#If only I'd followed my own advice there...

[whysamwhy123]

Might just scrap all my shitty unfinished fics and peace out of this fandom for good tbh.

[drdemonprince]

The conversations about accountability & apologies that we've been having in social justice circles these last few years have basically trained everybody to fawn.

We've been telling people that if they are accused of any wrongdoing or of hurting anybody's feelings, it is their obligation to apologize immediately, and never to hedge, disagree, or to explain their rationale what they've done.

In their apology, we expect them to articulate every single thing that they have done that was damaging in the strongest language possible and to declare outright that they have harmed someone, often multiple groups of people, even if they are not sure of the impact (or could not even possibly be sure).

If a person's apology is anything but immediate and entirely self-excoriating, we accuse the person of downplaying the damage they have done, failing to be accountable, and manipulating others.

In this way, we've made it impossible for a person to ever take their own side lest that be taken itself as a form of wrongdoing. We have trained our fellow social-justice-minded people to believe that if they do anything but worsen the case against themselves, they are being irresponsible.

I say we, in all of this, because I have partaken in all of this rhetoric, made these kinds of criticism, given accused people this type of advice.

And I have followed it myself, often to a damaging effect.

I have taken responsibility for problems in which I truly did not believe I played a part, I've overstated the damage that I've done so as not to risk understating it, I've ascribed malice to my intentions when I knew it wasn't there, I've agreed with people's most negative, bad-faith narratives about conflicts involving me that they were not even present for, offered up information about myself that was not a third party's business in the name of transparency, apologized for things I haven't done -- and in doing all of this, I have denied my loved ones the opportunity to really hear me about what I was going through and my motivations when I was in conflict with them, things that any true friend or close associate would obviously want to hear about if they cared about me.

This aim of giving the perfect apology and taking perfect accountability has been nothing but an isolating force in my life, because it has barred me from openly entering into necessary conflict with people when our needs were incompatible or they had hurt me just as much as I'd hurt them. The fear of being a manipulative, unaccountable DARVO-er has led me to roll onto my back and expose my belly, falling over myself with panicked apologies and the most unflattering information possible cast in the least explicable light, almost outright begging for others to become angrier at me and believing that it was only way I could ever possibly be accepted back.

We've drilled into people that the way to be good and responsible is to allow people to view us as negatively as possible, to even arm others with information that will confirm that point of view, and to never insert our own perspective or needs on the matter at all.

And yeah, there are a lot of shitty people out there who dodge accountability easily because their power ensconces them from any consequences. but the primary problem with that was never that they wrote a shitty notesapp apology that used the unforgivable phrase "I am sorry if you felt XYZ." The real problem was that there was no community that held enough influence to hold them to account, and for their victims there weren't ever adequate supports or protections.

instead of addressing any of that in a remotely systematic way, we have taken to picking apart every accused person's every word and deed for evidence of inner moral failure and created a culture in which we think we can determine a person's safety by how artfully they put words together when they are under threat. and what do you know, plenty of bad faith actors and conflict avoidant cowards and people who just dont understand what they are even being accused of can do that just fine.

[very-merry-birthday]

Let go

Summary: After a bad hunt, Dean's angry. You help him to relax, and show him how to lose all control.

Warnings: Smut

A/N: "She said take your time, what's the rush? I said baby, I'm a dog, I'm a mutt."

~~~

Dean slammed the door to the impala, you and Sam trailing behind him, broken and bruised. You looked over at Dean as he walked off ahead of you both, the side of his face sporting a purple shiner, a slight limp in his step. You started to follow him before Sam gave you a stern look, a warning to give him some space, and you backed off, letting Dean walk past you into your motel room without so much as a glance.

You heeded his advice for the rest of the day, letting the elder Winchester blow off steam alone while you and Sam sat around in his room, watching awful motel TV. You both tended to your own injuries, before finally breaking and helping one another, Sam bandaging up a particularly bad cut on your back, and you putting two stitches on a wound on his thigh. As he winced in pain, biting down on an old shirt, you thought of the state Dean, who had taken the brunt of the damage, and was now alone, dealing with it himself.

"He'll be alright, you know him." Sam said once you'd finished, watching your expression carefully, he knew what you were thinking.

"I just wish he didn't lock himself away like this."

"He always has- Hey, he knows he can talk to us, to you, he just needs a few hours to remember."

When the evening began encroaching, you gave Sam a warm hug before making your way back to your own room, aware that a tense night has only just started. As you pushed the door open you waited a second to take him in as he laid on the bed, eyes shut, headphones on, deep in thought.

"Baby, you okay?" You spoke out into the room, Dean not hearing you with the headphones on. You walked in, lightly brushing his foot with your hand to get his attention.

His eyes shot open as he sat up straighter, body on high alert. As he realized it was you he allowed himself to relax again, only slightly, pulling the headphones off and giving you a halfhearted smile, "Y' startled me, darlin'."

"Sorry," you held your hands up in mock innocence, "you doing okay?"

He gave you another half smile in response.

"Dean, you know that's not enough, you gotta talk to me."

"I'm okay, I'm fine, just a few bruises, nothing a decent night's sleep won't fix."

You looked at the growing swelling next to his eye and shook your head, "I thought we agreed we were being honest with each other, and-"

"I am being honest!"

"-and right now you're hiding yourself from me, Winchester."

He stood up, wincing slightly in pain from his aching body, "Jesus can you stop this therapy bullshit for one night!?"

A pang of hurt hit you, you knew he didn't mean it, but it didn't make it any kinder, "That's not fair, and you know it."

His face filled with guilt, but he was still angry.

"I'm trying, Dean, every day I try. I give you space, I let you sit in all this pain and anger, and I do it because every now and then you're actually vulnerable with me, but I can't keep trying if you're not going to be honest with me."

He began to raise his voice again, "I'm a fucking soldier, don't you get that? And a fucking good one! And I can only do that if I put my emotions to one side and-"

"You're not a fucking soldier, Dean!" You let your tone match his, "You're allowed to show you're hurting sometimes! Sam needed you today, I needed you, and you shut down again the second we were out of there!"

He finally looked at you properly, looked at how bruised you were, remembering the gash he'd seen on your back. He felt guilt flood him again, speaking more gently, "Sweetheart I'm sorry I-"

"I don't want you to be sorry, I want you to be honest."

He took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking up at you with big wet eyes, "Kept thinking about you, about what I'd do if you got hurt, properly hurt. Or what you'd do if I got hurt."

He paused as he watched for your reaction, his eyes flickering over your face. "You know me, I'd shack up with Sam, we've been hoping you'd be out of the picture soon."

He let out a laugh at your joke, grateful that you'd relieved the tension in the room. "I'm sorry- I'm not used to this, to a relationship, to someone caring about me like this."

"I just want you to know we're here, that we actually want to talk to you, Winchester. We want to hear what you have to say."

"I know baby, I know." He leant forward, pulling you closer to him, his head resting against your chest, breathing you in gently.

"Take off your shirt."

"As much as I'd love to fuck you senseless right now, sweetheart, I'm not sure-"

You rolled your eyes at his comment, "-just take it off you jerk."

He carefully pulled it off, blinking heavily as he adjusted to the pain in his muscles. You took a moment to take him in, his body half bruised, his face ragged with exhaustion.

"You done anything to try and help that situation? Ice pack? Cold water?"

"I'm alright sweetheart I just-"

You shook your head at his martyrdom, kissing his forehead, "Stop talking, relax."

He did as you said. He was used to taking orders, but never from you, and you weren't used to giving them. Dean was in control of everything he could be, and when it came to sex you enjoyed that, but you knew that's not what he needed tonight.

You sat up behind him on the bed, your hands tentatively reaching out to his body, gently gliding over his skin. You began to massage his aching muscles, letting your fingers kneed his tense body. He hummed into the feeling, leaning his head back with his eyes shut.

You leant down to kiss the back of his shoulders, a small trail until you were nuzzled into the crook of his neck. He leant against you, enjoying the feeling of your closeness. He reached up a hand to the back of your head, wanting to touch you, and you pushed him away.

"Baby, I'm okay, let me touch you." He murmured lightly, reaching up his hand again.

You stopped him, kissing up his neck, "Just let go, for one night Winchester, let go." You whispered, lightly kissing at his lobe.

The words sent shivers through him as he pulled his hand away. You kissed his neck heavier, letting your hands stroke over his strong shoulders.

You climbed back off the bed, standing in front of him and lifting his chin with an outstretched finger as he looked up at you with wide eyes. You could tell how desperate he was for you, how hungry he was for your body. Normally he'd grab you, pin you down on the bed, his hands finding every inch of you. After a good hunt he'd love to taste you, to have his head buried between your legs for hours, edging you until you couldn't remember your own name. But right now, as he looked up at you, the pain and anger shedding off his face, you just wanted him to release.

You kneeled in front of him as his eyes followed your movements. You traced a finger up his inner leg, from his calf up to his thigh, the feeling tickling his skin even through his jeans. You reached up to his belt buckle and he smiled down a lopsided smile, enjoying watching you knelt below him. Slowly pulling out his cock, you met his eye, biting your bottom lip with a smile.

He exhaled, his face solid, as you began to gently stroke his length. You stuck your tongue out, licking a light strip along his tip. He groaned, his hand coming up to the back of your head, ready to push you down lower.

You pulled back, looking up at his desperate expression, "Hands behind your back, Winchester, I want to take my time."

He exhaled again, placing his hands behind him on the bed and leaning back. You took his head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it as he groaned in pleasure. You started to push your head lower, taking him in your mouth, sucking on his shaft. He rolled his head back, tensing his jaw to hold back a moan.

You pulled your head back, looking up at him until his attention was back on you, "Not good enough, I thought I said I wanted to hear you, no hiding anything tonight."

A playful smile spread across his face as he realized your game. Taking him into your mouth again, you lowered your head, taking him deeper until he was filling you. Then you began sucking again, swallowing down his precum, your tongue pressed against his length. He allowed himself to moan, his breath becoming ragged.

You pulled back momentarily, your voice no louder than a whisper, the words sending vibrations through his core, "Use your words baby, tell me what you're thinking."

He tensed his jaw as he watched you begin to bob your head on his cock, taking him so well. "Uh- right now I'm thinking- that this feels fucking amazing."

You hummed in agreement, nodding your head slightly.

"... And I'm thinking- fuck- I'm thinking your mouth is so fucking good at this-"

You pulled back, licking at his tip, "Good, Winchester, keep going."

He groaned again, "And I'm thinking I'm not gonna last much longer if you keep going like that."

You sped up your movements, treating his cock like a lollipop as your tongue lapped him up, he groaned loudly as you looked back up at him, "In a bit baby, just enjoy what's happening right now, we're not in a rush."

His hand reached up to you again and you pushed him away, looking up at him with stern eyes.

"I'm serious baby," he spoke through gritted teeth, "I'm so fucking close."

You slowed your movements again, taking your mouth off of him as you hand went back to gently stroking him. "Slow down, baby, slow down."

He tensed his jaw again, collapsing back onto the bed, a sigh escaping his lips. You kissed along his inner thigh, tugging at his jeans and underwear to pull them off. He reluctantly shuffled to allow them to fall down his legs, kicking them off from his ankles, and you went back to kissing his leg.

He shut his eyes, overcome with the feeling of your lips on him, his vulnerability, the cold air hitting his body. And then he felt you moving, climbing into a straddle around his waist. He opened his eyes to look up at you, naked and gorgeous in the dim light. He shuffled his body again, with you sat atop him, so he was in the middle of the bed.

He watched you carefully, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as your own hands flowed down your body, grabbing your tits, giving him a show. He leant out to touch you and you lightly slapped his hand away, "No touching, baby."

You stretched out, one hand on your breast, the other making it's way down your body, his eyes trained on you. You pushed it between your legs, gliding over your clit, letting out a loud moan. He let out another groan, hungry for you.

You smiled down at him, moving your hands away and back onto his chest. Then you lifted yourself up slowly, until his tip was just resting at your entrance, and looked down at him again, "You want me?"

He nodded.

"Communication, Winchester, tell me."

"I want you."

"Good." You cooed, your hand stroking lightly over his chest.

"Please?" This wasn't a word Dean had ever used in bed, he was used to getting exactly what he wanted, but it sounded so smooth falling from his lips.

You lowered yourself down onto his length and he rolled his head back, a groan falling out his mouth, his jaw hanging open as he tried to even out his breathing. You slowly started grinding against him, his cock easily filling you up, your walls tight around him.

After moments he looked up at you again, his hand once again trying to reach out to touch you. You gently pushed him away, a warm smile spread across your face, "Behind your head, Winchester, both of them."

He did as you said, putting both his hands up behind him, his face overcome with need. You sped up your movements, only slightly, one hand on his chest to balance yourself, the other reaching back up to your breast, grabbing it the way you had stopped him only moments before.

"Please baby- I wanna touch you." He groaned.

"Not tonight baby, let me make you feel good."

You quickened your pace once again, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, his body beginning to tense. As you grinded you felt his body stimulating your clit, letting out a moan at your own enjoyment. You could feel he was close, his breath becoming laboured, his abdomen beginning to tighten.

"Look at me baby." You whispered, and he did what you said, his eyes gliding over your body, looking between your bouncing tits and his cock buried inside you.

"I'm so close baby-"

"I know, just relax." Your tone was gentle, but firm.

"Please- want you to cum at the same time-"

"Tonight's all about you, just let yourself feel good."

He bit his lip as he looked up at you, his face desperate, his moans needy. He looked back down at your body, at his cock pushing into you, at the way you moved above him, and let himself release.

Rolling his head back and letting out a loud moan, you felt as he came, his body tensing, his mind going clear. You kept grinding against him, wanting to make his pleasure last as long as you could.

As his breathing began to settle you slowed down you movements, until he was looking back up at you again, a meek smile spread across his face. You lifted yourself off of him, sitting back on his stomach, his hands reaching out to your hips as you finally let him touch you. You sat for a moment, taking each other in, his thumb lightly rubbing against your skin, comforting.

"Baby lay down, let me touch you."

"Not tonight, Winchester. Right now we've got to get you some sleep."

He let out an exasperated sigh, knowing you were right but still wanting to feel you. You rolled off of him, laying down next to him, your head on his chest, his heartbeat pounding in your ears.

He kissed your forehead lightly, looking down at you to take your face in as you met his eye. He smiled, "I love you, baby."

"I love you too."

[rcmclachlan]

Am I using the 8x16 spoilers as a way to deal with the loss of my own dad almost three years after the fact? I'll never tell!

+

"They want me to say something."

The warm brick wall pressed up against his back shifts a little, and the bed dips beneath their combined weight with a worrying creak. "'They' who?"

From what feels like miles away, Buck wonders how old the mattress is. Standard advice says to change your mattress every ten years, but he's read you should do it as soon as six. He hopes the bed is relatively new. It's insanely comfortable and he always sleeps so well, not to mention all the memories he's made in it. The very thought of hauling it out to the curb so the city can throw it in a dump makes his eyes prickle for the two-hundredth time in the last half hour.

"You can't get rid of the bed," Buck murmurs, staring at the white dresser across the room. It's the only thing in his direct line of sight. He hates the pulls on it. They're too old to be retro and they make the bureau look like it doesn't belong. "You ate me out for the first time on this bed."

Tommy presses a kiss to his head like he's hiding a sigh in Buck's hair. Which he might be. Buck should probably be annoyed by that but he can't muster up the energy.

"So, those are two very separate ideas," Tommy says. "Let's table the bed thing for now."

Hah. Furniture pun.

"Who wants you to say something?" Tommy's always good at following threads of conversation, no matter how they split and weave into something new. He never loses track of that original stitch.

Buck closes his eyes. "A-Athena. She asked if I would say something. At the uh, the..."

He can't make his mouth shape the word. His teeth dig into his bottom lip and he tries to force air around them, to make the 'F' sound, but something in the back of his throat blocks the way.

"Gotcha," Tommy says simply. The arm slung across Buck's chest tightens like a seatbelt during a hard brake. "Is that... something you're comfortable doing?"

"I don't know," Buck says. "I don't know what I'd even say."

The ugly drawer pulls are starting to look like faces. Screws for eyes, the handles for mouths. The way they curve makes it look like they're laughing. If he asked Tommy to get rid of them, he knows Tommy would immediately head down to the garage to get his electric drill. He'd destroy this antique for Buck without asking him a single question.

Hen thinks he's in shock, but he thinks shock's supposed to wear off after a few hours. It's been almost four days since they got the text from Athena—it's him—and he's still existing outside his own body. Every feeling he's ever felt has been vacuumed out of him. Even when Tommy showed up on his doorstep at the end of the first day, eyes rimmed red and glassy, all Buck could say was, "I've never mourned a dad before. Come to show me how it's done?"

Tommy had wrapped Buck up in his arms and said gently, "I've never mourned a dad, either. I'm just here for you."

Loneliness is a bad reason to get back together with someone. Grief is even worse. He wants to say love is behind his desperate refusals to let Tommy leave the house, even for groceries, but he's not sure if it is. But he also knows that without Tommy's seat belt arm around him, Buck would've flown through the proverbial windshield on day two. Maybe it is love. He vaguely remembers what it felt like.

Maybe he needs to bake something. He'd get out of bed to make lemon tarts, but his bones have dissolved. He's just a sack of skin and blood.

"What would you say?" He stares at the open mouths of the drawer pulls and realizes they're not laughing, but screaming. "If it was your father?"

Tommy leans back a little. Buck tenses, then relaxes when Tommy's mouth smears a kiss over his shoulder.

"Mine? Probably 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust, let's now shove this asshole in the earth's crust.'"

Buck huffs with humor that feels like it's coming from two rooms over. "Seriously."

"Seriously." Buck can feel Tommy shrug. "I have nothing to say to him now and I doubt I'd have anything to say if he was dead. But my situation would be completely different."

"How's that?" Buck thinks about rolling over to see his face so he doesn't have to look at the dresser anymore, but then he remembers he doesn't have any bones. Looks like he's stuck here.

"I'd be burying my father. I'm never going to have to bury a dad."

Buck says nothing for a moment. "They're the same thing."

"They aren't, and you know it."

Thank goodness he's belted in by Tommy's arm, because his mind drives wildly across the country to 25 Elm Street, Hershey, PA, where Phillip Buckley is probably puttering around his office, on the phone with someone at his company who needs advice about how to close some multi-million dollar deal. Buck imagines him freezing mid-step, maybe dropping the phone for a little bit of extra drama, then clutching his chest before collapsing to the floor. He thinks about how he would feel getting the call from Maddie.

Maybe that's the difference. If his father died, he'd feel something. Mild shock, maybe, and probably wistful sorrow, thinking about all the time they'd wasted. He'd fly to Hershey and hug his mom when she cried and stand in the receiving line at Hoover Funeral Home and shake people's hands and thank them when they said they were sorry for his loss.

But the world wouldn't lose its color. It wouldn't feel like Buck's heart was fighting for every beat. He wouldn't need Tommy's arm at all.

"I don't know what to... how do I begin to distill what Bobby... what he meant to me?" Buck's eyes prickle hotly. Maybe he'll finally cry. He hasn't yet, which is weird. Usually his taps go on at the drop of a hat. "How do I keep it to, what, three minutes? Is that how long I'm supposed to talk for? T-That's impossible."

"That's a good place to start, actually."

"What, saying there's no way I can keep it to three minutes or less?"

"That you can't condense what Bobby meant—means—to you." Tommy kisses his shoulder again. "Admitting something's too big for you to put into words... well, a lot of people will know exactly what you mean."

"Saying it makes it real," Buck whispers.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's real if you say it or not."

Maybe it's because Tommy sounds so apologetic about telling the truth, or maybe it's because Buck's soul is currently divorced from the rest of him so he's able to hear the other thing Tommy's saying. Whatever it is, it makes his vision swim. Through the blur, he can see a little bit of color eke back into the room. The dresser isn't white; it's light blue.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Buck rasps, "He's dead."

"I know, Evan," Tommy says, strained, like he's in pain. Like Buck's realization hurts him too.

"Tommy, my dad's dead."

The thing that's been blocking his airway rolls away, and the sob that's been waiting there patiently for days finally tastes freedom. At the same time his soul slams back into his body, his bones rebuild themselves, which gives him the ability to roll over and bury his face into Tommy's neck to muffle the sound of his cries.

He doesn't know how to keep Bobby Nash to three minutes, and even if he manages to come up with something, they'll give him the hook before long. He doesn't know what to do with all the feelings that have broken out of the vacuum and settled right back where they'd been. He doesn't know how to do any of this.

But right now, no one's asking him to. Right now, all he has to do is sit with it.

The seatbelt around Buck's chest tightens, but it doesn't feel like it's because of a hard brake. Tommy is just holding him closer.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

As a Leona stan, what are your favorite aspects of him?

His only redeeming character trait is his boobs

WDYM, I’M NOT A L*ONA STAn 💀 I WOULD NEVER DEBASE MYSELF BY ASSOCIATING WiTH HIM LIKE THAT...

... But HYPOTHETICALLY speaking, if I were a L*ona stan 🤔 I'd say my favorite aspect of him (you read that correctly, I'm only going to talk about ONE aspect here, not multiple otherwise this post would be way too long) is his ability to guide and to lead others. (I already have a huge bias towards "big brother" type characters so 🧍) It doesn't really matter to me that Leona is technically a younger brother and not an older one; "big brother" comes across so strongly in his behaviors and attitude that he's basically an honorary one.

It's so crazy to me just how much Leona does for others, even if he comes off as annoyed or arrogant when he does or has selfish ulterior motives he hopes to achieve by helping others out. He tutors Ruggie, helps Epel by making a voice-changing potion, hones in on his club members' preexisting skills and has them sharpen those, instructs Deuce + Jack on how to more efficiently mine magestones, went after Jack when he expressed wanting to go to a shady amusement park, sacrifices himself to let others run from puppets, gives advice to Jamil in book 6, and is constantly thinking about his country and worries about its future under his brother's rule. Book 2, for as bad as the writing is overall, kicked off because Leona wanted to take drastic steps to help his dorm's students secure their future career prospects in athletics. Several students express respect or admiration for Leona because of this. He earned that respect instead of having it handed to him on a silver platter. All of Savanaclaw follow him unquestionably. Jack was inspired from seeing one of Leona's magift/spelldrive plays on television. Epel thinks he's cool and aspires to be like him. I'M SURE THERE ARE A TON OF OTHER EXAMPLES THAT I CAN'T POSSIBLY CRAM IN HERE. The fact that I can list off so many examples off the top of my head should already speak to how much BIG BROTHER-NESS can be packed into Leona.

The best part of it all is that this makes complete sense for his character. Leona is someone who has given up hope for himself and his own future 😭 YET HE'S OVER HERE SUPPORTING ALL THESE OTHER PEOPLE BECAUSE HE STILL HAS HOPE FOR THEIR FUTURES. This is so clear to me if you read his post-OB flashback in the light novel but it's also there in his chat with Jamil in book 6. This fr makes me mad sad because literally all the people he helps out legitimately look up to him EVEN WHEN LEONA HIMSELF CAN'T SEE HIS OWN WORTH OR DOESN'T BELIEVE THAT HE'S CAPABLE OF GOODNESS (as we see in his book 7 dream). I just find this endlessly fascinating to examine.

AGAIN THOUGH, this is all purely hypothetical :> because I am NOT, in fact, a L*ona stan.

[hoshinasblade]

you know what im thinking about? growing up with hoshina and harboring romantic feelings with the boy you spent your childhood with. i'd like to believe this is a friendship so deep and innocent and intimate that when you were kids you even promised you'd marry each other, sealing the deal with makeshift rings made of woven thread. but this fairytale had to somehow end — at an early age you are aware that the both of you are beholden to your duties: as a daughter you are ought to marry into a wealthy family, and as a soldier, hoshina has to serve as an anti-kaiju defense officer.

imagine learning that arrangements have been made but you didn't — couldn't — tell hoshina that you are already engaged. your fiancé's name was kept from you by your clan elders and you shamelessly used that fact as an excuse on why you wouldn't tell the man you love that your hand has already been given to someone else. imagine hoshina's visits to you during his days off, and how hard you would pretend as if you had not just been gifted away. imagine the deflating hopelessness you would feel everytime hoshina would say good night to you at the end of the day, and you thinking every moment might as well be the last.

and imagine unbeknownst to you, hoshina being on the same boat as you. a man who cannot lead a family cannot lead a division — even a high-ranking military authority with hoshina's potential would look unstable if he remains unmarried. so he followed his father's supposedly wise advice and at the risk of breaking his own heart, agreed to be betrothed to a woman of his parents choosing.

multiple times, guilt was eating hoshina alive but instead of coming clean, he discovered that only one other thing is more difficult than hurting you — confessing about it. so he chose not to say a word - grief and shame overtaking his chest over the truth that his time with you would soon be over, that one day he would have to try to love another that is not you.

now imagine you and hoshina seeing each other on the day of the wedding — groom and bride about to be bound as one forever. never mind the white lies, never mind the heartache, never mind the fear of losing each other — nothing else would have mattered because it seems that the universe had destined you to be together anyway. imagine the shock, the happiness, the yearning; imagine the relief — imagine the wonderful feeling of being able to breathe again upon realising that you would be spending your life with your best friend after all.

right, i was listening to do i wanna know (cover by hozier) when i was typing this in my phone lol i headcanon that hoshina is definitely the type to say "maybe im too busy being yours to fall for somebody new". anyway, happy birthday to @umafanfiqueiraqualquer, this one's for u

[dduane]

Erotica and anniversaries

...The big E, first. Here she is. Isn't she lovely?

...Right there upstairs at the Library of Congress, on the second floor. (I noted at the time we passed through some years back—and continue to smile at the memory—that her artist has included his copyright statement right there, to make sure no one misses it.)

...Anyway, where were we? ...Oh yeah: the local takes on erotic writing and smut.

This subject seems to come up every couple of years. What nudged me into revisiting it this time was the notes off a comment to a post earlier today, responding to someone working on an explicit-leaning AU, and discussing the writing of (story) bibles for projects.

Anyway, the notes:

#love that the advice was not just 'stick to porn' or 'don't write porn at all' but 'ah yes; common problem; let me explain to you how to write a series bible'

Well, disclosure here: in my case, it can't really be otherwise. :)

Let this act as everybody's sort-of-biennial reminder (if needed) that I'm not going to be caught condemning people for writing smut, as I've written it myself. (And continue to do so when the mood moves me.)

The post from very nearly two years ago, discussing the issue in more detail, is over here. As you'll see if you read it, there were some folks who experienced brief episodes of cognitive dissonance on learning I was a cheerful writer of explicit material. Some of the surprise was probably due to the fact that a lot of people see me—mostly due to the relatively-higher profile of the Young Wizards books—as primarily a writer for younger readers.

But that's not how I got started. My (1979) debut novel centers a universe where the following exchange between two of the protagonists appears—they then being wrapped up in blankets and afterglow in the wake of a prolonged and enthusiastic post-reunion shag:

A soft chuckle in the darkness. “Lorn, remember that first time we shared at your place?” “That was a long time ago.” “It seems that way.” “—and my father yelled up the stairs, ‘What are you dooooooooing?’ “—and you yelled back, ‘We’re fuckinnnnnnnnnnng!’” “—and it was quiet for so long—” “—and then he started laughing—” “Yeah.��

Nor was this a one-off. This book and its sequels contain a fair number of passages in which human (and occasionally non-human) sexualities, both in the abstract and the experientially concrete, take center stage. And the mode in which they're expressed and discussed is intended for adults. Those sequences can probably be described as at least borderline erotica. (I certainly try had to be as graceful about such passages as I can, when and where it's appropriate to be.)

With this in mind, it's worth repeating what turns up in that earlier post, which came off a query to a ficcer about "how do you feel knowing that people may be jerking off to your work?":

I'm an entertainer. Writing's a form of entertainment. (And not just for the readership: for me, too.) To be aroused by art one's experienced is (almost by definition) to be entertained, I'd say...

Other people's art in these modes certainly is entertaining for me: and I desperately hope mine is for other people. (Almost all my more explicit writing is published only pseudonymously, which from my point of view is just fine. There's a fair amount of writing work out in the world that [for contractual or other business reasons] doesn't have my name on it. This is just more of the same.)

(Per that, adding here again my own tags from that earlier post:)

#and no I'm not going to let on where the smut is#why would i deny anyone the delights of the search#and of being repeatedly mistaken#while possibly finding smut writers who're better at it than i am#:)

Anyway, finally: from that earlier post—on nearly the thirty-eighth anniversary of something happening to me that would, just a year before the event, have seemed wildly unlikely—this note, unusually apposite because of what today is, and what's coming tomorrow.

I consider erotica—and its more casually-dressed (or undressed…) cousin, smut—to be perfectly legit forms of literary expression; ones that can soar to unexpected heights if you’re willing to put in the work. The sexy-stuff-writing muscle requires periodic exercise if it’s to remain viable and/or useful. So I exercise it. And being a 70-plus-year-old person who sometimes creaks audibly when she walks has done absolutely nothing to decrease my interest in the subject—the brain being, after all, the biggest sex organ, and the one least vulnerable to the depredations of time. If anything, nearly fifty years of experience (and more than three and a half decades of marriage to @petermorwood) have added… let’s just say nuance. 😏

So, happy Valentine's Day to all those who choose to celebrate, in whatever mode.

And to the Man Upstairs:

...See you in a few, sweetie. :)

[zerosomnia]

Thunderbolts Ava Starr/Ghost x reader:

Going Ghost

Summary: The reader has been trying to muster up the courage to confess to Ava for weeks. The group tries, and fails, to encourage them. After the reader fails at multiple confession attempts, it all comes to a head.

Genre: Fluff, Friends-to-lovers

Warnings: None! Just the reader being a flustered mess.

Author's note: Oh my god, I've been desperate to write something for Ava because I love her so much. I thought I'd take the chance to post this since I've been working on other stuff. Also, I struggled a bit with finding other Ava x reader fics (which is why I wrote my own one lmao), so if anyone has any recommendations, please, please, please send them to me.

Word Count: 1193

You had a problem. A frustratingly wonderful, and terrifying, problem. You were utterly and profoundly in love with Ava. This wouldn’t be an issue normally, in your previous life, love wasn’t a consideration. You only had the energy for survival. But now, with life slowing down a little, you were more human than ever, and with that came these kinds of developments. At first, you had tried to ignore the feeling, hoping it would go away if you just didn’t acknowledge it. That, of course, didn’t work. You also were not very subtle, stealing glances at her during missions, laughing a little too hard at her snarky comments, and lighting up if she offered you even the slightest attention. Oh yeah, you were screwed. And the group had noticed it too.

“When are you finally going to tell her?” Yelena confronted you, leaning lazily over the back of the common room sofa. You choked on your water.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You wouldn’t meet her eye, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot like you were about to bolt from the room.

“Oh please, you are so obvious. You follow her about like a little, lost dog,” As you opened your mouth to deny her claims, Walker entered the room.

“What’s obvious?” He plopped himself down on the sofa, sinking into the plush cushions with a comfortable grunt.

“That they have a huge crush on Ava,” Yelena stated.

“Oh yeah, it’s so obvious,” Walker nodded his head in agreement. Shrugging at you with an indignant ‘what?’ when you shot him a glare.

“Guys,” You put your hands up in defence, forcing a laugh. “I don’t have a crush on Ava. I just admire her.”

“Admiring is putting it lightly; you stare a lot.” John laughed. Yelena joined in, grinning at you as she continued her torture.

“Yeah – like when you were watching her fight and almost got stabbed because you were so distracted,” You felt your face growing hot at the pair’s teasing. To make matters worse, Alexei barged into the room.

“What is happening? Am I missing super-private meeting?”

“No-” You were interrupted by Yelena.

“We’re trying to get them to accept their crush on Ava.” Alexei bellowed out a loud belly laugh, stepping behind you and putting his hands on your shoulders.

“Ah! Young love!” You tried to wriggle away from him, refusing to look at anyone as you curled in on yourself in your misery. “Do not be embarrassed, little one, I will help you.”

You heard Yelena stifle a cackle as she encouraged the loud man. “That is a great idea. Tell them how you would confess, Dad.” You groaned into your hands, which were now covering your shame-filled face, and dropped yourself to kneel on the floor.

“It is easy! Women love big acts – you should announce your feelings in front of everyone!” You heard Walker immediately burst out laughing. You crawled over to the couch he was on, socking him in the side of his thigh. Alexei scoffed in offence at the blonde man “You think you know better?”

“Actually, yeah, I do.”

Yelena sniggered at John. “Then what’s your advice Walker?”

He paused for a moment; you could literally see the cogs turning in his head. “Well, when I asked Olivia out, I took her flowers.”

“You think Ava is a woman who wants flowers?” Yelena’s critical tone set John off. The group started arguing as Walker insisted that his method was better than Alexei’s, and Yelena stated they were both terrible. You saw movement in the corner of your eye. Bucky was watching from the sidelines, eyebrow raised, and arms crossed. The trio went quiet.

“How much of that did you hear?” You questioned Bucky with wide eyes and horror visible on your face.

“All of it,” He shook his head. “Just tell her, you know Ava would prefer the direct approach,” Bucky said it like it was the easiest thing in the world, tossing the comment over his shoulder as he left. You groaned in defeat.

“Maybe I’ll just run away?”

“You’re a literal assassin, you nearly die every day, and you’re scared of telling Ava you like her?” Yelena chuckled. You sent her a sideways glance.

“This is not my area of expertise.”

“Clearly.”

Three attempts. Three failed attempts at telling Ava you liked her. Miserable, you slumped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

“I can’t do it; I’ll just never tell her.” You whined. The blonde Russian watched you judgmentally from the other end of the table. Saying nothing as you monologued about the unfairness of life while she peeled an apple with her knife. You paused. “Is that the knife you use to stab people?”

“It’s clean,” she shrugged.

“Is it ever really clean, though? I mean it’s literally been inside someone-” You started bickering with her, focused on the hygiene of an inanimate object.

“Hi,” A voice beside you made you jump. Your stare caught bright green eyes.

“Hi… oh- uhm, hi Ava,” You struggled to sit up straighter, stumbling over yourself in your attempts to seem normal. “What’s up?” She leaned over your shoulder, face inches away from yours.

“A little birdie told me that I make you nervous…” Ava smiled, tilting her chin down as she studied your face. You slowly looked at Yelena, wide-eyed.

“And that’s my cue to leave.’ The blonde practically fell out of the chair in her attempt to stumble out of the room, leaving you alone with Ava.

“Whaaaat? What are you talking about?” You leaned back a little, looking around wildly for an escape.

“So, my source was lying to me?” You mentally cursed Alexei.

“Well… You’re supposed to be a bit intimidating- right?” She raised a brow at you. “Fuck- wait, no. I mean, it’s part of the job sometimes.”  She smirked, moving around so that she was between you and the table, leaning on the edge of it. Your breathing was fast, and your heart felt like it was going to explode from your chest. She still wasn’t saying anything, so you conceded. Shyly trying to anywhere but her face. “You make me nervous when you look at me like that…”

Ava tilted her head, placing her hands on her knees to support her as she leaned closer. She was inches away from your lips. “Look at you like what?” she whispered, breath fanning over your face. You felt your eyelids fluttering closed as you instinctively leaned into her, pressing your lips together. Her kiss was surprisingly gentle, and so was her touch as she brought one of her hands up to caress your cheek. When you parted, you were left with a breathless feeling – like you had just run a marathon.

“I’m gonna guess that means you like me back?” You felt a smile twitching across your face.

“No, I hate you,” She deadpanned, rolling her eyes at you as she stood up straight. You stayed silent for a moment, mentally preparing for the pain of the question you were about to ask.

“So, how much did Alexei tell you?”

“Actually, it was Walker.”

That bastard.

[thewertsearch]

KANAYA: As Nice As It Sounds To Move On KANAYA: I Dont Know If I Can Stand Three Of Your Human Years Of More Darkness

We have a Light Player! We have your Light Player, Kanaya! Come on, we can sort something out!

ARADIA: but kanaya you still have important work to finish too! […] KANAYA: What Are You Talking About ARADIA: our race is extinct remember […] ARADIA: your job was to see to the resurrection of our people KANAYA: What Real Hope Is There For That KANAYA: The Orb Was Destroyed KANAYA: I Was Never Able To Duplicate It The Grist Cost Was Astronomical

I've got a workable solution for this one, actually.

Four new Lands means four new Grist Hoards.

Since the kids' four-Player session was supposed to make a universe, we can assume that the Hoards of the original four Lands are sufficient to fulfil that purpose. Therefore, the B2 Hoards are redundant, and Kanaya could potentially dip into them to make another Matriorb.

KANAYA: Doesnt Rose Know KANAYA: Cant You See The Path To Victory On This Matter

Alright, now Hussie's just fucking with me personally.

Like, I know for a fact that the phrase 'path(s) to victory' didn't show up in Worm until 2013, so this really is just a bizarre coincidence. Hussie just keeps making these incredibly on-the-nose references that are, nevertheless, provably accidental.

ROSE: It's hard to say. ROSE: Does the repopulation of your species qualify as victory? ROSE: These things aren't always clear cut. Some outcomes are for your own judgment. ROSE: What outcome would you like the most?

I thought that this would be the catch. Rose can see the path to anyone's personal 'victory', but she has no control over what that victory actually looks like. Plus, since we can't really control our own deepest desires, her targets can't manipulate this ability either.

They simply get a path to whatever they happen to want most, at that exact moment - and based on how Rose is describing things, she doesn't even get to know what that is. She sees the path, but not the goal.

KANAYA: I Would Like To Have The Orb Again And To Keep It Safe This Time KANAYA: And I Guess To Not Be A Total Failure

Aw, Kanaya...

If I had to take a guess, I'd say that what Kanaya wants the most is to revive and protect trollkind, including the trolls standing around her right now.

ROSE: If you follow my advice, I can at least promise you will find yourself in the best position to determine whether that may come to pass.

And Rose.... can't even confirm if there is a path to that.

Unlike Contessa, she doesn't get to know if her path is unachievable in all possible timelines - so she'll never know if her current task is fruitless. Not until the very end.

KANAYA: … ROSE: Can you please come? ROSE: Between the two of us, you with your inexplicably heretofore unmentioned phosphorescence, and I with my nigh-reflective traffic cone orange sun-sari, the meteor should never be too dark.

Come on, Maryam, that was so smooth.

Surely you have to come with us now, if only to hear more Lalonde Pickup Lines.

KARKAT: (sollux, oh my god is it me or is everybody already just fucking hitting on each other left and right? oh god i can't take sweeps of this shit, don't leave me alone here, please don't)

Too late, motherfucker!

[signedkoko]

Signed with Love - Overlords & Sins

What is this? - A valentines gift to my lovely readers! Its valentines/love letters from your favourites 🖤

Characters - Asmodeus | Beelzebub | Carmilla | Mammon | Rosie | Valentino | Velvette | Vox | Zestial

Series Parts Hazbin Cast - Here! Helluva Cast - Here!

Dear to the dearest,

You've always got me running myself sappy, but I'd like to offer my hand to you this valentines.

You know how popular Ozzie's is on Valentines, so how about a nice spot for brunch and then we pick a song to perform together tonight? Just you and I on stage, surrounded by people who wish they had what we do~

Eagerly awaiting your reply,

Prince of Lust, and yours forever;

Asmodeus

Heya lovely!

I'm so fucking excited to be spending valentines with you this year, and I don't say it enough so here it is in writing!

Normally I throw a party but I don't know, I kinda rocked with the galentines dinner you suggested, I'm thinking we invite some of our closest and have a hell of a good night, yeah?

You're the only party that matters,

Your Queenie Bee🐝

Mi vida,

I think it's about time we get away from work and the girls, how about we take valentines off?

I've always wanted to show you some of the places I used to frequent, since you always ask it only seems fair. I'm sure you'll adore the cuisine, I miss it dearly.

I'll help you get ready before we leave,

C. Carmine

Sup hottie!

How about we ditch my valentines show and leave it to the performers to take care of shit? I much rather be with ya anyways.

Anything you want, just tell me. I'll take care of everything from there babe.

Love ya more than you know,

MAMMON

Sweetest darling,

I reckon its about time I follow my own advice and pursue the one I love this valentines.

We can take a break from everything and go sight seeing! I don't get away from the town much, but everything you tell me sounds exquisite. We can go somewhere with a nice tune and I can really show you how I used to swing!

What do you say?

Your Rosie

Querida cariño,

Theres no reason for me to ask what I already know, and I don't want to hear another valentines joke about my name.

I know work has kept me busy babe, but this Valentines its just you and I. We can laze around all you want or you can drag me wherever, I'll make sure we get in.

Like a moth to a flame, eh?

Val.

Heya gorgeous,

Ive got two outfits in our sizes that could use a little test drive around town this valentines.

Already booked the photographer, so I hope you'll come model with me for my end february magazine, yeah? If you do a good job we can do dinner and drinks after, though you've never disappointed me, dolly!

You know I love you, always have & will

Velvette

Hope you're doing well, angel

You always joke that I can't write for shit so heres proof. In fact, I'm here to ask you to be my valentine.

I already know its a yes anyway, so how about I let you in on the itinerary? I got breakfast at the local spot booked with live music, an afternoon just the two of us, and for dinner I have our main reservation and a backup in case you don't like it.

Romantic or what?

Owner & CEO of VoxTek, Beloved valentine of you, Vox

Greetings,

Tis with great pleasure that thou is still by thine side after such an overwhelming year.

We must beg thou has considered indulging such an old soul in an evening of romance. Perhaps thou would dare to consider looking upon their bed, for there lays a gift.

Yours affectionately and forevermore,

Z

Authors Note - Who are you expecting a letter from? Who will you accept? I'd love to know! Heres to another part of the valentine sseries 🖤

[glacierclear]

apologies if too personal, but do you do art full time? if so, any advice for artists trying to get by?

yes! i am full time. my first piece of advice would be: don't do art full time.

unless it's sort of your only/best option i'd really not recommend it haha. it's a lot of work for a pretty small paycheck. to be transparent; i barely make enough to cover rent/bills haha. if you wanna make more than that you have to GRIND!!!

but, if you wanna really make it work, more specific questions are maybe something i can answer better? i feel like i'm not the best person to go to for advice like this. i sort of consider my own path to be very luck-based. i'm fortunate enough to have the following i have, and i'm not entirely confident that's as a result of me doing things the right way or being particularly hard-working ;;

general advice would be diversifying income. if possible, do stuff like a merch store + patreon + kofi + streaming + commissions + vending at local fairs/festivals/conventions if at all possible. it's a lot for sure, but scheduling and managing your time and schedule is also a huge part of it. keep a weekly planner. do not just wing it.

also, prioritize your own fun and your own happiness. art as a job is not sustainable if you're forcing yourself to draw stuff you don't wanna draw. it's the fastest way to kill your passion, and will lead to you hating your job just as much as any other job you'd hate.

but otherwise feel free to send more specific questions. i can answer to the best of my abilities. and take my advice with a grain of salt :) creative pathways are unique to everyone, and what works for other people might not work for you personally. <3

[neigepomme]

˙ ✩°˖ ☃️ try again / zayne x reader

synopsis; right person, wrong time, but even after a year, the heartache remains. you looked for him in everyone you met, and so did zayne — but when the universe lets you cross paths again, will it be kind enough to let you try again?

🍎 pomme's notes — i made a playlist for this fic! this is loosely based on jaehyun and d.ear's try again, but all of these songs were played while i was writing and i think they make the reading experience better!! also if there are typos forgive me i finished writing this at 5am oops

✴︎ 5.5k words ⋆ hurt/comfort ⋆ set in a world with no evol (also caleb cameo and zaynecaleb are best friends because i said so) ⋆ fem reader ⋆ 2nd person

it was a snowy december night when you decided to mutually break up.

the night was quiet and so peaceful, but your heart was in turmoil upon seeing his defeated face, and so was his when tears started to fall from your eyes.

it wasn’t always like this though.

you met him in college, he was two years your senior and you’d been taking the same ethics class — one he'd pushed off until his last semester before his residency. always kind and soft-spoken, you eventually got to work on a group project together and when the other people in your team decided to play hooky, zayne was the one to let the professor know and invite you to work together.

he eventually started reaching out to you under the pretense of studying together at a new cafe, only for the both of you to talk endlessly, with no real studying being done. your bashful expression when he'd compliment your new earrings didn't go unnoticed, and you also didn't miss the shy glances followed by a cough when you glanced back.

this went on for two whole months, until you encountered one of zayne's friends, caleb, at a party you both attended. drunk out of his mind, with zayne following in tow (sporting a worried expression that you found quite cute), he spotted you and made a beeline for you. the brunette pointed at you, and spoke with a slurred speech.

"you. you're the girl he's been talking about non-stop right? the cute one from his ethics class? dude, zayne's in looooove with you."

at a loss for words, you glanced at zayne — who was running a hand over his face, clearly flustered out of his mind and trying his best to get caleb to shut up.

the butterflies in your stomach were batting their wings furiously, and your own face started feeling hot. before you could even speak though, caleb spoke again, a little more agitated now.

"poor guy cannot take you off his mind, so for my mental wellbeing, please date him. i can't keep living like this, my ears are gonna fall off if i hear one more thing about you — no offense. if there's an equivalent to the bechdel test for men, we're failing and we're failing haaaaard. all because of him. i'm gonna grab another beer but you've gotta date him. please."

as caleb walked away, you stared at zayne. it was a clumsy indirect admission of feelings, but gosh was it a sweet one. his face burned red, unable to stop his friend from revealing all of that info to you — but it's not like it was a lie. whenever the two of them would hang out, he'd ask caleb for advice on what to wear for your next outing or check whether or not a text you sent him had a hidden message. hell, zayne would text him asking for good date spots to take you to.

running a hand through his hair, zayne watched his friend walk away and cleared his throat before grabbing a hold of your hand, his serious expression not doing much to distract you from the red of his cheeks.

"this wasn't how i planned on letting you know how i feel and asking you out but.. he wasn't really lying."

his cold hand gripped yours a bit more tightly, before he exhaled in a feeble attempt at steadying his nerves.

"i really do like you though, and i'd love to take you out. not as the guy from your ethics class that you're stuck doing a project with, but as your boyfriend."

that's how it started. loving zayne was comfortable. it came as easily as breathing. the late nights he'd spend in your dorm room, reading one of his cardiology textbooks while you slept soundly on his chest were your favorites. no words needed to be exchanged, his heartbeat told you everything you had to know about his love for you.

when you received a job offer from your dream company, zayne was there with a bouquet of your favorite flowers to congratulate you. kissing your face softly and whispering sweetly about how proud he was, and how he knew you'd get in. you melted in his embrace, remembering the times you'd cried in his arms, afraid of being rejected while he held you and gave you soft reassurances.

in return, you were there for him — preparing boxes of snacks for him to keep in his car while he did his residency. his own apartment was left neglected, as he preferred spending nights at your place, sleeping only for a few hours before he went back to the hospital.

it was comfortable when you were still in university, but life caught up with you rapidly. your job was rewarding, but the long hours and the overtime you had to work because of how new you were, drained you.

zayne also had a hard time. his mentor was spread thin, and he had to take on more responsibilities as a resident physician than he'd had to during his internship. coming back home to you was difficult, the shifts seemed never-ending — basically working 24 to 36 hours regularly.

the date nights became more and more sparse. you spoke to each other less and less, not wanting to drain the other further. zayne would spend more time at his place, given that it was closer to the hospital, and you'd be exhausted from the overtime to visit him. he called you during his breaks, but more often than not, he got interrupted by responsibilities or different emergency codes, only being able to talk to you for two minutes at most if he was lucky.

you were having a hard time too. trying your best to text him, but your boss seemed hellbent on making sure you were always hard at work, never allowing you the time to send zayne a quick text. the mandatory overtime was irritating to say the least — always menial tasks that took an infuriating amount of time and that kept you in the office for hours, forcing you to come home late at night. staying up was an almost impossible ask, no matter how much you loved zayne. your eyes practically closed upon entering your home, and you'd forget to wipe your makeup way too many times. the rare times you'd stay awake, he'd have to stay later, because of a young patient having a heart attack or a new admission at the hospital.

it was exhausting, and neither of you were to blame. the universe had made it difficult and you couldn't hold any resentment because you knew how much this job meant to zayne. on the other hand, he also didn't want to ask you to accommodate him — feeling that it'd be unfair to ask you to stay up, knowing just how tired you were.

eventually, it had been enough.

you tried your best to push that feeling down, convincing yourself that you two will be alright, that this is just a hardship that will pass, but it was eating away at you. you missed zayne so much, and this whole thing just wasn't doable. it wasn't sustainable for either of you. when your friend tara said, "right person, wrong time! it's unfortunate, but you can't help it," you never thought it'd apply to you. never in a million years would you have thought that this relationship would be a fleeting thing, that it'd be rendered difficult and heartache inducing. zayne was perfect for you, as you were for him — but whichever divine entity looked down upon you didn't seem to agree. the days seemed to drag on, and you missed your boyfriend so deeply, but life seemed set on making you and zayne exhausted, not even having the time to see one another.

you were the only thing on zayne's mind while he worked. the surgeries never ended, and he just wanted to take a nap in your arms, but his attending seemed keen on making him work until he keeled over. he was so worn out, every single one of his limbs sore, but he still thought about you and how lonely you must feel. this job is his dream, saving people is something he's always yearned to do, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he feels like the worst boyfriend to have ever existed. you never complained, never asked him to abandon his job to spend time with you, and whenever he'd have to cut your calls short, you'd tell him it's okay, your voice laced with an unspoken sadness.

he sometimes wished you'd get angry at him. demand he spend some time with you but you were always understandind and patient. you were too good to him, and zayne felt so selfish. you didn't deserve to wait for him, especially not when you already had so much on your plate with your new job and boss. his conscience weighed on him, and he couldn't let you keep going and be unhappy.

and so, he told his supervisor that there was a personal emergency, and he headed over to your place after sending you a message; one you dreaded but expected in the back of your mind.

"love, we need to talk. i'll come over to your place in 20 mins."

his heart ached upon sending it, and he only wished that your heart hurt less than his — unfortunately it was far from being the case. you had just gotten home when you received the text, and you could already feel tears welling up in your eyes. you knew what was going to follow, but you were exhausted, and you knew he was too. you wanted to fight for this relationship. you loved zayne so much, so desperately, it made your heart hurt, and god, you knew he loved you too. you wanted to fight, but you felt selfish doing so. in your heartbreak, you still cared about him so much. his eyebags were getting more and more pronounced, and there was nothing you could do to take away from his tiredness. at this point, you just wanted him to rest, and if you could take away one thing off his mind at the cost of your own unhappiness, you'd do it.

zayne drove to your place, his hands tight on the steering wheel. he didn't want to do this, but he loves you so much. he loves you so bad, he cannot let you wither away, waiting for him. you deserved the world and he couldn't even give you a full hour without being interrupted by a call from the hospital, or without him desperately needing sleep. he started going through his memory, trying to remember the last time he took you out on a date. the last time he gave you his full attention, the last time he saw you laugh, the last time he made you blush. all these instances seemed so far away, and he couldn't forgive himself for leaving you alone for so long. you deserved too much, and if you could be your bright, joyful self without him by your side, then so be it.

it was snowing outside, so softly. it felt as if the universe was mocking you, as if it interpreted your relationship as an insult towards itself, and was hellbent on getting rid of it. your heart was breaking in anticipation, but the world would keep on moving.

you choke back tears.

no matter how much you wanted the earth to stop spinning, just for a moment with him again, it never would. you were doomed to stride forward, whether you wanted to or not.

the twenty minutes went by at a grueling slow pace, yet it didn't feel like enough time for either of you to prepare for the inevitable. when you hear that familiar rhythmic knock on your door, it suddenly feels like the beginning of the end. there were so many thoughts going through your mind — what if you didn't answer the door? would he still stay by your side? no, that was too cruel. your stomach hurts at the thought of paining him further, and so you stood from the couch where you were sitting and walked towards the door. your whole body felt weighed down when you opened it, only to see zayne — a painful expression painted on his face. he seemed thinner than before, more tired. you wanted to reach up and cradle his face, one last time, but you held back. you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

all he wanted was to hold you in his arms, as tight as he could, and tell you, "we'll be alright, we'll be okay."

you looked so worried about him, it shattered zayne's heart. he couldn't believe you still cared, even after being so worn out from the long work hours. even in your most tired moments, when you looked so fragile, when your eyes held back tears, you still cared about him so much. he didn't want to hurt you, never wanted to — but he'd ended up doing it, and he couldn't keep dragging this on further. he didn't want to tell you how much he loved you, how much it broke him to do this.

when you invite him in, hesitant to hold his hand in fear of your resolve wavering, he refuses. if he took a step inside your home, he wouldn't want to let you go. you look up to stare into his eyes, only for him to shake his head and inhale shakily.

"i'm so sorry. i.. i think we should break up."

you heard his voice. you know what he said. you knew from before, knew it was coming, knew it was inevitable.

you knew, but it still hurt.

it hurt so terribly, and you couldn't even do anything to make it hurt less. you couldn't hate him, couldn't get angry, couldn't scream, couldn't do anything.

trying your best not to let your voice crack, you respond while choking back a sob.

"okay. i'm sorry, zayne."

when the tears started falling from your eyes, zayne wanted to reach out and wipe them away. he loathed to see you cry, but the only thing he loathed more than that at that moment was himself. his throat was closing up, and he wanted to fall to his knees.

he wanted to beg you to get angry.

beg you to love him less.

beg you to hate him.

beg you to do anything that could make it less painful for him to end things with you.

he couldn't do it, though. he could never do it, and he felt like a coward for that. so what did he do? he nodded and spoke one last time before leaving your doorstep.

"i'm so sorry. please, take care of yourself. i can't apologize enough."

as zayne walks back to his car, he has to fight with himself to not look back at you, despite the difficult breathing and the sniffles he hears from you. because if he does, he'll just run back to you. but he wants you to be free from him. free from the burden of his love — so he keeps on walking, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying.

you look at his back when he walks away.

you only allow yourself to sob once his car pulls out of your apartment's parking lot. the tears are falling freely, each one more painful than the next, and you can't help yourself from wailing, from silently begging him to come back, to tell you that everything is going to be fine, that you shouldn't break up.

sobbing on your doorstep, harder than you've ever cried before, harder than you thought you could ever cry.

one of your neighbor walks out to see you on your knees, and she asks you "what's wrong sweetie? are you hurt?", and you can only cry out that you love him, you love him so much it hurts, that you just want him. she holds you in her arms, tells you it's okay, that you'll be okay, but it's no use.

your heart hurts so bad.

it's not her you want comforting you.

it's zayne.

you want him to hold you tight, to tell you that everything will be okay.

it shouldn't have ended like this. you didn't want it to end like this, and neither did he, but there was nothing either of you could do.

right person, wrong time.

the day after was terrible. you had no choice but to show up to work, despite your voice being hoarse and your eyes being painfully puffy from all the tears you shed the night before.

everything felt off. you didn't text him during your break, and at no point did he call you. 

it made you want to cry again, but you couldn't. you had to be strong because the world kept on spinning, and zayne wouldn't have wanted you to sob for him endlessly — though you were certain that once you got home, you'd start sobbing and pleading for him in your room. 

the day went by quickly. too fast, really. there was just numbness when you were at your desk, something like autopilot mode kicking in. 

when the clock hit 5, and your boss let you go home with no overtime, you felt the tears resurface. the one day you had wished for a distraction, away from your feelings, your boss decided to be considerate. no words were said, though. you packed your bag and walked out. 

the chinese restaurant you went to with zayne was on your way home. the place where he found out he'd gotten matched into a cardiology residency at akso hospital, where he'd stood and hugged you so tightly, in front of onlookers — so unlike his usual self, who shyed away from PDA. he was so happy to share the good news with you, his favorite person. 

the memories resurfaced, and it felt like you could see him in everything you've ever loved. zayne had left a permanent mark on you, and you wanted to hate him for ruining so many things for you, but you couldn't bring yourself to.

you held your tears back during the entire walk home.

maybe you should call tara. do anything to distract you from this. from feeling like a ghost, a shell of yourself without him by your side. you needed to change, to prepare food, to sleep, to work, and to repeat all of this again tomorrow. so with a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, you opened your closet to grab some comfortable clothes — that was when you saw it.

one of zayne's sweaters, one that he'd given you to wear when you were cold during a date. it still smelled like his cologne, like his jasmine fragrance.

it was unfair. you inhaled sharply and looked up, trying your best to stop the sobs, but it was of no use. 

it still smelled like him.

you grabbed your phone before the tears completely blurred your vision and called tara, all while clutching his sweater to your chest.

“hey babe! you got off work?”

and the sobs resumed. you cried your heart out, desperately asking her, if it was for the best, then why does it hurt so bad? why does it feel like a part of yourself got removed when he walked away? everything seemed like a blur, but you remember the door unlocking and her worried face. hands cradling your face, telling you to let it all out, to cry until you couldn't anymore. that it was okay to hurt. you didn't need to put on a front. you didn't need to look so strong — you could fall apart because you'd build yourself back up.

so you did just that. you cried in her arms. you cried for him, cried at the world, cried at the unfairness of it all. she rocked you back and forth, comfort reminiscent of zayne's arms.

you cried harder than the night before. and you kept on crying every single day for a week.

the months passed by slowly after that. you still didn't text him during your breaks, and he still didn't call you. you still loved him, you still longed for him, but you hoped he was relieved of some burden. maybe he'd finally sleep a little better at night, maybe his eyebags went away, even if you weren't there to see it. you'd be okay eventually, but now wasn't quite the time yet.

following tara's recommendation, you downloaded dating apps. not to properly date anyone, just to take your mind off him, but it proved to be harder than she said. the men you matched with all resembled him slightly. one of them had similar eyes, the other had the same fashion sense, and another had a similar smile. when you talked to them, you tried to find traces of him within their speaking habits. none of them had his dry humor, nor did they have his tender voice or his laugh.

none of them called you to check in between shifts.

none of them were zayne.

dating was off the table when you realized that; maybe you need some more time to yourself? perhaps you need to learn to visit the places you went to with him, get used to going to the cafes you two favored on your own.

your boss wasn't breathing down your neck anymore, so you could spend your next evening visiting that pastry shop zayne adored — the one he'd order macarons from and personally deliver to your home to share with you.

however, each time you told yourself you'd do it, you felt afraid.

afraid of running into him. afraid of seeing him too happy without you by his side. what if he'd already found another woman? someone from the hospital, maybe a nurse or a fellow resident. you wouldn't be able to handle it, so you pushed it off.

"i'll do it tomorrow," you'd tell yourself.

soon, it'll be a whole year without zayne. his birthday was the most difficult day since the night you lost him. funnily enough, you thought you'd be able not to cry, but you missed him even more than before. you had the day off — a PTO you scheduled ahead of the breakup, but now you were just surrounded by the silence. the autumn breeze blew through your window and reminded you of him.

“you'll catch a cold, my love.”

“mmh, the breeze feels so nice, though. but maybe if my favorite snowman hugged me and kept me warm, i'd be okay.”

“sure, darling. i'll keep you warm in my icy embrace and shield you from the cold, won't i?”

you hugged the snowman plushie he'd won you a little tighter upon reminiscing. you cried softly against it, your heart aching again — but you found solace in knowing that he was out here working hard towards his goal. you'd support him from afar, no matter what.

today marked 12 months since the breakup. an entire year.

and today, you were going to visit the pastry shop. you had to get over him, and as painful as it sounded, it had been almost a year, and you had to keep moving. zayne would become a beloved memory, treasured within both your heart and your mind. 

dressed for the weather, you walked towards the quiet cafe but hesitated before opening the door to the establishment. the walk on the way here was familiar, and the pastry shop remained the same way you'd left it when you last visited it with zayne. the same regulars, the same jingle of the bell when you pushed the door open, the same chairs and the same staff. you searched for the seats you'd usually sit at with zayne, and you thought your eyes failed you when you see those familiar hazel eyes looking over the cafe, as if they were waiting for something to happen.

or someone to come in.

he was sitting alone, the same jasmine tea latte on the table in front of him — the one he'd meticulously pour three sugar packets in before stirring counterclockwise for 20 seconds to dissolve the sugar. he looked the same as he did that december night, if only more tired. his eyebags did not go away, it seemed.

gathering all the courage you could muster, you walk towards him. you'd get your closure today no matter what.

but when he looked your way, your steps faltered. his gaze softened, his shoulders slumped a bit, as if he'd let go of some tension he didn't know he held. zayne smiled, and you had to hold back from jumping into his arms, telling him how much you'd missed him. he spoke softly, as if afraid to disturb you — as if you'd blow away in the wind, like a dandelion's bristles.

"hi," he'd whisper, his voice as soothing as the day you last heard it.

your breath catches in your throat, and you have to inhale a bit before replying.

“hi, zayne. can i sit here?”

and he nodded, his lips slightly curling upwards. you hoped it was you he was waiting for. maybe he'd wanted to see as much as you did, and maybe he too longed to hold you in his arms. 

you waited for him to speak again, and as if reading your mind, he did. fidgeting a bit in his chair, zayne looked over at you so fondly. 

“how have you been?”

his voice. you missed his voice so much. you missed him asking about you about your day with that tone, that patient and tender, love filled tone. 

"oh i've been.. decent." 

that seemed like a good answer. you weren't good, nor were you fine. you had the man you loved, the man you love, sitting in front of you after close to a year of yearning for him, following the worst heartbreak you had ever experienced. 

“work's been tiring, but my boss stopped breathing down my neck. i get home on time now, with no mandatory overtime. it's okay now. how about you?”

zayne wasn't fine. the hospital took in some new cardiology residents, so the workload calmed down, but he still felt restless without you by his side. he gazed over all of your features, and you looked so beautiful. he missed you to death.

“i'm handling everything okay. we have new attending physicians, so the amount of long shifts has significantly decreased.”

he spoke truthfully, you knew it, but you couldn't make sense of his eyebags if that was the truth. he looked like he's had sleepless nights for months, his eyes tired and not as bright as they used to be. he still looked so charming, though, and you thought to yourself, that it wasn't your place to inquire any further.

the two of you caught up for two hours, akin to old friends having a heartfelt reunion — except you were ex-lovers. ex-lovers who valued the other's happiness over your own, leaving you both miserable but under the impression that the other was doing better without you.

he asked if you dated in the past year, and you shook your head, explaining that you had a hard time and chose to take some time to yourself. zayne didn't need to know you were unable to date because you wanted him. he didn't need to know that you refused to give a chance to anyone who wasn't him, that you looked for him in everyone you met.

secretly, zayne felt relief upon learning that. he wanted you to be happy, of course he did, but selfishly, he wanted to be the one to bring you happiness. in all honesty, he couldn't bring himself to date anyone either. the women around him weren't you. they didn't smile at him the way you did, never cared to learn more about him beyond his face and job, and none of them texted him sweet little love messages to check up on him. you were the only one for him.

you only started heading out when the cafe announced it'd be closing its doors, and even then, neither of you seemed to be in a rush. a strange sense of longing lingered around you both, a warm feeling — something that quietly begged for one more moment spent together.

zayne offered to drive you home, and you took him up on that. the car hummed quietly as you sat in comfortable silence. the last rays of sunlight quickly disappeared, leaving behind them a deep blue night. snowflakes slowly started drifting down from the sky, and you were reminded of that night when you decided to part ways. sooner than you'd hoped, zayne pulled into your apartment's parking lot.

he still knew the way to your place.

if you asked him about it, he'd answer simply. he never forgot, never could bring himself to remove the path to your home from his memory. he'd spent countless nights there, holding you in his arms while he rested before the hospital inevitably called him for a new 36h shift. zayne could never forget the way home. not your apartment, he could never forget the way to you — his real home.

getting out of his car, he walked you to your apartment. soon, you'd have to say goodbye to him, and you grew restless at the thought. it felt like if you said goodbye today, it'd be the last time you'd see him. you didn't want to bother him any longer, nor keep him tied down.

it seemed inevitable, though. it felt like it was last year again when you had to fight tears from falling upon agreeing on breaking up. helpless, unable to speak, and to ask him to stay. unable to be selfish, for once. but what could you do? you just nodded and wished him a goodnight and goodbye. it'd be over soon enough. you'd see his back as he walked away from you for the last time.

you're the first to turn away, focusing your gaze on your doorknob, trying to type in the digits to his birthday to unlock your apartment. the tears rose up, and your eyes were misty again, fog taking over your field of vision. 

it was the end.

zayne took a step back and looked at you. a feeling of doom, helplessness, and fear took over him. he'd let you go a second time, and it'd be the last this time around. no more chances — he'd never get to see your face agaim after this, but if you were happy it was worth it, wasn't it?

he watched you type in your password and heard the familiar jingle when your door unlocked.

it really was the end.

god, he really couldn't do this. he needed to be selfish for once, and he prayed you'd forgive him for it.

before you can take a step inside, you hear him call out your name, and before you can fully process it, you just feel his arms around you. he held you so tightly.

zayne was holding you in his arms. the way he desperately wanted to when he heard you cry a year ago. the way you wished he'd held you a year ago. 

“i'm sorry. i'm selfish. i can't even let you go, so please, please.”

you couldn't stop the sobs that took over your body when you heard him plead for you. you clutched onto his sweater as tight as you could, the smell of jasmine so soothing while you sobbed in his arms. his arms tighten around you when he feels you tremble against him, desperate in the way he shook slightly too.

he spoke again, his voice breaking. more vulnerable than you'd ever heard him before. more raw, full of yearning, longing, desperation and love. so much love.

“i love you. i love you so much, i love you more than life itself.”

zayne kissed the top of your head, soft tears falling down his cheeks while he whispered soft apologies and promises of a future together. he missed you so much. a part of his heart went missing without you next to him. he needed you by his side, as selfish as that made him seem.

“we'll be alright. please, let's try again.”

those words you wanted to hear, so very badly on that night, a year ago. you nodded against his chest, the sobs not showing any signs of stopping.

except this time around, zayne was there to hold you in his arms. two lovers who longed for each other's warmth for a year, finally into each other's embrace again.

it was a snowy december night when you reunited with your love, and you'd never let go this time.

🍎 pomme's final notes — if the zaynejaehyun agenda has a million fans then i am one of them if the zaynejaehyun agenda has one fan it is me and if the zaynejaehyun agenda has no fans i am dead. also i bawled while writing the breakup part don't kick me too hard

also if at any point while reading this fic you wanted to kill me just know that i was probably also wanting to kill myself but hey all's well that ends well am i right :P

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Captain's Orders 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, controlling behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The Captain takes it upon himself to change your life.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: Ugh, here we go.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Steve, Captain, First Avenger, whatever you should call him, follows you down the stairs. You're overly aware of his presence. You're confused by it.

You got in one argument on the internet and now he's here? What the heck is wasting his time online for? Doesn't he have a life? He did tell you to get one after all.

"I got it," he dips around you as you get to the bottom. He pulls back the fire door and you eye him warily as you step through. Once more, he's on your heels. He gets the front door too.

You cross your arms as you come out into the sunlight. He shades his eyes with his hands and sighs, "nice day, isn't it?"

You roll your tongue around before you answer, "yep."

"I saw a shop around here--"

"It's expensive," you say.

"I said I'd treat you--"

"Why?" You turn on him and stop in the middle of the sidewalk. You cringe and seal your lips. You steady yourself. "Sorry, I'm not trying to be rude. I got your message loud and clear. You didn't need to come and make sure. Is that why you came?"

"I will explain. Smoothies first." He insists.

You huff, "I know who you are but this is still kinda scary. How did you even find me?"

"You know who I am," he shrugs. Your chest swims with nerves. You nod and turn down the pavement.

"What'd you eat today? You should try some Vitamin C in the smoothie. Get a protein booster." He offers.

You're slightly irked by his advice, mostly the assumptions behind it. You wet your lips and bite back on your retort. You are not a combative person. You never have been. He was right on that front. You settle for a lot of nonsense.

You notice the stray glances in your direction. Not yours, his. People stare at him like fawns, wide-eyed and frozen in place.

"So, what did you have for breakfast?"

"Steve-- Captain-- What would you prefer?"

"We'll get to that too," he says smugly. His answer unsettles you further. He's so certain and you are entirely lost. Not to mention, embarrassed.

"It doesn't really matter what I ate," you say.

He points you ahead of him, down the walkway to the shop door. He once more opens it and sees you through. You enter and look around. The amount of booty-lifting leggings and bulging biceps has you shrinking down.

You stare up at the menu and try to piece together how to order. You get a base and a boost and then there's all these bobas and vitamins? This is too complicated.

"You have any recommendations?" You ask. Maybe that will appease him.

"Sure, I'll get you my usual. You wanna find a table?"

"Can do," you mumble and walk away.

You sit in the corner and cradle your chin in your hand. You tap your lip and blow a soft raspberry. There's a woman staring at you from her group of friends. Her assumptions would be kinder than Steve's. He's here to lecture you in person, not take you on a date.

He sits across from you and sets down a cup filled to the brim with sickly green. You shouldn't complain. You're not exactly eating gourmet. You thank him and reach for it. He stretches his hand over the top.

"You shouldn't put your elbows on the table. It's rude." He reproaches.

Your frown then sit up, dragging your arm off the table. You can't make yourself apologise. He so easily picks out your every flaw.

"You gonna try it?" He watches you.

You hesitate but bring the straw to your mouth. You sip and your cheeks pinch. It's bitter yet tangy. How?

"Mm, good," you lie."

"You get used to it," he says.

"Can I please know why I came home to you in my apartment?"

He grins and looks down. He pokes his tongue into his cheek.

"You don't get out much," he lifts his eyes.

"Yeah, you were right about that," you squirm and put the cup down. You clasp your hands in your lap.

"How old are you?"

You chew your cheek before you answer, "twenty-three."

"Mhmm, and you don't have any schooling? Not formal?" He wonders.

You put your eyes down, "no. Can't afford it."

"Huh, from what I gather, lots of students work their way through these days."

Your heart sinks.

"Couldn't get accepted either," you mumble. "That's my own doing. So no need to say it out loud."

Your shoulders slump and your eyes glaze. This is humiliating. It's like having lunch with your mom. Not that she ever did much better. Still, she picks you apart like a chicken leg.

"You should sit up. Bad posture won't feel good as you get closer to thirty," he girds.

You suck in a deep breath and sit straight. You scowl at him, "I got your point, alright? I already feel terrible. Is that what you want to hear?"

"No," he tilts his head. "I want you to try. I want you to do better."

"What does it matter to you? You don't know me."

"It matters to me because I can make you better," he says. "You said you don't get opportunities. That everyone else has everything handed to them, so my hand is open. I'm giving you what you're looking for."

"Huh?" You shake your head gently and furrow your brow.

"No rent, no work, none of that."

You blink and cross your arms. What is he talking about?

"Here's the deal. You get a free ride and all you have to do is follow my rules. I promise you, everything will be better. No manager, no loud sister, no bills."

You narrow your eyes, "and what do I have to do?"

"I said as much, live by my rules."

"Oh," you purse your lips.

You have this rotting feeling in your gut. He's not saying something. There's no reason for him to do this. Over one little spat on a forum.

"Is this how you save people, Cap?"

"I prefer Captain," he spreads his shoulders wide.

"Right. Captain. What if I can't live by your rules? You think I'm lazy--"

"Unmotivated. Complacent. Apathetic. Not lazy," he corrects you.

"Sure, but why... me?"

His eyes twinkle thoughtfully. They are very blue. You were so focused on yourself, you didn't notice... him. He's forged like a statue. His eyes are bright, his features made even more handsome by his beard and his grown out hair. And you are in your work uniform. A mess.

"Chance, I guess." He shrugs. "I mean, think about it, what else do you got going for you?"

You stare at the table then turn your sights through the window. You issue a soft sigh. You put your elbow on the table and he tisks. You quickly pull it back and wiggle your foot anxiously.

He's not wrong. You have absolutely nothing. You don't see yourself getting too much further than minimum wage and a shit apartment. You are being handed this, are you going to turn away what you always envied? An easy out.

"What does it... mean? What happens if I agree? What are the rules?" Your questions bubble out.

He combs his thick fingers through his hair, "the rules you'll learn. First, you're coming back to New York, so I can supervise you. Then, we start. You get into a regimen; exercise, clean eating, routine."

You flutter your lashes. This is absurd. You scoff.

"You're joking. You're mocking me. You're--" you cover your face, "I get it now. I almost fell for it."

"No," he reaches across and pulls your hands down. You flinch at the warmth of his touch, the roughness of his skin. "I'm not. Look."

He retracts his hold on you and you fold your hands over your chest. He reaches into his jacket pocket and slides out two cards. He lays down the thick paper.

"I have two return tickets. For me and you. Tomorrow at noon."

"Tomorrow-- huh?" Your eyes round.

"I'm serious. You better get serious too. You'll be twenty-four soon. Then twenty-five. It's not too far before thirty comes knocking," he taps the tickets.

You're not like him. You're not going to stay young. You're not amped up on super goo. You're only human.

"Or you can do what you always do. Nothing, then blame everyone else."

It's like a slap in the face. Shame and anger. Hurt. Doubt. He's right, it's time to grow up. This isn't an opportunity you get very often. In fact, you don't think many others have been given the same chance. For once, you won the lottery.

"I'll try it." You say.

"No try. You commit," he retorts.

"Alright, I'll... do it."

"You'll do it, Captain," he corrects you.

Your insides wriggle at that. You ignore it.

"I'll do it, Captain."

⭐

Static scratches in your ears and skull as you enter the apartment. Alone. Stunned. As if a mine exploded in your face. In a way, it sort of did. Your online griping finally caught up to you. That and your real-life failure.

Shea is in the living room. She gets up on her knees and smirks at you. "Aw, where is he?"

"Who?" You blink, not processing her question.

"Captain America, duh," she scoffs. "Come on, you really sent him away?"

"He's... busy." You go to your bedroom door and the couch lurches with her weight.

"Hey, you can't just not tell me why he showed up. You didn't say anything about knowing Steve fucking Rogers."

"I didn't?" You open your door and she follows you into your room. You face her and block her from going further. "Shea, please, I need to be alone."

"Why? You're always alone. It's why I'm so surprised you have hunky blond heroes showing up for you. Taking you out for a smoothie," she taunts.

She was listening. He was right to go somewhere else.

"It wasn't... like that. Look. I'm..." you back away and sit on the foot of your bed. You're dizzy. You really said yes. You're entirely sure to what. He kept it all a bit too vague. "I'm moving out."

"What? Why? But--"

"Yeah, er, yeah," you stutter as you build a lie in your mind, "he was here about a job. Long shot. I forgot I even applied."

"Wait? You're going to work with the Avengers? Doing what?"

You look at her, "paperwork."

"Paperwork?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wait. How am I supposed to find a new roommate? When are you leaving?"

You rub your cheeks and stretch them as you drag your fingers down, "tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?!" She shrieks.

"Yeah, it's... they move fast."

"All the way to New York?" She blusters.

"Please, Shea, I need time to think."

"Yeah, me too!"

"I'll figure out rent for you. I don't know," you hold your head in your hands.

"Well, you don't seem very excited," she snorts.

"Shea!" You sit up with a snarl. "Stop. Alright! I need you to get out so I can pack."

"Don't yell at me--"

"I'm not..." you lower your voice, "yelling. I'm... trying to figure this out so please. Later."

She rolls her eyes and stomps out. "Donna!" She hollers and you get up to close the door behind her.

You stomp back to your bed and take out your phone. You almost can't remember work or all the BS there. You swipe through the search results and tap on the first that isn't sponsored: National Museum, Virtual Exhibit. You're brought to a page with a familiar face. Steve, with no beard and shorter, lighter hair. The infamous war hero.

You flip through, reading about his history, chewing your thumb. You stop at the part about the serum; 'This enhancement gifted Rogers with superstrength, heightened sight and hearing, improved resilience, and quick healing, among other capabilities.'

You rock nervously. That's a bit intimidating. You're not that stupid. You know he's a strong guy, almost invincible by the news stories, but you just never paid that much attention. Never thought of it. He protects people, right? But what damage could he do if he wanted to hurt someone?

Your phone vibrates. You flinch at the sight of his name. He made you take his number before you left the shop.

'I'll pick you up at 10. Wiil need to check-in for flight early.'

You send back a thumbs up. He's quick to reply.

'Is that a yes?'

You huff.

'Yes, Captain', you key in.

[shiny-jr]

VERY IMPORTANT!

THE INTERACTION.

This announcement pertains to the recent plagiarism incident that I've been dealing with behind the scenes. This announcement will contain the explanation in the form of a timeline, along with evidence (as much as I can provide given that Tumblr has an image limit) of the plagiarism and interactions, as well as what you can do to help. This post will be the interaction post, and you can find the other post of the evidence here:

Evidence post.

If you choose to help, thank you, and please make sure you read the entirety of the two posts for all the information and as I'd like to set some boundaries.

Before I explain the timeline, I would like to make it clear that it was my full intention to solve this privately and quickly. It was what I wanted since the beginning, but that has been made harder and harder, and now it is practically impossible. I did not want to go public, but I was compelled to do so.

Here is the rough timeline to understand the situation.

DECEMBER EIGHTH. I receive a message in my inbox notifying me that my work has been plagiarized. I check it out promptly, despite being busy. Sure enough, I find a story on Quotev that has multiple scenes that are far too similar to mine, with some words even being the same, but of course slightly adjusted probably to go under the radar. What I found even more preposterous, is the user followed me and still had this story posted.

I took some time to skim through the story, comparing scenes with mine. I have different tabs open, looking at each line and recognizing some lines and scenarios. After a bit of comparison, I came to the conclusion that it was indeed plagiarism. This was entirely new territory for me, as I don't remember if I had ever dealt with something like this before. Which is why I took this issue to a small server of writer mutuals where I received advice and feedback.

My main objective was to end the situation as quickly as possible, without any major drama or harsh words. There were no direct messages available on Quotev, so I had to resort to the comment section. I leave a comment on the copied story, detailing an explanation with dates provided and one of many examples being used to further my point. At the end of the comment, I ask them to delete the story.

Unfortunately, I did not think to take a screenshot of the comment I made, but I do have a copy of it from when I was typing it out in my notes. My comment on the copied story went something like this:

"Hello. I really did want did to be a private conversation, but due to the fact that Quotev has disabled private messages, this is the only way my message could get across. My username, as you can see right above this comment, is ShinyJr. My story is Damnation, a Twisted Wonderland yandere series that bears a striking resemblance to yours. I would say it's a coincidence, but I really don't think it is based of the fact alone that you published this series in June of 2023 while I first published scenes of my story in December of 2022 from Tumblr then officially posted it on Quotev in January of 2023. It's an ongoing series of mine, which makes it more disheartening when I find a story such as this one that have blatantly copied both the premise and a vast majority of the scenes. Not only this, but I also noticed several instances of potentially copied scenes from a mutual of mine and their own story, who I won't name as I don't speak for them. This just further proves that you deliberately copied others. If you need more proof of this, I will gladly provide it, as I gathered plenty of side by side comparisons. Just in case though, here are some comparisons I found: 1. MC is trying to think of how to manipulate the story. Up to this point, there are a lot of uncanny similarities, such as the MC waking up as the chieftain of the hyenas, Ruggie being the first one to greet them, climbing a cliffside and being surprising by Leona, the prince of the kingdom. But there's one line in the thought process which particularly caught my eye. My version: The plot was moving forward. Leona needed the hyenas, he couldn’t complete the coup all on his own. So either way, with or without your approval, he would win the majority of the hyena-folk by his false good-will. You could reveal to Ruggie and the others that you weren’t who they thought you were, but that didn’t work before. Even if it did work this time, what then? Would they turn on you? Would they accept you but lower your standing in the ranks? Or would you be banished, die stranded in a hot desert where the vultures would peck at your remains? . . . Your version: The plot was moving forward. Leona needed the hyenas, he couldn’t complete the coup all on his own. So either way, with or without your approval, he would win the majority of the hyena-folk by his false good-will. You could reveal to Ruggie and the others that you weren’t who they thought you were, but that didn’t work before. Even if it did work this time, what then? Would they turn on you? Would they accept you but lower your standing in the ranks? Or would you be banished, die stranded in a hot desert where the vultures would peck at your remains? This is just one example of the many I found. I ask that you please take down the story. Next time, if and when you decide to continue writing, do not copy. It's not a big request, it's just basic decency."

A few hours pass when I get word from a mutual that my comment was gone, and eventually, the user had disabled the entire comment section, leaving no evidence of my message and no way to speak to them. Meaning my comment was never responded to, and the user was trying to avoid responsibility.

With no other choice left, I report the story for plagiarism.

A few hours later, the story is gone completely but the account remained. I do not know if this happened by choice of the user as in they deleted it willingly or the report worked, but the story was gone. This was completely fine with me. I was content, as I thought that it was the end of things. Oh, I was so wrong.

DECEMBER NINTH. A mutual informs me that they found the same exact story under a new profile. Same cover, same notes, same everything. Looking into things, I discover that the user created an entirely new account just to avoid being caught, and put the story back up. Not only that, but they added notes on their account and the story that were clearly meant to be jabs at me. So you can probably understand the stress this was creating.

Here is the note that was found on the second version of the copied story. The username of the other writer is blacked out because I have not spoken to them and I do not want to involve them in drama they may want no part of.

Additionally, here is the second profile the user made just to post the story again. Take note of the words on their profile and how long the account was active, as well as how long ago the story had been posted.

This time, again, I had little choice but to report both the story and the new account. I did not want to comment on anything again in case I would be reported for harassment, so this was the safest option.

At this point, I considering going public with the information, but I really want to avoid this as it just makes the issue that much bigger and problematic. So, ultimately I push the idea aside.

A few hours later, the original account, the secondary account, and the copied story are again, gone. Gone entirely. Again, whether the reports worked or the user decided to call it quits, I have not a single clue. But surely, that must be the end of it, right? You would think so.

That same day, I was informed that this same copied story was on another site. Wattpad. I investigate, and sure enough, there it is. The same user, same story. This version had been up for a while and seemed relatively low activity.

This version is still up. Now, before anyone does anything, I ask you to please finish reading for all the details.

After discovering the profile, I decide to comment directly on the user's profile. This is one I do have screenshots to. My comment was very similar to the one I left on Quotev, but with some changes.

My comment:

Their reply:

My response:

Their answer:

Notice how there is no reply after that? That is because they blocked me before I could say anything else. They also chose to go to my profile on Wattpad and comment on a post I made two years ago. This comment was likely made sometime around the time they blocked me.

This is currently where things stand. Despite the report I have attempted to make, I am unable to do anything more because of the rules of Wattpad.

This is the part where I would ask you, my followers and readers, for help. If you have fully read both this evidence post and interaction post, and you are wondering if there is a way to help, yes, there is.

However, I want to remind everyone that I do not want anyone to spam or send outright hate. That is not what I want nor will it be useful.

If you would like to help, then please report the story and comment discouragement. Especially comment on the story, as I feel that this would be the most efficient method. If you wish to reblog, you may. Again, I stress this, DO NOT send any hate or spam! I am entirely serious on this point. I will block any users I find that are clearly hating or spamming the user on my behalf.

All I want is this to end as quickly as possible, so I can just get back to writing in peace. Please, and thank you for your time.

Where can you find the story and user: Wattpad

The user: kristynaka1

The story: In The Right Time

[l-egionaire]

My Warrior Penelope AU

Based on this post I'd done before. I've seen a lot of Warrior!Penelope AUs where the events of things are....pretty much the same as Odysseus's story. And while I can get why people do that, I wanted to give my own idea on how things might change.

At the start, things are mostly the same, besides Penelope being a chosen of Ares and more of a warrior, attracting Odysseus with her smarts and battle skills. Then, when the war breaks out, Penelope insists SHE go in Odysseus's place, citing numerous reasons (Helen is her cousin, Ithaca needs their king more than their queen, her not wanting their son to grow up with father). In spite of himself, Odysseus agrees to let her go, but does give her his bow as a parting gift to remember him and their family by.

The next ten years of war and the events through "The Horse and The Infant" and "Open Arms". play out the same way. But during her and her crews meeting with Polyphemus, rather than simply blinding the cyclops like her husband had, Penelope outright kills him with her spear....and then, in her wrath at having lost so many of her men because of their advice, she goes and slays each and every one of the Lotus-Eaters.

As she and her crew prepare to leave the island with the sheep they'd taken, a figure appears on the beach in a leapord skin tunic, the wine god, Dinoysus. He glares at her and explains that the Lotus-Eaters that she had killed had been HIS followers, and he was here to punish her for murdering them. As she was Ares's chosen, he couldn't outright kill her, but he could still punish her in OTHER ways. He then looked her in the eyes, and to her horror, she found herself suddenly surrounded by hundreds of horrible monsters, all having sharp teeth and claws, some wielding weapons. She withdrew her twin axes and began to slay them, some trying to hold her down or scratch at her, but she got out of their grasps and killed them with more ferocity until all of them were dead at her feet. Dionysis then smirked and snapped his fingers. The monsters then dissolved away....to reveal the bloody bodies of all her crew. Dinoysus claimed that he'd made her slay the ones who followed her just as she'd slayed the ones who followed him before vanishing. Penelope sank to her knees, her hands shaking and covered in the blood of six hundred men.

After a full day of crying and staying in a fetal position, Penelope took a ship and began to sail, trying to get home. Her lack of a crew forced her to stay awake nearly 24/ to keep the boat on course. And unfortunately, her troubles were only added to when she ran into a flock of Harpies. While she managed to fight off and kill most of them, they took most of the sheep meat she had and her food supply soon ran low even with rationing. Now close to starving and weak from hunger and sleep deprivation, she landed on the first island she could find. To her joy, the island was full of cattle....but in her hungry and tired state, she didn't notice the statue of the sun god. She slaughtered one prepared to cooked it....then, to her horror, saw the goldsn ichor spilling from its neck. Suddenly a massive thunderstorm blossomed out over the island. Zeus descended down from the Heavens and grabbed her by the throat. Saying how DARE she disgrace yet another of his sons by stealing his cattle. That she would need to be punished for her defiance of the gods, not just once but twice. He then got a lecherous smirk and said that the first part of her punishment would start now....and began tearing off her armor....

Once it was over, Penelope was once again left feeling disgusted, horrified, and broken, this time rushing to a river to scrub down every part of her body until she was raw. Even vomiting, the feelings of shame so intense. And she soon found what the second part of her punishment was when she boarded her boat, as the winds and waves were so strong that she was blown in one way, going farther and farther away from her home in Ithaca until she landed far away, in the Land of The Giants.

The Giants used their rocks to smash her ship apart and she spent the next ten years trapped in their lands. She lived like a rat, having to run and hide in caves and desolate places to avoid being eaten, stealing food from their huts and, in some harsh cases, being forced to kill their young when they discovered her.

Then, one day, after ten years, the goddess Artemis appeared before her in her cave. Ares had asked Olympus to give her freedom from her home and after agreeing, Artemis was there to assist her in getting home. The first step would be reversing her situation and making the hunted into the Huntress. The goddess gave her a quiver full of gleaming silver arrows and told her that, using her husband's bow, she would slay the giants as the quiver would refill itself over and over until she left the giants lands. Penelope thus took those weapons and her husband's bow and began killing the giants one by one, their men, woman and children, until their was no one to threaten her as she constructed a small boat to take her home. Artemis then appeared before her again and told her to sail every night, following the moon in the sky and she would arrive safely home.

She follows Artemis's instructions, eventually arriving in Ithica....and discovering to her disgust at den of betrayal. A group of men, having seen her husband as being weak for sending so many men off to die in war and taking so much time away from ruling to care for his only son, decided to work with corrupt members of his court and servants to slowly poison the king over the last ten years. Unfortunately, due to both Odysseus's hardiness to survive and a bit of divine assistance, Odysseus managed to survive their poisoning, though leaving him in a more abd more weakened state. They'd planned to use this day to strike the king and his son down and claim power for themselves...but Penelope arrived just as they'd been about to harm her husband. Filled with rage at seeing their hands on her beloved, Penelope raised her twin axes and slew every one of them. She'd killed 600 soldiers once. 107 were nothing compared to that. Telemachus returned home to find her holding up Odysseus. And, for the first time since she arrived at the land of the giants, Penelope removed her armors helmet to expose her face to her husband and son.

The reunion was full of love and tears and joy and sadness. But it was one they all felt was worth the wait.

[hansoeii]

Hello! Hope you're having a great day/night! I absolutely adore your art, you are one of my favourite artists. I love the way you shade and do backrounds. Also everytime I get into a new show I immediately see your art for it??

I was wondering if you had any advice on drawing more realistically (backrounds, anatomy etc) but still keeping a style?

Hey hey!

Thank you so much!

I have a pretty good understanding of facial structures, because before I got into drawing more semi-realisticly, I heavily focused on realistic portraits. Here are some example, these are from around 2019!

(yes, I was really into danmei and kpop back then, haha)

I just always loved drawing/painting faces and it was all I did. But at some point I realized that I wanted to do more than that because just portraits felt super restricting. So it took me around 2-3 years to somewhat find my style. Thought it would be fun to show a little timeline! Advice will follow afterwards :)

2020

I began working on my OCs in 2020 and since I didn't have an exact reference to work off of, I struggled a lot. My art from this year is super wonky.

2021

Still wonky, but the Lokius obsession was the jumpstart into finding my style! My work from this year is all over the place haha, I was experimenting a lot.

2022

This first ofmd piece is pretty much the first drawing where you can see where my style is gonna go, which I think is pretty cool! This is the year I made the biggest progress cos I was drawing SO much. These two pieces are only six months apart. The one on the right was the first time I gave drawing a background a proper go, too! It was a good year.

2023

And this is where I am now! I'm still constantly learning and improving, but I'd say I have a style you can recognize now!

Now here comes some actual advice, haha:

What I highly recommend you to do is to study your favorite artists as much as you can! I have like 5 A4 sketchbooks all from 2020 that I filled with sooooo many studies, where basically all I did was look at artists I like and copy how they draw stuff, to try and figure out how to stylize certain things. Some of my favorite artists are Ami Thompson, Velinxi and TB Choi. But I also liked to just scroll through pinterest and study all the art I came across that I liked! For example, if I saw a really great drawing of a pair of pants I would copy it many times in my sketchbook and try to learn how they stylized the folds. Doing this for a prolongued period of time will naturally improve your own work! It'll be difficult at first, but you gotta push through, it's gonna be worth it!

I also highly recommend studying unique faces to try and avoid the same-face syndrome. Find some cool looking people and try to draw them as simple as you can! Maybe even draw a little timeline where you first draw them as cartoon-y as you can, and keep going until you end up with a more detailed, realistic drawing. Maybe in the middle of it you find a step that feels the most fun to you, so you can try to build on that! It's a great way to figure out what kind of style might be the best for you.

Here are some cool faces I found on pinterest!

I have a pinterest board with many more!

One REALLY important part of learning how to draw all kinds of things is to understand forms and shapes and how to manipulate them. I have so many pages in my sketchbook filled with just shapes that I drew from all kinds of angles without any references.

This is a great video on it:

6 Ways to Draw Anything by Proko

Learning how to do this is so crucial! Young artists often think they first have to learn all kinds of detailed anatomy before doing anything else, but all that's gonna do is make you tired and hate drawing. Shapes are where it's at! Once you understand how shapes work and which ones to use for certain parts of bodies or objects, drawing is gonna get so much easier! Once you understand them, you can get into details such as muscles and bones!

And honestly the most important point is to just absolutely love what you're doing! I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for the fact that I get extreme hyperfixations on certain media that turn me into some kind of beast where I can suddenly draw 10 detailed illustrations a week, haha. Just be passionate about what you do, find something you REALLY love and go crazy!

I really hope this was somewhat helpful! My inbox is always open if there's any more questions :)