#THIS IS JUST A ROUGH DRAFT WHAT IS THE ACTUAL FIRST DRAFT GOING TO CAP OUT AT?!

[smol-feralgremlin]

Finished my rough draft for Between Dragons and Nightstalkers and uh

Thats not a real fucking number

[rockermybuddie]

Comfort

A/n: this might be the first story i actually post. I have one finished and one in the works in my drafts im just too scared to post them lol.

Tommy x Evan (Buck)

Summary: When Tommy comes home and sees broken glass everywhere his first thought is Evan. He finds Evan pretending to be asleep in bed after a really rough shift and comforts him.

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~Bucks POV~

The moment the engines came to a stop in the bay i jumped out and went straight to the locker room grabbing my bag. “Buck!” Eddie calls out. I’m supposed to help stock the engine back up on supplies and clean up since its after shift but i’m too upset. “Leave him be.” Cap told Eddie.

I felt everyones eyes on me as i threw my bag in my jeep slamming my door shut. I drove out of there fast and went straight home.

When i arrived at home i saw that Tommys truck wasnt in his spot. I remembered that he said he picked up a shift which means he wont be home till later. That just made me a little more mad.

I unlocked the door and threw my bag down, I immediately went up stairs and took a shower to wash all the blood and soot off. I watched the red and black color go down the drain.

I got a flashback from the call and its all i could think about. My anger building inside of me about to burst. I got out of my shower and I couldn’t tell if the steam coming off of me was from the hot shower or if i was just that angry.

I walked downstairs to make dinner so i could try and get my mind off of the call. I got out the ingredients to make chicken parmesan pasta, Tommys favorite. I figured if i could just focus on Tommy i could get past this.

I got out a glass pan for the oven but set it down too hard out of anger causing it to shatter.

I didnt feel bad. It was just a glass pan. Usually i would be upset that i broke it but i dont feel anything but anger, not towards the broken glass.

Next thing i know im ripping open the cabinets knocking out everything, hearing the glass shatter on the floor and the need to break everything that can break.

I don’t remember anything after that, whatever happened after that was a blur.

————

~Tommys POV~

I pulled into the driveway and saw Evans jeep in the drive way, making a smile appear on my face because my love was home.

I walked into the house, i saw Evans bag tossed on the floor untouched which is weird because he always unpacks it and does the laundry.

“Evan?” I call out. No answer.

I put my bag next to his and make my way into the kitchen. I stopped in short when i saw all the cabinets open and they were empty. When i walked in further i saw all the broken glass everywhere. My first thought was we had an intruder. My instincts went straight to Evan. Where is he?!

“Evan!” I yell. I ran upstairs and swung open the bedroom door. My heart beating fast but slowed down a little when i saw him laying in the bed.

“Evan?” I say turning on the light, its only 7pm theres no way hes already asleep. “Evan i know you’re not asleep.” I walk over to his side of the bed.

I see his tear stained face as he looks up at me, his eyes are filled with sadness and his hands are shaking ever so slightly.

“Did someone break in Evan?” I ask him, maybe thats why hes so shook up. He shakes his head no.

“Whats wrong my love?” I crawl over him sitting on the other side. Buck moves to sitting between my legs leaning against me, his head resting on my shoulder.

He tells me about the call he was on about the call he was on and the whole time i just rubbed his head with my hand.

“I’m so sorry Evan. That had to of been rough.” I say when he finishes talking. “I know everyone there did their best. But sometimes those things happen. You had no control over that.” I tell him trying to comfort him.

“I’m sorry about the mess downstairs. I’ll clean it and buy new stuff.” He says. “Shhh, dont worry about that. I’ll deal with it okay?” I tell him, I kiss his forehead wishing i could take all his pain away.

“Thank you for this. I really needed it.” He says nesting his head deeper into my shoulder.

“Anytime.” I plant a kiss on his lips as we sat there a little longer.

———

A/n: i know this is a basic story, but my first ones gotta be a little rough to read. I hope you thought it was ok, lol. I will write more because of my non-stop brain but if this gets positive feedback i will post the others when i write.

[f0xgl0v3]

SoN Re-imagining Story snippet

This is that one strategizing scene I added to introduce some characters; the first draft of it specifically, it has been briefly skimmed and is of course a first draft. It’s really long, sorry dudes-

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It'd been a few weeks maybe? It didn't matter much anyways, Percy still hadn't gotten the best grips on Camp Jupiter and the routine, Hazel and Frank kept him away from trouble well enough and Dakota was as lenient of a Centurion as possible. It's been... rough, between drilling and the marches freetime was nothing more than a passing thought or joke; a jab to 'wait until after dinner' from more senior legionnaires who could only have gotten used to the constant hustle and bustle of Camp life.

"Wait- I thought Dakota said something about staying loose?" Percy asked, Riptide spinned idly in his hand while the three lazed about in the clearing. Perks of the Centurions taking half the day off for the Cohorts Legion-wide to plan for the War games and their Optiones deciding to also just give the legionnaires the day off too. Frank took refuge under the shade of a tree; the old strategy handbook looked small and paper-thin from wear as he marked down more notes into the margins. Hazel shook her head a little, moving over to stand shoulder to shoulder with him,

"No, you have to be really close next to each other during combat so you shouldn't be 'loose'. I mean maybe keep your shoulders relaxed?" She tried to off the advice, and urged the two to go back into practicing some drills for another half hour; even Frank joined in for the extra practice, even if it didn't really apply to him much as an archer.

The three were only interrupted by a voice shouting out at them, maybe it was something like 'Hey guys!' but it was for the most part cut off by the sound of it's speaker coughing on his own kool-aid. Dakota came running up, flask in hand and cap halfway unscrewed,

"Hey, Hey! We need some second opinions and you guys are the closest so hurry up before Hank and Sylvia decide for us," He didn't really give any of the three time to respond except for Frank's small muttered "What?" before they were following after their Centurion back to the Meeting place of choice (Bombillo's). It's not like they had much of a choice anyways; even if Perc would've preferred telling Dakota to find some legionnaires who were more experienced. But regardless the three made their way to the Fabrica strip, passing Legionnaires cherishing their moments off. Playing games, flitting in and out of the few shops in Camp Jupiter; the Forge, bookshop, Bombillo's and an empty shop that hadn't been inhabited for years and wouldn't be since the Senate was; in Mercury's words, 'Constantly arguing over what they'd actually do with it'. Not that Percy liked or trusted Mercury all that much, she also said that place had been an old hair salon in the 80's and 90's so who really knew? Dakota nicely enough held the door open for the three of them.

The smell of ambrosia hit Percy's nose immediately; the sweet scent of fresh brownies. Five other legionnaires sat huddled around a table with a rough drawing of what the Field of Mars looked like at the moment and the proposed interior layout of the Fort. Gwen; who Percy didn't talk with much, she always dealt with the senior Legionnaires in the Fifth Cohort, popped her blonde head up from the mass; with the rest following suit. A boy with scruffy auburn hair and growing sideburns that couldn't have been legion approved frowned and scoffed a little,

"Dakota couldn't you have found some people more experienced? Not three probatios?" The kid snapped, *Exactly what I'm saying*, though Percy kept the thought to himself. Hazel stood there silently, like she was going to mouth off but barely stopped herself; lest she got the three of them in trouble again. Gwen rolled her eyes and put her hand on the Centurion's shoulder in a placating matter,

"Calm down Hank, it's not that serious. They'll have good things to say, I mean they have to at least know *something*." Gwen gave them all; including Dakota a 'you better know something'. It seemed like a common enough stare that any legionnaire knew; plenty of them gave off that energy during drills or when they were paired with Percy. He nodded a little and walked over to the table, Hazel and Frank staying a little bit back still; everyone seemed to respect Percy a bit more here anyways. Gwen seemed satisfied enough and glanced over, something about her reminded him off his dream girl; Annabeth. Maybe it was that similar look in her brown eyes while Dakota stood next to her,

"Hey, we don't bite.. well, I don't at least," She joked a bit, a few of the Centurions chuckling along and it got a half snort from Frank. Gwen continued with some satisfaction, "You guys probably haven't been here long enough to know all of us- or, Hazel I know you do but just for the sake of it. I'm Gwendolyn, or Gwen for short, Daughter of Mithras. That guy with the beard is Hank-" "It's not a *beard*!" "-Whatever. Uh, that's Sylvia, Leila, and Tanner."

Hank still looked faux-upset over the beard comment, brushing down his sideburns with his hands while Sylvia; his Co-Centurion gave a joking push. Leila was calm enough, wheat-blonde and sitting in her chair sipping on the culprit to the Ambrosia smell next to the dark-haired kid identified as Tanner. Percy gave a flimsy wave while Dakota tried to reel the conversation back in.

"Uh okay- cool, we have introductions but important stuff at hand. We still haven't picked formations and whose getting Hannibal." Everyone shifted a little, Hank and Leila straightened up, while even Tanner looked a bit more interested; even desperate to have everything sorted out. Dakota continued. It was... boring, to say the absolute least. Mostly just everyone arguing over who's doing what and various rock paper scissors games, bringing the legionnaires into it to pick sides. It was a bit hard- knowing if you didn't agree with your Centurion's opinion they could easily punish you for it. Though with some hesitation things might have finally been settled? Percy didn't exactly know but what he did fully know is that he wanted to be as close to the siege as possible, it almost felt like instinct in a funny way. Frank sublty moved his little scribbled notes over to Dakota to read; knowing their Centurion already let the hour and a half of planning slip his mind.

"So, we're all in agreement on this, we're going in first with the siege towers; the 3rd will come in around the sides to see if we can make any breaks that way and the fourth get's Hannibal when we're in-" Dakota was jabbed in the ribs by Sylvia, who over the time Percy had come to the knowledge that she was a child of Fortuna; the Roman Goddess of luck. Percy had to stop himself from calling her a daughter of Tyche several times, the Legion never liked hearing about the Greek names for Gods. Dakota rolled his eyes and moved the fake map to knock on the hardwood table, taking a drink of his kool aid, "There, we won't be jinxed. Gods Sylvia."

After seeming marginally satisfied with the half-hearted knock Sylvia nodded a bit. The Centurions rushed all of the normal legionnaires out for the Centurion clean-up Bombillo's after they moved several tables to fit their needs. Unfortunately it was also getting close to closing time of most of the shops so the legionnaires were getting their last minute.. Well, everythings settled and figured it out. Percy got pretty lost in the crowd immediately, only to be pulled out and away from the crowd by his upper arm into the much more deserted backroads that led to the barracks. It took Percy a minute to get his grips with what was happening and to tug his arm free whipping around to see his... somewhat halfway capturer, his crowd surge savior? It was.. the kid who had been staring him down when the legion welcomed him in. Those bacteria-pond algae colored eyes and very poorly healed broken nose was enough of a giveaway. The kid scratched at some of the scruff under his chin, a Pilum in hand; stamped proudly with the 1st cohort branding. Percy quickly jumped to asking,

"Are you from the First Cohort? What are you doing like.. not up there or on the main road then?" It was maybe not the most important question at the time. His new not-buddy gave a dry laugh, it didn't sound as... happy as it probably should've. He replied,

"Ah, nah. I'm Bryce, Bryce Lawerence. This is just an old family good luck charm, I'm actually in the 2nd. But that's not why I needed to talk to you." Bryce replied, he said the words 'Second' and 'old good luck charm' with some amount of bitterness. Like it was someone else's fault he wasn't in (From what Percy had heard of) the 'best cohort'. Bryce gave a smile that was probably meant to be welcoming and Percy noticed the braces that he had; and the same pond scummy green tone as the fun bracket rubber band color. He replied,

"The 2nd Cohort, that's pretty good right?" Percy asked, brows furrowing. It didn't sound really bad, it was the second best cohort anyways right? Bryce scoffed a little and began walking on the paths and Percy trailed behind,

"Not really; just for kids who had good letters and mediocre skills or no letters and bad skills. The scraps left behind from the First Cohort." Bryce huffed. Holding the Pilum close to him, the same type of way a kid might've held a stuffed animal or blanket. Percy didn't really get it, Bryce didn't seem like someone devoid of any skills; he was a big dude after all. In most senses of the word, tall, chubby, and muscular, even if his hair (That was in a grown-out bob type look). Bryce continued on,

"Anyway, that doesn't really matter. I wanted to talk to you, and say that the whole water thing you did on your first day was real cool. The whole, using the Tiber to rip those monsters to shreds was good. More legionnaires have to get off their high horses and realize powers are more useful and should be properly utilized." Bryce spoke. It felt.. uneasy, like he was a spring held tight ready to lunge. It just felt... off, if that made any sense. Percy nodded a little again, while Bryce graciously slowed to walk next to Percy and the Son of Neptune replied,

"Oh, uh. Thanks dude, a lot of people here didn't really appreciate the show. Do you.. like, know any of your powers?" Percy asked, turning his head a bit to look at Bryce. Who gave a grin and nodded a little. It was different, most legionnaires Percy had the off chance to talk with never really liked acknowledging their powers and didn't explore them much; unless it would've been good for the legion of course (Healing, sharing of strength, being able to relieve the mind, stuff like that). But Bryce seemed different, like he knew his power and how much more dangerous and that fact made him proud.

"Oh yeah, I don't have much. Legacies never tend to inherit too much, of course it only gets weirder once we mix up godly blood between parents. But I've still trained up my powers." He didn't seem like he was about to elaborate on what those powers entailed, so Percy felt the awkward air grow thicker around them as the conversation slowed. Bryce frowned a little and tried to pick it back up,

"Yeah- I came over to say. Use the powers during the war games, your cohort and the others aren't gonna win anyway. At least try and make sure you all put up more of a fight. Just.. think on it for the night." Bryce replied, with those words slipping off behind a building. Percy didn't bother to follow the strange, slightly off-putting 2nd Cohort legionnaire. It wasn't like the other interaction's he's had. It wasn't like Hazel telling him that bad things happen in the legion to those that mess around with their powers. Not like Frank fiddling with his bow and trying not to look too upset as a senior archer dug into him a bit. Not even the three at the helm of the First Cohort; Mercury, Octavian, and Michael Kahale. Maybe Mercury was similar-? If not just much more overt in any sinister intentions she had compared to Bryce. Percy shambled back to the Fifth Cohort's second barrack to hopefully re-unite with his Conterbanum or find someone he knew.

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I’m very proud of myself for getting through this scene (which would be a chapter methinks-) though the beginning and the actual Centurion part of the scene is somewhat clunky, I was getting into the writing groove and those really aren’t my favorite parts of the scene. Though all in all I think the transitions between settings, the uh PoV and probably dialogue in the first part could use some help, but that’s what drafts are for!

[resflower]

This is the link to Burnt Into My Skin which is finally complete! And below, is an alternative ending that I wrote but ultimately decided didn't work for this story. It is however some of the fluffiest work I have ever written so I thought folks might want to take a gander. If you'd like to see where it fits in, it is the latter half of Chapter 7 in what became the finished product. Please be kind because this is an UNEDITED ROUGH DRAFT.

(Alternative Ending)

"I had a great time tonight." Adora is sitting in Catra's car, her feet hurt from dancing.

"Me too." Catra grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together as they pull up to Adora's house.

"Do you want to come to my house? We can have a night cap?" Adora suggests.

"Yeah 'Dora? A night cap? You haven't even let me kiss you yet." Catra's tone is suggestive as she waggles her eyebrows.

"I'm just not ready for the night to end." Adora admits. Catra melts into the leather car seat.

"How can you just say shit like that." Catra mutters, trying to hide the blush on her face.

"Yeah blondie let's have a night cap." They walk into Adora's house with minimal fuss.

"You can take a look around while I look for something for us to drink." Adora says as she heads towards the kitchen.

"You are going to regret giving me permission to snoop." Catra says gleefully as she theatrically opens a random drawer.

"I don't have anything to hide Cat." Adora calls from the kitchen, laughing at Catra’s antics.

Adora is rooting through her liquor cabinet looking for a fancy after dinner Micah and Angella gifted her last year when she hears Catra's voice calling for her.

"Adora is that you?" Catra's voice sounds strangled. Weird. Adora leaves the kitchen to see what has Catra upset.

Catra is standing over by some of the pictures Adora has framed on her walls. She can't imagine what would be upsetting there.

Adora peers over Catra's shoulder to see what she is looking at. She smiles at the picture of her with a baby Angel, just shy of his second birthday.

"Hmm, yeah me at the beach. That was Angel's first time. You should have seen how cute he was running about in the sand."

"Is that—that your soul mark?" She pointed to the abstract heart that looked tattooed onto her left shoulder.

"Yeah Cat. You'd never seen it before?" Adora racks her brain for a time where she actually showed Catra her soul mark and came to a blank.

"No no—I would have remembered it." Catra looks about to pass out and Adora starts to feel panicky. She doesn't want the mention of soul marks or soulmates to ruin her date with Catra.

"Cat what is it? Are you worried about my soulmate, we can talk about—"

Catra interrupts her. "Adora that's—that's my soul mark." Catra looks breathless as her eyes bore into Adora.

"You're soul mark? No Cat that's my soul mark, it's literally on me."  Catra is busy scrolling through her phone and pulls up an older picture of her and Scorpia. There on her left shoulder, an identical replica of Adora's soul mark.

"Oh. Oh Stars. So you're—you're my—?" Adora tries to catch up with what is happening.

"Yeah. I am." Catra whispers, looking up at Adora. Adora feels tears running down her face as a sob tears through her.

"Adora why are you crying? Are you disappointed? If you want me to go-" Catra's voice trembles. That snaps Adora out of it.

"No, no, no, Cat." Adora almost chants. Adora pulls Catra into a hug positively crushing Catra into her chest. "You being my soulmate is the single most fantastic thing I've ever heard." Adora feels her body shaking as she looks down at Catra.

The relief on Catra's face was palpable. "You aren't afraid?" Catra asks tentatively.

Adora shakes her head quickly. "Maybe I would have been afraid if I had known when we met. But now? How could I be afraid of my soulmate if it's you." Adora presses her forehead onto Catra's leaning down to get closer to her.

"You know, I looked for my soul mark on your shoulder the night we met." Adora confesses.

"I felt so dumb at the time, but I guess a part of me knew even then." Catra stutters a laugh. 

"You cannot possibly say something that romantic and not kiss me." Catra looks at Adora with hooded eyes.

"Kiss me then." Catra gently holds Adora's jaw and closes the distance between them.

Adora has never felt so moved by a simple kiss. It tastes like salt from their tears and something else that's uniquely Catra. It feels like she was always meant to do this with Catra, any former kiss a facsimile of the real thing. Adora sighs into the kiss.

Suddenly, Adora feels her shoulder start to warm, like a beam of welcome sunshine focused in on it.

They break apart, Catra frowning at her shoulder as she pulls up to look at it. And something incredible happened. Catra's soul mark is back on her shoulder.

Seeing her soul mark—their soul mark—on Catra's skin left Adora speechless.

"How—it was gone!" Catra is looking at her left shoulder in confusion. She glances up and her eyes catch sight of the soul mark on Adora. She looks dumbstruck.

"Wow." Catra whispers, eyes never leaving Adora.

"Yeah." Adora breathes back. Adora places a kiss on Catra's shoulder and it feels like her skin crackles under Adora’s touch. Catra's darken and her breath goes ragged.

"Adora, I'm not leaving your house tonight." Catra says as she wraps her arms around Adora's neck. Adora quickly nods and pulls Catra up by her thighs, encouraging her to wrap her legs around her.

"You aren't going anywhere." Adora agrees as she kisses Catra's jaw. She was going to kiss every inch of Catra she could reach and then some.

[axibani]

i wanna slow dance with you - tartali

(a rough draft of a tartali fic i’ve been working on for a while— this is NOT the complete story and the ending differs from what is written here. this is a ROUGH OUTLINE on how the story goes)

LOW CAPS INTENDED

tags:

• major character death

• heavy angst

• hurt no comfort (ok there’s some comfort)

———————

childe asks zhongli during a lantern rite festival if he wants to dance with him

zhongli confessed he doesn't know how

childe takes him by the hand and guides his feet to the rhythm

“1 ... 2 ... 3 ... that's it you're getting it, xiansheng!”

he barely is

actually zhongli is pretty clumsy and steps on childe's foot every 4 steps

but childe laughs and lets him be

“zhongli xiansheng is cute like this”

blushing, shy, flustered, and embarrassed every time he makes the wrong move

but they're both happy, they're both in love, and they're having fun with the moment they’re having

... but that was over a hundred years ago

a century ago

and like how the time passes, so did childe

time stops for no one and unfortunately, it never did for them

after their first (and last) dance together, childe was called to return to snezhnaya by the will of the tsaritsa for another mission

childe promised for his return to liyue after his obligations but his delusion got the better of him, taking a toll with his life as the price

zhongli has never moved on from that news and sometimes immortality is the curse he carries in his never ending lifetime

childe wasn't the only one who passed though

like the mortals that they were, hu tao did too, taking in her last breath 30 years ago

“mr. zhongli ... you look just as young as you ever were”

with that, of course, the parlor had to be entrusted onto someone else

he was a lad far different from who hu tao ever was. he's calm, sometimes serious, but he always gives a warm smile whenever he could

he never nudged at zhongli's life and zhongli wasn't one to share either

but what the new director does know is that every lantern rite, zhongli takes the initiative to be alone during these times. he never sees zhongli with a companion, never seen him smile during the festivities, but he was always constant on his whereabout, always standing alone by the cliff near the harbor where you can still see the lanterns at a distance

“childe, it's that time of the year once again”

and like a hung over romantic still holding onto the high that a lover once given him, zhongli hums a small tune, moving in an attempt to solo the waltz as his heart began to sink and pulsate gradually in his chest

“i'm still not very good at it. a century later and it's still the same”

he smiles bitterly at the lantern lit night sky, but his smile immediately fell as his eyes go grim with tears. it's the same as every year. another festival, another dance where childe isn't there with him

he misses him

and so the director was surprised to see zhongli kneeling right in front of him, heart in his hands and a favor to plead

“can you let me see the spirit of my beloved? at least just this once?”

the new director didn't know what to say. this was nothing from what he expected of zhongli. he never knew that his consultant would have a burden in his heart and it's with someone who is no longer walking the ground of the earth

he wanted to decline, give him the facts that once the spirit passes through the spirit realm, there is no turning back. but seeing zhongli in this state, almost helpless and borderline begging, he accepted it with great pity even if the chances of fulfilling it was next to impossible

so the director spent sleepless nights looking for some sort of way, an edge that would help him have an idea on how he could grant what is being asked of him

he was close to giving up, chest growing heavier as he was so close to drop the disappointing news to zhongli, but like a miracle, he found a way

“where do you want to meet your beloved?”

zhongli smiles at the words

“i want to meet him ... by the cliff near the harbor”

and so he did

after performing the ritual needed, burning the chopsticks the archon had gifted the harbinger previously as a catalyst, zhongli felt his entire being shake as the flames of the blue fire let its smoke glow luminescent, finally taking form of a familiar someone

“childe ...”

the spirit becomes surprised of what he sees

“x-xiansheng ... ?”

zhongli couldn't contain himself from crying— scratch that, he's full on breaking down

he tries to reach him, to touch him, but his hand goes through childe's soul, breaking zhongli inside

he wants to hold him

“childe .. how have you been? have you been fine up there?”

childe tries to caress the archon's cheek

“i've been missing you, xiansheng”

zhongli's emotions were all over the place. childe is right there, right in front of him, but he's also so far away. the lack of the warmth that he's been craving is still there but the presence of his lover hugs his heart as if he could hold him

“i miss you too, my love”

and then they were silent, letting themselves drown in the presence of each other. zhongli hasn't seen him in over a century. he still can't believe, even if it's just his spiritual form, that the one he longs for is right in front of him.

“would you dance with me, ajax?”

childe was taken back

“dance?”

zhongli wipes his eyes and lets out a sad smile

“you swept me off my feet before you left, my love... before you passed. in the centuries that have passed by, i longed for nothing else but to share another one with you”

although touchless— contact being just as light as the air— they shared a dance together, zhongli finally smiling in a long time as he cherished this moment with childe's soul

it felt like a dream. felt so unreal

for over a century, zhongli yearned for nothing more but to see his beloved one more time. he felt his heart soar free, the weight finally coming off of him from his hundred year grief

he's free

he felt like he finally had a proper closure with him

he feels relieved

on the day i cease immortality, i hope the heavens bring me right next to you.

childe's form start to shake and grow translucent, catching both of them off guard and in panic

zhongli the chopsticks are about to completely burn! there's not much time!

they never had enough time

zhongli looks at childe one last time, keeping his hand at where his lover's face is

he takes a deep breath, looks him in the eyes and watch as childe slowly fades in his hands

right before childe could glow completely transparent, zhongli pushes a kiss into the smoke, it being the last thing they were able to share before childe’s form disappears and the smoke disperses into nothing but the chopsticks’ ashes

and like that, childe goes back into his rest, as if he was never there. zhongli was only able to spend time with him in an incense stick’s time’s worth. barely 10 minutes to have his moment with the man he loves. but that incense time was worth it. he was brought back to a century ago when he felt genuine happiness, one that never failed to make him happy

[frozenwolftemplar]

@twotangledsisters  I was answering your ask, but had to put it in drafts because I got called away. When I came back, the draft was mysteriously gone. I guess tumblr ate it? So, here we go, take two:

🍉 How has writing helped you process trauma/navigate through life?  -- I’ve only been writing creatively in earnest since 2019, so I don’t have a whole lot to say on this front, but I can say that in the four years since I’ve started writing has become so important to me mentally. I’ve come to turn to writing to distract myself when life gets to be upsetting or just too much; there have been some pretty rough times over the last four years where I worked on a fic as a sort of coping mechanism. And if I’m having a bad day, I can funnel all those angsty, frustrating feelings into prose. Beyond that, writing has helped me learn more about myself, what I’m passionate about, and what makes me tick; I really feel like myself when I’m writing (if that makes sense?), and I wouldn’t have found that out if I hadn’t started writing just for the fun of it.

💫 What kind of comments do you like receiving best? -- Any comments! 😄  I’m always touched and thrilled when someone leaves their thoughts on one of my fics, whether it’s just a quick ‘this was great, loved it!’ or a thought-out analysis that has me seeing what I wrote in a new light (I’ve had people pick up little subtext-type things that I had no idea I was including). The fact that they took some time out of their day to share their thoughts just makes me happy, no matter how many or how few words they use (essay comments included; I love seeing someone get that excited about my fics!). 

What’s a fic you wish you could breathe new life into/get people talking about again? -- There’s actually several. ‘Constellations’ , one of my earliest Little Cass fics, instantly comes to mind. For some reason a lot of people seemed to pass over it when it was new, and seeing how I’m still really happy with how it turned out, I’d like to draw people’s attention to it again.

Another one is my ‘epic’ ‘The First Night,’ not because of any dissatisfaction on my part, but because I just love fics about Cap finding and bonding with Cass so much and will never ever tire of them. While I have some AU versions I’m working on, I love my canon-compliant version and truly wouldn’t mind re-living the experience of writing and sharing it all over again.

Lastly, the majority of my ‘Frozen’ fics. Nearly every one has failed to garner any traction whatsoever. I think it’s because the fanfic corner of the ‘Frozen’ fandom is *very* into shipping, and most of my fics are gen, hence not what most people there are looking to read (coincidentally, my two fics that *did* get attention were focused on a ship). I’m really happy with them, so I’m okay with the somewhat chilly reception, but I’ve got a few that I’m actually super proud of and wish had gotten more attention than they did (honestly, gen fics need *way* more love than they typically get).

These were really great questions that were a lot of fun to answer! Thanks so much for the ask! (sorry it took me a spell to get to this; I don’t dare try and type something of this length on my phone, and my laptop’s been acting up lately)

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

I am not Your Mr. Miyagi: Rough Draft

I am bored and wanting to post stuff: So here is the rough draft of I am not Your Mr. Miyagi.

-0-

 The first time Tsuna ever met Hoshi, she worked at repainting a park fence, not paying attention to anyone. She wore the traditional outfit most town handypersons wore- a white jumpsuit with the kanji for Nammori on the back in black. She kept her hair under a ball cap for the heat and had worn her contacts that day.

 Tsuna met her while avoiding some bullies- the nastier ones. It wasn’t often a bully would get physical with him. Most were afraid of Hibari or the teachers. Even the other students didn’t normally stand for actual physical bullying.

 It was just sometimes they felt like kicking him when he was down.

 They hadn’t noticed the handyman working until she whistled when they’d cornered him.

 “If you three have extra energy, I’m sure your parents would agree to you volunteering to paint a fence… or two… or twenty.” She held up her paint can, a single eyebrow raised. The bullies ran off, leaving Tsuna by himself. She snorted, watching them run. “That happen often?” she asked Tsuna, who jerked and blushed.

 “Uh… no! No! Just… I’m Dame-Tsuna. I’m kinda used to it.” The woman blinked.

 “…You call yourself useless?”

 “I am,” Tsuna said blankly, feeling no reason to refute the truth.

 “…If you’re that useless, come over here and make yourself useful.” The woman said. “I’ve got an extra brush.” Tsuna hesitated before he walked over and kneeled, taking a brush and copying her painting.

 He got way more paint on himself, and the woman- who said her name was Johnson Hoshi but told him to call her Hoshi-san- had to repaint some of his parts, but she’d told him good job and sent him off with a few yen.

 He felt… he felt good.

-0-

“What if I told you I could give you twenty-five years?” the man asked her, standing in the room she was receiving chemotherapy.

 “I’d say you’re a scam artist but probably go along out of hope.” She told him, studying the man. He wore a hat made of iron, checkered gloves and a tie. The same pattern rested on his face.

 A scam artist or an eccentric billionaire? 

 “Even if it means abandoning this dimension? Never seeing your family again?”

 “Even then.”

-0-

 The next time the two crossed paths, Hoshi was trimming some trees in the schoolyard along with a coworker, the job given to them as the students normally responsible for it recovered from being scolded by the Disciplinary Committee for some unknown reason.

 Hoshi didn’t want to know.

 “You lost us the game Dame-Tsuna!” Whined some boys as they glared at the young boy who looked pained.

 “Shoulda never let him join us.”

 “Yeah!”

 “You know,” Hoshi said loudly to draw their attention. “I hate it when someone decides to pin the blame on one student for a game. Is it not a team sport? Even if one student was awful, what about the others? Did they not try at all? Why blame one person? All of them sucked; that’s why they lost. One person doing bad doesn’t mean they lose.” She told her coworker straight face as the man rolled his eyes. “I guess the entire team was useless then.”

 Hoshi later would say that she didn’t know why she did it. She blamed her foster siblings, honestly. She never quite liked name-calling ever since.

 The kids shut up then, pale and looking a bit ashamed, as Tsuna stared at her with big brown eyes.

 …Dear lord, are those flowers around him?

 Hoshi firmly kept her gaze away.

 Nope. Not falling for it. Nope.

-0-

“Why me?” Hoshi asked Checkerface, sitting in her room, holding her violin. “Why me?”

 “If you don’t, then a child may have to take your place. And that… that’s too much for even me.” He said honestly. Hoshi closed her eyes and let out a low noise.

 He had to go there.

-0-

 The third time was when Tsuna stumbled upon her dancing around a group of delinquents who didn’t like that she’d trimmed back the bushes to their little hideout. Hibari caught them doing drugs without the bushes and delivered a beatdown. They then attacked her.

 They never hit her. She twirled out of their grasp, bent back away from their fists, and jumped over their heads, causing them to beat themselves up, much to her glee.

 “…Kid?” Hoshi said upon spotting him.

 “Can you teach me?!” Tsuna blurted out, eyes wide as he stared at the bodies behind her. “I’d love to be able to beat-“

 “This isn’t Karate Kid!” the woman said, holding her hands up. “I’m not your Mr. Miyagi!”

 “…What?”

 “…It’s an American movie. Anyway, kid, I don’t fight-“

 “You just beat them!” Tsuna protested, pointing at the bodies.

 “By dancing!” Hoshi said, lifting her arms above her head.

 “…What?”

 “I’m a dancer, kid- I just danced and was quicker than they were; nothing else about it!” she told him.

 “…Can you teach me?” Tsuna asked. “I’m Dame-Tsuna, but you-“

 “I just don’t like bullies, kid,” Hoshi told him. “There wasn’t any other reason I tried to help you.” Tsuna, though, just looked at her, desperate.

 He was young enough- nine- he wasn’t yet beaten down by the insults and cruelty. None of his life lay around him, destroyed by society to have a scapegoat.

 Hoshi looked at him and then cursed, seeing his eyes.

 “Damn it. I’m not your Mr. Miyagi!” she said, throwing her hands up. “I’ll teach you ballet, that’s it, got it?” she pointed at him. “You get to figure out the rest.”

 “Thank you!”

 “…I already regret this,” Hoshi muttered to herself.

-0-

 “No regrets?”

 “No,” Hoshi told the man. “None.”

 “Good.”

-0-

 Hoshi wanted to groan loudly.

 Not even two months into this new world, and she makes contact with the main character.

 No, wait, she agreed to teach the main character.

She needed a drink.

 Meeting Hibari hadn’t been a shock- she did work in his town, but there was a difference between staring blankly at him when he gave orders or ignoring him while she did landscaping at the school and interacting with Tsunayoshi! It had been challenging to remember the show, but she did remember the main character. Her interest in it had waned thanks to the lousy animation, and then her cancer was found, so she lost more interest.

 Sighing, she fiddled with the doorknob on her apartment, making a face at how long it took to open. Making a mental note to go and see if the landlord would mind her messing with it, Hoshi entered her apartment. Checkerface had given her money to use in her new world, and she used it to buy her new home. She’d call it a studio in Canada- or a bachelor depending on who you’d ask. She forgot what her landlord called it.

 Her kitchen was in a small corner, her bed on the opposite side. It was just a pile of pillows and blankets on top of a mattress. A dresser with an excellent sound system sat against a wall, with her TV and comfortable couch near it. It wasn’t much, but for Hoshi, it was enough as she worked and saved. 

 Feeling lazy, she flopped on her couch and turned on the TV to a hockey game, fiddling with the chain around her neck, her fingers ghosting the pacifier at the end.

 She was going to need to think up some lessons.

[skitariiposting]

So what's fame like if I can ask

Uh... I 'unno. I guess there's the literal definition, but I'm assuming you'd rather hear my own personal outlook on it. If not, just ignore this answer and Google "fame definition," it'll do a better job than me trying to define it off the top of my head.

Honestly, just being an obscure internet figure or having a cult classic following is perfect. Even if its a small circle, just having people who enjoy what I do and enjoy having me as a part of their communities is fine with me. Heck, having people feel like they're a part of the skitariiposting community, if that even exists, would be amazing.

At the end of the day, I want to leave enough of an imprint on people that after their first interaction with me, when they see me next in a reply section, or a reblog or something, they want to talk with me again. I try to interact with everyone who talks to me, not to garner attention or become known as "the guy who's nice on the internet only to become famous off of it" but because I want to be genuine. I've been on the other end of hearing crickets when trying to reach out to someone you admire. I know the feeling. I don't want anyone to have that feeling when interacting with me.

Am I perfect at it? No. I'm sure I've already broke this trend. If I miss you, it's likely due to my ADHD or my goblin brain. Sometimes, I think about responding to something and end up convincing myself I actually had and not actually responding. Sometimes I get distracted midway through responding and save it to my drafts and then sit back down and completely blanking it out of my brain what I was doing before. If I miss you, it my fault, not yours. Feel free to reach out again and it'll come back to the forefront of my brain and I'll start responding again. (And usually apologize for missing the first one)

So, long, long story short. My goal for fame is this: I want to be the Keanu Reeves of Tumblr. Not like how reddit worships Keanu or as rich or anything, but like how if you saw Keanu in real life and walked up to him, he's wearing sweat pants and a baseball cap. If you say hi to him, he's nice and chill and has a conversation with you about his motorcycle. If you ask him for a pic, he'll take one and ask if you could tag him in it so he can save it.

I just want to be a recognizable, friendly face for everyone. I want to be a bonfire from darksouls, where you've waded through a rough day and open your feed and see the little red hood in my profile picture and feel happy knowing that if you reached out to me, I'll talk back :)

I hope you love yourselves as much as I love you, thank you guys for everything you've done for me so far and I hope it keeps going for a long time.

~J

[anxiousfurr]

BEHOLD

First draft of the first chapter of a story I'm working on, it follows a character that I am going to call Hecate who gets stuck in a fairy otherworld and tries to survive. I think there's gonna be some kinda war going on, but I'm not sure yet. Anyway, enjoy.

Chapter 1

Smoke. 

That was the first thing I noticed. It hung heavy in the air, clinging to every breath that entered my lungs. The pain was the second thing that hit me; a dull throbbing in my skull. A thought passed through my mind then. Is there a fire?

I shot upright, fueled by an animalistic fear, and the stabbing in my skull crescendoed. I scrambled backwards and up against a rough surface, clutching my head. A whimper escaped my lips as I waited for the pounding to stop. Why is this happening? As the pain subsided, I finally looked up. 

In front of me was a dirt bike, twisted and on fire.

Wait, fire? A jolt of alarm passed through me.

If the bike was on fire, and the fire reached the fuel…

I rushed to my feet, staggering as spots flooded my eyes and darkness clawed at the edges of my vision. I couldn’t pass out. If I wanted to make it, I had to keep going. I clawed my way forward, clutching anything to keep me upright. It wasn’t until I had tripped and fallen face first between the roots of another tree that I finally stopped.

Okay, think. If I stay here, then eventually someone will find me. If someone found the bike, but no body, then they would no doubt search the area or call the authorities. So if I just stay here-

My thoughts froze as I took my first good look at my surroundings. What I had thought were trees were the ivory white trunks of mushrooms, the far above canopy made up by their caps. The soft mycelium glowed a pale greenish color, accented with many different flowers-not flowers, fungus. Thin mushrooms with caps of bright pink and gold; bulging bulbs colored purple and neon blue; I could even spot stout, spotted red caps. Most of the surrounding “trees” were as tall as skyscrapers and thicker than a bus. The whole scene looked like some bizarre parody of a forest.

The mushroom I had curled under was about three stories tall, with violet vines wrapped around it. Looking closer, I noticed that the vines had flowers on them; not mushrooms, actual flower buds. 

As I observed the vines, one of the snaking tendrils shot out and snatched my wrist; the little buds on the vine opened and revealed tiny mouths filled with teeth. I was unfazed, of course; bizarre plants and animals had been one of my obsessions as a kid. I tugged my hand back, but the plant had a firm grip on me. Those mouths look like a leech’s, so it’ll probably-

There it was. I felt a prickling sensation where the vine made contact. I studied the vine carefully; it looked just like a normal vine–minus the mouths–so I could probably cut it. And I have just the thing.

In my boot, I had a knife; it was a long blade, carved with intricate swirling patterns and rested snugly in a mahogany sheath. It had been a gift from my grandmother on my birthday last year, before she fell ill. It should do the trick.

I pulled the knife from its sheath and, in one fluid motion, sliced the vine clean through. That was easy enough. The part of the vine that had been severed began to wither immediately as I shook it off. Better wrap those bites; if this plant releases an anticoagulant-

The thoughts were cut off once again by a high pitched shriek. I covered my ears with a gasp and ducked my head. The noise rang around my throbbing skull, and I cracked my eyes to see a flash of bright violet. My hands pressed hard against my temples, but jerked away when something grabbed me and yanked me back.

[lasagnaflavoredgrapes]

Reluctant Sidekick au

An au where Billy became Lex Luthor’s sidekick!

The concept:

So the story would take place around the time Billy had just received his super power from the Wizard. Therefore, Captain Marvel is not public knowledge yet and still relatively unknown.

Lex Luthor, who at that time was planning on forging an alliance with Dr. Sivana (in the basis of creating a super weapon to destroy Superman) was busted after Sivana got arrested for treatening the president to give him money (or something, it still a work in progress) .

Lex Luthor who is annoyed because his plans got ruined decided to catch a break by walking around Fawcett City that's when he found out about Billy's secret. ( in his defense, he is still new to the whole thing and vry reckless)

Lex than adopted Billy ( much to Billy's annoyance, tho it's not like he got a say in it).

Lex would rope Billy in his plans to destroy Superman, but Billy is like "No? Why would I do that? I like Superman he is my favourite superhero actually :D".

It's going to be a running gag where Lex tried to coaxed Billy to turn into Captain in front of Superman, but Billy is like " What are you talking about?", and Superman be like, " Lex! Why are you dragging an innocent kid into this? D:<"

Superman tried to help Billy but couldn't really do much cause technically Lex is Billy's foster father now.

Lastly, when the confrontation did happend between Superman and Captain, Superman first taught was that Captain Marvel is actually his clone with advanced genetic or something.

But the truth is Cap is just a brainwashed Billy. (Later on in the story, Lex created a device that can force Billy to transform and follow his command for a period of time, i know evil!)

.

That's all for now its still a rough 'draft'.

Thx for sitting through my rambling ♡´･ᴗ･`♡.

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

[levisblackbabe]

Haikyuu Boys reacting to seeing you in a Bonnet

Characters: Bokuto Kotaro, Akaashi Keiji and Sakusa Kiyoomi x blackfem!reader (separate)

Genre: Fluff, Humour

Warnings: None

Wc: 800+ (this is also unedited so please bare with for any spellings mistakes)

a/n this took me wayyy to long to post and complete but here we go its not one of my best works and very much rough but I wanted to get things away from my drafts anyways hope you all enjoy

Bokuto, had just gone to his kitchen to get a late-night snack, he left you on facetime facing his ceiling whilst he skewed his cupboards. He didn’t feel like it was worth to take his phone with him since he was going to be back in less than 5 minutes. So, once he returned arms packed with different snack packages he said. “Babe, I am ready now come talk to me”

And off camera you replied “Kay, Bo I am just getting ready I’ll be there in a sec”

So, there he sat looking at the camera waiting to see you again. Once your face came into view his heart glowed. However, once he completely looked at you, he noticed something was missing, something he loved running his hands through. YOUR BRAIDS. And instead of them you had a black hat no. Clearly being confused he asked. “Babe where did your hair go?”.

At first you thought he was joking however once you looked at his pouty face you noticed he was genuinely confused.

“Well, Bo I am wearing a bonnet my hair is underneath.” and you demonstrated this by pulling on of your braids from underneath

Still baffled he asked, “What’s a bonnet?”

So, for the next 5 minutes you explained what it is and why you wore it after your explanation he asked “So I should get one do my hair doesn’t fall off”

Now the both of you have matching bonnets.

Akaashi, has always considered himself knowledgeable when it comes to the majority of things in the world. He thought nothing really baffled him because he knew each race and culture has their own customs. However, staring at his girlfriend of 2 months he wondered WHAT THE HELL is on her head? He tried to pay attention to you talking about your day just like every night but the fact that your beautiful afro was nowhere in sight really baffled him. So, he swallowed his nerves hoping he wouldn’t insult you and asked.

“Angel, you know I love everything about you, and this isn’t question isn’t to offend you but wheres your hair?”

As you started at him Akaashi quickly regretted his life choices and backtracked by saying, “Listen Angel ignore that, I am sooo sor-“

“Kei no need to apologise it’s okay to be curious,” you teased him “but I am just wearing a bonnet”

“A what” he asked.

“You might have heard of this in the media before it’s like a silk cap that-“

“You wear to prevent it from frizziness?” he said in a questioning tone.

“Yes that if you knew why did you ask?” you replied back

“It’s because I just searched it up,” he continued “did you know bonnet is actually a French word for cap”

“Ohh I didn’t know that but there was no need to search it up Kei”

“I know but I just wanted to know more about you to make you feel at home”

“Aww Kei you didn’t have to but its much appreciated”

Sakusa, loved everything about you especially your personal hygiene, you always took great care of yourself which he found such an alluring quality. Yet once again you were able to find a way to make yourself more attractive in your eyes.

So here he was in his bed staring through the facetime camera as you sat in your vanity table wearing a comfortable pair of pj’s as you done your nightly skincare routine. However, there was an addition to your attire the black frilly cap on top your head which Sakusa has never seen before. He was very much bewildered yet he didn’t show it or so he thought.

You noticed his change in demeanour when you put your bonnet on, yet you didn’t say anything waiting for him to ask questions. So, you grabbed your phone from the vanity table and made your way to bed. For the next 10 minutes your guys continued your conversation just how you usually are yet Sakusa couldn’t fully pay attention as you described your day. So he casually “That’s a nice hat you got on is it new?”

“No, I have had for time. Why you ask?”

“No reason just curious.” He said in a curious tone

So you guys intently stared at each other waiting for someone to fess up. Though you aren’t one of patience and broke the silence saying “Yoomi”

“N/n”

“Do you want to know about my ‘hat’?”, you said in an exasperated tone

“Yes, I do”

“Okay well for starters it’s not a hat it a bonnet it’s a silk cap to protect my hair from frizziness but also helps keep my pillowcase cleaner and not get hair products on my skin.”

So, as he heard that explanation Sakusa found another reason to fall in love with you a bit more.

[brewing-radianite]

I’ve downloaded episode and designed/named my characters as brim/sage/viper now i get to cry every time they fight and scream not my baby every time they do something ooc.

Thats my new coping mechanism until your fic is out ):

AKSLDG yeah mood i make characters/ships in the sims or smth when i need content but there is none elsewhere so i feel you...

i'll give you a brief update on the fic without sparing too much detail:

-as of this post, the fic has passed over 22 chapters of plotting! this is a very rough idea of where it will go though; like the rough sketch of a drawing, it is still very much in early stages and may be subject to multiple changes. 22 isn't the cap i have in mind, it's just what i have done right this moment in terms of plotting

-i did begin writing the first draft of chapter 1, however! some of the later chapters are a little more subject to change as i move some scenes around and decide exactly what i want to do but the first like, 5-6 chapters are honestly pretty solid so i'm comfortable enough to begin writing them out entirely.

-i'm also trying to finish Instruction Manual and update You Were a Kid Once Too though, and I have begun writing the continuations of them too. i really REALLY wanna finish Instruction Manual ASAP so i can put all my focus and energy into the longfic without draining myself too much, with some standalone oneshots (both sfw and nsfw) of various ships in between to switch things up

-like i want Instruction Manual to be DONE by the end of August if not sooner, and whenever that happens, I expect to be updating with the longfic regularly until it's completion ! there will more than likely be breaks every now and again but considering i'm plotting the entire story right now there will be a definitive ending point so i won't be like aimlessly or mindlessly trying to decide where i'm taking it (which will save me time as the writer and you time as the reader)

-I've mentioned before there will be no smut/nsfw in this fic. There WILL be profanity, bloodshed, emotional scenes, and partial (but not sexual) nudity though so the rating will more than likely still be mature.

-and since this story is kind of more about them falling in love and officially beginning their relationship there won't be much content of them throughout the actual romantic relationship itself; the entire point of the narrative is that this is how they fall in love to begin with. but i will be writing other oneshots and stories that take place after they've been together for some time!

[literate-lamb]

Man of the House | three

Sam Wilson/fem!Reader, dark!Bucky Barnes/fem!Reader | 18+

A racket in the attic leads to a discovery of old memories. Your dissatisfaction leads you to a forgettable night.

► warnings(!): dubcon/noncon, asphyxiation. this is a dark fic.

|| Series Masterlist ||

A/N: This is it, lads. We’re picking up steam. And sorry for the delay, but I’m here to finally deliver. Thank you for the love lately on this story!

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

The pitter patter of rain was a welcomed presence. They added to the serene ambience of the residence; sombre but comforting. While others would bemoan the absence of sunny days, you relished in the cool and comfort it brought. It gave ways to days under duvets and blankets, a book and warm drink in hand. Today, it brought coolness to the sweat as strands of hair clung to the temples. 

Napkin in hand, you wiped the respiration trickling down your chin, the cool air helping it dry off. Scanning the guest room, you were satisfied with the result. Floors mopped, surfaces wiped, sheets aired; the room was finally dust-free, perfect for accommodating guests.

Today marked the first week of your stay in the house. Your first week in the so-called haunted house. And one more week to go before you bag that $500 cheque. Take that, Tony.

Sam had left for the day, spending time with his college buddies at a bowling alley. He’d promised to cook you dinner when he came back, you looked forward to it.

The room was silent as you went back to work, stretching the sheets end to end, taut enough that a coin could bounce. And if the coin fell, hitting the floor, you were sure its ring would echo. The silence of the house when alone was deafening, saved for the small shower outside.

Suddenly feeling unsettled by the silence, you took out your phone. Opening your playlist, you played the first song you saw; Love by Nat King Cole. The music blared from the tiny speakers, flooding the room with the harmony of jazz.

You swayed and tapped to the beat of the cymbals, the saxophone aiding your show, all the while managing other meagre chores. You moved, feet light, across the hallway to the linen closet, taking extra sheets.

While fitting the sheets in the other guest room, that’s when your ears picked it. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Among the symphony of rain and Nat King Cole’s swing baritone, you heard it; light footsteps, tapping to the rhythm of jazz, above you. The rain and sax almost drowned it out, but you could discern it between the others. 

You stopped your hands and listened on. The creaking was light but they were there, following a rhythm of sorts. It took you seconds to realize the steps were not random. They were following the rhythm of the music. 

They were dancing.

You let the music continue playing before it ended and changed to another track: Iron Maiden’s The Trooper.

The creaks stopped abruptly when Bruce Dickinson’s shout came through. Then, a sudden crash boomed your eardrums. Loud and heavy, like hardbound books falling off a shelf. It stilled for a moment before frantic meowing began.

“Peaches?”

The meows continued, high-pitched and desperate. You heard scuffling on the ceiling, probably the cat’s paws scratching the surface, desperate for help.

When the meowing went on for longer, you hurriedly left the room all the while huffing about the mischievous cat that you decided to keep. Pulling the built-in ladder at the end of the hall from above, you began climbing up. Peaches’ cries still echoed. 

Your footsteps caused dust particles to float, making you hack. Taking the space in, you noticed every single item was covered in white sheets, protecting them beneath. Some were tall, some broad, crowding the attic in a ghostly maze. A lone circular window laid ahead, opened, flooding the supposed dark space in natural light. A breeze from outside came through, chilling you.

It was serene, yet a little unsettling. If one didn’t know better, they would’ve mistaken the standing figures to be ghosts, instead that of a lamp. Standing still in a few corners, unmoving. The fluttering of their sheets by a draft the occasional movement.

The feline’s constant whining reached you, pulling you out. You took slow deliberate steps, stumbling and navigating through the sea of cloaked figures. Paying attention to the pleading mewls, you tracked down Peaches to a corner, adjacent to the source of light.

“Were you prancing around up here? How did you even get up here?!” you scolded. Peaches whines only became louder.

Going over to the window, you shut it, stopping the cold air from chilling further. Strange, has it always been opened? 

You stepped towards Peaches and assessed her. 

She was covered in soot, immaculate white coat now stained grey. The cat, for some reason, got her tail stuck under something heavy; a large leather bound book, covered in an inch of dust. You picked up the offending item, freeing Peaches from her confinement.

“There you go, you stupid cat,” you huffed. She mewled in reply, head butting your leg, showing gratitude. “Yeah, next time pay rent.”

She slinked between your legs before dashing off down the stairs, her tail between her legs. You could only sigh at her mischief. 

Gazing down, you inspected the heavy book in your hands. The word “Memories” was embossed on the cover in gold lettering. Some of the skin had been chipped off, the leather worn with age. Flipping to the first page, you realized it was actually a photo album.

A black and white portrait of a woman greeted you, her tight-lipped smile stern yet warm. She was a classic beauty, with shoulder length curls and immaculate brows. She looked every bit of the word professional.

Margaret Carter-Rogers, 1921-2016

On the next page, a wedding photo surprised you. In the photo, the woman —Margaret— was clad in virginal white. She was holding the arm of a light-colour haired man, whom you recognized to be Mr Rogers. He was equally dashing.

Carter-Rogers’ Wedding, June 1946

The following pages showed bits and pieces of their lives. Snapshots of the couple dancing; Five Year Anniversary, 1951. Photos at parties; Sharon’s First Birthday, 1977. And pictures with friends; Peggy’s Farewell Party, 1991.

You observed as the couple became progressively older with each flip of a new page. Hair became greyer and thinner. Skin became taut and wrinkly.

The photos of the couple stopped when you’ve reached a new section. 

James Buchanan Barnes, 1917 -

The page showed a small photograph of a brunette donning what seemed to be a military cap. Sharp cheekbones and a cleft chin were his distinguishing features, but what caught your attention were his eyes. Light-coloured in the sepia hues, most probably a light blue. They crinkled with his smile, adding more to the charm.

To say he was handsome was an understatement, he was most probably a heartthrob during his prime, you imagined.

Flipping through each page, you uncovered more of the past. Each photo consisted of both Mr Rogers —a skinnier younger version of him— with this mysterious man. James, as you’ve learned to memorize.

There were photos from their youth; Coney Island, 1937. Stills in their uniforms; Leaving for Europe, 1943. Images from their military days; Howling Commandos, 1945. And they ended there.

You admired each one of them, curious about Mr Rogers’ friend. They seemed to be really close if the amount of photographs were of any indicator. 

Where was he now? Were they still friends?

What piqued your interest further was the absence of a death date on the first page, beneath his photo. Was he still alive? If so, that would make him over a hundred. Where were the rest of the photos? The amount seemed considerably smaller compared to Margaret’s. Did something happen?

Before you could spiral further, you chose to close the album. That was enough prying for one day. 

—

“Hmmph harder!”

Moans mixed with the slapping of skin against skin echoed in the bedroom. You were on all fours, clutching the comforter for dear life as Sam railed you from behind repeatedly. Your toes curled in time with the delicious sting from his girth, wanting more and more. The roughness of his palms kneaded your behind, slapping your globes occasionally. It filled him with satisfaction when they bounced to his thrusts.

The post-dinner activity commences. 

“Ah... yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“You nearly there, baby?”

“Need more, Sammie,” you whined, head clouded with lust.

It started with a nice little dinner. Just the two of you. Before Sam brought out the whipped cream for desserts. He couldn’t resist.

Without warning, he flipped you over. You laid on your back, watching Sam as he hovered above. Giving a small peck to your lips, he re-entered, pistoning as he picked up where he left. You locked your ankles behind his back as you clung to him, the speed jostling you. 

You could feel it. You could feel how close he was to climax. The sloppy thrusts. The harsh grip. The unbridled groans. He was close. But you weren’t.

Pumping a few more times, Sam stilled, lost in the pleasure of his release. Riding the wave, he looked at you.

“Did you cum, baby?”

“Nu-huh,” you admitted, pushing your hips. It had been pleasurable, but you were far from reaching your high. You wiggled your hips, enticing Sam and making him groan.

Starting again, Sam changed condoms and thrusted into you; the goal of sending you into an orgasm in mind. He slowly rocked into you, penetrating with shallow thrusts before picking up momentum, going deeper. The speed and angle was adequate, but you felt something was amiss. 

Grabbing his arms, you thought of an act that would surely send you over the edge.

“Choke me, baby.”

You placed his palm on the base of your throat, closing the fingers on the sides of your neck. You gripped his hand, squeezing it to initiate the action. Immediately, you felt your airways cut off. The dizziness sent you to new sensations. A different kind of high that you welcomed.

You felt pleasure starting to build up within you. His deep thrusts paired with the asphyxiation drove you closer. Starting to tither over the edge, closer and closer. You were so close. Until it suddenly stopped.

You swallowed large gulps as oxygen invaded your lungs. The high that you were experiencing came crashing down, and not in the way you expected. You were robbed of it too early. Too soon.

 Sam’s hands were no longer on your neck. You looked up at him, seeing unease and guilt and another emotion. Put off.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologized. “I’m just uncomfortable by it. What if I made a mistake?”

He apologized a few more times, but you admonished him, reassuring that it was okay. He tried to get you off one more time, reaching his second climax for the night. You never reached yours.

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝔼𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Sunday came around with a ball of sunshine to make up for Saturday. You spent the afternoon alone, again, serving lunch for one. The only form of company the cat you adopted, when it was not out causing mischief. It seemed your choice of dwelling has caused you further isolation than you realized.

You’ve always cherished being by your lonesome. But today, it felt particularly lonely. 

The press of his lips on your forehead still lingered in your mind. The hug that he left with fell short of the usual warmth. Sam had been gone since breakfast, citing a friend needed his help. You didn’t ask further, giving him his space.

After last night, you felt it. His apprehension rolling off in waves. You didn’t blame him. While chasing for pleasure, you neglected the comfort of your partner. You neglected to discuss any boundaries that he had erected. 

You’ll make up for it when he gets back. But before that, you had tea and cakes with Wanda to catch. 

—

“I think it put him off,” you sighed. “Just this morning, he was doing his usual thing. He kissed me before he left, but it felt… different. Or maybe I’m looking too much into it and it’s actually nothing.”

The Sleeping Cat was crowded in the late afternoon. Its cozy interior provided shelter for those seeking warmth from the chilling autumn wind. The aroma of cakes and coffee was a welcomed presence, filling you with familiarity. Opposite of you sat Wanda, listening to your woes as she lazily stirred her tea.

“I feel bad, I told him to do it without discussing it with him first. He must be disgusted, or weirded out, I don’t know,” you gazed down, picking the strawberry on your cake. It was easy to talk to Wanda, she had always been a great listener, and a trusted friend. If anyone was an expert on relationships, it would be Wanda; Vis and her’s eighth anniversary a few months shy.

“Then, why not talk to him?” she said, looking quite amused yet still serious. “From what I gather, he only apologized. He didn’t say he was disgusted or anything. Like you said, it might actually be nothing.”

“Vis and I used to have misunderstandings a lot in the early years, given how clueless he always is,” she rolled her eyes. “But we learned that what we needed was to communicate. We’re not mind-readers, witch or not.”

You hummed, acknowledging the truth in her words. You’ve known Sam for a long time, friends before feelings came into the equation. You knew he would be open to communication; he did it for a living at the VA. It could end up actually being nothing but a misunderstanding from your part. It was silly. You’ll never know and keep on guessing unless you ask.

“Maybe you’re right,” you grabbed the tea at hand. “I was already thinking of making up to him, but maybe what we need —what I need— is just a conversation. Like a heart-to-heart.”

The tea soothed you, it’s blend of passionfruit and orange zest proved a tangy balm for your flurry of emotions. This company, and this atmosphere was a part of what you needed. On one hand, you shot Sam a text, asking if he’d be back for dinner.

“So, how’s the house? Feel like leaving yet?” Wanda asked, eyebrows raised.

You looked up from your phone, chuckling, “It’s been great, actually. Tony asked Sam if I wanted to bail out the other day, I told him to suck it.” Wanda laughed, amused, before her expression schooled.

“Have you experienced anything? Like, anything... weird?”

You contemplated her words, chalking it up to the usual suspicion. Your earlier intentions were to humour her, but the more you stewed, the more you were reminded of the past few days. 

“Well, there has been this ‘screeching’ noise?” you said, unsure. “It happened at night, but not every night. Sam said it was the brakes of old cars passing by, but honestly, it could also be my cat.” You didn’t want it to be a cause for worry, you tried to deflect the topic as best as you could.

“I adopted a stray in the area,” you explained. “Her name’s Peaches and she’s a menace. I’ve found her down in the basement twice and yesterday, she was in the attic of all places!” you huffed, eye-rolling. “But yeah, nothing really exciting besides my stupid cat.”

Wanda chuckled. A few beats passed before she continued, “But if anything happens, promise me you’d let me know?”

Her eyes were unwavering, the greens intense. Her amusement had turned sombre. You knew Wanda saw the world differently than you did. Believed in it differently than you did. The least you could do was ease her mind.

“I promise you’ll be the first person I’ll call, Wands.”

—

It was nearing 12am and Sam still wasn’t back. Did he go back to his own place? You’d understand if he did, you had work yourself. But he’d told you if he were.

You furiously tapped the end call button, irritated at the repeated tone of the voice message. His last text read at 7pm, said he was meeting with Tony and Rhodey for a while and he wouldn’t be back for dinner. That was 5 hours ago.

You couldn’t help but worry a bit. Was this about last night? Was he upset? Was he mad at you? Was he avoiding you? 

Putting the kettle on the stove, you turned on the burner. Remembering Wanda’s words, you thought of ways to calm your speeding mind. Some tea could help. After all, chamomile was considered a mild tranquilizer.

While waiting for the water to boil, you calmed yourself and thought rationally. Sam Wilson was a grown man. He didn’t need to be checked on constantly, didn’t need to be coddled, and he was deserving of his own personal space. You held yourself back from texting Tony and Rhodey, reminding yourself to respect Sam’s time and space. He will come back. He always does. 

The whistle of the kettle broke your train of thought. Taking a tea bag from Mr Rogers’ box of a housewarming gift, you let it steep before bringing a cup upstairs. 

The pull of slumber was immediate as soon as you finished; teacup barely making it to the saucer.

—

Creek!

You stirred from slumber, head groggy. The bed dipped and shook lightly, a weight rocked you slowly. Your eyelids felt heavy, unable to open, as if they were glued shut. Your limbs felt like lead; dense, laying useless by your side.

Creek! 

With the absence of sight, your sense of hearing heightened. After a few beats, you soon realized what was creaking. It came from the frame of the bed, its wood rickety from age. 

Cold air kissed your lower regions, making you shiver. You didn’t remember sleeping without the covers. Your nightshirt the only article of clothing, riding up until your stomach.

Creek! Creek!

Soon, a warmth enveloped you. A heavy weight. A body. Covering your form in their heat. They were running hot. 

Calloused and roughened, two large hands descended on you, running your sides. Their fingertips and palms ghosted, barely touching, before stopping on your thighs. The sensation left you in a shiver, leaving a sense of yearning.

“S… S-Sam?” you croaked out, throat parched.

Blind and in a haze, you tried to move your arms again, wanting to reciprocate the touch. Wanting to feel him. Only your fingers twitched, the effort proved exhaustive.

Creek! Creek! 

“Ah…”

A finger fiddled with your nub. He played with your clit, swirling with the pad of his fingers before gliding along your lower lips, prodding and teasing. He parted your legs, granting easier access as he toyed with your slit. Slick began to pool, he gathered and smeared it all over your cunt, giving your clit the occasional flick.

You felt cold and wet when he retracted, your juices clinging to your skin. Without warning, you felt the tip of his cock probed you, snuggling into your tight channel, demanding entrance. His thick girth stretched you, making you feel full. He gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he began rocking, plunging into you bit by bit. 

You felt odd. You swore one of his hands felt colder than usual. You shivered.

Creek! Creek! Creek!

The bedframe squealed louder and louder as he picked up speed, fucking you without a rhythm. You felt empty when he pulled out and full when he rammed in. He jostled you, hitting all the spots that made you scream, lost to the euphoria. You felt the occasional tap to the cervix, his bulbous head kissing it repeatedly. 

And while all this was happening, you remained locked, limbs laying heavy and unmoving.

Creek! Creek! Creek!

You loved the feeling of him inside you. You took him in like a champ, body pliant and receiving everything that came your way. The sensations made you almost forget your state of inebriation. 

With one hand, he pulled your nightshirt above your chest, freeing your breasts for him to see. The cold air hardened your nubs slightly. It wasn’t long before you felt a warm tongue descend on your tit, swirling and suckling as if to fulfill a hunger. 

He gave them both equal amounts of attention and care, alternating between the two. He stopped when he felt the treatment was adequate, leaving your nipples sore and wet in saliva.

Creek! Creek! Creek!

Fighting the heaviness, you slowly tried unfolding your eyelids. It proved exhaustive. You managed a tiny slit, shutting when it felt too much.

Your field was blurry and dark, heightening your hearing as the bed continued to creak. Sam’s broad figure hovered above, plunged in darkness. You couldn’t make out any features, just the shadow of his movements, thrusting into you.

Creek! Creek! Creek! Creek!

You felt a hand on your neck. Slowly, he began enclosing your throat, cutting your airways like the night before. Except this time, he didn’t stop squeezing.

The deep penetration of his cock combined with the exhilaration of breath play sent you to new heights. A new feeling; dizziness, euphoria, pleasure all rolled in one. The lightheadedness pushed you forward, nearing the edge. You felt it in your core.

Creek! Creek! Creek! Creek!

His pubis kept rubbing on your swollen clit, adding to the amounting high. His movements were getting erratic. He was getting closer, and so were you.

He released your throat, letting a rush of oxygen fill you. You were sent to an all new high. This was it, another type of rush. The head-spinning exhilaration you’ve been waiting for.

“S-Sam!” with a loud rasp, you came undone, quivering beneath him. He followed suit, jacking his hips frantically before stilling. His loud groan reverberated, almost animalistic in the night.

Tired out, your eyelids weighed down again, never getting the chance to peek at him. You drifted off, sleep pulling you under before you could hear his low mumble.

“Your fella could never do that, could he?”

[theiconicscott]

WIP Wednesday

this is an idea i've been thinking about for a few days. it's not the actual start but this part suddenly appeared very clearly in my mind tonight, and i like writing my rough drafts in tumblr posts, so i thought i'd type this up and share it now.

the only backstory you need for this is eddie and buck are in an established relationship, and buck has moved in with the diaz boys but hasn't spoken to eddie in a few days for... reasons.

enjoy!

Buck bounces across the loft, his long legs quickly carrying him from the stairs to the main dining table, and grins at Eddie as he swipes the mug of coffee Chimney's just made. "Hey, I was about to drink that!" Chim cries, getting up to try and take the mug back. "I used the last of the good coffee for that one, you can't just steal it!"

"Well I have been on a journey of discovery today, and realised something very important about myself," Buck says, loud and proud like he's about to announce he's won a medal, or got a place on the Olympic Firefighting team. "So I think you should be a very good friend, Chimney Han, and let me have the last cup of the good coffee."

Eddie stares at Buck, more than a little intrigued. Today they were meant to be cleaning the house and catching up on laundry, and while Eddie wasn't surprised to find an apology note when he woke this morning, he did wonder where Buck had gone and what had kept him occupied all day.

At least now Eddie may start to get answers to some of the questions building up in his head.

"Shift starts in 15," Bobby reminds them, looking up from his newspaper and own cup of coffee to smile at Buck, "and we have to prepare for an inspection tomorrow. If you want to tell us the news, Buck, you'd better make it quick."

"Sure thing, Cap."

Buck takes a moment, sipping generously at the coffee and stealing a cookie from the table to go with it, and Eddie wants to roll his eyes. He loves this man - adores him, worships him, praises every deity known to man that Eddie got to meet Evan Buckley and fall in love with him and have Buck love him back - but he can be melodramatic about the simplest things, and Eddie's pretty sure this big reveal won't give much payoff after all the build up.

"I have figured out why Buck 1.0 had sex with so many people."

The rest of the group find it funny - Chimney and Hen both outwardly laugh, and Bobby cracks a smile that is way too amused and knowing for the Cap to be wearing - but Eddie doesn't. Buck 1.0 was gone long before he arrived, and while Eddie's heard a lot about the casual hook ups he frequently had, Eddie doesn't know much about the man behind that, who sought out those easy, short term relationships when they clearly didn't make him happy.

There's also the fact that this discovery may be linked to Buck's little freak out last week, and Eddie can't hide the fact he's still dying to find out what caused it in the first place.

When Chimney and Hen finally calm down, Bobby speaks up before Eddie or Buck can comment on their reactions. "Buck, we know why you had sex with so many people then. You enjoyed it, and for those few moments you could forget about everything else in your life and just focus on the high of getting laid."

"Ah," Buck says, pointing his finger at Bobby and using the coffee mug as well in the gesture, since it's in the same hand. "Now that is where you are wrong, Robert Nash, and as a recovering addict yourself I'm surprised you think of it that way."

They all settle down at that, the amusement fading and curiousness creeping in. "Okay," Hen says slowly. "So why did you have sex with so many people back then?"

Buck tries to drink from the mug again, and frowns when he finds it empty. Undeterred by the surprise, he puts the mug down on the table, and leans towards the group as he gets ready to talk. "Research has shown that addiction is about a lack of connection, and most addicts turn to unhealthy behaviours to cope with feelings of loneliness, isolation, and the pain that comes from not having a strong support system," Buck explains, and they nod along. "I wasn't enjoying the sex, so I wasn't chasing a pleasurable high to cope with those feelings. I was seeking out people to form a connection with, and the only way I could find them quickly and when I needed that support was to say I was looking for sex."

For a long moment everyone sits in silence, trying to process the new information. Chimney looks shocked, and Hen and Bobby look more than a little confused, but to Eddie it makes sense. There is no other way in modern society to pick up a friend for the night, and while a one night stand won't generally stick around for a heart to heart after, many parts of the experience would help to ease the bad feelings Buck may have been struggling with at those times.

"And just to clarify," Chimney says, his gaze fixed on Buck as he finds the right words, "you were not enjoying all the sex you were having with hot young women?"

The rest of the group groan, and Hen even hits him with a rolled up magazine. "Really, Howard?" She asks, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's what you took away from Buck opening up and sharing his feelings with us?"

"Whaaat?" Chimney looks at each of them in turn, his eyes wide. "It's a legitimate question!"

[wondernoobles]

How do you make your role-swap edits? Do you draw them or do you cut/paste pieces together? I wanna make edits like that too, but I'm not sure what the best way of going about it would be

Oh! I actually draw them in ibis paint X, but I’m sure any drawing program would work. I’m not too good at teaching or explaining, so if you are still confused I’ll add a speedpaint video of my process at the end. Besides, you can do it however it works for you.

My first step is usually to find a screencap/picture that I want to edit, let’s say I want to edit this picture of Deku to look like Bakugo instead!

My first step is to find a reference photo of Bakugo that matches the angle of this picture. Since it’s front facing it’s pretty easy to get a picture.

It doesn’t completely matter what size it is! I usually like to make it slightly bigger than what the OG head is, so that I can change the shape later if needed.

But after that, you want to lower the opacity and trace over the lines and shading of the hair, then use eye dropper to fill in the same colours.

Depending on the reference image, you’ll have to draw extra parts of the hair that aren’t shown, but this one is fine. Once you’ve done the lines and coloured in, make sure to combine the layers so you can move it easier.

After that, I use the transform and liquify tool to move the hair around so it fits the shape of the head. For this one I forgot to do the colouring in, but it just means more work for me. Once you do that, just create a new layer on top to retrace if it gets too blurry. Think of it as your first draft layer on how your hair should look, and then do the final draft to make it pretty.

Of course this is just a preference, you don’t have to do it, but I feel like it makes the edit look a little less rough.

Now, you probably have some monstrosity like on the left. This is the part where I use a copy pen and a dip pen or felt tip pen tool to cover in the parts where Deku’s hair shouldn’t show.

I use the copy pen to copy the texture of the cherry blossom trees over his hair, and a regular felt pen to do the branch details. The windows in the back I also draw over, copying the colours as best I can. For softer transitions I like to use air brushes. I also cover up Deku’s face and freckles, I eyedrop the skin tone and cover up anything unneeded.

Once this is done, you can start with the eyes. I like to do them last because I need to figure out the placement with the hair.

Alright, so for the eyes it’s about the same process as the hair. I trace over a reference and color and place it. But it might be hard to find a “happy” Bakugo like the one above.

For me personally, I use this image.

Since Bakugo isn’t going to be a squinty gremlin if he’s got Deku’s personality of course! I trace over the eyes (I trace over the more visible one then mirror it), then make the pupils a bit bigger so he’s not scared looking.

You can eyedrop colours for his eyes from anime screenshots of him, and maybe mess with the eye positioning for a while to make it look good. (Make sure to combine the layer LOL)

But anyways, final touches! Just add shading underneath the hair and at the top of the eyes. Make sure everything is coloured in and covered up, and the final touch I like to put, is blurring.

Sometimes the screen cap you use will be too low quality and your edit will look strange on top, in that case I use the blur tool and put it on 5% opacity. Blurring your layers will help make it fit in better and be less sharp!

As I said, I’m really bad at explaining, but I hope this helped anon! Good luck on your edits I’m sure they’ll end out beautiful 💚

(Speedpaint process, about 1 hour of work)