#(its an love language that can work for any number of dynamics too obviously)

[godzexperiment]

by the way if you ever really want to experience bouncy, rambling /passionate nix just ask him about boots+laces and all that (also complimenting his boots can totally fluster him)

[be-not-afeared]

Black Sails fic recs

Working titles: 12 fics for christmas? 12 days of ficmas? 12 fics none of which actually have anything to do with christmas?

OKAY, so I love nothing more than a fic rec post, and I’ve seen a few Black Sails rec posts floating around but they mostly seem to be a couple of years old and they all recommend a similar bunch of fics (and deservedly so! they are all amazing!). But I thought I would make one to highlight some newer or less shouted-about fics, because I may have only been here for a couple of months but jfc there is so much talent in this fandom and more of it deserves to be hyped. 

So, here are 12 of my favourite fics for the 12 days of christmas! (i.e. an excuse to put an arbitrary number cap on the list or we’d be here all day)

The majority of these are Silver/Flint and the ones that aren’t still all feature Silver prominently because that boy owns my soul, sorry for who I am as a person.

we should rip it straight out by minormendings

45K (Silver/Madi, Silver/Flint, Flint/Thomas)

Madi has always wondered if Silver understands what is between him and Flint as well as she. To her, it has always been obvious, from the way the two of them had fit together, had worried about each other, had acted as one. She had tried to bring it up with Silver back when they were together. But Silver had shaken her off, too enmired in the idea that he or Flint would prove each other’s downfall. Or perhaps just unwilling to open his eyes to the fact that he had loved Flint.

It was, unfortunately for the both of them, even more obvious after the thing between them had broken. Just as Silver had thrown away the war out of love for her, Flint had let Silver take away the war rather than kill him.

God. What a group the three of them were, showing love by betrayal.

Post-canon. Madi and Flint find their way back to Silver.

This fic diverges from canon right at the end of the 4x10; Silver has Flint held in a cell in Port Royal and Thomas delivered to him rather than taking him straight to the plantation. It is a BEAUTIFUL character study of how Flint and Madi could both come to forgive Silver, and has a great FlintMadi dynamic too. It also centres Madi’s struggle between wanting to provide for her people and wanting to experience the freedom of piracy, and fleshes out Julius’ character in a way the show never did. 

we can lose and call it living by I_wouldnt_be_one_of_them

31K (Silver/Flint/Thomas, Silver/Flint, Flint/Thomas)

It's been twelve years since everything fell apart, and John Silver is settled in New England. He has a nice house and a job he likes, and he's gotten used to the loneliness. It's a good life, he thinks, but of course that's cast into doubt when James Flint and Thomas Hamilton show up to find closure and, apparently, to see whether he's happy.

This is an inverse of the ‘silver arrives on flint and thomas’ doorstep’ trope and has Flint and Thomas instead being the ones to interrupt Silver, who is living a sad and lonely existence post-series. I love the ThomasSilver dynamic here. And this Silver feels so true to canon he makes me want to WEEP.

Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more by Craftnarok

21K (Silver/Flint)

In the year 1725, or thereabouts, John Silver finds himself driven by a storm into an inconsequential little port town, barely a speck on any civilised map. Returned to the life of a drifter, tired and rough around the edges, he is resigned to waiting for the weather to pass before he can sail on again to the next town, and the next, and the next. That is until he overhears a conversation in the inn about a local fisherman, one Captain Barlow, and his tall tales of tempests and becalmings, devils and sharks, and Silver finds a new future opening up to him, haunted by the spectres of his past.

All of Craftnarok’s fics are amazing but I am particularly drawn to this one; it’s set 10 years post-series and is a delightfully angsty exploration of how Flint and Silver could find their way back to each other in a scenario in which Thomas wasn’t at the plantation. It doesn’t let Silver off easy and I love that.

armed with the past and the will by whimsicalimages

3K (Silver/Madi, Madi & Julius)

The language of winning and losing, this language that men favor – Madi can speak this language, though she disagrees with its precepts. Success takes different forms, and failing once does not mean failing forever. It does not even mean failing the next time.

Post-series, Julius teaches Madi how to fight. This fic is BEAUTIFUL - give me anything that centres Madi post-canon - and it explores Madi’s relationship with both Julius and Silver so well in so few words. 

Always In Season by mycapeisplaid

60K (Silver/Flint, past Flint/Thomas, past Silver/Madi)

Towering sand dunes, crystal-clear water, miles of forest, vineyards, orchards, and very spotty cellular service -- John Silver finds himself in a part of the state he's never been before and decides to take on seasonal work. Meanwhile, back from his yearly wintering in Florida, James Flint thinks that perhaps he'll take on a new business venture, even though it means he might have to interact with people other than his two close friends. Their summer employment fosters a friendship that could become something more. Like construction season in Michigan, the two must navigate through their own obstacles in order to seek an alternative route toward happiness.

This is an AU and so much fun!! Silver finds himself in Michigan and takes on some seasonal work at Guthrie Dunes. The whole cast features and the setting just WORKS SO WELL. And this Flint feels brilliantly in character despite the difference in setting.

to make a life by gone_girl

53K (Max/Anne, Max & Silver)

“What am I going to do with your name?” Max asks, a little incredulous.

“Whatever you want,” the salesman says. “Didn’t you want something real?”

Max heard a story once about the importance of answering questions like that carefully. If something emerges from the forest and asks for your name, don’t give it up, the story went. Offer only what you know you can live without. She’s never heard a story that tells her what to do when something emerges from the forest and offers its name to you.

I literally only finished this this morning but holy shit this fic is amazing, it’s a Max-centric AU set in Missouri the early 00s and it’s all about found family and building community and platonic love and it has a brilliant SilverMadi dynamic. And there just aren’t enough fics out there that focus on Max & Silver!! 

the straight walk home by vowelinthug

73K (Silver/Flint)

Let me tell you a story, about a vaquero named Vasquez…

Obviously vowelinthug���s fics are recc’d all the time and rightly so as they are AMAZING, but one that I don’t see featured as often as the more prominent ones is this incredible Western!AU. It’s 73K guys!! It adapts the canon narrative into the Western setting SO well!! It has background Vane/Billy which I was not at all sure about going in but just WORKS!! Go read it.

The Truth about Eros by Aisalynn

21K (Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi, Flint/Thomas)

Silver understood one thing very well.

Being Fated did not mean you were safe.

It did not mean you were loved.

This one is hot off the press! I am not normally a fan of soulmate AUs but this is such an interesting take on the trope, and the world building fits around the polyamory theme of the show really effectively! And it is SO well written.

With Nothing on My Tongue by RosieTwiggs

13K (Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi)

"Silver thinks: Maybe God likes it when I fight with him.

He wonders now, whether he’s been playing into God’s plan all along. Because no matter how angry he gets, how defensive, how many “fuck you”s he flings to the heaven, isn’t it all just proof that he still believes God is there, despite it all?

Silver doesn’t know how to counter that.

Maybe he doesn’t want to anymore."

An incredibly well written (and angsty! read the tags!) Jewish!Silver character study. This one has really stayed with me.

Maybe in Another Life by samedifference61

31K (Silver/Flint/Madi, Flint/Madi, Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi)

At the rail of a ship James doesn’t command, they stand shoulder to shoulder.

“John still thinks you’re dead,” James states, because it’s something that needs to be said aloud before they continue.

With eyes unblinking toward the rolling sea, Madi says, “And he still thinks you should be dead.”

James’ lip curls in anger. The wounds of betrayal are too fresh for either to say anymore.

Canon-divergent from 4x09, this is a brilliant MadiFlint centric fic exploring their relationship post Silver’s betrayal, and how he could find his way back to them both whilst acknowledging the weight of his actions.

in a vault of starlight by whimsicalimages

7K (Silver/Madi/Flint/Thomas)

The distance between Nassau and Savannah can be measured as: six hundred and thirteen nautical miles, five thousand pounds’ worth of pearls, or four extraordinary lifetimes.

Alternatively: in the aftermath, Madi writes her own story.

There aren’t enough Madi centric fics out there! This one is a lovely extension of canon with a great MadiSilver dynamic in particular.

the aftershocks remain by pdameron

31K (Silver & Miranda, Silver/Flint)

For as long as he can remember, John Silver has been able to see ghosts. He has no trouble keeping this secret from Flint - until Charlestown. Until Miranda.

Again all of pdameron’s fics are brilliant but I loooove this SilverMiranda centric one, plus who doesn’t love a ghost!au.

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Bingley Hall in Stafford, UK - May 6, 1978 (Part -2)

Photos were taken by Anthony Mallan.

Fan Stories

“As I write this I can't believe it is over 24 years since my first ever Queen gig. I was 15 years old and had looked forward to this day ever since I had first heard Bohemian Rhapsody 3 years earlier. Before that song Queen had just been another pop/rock group but BoRhap was the song which for me would set them apart from all others, the song that began my addiction for this band's music - an addiction which continues to this day. I had an hour long bus ride to Stafford and then had to walk to the Bingley Hall which was about 2 miles out of town. I remember while walking a couple of stretched limos passed I couldn't see inside because the windows were blacked out but I knew that it was the members of Queen in those cars and that added to the excitement. I arrived at the venue and joined the queue to get in. I was quite early but there were still a few hundred people in front of me. I bought a Black T shirt with the News of The World robot on the front and the words Spring Tour '78 and a program, both of which I still have although the T shirt is well worn. I was also treated to a young lady a bit drunk I think, taking her T Shirt off and running around half naked, quite sensational for a 15 year old lad. We were let into the hall at about 7pm and I found myself fairly near the front it was all standing and I was quite small so I was pleased to see the stage was set quite high which meant I would have an excellent view. The stage set for this tour was the famous crown and as I looked in awe at its size. I can remember wondering how they would get it to lift off the stage? I can't remember the time but probably an hour or so after I had got into the hall the lights went out and a mechanical whining noise started this was followed very quickly by white lights from the stage, smoke and then the drum beat of We Will Rock You with the song breaking straight into the chorus. Suddenly on a platform in the middle of the front row of the crowd Brian May appeared playing the "Rock You" guitar riff. I remember the feeling of joy and awe, I am sure I must have pinched myself to make sure this was really happening. After an explosion they burst into the fast version of "Rock You" and I saw Freddie for the first time. He was wearing shiney leather trousers, jacket & cap and running around the stage like a madman. It's far too long ago for me to remember every detail of the show but I do remember Freddie toasting us with champagne and at the end of '39 Roger threw his tamborine into the crowd and I had it for a split second before dropping it, I stood no chance really. The songs which I remember most from this gig were the ones which after this tour they were never to play live again: "White Man" & "Prophets Song" both were played either side of Brian's guitar solo and I can clearly remember Freddie performing vocal gymnastics during the middle section of "Prophets Song". The concert ended with a Rock n Roll medley. I remember right at the end of God Save The Queen we all started singing "You'll Never Walk Alone", then the lights were on and it was over. In a lot of respects it seems so long ago but as I am thinking of it now, parts of it are as clear as yesterday.”  - Kevin Ruscoe

“It was fun reading Kevin's story about going to see Queen at Stafford Bingley Hall in 1978. This was the first concert I had ever been to (talk about starting at the top). When the lights went down and Brian started with the dynamic We Will Rock You strumming, I was captured. A couple of years ealier I had purchased Night At The Opera for a girl I fancied at work. I took it to give her and before I could present her with it she showed me that she had just brought the album herself. So much for my Night At The Opera with her! So, I had to go home, take a cold shower, and listen to music. Because it was the only album I had, I played it and played it and I discovered a world I never knew existed. Music up to that point was something that was on the radio. That night seemed to open a new and exciting world me. Not as exciting as I had been planning with her but exciting none the less. My biggest memory of the Stafford concert was when Freddie gets us to sing along with him. Whenever I heard the Live Killers album, it would take me back to that moment at Stafford when I found out what I wanted to do with my life. I write now, plays and musicals, some successful, some not. Thanks Queen for my reason to live.”  - Robert

“Memory's a funny thing... and I wish to heck that I had a better one. How come I can remember useless things I don't want to know, like the winner of the first Big Brother programme, but can't remember stuff which would be far more useful... like how to order beer in any language, my bank account number... or the exact setlist of my first ever rock concert, Queen at Stafford's Bingley Hall in May 1978? Sitting down to type up this review I did a quick search on the net but only came up with a partial setlist which ends about two thirds of the way through. Very frustrating. So really this isn't a review, it can't be, but it's more a hazy recollection of just what it felt like to be a 15-year-old boy at his very first rock show. First off I remember getting the ticket. "Harvey Goldsmith presents A Night With Queen" printed in green (tickets for the Sunday night gig were printed in blue) and the price, L3.50 - laughably cheap now. I can't remember how long it was before the gig that I got the ticket but I do know that the waiting for the day of the gig was unbearable. But eventually that day arrived. Another reason it sticks in my mind is that it was the day of the FA Cup final (Arsenal beat Ipswich Town) and it was the first time I'd not sat glued to the TV from 12pm for all the build-up and the big match itself. If it had been my team, Manchester City, it might have been a different story, but I went up to Bingley Hall mid-afternoon, with a friend called Mark Butters, to join the queue and get as good a standing spot as possible. For those of you who don't know, Bingley Hall is a 10,000-plus capacity shed (a giant cowshed, really), at the County Showground just outside Stafford, and owned by the Staffordshire Agricultural Society. Before the NEC and other purpose-built venues came along, gigs at this venue (which on other occasions were filled with agricultural displays or animal pens) were a big deal, on a par with Wembley Arena and the like. Others to have played there include Abba, Black Sabbath, Genesis, Thin Lizzy, Saxon, Yes and Rush. I remember my Mum being worried sick about me going to the gig. Worried about the size of the crowd. Worried about the music volume. Worried about drugs. She was particularly worried that I was wearing a Thin Lizzy badge on my denim jacket and might get beaten up by some aggressive Queen fan who took exception to any other band. I had to persuade her that rock fans were not quite so tribal as football fans. I also remember standing fairly close to the glass-fronted doors in the queue and the physical, painful ache of anticipation. What came next is a blur - the doors finally being opened, the crush as we made our way through and our tickets were examined, the further crush by the merchandise stall (I got myself a big, square programme, which I've still got). Then I made my way into the crowd, jockeying for a position as near to the front as possible. The gig was all-standing and as showtime got closer the build-up of pressure was astonishing. I was pretty central, but there was constant swaying from left to right, if you lifted your legs you wouldn't fall, just be carried along with this sea of rock fans. Finally the wait is over (yes, I know I've changed tense, it just suits my recollections better). The lights go down. The roar of the crowd is unbelievably loud. But what comes next is even louder. As we strain to see what's going on the air is filled with a mechanical sound, the giant lighting rig (Queen's famed crown set-up) is lifting into the air in a sea of smoke. We Will Rock You explodes into the air. It's all light and smoke and noise... and suddenly there's Brian May, playing that guitar, just feet away from me. The spotlights fall on John Deacon and Roger Taylor behind his gigantic drumkit. Just one thing left now. Freddie. And he appears out of nowhere, Freddie Mercury, prancing and preening around the stage, soaking up the adulation, singing his guts out, clad in shiny black PVC. Call me innocent or naive, but back then I didn't really know about the whole gay/camp fetish thing... he just looked like the superstar he was. For the next two hours or so I am transported to a whole new place. We get the rockers (Brighton Rock, We Are The Champions, Now I'm Here, a pre-release It's Late, I'm In Love With My Car), the pop-orientated stuff (Killer Queen, Spread Your Wings, Somebody To Love, You're My Best Friend) and a superb acoustic section, featuring Love Of My Life and its amazing crowd singalong and '39, during which a string breaks on Brian May's guitar but he carries on regardless, note perfect to my ears. Oh, and we get Bohemian Rhapsody too. It's still only a couple of years old at this point, and although obviously something incredibly special is still making it's way up the ladder to immortality to stand alongside the likes of Stairway To Heaven. Anyway, it's bloody brilliant. Queen leave the stage for the opera section, enabling them to make another grand entrance in lights, smoke and pyrotechnics for the rock-out - a masterstroke! According to Kevin Ruscoe's review of this gig at the superb www.queenconcerts.com site we also got White Man and The Prophet's Song, but I have no recollection of that at all. Nonetheless it still sticks in my mind as one of the greatest gigs I have even seen over the past 28 years, and as one of the greatest events of my life. Like Kevin, I remember singing You'll Never Walk Alone at the end of God Save The Queen, a football terrace salute to a rock phenomenon. What a night!”  - Ian Harvey (April 28, 2006)

Part-1

[stillness-in-green]

The MLA(/PLF) Headcanon Post (1/2)

In response to this nice ask about whether I have any headcanon or thoughts about the current members of the MLA/PLF, I spent two weeks blithering 16.5K words of exactly that into a Word file, because when it comes to underappreciated characters I love, I do not understand restraint.  This post and its follow-up will cover all ranked ex-MLA members of the PLF, as well as Original Flavor Destro and Curious, since I wasn't going to leave them out of a project like this even if they aren't "current."

The ask only mentioned having previously read The Lore Post, the last exercise in ridiculousness that I wrote at the tail end of MLA Week, so I wrote this to summarize everything that doesn't appear there—which is to say that a lot of the material in these two posts will look familiar to anyone who's read my fanfic about the MLA cast.  There’s still plenty of new material to go around too, though!

So, I don't have much in the vein of askblog-style headcanons where I can randomly tell you stray trivia about a character’s favorite foods or their love languages or what have you; that stuff either comes up when I'm writing fanfic or it doesn't.  That said, below, please find a mix of thoughts I keep in mind when writing characters, facts that have only turned up in my fanfic/notes so far and not the Lore Post meta, and a selection of lightning round headcanon provided by cross-referencing a random number generator with some old questionnaires I keep around for OCs and tabletop characters.

In this post: Destro, Re-Destro and his advisors, and Geten.

Destro— 

General Thoughts The whole "revolutionary leader" thing came very naturally to him. He was committed, charismatic, very willing to risk his life and safety for the cause, and he cared about his people. All that said, he absolutely had a pompous, prideful streak, especially where it came to his justification for terrorism.  You only have to read his own words to see that.  Still, he was in large part reacting to the world he lived in, one of greater violence and danger than the current day. 

I like to think that—because he was genuine in wanting freedom for all—he would not approve of what became of his Army.  He'd be able to see how they got there, and he would probably have made much the same choices if he'd been there with them, but while he would have agreed that his role should be remembered—that's just Due Credit—he would never have wanted to become the nigh-on religious figure his followers turned him into. Continuing to fight the good fight for his ideals is one thing, but secret salutes and isolated villages and being raised from infancy to know your life has only as much worth as it can contribute to Liberation…  Well, it's just not what he would have wanted for his people, much less his descendants. 

Family Situation Chikara was only around 7 when his mother was killed, the event that would shape the rest of his life.  He wasn't hiding in the closet from the mob, either; he was kicking and punching and biting, his motivation to save her overflowing—but he was still only 7, and eventually overwhelmed.  His own life might well have ended there with hers, but for a group of neighborhood vigilante types (at least one of whom probably went on to a career as a hero, after legalization).

He went most of his adolescence without getting involved with anything more sinister than student newspapers, founding a secret meta-rights "club," and attending the odd larger protest, but when the government started talking about passing laws restricting the use of meta-abilities, he started getting very radical very quickly, and when some absolute snake started to use his martyred mother's words to bang the drum for banning quirk use outside the home outright, he went off the deep end.

Lightning Round (Randomly Selected Headcanons)

Favorite book genre?  Memoirs and biographies—he wouldn't have written his own if he didn't appreciate their value.  The intimacy of the personal juxtaposed against the broad scope of history appeals to both his regard for individuality and his revolutionary mindset.

Most prized possession?  Thoughts on material possessions in general?   He doesn’t generally prize material possessions—in fact, he’s something of a skinflint.  His most prized possession is an old pair of gloves that belonged to his mother, which he'd been wearing at the time of her murder.  He didn't come from money to begin with, but his mother’s story made enough of a splash that his financial situation was improved by well-meaning sorts sending along donations and contributions and the like, as well as government officials knowing they needed to be sure that he wound up somewhere at least semi-reasonable lest they court further outrage by mishandling the son of a martyred woman.  The money all went towards school and living expenses, though, leaving him quite experienced at balancing a budget, which would come in handy for that whole ‘leading a violent uprising against the state’ thing later on.

Academic Background: Got all the way through college!  Was involved in student groups as far back as middle school, and only got moreso the further in school he got.  Majored in Human Development; he was intending to go into the public health and policy sphere before the appropriation of his mother's language pissed him off so much he got into terrorism instead.

THE MODERN MLA

Re-Destro—

General Thoughts A huge amount of the way I write him is influenced by one single thing—his characterization as described in the second data book.  His personality is summed up there as "sokoshirenai yami"—bottomless darkness, or, as a friend translated it for me, "unfathomable gloominess."  That really, really stuck with me, because on the one hand, it's so opposed to virtually all of what we see of him on the page, where he's being cheerful or scornful or sycophantic; the closest he ever gets are his brief tears for Miyashita, Curious, and his other followers.

On the other hand, it makes so much sense that the man we see—the man who talks about the heavy burdens of his legacy, who was handed that legacy when he couldn't possibly have been any older than 6 or so, who willingly straps on a self-designed torture device to wring out more power, who all but worships the ground Shigaraki walks on even though Shigaraki is the reason Re-Destro no longer has legs to walk that same ground with—should be "unfathomably gloomy."  Of course he's gloomy!  He was never allowed to be his own person!  He has never in his life known true freedom, only existed as a vessel to bring that freedom to others!  And he can't really even talk to his closest friends about it, because his closest friends are still his followers, and he wouldn't want to weigh them down!

With that context, it makes all the sense in the world that he'd be so devoted to the man who relieved him of that burden.

Family Situation He loved his mother Yukie a great deal, despite knowing from early on that he was carrying the weight of the title because she believed she couldn’t.  (Perhaps growing up hearing about the martyrdom of Destro’s mother left him wanting to ensure the happiness of his own, for her happiness was very rare.)  He was 10 when she was killed in a Villain attack; she’d been on a daytrip over to a neighboring city to visit some of her erstwhile school friends.  The requisite mourning period was 49 days, and as the only surviving family member, quite a lot fell to him even before considerations of his role as Re-Destro.  it was perceived as better—for both the Army’s morale and for his own stability—for him to be involved with as much of the work of transition as possible, but obviously he couldn’t do it completely alone, nor should he.  Thus, for two months after Yukie’s death, the previous generation's Sanctum[i] stayed with him in his family home. Afterward, he moved in with Anchor (one of his grandfather's advisors), where he would spend the rest of his young adulthood until moving away for college.

Claustrophobia The name of that literal-iron-maiden deathtrap he brings to bear against Shigaraki is no coincidence: Rikiya developed claustrophobia over the course of a stint of abusive training when he was thirteen. He generally has a pretty good handle on disguising it, thanks to a combination of people being unwilling to ask him questions they don’t actually want the answers to and the fact that he had to learn how to operate through it in order to complete the training at all. He has never told anyone, largely because he’s never been able to recognize that it was abuse, and so his abuser remains a figure of some influence.

Education He was largely taught by private tutors, in his home and in theirs, rather than attending school, but I think he probably wasn't completely home-schooled.  Particularly once he'd decided that he did want to attend university—and not just some little local technical program, but a major school in a proper city—he probably attended classes a few times a week at his local high school just to get a feel for being around other people his own age. He'd been friends with Koku for several years by that point, otherwise he probably would have been pretty hopeless, but he was still a pretty odd duck by the time he got to university.

This, incidentally, is why he never pushed Geten too hard about school—his own experience of it was so weird and piecemeal that he mostly thinks of school as relevant only for the education it provides, and less so the crash course in social dynamics.  Since Geten doesn't care about getting an education (nor, indeed, about learning how not to be a rude little troll), and has a strong enough quirk that he'll never lack for a position in the Army even without a formal education, Rikiya is perfectly happy to let Geten have his way and just be minimally learnèd.

Stress His powers operate by infusing his body with the characteristic black matter of his manifested stress; he can increase his size with this (his so-called Liberated Form isn't just armored up; he becomes physically taller and bulkier), as well as throw handfuls of the materialized power.  A side effect of this is that his stress can also infuse itself into his bodily fluids. The stress matter is a highly dense particulate, so if Rikiya is not in proper control of himself, his proverbial blood, sweat and tears can be literally heavy with the weight of his power.

The Value of Life He cares very much about the lives of his followers, but those genuine feelings are filtered through both the mental compartmentalization required by an emotion-based quirk, and an upbringing that taught him to care about his underlings in the same way one would rare goods.  Valuable goods, certainly, goods worth being proud of, goods to be maintained with care, but still, ultimately, things that can be sold or traded or bartered off as necessary to further one's goals.  Even his own life, while "objectively" the most valuable of them all, isn't an exception to that policy—the Great Cause is more important than any individual life, up to and including his own.

On a Personal Note He’s something of an obvious weirdo to outsiders—his enthusiasm comes off as strident, his smiles overly polished—but despite that, he's bizarrely hard to dislike once they start spending real time with him.  He's not anywhere near as prideful about himself as he is the legacy of the MLA, for a start; he's actually pretty self-deprecating when he's not performing the whole Heir of Destro's Great Bloodline routine at people.  He's also happy to go along with other people sharing their hobbies (because he doesn't have any of his own).  The more you get to know him, the more obvious it becomes that he's a total basket case, but “total basket case” is still an improvement over “self-absorbed 1%-er CEO” that people like Spinner come in expecting.

What Are Boundaries? He has very little understanding of how to enforce boundaries around his private life, or, indeed, of why such boundaries might ever be necessary.  Oh, he can do the double life thing, keep the CEO of Detnerat separate from the Grand Commander of the Metahuman Liberation Army, but when it comes to the MLA itself, he's so groomed to devote himself to the cause that he doesn't really distinguish between the responsibilities of Re-Destro and the needs of Yotsubashi Rikiya.  Rather than being the egomaniac you might expect of a man with the absolute power over others he has, he instead struggles to assert himself as his own person at all.

Issues with boundaries are not uncommon with the MLA—they're all raised to see themselves as warriors to advance the cause before they are, like, “human beings”—but Rikiya’s are particularly exacerbated because he was raised by adults who were getting pretty paranoid about his bloodline's tendency to die young, and thus were always checking in on how he was doing, dictating his schedule, weighing in on his plans, and so on.  He just wasn’t raised with reasonable expectations for privacy.  Even as an adult, he'll give his apartment door code to pretty much anyone in the MLA who has even a semi-plausible reason to want it—certainly quite a few of the elders know it!  And it isn’t only the elders, either; Rikiya's phone and several of his accessories carry tracking chips courtesy of Skeptic, which Rikiya knows about and doesn't think is at all untoward.

While his experience dating Koku definitely taught him some hard lessons about how much he could allow himself to ask of people who would obey him without question (they broke up over Rikiya’s realization that Koku would never deny him anything, thanks to a cracked rib Koku didn’t see fit to tell Rikiya about until Rikiya hugged him a little too hard), he never learned how to value his own autonomy in turn.  Oh, he's the Grand Commander, and everyone around him has been raised to venerate his bloodline, so most of them would never even think about trying to take advantage of him as such, but it's absolutely the case that people who are bold or familiar enough to try can basically run right over him with minimal efforts made at obscuring the fact.  His life is full of people who do and have done exactly that, some to a net positive effect, and some—well.  See again the entry about his claustrophobia.

The abjectly terrible state of his sense of self-worth is also the reason the Claustro exists.  While he was relatively capable of trying to work around his phobia when he was younger, the older he got, the more it started to feel like leaving doors cracked behind him or only working in offices with big spacious floor plans and oversized windows was, in some way, Letting Down The Cause by allowing his fear to control him, rather than embracing it so he could properly stockpile it for later use.  A dinnertime chat with Curious about turning one’s trauma into a weapon for the good of others catalyzed this, leading to the development of the “burden-enhancing steel pressure mechanism,” Claustro. 

(It also means the clone of him made by Twice to handle Detnerat after Deika is bizarrely okay with its circumstances, which I will almost certainly write more about one of these days, but I’m still kind of reeling from that reveal, so more on that another time.)

Lightning Round

Religion?   He doesn't identify as being of a religious faith, but he was brought up in the same peaceful marriage of Shinto and Buddhism that the majority of Japanese people are, and like many, he adheres to a number of traditional practices more out of habit than devout faith.  There are two celebrations that demand significant emotional investment from him.  First comes the New Year's celebrations, important because the MLA prides itself on looking to a brighter, freer future, and it's a period when he can let himself think that maybe he'll be just that little bit closer to Liberation by the end of the year than he was at the start.  Second is Obon, a summer festival for honoring one's departed ancestors. Since his authority and his life's work derive entirely from his bloodline, he's obligated to care about this one, though in practice, he tends to shy away from thinking much about Destro (who he has very twisted-up feelings about indeed) in favor of less emotionally fraught waters.

What did he dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?   He never really had a significant period where he thought about being e.g. an astronaut or a doctor or a hero; in fact, it came as something of a surprise to him the first time Koku asked him what he was planning to do when he grew up.  He always just had the nebulous expectation of, "Be the Grand Commander," and the elders were happy to leave it at that until he brought it up on his own.[ii]  

How does he behave around children? He likes kids!  He’s wistful about the freedom enjoyed by happy children while also being sympathetic to ones that seem overly burdened.  He’s not the most natural person in the world with them, but most of them can tell that the awkwardness comes from a well-intentioned place, and will treat him as a funny-looking man who’ll let them bother him at length without getting mean.  It turns out he’s actually pretty good with them, then, if only by virtue of being easily bullied.  (This, notably, goes for non-MLA-affiliated children.  Everything’s much more formal within the cult, though it didn’t Geten long to suss out the “easily-bullied” part, either.)

Trumpet—

General Thoughts The largest factor in how I write Koku is, of course, the headcanon that he and Rikiya are ex-lovers, and neither of them is 100% over it even all these years later.  Beyond that, though, Koku is the most temperate of the group, the one with the most easy charisma (MLA members are more swayed by Re-Destro, but Koku does better with outsiders who aren't predisposed to hanging on Rikiya's every word).  He strives to come off as The Sensible One, and given the extremes the rest of the inner circle are capable of, it's not hard for him to maintain that title.  He's as messed up as any of them, though, second only to Rikiya in levels of childhood grooming.  He thinks of himself as a practical man, but he is deeply indoctrinated, the boundaries of his expectations very much defined by his upbringing, so he never really sees it coming when he gets clobbered by something from out of left field.

Family Situation: Koku has the largest family of the identified members.  Aside from his grandfather (called Old Man Hanabata, the founder of the Hearts & Minds Party, and passed away by the canon era), Koku has cousins, nieces, nephews and more, courtesy of his uncle, his older sister and her husband, and other extended family.

He’s also the member most accustomed to wealth, power and influence.  He's from a rural area, certainly, but being in a family of hereditary politicians (and with that family not suffering a string of untimely deaths and disappearances like Rikiya's did), he was raised from the start with ready access to money and nice things.  Still, for all his family's sway in a major branch of the MLA's operations, they're not First Families, and thus don't have any elders in their ranks, making them still somewhat subordinate to said elders when it comes to orders about the Great Cause.  (He’s working on it.)

Meeting Re-Destro Koku and Rikiya met at 12 and 10 respectively, when Koku tagged along with Old Man Hanabata for a meeting RD was likewise accompanying Anchor for.  It had been the better part of a year since Rikiya's mother passed away, but he was still strikingly melancholy for a boy that age, which—along with all the weight given to the importance of the meeting—left quite an impression on Koku.  Koku thus became Rikiya's first real friend in his own age group, a friendship heartily encouraged by everyone around them.  Koku was well-behaved, intelligent, a little older but not too much so, and set to become influential without a danger of becoming too influential; he was seen as a good choice for a friend.[iii]

The Break-Up Painful as it was at the time, there was a silver lining to his and RD's post-college break-up: it got Koku out of the elders' pocket.  He’s been groomed for one thing or another all his life, but after he became friends with Rikiya, he was always getting leaned on to report back to the First Families about how Re-Destro was doing, and to try to influence him towards actions the First Families approved of.  In a very real sense, Koku was part of the apparatus keeping Rikiya from any real freedom.  Their break-up and subsequent estrangement meant that the elders had far less to breathe down Koku's neck about, and by the time they reconciled, Trumpet had gotten his feet under him, as had Re-Destro, and they were both better able to fend off such background meddling.

This doesn't mean Trumpet's not still carrying a torch, however.  He thought he was handling his long-banked feelings pretty well—being Professional, being the advisor Re-Destro needed and as much a friend as Rikiya would allow—right up until Rikiya scared the life out of him by nearly dying in Deika.  He's all but glued himself to Rikiya since, as much as he can get away with given their respective responsibilities.

As an Advisor Other than leading the HMP, he does some work with internal politics and reputation. It's not, strictly speaking, his actual job as advisor—Re-Destro or the elders would probably be sought for more formal or critical mediations—but he and the people who report directly to him do enough travelling around to see constituents that they're often in a position to field those tensions before they get big enough to require attention from higher up.  Koku's happy to do so, in fact—not because he just loves handling petty arguments about resources, but because the HMP is a faction of the MLA in and of itself, and mediating is a boost to that faction's standing and autonomy.  (Also, it's that much less on Rikiya's ever-overburdened plate.)

Lightning Round

What would he do if he needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?Ahahahahaha, “make dinner but the kitchen was busy,” please.  Any time there could feasibly be someone else occupying a kitchen he has any business being in himself, it would be a housekeeper, and s/he would be making food for him/his family.  It’s not as though Trumpet has never cooked—he did live alone for some years after school—but outside of a scant few years in university, there’s never really been a time that kitchen use overlap would have been a problem for him. 

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging. Probably gourmet cuisine, especially imported stuff. He’s had tailored clothes all his life; they’re just part of the job.  Expensive alcohol also doesn’t wow him; it wouldn’t be strange to find some sake maker whose family has been doing it for sixteen generations in the village he grew up in.  It’s a lot harder to cultivate a true gourmand’s palate out in the sticks, though, no matter how rich your family is.  Living in actual civilization affords a great deal more variety—and anyway, nice dinners are one of the few things he can reliably tempt Rikiya into accepting.  As to his feelings about indulging in general, he’s broadly For It.  He works very hard, he seldom gets real time off, and it doesn’t help the Great Cause for him to deny himself nice things, unlike some people.  (He’s maybe a bit bitter.)

Does he like to be the center of attention all of the time? Not especially.  Oh, he’s very good at it, certainly, and he doesn’t dislike it, but being the center of attention is practically always going to be tied up in The Great Work, so he desperately needs to get out of the spotlight from time to time, if only to be able to turn off the persona.

Curious—

General Thoughts There are two main factors in how I write Chitose: her practicality and her rapaciousness.  I write her as having an appreciation for good moral character in other people, especially when it makes a good story, but not considering herself particularly bound by conventional morality: her moral compass is Liberation, and she follows it unswervingly.  I also write her as predatory, lusty about a lot of things, often to the point of overstepping.  It doesn't hurt anyone that she likes hearty foods and strong alcohol, but she also doesn't have much regard for peoples' boundaries, and even less so when she thinks they have something to offer the Great Cause.

While that trait isn't without its benefits, it can get pretty ugly, too, as we see in how she treats, and talks to, Toga.  Even with Rikiya, the only person she thinks of as 'above' her in any meaningful sense, she's not at all above manipulation.  She's respectful of him, but knows him too well to always take him at his word.  He plainly can't always see what's best for him, but what's best for him is best for Liberation, and therefore, as a Liberation warrior, it's her responsibility to sometimes make decisions for him.  He'll appreciate it in the long run—he always does.  (Skeptic and Geten have similar views—Rikiya makes it easy.)

Family Situation She probably has the best actual relationship with her family of the group—her mothers are removed enough from the heart of MLA politics that her relationship with Rikiya doesn't color her family life the way Koku's does his, and she's much more sociable than Skeptic or Geten.  She doesn't get home much—just the major holidays, work permitting—but she's in frequent enough communication for a grown woman, and chats with her younger sister more often than that.

Meeting Re-Destro She met Rikiya properly when they were 21 and 27 respectively.  They were living in the same city at the time (him running Detnerat, her in university), so of course she'd seen him at the odd MLA event he turned up at, but when she landed an internship in her junior year, she cheekily turned up one day in her reporter capacity to interview him as “a local rising star of industry.”  It was the first chance they'd had to talk one-on-one, and would not be the last, as she frankly elbowed her way into his life and gradually sussed out that here was a man with Problems.  He and Koku were still in a distant patch at the time; she is largely responsible for getting them back on friendly terms as a way of showing her Pure Intentions.

The fact that her Pure Intentions both land her a square position as one of RD's advisors herself and get Rikiya to a better place emotionally is calculated, but not, therefore, untrue.  Ironically, while she was concerned about looking like a gold-digger, the MLA elders were probably thrilled and relieved to hear rumors that Rikiya was getting romantically involved again.  And with a lovely young MLA woman!  They wouldn't even need to worry about surrogacy arrangements!  (Not having grown up around the Yotsubashis, Chitose is unaware of exactly how pointed an interest the elders take in the matter of securing that bloodline.)

Feelings Today She loves Rikiya dearly, and prizes his regard more highly than anything in her life, but has not devoted much thought to the idea of being in love with him. She's married to her work, as they say, but she's also keenly aware that Rikiya would, for a great many reasons, be a lot of work to be in love with.  She's decided it's generally better for his mental well-being, and therefore also better for the Great Cause (she’s much more capable of reading that relationship reciprocally than Rikiya is), to make sure he's eating at least one good meal a week and getting some proper socialization in outside of MLA meet-and-greets.

As an Advisor She handles external politics and reputation--it's her job to prime Japan culturally for the Liberation agenda in ways more wide-reaching than Trumpet (he's head of a political party, and that's not nothing, but that party is still a small minority on the floor of the Diet).  She pulls attention to stories that benefit the MLA, and diverts attention from stories that don't.  This is far broader than just publishing Destro's memoir; it also means poking holes in the broader Hero Society narrative.  She does this by providing as broad a platform possible for stories about the tragedies of excessive regulation, the evils of quirk-related bias, the abuses of power heroes are capable of, and so on.

Lightning Round

Does she remember names or faces easier? She’s quite good with both, actually, but I’d give names the advantage because she works primarily with written rather than visual mediums.  (Also, BNHA names being the ridiculous puns that they are, you can probably tell more about a person in HeroAca Land by analyzing their name than their face anyway.) 

Is she more concerned with defending her honor, or protecting her status? Her status, absolutely.  Impugning her honor hurts no one but her; she can laugh that off because honor is a silly social construct anyway.  Threatening her status is a much more dangerous prospect—her status is long-cultivated to enable the advancement of Liberation ideology; it lets her keep an eye on Re-Destro, who needs as many people looking out for him as he can get; it’s what she’s worked for all her life. Curious will fuck you up if you threaten her status.

In what situation was she the most afraid she’d ever been? The time she got in trouble for nearly exploding some dude’s face off for stealing her purse.  She was 17, had spent very little time in non-Liberated territory before, and was not raised to wait on heroes to solve her problems.  She wasn’t afraid of the thief or the hero, really, but she was completely terrified that she might have just blown over half a century of secrecy by not performing Helpless Civilian well enough. The terror was pretty convincing to the police interviewing her about it, anyway.  On the whole, it was a very valuable learning experience!  

Skeptic—

General Thoughts Tomoyasu is a character I haven't written extensively yet, but what I think is most interesting about him so far is the contrast of his hyper-modern methods with the bone-deep zealotry for the cause.  See, Rikiya, Koku and Chitose all grew up in the sticks; Rikiya and Koku had money from a young age, but it was old money, tied up in trusts.  (Geten didn't have any of those, but Geten's a different story for other reasons.)  Tomoyasu grew up in a major city from the start; he was a technological prodigy from practically as soon as he could hold a tablet. ��He has very little respect for the old ways of doing things when he knows there are newer, better ways of advancing the Cause. However, none of that makes him more likely to break from the MLA's ranks—if anything, his idiosyncratic approach just causes him to approach Liberation in really weird ways, ways no one else would ever come up with.

Pressganging Bubaigawara Jin based on a plan to clone Re-Destro?  Who else would that ever even occur to, much less such that it became the basis for an elaborate psychological assault?  But that's Skeptic in a nutshell—respect the old for what it did at the time, but don't think that means you have to use the same methods they did forever as you pick up the torch to carry it forward.

Family Situation He has an amicable but not intimate relationship with his family.  His parents are very proud of what he's done for the cause and how he won the confidence of Re-Destro, but they don't make much claim to understand how his mind works.  In turn, he recognizes the value of their support over the years—he certainly made a lot of waves with his unabashed venom for the MLA leadership's hidebound traditionalism, and his parents' staunch backing meant a lot for him being able to take the stands he did—but is not very emotionally close with them.  Might find himself with an older brother, if I ever occasion to write about his family situation in more depth.

Education He graduated a four-year university program for getting his computer science degree in two very intense years, during which he did virtually nothing for the Great Cause, his intention being to better position himself for maximum ability to advance Liberation afterward.  See above re: battles his parents fought for him while he was busy modernizing.

Meeting Re-Destro He met Re-Destro via Curious.  He was 22, just a year out of university and already climbing the chain of command at a young telecommunications company.  Rikiya was 33, working on the Claustro, and needed proprietary comms built to a higher standard of security than Detnerat was focused on.  Curious, who was always better positioned to be keeping up with the local personalities, introduced them.

Tomoyasu attempted to keep a civil tongue in his head the first few times he and RD met, but he'd been running on bile and energy drinks for years by that point and was hard-pressed to stop just because he was meeting his Grand Commander.  If anything, finding out that Rikiya was okay with his direction and his mouth eventually helped him chill the fuck out, marginally.

On that note, Skeptic is absolutely the advisor most willing to backtalk Rikiya right to his face.  (Rikiya loves him for it.)  Oh, he'll still accede to Rikiya's wishes, and Re-Destro's orders are his highest priority, but that doesn't mean he feels obligated to be diffident about it.  Like Curious, he has a highly developed sense of, "It's fine if it's for the greater good," which will and has led to him taking things into his own hands when he thinks he knows best (which is always).  He's not going to explicitly disobey orders, but he will creatively interpret them if he feels strongly about them, and he will try to "anticipate" orders before anyone has time to give him specific ones, the better to tailor his efforts towards proving his methods and goals correct rather than being stuck with orders he hates.

On Names I’ve definitely evolved some in my approach on this since I started writing the MLA cast, but at current, Skeptic and Geten are the only ones I consistently write as using and thinking mainly in terms of code names rather than given names.  Trumpet is too familiar with the public/private divide, and has too much intimate history with Rikya-the-person, to default to Re-Destro; Curious is too trained to look for The Human Heart of the Story.  Re-Destro himself, ever since breaking up with Koku, has always tried to use code names for people (himself excluded, because he has enormous self-confidence issues about measuring himself up to the original Destro), but can slip into given names when he’s vulnerable.  To Skeptic and Geten, though, the code name is the real name, for all intents and purposes.  The cover identity is a fake; the whole point of the code name is that you’re proving yourself worthy of taking up your proper place in the Army.  Of course the name you win for yourself is the name that counts.

Lightning Round

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen? You’d pretty much have to lock him in a room with nothing but paper and pencil in it for that to be his first resort rather than whatever item of personal electronics he’d otherwise have on his person.  But assuming some actual plausible scenario—couldn’t bring his electronics into a government building, let’s say—he would find trying to do something productive on paper and pencil rather beneath him, and he’s an inveterate fidgeter.  I mostly see him folding that ludicrously tall frame of his into a chair and setting to using the pencil to poke about three hundred holes in the sheet of paper, meticulous and orderly, while muttering complaints to himself the whole time until something annoys him a bit too much and he jabs the whole pencil through the page. 

Who does he see as his best friend?  His worst enemy? I headcanon him having a very reasonable, functional, productive relationship with his No. 1 advisor, Red, and being reasonable, functional, and productive probably goes a lot farther on making you Skeptic’s “friend” than any amount of emotional intimacy.  But “best friend” is not really the kind of language Skeptic uses for his relationships; if you were to ask him who his best friend is, he’d probably tell you, “Iced coffee.”  As to his worst enemy, that’s just whoever is annoying him most on any given day, from difficult clients, to people annoying Re-Destro, stodgy elders, that hero grinning like a tool, that couple walking too slow in front of him on the sidewalk, etc. And Skeptic is pretty proactive about dealing with enemies, as much as he can be.

Has he ever been bitten by an animal? How was he affected (or unaffected)? lol he is a city boy and always has been.  He probably tried to pet a stray cat once out of curiosity, and because it seemed like the sort of thing people did, and then has never forgiven Animals In General when it bit him and then ran off. 

Geten—

General Thoughts Another one I haven’t written a great deal about yet, particularly in the present day, though I’m looking for that to change soonish.  One thing I’d like to explore is Geten when he’s not seething with rage and shame because he failed to bring Re-Destro a victory in Deika. The fandom tends to write Geten as an always-angry attack dog barely contained beneath a chilly veneer, and that’s fair—ever since we got the face reveal, ever since the MLA’s defeat at Shigaraki’s hands, Geten has been an always-angry attack dog barely contained beneath a chilly veneer.

But if you look at Geten from before we knew what was under the hood, you find a different story.  “Chilly and angry all the time” is not at all how he acted when he was fighting Dabi!  At that point, he was talkative, even chatty.  He engaged in a lot of snide smack-talk; he was obviously confident in himself and he spoke very proudly of the MLA as a collective.

He was still quiet at the dinner he attended with Rikiya and his advisors, yes, so I don’t think Geten’s done some kind of full 180 on characterization.  I do, however, think that Geten has a sense of humor in there, has a sense of camaraderie with the MLA rooted in more than just his relationship with Re-Destro, even if Re-Destro is obviously his most important person.  I don’t know if we’ll ever see that in the manga proper, given everything that’s happened, but it’s worth remembering in terms of what Geten is like when he’s solely among allies.

Family Situation Orphaned at a young age, and a problem child from then on.  He passed through a series of foster parents and state facilities before eventually crossing paths with the leader of the local MLA branch in Kesseru, Beacon (more on him next time).  This encounter would lead to him being sent to a group home with a reputation for being good with such difficult cases, giving them Structure and Companionship and Meaningful Work.  (Spoilers: It’s Liberation.)

Despite evening out considerably after a significant meeting with Re-Destro when he was 7[iv], Geten never got particularly close to his adopted family/the other kids at the group home.  He's very favored by the Grand Commander, for one thing, and he has the strongest quirk in the home for another—and since he learned the quirk supremacist stuff from them, that’s a pretty significant part of the dynamic!  Both of these factors mean there's some distance between him and the rest. Still, he's not on bad terms with them—indeed, his foster parents are quite proud of him—and he would probably tear out someone's throat with his teeth for threatening them, if only as a matter of pride.  

There are 4-6 other kids there at any given time; for the bulk of his young adulthood, there were two older than him, the others younger.  He doesn't have much time for Big Brother Pastimes, but is not completely immune to them, either, particularly where the youngest kids are concerned.  His tolerance for Little Brother Antics, however, is nonexistent—if the older kids think they can ruffle his hair and treat him like a kid, they can square the fuck up; he is Number One around here and don’t forget it.

Education Geten never went to school, but he's not completely uneducated.  He had some tutoring in the group home, some more from Re-Destro personally, and has a pile of books he keeps at his bedside, mostly strategic in nature.  He finds them vexing at times, but is slowly reading through them anyway because Re-Destro asked him to.  He’s been a bit more diligent about it since he was made a regiment leader, because lord knows Dabi isn't contributing much.

On Re-Destro Re-Destro became fond of Geten for the same reason he became fond of Skeptic and Curious—Geten was willing to push back.  He really did make some attempts early on to keep Geten at a proper distance, mindful of anything that would look too much like favoritism.  And Geten knew, in the hard-headed way of a child, that Re-Destro was being a grown-up about things, trying to be mature, trying to be impartial.  Geten just didn’t care about any of those things.  Every time, he would listen very seriously to the things Rikiya told him, nod attentively, repeat back what he’d been told, and then go on about doing his own thing anyway.  And his own thing was, typically, to keep coming back.

Of course, if there’s anything we can tell about Re-Destro from the way he treats Shigaraki, it’s that Re-Destro loves people who take the choice away from him.

Eventually, of course, Geten grew up (mostly; I peg him at 19 now), joined the MLA officially, and had to settle into the structure of the Army.  It began to lead to trouble for Re-Destro, when Geten blatantly disobeyed him; it stopped being cute.  Still, the sense that he Knows What’s Best lingers, so Geten works himself very, very hard to be everything Re-Destro needs him to be and more, so that maybe Re-Destro’s burden will be just that little bit lighter.

On Quirk Supremacy (and Re-Destro, still) Here’s the thing about Geten and the whole, “A life without a strong meta-ability has no value,” line, and this continues to drive me mad because of how people getting it wrong influences the bad takes on the MLA in this fandom: Geten is not a reliable witness.  He is not one of the leaders of the MLA, nor does he speak for its rank and file. Even if you assume the absolute worst about his implications there, far worse than is justified by the text, Geten’s very name, Apocrypha, means that he cannot be presumed to be aligned with MLA orthodoxy.

The only one of the people close to Re-Destro who wasn't born and raised MLA, he still manages to come off, in some ways, as the most zealous of the lot of them.  But really, it’s very noticeable that Geten—unlike Re-Destro himself, and unlike even Re-Destro’s close cohort—never talks about the original Destro, never even mentions him.  When he thinks about his leader, he only ever thinks about Rikiya.  Geten doesn’t follow Re-Destro because of his bloodline, because of the tenets; he follows Re-Destro because of personal loyalty.[v]

So how best to do that?  Well, think about it: Geten is not terribly intelligent, nor wealthy, nor well-connected. He and Trumpet are the ones most influenced by the quirk supremacist line of thought, Trumpet because his relatively weak quirk comes off as exponentially stronger the more he can surround himself in people it works on, and Geten because his strong quirk lets him mentally justify Re-Destro's investment in him despite his other insufficiencies.

Compare this with Re-Destro, who only ever talks about quirks in terms of freedom. Even more prominently, look at Skeptic and Curious, who are not at all defined by their quirks and how strong or weak said quirks may be.  Indeed, those two devote scarcely a thought to the matter because they contribute to the cause in much more important ways and seem to be perfectly comfortable with where that leaves them.

Geten may not be very smart or influential, but he’s very capable of looking at what strengths he does have and focusing hard on those.  That, I think, is what really lead to his embracing quirk supremacy, even in the face of evidence that he doesn’t have the whole picture: the search for a way to measure himself up to the movers and shakers Rikiya is otherwise surrounded with, and not come up drastically wanting.  

“Apocrypha” Geten has been Geten for a long time, since long before the MLA types usually take up their code names. He’s also an outlier in the MLA for having a name in Japanese instead of in English—the only one who does!  My headcanon, unless and until we get some other members with Japanese code names, is that he got the name directly from Re-Destro—possibly even in the conversation that lead to him imprinting so hard on the man when he was 7—and insisted on keeping it before any other code name that was suggested to him in later years.

But yes, he does have a normal Japanese name on file at the group home, which he’s obligated to answer to on the rare occasions that someone from Child Services is checking in or he and Re-Destro are out in public.  I don’t plan to bother coming up with it unless I need to, as I expect we’ll get it in a character profile one of these days.

His Quirk While a lot of people like the vibe of Geten and Dabi being somewhat equivalently vulnerable to their own quirks, and I agree it makes for good fanart, in truth, Geten is only as vulnerable to his ice as Endeavor is his flames.  Which is to say, he isn't immune, but he's certainly more resistant to it than the average person would be!  There’s already plenty of good material to contrast Dabi and Geten without pretending their quirks are more mirrored than is actually the case.

Lightning Round

How does he treat people in service jobs? He doesn’t, because he’s never in a position to interact with people in service jobs.  There have been times he’s gone out with Re-Destro, but in those cases he’s mostly let Re-Destro handle the human interaction.

What does he dislike in other people? Laziness; the lack of a higher purpose of some kind.  (It’s possible he’d thaw out on his disdain for Dabi considerably if he knew more about Dabi’s plans to undermine the whole of the Hero System than Dabi is inclined to tell him.)

Is he always there for a friend in need? Sure, as long as by “friend” you mean “fellow Liberation warrior” and by “need” you mean “in need of an icicle punched through one of someone else’s desperately fleshy body parts.”

Footnotes

[i]  Sanctum II's tastes being what they are, this probably means Rikiya is the MLA member most likely to be able to perform traditional Japanese tea ceremony.

[ii]  And there were elders who would have been happy to leave it at that permanently, I'm sure.  There are always going to be those regents who have trouble relinquishing power back to the boy prince when he grows up and becomes king, you know?

[iii]  And, when it eventually got out that they were dating, a relatively solid match, give or take the surrogacy arrangements that would eventually need to be made.

[iv]  I’m hoping canon gives us some details on this eventually, so I’m not planning to iron out more headcanon on the matter unless I absolutely have to.

[v]  This, incidentally, is a large part of why Rikiya does keep him around—it’s soothing to have someone around who never brings up his ancestor.  Anyway, after Geten evolved his quirk, people stopped complaining so much, even though RD never did get around to, like, giving Geten any formal responsibilities.  Geten, who knows very well that Re-Destro’s real advisors have real jobs, mostly took this as reason to be all the stronger, in hopes that he’d eventually be given one.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

i’ve been kinda in a rut deciding what johnlock fanfics to read, so i came up with a challenge for myself to read as many “A Study In ____” fanfics as possible. do you have any good suggestions?

Hi Lovely!

Ahh, what a fun request and a super easy list for me to curate!! Hee hee! Here’s what I have in my bookmarks AND in my MFL list! As usual, if any of my lovelies have any of their own “A Study in” fics to suggest, please add them below!!

A STUDY IN FANFICS

Peacock by ClassyGirlsWearPearls (T, 1,189 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Cranky Sherlock, Soft John, Hand Holding, Soft Sherlock) – A study in Sherlock and John.

Study in John by chappysmom (K+, 2,158 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiP, POV John, Introspection, Friendship, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, John’s Limp) – After the events of "A Study in Pink," John lies on the couch in Baker Street and thinks about the whirlwind events of the day. What is he getting himself into?

A Study in Lace by KarlyAnne (E, 2,320 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Crafty Sherlock, Tiny Lace Panties / Lingerie, Domestics, Experiments, Oral, Masturbation) – “Why do you suppose he was doing that?” “Why do I suppose who was doing what?” “The room. The lace. The secrecy. He was playing with fire in everything he did, and didn’t care one bit. But he had a secret chamber, carefully concealed, solely for the purpose of making lace lingerie. Obviously for personal use. Why?" Part 1 of The Unintentional Crafts of Sherlock Holmes

Study in Sherlock by chappysmom (K+, 3,790 w., 1 Ch. || ASiP, Friendship, Introspection, Anxious Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock) – Sherlock's thoughts and feelings during A Study in Pink. What DID he think of John, and why was he being so NICE?

Study in Mycroft by chappysmom (K+, 4,929 w., 1 Ch. || Character Study, Big Brother Mycroft, Mycroft POV, Nosy Mycroft, Holmes Brothers) – A look at Mycroft's thoughts and actions during a Study in Pink.

A Study in Intimacy by doodle (T, 5,183 w., 1 Ch. || WEBARCHIVE LINK || PODFIC AVAILABLE || First Kiss, Virginity, Romance, Touching) – People don't touch Sherlock Holmes, not like they touch other people. Then he meets John Watson.

A Study in Linguistics by rizandace (T, 12,425 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Canon Compliant/S2 Divergence, Friendship, Slices of Life, Communication, Cranky Sherlock, Hospitals, Sherlock Whump, Pet Cat, Jealous John, Sherlock’s Violin, Anxious Sherlock, John Whump) – Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had their own language. It was a language of few words and minute facial expressions, and John had learned that it was nearly the only way to have an honest conversation with his eccentric flat mate.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,689 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes by AllesandraQuartermaine (T, 50,234 w., 22 Ch. || Post-ASiP/Pre-TAB, Domestics, Friendship, POV John) – Learn about what happened between John and Sherlock January 31st and March 22. From John's pov on how to survive and learn to live with one eccentric mad genius known as Sherlock Holmes.

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

MARKED FOR LATER

A Study in Pink Pyjamas by alexxphoenix42 (M, 1,628 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Est. Rel., Pink Pyjamas, Fluff, Cross-Dressing) – Sherlock hasn't been a fan of either Christmas or fancy pyjamas for a number of years, but John has a way of changing his mind about things.

A Study in Night Terrors by Dovahlock221 (T, 2,811 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Night Terrors, (Emotional) Hurt/Comfort, PTSD Sherlock, Worried John, Hurt John, Angst with Happy Ending) – Five times Sherlock suffered from night terrors and the one time he had the best dream of his life.

A Study in Beard by Loveismyrevolution (T, 3,810 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Fluff and Humour, Experiments, Beards, Idiots in Love, Quarantine) – Sherlock has to face the consequences of using up all of their shaving foam. Which turns out to be more fun than expected. Boys being boys, nothing can go without a challenge. Although, being isolated presents a problem. How will they determine the winner? Part 2 of the Hairy Situations at 221B series

A Study in Sensuality (or, That Johnlock Gif Story) by MojoFlower (E, 4,693 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock || Porn Gifs, PWP, Pole Dancer Sherlock, Student Sherlock, Student John, Photography, Sensuality, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Rimming, Fingering, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Felching, Unsafe Sex) – When John signs up to partner with Sherlock Holmes in photography class, he never guesses it will end up with him balls-deep in his study partner's arse. Easy A?

A Study in Dichotomy by UrbanHymnal (E, 7,439 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Misunderstandings, Fluff and Humour) – John wants his brilliance and his stupidity; his knowledge of 243 types of ash and his inability to name all the planets in the solar system; his perfectly pressed suits and his wrinkled t-shirts carelessly tossed on inside out. John wants to kiss Sherlock when he is still waking to the world, to press against him when he is still warm from sleep. He wants to grab Sherlock by the scarf and haul him close so he can bury his nose in the sweat that has collected at the base of Sherlock's neck, under his arms, in between his legs.

A Study in Asexuality by ladyxdarcy (M, 8,082 w., 1 Ch. || Asexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Acephobia, Mentions of Rape/Corrective Rape Therapy, Past Suicidal Ideation, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Overdose, Past Mary/John, Emotional Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Vulnerable Sherlock, Est. Rel., Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff) – When Sherlock, asexual to his core, fears that John may grow bored of a sexless life, he decides to do whatever it takes to make John happy so he stays. Good thing John is already happy.

A Study in Anorexia by madeleinefs (NR, 11,415 +w., 16 Ch. || WIP || Eating Disorders, Anorexia, Bulimia, Starvation, Mental Health Issues, Hospitalization, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Doctor John, Self Harm, Depression, Angst, Hurt Sherlock) – A realistic approach as to what Sherlock would look like suffering from an eating disorder. This will not be a Johnlock, or some sort of sick-and-then-love-heals-all story, because that isn't realistic. I want this to be realistic, and true to the characters, as well as true to the nature of the disease.

A Study in Sex Series by Castiel_For_King (E, 19,939 w. across 4 works || Virgin Sherlock, Bottomlock, Sensitive Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Porn with Plot / Feelings, Praise Kink, Gentle John, Naïve Sherlock, Sexual Exploration, Anal, Frottage, Tender Sex) – Sherlock is new to sex and John is the first person he's ever wanted to touch and be touched by. But wanting it doesn't seem to magically wash away his apprehension like he'd hoped. Luckily, it's John and John is wonderful and kind and patient and maybe has a bit of a thing for teaching Sherlock all about physical intimacy.

The Art Of Seduction: A Study In Pulling by flawedamythyst (M, 25,279 w., 1 Ch. || AU) – Sherlock ran a website called The Science Of Seduction, on which he gave advice on the best ways to get laid, wrote blog entries detailing the results of his various sexual 'experiments' and generally contributed to the stereotype of 'every gay man is a sex-mad playboy'. John avoided the thing like the plague. AU in which Sherlock treats sex like he does crime in canon. Inspired by Queer As Folk UK, but it very quickly went its own way. Part 1 of The Art Of Seduction

A Study in Slavery by sweetinsane (M, 88,538+ w., 12/? Ch. || WIP || Dark / Slavery AU || ASiP, Angst, Domestic Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Slow Build, Dehumanization, Sexual Slavery, Child Abuse, Master/Slave Dynamics, Dark Content) – John has never owned a slave of his own, but after returning from Afghanistan is awarded one with his pension. A disobedient male slave with way too much troubling history, however, is not what he would have chosen himself.

[the-crows-typist]

Hi Lemilia! Could I ask for a platonic ficlet with Rook and Trey + the word “frustration”? The science club needs more love, their dynamic is so good~ Thank you!

The Possibilities Are Endless

“Augh!”

“Trey, are you alright?” The smoke from the cauldron was nauseating and stung the throat and eyes. Rook quickly kills the fire with water magic and places the lid on to the still boiling pot of messed up brew.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked, taking his classmate’s stirring stick from him while Trey took his glasses off. “No, I’m not. It’s just—stings a bit, hang on.” Rook knew that tone of voice, the way his shoulders squared, and how Trey’s teeth were bared and grit. He was a patient man, yes he was, but even he was not immune to the feeling of frustration. Even he got angry at the tiniest of things and the smallest of failures.

As beautiful as one’s expressive face is, it was still quite disheartening to see one of the most patient third years look so angry, so defeated. “Professor Crewel did say that this brew was not easy to get right off the bat,” He patted his companion’s back. “Why don’t we try again? Maybe things will be different this time.”

Trey looked up at Rook who smiled down at him. Without his glasses, Trey looked more serious, more mature. He looked like someone who could kill a man with a single stare but all that changed when he slipped his protective goggles back on and now he was kind and hardworking vice dorm leader of Heartslabyul.

“How do you do it?”

“What do you mean?” The hunter’s expression was confused, curious even. Even behind those purple goggles of his, Trey could see that he was genuine, he was honest…Maybe too honest. Rook always does things with the best interest of others in mind and there was no doubt that his actions were as genuine as they come and yet, there was this dense cloudiness not even Trey himself could see past and while people had their secrets, had their own skeletons in the closet, Rook’s secrecy was one so heavily guarded yet so obviously in plain sight.

He was an open book yet you couldn’t read the contents of it even if you tried.

Just how could someone so secretive be so open to the world and the people around him?

“…How do you not get angry?”

Rook’s smile was always so cryptic, always so foreshadowing.

Trey didn’t know when he started getting more observant to the things around him, he hypothesized that it was because he was around Rook more often or he was slowly getting used to having to deal with his two juniors and their friends causing trouble wherever they went that he had developed a sort of sixth sense.

“Clover, deliver the powder fertilizer to the plants at the back, they haven’t been taken care of as of late.” Crewel said, handing him a bucket full of white powder. “After that, you can close up the botanical garden for the day. The keys are by the desk and don’t forget to roll up the hose before you leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll be on my way then.”

Carrying the bucket towards the back garden, Trey began to see and appreciate the little flowers that grew and spread through the trees. He always liked walking through this part of the garden since a lot of flowers grew around the path.

“Hm?”

An orange lily bloomed not too far from his foot and beyond were scattered clumps that stood out with its bright orange hue against soft pastels of grass and other blossoms. A sudden pang of worry washed over Trey and he hesitated to continue his walk but knowing well that Crewel would be upset, he pushed forward. The lilies grew in number until he reaches the foot of the garden now littered with orange blossoms. For some reason, the garden felt off despite being empty.

Breathing in deep, Trey moved to scatter the powder fertilizer onto the plants and over the petunias growing awkwardly against the white painted fence. Kneeling down, Trey took a closer look at the blossoms, his gloved fingers smooth against the wood until he felt a small pit under his finger. Blinking, he carefully pushed the stems and leaves aside; the wood looked damaged as if someone purposefully thrust something into it. Trey’s brow furrowed in worry and pulled his hand away to see the many identical marks made on the wood.

“What is this?”

The school’s cafeteria during the end of the week was louder than usual, clubs were raring to do their activities and the teachers could get a break after a long weeks’ worth of work. Even in the noise, Trey couldn’t hear it for he deep in thought. To his knowledge, no one had planted any orange Lilies and Petunia in that area of the garden. In fact, he had no prior knowledge of anyone possessing seeds for those plants.

Could it have been a project by one of the younger years? No, there would be an indication of it; plus Crewel would tell him or at least say something about it in passing.

Another club? That would be a no as well. Jade didn’t seem very interested in flowers nor did any club, to his knowledge, need the botanical gardens except the science club.

“Trey, what’s the matter? You haven’t touched your lunch at all.”

Riddle’s eyes bore down on him and he knew better than to hide anything from the red headed dorm leader. “I’m just confused, is all.” He said, poking at his now cold steak. “Yesterday I was told to find a garden to put some fertilizer in but on my way there I saw some Orange Lily and Petunia flowers, I don’t know why but it made me uneasy.”

A hum and Riddle looked down at his half-eaten food. “Lily and Petunia, huh?’ Another hum and Riddle tapped the tip of his plate his pointer finger. “This might be a stretch but do you know the concept of flower language?”

“Flower language?”

“Yes, if I remember my sources correctly, certain flowers held meaning and messages when put into a bouquet. Because of its subtlety, it was a perfect way for people to send secret messages or feelings around. It’s a romantic way of communicating but often extremely vague if the receiver had no prior knowledge.”

Trey took a bite out of his steak with a nod. Flower language, huh? He’s heard of it before but he wasn’t a big expert. “Do you know anyone who happens to have a list?” He felt a slight disappointment when Riddle shook his head. “Not that I know of, no. The book that I saw it in only listed a few examples but I didn’t see Orange Lily or Petunia in them.”

“That’s unfortunate, but thanks for your help Riddle.”

When he came back to the garden the next day, the number of flowers had grown and soon did the marks on the white fence. Trey passed his fingers over the pits and noticed that they were deeper, messier as if someone had been doing it without thought. The feeling of unease continued to double the longer her stayed there but her urged himself to stay and spray the powder over growing Lavender flowers.

Somehow, seeing the light purple petals beginning to form brought him an ounce of comfort and it was what kept him from running away from the area with his tail between his legs. After finishing his task, he exited the garden to meet up with his professor.

“How are the neglected plants coming along, Trey?” Crewel asked, sitting on a chair while Rook watered the fruit bearing plants next to him. “Petals are beginning to form slowly and surely but…” He hesitated to speak for a moment and sighed. “…I did notice a few blossoms growing alongside it but it didn’t seem to impede on its growth.”

“What do you mean? Was someone using the plot before us?”

Rook moved to the further side of the garden to water what was to be a lemon tree before Trey spoke again. “I’m not quite sure, sir. They were already there when you told me to put fertilizer over the plants.” Crewel brought his crop to his lips in thought, brows creasing as he mulled over the possibilities. “And what flowers did you see growing around the area.”

“Mostly Petunias and Lilies, the orange colored one.”

“Hm. Someone must have been angry.”

“Sir?” Trey’s voice came out confused and Crewel only shook his head. “It’s just flower language, down boy. It’s not a well-known practice nowadays but before, flowers held meaning. If a mage grew a red rose from the ground then they were in love, it’s as simple as that.” A knowing smile crept onto his lips, thinking of a certain someone he had in mind; one he had spent enough time with to know that a single rose was all he needed to show his feelings.

“But those flowers of yours, Orange Lily and Petunia…Those flowers are of the few that have negative meanings.” Rook pulls at the hose and the roller squeaks as he moved further and further away from him. “While not inherently threatening or mean spirited, those two flowers could mean many things from anger, annoyance, maybe even frustration.”

He dare not mention the stab-like pits he saw on the fence behind it.

“If it isn’t impeding on the growth of the neglected plants like you say then it is only right to let the blossoms stay as they are. As odd as it may be, different people have different ways of venting out their frustrations. As long it’s not harming other people then there is no need to worry.”

The roller squeaks again, Rook moving to water the last plants inside the section of the garden.

The day came to an end and Crewel left the two to clean up. “I’m meeting with a former colleague of mine so I need to look my best. I’ll leave to you the cleaning up?” Trey nods his head and the two part ways but not without the boy smelling what seems to be a type of perfume, it smelled nice…Was the professor seeing someone?

“Rook?” Trey yelled out to the empty room yet no one answered back. “Darn, did I get deserted to clean this on my own?” He wondered to himself as he gathered the gardening tools and rolled up the hose. Taking the bucket full of powder fertilizer, Trey made his way to the same garden he was assigned to.

The same unsettling feeling overcame him as he walked the quiet path but with the words of Crewel echoing in his head, the feeling ebbed away quickly. The flowers growing in and around the area were products of someone’s negativity, his frustrations and while Trey understood it, he didn’t have an answer to who exactly was producing this.

But the answer would soon come to him when an odd sound came from the garden before him. A grunt followed by two items hitting each other hard. Trey walked slowly towards the source and seeing Rook over standing over the fence with sharper the usual arrow in hand. His shoulders were heaving before plunging his weapon into the wooden fence hard.

Somehow, all the things Trey had been pondering were coming together.

“So this is your way of getting angry.” Trey commented and Rook turning his head slowly towards him. He smiled at his fellow batch mate. “Hey, no need to give me that look. I won’t tell anyone what you did here…In fact, I find the theme of flowers to be very fitting…You know. Your flowery language and all.” Rook stared at him for a long while until he snorted, bringing his hand to his lips to stop his laugh from coming out too loud.

“Great seven above that was a terrible pun!” Rook said between laughs and Trey could only let out a small laugh himself. “I try my best.”

Sniffling, Rook looked back at the marks he’d made then to his arrow. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I don’t quite like it when I’m angry...I have been told that I become terrifying and almost beast like.” Trey comes closer and pats his back. “I’ve been trying to find better ways to control it better but…This is the best I can do now.”

A petunia began to grow form within the pits on the fence and despite the negative message, Trey found it beautiful. “Did you make these flowers?”

“I suppose. Even I am confused as to why these grew here.” The hunter picked a petunia from the fence and brought it to his nose. “But then again, the arrangement is quite beautiful don’t you think?” Trey pat his back again. “I’m no expert on flowers but it goes real well with the Lavender we’re trying to grow.”

“I’m sure we can find another way for you to vent out your frustrations but in the meantime, you can clean up.” Rook was given the bucket and Trey gave him a big smile before running off. “Trey, come back here!” He said between laughs as he clearly let his batch mate run ahead of him. “You still have to help me too!”

In the middle of the plot, a Lavender flower bloomed against the petunias its rich purple color accented by the bright orange and pink.

[starlightsearches]

A New Life Pt. 4

Whoops, I said that there would be no more of the Kylo Ren soulmate AU but apparently I lied! This came to me earlier today and I had to write it. Hope you like it! 

(Here’s the first part, second part, and third part if you missed them)

Requests are closed for now ✨

Kylo Ren X female reader soulmate! AU Pt. 4

AN: Some language, and it’s vaguely NSFW towards the end! 

Ren never touched you first. Not in private, and certainly not in public. It was a compromise of some kind, you assumed, that he had made with himself. You knew he worried about it, even now—the ridiculous notion that he would somehow scare you off, that he would hurt you. So you initiated all contact, and you were gentle, and you let him be gentle. You weren’t too bothered by it. After all, there were exceptions to every rule.

When the general was around, Ren was always touching you. Holding you by the waist, resting a hand on your shoulder, at the back of your neck: if General Hux was in the room, you were never out of Ren’s reach. This was true now, too, his hand solidly on your back at your waist as you board the transport, headed to Ryyn with Phasma and the general.

It’s exciting, to finally go somewhere, to have the opportunity to be somewhere besides the Finalizer. Ren left the ship fairly often and the time you spent by yourself—sometimes for weeks on end—was . . . boring. Lonely. When he had mentioned that he would be going off base again after only returning a few days ago, you had been crushed, a feeling that had been immediately replaced with joy when he had asked if you would like to join him.

The general had grumbled, of course, when he saw that you would also be coming but you paid him no mind. He was always complaining about something, making snide remarks when you were there, and even though it drove Ren crazy, you could see through the act; the man was very obviously lonely. He tried to hide it, and did hide it successfully, from Ren and the captain. But not from you.

Against your better judgement, you liked the general, or at least, you found him interesting. He may have been rude and judgemental, but it was hard for you to take him seriously. He reminded you sometimes of the zeefas your family had kept for milk and meat back home—grumpy old animals, but harmless enough. You had a knack for working with livestock like that; it never took long before even the most stubborn of them were eating out of the palm of your hand. Apparently your charms were limited to farm life; despite the concerted effort you had put into being as inoffensive as possible, the general showed no signs of warming up to you in the slightest. Which was too bad, because part of you believed that—if he gave you a chance—you might be friends. And you’d really like to have a friend.

You take your seat on the transport, strapping in, and Ren sits beside you, only letting go of you for a moment to secure his own restraints before replacing his hand on your knee. Hux rolls his eyes, finding a seat on the other side and Phasma joins him. The anticipation in your chest only grows more potent as the pilot prepares for launch, and you can hardly wait for what was in store. You were going to Ryyn—a place you had only heard about in wild stories—to the capital city Cearrau; you would be staying in the palace there. You would meet the queen and attend the ball she would hold in honor of the First Order guests. You would wear the dress you had picked out especially for the event, blood-red and beautiful, and you would be on Ren’s arm the entire night. It was sure to be incredible.

“I still don’t see why you’re coming,” Hux says, leveling a glare in your direction, and Ren’s grip tightens on your knee. He’s ready to spit out some retort, you can tell, but you stop him with a hand gently rested on his arm.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, and he relaxes minutely before you address the general, “I’m actually very excited for the trip, General. I think it will be interesting.” Hux scoffs in response and opens up his data pad, choosing to ignore you.

Everyone settles into their seats as the ship launches and you decide to distract yourself, pulling out your sketchpad and a stylus, tapping the end of it against your mouth, deep in thought. You could draw Ren, of course, but you had plenty of drawings of him, stacks and stacks of them—enough to cover the walls of your quarters if you wanted. You didn’t even need a reference anymore, the exact shape of his nose and the planes of his cheeks appearing easily to you from memory. You need something new, some kind of a challenge.

The general was obviously out of the question, for a number of reasons. For one, he isn’t sitting still enough for you to complete a proper sketch, shifting from one position to the next every few minutes, engrossed in something on his data pad. Plus, you’re afraid of what would happen if he caught you, what insult he would come up with that would send Ren into a rage. Not worth the risk. The captain, on the other hand, might work. 

She is lounging, her helmet resting on the wall behind her, maybe sleeping—it’s difficult to tell with the mask on, but her pose is dynamic and the reflection of the lights in her chromium armor adds depth and shadows where there are none. Your hand begins to move across the flimsi without your direction, working to capture the cool authority she always seems to emanate.

Ren dozes next to you, occasionally rolling his head to the side to check your progress, drumming his fingers lightly against your thigh in approval. The likeness is pretty good, although it’s lacking something in your opinion. You wish that you had brought your paints with you; maybe you’d have better luck communicating the shine of her armor in a different medium.

“What are you doing?” General Hux says, and you can feel the pressure of his gaze on you, although you don’t return it, still focused on the captain.

“Sketching,” you respond, adding a little depth in the background, “but I can stop if it’s bothering you.” 

“Sketching?” he asks, and for the first time since you’d met him, there is no trace of disdain in his voice. In fact, he sounds intrigued. You place the stylus behind your ear, passing him the sketchbook, and he reaches for it skeptically. You watch him closely as he studies the drawing, waiting anxiously to see how he’d react. 

“Hmm,” Hux says after a long moment, returning the book to you and studying you with his eyes narrowed, like he’s trying to read something from a distance, “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Home,” you say, trying your hardest not to seem too eager now that he had initiated a conversation, “my father was an artist.”

“I thought both of your parents were farmers,” the disdain is back, but cracking a little, a glimmer of genuine interest showing through, and you laugh gently to show that you’re not offended.

“We’re all farmers where I’m from, but he spends his free time drawing. Painting, too. I usually prefer paints, but they’re difficult to transport.” You stop yourself, looking at your drawing again, afraid that you’re rambling, and the general sits in silence for a moment, his eyes still on your sketchbook.

“I could paint you,” you venture, not wanting to lose the tenuous connection you had created,” if you want, when we get back to the Finalizer? You have such striking features; I think they’d translate well to the page.” You’re laying on the praise very thick, you know, and you’re worried it will come off as too much, but the general flushes pink, and you smile, the thrill of victory sharp in your veins. Was this all it would take to endear the general to you? To make him stop hating you? You wish you had known that weeks ago.

“That would be fine,” Hux responds, with a small cough, guarding his expression against your obvious cheer, but your spirits cannot be dampened by his apparent indifference. Pleased, you go back to sketching, another one of Ren this time, happy with the progress you’ve made with Hux. Happy, that is, until you notice that Ren had pulled away from you, releasing his grip on your leg.

The ship drops out of light speed and begins to make its approach, but you take no notice, a coldness settling beneath your skin. You nudge him gently with your knee, but there’s no response. He’s motionless, quiet, staring forward with an obstinate amount of determination, and he stays this way, avoiding you as the four of you make your way out of the transport. You can’t help but notice that Ryyn is beautiful, the warmth and the wind greeting you as you step out onto the palace grounds, but the heat the sun offers refuses to clear away any the chill you feel.

After parting with Hux and Phasma, you and Ren are led by a servant to your guest quarters, and you prattle nonsensically as you walk hoping to put the man at ease—and hoping to release some of your own nerves as well. Ren says nothing, silent as a shadow, and you watch as the palace’s other inhabitants steal glances from around corners as you pass, eager to get a glimpse of the infamous Jedi Killer.

The room is lovely—and enormous—with large, open windows and an even larger balcony, overlooking the valley below. You move tentatively towards the view, but Ren doesn’t join you, choosing instead to stand ominously in the center of the room.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, sitting on the bed and running your hand over the covers. There’s distance between you, not only physical, and you want to address it now before it grows. Was he really so mad that you had spoken to Hux?

“It’s nothing,” he says, but he’s still wearing the mask, and you assume it’s to keep you out. This is the first time you’ve seen him like this, and it’s beginning to scare you. This was how he acted with other people, not with you.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” you say, standing from the bed but moving no closer, “please? I know you’re angry with me. I want to make it right.” He faces away from you, his powerful shoulders rolling as he moves to lift the helmet from his head, discarding it on the floor with a thud. The sound makes you jump, and you watch him perceptively, hoping to read the answer to your question in his expression, but he still guards his face from you. “Why don’t you go find the general?” he says harshly, and you catch the barest glimpse of his profile as he looks over his shoulder, “since you find him so interesting.” Your jaw drops in shock.

“Are you jealous?” you ask, and he doesn’t respond, but you can tell that you’re right. Despite the tension, a smile threatens its way onto your face and you smother it with your hand.

“It’s not funny,” he says, picking up thoughts but still avoiding your eyes.

“I know it’s not,” you respond, back in control of your mind and your expression, “I’m just surprised.” He laughs, but there’s no joy in it, a short, angry sound that bounces back at you off of the polished walls. 

“I just don’t want him to hate me, that’s all,” you say, quietly. You’ve seen Ren angry before, but never like this. Never at you. But there’s something else besides anger, and that’s what scares you more. You can feel it roll off of him, see it clearly in his posture; he’s doubting your love for him.

“You know you have nothing to worry about, right? I could never want someone else the way I want you.” His shoulders relax slightly, and you’re able to breathe again, now that he’s listening to you. It’s difficult to see him this way, catching brief glimpses of his fears. He thinks you’ll leave him, but that would never happen. You repeat yourself once again, hoping that this time he’ll finally believe what you’re saying. “I only want you.”

Those words work like magic, or maybe it’s the feeling behind them, but either way the doubt is gone, and he’s facing you with a look in his eyes like pure sin, his anger transformed into something else. You hold his gaze and the intensity of it goes straight to the space between your legs, weakening you at the knees.

“How?” he asks, stalking towards you, impossibly large and your heart beats loudly in your chest. You feel for a moment in some wild part of you that you should run, but you're frozen in place, and you like it. A lot. Now this is a side of him you’ve never seen before.

“How what?” you ask; your voice shakes when you speak. He laughs, low and deep and through his teeth as he bites one glove off and then the other, a warm hand finding its way to your waist and gripping the fabric of your dress tightly, pulling you closer. The first point of contact.

“Tell me how you want me,” he whispers, staring you down with his unfathomable eyes, his tongue darting out over full, pink lips. There are no thoughts in your head now, your mind is completely empty and for a moment you try to remember how you landed yourself in this particular situation. Maybe, if you remember, you’ll be able to work him up like this again.

He steps closer, his body like a brick wall against yours and you stumble backwards, falling onto the bed with a light bounce, propped up on your elbows, still in shock that he’s acting this way, and that you don’t want him to stop. He smirks, gripping both of your knees with burning fingers, sliding his hands under the hem of your dress and climbing up your thighs, leaning in close over you to whisper in your ear.

“Tell me what you want,” he says again, and the feeling of his mouth on your ear sends vibrations through your whole body; your eyes roll back with anticipation.

“Fuck,” it’s the only word that you can think of right now, your mind wholy preoccupied by the feeling of his thumb as it traces small circles over the skin your inner thigh, inching ever higher.

“That’s what I thought,” he kisses you hard, hard enough to bruise and you moan, open-mouthed, a deep, desperate sound you had never made before.

“Shit,” you mumble, and he doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath before he’s moving, his mouth working down your jaw and to your chest with hot, harsh kisses. You try to relax into it, into the work of his hands, still below your skirt, but he draws a yelp from you when you least expect it, biting at the skin just above your breast. He looks up at you, anger from before gone and replaced with a strident need, daring you to beg for more.

“Someone might hear,” you say quietly, your voice hitching slightly with the movement of his fingers. The windows are open after all, and with the way he’s acting, you know you won’t be able to stay quiet.

“I hope they do,” he says, nudging a space between your knees with his shoulders, finding a place between your legs. “I hope they all hear you begging for me, and I hope that by the end of it everyone on this damn planet knows that you’re mine.”

[itsclydebitches]

I know you say that the Adam stuff in v3 was a good example of visual storytelling in rwby, do you think there is anything else, in your opinion

Yes! Let’s praise poor RWBY for once lol 

I’m sure there’s a lot that I could choose from but that would require me combing back through old content to jog those memories. So let’s stick to Volume 7. Overall, I quite enjoyed the JNOR vs. Neo fight. There are plot convenience issues (the stupidity of having the group carry the relic around instead of putting it in the vault) and choreography issues (I’ve heard a number of complaints about the slow-mo and how Jaune and Oscar don’t integrate well with Ren and Nora), but the fight does a good job of conveying a lot of information visually. It’s one of the few moments in the volume where I felt like RT was successfully a) using the medium to its advantage and b) achieving more than one thing in a single scene. 

Warning: Here be lots of screenshots. 

First, I want to acknowledge that lately RT has been demonstrating a talent for horror-esque writing. RWBY obviously isn’t in the horror genre, but via the Apathy we saw that RT can crank up the creep factor when they choose to. This scene does something similar (though admittedly much more subtly) and it starts with the opening shot of the destroyed guards. 

It’s a simple thing, but note how dark the room is, especially compared to the hallway outside. This is supposed to be a terrifying moment. The team has just arrived looking for Oscar and have instead found a disaster zone. There are scorch marks on the walls. The guards aren’t just lying powered down, they’ve been hacked to pieces. Though AIs without aura or souls, they’re designed to look like people and at first glance it definitely seems like we’ve got three bodies decorating the bedroom. Nora’s panicked cries tell us how bad the situation is, but we get that loud and clear from these visuals first. Also note how, despite being lighter, the hallway is dominated by a very deep red. I’d actually say to a certain extent this is a mistake - the pink/reds of the environment make it easy for Neo and Nora, with their predominantly pink costumes, to blend in too well during the fight - but in regards to color associations we get some nice shots throughout that convey danger and high emotions. 

When “Oscar” comes on the scene we know, instantaneously, that it’s not Oscar. Not just because we as the audience know that Neo is off doing something nefarious, but because via the language of film/television that’s not how you re-introduce an established character. You don’t hide their face like that unless you’re about to reveal something - like the fact that that’s not really them. This is also the first of a number of medium closeups on the relic, putting emphasis on it first because someone currently holds it who should not have it, and then as a means of reminding the viewer what this fight is about. 

Via some great attention to detail, we see again the clear wrongness about this “Oscar.” That’s not how Oscar stands. That’s not how Oscar smiles. More than just animating him differently, this shot pulls from those subtle horror tropes. He has the dead-eyed look of a doll or a supernatural being that immediately makes the viewer (if not Nora) go, “Wait...” It helps that Oscar is a short boy with dark hair. Put him in different clothes and he could play any number of possessed kids. 

With Neo’s deception revealed, we get what the fandom knows is not good visual storytelling. AKA, Oscar charging down the whole length of the hallway while Neo just stands there and lets herself get hit. I don’t need to re-hash how stupid that was. What I like a lot more is the subtleties in how she communicates given that, obviously, Neo can’t rely on any dialogue. Coming out of the hit she immediately has her umbrella leveled at the group and pulls out the blade to communicate, “Yes. I’m taking you on.” The neat choice though is that she brings the umbrella down to do it. She takes her weapon off the group, if only for a moment. Jaune has just gotten done insisting that she should give up because it’s four to one. The blade says, “I’m taking you on” but lowering her umbrella likewise says, “I’m so confident about taking you on I’ll even make myself vulnerable for a second.” 

Which retroactively makes her getting hit like that even stupider but it’s fine we’re moving on. 

During this time we also get a lot of insight into Oscar. Check out how utterly bedraggled he is, showing us how tough the initial fight with Neo was and how lucky he is to have escaped. He clutches the relic close to his chest and stares, scared, at the rest of the team. Oscar hasn’t reached a point yet where he instinctively draws his weapon and prepares to defend himself (indeed, he didn’t even have his weapon out during that initial encounter. That’s one hell of a rookie mistake). He’s still a terrified kid who hopes he won’t have to fight at all, literally hiding behind more powerful friends. This is all great characterization, the only problem is consistency. Nothing about Oscar has been consistent. One moment he’s holding his own against Lionheart and insisting he fight Hazel. The next he’s getting his ass kicked by Neo and cowering at the prospect of more. One moment he’s positively done in by these fights, horrified, scared, unsure of himself. The next he’s confronting the general of a kingdom with all the wisdom of Ozpin. This guy: 

and this guy: 

Exist about fifteen minutes apart. Because though RWBY is great at visual storytelling within each scene, they don’t keep it consistent from one scene to the next. Which is why Oscar is (accurately, imo) animated as an inexperienced kid in Scene #1 and then inexplicably becomes a wise old mentor in Scene #2. Not because anything occurred between Scene #1 and Scene #2 to create that change (let alone such an extreme change), but only because the show suddenly wanted Ironwood to look like an unhinged character. How do you achieve that? Not by having the guy he’s talking to act as winded, wild, and emotional as him, but by having Oscar speak calmly, rationally, softly, sounding oh-so-persuasive so you don’t listen to the actual words he says and how nonsensical they are (you’re as bad as Salem). Instead, you pay attention only to the visuals (Ironwood looks crazier than Oscar so he must be wrong). Ironwood is a great example of how RT sometimes tries to get visual storytelling to outweigh basic logic/what’s been said on screen. 

Anyway, I’m getting off track. The fight begins and I do still love how Oscar is depicted here, even if it doesn’t align with what we get later. The moment that umbrella and cane cross was great because who doesn’t love visual symmetry? Oscar grabbing Neo is wonderfully in character because he’s barely trained! He’s a kid! He’s flying by the seat of his pants and going with whatever vaguely successful act pops into his head. The absurdity of, “I’m just going to grab her” is tempered by Oscar’s furiously determined expression as well as Neo’s brief look of shock. It works up until they realize what Oscar grabbed was just a copy. 

I mentioned early that JNOR often doesn’t work well as a team, unless it’s specifically in the context of Jaune giving orders and the others executing them. Oscar and his lack of integration is obviously exempt from this, being the newbie both to fighting and this particular team’s dynamics, but Ren, Nora, and Jaune have no excuse. The first half of this fight is a good example of what I mean. We see Nora attack. She’s tossed aside. Then Ren attacks. He’s slammed into the wall. Oscar attacks (umbrella vs. cane) and it’s only at the last second that Jaune arrives with his shield to stave off a blow that would fell him too. Why is everyone taking turns here? They know none of them can beat Neo one-on-one and Jaune just said that their victory lies in it being four-to-one. So why separate out all the attacks? Arguably we can read this as a major flaw of JNOR’s and visual setup for something they’ll have to overcome later. In reality though I highly doubt this was deliberate on RT’s part, leaving this as bad visual storytelling (in that it makes the characters look stupid) as opposed to good visual storytelling (JNOR will realize this flaw and work to correct it). 

After Neo disappears we get a chase through the hallway that does a great job of showing us precisely how weaker Oscar is compared to his teammates. He doesn’t have their stamina, breathing heavily and falling further and further behind. At one point (screenshot #2) he arrives just in time to find the team turning back in the direction he’s just come, showing not only how he can’t physically keep up, but also his place in this team/the group. He’s literally not with them. Anyone who has followed my blog knows my thoughts on how the group has treated Oscar and if (again) I were inclined to think that RT was aware of that treatment and working to integrate it into the show with the intent to resolve it, this would be another great detail. As it is, I think Oscar as a character is just continually going to get the short end of the stick. In particular, the crane shot shows us exactly how far behind Oscar is. The others charge ahead without him, not caring where he is or if he can keep up. Which leads to this. 

Oscar rounds another corner and they’re gone. Nowhere to be seen. If anyone had the thought, “He’s not that far behind. It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” Ren, Nora, and Jaune were clearly moving fast enough to round another corner and leave Oscar stranded. Here those subtle horror elements come back into play, particularly the maze-like design of the corridors. The only unique marker we get is the info board, otherwise it’s all identical hallways, housing a killer, with Oscar now left alone in it. The long shot makes him look small and emphasizes his isolation. 

Then he’s attacked and it’s suitably scary. The hand over his mouth. The dark room again. We only get the briefest glimpse of Neo-as-Nora before she attacks, but that one second is another excellent moment of animation. Nora has never sauntered away like that. Even the quickest look in an action-driven scene is enough for the viewer to go, “Nope. Not Nora.” 

The attack itself is the one moment where I think the slow-mo serves a good purpose. We might know (via that quick shot, how characters act (Nora is unlikely to pull Oscar aside like that) and expectations for how a story functions) that that’s not Nora, but Oscar doesn’t know that. The slow-mo gives us - and him - the chance to focus on Neo’s eyes changing, that stomach-dropping moment of realization, and we see Oscar’s horrified shock in the close up on his own eyes. Though RWBY doesn’t always grapple with the emotional implications of every encounter, I think it’s worth noting that this can really mess someone up. Oscar thought he was safe with an ally and had the rug pulled out from under him. He will now forever have the image of Nora attacking him, regardless of the fact that it was really “Nora.” Jaune likewise exclaims in horrified surprise when “Nora” charges him down the hallway. The ability to turn into someone else is an advantage that Neo knows how to use to its fullest. Not just in regards to spying, but how to unsettle your opponent too. 

Waiting for the day she turns into Pyrrha ngl. 

We see that same work when she encounters Ren. Admittedly, I’m torn on this one. If only because I agree with others when they ask, “Doesn’t Ren spar with Nora all the time? He should be able to hit her.” The context of “Barely trained kid thought he was with a friend and then watches said ‘friend’ attack him” is not the same thing as, “Much more experienced fighter realizes the moment ‘Nora’ rounds the corner with an umbrella that that’s not her, has no doubt hit her numerous times in the past during training, yet for some reason can’t bring himself to hit her now.” It... doesn’t quite work. Here, I think RT does a good job of showing us Ren’s distress, it’s just that this is paired with a very bad job of establishing what that distress is and why it exists. This is what we needed to hear about during the party conversation. If Ren and Nora had actually talked rather than just kissing, we might have understood why Ren is suddenly incapacitated here when “Nora” looks at him sadly. 

As said though, the emotion of the scene is great even if we don’t quite know where it came from. Neo’s pitiful look, Ren freezing in shock (check out the red there too), his dumbfounded expression as he just sits in the middle of a battle, and when we come back to him we see the tear tracks. Overall, this scene does a great job of incorporating lots of information beyond “Team JNOR is fighting Neo for the relic.” We just need to connect that information better to what came before this scene (Ren) and what comes after (Oscar). 

Finally, Neo slams into the other guards and transforms again. I love this final shot of her, both for how she moves and the implications of the transformation itself. Meaning, Neo is a professional. She had a job and she did it. Once the relic was in her possession and she had an escape route, she took it. Neo doesn’t get distracted by taking revenge - these are some of the people we fought against when Roman died - or trying to take them out to please Cinder, or even just going after them because she’s Evil. Neo is focused, no unnecessary actions taken, and that, just as much as her semblance and skill, is what makes her dangerous. 

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Boku no Hero Academia - they see your eyes darling but not your soul

Drabble number three! This one was fun to write since I’m always a big fan of the Erasermic Family dynamic (due in large part to deafmic and their works).

Summary: Shinsou hates the color his bright red eyes and Shouta can only think of someone who used to hate the color his red eyes just as much. Shinsou, it seemed, needed more heroes than just Eraserhead.

Relationship: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Shinsou Hitoshi, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic & Shinsou Hitoshi

Characters: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Shinsou Hitoshi

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 2,387

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“Is wearing sunglasses during classes against any rules?” For once, Shouta found he didn’t have a quick, easy response for Shinsou’s question.

While he made sure to answer him as he answered every other question Shinsou gave him, Shouta hated that he sounded so uncertain with his quiet, “No?” His confusion must have been more noticeable than he thought, because Shinsou was launching into an ‘explanation.’

“It’s just that my eyes hurt with all the bright lights, sometimes. I mean, I have insomnia so the lack of sleep makes my eyes weaker, or something, and so it’s kind of hard to focus in class, so I thought I might start wearing sunglasses to try and help.”

Silent for a moment to let Shinsou dig an even deeper grave for himself as he babbled excuses and lies, Shouta moved to take a seat on the floor next to the teen. The two had been taking a break after one of their usual training sessions, Shinsou seeming more distracted than he normally was. Usually it was an effort to get the kid to not hyper focus on something. Now, though, Shouta could barely hold his attention for longer than a few minutes.

“Light sensitivity.” Shouta didn’t much phrase it as a question, but Shinsou nodded dutifully. It almost made Shouta want to go easier on the kid. Almost. “You know, if you’re going to lie, you should at least try to be convincing about it- And don’t lie again by saying you weren’t lying.”

Shinsou stared at him before his shoulders fell, Shouta hating how he could see some mix of shame and guilt creep in. “Relax, kid. It would’ve worked on any other teacher, probably.”

“Any chance you’ll tell me why it didn’t work on you?” Smart. Shouta was proud that the kid was trying to learn on how to properly lie to him. Annoyed, but proud.

“You’re straightforward. You don’t use too few words or too many. You say what you need to and then leave it at that. What you did earlier? That was muttering and rambling more suited to Midoriya.” Shouta had half a moment to wonder if Shinsou would even get the reference before he saw the kid choke on a laugh.

“Come on, Sensei. There’s no need to insult me.” Shinsou didn’t look as tense and drawn in as before, so Shouta felt no hesitation in calling it a win and ruffling his hair and ruining the gelled look it usually had. “Sensei!”

“So, why do you want sunglasses? Oh, yeah, it was also obvious you were lying because Hizashi has a mild case of light sensitivity. With how long we’ve been in here with these lights? You would be squinting by now.”

Shinsou blinked, looked up at the lights, and then frowned at them as if they had betrayed him. In a way, Shouta supposed they had. Hiding a smile behind his own water bottle, Shouta gave Shinsou a nudge to get him talking. Shinsou gave a heavy sigh, but he finally muttered out a reason as to why he wanted sunglasses.

“I don’t like my eyes.” It was a struggle to not choke on the water he was drinking, Shouta trying to stay composed at hearing something he was not expecting. “It’s- The color…” Shinsou glanced up at him with red eyes that were, as usual, clouded by fear, worry, and exhaustion. Shouta knew that they could be as bright as Hizashi’s, though, when the kid was happy. “I hate them.”

Jeez… Staring at Shinsou, Shouta could think of nothing except a conversation he and Hizashi had almost fifteen years ago in the other’s bedroom. Hizashi had finally showed Shouta what he looked like without his sunglasses and whispered how he hated the color because they were villain’s eyes. Really, if Shinsou was his secret child, then there was no doubt that he was Hizashi’s, too.

Shouta could think of nothing else except a younger Hizashi, drawn in and scared and overwhelmed, as he watched Shinsou curl around himself and pick the label off his water bottle with a bitten lower lip.

“And you think sunglasses is going to make you stop hating your eyes?” Shouta pulled out his phone as discreetly as he could, sending a quick text to Hizashi. The man usually dropped by after his and Shinsou’s training sessions, so it would be good if he could speak to Shinsou about this matter sooner rather than later.

“It’ll at least make people stop staring or flinching when I look at them.” Fuck. Shouta had hoped it was just Shinsou’s own insecurities, but, as seemed typical with him, there was always some outside force to cause his fears and worries. “And no, it wasn’t anyone in my class.”

“Meaning it was someone in the school.” That meant a lot more students to shift through to find which one to yell at, but Shouta was stubborn, if nothing else.

He only snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a tug to his sleeve, Shinsou giving him a look that he often saw on Hizashi. “Sensei, my quirk is brainwashing, but I can still read your thoughts. You’re acting like your kid was just bullied on their first day of school.”

Burying down any replies that would just embarrass them both, Shouta sighed as he ruffled Shinsou’s hair again, this time being gentler. Shinsou didn’t even hesitate to relax and lean into the touch, obviously touch starved for who knew how long.

“Come on, kid. One more match and then we’ll call it a night.” Shouta pushed himself up, rolling his eyes as Shinsou slouched down and looked like he wasn’t going to be moving anytime soon. Shouta could see the tension coiled in him, though, ready to lash out and move the second he needed to.

“Haven’t we trained enough, yet?” Shouta’s kick connected with nothing but air, Shinsou on his feet and already moving to strike back. This time, Shouta did nothing to hide his pride.

The match went on until Shouta heard the door open, noticing Shinsou’s slip in attention and mercilessly using it to put the teen on his back, making sure he went down as soft as possible. It still knocked the air out of him, Shinsou blinking up at him before looking offended.

“Don’t get distracted, next time,” Shouta shrugged, smiling at Hizashi’s loud laugh as Shinsou whined loudly. Shouta turned to greet his husband, mildly surprised when he saw him. While Hizashi often went back to their on-campus apartment to change and wash the gel out of his hair, he usually kept the sunglasses on when leaving to come check on them. Instead, though, Hizashi was wearing comfortable clothing, a loose jacket, and clear glasses.

“Don’t mind him, Shinsou. Shouta’s just too mean for his own good.” Not hearing a response, which was odd because Shinsou always seemed to have some clever quip for every situation, Shouta glanced back to see Shinsou was staring at Hizashi with wide, shocked eyes. Ah. So that was the reason for his normal glasses, then.

Hizashi didn’t even bat an eye at the staring, only going over to pull Shinsou to his feet before pushing him towards their bags with a bright, “Hurry and grab you bag, okay? We have reservations for the cat cafe a few blocks over.”

“I wasn’t aware we had reservations,” Shouta said quietly, leaning against Hizashi when the man was close enough.

“We didn’t.” Mm, he really loved this man. “Are we absolutely certain he isn’t yours? Because that shocked expression was pretty familiar. Reminds me of when someone else first saw my eyes.” Hizashi cackled as Shouta tried to knock him to the ground. Unfortunately, they had been sparring together for near fifteen years, and Hizashi was well aware of Shouta’s reaction to terrible humor. “I don’t hear you denying anything, Shou-chan!”

Before Shouta could try for another hit, Hizashi was grabbing Shinsou’s hand and pulling him along like a wayward toddler, Shinsou not even trying to fight as he let himself be led along, still staring at Hizashi with something close to awe. Considering Present Mic was one of the more well-known media heroes, Shouta couldn’t blame him before being so surprised (excited?) at seeing a hero with bright red eyes.

Following after the two, Shouta allowed himself a small smile as he let the two talk and chatter. This would be good for Shinsou.

It might have been a little too good, though.

After that training session Shinsou seemed to have latched on to Hizashi, talking to him at near every chance and following him like an excited puppy. Shouta might have been more worried if Hizashi hadn’t latched on just as much, perking up every time Shinsou decided to talk to him. It didn’t help when they both found out the other had a love of languages. Well, it might have helped them, but it didn’t help Shouta when they were switching between three different languages that made no sense.

The idea of Shouta trying to use his brainwashing with other languages was clever, though, and Shinsou somehow charming Hizashi into training with them was enjoyable in its own right - both because Shouta was able to take more breaks to get some grading done and because showing Shinsou that a hero needed more than just a powerful quirk was delightful.

It was especially enjoyable, however, when the three were tucked away with snacks and water and trying to get their breath back, Shouta half-listening as Shinsou and Hizashi talked about anything and everything. Having Hizashi around also meant that Shouta had a partner in keeping Shinsou safe.

“You’re supposed to be the cool one who doesn’t threaten expulsion to the kids who mock me.” Shinsou’s voice was a low drawl, but Shouta could tell how equally baffled and pleased he was by Hizashi’s righteous anger.

“I never said expulsion was on the table, but a little suspension for bullying is all I’m asking for! I mean, it’d teach the kid to at least tone it back, if nothing else, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, sure. Then I’d be labeled an enemy for life.” Such a dramatic little brat. Shouta was still trying to figure out if that trait was more from Shouta or Hizashi. He’d go down swearing it was from Hizashi, but Shouta could admit, if only to himself, that he had his equal share of dramatic moments between them. “It’s really not that big of a deal anymore.”

“Meaning it used to be a big deal.” Hizashi near pounced on the slip, Shinsou looking to Shouta with wide, pleading eyes. Shouta calmly sipped from his nutrition pouch, opting to let Shinsou deal with it on his own. “Shinsou. It’s not right for them to call your quirk a villain’s quirk.”

Before Shinsou could mutter some self-deprecating comment, Shouta tossed him a pouch of his own to distract him. “You need more carbs. Also, if you say they’re right one more time, then I’ll force you to work on nothing except your homework for the next three training sessions.” It had taken a while to find the right threat, but the promise of inactivity had Shinsou bitterly drinking from the pouch. Shouta hated that Hizashi was right about the fact it was impossible to look angry when drinking one. As it was, the kid looked more like he was pouting than anything else.

“Hey, Shinsou, do you think my quirk is a villain’s quirk?” Hizashi’s tone was completely serious and Shouta knew exactly where this conversation was going. It was about time, honestly.

“Wha- Of course not! Your quirk helps hundreds of people and can help in specialized situations where other heroes wouldn’t be able to help at all!” Shinsou, Shouta had found, was as much a hero fanboy as any of his other students. It was just that his heroes weren’t the ones that hit the hardest. “Honestly it’s utter bullshit-”

“Language.”

“Bullshit that you’re ranked as low as you are. You should at least be in the Top 25 if not the Top 10!” It was more effort than it should have been to not laugh at how red Hizashi’s face was.

Seeing his husband look to him, Shouta only smirked, waving it off with a little, “You asked for this.”

“Right, well, what would you say if I told you that my quirk was called a villain’s quirk when I was growing up?”

“That you’re lying.” The response was instant, but they could both see the uncertainty swirling in Shinsou’s eyes. “Aren’t you?”

“Nope!” The word was said cheerily, but Hizashi was fidgeting with his glasses, as if only absently remembering that he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses that day. “My quirk is pretty dangerous, herolet. I’ve hurt just as many people as I’ve helped - including myself.” For emphasis, Hizashi tapped his hearing aids, Shinsou’s eyes slightly widening. “I had a villain’s quirk and bright red eyes. I don’t think I need to tell you what they said about me.”

“No… I can guess well enough.” Shinsou fidgeted with his pouch for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip before he finally looked up to Hizashi, voice hushed and soft as he asked, “How did you become a hero?”

Hizashi leaned back and seemed to give the question thought, but Shouta already knew what he was going to say. “Honestly? I wouldn’t have made it without my friends and the teachers that believed in me. They showed me that my quirk could be used for good, and, well, someone important to me told me that my eyes were beautiful.” Hizashi shot a smirk at Shouta and Shouta had a moment where he had to contemplate murdering his husband as Shinsou choked on a laugh.

“Overall, I think I’ve done pretty good as a hero,” Hizashi laughed, wild and bright as he beamed at Shinsou. “Just like you are.” Not will. Are.

“Aizawa-sensei.” Shinsou sounded as if he was doing his best to keep his voice steady, even as he looked ready to cry. “Present Mic is my new favorite hero.”

While Hizashi flushed and blustered and waved his hands around, Shouta only smirked and reached over to ruffle Shinsou’s hair, “Yeah. He’s mine, too.”

[nightslain]

Sin, I got a ?.. How do you know if a muse is right for you? I am trying to find a muse, but having some trouble. I feel like so many characters only sORt of work well with me? I feel like I'm better suited for villains, but not many of them are actually pretty soft deep down (like, super soft) and I feel like that's what I'm naturally inclined to play. So I have a hard time vibing with a muse really strongly. Might have to make an OC, hm. If you know some good soft villains, tell me, haha..

In my experience, the best way to learn is always to do. Finding a muse well suited to you and your style is never an exact, predictable science and largely depends upon pure experimentation and playing by ear; speaking from experience, I’ve had a total of 24 independent muses on tumblr, and of them all, only 11 actually remain to the present day. I was pretty sure of my dedication to all of them at the point of their inception, but actually writing with them proved a different story. Some I just couldn’t gel with or thoroughly enjoy, some just were too difficult or awkward to apply to a roleplay setting and others simply proved to be a lot duller to write than I imagined them. I know I am meant for a muse when writing them is as easy as it is enjoyable--it comes to me naturally and I am not constantly stressing over how to emulate their speech, their body language, their thoughts, their beliefs--so on and so forth. I find the more I’m constantly struggling with my portrayal, the less that muse is suited to me and my particular writing style. If I can’t understand or entirely grasp a character as an author, regardless of how much I like them, I tend to get frustrated or flat-out bored very quickly. Leon is my magnum opus in the sense I have never been this consistently excited and happy to play a muse before him, nor spent nearly as much time constantly developing him down to the ridiculously tiny details and relishing in doing so. In short, he just came easily to me! I connect with him, his story and his themes very closely and feel like I have a good, comfortable grasp on who he is as a character, at least in my mind’s eye (even if I’m sure there are others that still would obviously not agree with my characterisation or parts thereof, which is a given.)

Some of my old muses though? I couldn’t even figure out how to consistently write their dialogue after months of working with them and felt generally uncomfortable trying to actually get my portrayal written down. The process was always tedious, difficult and unsatisfying to slog through. I just couldn’t do it! And in some cases, I just didn’t actually like the muse enough to really put the time in to make it work when the muse didn’t come as naturally as some do. Some characters you just can’t connect with on any real level when you try to work with them on grounds as personal as breathing life into them as a writer. Its a labour of love, after all! And some muses we just don’t love that much even if the idea of them is tantalising. It’s often surprising how little you like some muses you thought you loved once you’re the one trying to emulate their personality!

So my first piece of more general advice would be the following...

Experiment with any muses you’ve been fancying regardless of whether you think they align with your current ‘vibe--you never know what you will gel with until you try it proper--but don’t officially bring those muses to tumblr etc. until you’ve had some solid practice with them first. I’ve wasted so much time making blogs and aesthetics for muses that didn’t even last a month for any number of reasons, and to me personally, it was generally a pretty embarrassing affair to constantly hype up friends and followers to get excited for a new muse, only to permanently abandon them shortly thereafter when I didn’t like writing them as much as I thought I would and wanted out. Tumblr also enforces a lot of pressure by creating an environment where you can end up feeling obligated to write, obligated to constantly create content, obligated to attract and engage a lot of followers and this all ends up being conducive to burn-out; plus in some cases, can contribute to wanting to just abandon your blog when it starts being a chore instead of a fun hobby--something I don’t think is good for anyone, let alone newer roleplayers in the current climate of the tumblr RPC.

I’d advise you start by roleplaying over discord with your friends or in servers with the muse you’re experimenting with to get a feel for their character and how well they suit your writing style, or if you even enjoy them in the first place. I also heavily endorse ooc discussion and plotting with others alongside actual IC interactions. This is a great, low-pressure environment for developing a taste for a muse, fleshing them out, learning your unique style of portraying them and naturally, if you actually do want to commit to that muse after all. Much of the development and decision making behind my newer muses all began and is still on-going on discord, which helps keep me in check and keep my muses fresh and exciting to write for!

As for your dilemma with the type of muses you’re looking to adopt, I feel like your struggle is coming from the fact you specifically want ‘soft villains’ which are in remarkably short supply simply because...well, villains are typically meant to be villainous, not soft. I very rarely see characters embodying both traits at once because the two generally don’t mix, and people trying to play blatantly evil characters while simultaneously making them soft and kind (even if not overtly) tends to just come across as woobifying your bad guy, depending on the context of the character. Conflicted villains do exist, angsty villains do exist, complex, multi-faceted villains do exist, but the defining trait of an antagonist remains the same; they are bad people purposefully doing bad things. Softness doesn’t often come into the equation for straight-laced villains unless they are a) a reluctant antagonist or b) a repentant antagonist. But in the latter case especially, they cease to really be a villain at the point they decide not to do villainous things and repent/pay for their wrongdoings. 

In my opinion, what you need is a compromise between the two in which you can have the best of both worlds, and one of the better ways to explore both dynamics in one entity is to explore characters that were not always inherently evil or villainous but are pushed there by extreme circumstances and become almost distinct entities from their old selves. Characters that have a past of kindness and philanthropy that are twisted into villains by circumstance, environment or life experiences, or vice versa, will allow you to have two distinct verses where you can explore either side of the coin in peace, at any given point in their path to villainy (or from it) that you desire. A good example that might be pertinent to you is Hector from the CV game Curse of Darkness. He begins as a villain serving under Dracula with his abilities as a Devil Forgemaster, only to grow reluctant in his duties and eventually abandons Dracula and the castle altogether, deciding it would be best if Dracula’s reign of terror was ended. He also forsakes his abilities as a Forgemaster and retreats into living a mundane human life until the events of Curse of Darkness, where he actually assumes the role of a Hero. A really good textbook example of a complex, conflicted villain who ends up repenting for his involvement in the bigger antagonist’s doings and becoming a good guy. Highly recommend you check out his game and read the accompanying manga if you haven’t already, as he might be just what you’re looking for.

Another option is to choose a character that has an alter-ego of sorts. In my case, I also run a duo-muse blog consisting of two vampiric muses. The first is Ayin, a God-figure who is cruel, ruthless, barbaric and, for lack of a better word, purely evil. The second is Carvel, a “clone” of Ayin who retains all of the former’s godly powers, but is trying to save the world from his true self and from other vampires Ayin created that prey on humans. He is a good man that wants to protect others and would put his own life on the line to do it. Naturally, this gives me a lot of room to play with both sides of the coin whenever I happen to feel like it, and my muse tends to fluctuate heavily on the daily between whether I want to write for a nastier muse or a gentler one.

Last of all? Maybe choose an antihero. A character that’s kind of a dick on the surface but isn’t actually a textbook villain, and will come through to do the right thing when push comes to shove. These are in much greater abundance in the media since they’re a pretty standard archetype and I think you won’t have much trouble singling out a muse that fits that description. Also gives a lot of wiggle-room to play with where characterisation is concerned!  (I’ve been watching a lot of Yu-Gi-Oh with my best friend and girlfriend lately and tbh Seto Kaiba is a prime example of a anti-hero in that he is so blatant about his distaste for the protagonists but always comes through to save their GD lives every single time.)

It’s a little beyond me to suggest characters for you to consider adopting as a muse since, naturally, I have no idea who you are as a person or what characters you already enjoy except maybe those from the Castlevania franchise (hence my one and only recommendation thus far of Hector.) But the best thing for you to do is just experiment with handfuls of muses from any franchise you enjoy, practice them with your friends, and eventually you’ll strike gold with the one you know is for you. Just keep searching and just keep trying.

[amandaoftherosemire]

A Lost Hour

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff X Reader

Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2,807

Format: One-shot

Warning: Language, fluff, implied smut

Summary: On a mission alone with Natasha Romanoff, you try to keep from annoying her as you hide how much you adore her.

A/N: Written for @buckysforeverprincess’ Hop Into Spring 3K Challenge. Congratulations on 3000, darling!! You’re amazing and you deserve all the love and adoration! My prompt was “Don’t forget daylight savings.” Writing reader inserts is like exercising my brain (second person is not second nature, that’s for damn sure) because I like to make them as neutral as I can. Except, since I’m female, I tend to write from that perspective, which means that all of my reader inserts have been fem!reader. This time, I wanted to stretch my brain in a new direction, so I wrote as neutral as possible, including gender. Please feel free to let me know what you think, including ways I failed. I’m always trying to do better and learn more, so I’m absolutely open to criticism.

A Lost Hour

Natasha watched you out of her peripheral vision from across the motel room. You were standing at the other queen bed unpacking, laying out everything you’d need for the mission the next day, your movements brisk, economical, and lethally efficient for all you were humming what sounded like ‘Hollaback Girl’. Nat appreciated that when it came to the work, you were a silent, stone-cold professional. She would put you at her back any day of the week, her highest compliment.

That said, when you weren’t actively on a mission, you never seemed to stop making noise. If you weren’t talking, and somehow you never ran out of things to talk about, you were humming, singing, muttering, laughing, or just making weird noises with your mouth. If she was the sort who gave in to such things, you could have her literally climbing the walls like the spider for which she was named.

To be fair, it wasn’t that the noises were in reality all that irritating. No one else seemed to notice, for instance. If she was being honest, she wouldn't classify the sounds you made as irritating at all, really. What drove her crazy was that they made it impossible for Natasha to ignore you, though she'd never had that problem before.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on what made you so compelling to her. It wasn’t your looks, though she thought you incredibly attractive. That would never have been enough to capture her attention on its own, however. She’d used her own for both good and evil often enough to know how little beauty truly counted. The fair of face couldn’t catch her eye.

Though she most often pretended to ignore you, sometimes she put on that she found you annoying in order to insist that you be quiet. As a matter of fact, she found your voice, the sounds you made, too appealing. She had to concentrate to tune you out, her ear seeming to naturally tune itself to the timbre of your voice.

She also found your little rants funny, though she groaned as loudly as anyone when you started in on one. You had any number of random little pet peeves and there was no way to know when someone might inadvertently step into one in the course of normal conversation. When you got going, however, was when she found it most difficult to resist the urge to kiss that chattering mouth. Lately, it had only gotten worse.

Because though she could see that you found her physically attractive, she was almost certain you didn't really like her. She was painfully attuned to the tone of your voice and could hear it was often a touch colder when you spoke to her than when you spoke to any other member of the team. You were warm and pleasant with everyone, so it wasn't as though you were mean or rude even then; only Natasha would ever notice the difference.

She refused to let it bother her, but it made it easy to pretend she didn't like you right back.

Once she'd finished the double-check that she had what she needed for the mission in the morning, she repacked everything as it had gone in except for her night clothes and her toiletries bag. You had long since moved on to flipping through the channels, your preparations for the mission less meticulous than hers, though you were hardly sloppy or haphazard. You were still humming under your breath, but you were unusually quiet and she was having a hard time placing the melody.

You were watching Natasha out of the corner of your eye, trying to keep the humming to a minimum. You knew it drove her crazy and you were trying not to irritate her on this mission. You'd been half in love with her almost since you met her. You hated that you annoyed her, but you also couldn't change who you were, so you tried to stay as quiet as possible when she was around.

You'd hotly anticipated and deeply dreaded this mission. Any time you spent with Natasha was nerve-wracking, but an overnight mission, just the two of you sharing a motel room seemed like a recipe for disaster. Disaster for you, at least. You doubted Natasha would even notice you unless you irritated her by talking or humming too much, or if you fucked up your part of the plan.

You, on the other hand, were going to spend the next 24 hours on pins and needles, trying not to give away how absolutely magnificent you thought she was. Sometimes you went too far in the opposite direction, but it was better than her knowing you spent most of your time in her presence internally sighing dreamily

Obviously, she was beautiful. You had eyes; you could see she was gorgeous. You were no more immune to her appeal than the next person. That said, it was her strength that you found most captivating. In addition, you respected her competence and efficiency and you had a nice healthy fear of her lethality. You weren't frightened of her, but like a razor-sharp blade, you didn't take her bite lightly. Her capacity for loyalty had surprised you, but only until you got to know her. Her humor charmed you, made you wish you didn't annoy her because you found her hilarious.

Of all the things about her that made you wish you could at least be friends, however, it was the sweetness laying close to her bones. She hid it well but, where she cared, she was kind and deeply loving in her own quiet way. On more than one occasion, you'd had to start ranting about something stupid to cover for the puppy-dog-eyes you'd been giving her.

When she settled onto her bed with her tablet and a bottle of water, you spoke softly. "Do you want to pick?" you asked as you offered her the remote. "If you leave it up to me, I'll end up watching the crokinole championships on ESPN Twelve like a lunatic."

Natasha frowned a little and lifted puzzled eyes to yours. "What in the world is crokinole?"

You laughed and flipped back to the channel airing the niche game's championship. "Fuck if I know," you replied and settled back against the pillows with a grin, "but in about twenty minutes I bet I'm going to have a whole lot of opinions on technique and strategy."

A half an hour later, both you and Natasha were watching the classic dexterity game with rapt attention, discussing the ongoing bracket as though you'd been following the game for years. You'd looked up the rules on your phone, not that you really needed to. The point of the game was absolutely clear once you'd watched for even just a few minutes, but the Wikipedia page clarified some scoring questions the two of you had.

"Oops, he left a hanger," you were saying as Natasha's phone rang, Steve's number lighting up the screen. You snickered when you saw the picture she'd used for him; it was some promotional shot from the 40s when he was being used to sell war bonds and he had the dumbest cheesy grin on his face.

You loved that she teased Steve in this way, taking potshots at the public persona, the piece of propaganda rather than the private man or the real symbolism of the shield. Steve was one of those she cared about; you always enjoyed watching their dynamic at play.

“If he can pick up the twenty and knock the other guy’s puck into the gutter, I think he’s won it,” she replied as she swiped the screen. She’d gotten as into the game as you had, the two of you finally bonding a little. She didn't notice because she was answering the phone, but you were caught in full-blown puppy-dog-eyes mode.

You sat in silence, watching her smirk at Steve and assure him that she had things well in hand while you grinned at her like exactly what you were, a moron with a desperate crush.

“You’re on speaker if you’ve got anything to tell us both,” Natasha turned to focus on you as she hit the button on the screen. Her eyes met yours, warm and full of fun, then rounded ever so slightly in surprise at the lovesick smile on your face. For the first time, she wasn’t seeing any coolness or reserve in your eyes and she wanted it to never stop. She smiled timidly back at you.

“Just stay safe, watch each other’s backs, and don’t forget about daylight savings.” Steve’s voice snapped you out of it, made you aware you were being stupidly obvious in the way you were staring at Natasha. The smile on her face was almost shy and sweet and was making your heart gallop like a thoroughbred. You latched on to the last thing Steve said like a lifeline.

“Ugh! I hate daylight savings!” You fell backward onto the bed with a groan of annoyance, partly to be dramatic, but mostly to stop looking at Natasha. “Especially Spring forward. You know the whole thing’s pointless, right? It doesn’t even do what it’s supposed to, and some think it’s actively detrimental. But no, we keep doing it because we’re stup—"

“I’m on it, Cap,” Natasha cut you off with a good-natured chuckle as she got up to sit next to you on your bed. She patted your knee affectionately as she finished the phone call and hung up. You propped yourself up on your elbows and watched her, nervous but oddly excited.

Natasha had never been this friendly before.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” she said quietly. This evening with you, learning the intricacies of a game neither of you had heard of before, had seduced her in ways she’d never thought to expect, let alone guard against. The uncomplicated adoration she’d seen on your face as you looked at her gave her the confidence to speak bluntly.

“No!" you cried, distressed that you'd made her think so when you thought so highly of her. You gave her a sheepish smile and ducked your head. "I know I can be annoying,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “I don’t want to irritate you by scampering after you.”

Her mouth curved and her eyelids lowered in an expression both earthy and ethereal. Your heart skipped and you knew you were in way over your head. “You’re not irritating or annoying,” she said. When doubt flickered across your face, she felt a pang of remorse. “You’re distracting,” she murmured.

“Distracting?" You frowned a little, not sure if that was a compliment or not. "Is that good or bad?” you asked, a little breathless. The look on her face was making your heart race.

“Well," she said softly, and leaned in ever so slightly. You were painfully aware of every movement she made, and your breath caught in response. "That depends." You had seen her flirt for work; this was nothing like that. Her eyes were direct, her body language straightforward, and you would swear that she was trying to be as honest as she could.

"On?" you prompted and sat up. You and she were face to face now, but neither of you moved, though you were both practically holding your breath in anticipation.

The corner of her mouth lifted in the slightest of smiles, your eyes following the movement with meticulous care as you waited for her next words with a heart pounding in desperate hope. "On if I'm trying to ignore you," she replied, her smile spreading and her eyes turning surprisingly shy. "I tend to ignore that which I don't think I can have. Or whom."

Her eyes seemed to sear into yours, the dreamy green going sharp as jade. You shifted forward a fraction of an inch, your hand twitching towards hers before you stopped it, terrified to overstep and fuck up this exhilarating conversation. "And I don't know how to shut up, especially when I'm nervous."

Natasha wasn't smiling now, but you had absolutely no idea what she was thinking, her expression inscrutable. "I make you nervous?"

You gave a quick, disbelieving laugh. "Have you met you?" You didn't know why, because she hadn't moved, but you started to feel like she was leaning away from you. You kept talking, because you were terrified you were fucking this up, and you always talked too much when freaked out. "Between your strength and skill, oof, and your mind, you'd be the most intimidating woman on the planet. Add in the humor on top of everything else and you're spectacular. I'm astonished whenever I manage not to babble."

By the time you managed to shut yourself up, she was smiling again. You didn't know it, but she had thought you were going to start yammering on about her physical appearance and nothing was more likely to make her dismiss someone as not worth her time. Marks underestimated her because of her looks; she didn't waste her real self on marks. Instead, you were charming her with your chattering about how intimidating you found her, not her face. "So, you're telling me I don't need to ignore you."

"Not if you don't want to," you said, making her smile wider with your earnestness. You went on, shy yourself this time. "And if you don't mind if I babble."

Wasn't this a pleasant surprise? she thought. The discovery that you found her as appealing as she found you was the best thing she'd learned in a while. She decided to live a little and tell you the whole truth. "When you babble, it makes me want to kiss you."

Your eyes popped open and your mouth spread in a wide smile. You didn't know what had led to your good fortune, but you weren't going to question it. You licked your lips and your heart kicked when her eyes followed the movement. "Even when I babble about something stupid, like daylight savings?" you asked, audibly breathless.

She smirked a little. This time it was she who eased forward a little, causing you to sway toward her without thinking. She was close enough now that you could see the flecks of gold in her eyes and her mouth was close enough that you imagined you could feel her breath on your skin. That tempting mouth curved in amusement. "Especially when you babble about something stupid like daylight savings.”

"People think it's for farmers," you immediately launched into anything you could remember about why daylight savings sucks and is stupid, but you were barely thinking about the words coming out of your mouth, "but that doesn't make sense in a modern era with electric ligh--"

Natasha laughed, which had you slowing down, delighted to make her laugh out loud for the first time. She'd tell you later that she laughed internally at the things you said all the time. For now, you were simply enthralled at the sound of her laugh when you inspired it.

You didn't stop talking, however, until she took your face in her hands and stopped your words with a soft, almost tentative kiss. Slowly, gently, you slid your arms around her, pulling her close as she melted against you. She slid her arms around you in turn, enchanted by the soft generosity she found in your mouth, in your arms.

A long time later, she pulled away reluctantly, only to sink back in with a chuckle at the misty-eyed look of awed adoration you gave her. Silent and smiling, you'd been struck speechless and so opted to let her have her way, happy to follow where she led.

The next morning at 5:00 AM, according to the phone buzzing next to the bed, and 4:00 AM according to your body, Natasha leaned across you to turn off the alarm. When it was quiet in the impersonal dark of the motel room once more, she snuggled back down under the covers, her arm sliding around your waist as she rested her head on your shoulder. You smiled at the ceiling, delighted by the sunset cloud currently tickling your nose.

"You're right. I hate daylight savings," she murmured.

"See!" you whispered hotly as you cuddled close, delirious at the feel of her satin skin sliding against yours and incensed that you were going to have to give it up soon. "If not for daylight savings I’d get to spend another hour in bed with you. It's fucking stupid." That was as far as you got before Nat was rising over you in the dark to press her mouth against yours again.

For the first time in either of your careers, you nearly missed a mission because of daylight savings.

The End

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[enbyleighlines]

I'd love to see interactions between Wen Qing and Nie Huaisang in your modern au, with or without Jiang Cheng being present. Just curious about how the poly dynamics settle.

Ooooh, yes! This is a great prompt! Thank you so much for the suggestion, anonymous~

—

Nie Huaisang stands at the foot of a cement staircase. They lead to a rather ornate door, which is far fancier than the apartment building it’s attached to.

This is Nie Huaisang’s first time in this part of town. They double-check the address on the mailbox to the one they’ve scribbled down on a piece of scrap paper. The numbers match. Nie Huaisang has successfully found Wen Qing’s place of residence.

Nie Huaisang does not feel particularly accomplished. The dominant emotion in their chest at the moment is panic. Their anxiety keeps them rooted in place, as though their black flats are somehow glued to the sidewalk. This frozen state is so strong that it prevents Nie Huaisang from acting on their impulse to flee the scene.

There isn’t any rational reason to be afraid. Or so Nie Huaisang tells themself.

Wen Qing invited them here. Wen Qing is a rational woman. Wen Qing sounded perfectly reasonable when she talked to them on the phone. Hence, it is very unlikely that she will attempt to stab Nie Huaisang to death with a kitchen knife.

But they are dating the same man, and jealousy can do weird things to the human brain. Nie Huaisang knows that all too well. Though their friendship with Wei Wuxian is entirely platonic, Nie Huaisang has been a repeat target of Lan Wangji’s icy stare of death. It just goes to show that love is irrational.

So Nie Huaisang is stuck in limbo. They said they would come, so backing out now might only add fuel to the fire of Wen Qing’s anger. But it’s hard to climb stairs when one is chilled to the bone with fear.

It’s an unpleasant state of being. Nie Huaisang considers the possibility of being stuck there forever.

Then the ornate door opens.

Wen Qing stands in the threshold, one hand on her hip. She’s in casual wear— sweatpants on the bottom, and a simple tank and flannel cardigan combo on top. Her hair is in a lop-sided bun, too. It’s the kind of outfit that says, ‘I’m determined to enjoy the hell out of my day off.’

Nie Huaisang can respect that.

“Are you going to come in?” Wen Qing asks with a quirked brow, “I’m brewing some coffee, if that helps.”

“Coming!” Nie Huaisang says.

—

Besides the coffee brewer, the kitchen is eerily silent. Nie Huaisang sits at the small table at the window. It has a nice view of the street outside, and the park down the block, if one cranes their head enough to look for it.

The kitchen itself is small and cluttered, but there’s obviously a method to the madness. Any papers and books are stacked neatly, and the knick-knacks are evenly spaced throughout the room. It’s the kind of space that would look far more organized if only the room were larger.

Wen Qing leans against the counter. She is watching the coffee drip, as the carafe slowly fills.

It is just as awkward as Nie Huaisang feared it would be.

Then Wen Qing says, “I suppose I should preface this with the fact that, as hard as it is to believe, I’m not a jealous person. I’ve never been much interested in commitment when it comes to dating. I prefer keeping things casual.”

Nie Huaisang blinks at her.

“Obviously, that didn’t happen with Jiang Cheng,” Wen Qing continues, “I didn’t mean to catch feelings, but here we are. So that’s what I’m struggling with.”

Nie Huaisang thinks about that. But, to be honest, they don’t quite understand. “You... don’t want to love him?”

The word ‘love’ has a strange effect on Wen Qing. She unexpectedly reverts from a confident young woman to a self-conscious schoolgirl in her body language. “Oh,” she says, fiddling with a loose strand of hair, “I... we haven’t been calling it love. Not yet.”

Now that’s also perplexing. Nie Huaisang has never understood the tendency for some people to tiptoe around the L word.

“But that’s neither here nor there,” Wen Qing speaks up, after gathering her composure, “I asked you to come over because I want to make a selfish request, and it has to be done face to face.”

“What selfish request?” Nie Huaisang asks. This conversation is not going the way they had anticipated at all, and now curiosity is replacing fear.

Wen Qing sighs. It’s appropriately dramatic, and Nie Huaisang approves.

“Originally,” Wen Qing admits reluctantly, “I had intended to step aside, as soon as it became apparent that the two of you were compatible.”

Nie Huaisang can’t help it; they gasp.

“I thought it would be best,” Wen Qing explains, “Jiang Cheng cares about me, but our relationship needs are very different. I need time to be alone, to be able to think and focus on my work. Jiang Cheng wants someone to dote on; he likes to feel needed. He will swear up and down that he���s fine with our relationship being casual, but I think he’s just too stubborn to admit we’re not as compatible as he’d like to believe.”

Nie Huaisang listens attentively. A flurry of emotions beats against their chest. It’s hard to identify them individually. “So,” they say, “you intend to... break up with him?”

“That’s where the selfish part comes into play.” Wen Qing rubs the back of her neck, grumbling incoherently to herself for a moment. “I hate to say this,” she tells them, “but I don’t think I can bear breaking up with him. Like I said before, I didn’t intend to catch feelings. But I did. And maybe the rational response is to nip this in the bud now, but... I also want to see if we can make it work, despite the odds.”

“Ahh.” Nie Huaisang is not stupid, although they like to pretend. They can see where this is going. “You want to try out a poly relationship.”

Wen Qing nods.

“I’m just confused about one thing,” Nie Huaisang says, “I... I just kind of assumed that’s what we were already doing?”

Wen Qing snorts. “Ah, well, unofficially.... yes. But Jiang Cheng and I still call ourselves casual, and you’ve only been dating him a couple of weeks. So it’s not like either of us have been going steady — as the kids would say — with him.”

That earns a giggle from Nie Huaisang. “That’s true,” they admit.

“I think you two are a great match,” Wen Qing says, seemingly out of nowhere, “I’ve seen the way Jiang Cheng lights up when he talks about you. You’re... well, don’t take this personally, but you’re kind of high maintenance.”

Nie Huaisang is not offended. They laugh and mime fanning themself like a Southern belle. “That’s fair.”

“Like I said earlier, Jiang Cheng likes to feel needed. You make him feel needed.”

“Mm.” Nie Huaisang nods thoughtfully. “You know, I’ve also noticed that. Jiang Cheng grumbles and gripes whenever someone asks him for a favor, but it puts a little extra spring in his step. And he absolutely blows his top if I ask someone else for a favor instead of him.”

Wen Qing smiles warmly. There’s affection lighting up her eyes as she says, “He’s the same way with me. If I go too long without asking him for a favor, he just starts offering to do things for me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Nie Huaisang murmurs. Like cooking popcorn, wicked, wonderful ideas are suddenly bounding around inside their brain.

The coffee machine makes a horrid gurgling sound as it finishes its long and arduous process of filling the carafe. Wen Qing busies herself with preparing them both a mug. She also puts out cream and sugar on the table, though she makes no move to put either in her own cup.

Nie Huaisang, in contrast, is very generous in adding cream and sugar to their coffee.

“So,” Wen Qing says, “Are you okay with trying out a poly relationship? Of course, we’ll have to iron out all the details with Jiang Cheng present. But first, I wanted to make sure that it’s something that you’d be open to.”

Nie Huaisang doesn’t have to think about it. “Of course,” they answer, “On one condition.”

“Oh?”

Here, Nie Huaisang allows themself to be a little mischievous. “Poly relationships rely on complete honesty from all parties, right?”

“Yes?”

Nie Huaisang nods sagely. They channel every villain role they’ve ever wanted to play as they say, “Then, in that case, you need to be honest about your feelings for Jiang Cheng, in front of Jiang Cheng.”

Wen Qing stares at him blankly. Then, realization starts to creep in.

“You have to use the L word.”

[dewitty1]

Chapters: 47/47 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald (brief mentions), Sirius Black/Remus Lupin (very brief mentions), Assorted background canonical pairings Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Most everyone who appeared in canon Additional Tags: Horcrux Hunting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animagus, Dragons, References to Switching, super slow burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Brief scene of dubious consent (medicinal aphrodisiac), brief homophobic language, Minor Character Deaths, Patronuses, Mates/Mating, Sexual Content, Canon Rewrite Summary:

[Extensive re-telling of Deathly Hallows] ‘Kill Albus Dumbledore’ is less a challenging task and more a suicide mission, so when Draco Malfoy is presented with the option to either dispatch his Headmaster or suffer an excruciating and most ignominious death of his own, along with his parents, he reaches deep into his black little Slytherin heart and manages to scrape together enough courage to go with option C instead: Spend Sixth Year secretly studying Animagecraft in the hopes he’ll turn into something sufficiently imposing even the Dark Lord himself won’t be able to keep Draco under his thumb. But just his luck, his Animagus form turns out to be a dragon, and a rather randy juvenile at that, intent on finding its mate: one Harry James Potter.

Excerpt:

Malfoy really wasn’t helping anything; this was going to be difficult enough as it was, but with Malfoy griping and complaining the whole way, it was going to be downright dismal.

They were adults; surely they could be mature about this. Probably. “Well—think of it this way: you stopped fighting the urge to transform, and it didn’t turn out so bad, did it? Maybe this will work out the same.”

Malfoy sneered. “I’ve heard tell of your snogging prowess, Potter; trust my expectations are at the ground floor.”

And now Malfoy had bruised his ego. Harry’s patience could take quite a beating, but this was a bridge too far. “Oh, and you’re so much better at it? Felt like you were going to gnaw my face off earlier.” It wasn’t entirely the truth, but he took the swipe anyway.

“I’m at least the more experienced between us,” Malfoy said, studying his nails.

“Sure about that, are you? You’ve only ever seen me at school—but you know I’ve spent my summers with my Muggle relatives, and when I’m not with them, I’m with the Weasleys, who live near a lovely wizarding village of several hundred.” Harry could count the number of times he’d set foot in Ottery St. Catchpole on one hand, but Malfoy didn’t need to know that.

Malfoy’s expression darkened at the implication, and Harry felt a brief flicker of concern; perhaps it wasn’t the smartest of ideas to trigger what were likely deep veins of jealousy and possessiveness.

He took a steadying breath and paced out a circle, letting their tempers cool. “…Look, I know this isn’t ideal—” Malfoy snorted as if to say No, really? “But we’ve both got far bigger, more important issues to focus on now, so let’s just…do this, so we can move on?”

“Fine,” Malfoy ground out, wrinkling his nose. “…Try again, if you must. I’ll try to tamp down the urge to clock you this time.”

“Wh—now?” Harry blinked, thrown. He hadn’t realised Malfoy would expect them to just get right to it.

“Backing out, Potter?” Malfoy arched a brow, lips pressed into a thin, judging line. Like he’d known Harry would try and weasel out of the agreement. “What was all that talk for, then?”

“No, just—I mean, I thought…” Well obviously, whatever he’d thought, he’d thought wrong, and he should have seen this coming. Malfoy had been dancing on the edge of a breakdown for several days now, and with potential salvation so near at hand, the urge to claw back some of that reassurance and confidence would be nigh unbearable. “…All right.”

Malfoy swallowed, throat bobbing, and uncrossed his arms. He was holding himself stiff as a rail, and he looked terrified.

“Did you…want to close your eyes again?”

“No I did not. Just get it over with.”

Malfoy’s voice broke just on the end, and he seemed to bite his tongue in frustration. Harry took several measured steps forward until the toes of his trainers kissed the tips of Malfoy’s fancy leather loafers—where had he dug out all these spells for this ridiculously fashionable wardrobe?

Was he meant to touch Malfoy? They hadn’t discussed etiquette—and at this point, Harry didn’t really want to. Discussing it was nearly as bad as doing it, so he decided to play it by ear. Touch was something that he knew settled Malfoy, at least on a subconscious level. If Malfoy didn’t want Harry touching him, he would surely let Harry know.

He brought his hands up and let them rest just at the knobby joint of Malfoy’s elbows, steadying the both of them in the tentative embrace. 

He could feel the fine thread of tension racing through Malfoy’s sinewy body, stretched tight and taut and ready to snap in the next strong breeze. 

Slowly, so as not to spook, Harry traced the jut of bone, memorising it, like Malfoy had done to him after the close call in Godric’s Hollow. He felt the tension ease, though only a hair, and Malfoy released a soft, haggard breath.

Harry found himself suddenly over-conscious of his technique. His earlier boasts of experience had been pure bravado, and while Harry was not entirely ignorant of the dynamics of kissing someone, he was certainly no Casanova. He and Malfoy were the worst people in the world to be stuck doing this. They were both equally terrified of losing face in front of the other, and both able to cut each other particularly cruelly if they felt so inclined. When it came down to it, Harry thought he’d probably rather kiss Voldemort than Malfoy, if only because he didn’t really care what Voldemort thought of him.

He did care what Malfoy thought of him, though. It was curious to think, but true. He didn’t want to seem cruel, or insensitive. He had so much power over Malfoy right now, in so many respects, and he wanted to show Malfoy that this trust he was obliged to place in Harry—this trust he would never have freely offered—was not unappreciated and not something Harry took lightly. He wanted to show him he appreciated the efforts Malfoy was making—though the steps were small at times, and he backslid on occasion.

The larger battle they were embroiled in now, together, made these smaller ones seem so inconsequential, and he just wanted to stop wasting his energy on these pointless fights so they could focus on the more important ones.

Harry lifted his chin, tilting his head just to the side so that the tips of their noses brushed—and Malfoy inhaled sharply, holding his breath. Harry stole his moment, leaning forward to bring their lips together. They held there for a long beat, neither moving, with mouths clamped shut and lips pursed tight. It was nothing like the heat and bruising force Malfoy had used on Harry earlier, and Harry felt a bolt of panic spear through him. He hadn’t a clue where to go from here—when the other party was this unenthusiastic, generally it was good manners to stop—and any moment now, Malfoy was going to realise he’d been bluffing and storm off in a strop.

But then Malfoy let his mouth fall open, just a hair, and a breathy little sigh escaped. Harry gave a gentle tug on Malfoy’s elbows to draw him down, closer, and he deepened the kiss. Malfoy’s hands slid up to curve around the back of Harry’s shoulders, clutching the fabric of his shirt with an edge of desperation, and he let Harry nibble on the soft of his lip. He pressed forward, for more contact, and Malfoy met him, turning into the pressure and running his tongue over the seam of Harry’s lips, like he’d done before.

It was slick, and hot, and bloody brilliant. Another way to make Malfoy shut up, aside from the occasional little sigh or catch of breath, and if Harry just focused on the sensations, gave himself over to it, it was…really not bad. 

Not bad at all. 

Too easy, in fact, to forget who he was doing this with and why. Too easy to just let it happen, to do it.

Harry took an open-mouth breath, and Malfoy’s tongue slipped between his lips, brushing against Harry’s. It was alarmingly hot, but Harry struggled to find the will to break the kiss to address it. It probably wasn’t important. Probably. He nipped Malfoy’s lower lip, then laved his tongue over it in apology. “…Is your tongue getting hot because you’re about to puke fire, or…?”

“Dunno…” Malfoy’s pointy nose was digging into Harry’s cheek, and his lashes fluttered against Harry’s. “Should we stop, to be safe?”

“Nah…” Harry said, muzzily, and laid down a soft, insistent kiss at the corner of Malfoy’s mouth, encouraging him to turn into it at a lovely angle that let Harry cover Malfoy’s lips wholly with his own. They moved with a gentle, languid rhythm that Harry could get drunk on, and what had he been worried about? How had he thought he could screw this up? They fit perfectly, so warm and right, and it was like Malfoy read his mind—couldMalfoy read his mind? Oh, what if they used Legilimency and—

A hand came to rest on Harry’s hip, though, and Malfoy drew back, their noses brushing. Harry’s breath was coming in warm, short huffs, and he felt flushed all over. His lips tingled, plumped and full, and he tamped down a giddy little grin, tilting his head to press in again—but then Malfoy pulled back, properly, and glanced away, covering his mouth with his arm and clenching his eyes shut tight.

Harry tensed. “What? Wh—did I do—”

Malfoy just shook his head, taking a step back. With the distance came fresh air, and each breath cleared the haze from Harry’s mind just a bit more. He took a moment to put his head back on straight while Malfoy collected himself.

Fuck. He’d just been snogging—full on snogging—Draco Malfoy. And…and he’d kind of liked it. Granted, that had been the point of the whole exercise: human contact, intimacy, and that damned reassurance. 

The dragon had to be purring like a kitten after that display, surely. Harry could say, unequivocally, that he’d never done anything like that with…well, anyone.

 If Malfoy needed further reassurance that he was not someone Harry was going to dismiss so easily, that he was not someone Harry was disgusted to touch, Harry didn’t know how he could express it. 

He’d had Malfoy’s tongue halfway down his throat, for god’s sake.

[hildorien]

I am in the minority but I’d love to know more about the pre-noldor elvish edain culture, history, and just life. 

I wanna know more about men in the context of men, I wanna see history through human eyes without the elvish perspective. 

I wanna know the full experiences of all humans in middle earth not the ones the elves interacted with. And if you have to have elves, I wanna hear about what humans thought of elves that isnt ‘oh they are so perfect and amazing and beautiful uwu’, because that’s kind of boring and we can all agree first age elves? on the whole? pretty shitty. (I love em but they have one brain cell to share among them and fuck up on the regular). 

I wanna see Humans who were born into a dumpster fire that is the world of arda, these are a people who didn’t get Orome leading them to heaven on earth, they got Morgoth. These are a people who lived in Morgoth’s land for centuries who probably experienced horror and oppression from basically their species infancy. Unlike the elves of valinor, or even the Sindarin protected by Melian, horror and despair would have not been their abnormal, it would be their everyday.  But they aren’t broken, they survive. They make families, connections, lives in this wasteland. They adapt and change, because I think in some ways that is the race of men’s true advantage over elves. That we don’t have a gap on our ‘greatness’ persay, humanity’s ambitions get’s mutated into greed a lot (I mean numenor is a dumspter fire for a reason) but I think that human ambition is a strength because it means we don’t accept our circumstances. The Edian sure didn’t. 

The edain, the Boerians, the people of haleth, and the hadorians, all marched themselves out of morgoth’s land hoping for something better, with NO GUARANTEE they find anything better.  But they still did it. And while we are here, let’s talk about how the race of men has not guarantee of anything, like elves (and dwarves) kind of know where they end up. They go to Mandos and get reborn, they go to aule, respectively. Men...don’t have that. Men really didn’t get anything (but Morgoth and suffering). They leave this world forever, thats what they know. Thats what they are told. 

But no one knows what the means. (Personally, I think its like a good place situation kind of. Eru is just michael and turin is janet) 

But anyway back to the POINT, (if there ever was one) the edain end up finding beleriand but beleriand isn’t the paradise they wanted. But hey, its not morgoth so let’s celebrate said the beorians before promptly getting found by finrod. And look elves did a lot of good for humans, but I also think there is this really bad dynamic of elves holding all the power and men just being in it for the ride. 

Ive made the joke that the elves of the first age are kind of like the edian’s sugar daddies but it’s kind of true. They give them land and like ‘wisdom’ (whatever the fuck that means) and in return men give them their ever increasing numbers. The Silm is a very elven story we don’t really get a lot of human, but when we do I think it’s pretty interesting. Because the relationship between Elves and Men is really uneven in the first age...and all ages even though in later ages forces of men like numenor at their height could I think easily sweep the floor with the elves of the second age combined. I think culturally Elves give a lot more, like men end up picking up their language, though im one hundred percent sure human languages didn’t die out and never do, humans must have shit talked elves a LOT in taliska (oh yes, that is the name of at least the language spoken by the hadorians and beorians, the people of haleth spoke a different dialect) and I think a lot of humans give more in resources (aka men, power, infantry). I mean personally if I was having at a guess I don’t think (as the latecomers) men got very many places to actually farm and have good land and relied on elvish goods to survive. I think this unevenness kind of spurred this idea that ‘elvishness = superior’, so to make this full circle I think a lot of pre edain culture was lost to make place for diet pepsi version of elf culture that we see human cultures like numenor and gondor have, because that’s better than their orn because elves are SPECIal BETTER AND DON’T DIE LIKE US BROKEN AND FALLEN PEOPLE.  ((screams)) 

Okay let’s talk about the death thing. Human and Mortal and Men all mean the same thing, humans die is not a statement that should be up for debate. But the humans of edain, at least from what we see of Andreth is that this was not how it always was. Humans were once immortal like the elves until they were bad and listened to morgoth and then they became mortal and all sick and ew. 

yeahhhh, I don’t think thats true. I think in-universe its a great myth. I love finrod ah andreth for this reason (also andreth is tolkien’s best female character he ever created and the fact that she’s not in the published silm is why we are in the bad timeline) , but I think humans...always were mortal. 

And thats okay. 

We talked about human ambition above, I think that is fueled by the fact that we all die. We have a timer, so we have to do things now, and that’s not a bad mindset to have. I think it gets humjans into trouble but also, imagine your a human in beleriand, you have children, a family, they might have children someday you want to do what you need to do to make sure THEY have a chance. 

(also lets talk about the fucked up fact that humans are punished for lsitening to morgoth in the first place like im sorry that humans didnt have any other valar looking for them, there was no orome, no fucking chance that they could have met anyone else because no valar came for them only morgoth with his lies so yes humans are bad for listening to the only god like entity that seemed like he wanted to help them, the elves did that too but they had nice gods so they are wise while humans who have illness and sickness and death over their heads listen to a guy with power okay jirt i see your double fuckig stnarad and its STUPID) 

And you can’t wait for that chance, so you leap. I think this is best illustrated by Turin of all people. Turin gets called elvish a lot in looks but in actions, he, like most of his family, are allllllllll human. The bridge in nargothrand even though it’s stupid and ends up horribly kind of reminds me of this. Turin doesn’t have time to wait like Gwindor, and Orodreth, etc do. his people have already been fucking disomated, he’s lost his father, his mother is trapped in enemy territory.  He wants to help. 

Sure it blows up in his face, but yknow...the want to do good is there. 

I think on the whole humans get a bad rep...like they’re called stupid and dumb and ugly by both fandom and in universe elves alike. But I don’t think that’s the case. Humans have a lot more balls and have collectively been through more trauma as a species than I think all of the elves (especially valinorian) elves combined. I think when humans fuck up, whether it be turin or numenor, it’s proof of their incompetence, that their inante (eru-given ability) to have ambition to seek beyond the world they live in for something better for something more is evil and they should be more like the elves, stagnant, already at the height of ‘perfection’, never changing....instead of being humans. Like look at these fools trying to act like than can be GOOD at something, sit down and let these elves be best at everything obviously. How many of you would look at me funny if I said, maybe the race of men was BETTER THAN THE ELVES AT SOMETHING? A lot of you im sure, and someone would have a rebuttle for how I was wrong and how this elf was considered the best. 

(like that post going around how could turin actually be #that pretty to thot his way through all of beleriand? Maybe he just Was like that, sure he may have a little elvish ness but honestly I think that be a funny thing elves say to cover up the fact some elves found a icky human was actually just that fucking hot, because obviously humans could never be that actually hot ever, not to intangle a sindarin mast of a guard, a NOLDORIAN VANYAR-DESSCENT PRINCESS, ect) 

Also just to go back to numenor, ever want an example of why it doesnt work for men to act like elves...look at numenor, early numenor was as elvish as humans could produce....but then they got bored. And then numneor became an empire and everyone eventually had so much of a bad time, eru reshaped the fucking world just to wipe the valar’s ‘humans but better’ ocs off the face of the planet. Like just to stray off topic I personally think men can’t go to valinor 1) because the two trees are actually nuclear, and the whole damn island is chernobyl instant death right there and thats why the valinor elves are like #that (they GLOW for gods shake) 2) the monotonous never changing perfection of valinor while amazing in the short term for humans would eventually drive them crazy. Not to say that the race of men doesn’t like some peace and quite or even humans (like myself) can be obverse to change, even I can admit doing the same thing ever day would drive me crazy. 

This got super rambly, but its been a lot of thoughts Ive been having for a long ass time. Basically, I just want people to talk to me about the atani, edian, race of men, whatever you want to call them. They deserve a lot better and a lot more respect than just playing a supporting role to the elves. 

They didn’t kill all those dragons to be ignored like this. 

[samingtonwilson]

Comforting Kisses

continuation of first (and second) kisses but can be read on its own.

next part: morning kisses

Summary: comforting kisses prompt- B takes A’s hands first, kissing their knuckles and palms. Then B reaches up to hold A’s face, pressing soft kisses around their cheeks, their lips, murmuring “it’s okay” and “you’re alright” and “I’m here” in between.

Pairing: bucky x reader

Warnings: language, slightly angsty, slightly fluff, sad bucky

A/N: that gif has nothing to do with the fic but he’s sad in it and he’s sad in this fic so. it works. also i love him in that gif bye. ALSO this is likely my favorite fic i’ve ever written n if it doesn’t do numbers i’ll be angry. im sorry if the read more break is acting up, but it’s on there.

The clear plastic binder sat open in your lap, laminated script pages barely readable in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Only the six-foot tall standing lamp beside the velvet loveseat upon which you sat and the far-too-expensive Jo Malone lime basil and mandarin candles constituted your sources of light, the soft chimy music you’d asked FRIDAY to play pouring through the overhead speakers as the only sounds aside from the calming voice you spoke in.

The air smelled divine and you were tempted to stop your scripted speech to tell Sam as such, though you were still unsure as to if the candles were worth their hefty price tag. But you stayed on-book— Sam needed the guided meditation and you promised to deliver.

“Now focus on your breathing. Notice each breath but only observe. Do not try to change your breathing in any way.”

You looked up at Sam when you paused. Smiling at the slow rising and falling of his chest as he sat perched in the center of your unnecessarily plush and large bed, you took a deep breath of your own before continuing. “If any thoughts arise, acknowledge them and let them go softly and calmly. Return your attention to your breathing.”

You did this for one another often. Sometimes Sam would sit in the exact place you were with a similar script, ocean soundscapes emitting from the speakers as he read and you focused on your breathing, on imagining the mist of waves sprinkling across your skin soothingly, on the wind and salt tangling your hair and making your eyelashes dewy.

Other times, such as this very moment, you would read lines to Sam with the intention of doing away his anxiety. You would tell him to focus on his breathing, on the feeling of the wind washing over him as if he were flying— but without the carbon fiber wings, without the red-tinted goggles and the itchy tactical trousers. Without the pressure of a mission, without the tension of a mission, without the voices and grunts and screams shaking his eardrums as they droned from the comms.

Of course, the two of you never told the others. Though you knew it was far from likely that any of the universe’s mightiest heroes would poke fun, something about your deepest insecurities being broadcasted to a large set of super-people, even super-people that would understand, burrowed itself under your skin and made you feel itchy.

After all, as an Avenger, you were expected to behave a certain way, look a certain way, feel a certain way— and while each of you deviated from that media-enforced norm, you kept up the image. For your own sanity’s sake and for everyone else’s, you weren’t going to be the reason Steve Rogers lost his hair after a hundred years and Natasha Romanoff lost her cool for the first time in thirty.

You’d known Sam a while, however. You knew about Riley, about the nightmares that sometimes still kept him up at night, about the heartbreak he repeatedly experienced at the VA— he knew he couldn’t save everyone as the Falcon or Sam Wilson, but somehow he still expected himself to. He knew about your demons as well, about the scars that lay scattered over and under your skin, and was the only person for which you’d allowed such a thing.

He’d told you countless times to allow Bucky the same courtesy, especially now that the two of you were… whatever you were. He assured you that Bucky cared for you just as you cared for him, that Bucky would want to hear what you had to say, that Bucky would want to help you in any way he could.

But he never pressured you. He knew Bucky was busy working past the shackles that may have no longer physically restrained him but were still digging sharply into every one of his cells, and he couldn’t imagine what it must have taken Bucky to allow you to come so close. Obviously he was not knowledgeable on the finite details of your… whatever you were with Bucky, but he had an inkling of the limits each of you had set from just knowing both parties. Both stubborn as fuck, scared as fuck, touch-starved as fuck but terrified of the outcome of trying to change that parties.

You thought Bucky’s hands and lips alone almost broke the dam— and the inclusion of anything else, of having him literally bury himself inside you, would desecrate it. You knew once you’d crossed that line once, it would never be enough. But you also knew that, for him, it likely would be. After all, he looked pained enough after every single soft kiss. You couldn’t imagine his agony, his fear, his utter misery at even the prospect of anything more.

It was when you seamlessly flowed into the lines about soaring through a perfect night sky with stars and glittering far-off planets that a scream cut through the calm atmosphere.

After a brief and painful squeeze, your heartbeat immediately picked up so the tired organ slammed against your ribs hard enough to make your bones shake. You swallowed over a dry throat and narrowed your eyes at the pages.

You didn’t speak for some time as another scream was torn the floor above you. You found yourself unable to read the pages— blurriness occluded your vision and you were unable to blink or will it away.

Sam said your name softly and you jumped, eyes wide as they met his. He offered you a small smile that glowed even in the limited lighting. “Go.”

Staring at him for a moment only led to shaking your head. You cleared your throat and squinted at the pages. “The, um— The stars surround— The—”

“FRIDAY, lights, please. Dim,” he requested gently. As the lights came up slowly, he tilted his head and he inspected your expression. “Baby girl, go upstairs. He needs you.”

Incredulously, you shook your head. “He doesn’t want me there.”

“He doesn’t wan—” Sam scoffed. “He wants you there, he wants you wherever he is.”

“He recoils when I touch him, Sam. That first kiss is all I’ve gotten out of him that’s made me feel remotely wanted.”

Sam offered you a disbelieving, dry look of his own. “Trick, get your ass upstairs.”

Your laugh was borne of a gasp, your smile easy as you shut the binder and climbed off the loveseat. “Blow the candles out and put them away before you leave.”

You heard him hum curtly and saw him wave a dismissive hand as you walked out of the room, socks sliding across sealed concrete floors to the stairs.

You nodded once in greeting at a visibly shaken Wanda, her emerald eyes wide as if she’d given into temptation and looked for even a millisecond into Bucky’s mind as he whimpered from behind the door she stood beside, the screams done and over but the heartbreak of the softer sounds not any less.

You set your hand on her shoulder and winced to yourself when she jumped. “Wan, angel, I can handle it from here.”

Glistening eyes, still disoriented, met yours and she nodded stiffly. “He’s— There’s so much.”

“I know there is, I know.” When she leant into your touch, you wrapped her in a hug, running a smooth hand over her back. “Will you be okay?”

She nodded a little more fluidly. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just— Take care.”

You smiled at her retreating figure. “I will.”

A steadying breath filled your lungs and you pushed Bucky’s door open, limited compound ground lights streaming through thin, gauzy drapes and bleeding across his sweat-soaked skin.

He sat, shoulders hunched, in his bed with the blankets pooled at his waist and his legs outstretched before him. You could remember Steve telling you something about Bucky’s internal thermostat. Though his temperature ran warmer than the norm, he always felt too cold— as if still trapped in the nightmare of cryofreeze— so he rolled himself in a few blankets and the comforter when he tried to sleep.

You shut the door behind you and Bucky looked up from the hands in which he’d dropped his head. His features were grief and fear stricken, a weight you couldn’t imagine pulling at the corners of his bitten lips and it seemed to only grow heavier as you neared him cautiously.

You sat at the edge of the bed, folding one leg atop the mattress and saying quietly, “Bucky, —”

Something inside of him seemed to break at the mere sound of his name on your tongue, features crumpling and eyes leaving yours only to find you again as tears fell and rolled down his cheeks.

As he lifted his flesh hand to reach for you, you reflexively moved to kneel beside him and took both his hands instead. Your thumbs brushed across vibranium and his skin as you brought them to your lips, lightly kissing his knuckles and palms.

You knew the kisses you pressed to the metal wouldn’t feel the same for him, you knew he could only perceive the pressure and the relative temperature, yet his heart seemed to break even more at the gesture.

This was the person he’d been pushing away, the person he’d been deathly afraid to show his heart to, the person, that in all honesty, his battered heart belonged to. And because you held whatever power there was to wield, it was overwhelming that you were using that power, that influence and dynamism to express warmth. It made his mind grapple with his previous definition of power, of influence that was only used to torture, to pick apart his senses and toy with them like he was disposable. His tears came quicker, it made him fall back to Earth.

He occupied his body now, that disembodied existence subsiding for a single, addictive minute. Still, a broken voice asked, “You’re here, right? I’m— I’m here, with you?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes. Yeah, you are.”

Reluctantly, he let go of your hands and fisted either side of your shirt to pull you closer, coaxing you to straddle his lap so his arms could wind tightly enough around you to make your breathing difficult. But you didn’t seem to mind, hands holding his face to brush your thumbs against his skin again.

You then leant forward to press soft kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his temples, whispering placatingly, “It’s okay, Bucky. You’re okay, you’re alright.”

His arms tightened further as a result, an almost bruising strength in the fingers that sat below your ribs. You thought fleetingly that if he needed a reminder of your presence, of his own, you could show him the marks.

“I’m here,” you continued between each kiss, feather-light kisses now pressed to his lips. “You’re okay.”

Your fingers combed through his long hair and nails lightly scraped his scalp— it seemed to help him relax in your arms. You sighed out almost inaudibly as he turned to bury his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said against your skin after what felt like hours but was likely a few handfuls of minutes, hands adjusting your legs to wrap around his waist so you sat more comfortably and as close as possible. “I’m sorry.”

Your fingers stopped and Bucky winced to himself. “Why are you— There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

He let you sit back so you could look at him and he could look at you. Slate blue eyes with a degree of weakness you wished you could alleviate stared at you openly, the hands on you in stark contrast to anything you’d experienced with Bucky over the last few weeks.

You took his hands in yours again, lacing your fingers through his so your palms sat against his. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“You’ve been so—” he took a breath. “You’ve been so patient with me.”

Shrugging a shoulder, you frowned in consideration briefly. “You’re worth that.”

There was a renewed tightness in his throat as he looked at you. A groan rumbled in his chest as he surged forward, catching you from losing your balance with his palms at your back as he claimed your lips with his. He seemed to want to pull you closer, to assimilate you even more as you tongue tangled with his and you crossed your ankles behind him.

His lips stayed upon your skin even as you broke the kiss to fill your lungs, kisses pressed to your cheek and jaw before his teeth, tongue, and lips marked the skin you would have tattooed his traces onto if he ever needed proof again.

Tongue against your pulsepoint, he felt your fluttering heartbeat and thought he might have imagined your quick breathing that matched his.

Part of him wanted to flip the two of you over so you were beneath him, tear the t-shirt and leggings from your skin after doing away with his own shirt and boxers so heated skin was pressed to heated skin. He wanted to taste every inch of you, hear every reaction from you, see you as you came undone.

But he knew this wasn’t the time.

Now was a time for him to hold you and for you to hold him, to ground him in the moment, to anchor him to Earth.

Now was a time for him to feel blanketed and to wrap you in that warmth as well, still turning both of you so you lay facing each other.

Now was a time for him to throw a protective arm made of vibranium over your waist, to pull you into his chest and rest his chin atop your head.

Now was a time for him to love you, but to hide just how much.

[harrybridgers]

Writing Self Evaluation 2018

i genuinely can’t believe it’s been another year and its time for another one of these things,,,,,,wth,,,,thanks so much to @pattern-pals and @iamasphodelknox​ for tagging me!! 

All answers should be about works published in 2018. (Skip any questions you don’t want to answer, but please leave them on the list so that others can answer them if they want.)

1. Number of stories (including drabbles) posted to AO3: five

2. Word count posted for the year: 185,552 (!!!!!!!!)

3. List of works published this year:

purple rain

dissolve

when the city shines (like the sun at night)

moon river

shelter as we go

4. Fandoms I wrote for: one direction

5. Pairings: larry + zarry

6. Story with the most…

Kudos / Bookmarks: when the city shines

Comments: when the city shines/shelter as we go

7. Work I’m most proud of (and why): 

100% shelter as we go. that thing took me over a year to plan and write and i genuinely think it’s the peak of my writing in this fandom so far. it’s also filled me with the confidence to continue writing stories in that style and really just fucking go for it in terms of tackling big themes and things i’ve been apprehensive about touching before. i’m so proud of the characters and the setting and the story - it feels like a real milestone for me! honourable mention to dissolve, too, i love that fic with all my heart, it’s such a treasure and i can’t wait to work on more zarry fic in future. 

8. Work I’m least proud of (and why): 

when the city shines. i genuinely would delete it if it wasn’t so popular...ugh. looking back and reading over it, it just doesn’t feel like me. i still like it and i’m glad others have loved it, it just sticks out like a store thumb amongst everything else i’ve posted in terms of the quality. 

9. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

oooh no this is hard.....here have a few because i’m indecisive 

from dissolve:

“I don’t want to go to New York,” Harry said. “I hate it there. I want to go with you.”

“We can go another time,” Zayn said. “We can go whenever you like.”

“Right now?” Harry said, so softly. He finally looked over, and the vulnerability there was a kick to Zayn’s chest, made him reach out without thinking, to press a warm kiss to Harry’s forehead in a way he hadn’t before, cupping his cheeks in his palms and just kissing him there over and over, down along his brows and his temples and along his chin, tasting the salt of tears, his heart threatening to break through his ribs.

“I’ve already booked the flights,” Zayn said, lips pressed to Harry’s warm cheek. “We’ll stay at the Ritz. We’ll cruise on the Seine and I’ll take pictures of you on film and I’ll get them developed right there in Paris. We can pin them up on the windows and smoke on the balcony and I’ll get up before sunrise to bring you fresh croissants for breakfast. I’ll wake you up with my mouth on your cock–”

“Perfect,” Harry said, breathless as he laughed and cried all at once.

“We’ll walk around for so long that everybody forgets who we are. We’ll walk around for so long we forget ourselves. Just a little couple walking around in a big city. I’ll write our names on a lock and pin it to that bridge. I’d swallow the fucking key if you asked me to, Harry.”

He didn’t know what he was saying, just that he couldn’t stop, that he felt frantic and light-headed and flushed with heat from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes, and Harry was staring at him with this look in his eyes. Zayn brushed away another stray tear and tried not to shake, tried not to think about the way he’d just called them a couple, the way Harry kept staring.

They weren’t a couple. They were friends. They were friends who kissed and fucked and fucked each other up.

-

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says, and his voice hiccups, fingers wrung together. “There’s no way I could ever understand what you went through, because I never even asked. There’s no excuses for anything. I can only say that I’m sorry. Sorry that I didn’t ask you if you were okay as often as I should have, sorry that I just let you drift away without holding on. I’m sorry I never said anything until it was too late. I was selfish, and I loved you, and I didn’t want you to leave me behind.”

“Harry, stop,” Zayn chokes out. He can’t look, can hardly breathe. I loved you. I loved you. I loved you.

“No,” Harry says, chin lifted. “You have to know, because I didn’t tell you back then and it ruined everything. This is me trying to fix it.”

“It can’t be fixed.”

“Then we throw it away and start again,” Harry says fiercely, eyes shining. “I’d throw everything out the fucking window if it meant I could touch you one more time.”

from shelter as we go:

It’s sterile and cold inside. When he flicks on the light, he freezes.

There’s a mirror hanging above the old basin, and he catches sight of himself before he can duck his eyes away to the faded shower curtain or the faded tiles, the faded bath-mat, the faded towels. He’s confronted instead with the faded image of a person he hardly knows anymore, that he hasn’t known for a very long time. There aren’t any mirrors in the other house, and he can’t remember the last time he saw himself in anything that wasn’t the disfiguring glaze of a window, some type of shaded reflection, but he’s faced with it now.

He lets the door fall shut behind him, then approaches the vanity slowly, regarding himself like a stranger.

The gauntness is what startles him most, the sharp hollows of his cheekbones, the tired, sunken circles beneath his eyes, the sickly shadows that cling to his jaw. There was a time, when he first shot up and started to grow, that he’d been broad and lanky. Now, his frame is slight, collar bones protruding, shoulders thin and sharper than he remembers. Everything about him seems frail, and he hates that, he hates it so much that his lips curl up when he stares at his reflection, at his greasy hair and the purple shadows, at the man he doesn’t recognize, a man who still feels like that boy who never got to grow up the right way, the boy who was tiny and clung to his mother’s fingers with a vice grip, the boy that suddenly wasn’t allowed to be a boy anymore.

-

“You’re good at that.”

Harry pauses, fingers still looped in the fine little string. When he glances over, Louis has shifted slightly onto his back, watching with hooded eyes.

“At what?” Harry says.

“Taking care of other people,” Louis says.

Harry holds his breath, and he doesn’t say anything in return, can’t. Instead, he pulls the blinds firmly closed and stares at the dusty pane, the way the lamp casts shadows, the dewy honey they’re stuck in.

“‘S funny,” Louis says, a breathless, broken chuckle. “When we do that, y’know, care so much about someone else that we stop giving a shit about ourselves.”

-

He sits forward and tucks his hands under his thighs, gaze lowered. “I feel like we all have this fire in our bellies when we’re kids, this passion to explore things and get obsessed with these fantastical ideas. And to keep carrying that fire, to cradle it and keep it from going out, it’s hard, y’know. And even if you keep it burning the candles got to melt away some time. Nobody ever shows you how to replace the wick.”

Harry thinks of his own little flame, snubbed out before he even got a chance to play with the fire. There’s something that makes him so inexplicably sad, picturing that puff of smoke, the moment it dawns that there’s nothing left to keep the chest warm. He can’t pinpoint it now, but it washes over him slowly, this realization that he couldn’t nurture that flame, that Louis did everything he could to try and keep his own alight. It feels like an ending point, this transcendence between the fuzzy innocence of everything childhood is supposed to be, and the strange, brutal truths that start to overlap into a life whenever the world deems it time.

-

“You have to understand,” Louis says, pulling back now, hands on Harry’s lapels. “Everything about this town exists in a time capsule. In one big cycle. Nothing changes. And the people that try and make changes, that start to drift out of this perfect circle that’s been made, there’s no room for them. I was one of those people, Harry. I still am, despite everything. I should have just stayed in my place.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry says, however naive it may be, however superfluous a thing it is to say. His own hands find Louis’ coat, the two of them holding on to each other. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“But I do,” Louis says, eyes shiny. “I always will.”

They stare wordlessly at each other. Cape Breton is waking behind them, the low curl of the swell flushing up the beach, children playing in the sand as they watch the silhouettes of the trawlers through the spring mist. All of that feels far away right now, every familiar thing Harry’s come to know about this place like a vague memory as he looks at the hurt in Louis’ eyes and feels this strange sense of understanding wash over him, that flush of anger and frustration fading to something he’s felt before but couldn’t put a finger on, that very first night at the bar, standing out in the cold snow and not being able to say a word.

-

and in lieu of spoiling things, for those who have read it, that entire last bar scene and confrontation between louis, sully, and fergus is hands down i think the best/my favourite thing i’ve ever written!!

10. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

oh there are always so many....i truly get the sweetest and most heartfelt comments, they make me cry. there are a few comments on shelter as we go in particular that touched my heart completely.....so thoughtful and lovely

11. A time when writing was really, really hard: 

i fell into the hardest funk for the first half of the year. i was indecisive and uninspired with literally everything i did, i had so many wips i wanted to tear my hair out omg. then in the second half of the year, i was finishing my uni degree and honestly....was just so depressed lmao. i was in a terrible creative cycle and never wanted to get out of bed. 2018 has been the toughest mentally for me, it took a lot to get over certain things, and forcing myself to believe in my ideas and get a long fic done was no easy feat. 

12. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you: 

both fergus and sully from shelter as we go - they feel so layered and real to me even though they don’t have much actual scene presence within the story itself. they just kind of feel omnipresent to me, and the parts they’re involved in are, to me, the most important and symbolic parts of the fic itself. i’ve fallen in love with writing original characters thanks to those two. 

as for a scene, it would have to be the bar fight, again from shelter as we go. i was unsure if i’d be able to pull that off in the way that i wanted it to feel, but i’m honestly so proud of that entire scene and everything that follows. 

13. How did you grow as a writer this year: 

i think i’ve found my place and style. obviously writing is always changing and you grow as you go, but i honestly feel like i’ve found this part of myself that is holistically who i want to be as a writer - i know what i want to say, what i want my work to feel like, what i want my characters to portray. writing and finishing shelter as we go opened up this whole new world of possibilities to me, as did writing dissolve. i just have so much passion inside me at the moment and i cannot wait to get through the wips i’ve got going. 

14. How do you hope to grow next year: 

the next larry wip i have is the most ambitious thing i’ve ever attempted, so i really hope i can grow in the same way i did with shelter as we go, bridging fanfiction with original fiction and just giving it my all!! and also to write more zarry because i feel like in that genre i have this whole new voice to explore 

15. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer: 

my harrie gc babies!!! particularly liz + nina......love all of u

16. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: 

not to be cliche but shelter as we go honestly became this like....physical embodiment of my mental state and just needing to get so much shit out of there. i always channel my personal feelings into my writing but that was a big one. 

17. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

don’t attempt to write four 50k+ wips all at the same time. just don’t do it. 0/10 would recommend. side affects include poor mental stability and constant rage at the google docs app. 

18. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting or finishing in the new year: 

my new larry wip.....shits gonna be wild. also zarry because i love the angst

19. Tag writers whose answers you’d like to read: 

im gonna taaaaaag @this-onegoes and @crossnecklace ily guys