one of the guys.  When you two crossed paths it had felt effortless to slip into the old camaraderie but he treated you like a sister, a fellow hunter, until you had shown up on his radar this time covered in blood and all kinds of messed up and he’d gotten all pissed and… ohhhh.

“You were right all those years ago when you said hunters shouldn’t get close,” he continues, “I should’ve listened and never asked that question.”

You remember the conversation clearly.  It was something you had said because you thought it was what he wanted to hear from you.  Younger and more naïve, you had thought that what he wanted was for you to be like one of the guys so you had said the words and hoped that you could remain where you were with him, always close but never at risk of blowing everything.  Over time you had begun to regret that decision, and as soon as he started acting like an asshole it had been easy to trade the feelings you had for ones of resentment.

“I wish I never said it.  I didn’t realise what I would be losing when I asked.”   He looks at you again, beseechingly.  “Do you think we can start again?  Be friends like before?”

You think about it for a moment but the more you think the surer you are that you can’t go back.  You can’t know these things and have these experiences and go back to the beginning.

“No, Dean, I don’t think we can.”  Your words are soft but the devastation in his eyes is sharp and painful.

You stand, placing your untouched bowl on the bedside table, and walk towards him.  His bowl is empty now, but there’s a little piece of pie left on his spoon when you take it from him.  He’s confused but follows your every movement with a mixture of sadness and reverence.

The pie is sweet on your tongue and the way his eyebrows raise when your lips close around the spoon brings a cheeky glint to your eyes.  You sit on his knee, wrapping one arm around his shoulders while the other pulls the now clean spoon past your lips.  You swallow with a sigh.  His hands go to your hip and thigh to steady you as he looks up at you.

You dip your head slowly and he tilts up to meet you, his eyes flicking between yours and your mouth.  He tastes sweet just like you do when you lay your lips on his, a soft kiss that is both the testing of waters and the soothing of sharp emotions.  He squeezes your thigh tighter for a brief moment and you pull back to see the questioning look on his face.

“But you said…”

You shush him with a finger laid over his lips.  “I know what I said.”

“Then what did you mean?”  He swallows hard, licking his lips nervously afterwards as if you’re about to pull the rug out from under him.

“I wish I’d said yes.”

[blackbat05]

The Gall of HeR!

Evan Buckley x Reader (Gender not Specified)

Plot: You come back home feeling blue from work. Luckily, Buck is there to lend you some support.

Genre: PG-13

A/N: New character! Only started watching 9-1-1 last year but wasn’t in the best back then. It’s been such a huge support to get where I am today so it’s only appropriate to do this! Also I can’t deny this is based on actual experience recently so this is my way of therapy😂 In all seriousness, note to self to always fight for myself because no one will do it for me.

“Hey! I’m home!”

Buck pads out of the kitchen in his “kiss the cook apron” that Eddie gave him as a Christmas Present last year as a joke.

“How’s work?”

I sigh, putting my bag to one side before unceremoniously dumping myself on the couch. “It was good, and then it was bad. Do I make sense?” My nose crinkles in confusion and I at that point I wished that my brain would stop running at a hundred miles per hour. Though, a part of me really needed to vent my feelings in a safe space. Buck was my safe space.

“They approached me for a possible promotion at the Library.” I start and Buck’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, that was my reaction. Inside. I didn’t expect this at all.”

Buck comes to sit beside me on the couch, body angled to face me fully. I take a deep breath and proceeded to explain how I had to ground myself first, to hear more details from HR before committing to that decision.

“So, I had that first meeting with Esther and obviously I needed time to process right? I didn’t understand some points that were raised and I wanted to clarify with her what some things meant to I called a second meeting the next day.” I explained. “The second meeting goes fine. It mostly involved her clarifying my doubts. Then after the meeting, she sends me an email noting all the things we discussed, and guess what?” I find the rage in the pit of my stomach bubbling.

“She adds in the extra clause that initially, they thought of reverting me back into my original position if things didn’t work out. But after considering the company’s position, if I did not perform or if I decided not to continue, I would have to leave the company!” My voice gets higher with each passing second. Buck reaches out to grab my hand, a soothing reminder that I was not in the library reading that darned email but I was here, with him.

“And then, Esther had the gall to storm into the library and yell at me what I meant when I sent that email and now she’s in trouble with the higher ups! My fault? How is expressing my opinions in a professional manner my fault?”

I finish off telling Buck that I wasn’t afraid of taking on the challenge. But my biggest issue was only being informed of this only after my second meeting and when I bought up the possibility of not taking on the role to her.

“Wow.” Buck purses his lips. I look at him reproachfully.

“You think I’m acting up too.”

“No. I think you’re standing up for yourself. No matter what others may say or think. It’s good that you question everything that’s being presented to you least you be taken advantaged.”

“Even if it means they might pass me up on this because they think I’m such a prima donna?”

Buck laughs. “In all seriousness. There are more ways to grow than besides promotions at work. You’re growing as a person and that’s more important. Do what you want to do and always do it for yourself.”

You don’t know what you did to deserve this man in this lifetime. Someone who supported you no matter what. That’s what you really needed right now.

“Thanks Buck,” you threw yourself into him for a hug. “I think I really needed to hear that. After all those times of doubting myself, I really needed to hear it.”

“Hey, you know I’m always your biggest supporter. Now let’s go and have dinner. Bobby taught me how to make this lasagna and we are not about to let it get cold.”

“Gosh, what would I do without you?”

“You’ll never have to know.”

[studentbyday]

a september packed with purpose 🏵️ (goals for the 2024-2025 academic year)

an attempt to live a meaningful life even if it's really busy.

🎓 academic goals:

stay on top of my schoolwork. not feeling like i'm running after deadlines but staying organized, calm, and methodical, even if there's a lot.

change up my study strats! turn text into diagrams! shorter focus periods followed by an active break to ease myself into the semester!

study 8h per day or less if at all possible (for official schoolwork)

👩🏻‍🔬 career goals:

finish databases courses to increase my career capital (i sped read so good they can't ignore you this summer and it was both inspiring and practical - grateful for the feeling of having a roadmap...even if it's vague.)

do everything to become so good the lab i'm interested in joining can't ignore me (i have pretty much no current affiliation with them or their university so this is gonna be an uphill climb unless maybe i seem like a perfect fit...)

🌳 lifestyle and adulting goals:

develop a can-do attitude and work on my growth mindset

continue to practice driving at least 3x per week before it snows

become a 6AM girlie (or an 8PM girlie, if you're looking at the sleeping time lol) so i have a few hours of calm, focused silence in the morning which will minimize the amount of time i need to spend studying after dinner (planning to take advantage of the jet lag and the fact that the sun sets earlier in winter, making me sleepy sooner 😠)

re-gain some level of fitness to counter my couch potato summer habits and all the sitting i'll be doing this semester

🤸🏻‍♀️ more fun goals:

apply to volunteer with my local horticultural society and hopefully start volunteering soon (hoping to work on their newsletter as that's something i miss from my high school days! something familiar will also be good for easing into my "reintegration into society" era as a previously "studying hermit". perhaps once i get so comfortable i feel like i'm plateauing, i can branch into being a volunteer gardener! i have absolutely zero successful experience with plants, so it would be really nice to have some guidance from people who've made and maintained such pretty gardens in my community 💗)

make time for piano (ideally at least 1h 3-4 days of the week, but i will be happy if i even get to touch the keys for less than 1h of practice 3-4 days a week. if i can do this, then i can more reasonably justify getting a real acoustic piano at home and maybe even take lessons again when things get less busy...and i don't have to fear not making progress or even getting worse on the digital in the meantime because my fingers and brain get re-accustomed to the acoustic feel and sound options surprisingly, happily quickly even if i only get to play on one for a few days of a year, which is already quite a privilege 🥺🙏🏻 in the meantime, i need to maintain/improve my dexterity, sight-reading skills, and theory knowledge. i don't plan to read the theory book front to back anymore, i'll just read the bits i'm most interested in and maybe eventually that will mean covering the whole book but i won't start with that intention in mind 🤷🏻‍♀️)

sOmEhOw have the energy to comprehend even 1 duolingo lesson in japanese ~daily if only to one day get to a level where i can read more japanese books (and maybe even watch some animé without subs? no pressure tho since i'm very picky about animé 😂)

💭 nice to have but not pressing:

make it a habit to read a nerdy book or academic article that isn't directly for schoolwork to help me find my research interests, learn more about labs in my physical area, and/or re-ignite my passion for/sense of wonder with STEM and STEM-related issues 🔥

each week read something from suggested/recommended course reading lists if there are any

each month read a book completely unrelated to academics, something that distracts me or that feeds my soul or both (or if i can't do that, then just 1 such book each semester, i'm just after something rather than nothing)

🐝 productivity advice from one of my role models that i want to follow religiously this semester:

prioritize rest in order to think and act fast (10 hours of sleep! downtime! meditating! gentle exercise!)

schedule down to the minute but understand that as long as you're doing what you planned to do within the hour you planned to do it, you're good (that is assuming life doesn't happen and derail the entire day's plans but most days thankfully are not like that). give yourself lots of buffer (bigger, not smaller blocks of time in the calendar!).

understand that prioritizing means that you may fall behind in the unprioritized areas from time to time and have to catch up and that's completely expected and completely fine.

be selective about what you're "perfectionistic" with (it's not really about applying perfectionism, more like being picky about where you apply extreme conscientiousness). that is also part of prioritizing.

✏️ post schedule: 1-3x a week depending on time, energy, and what that means for my mental state 😅

[accio-victuuri]

how many cpns can you get from a 7 second douyin by wyb? 💚💚💚

The Douyin King is back! I know i’m not the only one who missed his random ass douyin posts. They are very much welcome, he is free to share one everyday. I’m cackling at the comparison going around between WYB and other people. So, the rest of the celebrities and influencers are posting on a regular basis per month and have different topics.

photos at work, travel photos, interests/hobbies. this line represents the whole year. there is another diagram that shows how many per line, like 1-2 or more. then you have wang yibo 😂😂😂

line 1 : I'm busy at work and have no time. // line 2: I don’t have time to skateboard, ride a motorcycle or play golf // line 3: Visit my gege’s camping site and the volcano scenery is very good and has a lot of material// line 4: happy and don’t have much time// line 5: Shoot whoever is lucky enough to shoot!

then all the lines after is when he will post — shows that he will share a lot towards the end of the year to keep up with KPI. lol. he is rushing his homework again, to the point that on the video, people are searching what wyb’s kpi mean. which is the engagement metrics he needs to reach and now he gotta work on it, even the fans know and expect it.

the memes are also hilarious! 😂😂😂 ( cat memes below ) basically him working on making his “cool” posts to the internet.

Honestly, never change yibo. We love you as you are, Our Gremlin Best Actor. 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

That was a long intro, now let’s move on to the sweets & CPN…..

• @rainbowsky already talked about the messenger bird CPN & how it might be for ZZ’s Hennessy endorsement.

• similarity in how sometimes, they just wanna post an emoji for caption. this one is a cute parallel from 2021 and 2023. If you wanna further clown with WYB using kadian 13 for yizhan then go ahead too 😌

• it is being compared to him referencing his shoes before, picking up his shoes ( xie zi ) (xz) ; and now it’s another homophonic clue ( jm ) ⬇️⬇️⬇️

yes we know that you get to meet more often now cause you are both in Beijing! It’s so cool how their language can be used for so many things and you can play with it to send different meanings. international fans could never 💀💀💀💀

• talking about picking up and meeting, cpfs remembered ZZ’s 11/17/21 douyin post. It’s the one with him and a light saber and a sexy transformation. Going by his clothes, I’m thinking it was what he wore during the DC tencent conference and at the time of posting it was already considered as leftover. but I could be wrong, cause he might have worn other leather jackets that year for ads.

anyway, the point is — please compare the background of the rooms. the walls. you know. add the floor too. 👀

look, this isn’t the most unique type of interior. i would say it’s pretty basic like how we clown about hotel curtains. i’m guessing yibo’s is an evisu shoot sometime ago ( cause his hair is not that fluffy anymore idk if his stylist did something to make it like that even with his recent cut ). this place may be a studio of sorts that can be rented out and they just happen to have filmed there.

or… or…..

this could be XZS office. or one of their rented office. Why? this CPN is similar to the one in 2020. How we speculated that the birthday shoot was done in XZS office so ZZ could supervise the direction of the shoot too.

we also love to talk about how xzs and ybo office are right next to each other ( it’s a fact xzs is close to yuehua building actually ) so maybe that can be an explanation too 😂😂😂 it’s not uncommon for an office to have a separate space to do regular photoshoots so maybe theirs have that. or this could have been done after and wyb dropped off their office and took this.

hahahahahaha! so many explanations all because of a wall. that’s the kind of life we turtles have 🙃

Personally, i’m hoping for a 24 hour relay between them. 🙏🏼

-END.

[elialys]

Per your lovely, lovely flawed show tag, I am curious what you think the flaws of Fringe are?

I’m sorry it took me so long to answer, I got distracted!

Fringe definitely had its share of flaws. I won’t even address the ones that can “be excused” by the fact that it was a show made before/early 2010s in terms of representations/inclusions, because you know, it is what it is.

I think my biggest ‘regret’/annoyance has always been the writers’ tendency to…shove traumas under a rug, or to not properly (if at all) talk about the consequences of some events that happened. I get that they had to make the characters go through a lot of drama because that’s the point of stories, especially on TV shows that have over 20 episodes per season, but the characters suffered through some terrible stuff time and time again, and they were just FINE. And it’s not like they didn’t know how to do it!

I’ve always loved the first few episodes of season 2 because they showed recovery. Olivia had a bad car accident, then she had to kill “Charlie”, and it took her time to get better from all of that, not just physically but emotionally, too. And yet, over and over again after that, she goes through horrible things and there’s…almost nothing? Like, I adore Marionette, I think it’s a brilliant episode through & through, but I still can’t believe Olivia went through all the shit she went through Over There (and coming back) and didn’t have some serious PTSD, on top of EVERYTHING ELSE she’d already gone through (aka why I wrote Shivered Bones). Peter too was barely allowed to mention what Walter did to him after he came back at the end of season 2, barely ever allowed to mention what Altlivia did to him either, except in some awkward bits of dialogue (I will discuss Peter’s character a bit more later).

Also, the whole REWRITING THE TIMELINE at the end of season 3?? Biggest cop-out. I mean, I’ve never hid the fact that any kind of ‘amnesia’ plot is honestly one of my LEAST favorite tropes, in anything. From the moment that season started airing and Peter reappeared being a complete stranger, I just disliked that so much on principle. But what will always pain me is how by doing so, the writers completely erased not just Peter but THE FIRST THREE SEASONS.

Like, poof, gone.

(adding a 'keep reading' because this is long 😂)

Conveniently, it erased Baby!Henry in the process, which the writers might have felt would be too much of an issue? Personally I would have loved to see that unfold. I know I’ve discussed this before on this blog, probably more than once, but they could have kept SO MUCH of season 4 the way it was, as far as the Bridge was concerned, could have come up with a brand new Vilain to do all the “NEW UNIVERSE” stuff Bell/Jones tried to do, while our core characters had to deal with the consequences of everything that happened in season 3 (including Peter being a dad, WITHOUT trying to force a stupid ‘love triangle’ down our throats, thank you). It would have made for great, impactful family drama, because who are we kidding. Anyone who loves Fringe typically loves it because it is such an emotional, family drama. So yes, I will forever mourn the universe(s) we had season 1-3, and endlessly daydream about what could have been.

Now let me talk about Peter Bishop, it’s been a hot minute. Peter Bishop, who was hated basically the entire time the show was airing, and still now is strongly disliked by a lot of viewers, and honestly, I can’t blame them? I’ve had over a decade to analyze his character, have spent hundreds of hours writing stories from his POV, explaining his traumas & mistakes, have written giant meta posts about him back in the days to explain his behavior, so I’m not exactly objective, but I’m also very honest about how flawed his character is. Not (just) as a human being, which is normal because humans are flawed. I mean, he’s flawed in the way the writers used him/wrote him.

He’s probably the most inconsistent of all the characters. He’s the character who suffered the most from the ‘let’s make this person act out a certain way to make sure it fits our plot’ syndrome.  I will never forgive the writers for how…clueless (for lack of a better word), they wrote Peter in early season 3 during the Switch. Yes, Peter was traumatized as a kid, yes he was in love, yes yes, I know all of that, I’ve written endlessly about it to explain his cluelessness so I know.

Still, Peter should have figured it out. Peter as we saw him in season 1 and 2, especially second half of season 2, would have figured out. He figured out BY HIMSELF that he was from another universe, ‘just’ from his dad and Olivia’s weird behaviors and the fact that he didn’t go ‘POOF’ on that bridge in 2x18. Peter went to another universe, he met Olivia’s alternate. He’d just spent weeks running from his life, trying to accept the fact that he was lied to all of his life. At best, he was suspicious, at worst, he was paranoid (as was mentioned in 2x20 in Northwest Passage). Literally 3 days after he gets to THAT OTHER UNIVERSE, and 3 hours after meeting Olivia’s doppelganger, Olivia ‘I hide from my own emotions’ Dunham comes tell him he belongs with her and smooches him, so he goes home. Yet the writers want me to believe Peter would not have still been reeling from EVERYTHING that just happened in his life, and not be a bit on edge?

Like, ‘damn, the woman I love and have come to know quite well these past 2 years is suddenly SO DIFFERENT? ALMOST LIKE SHE’S ANOTHER PERSON? A BIT LIKE THAT ALTERNATE VERSION OF HER I MET 48H AGO, THAT’S NOT A COINCIDENCE AT ALL’. But nope, Peter just accepts it, EVERY CHARACTER on that side just accepts it, when Lincoln and Charlie keep on looking at our Olivia like “Is this chick for real? WHAT IF THEY SWITCHED THEM?”

I’m forever frustrated. It just doesn’t feel believable to me, never has. It feels like the writers went “we want everyone, and especially Peter, to be clueless the entire time so we can write our drama the way we planned it.” And that’s a shame, honestly, because that whole damn arc is already so good as it is. But it would been even better if Peter HAD figured it out, if he’d kept on pretending for a bit, if HE’D conned Altlivia the way she conned him. Like I mentioned before, Olivia already went through so much trauma during the Switch, they could have found ways to make her miserable upon coming back, without Peter having slept with her alternate for a few weeks—and the knowledge that he didn’t realize what was going on. More daydreaming on my part about what could have been.

I could go on when it comes to the way they wrote Peter honestly. The whole “maybe Peter has feelings for the other Olivia” crap in the second half of s3, and “the universe that will survive depends on which Olivia Peter chooses”, excuse me??? Altlivia basically abused him??? She used him in so many ways, including sexually. She wasn’t even herself, she was pretending, playing him the whole time. HOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO HAVE FEELINGS EXCEPT A LOT OF SELF-LOATHING AND MORE UNRESOLVED TRAUMA?

Anyway, I think you get my vibe and why I’ll forever be sad/mad about this. As a writer & storyteller myself, one of my strengths and favorite aspects of writing is figuring out the characters’ motivations, what drives them, and how it makes them behave. Peter’s character is just…wobbly, during those arcs. He’s inconsistent from plotline to plotline, and it feels off to me. He’s a lot more true and consistent to how I understand him in season 4, but in season 3, he’s a hot mess, meant as a plot device more than anything else, and that makes me sad. Characters are what drive stories and shape the plot, not the other way around. So yeah, I don’t blame people for always having such strong opinions/dislikes where Peter is concerned.

I could come up with more things, but this is already long enough 😂 In case that wasn’t clear, those flaws don’t stop me from having the deepest love for this show. What it did well, it did extremely well, and even all those years later, I still cry rewatching it, because the emotions were real. They're still real.

Plus it gave me Olivia Dunham, so really, it wins just for that.

[moonjunio]

This was so random, the 1980s ElfQuest board game popped up on Facebook marketplace - in New Zealand with local delivery by hand 🚚😲

I’m a gamer, but I hadn’t had my eye on this fairly rare collectible, since games with great IP are often not all that fun. But you know what? I tried it and had a great time with my teens! No whining, I’m amazed 😂

Full review below…

The even cooler thing is that it’s actually two games in one. The “introductory” version is an abstract tile exploration and clue gathering mission, themed on the Original Quest reuniting the elf tribes with their Palace (actually spaceship, shhh). Play takes an hour, tops.

This strongly reminded me of my favorite board game when I was a kid - Enchanted Forest - because the overall idea is to find the tiles with hidden clues on them, and be the first to guess which one has been set aside at the beginning.

The additional element in ElfQuest is that you have to explore to find the clues, then also find the location of the tile that matches the winning clue. You can’t guess without traveling to the secret location first, and a wrong guess means you lose! There’s definitely strategy in addition to minor memorizing. I think this fits the quest story well.

Each player represents a different tribe, and starts in their home location at one corner (The Holt, Sorrow’s End, Blue Mountain, and the Frozen Mountains). There’s a minor amount of combat in the introductory game, when pawns occupy the same spot.

This is a potential tense moment here, with all three of us gathered next to two clue tiles (the wooden clue tokens are my own replacement parts). But you can easily spend the whole game avoiding confrontation and still win.

Combat just means the attacker must roll an 8 or better on 2D6. The loser is pushed away two spaces. This can be important at the end, because once a player has seen all the clues, others might race towards whatever tile they appear to be targeting as the winning spot.

I was super lucky that the Palace (elf home) was right next to the last clue, because my 15 year old was hot on my heels and willing to risk a 50/50 guess. Go Backs for the win!!

I’m excited to play the full game, for several reasons:

1. You have the option of winning cooperatively or competitively, and this can change during the course of the game. This fits the ElfQuest story much better than pure competition. Games with optional alliances aren't super common.

2. Character cards! Of course the point of having a great IP is to use the wonderful characters and art. The full game has a lot of bonus cards, characters can change groups or be captured, and tribal abilities are asymmetrical (that is to say, your choice of tribe actually matters to gameplay).

3. Way more strategy! One player is the enemy Guttlekraw, who controls the trolls and races to finish a dome around the palace so the elves can't win.

Reviews said this game is complicated, but it really doesn’t look that complicated to me. If you’re not much of a gamer, then sure, but the rules were not very long and easy enough to understand.

Here’s all the components in the box. Only three cardboard counters were missing in mine, easily replaced with spare parts (more on that next time). It even still has the Mayfair Games feedback postcard and the pop out cardboard trash for all the sending star tokens 😜✨🚮

The funniest part is the fold out paper grid... seems unnecessary, but ok.

Essentially what the introductory game teaches you is how exploration works, which is actually mildly educational for younger kids. Each terrain has a different number printed on it, and you only get 14 movement points per turn. So there's a little bit of addition involved. I'd say kids from age 7ish could play independently, depending on whether they're prone to blurt out secret information and intentions :-)

That's all for this time! My kids actually want to play the full game soon, so hopefully it won't be too long until I review the rest. Shade and sweet water until then.

[theladyofshalott1989]

I'm working on a story right now and struggling with where to go with it. I saw in one of your recent posts that you're currently outlining a story. If you don't mind sharing, how do you go about doing that? Thanks!

HELLO!!! Okay, so I panicked when I saw this Ask (in a good way, I promise hahaha), because while I do have a process, it's hard to describe. So, I went to my BFF @heyitszev to help me formulate my thoughts. Quoting him here, coming up with a quote for what I should say (LOL): "I follow Save the Cat! and then Bash does whatever he wants and I go with it." ^ So... THAT. 😂😂😂

But, to clarify that a bit... Save the Cat! is an outlining process used by screenwriters that can also be applied to novel writing. Here's a link to the website for it with a lot of wonderful resources that can help you on your writing journey. As wonderful as this process is, I do find some downsides to it as a writer of fanfic. 1. If you use this process, it's tough to write anything more than say, 100k+ words per story. Mapping out a story with specific beats that must be hit and resolved within a certain percentage of the story typically means there's a hard stop for the plot to be coherent. BUT, that's what series are for, so there you go.

Side note: I do think I would have a lot more engagement if I had just stuck to one overarching story (lots of readers on AO3 don't tend to follow along with a series, from what I'm finding), but it is what it is! 2. Sometimes the outline is a bit too constrictive for my taste. That's where Bash comes in. I've found over time that loosely outlining is much better than say writing 30+ pages worth of plot beats (yes, I did this for Like Moths to a Flame - it was very time-consuming - LMAO). When I plot loosely, it also leaves room for inspiration. While writing You Cannot Put a Fire Out, I had a general idea of where I wanted the story to go, but then Sebastian (my POV character) took over entirely, and the story went in a completely different direction than I was expecting. And, tbh, I loved "his ideas" even more. I guess what I'm saying here is to trust your instincts. You never know where they'll take you.

That's my writing process! From a routine perspective, once my outline is complete, I write every morning for an hour before work, and sometimes during my lunch break (also an hour). I also write during my toddler's nap time (roughly two hours) on weekends. I don't typically take a day off when I'm writing a story, unless I absolutely have to. Using that process ^, I wrote the first draft of Like Moths to a Flame in about three and a half months. Burning Bright took two months (it's a bit shorter and it didn't require me to watch a million YT playback videos to make sure the dialogue from the game was correct LOL), and You Cannot Put a Fire Out took me four months because Bash wouldn't let me use my outline and I had to move around (and remove!!! massive sigh) huge chunks of stuff I'd already written to make the story make sense. Then there's editing, lots and lots of editing, followed by sending to my lovely beta readers (yay), and then perhaps another draft or two before I start posting. It's quite involved, I will admit. But then, that's that! Thank you so much for asking. I wish you the best of luck with your story! :)

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖The Captain and the Rake

Rated: Mature

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 7338

Tags: historical romance, regency time period, slavery, racism (not from Steve of Bucky tho), period-typical attitudes, prejudice, mermaids, curses, internalized homophobia, historical fantasy drama, prostitution, period typical race relations and terminology ("colored," "mixed," and "black" are used)

Summary: After receiving a large inheritance, Steve must travel to the West Indies to figure out the origins of a mysterious letter.

(Regency manips made by @amarriageoftrueminds)

A.N. This fic was originally for the Stucky historical fiction event in 2023. I never was able to finish due to injury, but thought I'd brush it off for Mermay this year. This fic contains subject matter to do with the trans-Atlantic slave trade, so please heed the tags as they are updated each chapter. Racial descriptors used in this fic include: colored, black, and a couple instances of negro. I did my best to balance historical realism without getting too offensive to the reader.\ The name "Alva" was chosen before I knew about Alba, I swear to God 😂

Chapter 1. A Great and Grievous Rumbling

Steve emerged from his stateroom when a knock came at the door and a gruff voice called out, “We’ll be makin’ port within the hour now, Capt’n!”

Thank goodness. 

He’d been queasy the entire trip, ever since they’d first sailed from Charleston and the rocking of the boat set into his bones. Storms had delayed their progress halfway through, and the closer they got to the equator, the more unbearable the underdecks of the ship had become. As a paying passenger, Steve was afforded small but tidy accommodations, and Captain Odinson had merrily invited him to explore the ship at his leisure, but Steve had been reticent to engage with the crew. They seemed … not distrustful of him, per se, but perhaps disdainful. In the way that men with hardened hands often disdained men with soft ones. One look at Steve, and they’d made up their minds about him being a spoilt “fancy man.”

Steve could concede that he was a comely fellow, with short, fair hair and uncommonly bright blue eyes. He sported a strong jaw and handsome nose, but his mouth had always struck him as a bit too feminine, and his eyelashes didn’t help the matter. He kept no beard, and was better groomed than the men on Odinson’s crew. Tack on the fact that he dressed in the fashion of his peers, and he supposed he might seem a bit foppish to a bunch of hard worn, seagoing men. But his body was tall and strong, towering over most other men back in New York by several inches at least. 

That didn’t seem to make a difference to the crew, who’d readily laughed at a man whose constitution was weakened by seasickness. Steve had kept to his cabin, reading what little he could in between bouts of nausea. To be called up to set his eyes on land was a mercy. He was relieved that the journey was almost over.

Steve emerged above deck and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, the fresh air a tonic to his mood. It was late into the day now, the storms having swept away all traces of cloud cover. The tradewinds came in sharp and brisk, filling the ship’s sails and propelling them closer to the coast. Seeing the dark shapes of mountains swelling in the distance, Steve felt immense gratitude for land, and even greater excitement for the unknown. Nervousness, sure, it wasn’t all pleasant business that brought him halfway across the world. But he’d been going crazy back in New York. The pleasantries and mundanalities of society life having been twice as stifling after coming back from the war—and thrice as much since his inheritance. It’d been time for a change. 

“Got yer sea legs now, Capt’n Rosewater?” one of the younger cabin boys snickered as he passed by.

Steve waved him off with a gamely scowl and continued towards the port bow. He held firm to the banister and looked out at the churning waters below, then up to the land ahead. It was still too far away to make out all the details, but as the next few moments brought them closer, he could see more and more of the island: masses of trees and distant green hills, mountains beyond that, the white tops of breaking surf at the edges of the inlet, and then increasingly jewel blue tones of water that bled from pure azul, to aqua, to sparkling green in the shallows. It shocked Steve, how beautifully colorful it all was in comparison to the dull, muddy waters they’d left behind in Charleston. 

They sailed past a bar of land on the starboard. It jutted out far into the ocean, curling in like an arm, as if to cradle the ships come into harbor. Steve caught sight of stone ruins poking out of the water and strained to try and see more. Captain Odinson and his quartermaster—an imposing and impressive man named Heimdall—had spent their second evening at sea consoling Steve over his embarrassing queasiness, offering him drink and telling him fairy stories of the sunken pirate city of Port Royal. Standing in the just-setting sun, Steve had to squint to see. There appeared to be something left of the old town out on the sandbar, but not very much. Most of it must be underwater, Steve thought with disappointment. Earthquakes tended to do that. It sure didn’t live up to any of Odinson’s stories.

The sun was close to setting as they drew in, other ships in the harbor floating nearby with increasing frequency. There was one particularly massive frigate on the portside as they sailed, perhaps fifty yards away, and Steve noticed some of the crew shooting it dirty looks. He turned to watch as they passed. The other vessel was moored in place. It had thick, old rails with weathered paint up top and a pitch-blackened hull below, barnacles creeping far up the sides. No sails were rigged and no crew was visible, yet as he stood there, Steve began to hear something faint.

At first he thought he’d only imagined it, or that perhaps some of Odinson’s men were below deck, hauling heavy things about in their preparations for docking. But the sound came again, and Steve felt a chill on his skin as the sound grew unnaturally, filling his ears and consuming his senses to the exclusion of all else. Louder and louder it became, until he could feel it reverberating in his head, like the inside of a conch, like a pulse. Leaning harder against the rail, his fingers gripped the wood as he listened to the sound.

It was coming from the other ship, not theirs.

Steve glanced about, but none of the crew were paying attention. It was as though they couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t understand how that was possible, as the sound swelled to a grievous rumble that made his heart beat faster in fear. It sounded like a … like a machine, like some great and groaning monster was inside the belly of the other ship, producing a deep and steady pounding. Steve hadn’t a clue what on earth could make such a noise. They’d already passed the ship by, so the sound should be fading, not growing louder. It didn’t make any sense. Steve stood there, aghast and locked in place.

Until a hand clapped down on his shoulder from behind, and he all but jumped out of his skin. The roaring was sucked clean out of his ears, immediately replaced by the usual cadence of wind and boat deck chatter as Steve whipped around and blustered over the embarrassing yelp he’d given. “Oh! Quartermaster!” He straightened himself. “Um, forgive me. I didn’t hear you approach.”

The quartermaster’s eye twinkled as he stepped up to join him. His name was Heimdall. He’d seen where Steve was watching the other ship. Together they stood at the rail and observed the island that lay ahead of them. “That, back there,” he said, referencing the frigate.

“Yes,” Steve said, not quite wanting to look over his shoulder at it anymore. “What was that?” He meant the monstrous sound of it, but had an odd and chilling suspicion that he’d been the only one who’d heard the noise. “The ship,” he said. “Didn’t you … didn’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Heimdall peered at him strangely. “The Hannibal. A Guineaman, godforsaken craft.” When he could see that Steve didn’t understand the scorn in his voice, he told him, “That’d be one of the old slave ships, Captain.”

Steve felt his stomach drop out. “O-Oh?” Heimdall nodded. All of a sudden it seemed that he was doubly as black—and Steve doubly as aware of it. He bit the inside of his cheek as he wondered if Heimdall knew his business on the island. Steve had mentioned his inheritance to Captain Odinson, but no one else on the ship. He wasn’t exactly proud of it, and he hadn’t wanted word to get ‘round that he was a slaveholder. Assumptions might be made. No one here knew his character or his intentions, after all. Nobody knew about Sam, or Hamilton House back home in Brooklyn, or that Steve’s aunt in Utica often mailed him back issues from her subscription to the Emancipator. Steve frowned at the distant shoreline, resisting the urge to twist his fingers into his ears. They still held the echo of that phantom sound. “Ships like that still sail?” he asked. “How?”

“Sugar, molasses, rum.” Heimdall shrugged. “For less profit.”

Steve wasn’t an idiot. He knew how all three of those things were produced: sugarcane. He now owned a large plantation of the stuff. “I see,” he said stiffly. “Do you know what’s brought me out here, then?”

Heimdall looked over at him, and for a tense moment, Steve thought he’d say yes, but then the quartermaster’s mouth twitched up in a smirk of gentle disdain. “You’re from New York,” he drawled. “Only two things’ll bring a gentleman American out to this edge of the world: money, or a powerful need to run away from something.”

“Run away,” Steve murmured, thoughts instantly veering to the genteel form of Miss Alva Barclay. He fought not to wince. He wasn’t running, and certainly not from her. “Yes,” he said, wetting his lips as he realized that he could relax once again, because Heimdall had no ill opinion of him. The man obviously didn’t know. So, Steve joined him in staring ahead peaceably, watching as the edge of the world drew into clearer relief. 

“Jamaica at last!” Captain Odinson arrived happily at Steve’s side and threw his hand out at the town and the docks below. “Isn’t it beautiful? Just as I said!” 

No matter the topic, Odinson always seemed to say everything with a boom, his enthusiasm infectious. Steve nodded in agreement. “Indeed.” Even in the day’s waning light, everything seemed brighter here. Steve had never once seen an entire building painted egg yolk yellow. “I knew it would be warmer here, but not like this. I’m afraid my trunk won’t be suitable for such a climate.” When they’d departed Charleston, it had only just turned November. Now all he could see were palm trees and folks dressed in light cotton clothes or even with no shirts on at all. “Incredible.”

“Indeed. You may find your New York winters more difficult to bear, once you return.”

Steve grimaced, remembering the past two winters and how exceptionally harsh they had been. When he’d departed for Charleston, there’d already been snow on the ground in New York. One of the crew members called out to the Captain, and he excused himself from Steve’s company. Steve decided to remain where he was until the work of unloading the ship died down a bit, as he didn’t want to be in the way. He spent the time watching the docks below, fascinated by the scenery.

Despite the unsavory nature of his inheritance, Steve was still very excited to be in Jamaica. Already it seemed amazing, and he’d only stood there on the ship looking at the ruddy docks, not even yet ventured into the town! He took in all the action of the street: carts and chickens and sailors cursing at one another. There was so much green. The forest beyond seemed lush and dense, the wilderness of it curling in at the edges of the town and creeping to fill up empty spaces. And oh, with the sunset just beginning to cast its colors, Steve’s fingers itched to find a paintbrush. The people bustling about were of such variety and comport that he instantly knew a day in Kingston could never be dull. 

There were far more people of color than Steve had ever seen in one place. The ship captains and many of the crewmen were white, but not all, and out on the street there were many colored merchants and dockworkers. Groups of black and mixed-race children loitered about, looking hopeful for either mischief or play. Steve inhaled deeply, figuring that he’d continue to feel odd and out of place no matter what he did, but certain that he’d feel better once he’d visited his solicitor.

Mr. Coulson was due to arrive on the island within the week. Steve had corresponded with him before he’d departed from New York. Coulson had been to the West Indies many times, and had suggested they arrange for their travel schedules to align. He was the one who knew the most about Steve’s property in Jamaica, as he’d worked for and been closely acquainted with Steve’s late uncle, back in England. Steve hoped that Coulson would be there soon, as this was far from a leisure trip for him.

Coulson had warned Steve that there would be numerous steps to take, both legal and practical, before his end goal for the estate could be achieved. Nothing would be done in a day, little in a fortnight. It would take time, and both men had agreed to make themselves available on the island for not less than two months—and more, if need be. Steve himself had half a mind to winter over here and not return to New York until the spring. 

It took a while before the ship was fully unloaded. Steve disembarked and stood by his trunks as he waited for his ride. He was to be picked up by a man from the estate, so he kept an eye out for anyone who might be looking for him, and in the meantime bought a sweet bread from a street vendor and sat eating it next to his luggage. Wiping his hands clean, he reached into his breast pocket and retrieved the letter which he’d received in the post several months ago—the letter that had started this whole journey. He unfolded the paper and read the words that he all but knew by heart, at this point:

꘏ Mister Steven Rogers,  I hope this letter finds you well, and I send my condolences for the loss of your uncle. We are not acquainted, and indeed I’m sure you’ve never so much as heard my name spoken in conversation, as I have not spent time in New York in many years. I am writing in regards to what is going on at your property here. As I am sure you are aware, since the passing of your relation, Mr. Charles Cleland, the house of Shield Hall and all of its materials, peoples, and lands have come into your possession. As a fellow landowner on the island, I feel it is my duty to inform you that the operation which your uncle upkept in his lifetime has quickly deteriorated into a state of chaos and disrepair. The property is currently being mismanaged by several hired men, none of whom are keeping care of their charges, the land, or the profits that the land is meant to yield. Since this property is part of your estate, and your estate pays these very men’s wages, I felt I should write you.  There is a great manor house which sits functionally abandoned, with hardly a single man watching over it day and night. Vagrants have had to be chased away more than once. Your working men and women number close to two hundred, and they all have been treated harshly and unfairly by the overseers, often deprived of suitable conditions. The harvests of this past year were summarily affected by these happenings. Word of the disorganization and abuse has reached many in the community already, and rumors abound of the great discontent brewing amongst your slaves. I have received only general description of you from my aunt in New York, but am sure that you are a fine man and will agree with me that it is our Christian duty to treat all of God’s children with dignity and fairness, including the negro man in bondage. I urge you to come at once and see for yourself, for only then can things be put right. Your respectful neighbor,  J. Buchanan ꘏

Steve blinked down at the page, looking once more at that elegantly scrawled name: J. Buchanan. Only an educated and moneyed man would have such excellent penmanship, lending credence to the writer’s claims of who he was. But the letter was signed only with “J. Buchanan,” with no other identifying information given. It had arrived several months ago, posted from Kingston, Jamaica, but with no return address. Its author claimed to be a fellow landowner and wrote “neighbor” as his salutation, but when Steve had looked at records of land holdings on the island, he’d found no history of a Buchanan family.

Still, the stranger had thought the situation serious enough to contact Steve, and so whether the letter’s claims were true or not, Steve felt he should investigate. That was the only respectable thing to do, since it was his property now. The very land that made him rich.

That in itself was still novel. Steve had never owned much of anything, other than his house in Brooklyn which he’d inherited from his mother. He’d grown up privileged but not overly so, within the bounds of New York Society but never pursued the way that more moneyed gentlemen were. That had all changed once his uncle had passed and word got out that Steve now owned a large sugar plantation and all of the wealth that came with it. He’d spent the past twenty months fending off eager mothers and their daughters. Two seasons’ worth of balls, courtships, and fripperies had been useful in warding off the loneliness, but they were exhausting at the end of the day. 

And then there was Miss Barclay, who was one of the many ladies being continually foisted upon him. Though she was the most agreeable, Steve still felt that his lungs could take in twice the amount of oxygen now that he knew he was a thousand miles away from her—an ungenerous sentiment, perhaps, but nonetheless true.

Steve hadn’t yet spent much of his newfound fortune, the habits of a widowed spendthrift mother having been ingrained in him since boyhood; but the one thing he had indulged in, was the singular luxury of a private box at the opera house. A veritable bidding war had commenced when the next box over came up for sale not long after. That was how Steve had gotten to know Alva over the arias of Fidelio and Silvana, her mother always looming nearby like a hawk searching out prey.

Though Steve enjoyed Miss Barclay’s company as well as any other lady’s, it’d been months of these not so subtle overtures, and he feared he would soon wind up engaged if things continued on the way they were. Traveling to Jamaica now, he’d narrowly avoided the crux of this year’s winter season. It was his hope that this sojourn would send the message of his disinterest without him having to actually turn the poor girl down. Steve was only twenty-eight, after all. He wasn’t ready for all of that.

Both his solicitor in New York and Mr. Coulson in London had told him not to worry about the details of his inheritance and the running of the estate in Jamaica, insisting that others were handling it and his bank account would remain well-padded without any direct interference. “Nasty business, sugar,” Coulson advised, pointing out that Steve’s late uncle hadn’t visited the island himself in decades. It was a common arrangement that absentee landlords would hire competent men to manage the operations of their plantations. The hired men at Shield Hall would continue to do so, Coulson had assured, whilst Steve continued to reap the benefits. Steve had believed it for a time, and had been sufficiently distracted by the demands and complications of his sudden shift in New York Society. But as soon as the letter from J. Buchanan had arrived, everything had changed. 

Steve couldn’t ignore “the slave problem” anymore, and he had the exact excuse he needed to make a quick escape from the burgeoning weight of high society and all its expectations of him. He was grateful to J. Buchanan, whoever he was.

Carefully, he refolded the letter and tucked it back into his breast pocket. J claimed that conditions at Shield Hall were abusive. Steve couldn’t fathom a reason for a stranger to fabricate such a story. So here he was to see for himself. He was absolutely dreading it.

“There you are. Ha, I’d thought we’d lost you!” Steve looked up and saw Odinson approaching from across the cobblestone in long strides. “We’re nearly finished,” he said, eyeing up Steve’s luggage approvingly. “You pack light for a gentleman. You must have a sense of adventure!”

Steve gave a good-natured grimace. “I’d have said not, nineteen days ago, and yet here I stand.” He illustrated his meaning by looking about the wharf. Not even away from the docks yet, and already he’d seen a parrot with more colors in its feathers than any single living thing in Brooklyn. He scratched behind his ear. Life had been in color before, hadn’t it? Surely, New York wasn’t as dull and gray as his memory was now painting it. He said as much to Odinson, who agreed and noted the closest building’s bright coral stucco. That was when Steve caught sight of a crewmember lugging out his crate of painting supplies. “Oh! Over here! You can put that one just here. Thank you.” When Odinson raised an eyebrow, Steve explained, “Well, my easel and things. I paint. A bit.”

“An artist! Good for you.”

Steve blushed, but he could tell that Odinson meant no harm. Other men in Steve’s life had contrived plenty more obvious ways of telling him that it seemed foppish and silly for a man of his status to spend so much time on such a frivolous hobby. “Yes,” he agreed. “Subjects will be in no short supply, in this place.”

Captain Odinson bid him farewell once Steve’s helper arrived and made himself known. A large and competent man named M'baku had come from the estate with a carriage. Steve shook his hand and M'baku looked at him sternly and then announced that he would be Steve’s man whilst in town. (Steve feared that he might also be his property, but hadn’t yet gotten up the courage to ask.) “Erm … shall we be off?” he asked.

M'baku took the lead and indicated the carriage. He gruffly refused Steve’s help with the luggage, and sat up front on the bench while Steve rode as lone passenger. Since Shield Hall was located a ways outside of the city, and evening was nearly upon them, they sought out local accommodations. M'baku asked Steve what sort of place he wanted to go to. “Do you want a big room? Company?” he asked, a distinctive island accent clinging to his vowels. “There are a couple of places to choose from. Different.”

“Eh, anywhere will do,” Steve hemmed, adding offhandedly that he wouldn’t mind the company of others.

So M'baku drove them to the Royal Naval Hotel. It seemed a handsome establishment, lively even, with quite a few people loitering about the downstairs. Steve checked himself in and had his luggage sent up, then he walked to the lounge with M’baku by his side. There were many fine couches and tables for the hotel’s patrons to use. Steve and M'baku spoke together for a moment, discussing their plans for the next day, when they would meet again and depart for Shield Hall.

With that settled, M'baku seemed eager to leave, and Steve could see a fancily dressed woman standing in the doorway leading into the next parlor, hiding behind a partially tied back velvet drape. She was peeking out at M'baku and Steve with narrowed eyes, looking none too pleased. 

Steve turned back to M'baku and thanked him again for his help, eager to not have the prim hotel ladies complaining to management about him so soon. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said in parting, and M'baku left as sternly as he’d arrived. Steve chanced a glance towards the draped doorway again, but the lady had turned away to converse with a gentleman. The backside of her gown faced Steve; a fine India silk and muslin, as was the fashion, but it was the amount of skin permitted to show which stood out. She wore no gloves, and Steve couldn’t keep his eyes from honing in at the low dip of the neckline which was nearly below the lady’s shoulder blades in the back. 

That tantalizing stretch of skin continued up her back and slim neck, to the mass of dark curls piled atop her head. Steve hadn’t realized it when she was peering out from the shadows before, but she wasn’t white. His own gaze narrowed at her in distaste, finding it odd that she of all people would take issue with a colored manservant being briefly inside the room.

Not that it was any different in New York. Indeed, Steve had tried—and failed—on an occasion or two to get Sam in with him to a certain place or another. Sometimes, if enough money was being spent and the proprietors were the right sort and employed discretion, there wouldn’t be much of a fuss made over who Steve wanted to have with him. But in many places, other patrons would eventually complain. However it was normally white people doing the complaining and looking down their noses.

The lady in the fine gown reacted to something her companion said, drawing Steve’s attention to the sound of her laughter that was like a little, tinkling bell. His eyes flicked up, and over her shoulder he caught the gaze of the gentleman with whom she was speaking. The man was easing off from the grin of a joke he’d told, and his still-laughing eyes locked intently on Steve. For a split second, it was electric, something in the man’s glittering eyes stealing the breath from Steve’s lungs.

Steve hurriedly looked away, feeling caught out. He thought he’d seen the man’s mouth twitch up there at the end, but he hadn’t the courage to turn back and check. The man was very good looking, in a rakish sort of way, with an unshaven jaw and murky blue eyes set in a handsome face. He kept his hair longer than was the fashion, but pulled back in a way that suited his features. He looked older than Steve’s own twenty-eight years, perhaps a man of twenty and fifteen or more, and he moved with the loose sort of confidence that a man did when he knew himself to be attractive. He was the exact type of fellow whom Steve avoided looking at or being around any more than was strictly necessary, lest he look or linger too long.

He turned away and ambled over into the next parlor, where he leant against the bar top and found his reprieve. He told the barkeep he’d have some good sort of rum, and took his drink off to another of the downstairs parlors, planting himself on a velvet settee where he could be out of the way and still observe the room at large. The place grew more crowded as evening drew in, and Steve saw enough to become convinced that the Royal Naval Hotel was not just a hotel: It was a bawdyhouse.

In the span of an hour, he witnessed no less than five different girls, interacting indecently amorous with seven different men, before taking said men’s hands and leading the grinning dopes away. Steve couldn’t see where they went once out of the room, but he could make an educated guess. None of these ladies wore gloves, either.

Incredible, he thought, as he watched one of them returning to approach her second gentleman within the span of forty minutes. The game began all over again, and Steve felt shocked and yet fascinated by her practiced movements and speech. It was like watching a ballet: scandalous and still elegant, the girl comporting herself with grace and impropriety all at once. Steve felt his cheeks heat as she left the room with her newest suiter, and he went back to the bar to get himself another pour.

A piano took up in one of the rooms, heard throughout the place, and more men came in. The number of women multiplied as well, but at a ratio which substantially favored the men. There were a number of British naval officers present, and Steve felt even more uncomfortable about that than he had been being led around by M'baku. He’d never hurt a negro man before, after all. He had killed English soldiers, and quite recently at that. 

The last time Steve had fought had been in Canada, less than two full years ago. Niagara, dead Indians just as plentiful as all the uniformed red-and-whites, bodies bleeding into the snow. Steve suddenly remembered that he’d resolved to not make his nationality overly apparent whilst visiting Jamaica—a very British colony. And he certainly wasn’t planning on letting anyone know about his recent military service. He hadn’t a clue what the English soldiers’ attitudes towards Americans were, but back in New York, no known Brit was yet tolerated in polite company, even these twenty long months after the war had ended. Steve was certain that he’d be treated poorly at best, pickpocketed or accosted in the street at worst. 

Unsurprisingly, about half of the men who filled The Royal Naval Hotel’s downstairs parlors wore the royal naval uniform. Some of them sat in groups and drank together and laughed, others played cards, their behavior for the most part unremarkable. But the ones who were there for other services made their interest plainly known as the evening wore on, and the ladies of the room would respond and float over like swans bobbing to breadcrumbs on a pond. It was not possible to miss that all of the crumbs were white, and all of the swans were black. 

They were black, and less black, light skinned, and very dark indeed; as exotic and varied as any man could want. Much like the very first lady whom Steve had observed, they all wore luxurious clothes in the current fashions, with their hair piled high and woven through with decoration, sweet silk shawls draped about their arms, necks left bare of any jewelry, bosoms powdered and presented. It really was a bit like watching the ballet, and as the evening wore on and Steve sat there drinking a second and then a third round of what the barkeep called “grog,” he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from their dance.

They spoke and whispered into the men’s ears with cultured English and sometimes French, and they moved and walked like true ladies of society (at least when they weren’t sneakily sliding their hands into places they oughtn't be). Many of the men seemed respectful at best and besotted at worst, but Steve did catch a few dark glances that they would share amongst themselves when they thought the women weren’t looking. The way they looked made Steve uncomfortable—less so for the impropriety of it all, and more so for how it made him recognize his own lack of such interest.

For a moment, he thought again of Alva, back in New York. She was a pretty and tolerable girl, well-mannered and quick-witted even, with an interest in the theater and the arts that, while not matching Steve’s own, was robust enough to hold a conversation. He had no real objections to her other than that he didn’t love her, which in itself wasn’t uncommon between couples courting engagements. The thing was though: Steve had never loved any girl at all. He’d never felt the real and pressing temptation that other men seemed to harbor deep within themselves. He lacked that natural inclination which made men’s eyes linger and their gazes go dark behind ladies’ backs. 

Steve squirmed in his seat, agitated when he tried and failed to view the various prostitutes as the other men saw them: alluring, desirable, lustful. He thought they were very pretty and graceful, of course, but in the way that birds were pretty and that cats were graceful. He felt nothing more towards them. Certainly not the things that the British naval officers clearly felt. … Certainly not the things which Steve had been known to feel about certain men.

He felt his cheeks go hot as his mind strayed to the unbidden memory of a crowded house: Bleecker street, dark rooms filled with smoke and drink and chatter, people in less and less clothing the further in one went. A broad back, two men pulling off shirts, their squared jaws kissing against a couch. Steve had nearly dropped his brandy glass when he’d walked in on it. He’d always fraternized with the bohemian types through his interests in the arts, and parties in the Village were undoubtedly of a different ilk, but he’d never imagined that any man could just … would just … 

And right there in the middle of an unlocked room, no less! With others not even ten paces away who might look, might see—who had seen, and had simply looked the other way. 

The drapes in that Molly house had all been heavy and drawn.

Steve squinched his eyes shut to try and knock the memory from his mind. Perhaps he should choose a woman, he thought. Try and pretend for a night, maybe even awaken the desire inside himself that he was supposed to have. Steve had never been with a woman, so perhaps his perversion was only due to inexperience. Perhaps he could change, if only he put in some effort and sought out a beautiful, soft body.

He drank the last of his rum and kept hold of the glass, keen on going to the bar for another pour. Three miserable weeks at sea and not a drop had passed his lips. He was overdue to indulge in one way or another. And since he wasn’t likely to work up the nerve to actually pay a woman for her company, he thought he might as well drink. The rum was sweet, after all. 

Just as he was about to stand, a dress’ hem appeared in his field of vision, the tiny white points of a lady’s satin slippers peeking out from the bottom. Slowly, Steve let his eyes trail up. Oh. It was the same girl as before, the one who’d observed Steve and M'baku with meanly narrowed eyes. She didn’t look quite so peevish now. Her dark hair was curled and styled to frame her face, her cream-in-coffee skin on prominent display in the shelf of her bosom against the dress. Her features were graceful and classically feminine, but she had a prominent forehead and a dimple in her chin that elevated her from simply pretty, to handsomely striking. Really, she seemed a girl of hardly twenty, but her perceptive eyes hinted that she might be older.

“Hello,” she said, stepping even closer, until Steve could smell her perfume. “I saw you alone over here and thought I’d come to say hello. Maybe even cheer you up.”

“Cheer me up?” Steve breathed, then sat there like a dummy, speechless for long seconds. He hadn’t entertained the possibility that any of the working women would focus their attentions on him. Not when there were so many other eager breadcrumbs fellows in the middle of the room. “Well, I’m uh, I don’t need … cheer,” is what he eventually said, the words coming out weaker than intended. He watched as the girl’s features pinched in a polite sort of titter at his expense. Steve could hardly blame her. He sounded like a regular moron.

She perched herself daintily on the cushion beside him. “Don’t be silly. Everyone needs company.” Her voice, Steve noted, was fluid and viscous, like warmed honey. She lacked the island twang and in its place there was a hint of French. “I’m Rebecca,” she introduced, holding out her hand.

Steve took it, grazing lips to the backs of her scandalously bare fingers. He let it go, and she placed it on his shoulder rather than back in her own lap. Steve gulped. Now he felt less like a breadcrumb and more like a worm on a hook. “I … I’m only just arrived,” he rasped, feeling the need to excuse his antisocial behavior. “Not staying long. I was about to go to my, um, room—to sleep, that is! Go to my room to sleep.” He coughed. “I, erm, have some business in the morning.” 

Rebecca tilted her head, eyes glittering. “Don’t we all. But you must tell me your name, Sir. I’d remember if I’d seen someone who looks like you at the Royal Naval before.” She touched her finger to her chin, as if putting great effort into guessing. “Mm. You’re American?”

Steve hemmed, overly conscious of where she was still touching his shoulder. Never in his life had he experienced such forward attentions from a woman, not even from Miss Barclay and her mother. “Um, yes,” he bumbled. “American. I’m … am.” She giggled at him and Steve shook his head. “I’m not planning on making any public announcements about that, you know. I don’t want trouble. I'm only here because I’ve inherited land.” An American veteran in British territory, not even two full years since the war? Yes, discretion would be prudent. “I’m Steven Rogers,” he hastily added, realizing that he hadn’t returned the introduction. “Of New York.”

“Steven,” she cooed. “Oh, how lovely. Steven from New York. May I call you Steve?”

“Um,”

Her lashes lowered demurely. “I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Beauchêne Proctor-Polgreen.” 

“That's a mouthful.”

She laughed and winked. “Oh, I don’t mind a mouthful.”

Steve felt his cheeks flame at the double entendre. He cleared his throat and looked down at his lap. Her hand was still on his shoulder, and he hadn’t a clue as to how he should politely inform her that he had no intention of paying for her services. Suddenly, he thought of how M'baku had phrased his question earlier: if Steve would like to stay in a place where he could find “company.”

Oh. Steve realized that he was an utter dolt. “Um, well. I appreciate your welcome, Miss, um …” 

“Just Rebecca,” she teased.

“Right. Miss Rebecca. You’ve been most kind, but my travels have left me tired and I wasn’t particularly seeking the … the company of a lady this evening.” He waited, and sure enough, her hand was soon removed from his shoulder. He nearly sagged in relief.

“Oh,” Rebecca said. “Oh yes, well you wouldn’t know, being new to town and all. I ought to have said. I serve in a managerial capacity here, Steve.” She grinned. “I take care of the girls, you understand? I’m afraid it is the rare gentleman whom I invite up to my private quarters, these days.” As Steve’s face continued to reach new levels of heat, she stood again and went to take his empty glass from the table. “A welcome is all I had on offer for you, handsome as you are. That, and any of my flock whom you might fancy.” Her eyes skimmed brazenly up and down Steve’s form. “I daresay they’ll fight each other for a chance at you.”

“Pardon,” Steve spluttered. “I shouldn’t have assumed.” He could see it now: how much more expensive her dress was than the other girls’, how fine the combs in her hair, the gold dangling from her ears. “Madam,” he said, “You have my apologies, please.” She waved him off, obviously unoffended and perhaps even amused. Steve realized that he was wasting his good manners, blundering and blushing the way he was.

Rebecca gestured at him with his empty cup in hand. “Don’t stress, Steve from New York. You’re on Caribbean time now. ‘Eaze and breeze’.” Her voice picked up the lilt of the island accent there at the end, and she sauntered back across the parlor to hand Steve’s glass over to the barkeep to be refilled. 

Steve felt glued in place until she returned with yet another helping of rum, which he was sure he didn’t need. “Thank you,” he managed, sipping it only to be polite. Between his previous three rounds and the thinly-veiled obscenity of the atmosphere, he felt drunk already. Luckily, Miss Rebecca seemed to understand his discomfort and soon left him alone, though not without giving him one last wink and a pointed nod in the direction of her company of girls. 

Steve wilted, watching as she went about that parlor and the next, stopping to chat with different groups of gentlemen—some with girls in their laps, and some without—never staying in one place for long. Steve felt foolish for not having realized her as the madame that she clearly was. It was so obvious now, as he watched her in the dance of the room and its ladies. She was the prima ballerina in a sea of coryphées.

After some time had passed, Steve felt himself quite literally falling asleep in his chair. Dear lord, he needed to go to bed. He abandoned his cup and stood, heading back out towards the main lobby. Tomorrow would be a productive day, he resolved as he went up to his room. He could start on what he’d come out here to do in the first place, not sit around bawdyhouse parlors making a fool of himself. 

He’d just turned at the top of the stair when he caught sight of Rebecca again. It was dark and she didn’t see him, facing the other way. But the gentleman with her did. It was that same man with whom she’d been speaking before, downstairs when Steve first arrived with M'baku. 

Steve gulped and stood very still, not wanting to be noticed and drawn into conversation. The man seemed to know this, as he smirked secretively in Steve’s direction but continued on in his murmured conversation with Rebecca. The two of them stood just outside one of the doors of the long upstairs hallway, and Steve pressed himself back against the wall in an attempt to be unobtrusive.

If the fellow was going to pay to spend the night with her, why didn’t he just get on with it already? They remained there speaking for long enough that Steve had ample time to appreciate the man’s features all over again. He was as tall as Steve, which was in itself uncommon, with a straight nose and shapely lips, not to mention a strong, unshaven jaw that all but had Steve’s mouth watering in a way that he was loath to admit. He held his breath as he was shot another leer from over Rebecca’s shoulder. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’dve said the man seemed almost amused at him.

The man bent to kiss Rebecca on her cheek. He took her hand and opened the door to the room, leading her through before himself. And when he turned to close it from the other side, he paused and stared long enough to make Steve’s blood stir, before shutting himself away behind the wood. 

Steve was left feeling unsettled, and not sure that he’d entirely imagined the heated look in the other man’s eye. This fellow, he surmised, must be one of the ‘rare gentlemen’ who merited invitation into Miss Rebecca’s private quarters.

Steve put himself to bed hastily that night, aroused and frustrated as to the cause of it. And despite his long-held resolve to never touch himself to the thought of another man, he was soon reminded that even he couldn’t control what things crept into his dreams.

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[dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3]

if you want for the shipping asks, and idk the ship name but it'll be neat to hear your opinion: numbers 8, 15, 17 and 19 for the danganronpa ship u like and numbers 1, 6, 15, and 20 for bowuigi if you'd like, sorry thats a lot but have a nice day :)

Thanks for the ask!!! It's not a lot, no worries! The Danganronpa ship I like is called IshiMondo, with Kiyotaka (Taka) Ishimaru and Mondo Owada (or Oowada, depending on localization) as the characters. ^-^

I'll put my response in a read more, since it's obviously an hour long, given my deep and passionate love of rambling. :-)

(Edit: I just noticed that I legit wrote Taka's name as Kiyotaka Ishimondo. 😂😂😂😭😭😭 Please know I was very tired when I answered this last night and didn't proof read. 😂😂😂😂😂😂)

Shipping Asks

IshiMondo:

8. What is their first date like?

Funny enough, I wrote a story about their first date in the universe of my main story for the pair, The Problem with Perfection. However, considering that I changed both characters over the span of my fic to sort of deconstruct their personality traits and coping mechanisms, I'm not quite sure if that's how their first date would go when you look at them according to canon. Based on canon, my belief is that their "first date" wasn't actually a "date," per se. Given their obliviousness, and comments from (I believe??) a writer of Danganronpa, I'd think they'd go on hundreds of "dates" before realizing that they're dating, at which point they'd already have been living together for years with multiple pets and literally all of their friends believing they're in the strongest long-term relationship of all of them. Perhaps they'd even have an adopted child or two by that point, who knows. 😅😅😅

15. What's their song?

Oooh, this is a tough one... see, there are tons of songs that remind me of IshiMondo, to the point where I made an entire YouTube playlist for TPWP dedicated to the pair (which you can find here, if you're interested). But a single song that is "their" song? Well. In the context of TPWP, I'd say it would either be I See the Light, from Disney's Tangled, or So Close, from Disney's Enchanted. Both songs are used at emotional cruxes of the fic, since I adore both songs and I was like "f*** it, I'm the writer, what I say goes," ha. In that universe, I'd say that they both would see both songs as "their song," given that both were kinda instrumental in them getting together in the fic. Now, as for in canon... that gets trickier. I'm not really sure what song they would consider "their" song, especially given that my taste in music does not seem to align with music either would like. Taka, for one, does not strike me as someone who likes music that isn't either political/patriotic (to Japan, not America, ha) in some way, or that is educational. And Mondo would profess to like tough, biker guy music, while secretly liking, like... pop or something. So, for the sake of my sanity, I'll just go with the ones I said for TPWP.

17. Favorite activity to do together or way to spend time together?

Oh, this is easy. For Taka, it would be to "quietly" study together while either in one of their respective rooms, or else in the library. For Mondo it would be to ride around on his motorcycle. No real destination in mind, just riding while pressed close together. Collectively, it would be taking baths in a local bathhouse together, doing their "manly bonding" while butt naked, since both of them seem to think this is a perfectly normal thing to do. Which, I believe, it is in Japan, so no shame there.

19. Where would they travel or go on vacation/honeymoon?

Hm, this is tricky, again. Somewhere local, I would think. Taka is a very practical, hardworking man, who comes from an impoverished background. He wouldn't understand the point of going on an elaborate vacation, even for his honeymoon. Mondo might want to, but ultimately he'd defer to Taka, and they might do a tour of Japan, going to historical areas that are rich with history and whatnot. I'd go more into detail, but I'm honestly getting really tired, so I won't ramble too much more, ha.

Bowuigi:

1. How do they sleep? Ie, positions, who spoons who, who steals all the covers, etc.)?

Honestly man, I have no idea, ha. 😅😅😅 They'd have to sleep very, very carefully given the size difference. I like to think of them sleeping in kind of like a pile. Bowser curled protectively around Luigi like a dragon, while Luigi sleeps lying mostly on top of Bowser. ^-^

6. What do they playfully tease each other about?

Luigi playfully teases Bowser about how grandiose he always is, especially in relation to how he used to chase after Peach. There are other things he'd tease Bowser about, but as I said earlier I'm getting really tired and nothing is coming to mind, sorry! Bowser would playfully tease Luigi about how nervous he always is about everything. Sometimes it would go a bit passed "playful" into "kinda mean," but Bowser would always stop before it got too far and would do his best to apologize while not apologizing. Things like "anonymously" giving Luigi gifts, or doing small gestures that he ordinarily wouldn't do for anyone but that show Luigi how much he cares.

15. What's their song?

Ahhhh another hard one! Especially because I interpret this question as meaning "the song they believe represents them, or that is the song they associate with their relationship," as it usually means when couples talk about "their song." But I honestly don't know what song either of them would consider "their song," since again my taste of music doesn't seem like it would fit either of them. Bowser would likely like hard rock/metal, while Luigi would like more folksy, down to earth music. Likely Italian, ha. A song I associate with them would be Beautiful Things Can Come From The Dark, by Azure Ray. But that's just a song I associate with most "enemy to lovers" relationships, honestly. Same with The Reason, by Hoobastank. Another one that I associate with them is They Don't Know, by Tracy Ullman (Note: I know she's not the original singer, but her version is the one my dad would play when I was a kid, so it's the only one I know. Though after listening to the original by Kirsty MacColl I think Luigi would appreciate this one better, honestly).

20. How is their home decorated?

Well, I imagine they'd live in Bowser's castle given that he's a king, so there would be the usual things in Bowser's castle, such as dark stone walls and flowing lava. Luigi would definitely make changes, though, to make it more homey. He'd add flowers, bright wallpaper, brighter lights, things like that to make the decor less dreary, but still respecting Bowser's desire to be somewhat intimidating. It would be a good blend of their personalities I think.

Anyway, that took way longer than intended. 😭😭😭 I've been writing this pretty much since I got the ask about an hour ago, oof. I hope this was informative though! I'd proof read, but it's nearly midnight and I have to be up at 6:30 for one of my last days at my internship. Only four more to go!!!!!! Thanks God!!!!!!!!!!! While this internship isn't the worst, and my supervisor is nice, he's kinda incompetent and isn't really teaching me much. They're pretty much using me as slave labor and are taking my creations (I've created 2 classroom lessons for various elementary classes. I'm interning as an elementary school counselor) without permission to use for future lessons, as well as getting me to do lunch duty and sometimes cover classes despite the fact I've never worked as a substitute and have no idea what I'm doing in those cases???? But it's like, whatever. As long as I finish the hours and get my credential, I'll be happy.

Anyway, time for bed! Thanks again for the ask! Despite the challenge, this was fun. :-D

[pagegirlintraining]

AO3 wrapped (writer’s edition)

Well, this was a lovely way to close out the year. Here goes:

1. How many words have you written this year?

An unbelievable 331,924 👀

2. How many works did you publish this year?

12 in total. 6 are oneshots, and of the rest I’ve finished 4.

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

I’m extremely proud of Oh, Those Summer Nights. The dialogue in this one flows so beautifully, I love the way I got to incorporate some of my favorite places in Stockholm, and it just altogether has this magical atmosphere about it.

But also, for entirely different reasons, Vi har bara varandra, det är allt vi behöver. Because I wrote a freaking story in Swedish, what even?!

4. What work of yours has the most hits?

Overall it’s Dancing Through Life with a little over 22k, but considering we didn’t start publishing The Prince And The Popstar until August this year, the 16k on that one feel worth mentioning. On a chapter basis they’re also very close to one another.

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

The Prince And The Popstar. For sure. That one blew both of us away I think.

6. Favorite title you used?

Both One, two, three, four, five, sex on my mind and Stop the world (I wanna get off with you) fit so nicely with what the respective stories are about.

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

I haven’t actually checked, but it’s probably Sabrina Carpenter from Prince and Popstar alone 😂

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

Wilmon. They’re also the only pairing I wrote for.

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

Same answer as 8.

10. What work was the quickest to write?

Copy and Pasta went from a batshit idea to a fully-written thing within 4 hours, that’s got to be a personal record.

11. What work took you the longest to write?

The writing process of Prince and Popstar was very spread out because both @the-amber-fox and I had lots of life stuff happen in between. All in all it took us 4 months to even have enough to start posting, and then another 3 to finish it.

12. How many WIPs do you have in your docs for next year?

I have two new ones I firmly plan on writing, and one idea I’m not so sure about yet. Also two I plan on finishing next year.

13. What’s your longest work of the year?

Based on the amounts of them that were written this year, it’s The Prince And The Popstar. Then again I only wrote about half of that, so it may also be The Time Of My Life with 45501 words and counting.

14. What’s your shortest work of the year?

Vi har bara varandra, det är allt vi behöver (714 words) for obvious reasons 😂

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

Dancing through life (don’t look at me, I swear I will get myself to finish that epilogue at some point🙈), The Time Of My Life and Killing me softly (with his song), which still hasn’t gotten a second chapter yet but is very much not abandoned.

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

Alternate Universe. Who else is not surprised?

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

I swear, the answer to this changes every time I think about it. For now I’ll go with my Dirty Dancing AU version of Simon, because he’s somehow the version that feels closest to canon Simon even though plot wise the story is the farthest from canon. That’s a nice mental stretch to keep up.

18. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

Can you hear me laughing? It’s Wilmon all the way.

19. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

It’s probably a tie between Copy and Pasta (short, sweet, always cheers me up) and the already existing parts of The Time Of My Life (it’s two of my favorite things combined, has my favorite version of Wille I’ve written and some beautiful Wilmon moments I really like revisiting).

20. How many kudos in total did you get this year?

4448.

21. Which work has the most comments?

Per chapter it’s The Prince And The Popstar.

22. Did you do any collaborative works this year?

Yessss 😍 I realized the other day that I’ve written four complete works with my darling @the-amber-fox this year and could not believe it. They’ve been some of my faves to write, and that’s hugely thanks to her, so thanks 💜

I also got to write the first chapter of Killing me softly with the amazing @ishotforthestars . Mayyyyybe we’ll get back to that one for a special occasion…😁

23. Did you write any gifts this year?

I sure did. Got to cowrite two birthday presents, for and with @the-amber-fox and @ishotforthestars respectively. Then another birthday present for @omaremioo and a Christmas present for @zee-has-commitment-issues .

24. Did you receive any gifts this year?

Yes again. Got a lovely birthday gift and the very best Christmas gift this year (Thanks, Foxy, and thanks times two, Elin 😂🫶🏼)

25. What’s your most common category?

M/M unsurprisingly.

26. What do you listen to while writing?

When I do it’s either my ever-growing annual playlist or the cheesiest 80s ballads for intimacy scenes.

27. Favorite work you wrote this year?

I think I’ve had the most fun with Prince and Popstar, but the most moments of giddy pride with The Time Of My Life. That’s all I can say for this one.

28. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

I can’t possibly choose a favorite, mostly because I’d have to reread all of them and I don’t have a whole week off to do it😄 so I’ll go with something that, while pretty simple, resonated with me a lot when I reread it: “Just because that’s what he expects doesn’t mean it’s what you need to give him, Simon.”

29. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

Learning that despite what I’d been told before, I seem to have a knack for comedic writing.

[writermuses]

Hello darlings!

I'm still alive/here. I know I owe all the things and I appreciate you all following my "queue that" rule because I haven't been on my computer to write let alone draft. In case you're wondering what I've been up to I'll give you a bulleted list of the teacher life near D.C. under the read more.

🩵 Natty

Here's some chaos:

My student pulled the fire alarm and rather than addressing that for the felony it is, kiddo is on a 1 month suspension (you get 45 days for fighting) Worth noting this student was previously expelled 2 years ago for a gun situation.

We've had 2 mob fights at my school and another at the next closest high school (they also had a stabbing and the response was "well at least it wasn't our school on the news this time")

I've had more meetings than there were days of the week and worked past 5 nearly every day (we love unpaid work... i'm talking like full time job hours of unpaid labor)

My school has gone through more than 12 principals in my 6 years here and the new one has given me 9 blocks of classes to have my students research, make posters, assemble 550 meal kits, complete a reflection, and present a summary (to whom? idk bro) All while never answering my emails... in case you're wondering it costs 20k to get the groceries for this task alone. As of right now I have 3 students that can build the 550 meal kits. We have 2 80 minute blocks to build them all or our low income families have nothing to eat over spring break 👍

Our bell schedule is changing so that we'll have 3 lunches with students required to be in the cafeteria, instead of 2 where they're in our classrooms. This will end all in school clubs (RIP Four Square Club 😢 ) and we need 350 more chairs in the cafeteria 😂 fyi I had to have 3 students standing per block for 4 weeks because we couldn't get desks and chairs for my classes of 33. When I got desks they gave me elementary cubby desks. (I teach HS. The average 'kid' is like 5'5 hahaha)

The students booed the new principal so loudly at the pep rally that I could hear it with earplugs in and she didn't send their bitch asses back to class. She said, "Hmm, I think I hear some boos? Wouldn't be the first time, won't be the last."

Here's some cute shit:

My nearly non-verbal gem of a human told me a joke: Why did the sun go to class? To get a little brighter!

That same student: His current hyperfixation is roasting my lack of an immune system. He calls me his weakest superhero 😂

In a room full of extremely politically divergent teenagers, they almost unanimously agreed that a person facing criminal charges shouldn't be allowed to run for office and then had civil discourse about it.

The hype of my Afghani students getting to teach their class the Arabic alphabet when we started our new module. (Also their hype over the teachers showing up to their club's fundraiser)

A parent made shirts for the seniors on our 🏀 team (just 4 boys). They got to pick their favorite and most impactful teacher and she wanted each one to have a different teacher wearing theirs but 2 of them insisted it be me and wouldn't budge 😭 (also one of them interviewed to play ball overseas so 🤞 for him)

A parent made the staff valentines day cupcakes

A student in culinary arts gave me a banging cinnamon roll the size of my head

A quiet student from last year came by to tell me he bowled nearly 300 and made brownies- they were not pot brownies, I took the risk and it was worth it 😂

2 of my kids with over 100 absences showed up this week! They won't pass but 👍 nice to know they're like alive

[studentbyday]

don't ask me to analyze poetry but sometimes i get the last lines stuck in my head bc it's a long road to get to where i wanna be in life...

D-37 & D-36 DAYS TO FREEDOM

yesterday i studied for 3h and 36 mins. i was supposed to study for 6+ hours. today i will try to make up for it bc yesterday was just not enough time to finish everything i was supposed to. i wonder how long it will take me to figure out (and be okay with) a reasonable to-do list. i really feel like i keep overwhelming myself with things to do that i just keep feeling defeated and demotivated every day bc it's impossible to finish it all in 1 day...

learning:

finish 2nd biochem discussion reply (took 2h 😑) ✅ (why is it *so* *hard* to read and understand biochem papers without reading at a snail's pace?? 😩)

finish 1.5 psyc ch for this week ✅ (OMG THE NEUROSCIENCE OF CONSCIOUSNESS IS SO COOL and also really freaky bc many different brain regions are so dependent on each other so damage may mean you don't actually perceive smth??? unfortunately to allow my brain to osmose the info, i need to slow down 🥺 i wish i could go faster.)

finish biochem sec 1, start sec 2 ✅

self-care:

physio exercises x2 ✅

journal x2 ✅

laundry ✅

update: i could not stick to pomodoro for more than 3h today and i didn't study anymore after that. i could not focus very well after the first hour and a half. i think it's because i didn't sleep well last night. so i'm gonna finally try to be consistent for a week and go to bed between 9-10 even if i don't feel like it and even if i can't fall asleep right away for the first couple of days. also, i think i'll try to reduce the amount of stuff i write on a day's to-do list. i'll still be aiming for 6-8h of studying per day, but we're gonna go with 4 or 5 tasks a day if 2 or 3 of them are small (takes an hour or less) and 3 if all the tasks are big (i.e. takes 2 hours or more) and if i finish early, then everything else i do will be a happy bonus, and if not, that's fine as well bc i'm still gonna get it done within the week, just not this instant. maybe tmr's update will feature a new bujo spread? (i changed it from the 2-page weekly to a super basic 6 column thing that would allow me to timeblock my days but...ofc that didn't help for very long bc all that space allowed me to overwhelm myself every day!)

🎶 liebesleid/love's sorrow - kreisler/rachmaninoff (yes the same set of songs keep getting stuck in my head. it seems to stay like that until i'm able to play them myself. so we're gonna be with this set for a while 😅 as a sidenote, this was a great song to listen to as i journalled about imposter syndrome 😂 it really fit the vibes 😎)

[accio-victuuri]

CPN : XZS vlog chapter 5.5 Rome & Paris 📺

just some bits and pieces that we picked up from the recent vlog shared by xz and his team. honestly, their work just keeps getting better and better. no one does it like them. some people may hate on him for the ‘vlogs’ but at this point, the production quality is on par with something you can show on tv or a streaming app. xz’s travel show when….

as usual, everything is fake and interpreted with turtle/cpn glasses on. if you don’t like it then feel free to scroll — no one is forcing you. ‼️‼️

Let’s start with the date of posting which 3/29, out of all the days he could have shared this, why now? They usually go for Thursdays but not this one. We think it’s a late 3/28 gift, that day is Wuji recording and also when WYB came home from his Rome trip. What a nice coincidence, cause the vlog posted had Rome in it too. These two are really so particular with dates! I can’t. 🥹🥹🥹🥹

1. One thing that stood out to me was when he was looking at a design book. He was talking about designing typeface and letter, and how there are different formations in writing or presenting them. I don’t think that it was ever CPN that he likes to play with letters/ characters to give a different meaning. or to hide something. think : yibo’s motorcyle suit. this just confirms that.

( i have talked about most ( if not all ) of the design bits and hidden meanings per the photos above and more. it’s too much for me to link each one so just feel free to explore this blog. )

2. The way he was eating the lollipop and his pose is so WANG YIBO. I’m sorry, but that’s the first thing that came to mind. Yibo and his oral fixation is real and we see it on SDC most of the time. 😂 They really mirror each other’s habits now and do certain things that make you go “wait… that’s totally xx behavior and not his..”

people are wondering if they saw the fanart of them eating 🍭 at some point and copied it unconsciously.

3. The element of romance in this vlog makes me wanna scream! honestly. Sure, you can argue that the place ( especially paris ) is romantic or that he is doing fan service to the viewers — like, you’re in a romantic weekend with me in Paris. Yeah. Sure. that’s a plausible explanation. but for a clown like me, the elements seem deliberate.

The lines in Moon River:

I'm crossing you in style some day // Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker // Wherever you're going, I'm going your way // Two drifters, off to see the world // There's such a lot of world to see // We're after the same rainbow's end.

He sang the line ‘ i’m crossing you in style some day ‘ — yeah, ZZ. you will be with WYB one day in Rome and Paris. and the mention of a Rainbow. 🌈 I need someone to make a fan video with this as a BGM please.

Next is JVKE’s golden hour. This one has more 👀 lyrics. The whole “golden” and “see you shine” just screams his love for anything about the sun. the sun and his sunflower ☀️ and the mention of summer.

We were just two lovers // Feet up on the dash, drivin' nowhere fast // Burnin' through the summer // Radio on blast, make the moment last // She got solar power

I also don’t really buy it when people say “he doesn’t understand the lyrics, don’t think to much..” i mean. are you really lowkey insulting him at this point? he may not know like the details, but i’m pretty sure he understands the general meaning. and like, it’s not that hard to understand english words. come on.

The style for the intros were also reminiscent of the movie Roman Holiday. Maybe they looked up a movie and watched it. but anyway, the story of this is also a romantic movie.

Yes we know you’re not single. ☺️☺️☺️☺️

4. He wore a long wooyoungmi coat which I talked about here. So looks like that’s where the paper bag was from? but if he already wore it, why bring the bag like that? it’s not that precious of a cargo to hand carry anyway. i’m still eating the candy.

5. Same place, but years apart. ⏱️

6. How he was trying to ride the scooter makes me soft. I feel like the influence of riding things like this ( and even the hoverboard he owns ) is from WYB. 🥹 He can’t do motorcycles, but he is willing to try everything else. The whole image of him riding it reminds us of the loyiboard character design too!

7. When you see what’s on screen during the 2:28 timestamp, it’s a dog. Lol. thinking of your puppy back home? There are also two other shots where a dog is there, but not as deliberate as this one.

8. It looks familiar 🤔🤔🤔🤔

9. It depends on how you see it, 8 or infinity. I’ve really been up in arms with this CPN and feel like we will see more of it.

10. The message ZZ brings in this vlog is the best thing tho. from the caption of the video on weibo :

The best time is on the road, to listen In the heart, to draw inspiration, to travel far, to find a different self. Feel free to do what you want👣

I love how he is encouraging people, in a way, to get out there. which was always his message to fans, to have time to go outside and build themselves up. Don’t spend too much time online. Also the bit about feel free to do what you want. I really hope he gets to do that more. I hope he gets to make choices that lean more towards the things he wants. 💕

and this bit : ( to native speakers, feel free to chime in too )

“in the long run the straw weighs” = despite the light weight, everything becomes heavy if you bring it for too long.

-END.

[sabrondabrainrot]

How long do you typically spend on each TMayNT drawing? Of the ones you've done so far, which one took the longest? Which one was the quickest?

Hello thanks for the ask!❤️

It depends on each one honestly but I tend to range 2-3 hours. The more details or characters per drawing the longer it takes. I work full time through the week so usually after working (+ overtime) I come home and finish up all my chores and I only have a small window to draw before I have to go to bed. 🥲

The one that took me the longest was Day 1, 2, and 5. And those ones took me just a little above the 3 hour mark. (I stayed up late for 2 and 5) 😎

My quickest was actually the most recent, Day 10. I think that one took just about an hour. I was happy to go to bed at a normal time for once 😂

This TMayNT challenge has really helped me to get back into regularly posting and just drawing daily. I was in a big art funk.