#but also looking at sometime between now and mid July

[9w1ft]

hey so i was looking at some of your old posts and saw that you mentioned that karlie and taylor were actually neighbours/lived close during quarantine, could you break down the timeline a bit for me? i wasn't a kaylor then so now i'm interested how/where did they spend time in 2020/2021

thanks for the question, anon!

i’m going to try to keep this as a summary and i won’t be getting too technical with my language or submitting anything that can’t be figured out by watching interviews, googling stuff, and scrolling instagram. people can add stuff in the comments if they’d like.

okay so, basically, at the start of quarantine in the US, march 2020, karlie documented herself being in upstate new york (bedford area, specifically) along with josh, mikey, and misha at this rental property they have often been seen at over the years. so the basic concept is that this was her quarantine pod.

it is worth noting that after folklore was released in july 2020 and we got the visuals and subsequent interviews for the album, that we learned that taylor shot the photoshoot and video content in upstate new york, spending time at blake and ryan’s place, shooting stuff at a place located in lewisboro (not blake and ryan’s place iirc), which is located right by bedford. adjacent towns. connected by the same lakes ponds and forests (pound ridge). so she would have been there in upstate new york where karlie was sometime before album release in july, and it would have had to have been early enough so as to be able to send the artwork for the folklore physicals to print.

but deduction aside, taylor did not really document herself being anywhere until may, where she did her “biiig isolation��� instagram post from goldwyn mansion in beverly hills california. however in a subsequent rolling stone interview taylor says that she and william bowery were “stuck in LA” at the beginning of the pandemic. and we also have been told that she reached out to aaron dessner in april about recording music, and in the long pond studio sessions movie, it is implied in the conversation she has with jack and aaron that she stayed in california until around august before meeting up with them at long pond. folklore was still finished when she was in LA. when taylor was in upstate new york remains a mystery iirc but we can say between april and july.

back to karlie… in mid june, karlie posted to instagram from the puck building apartment, saying she was on her way out west to be close to family. then she starts putting out klossy vlog content from a rental property located in california, and around july her and josh are papped around santa monica. iirc misha was seen at the same house seen in the klossy vlogs? she posts a lot from california, she attends and documents going to a protest in LA as well. so we have a general idea of when she was there.

at the end of 2020, we get articles saying karlie and josh have been revealed as the buyers of the many arched, echoey miami mansion, and articles say that the property was sold “over the summer” so at some point karlie moves out of the california rental. in the back half of the year karlie is sort of obscuring where she is and what she posts so it’s hard to be certain exactly when she was where, but we later get an explanation for this because soon enough we learn that she has been hiding the fact that she’s carrying. but we do know from some of her adidas photo shoots that she did spend some amount of time back in nyc. once she makes the announcement, the focus of karlie’s posting shifts to the florida(!!), which becomes positioned as her main location for the duration of the year, through levi being born in march 2021, and the newborn haze period of it all.

taylor is less consistent with showing off her locations during late 2020 and 2021 but the general swiftie lore is that she spent time in london and nyc? she didn’t make many appearances (covid was still very much running the world) but there were the grammys, she was doing stuff for red tv, announcing red tv at the end of september and releasing it in november, filming and then promoting the all too well short film, the i bet you think about me mv was shot in la iirc, and such.

as the pandemic became a part of everyday life and the world adjusted to the new normal, both taylor and karlie began varying their locations again, and it’s been a mix of things again ever since. but this 2020 period is so interesting to me, given how things played out, how they were in similar locations at noteworthy times, and in locations that taylor went on to feature visually and lyrically in her work— folkevermore and red tv, ttpd and arguably the eras tour visuals for the opening and closing lover and midnights segments, if you are inclined to see the parallels in the arches as seen in the miami property etc.

anyway lmfao and i still consider this to be a summary!!

[anjaelle]

The Next Great American Epic

Pairings: Professor!Oscar Isaac x Black Female!Reader

Warnings: Oral (f!receiving), Age Gap (Reader is in mid-late 20s), Student x Teacher Relationship, Unprotected Sex (strap up, people), implied infidelity

Summary: Professor Hernandez Estrada is a proven smartass and literary genius. As much as you can't stand the way he tears your work to shreds, you can't help but respect him and hold his opinion of you in high regard.

Word Count: 4.2K

a/n: Based on this post and the intense love I have for gray, studious looking Oscar. I started this in July 2022, and I'm just now finishing it. I'm semi ashamed but also not. Don't judge me.

(gif source)

Oscar treated every lecture like a performance, to some degree. You could feel the passion behind his words and knew he spent countless sleepless nights dissecting the language of the great intellectuals before him.

He was a nerd, thus, incredibly attractive in that "dad's best friend who's a museum curator and laughs at his own history jokes" kind of way. His written work was brilliant. You wanted to impress him. Not just because he was cute--though that was a bonus--but because he pissed you off with how incredibly critical he was of you. You were convinced he did it just to fuck with you, specifically, for shits and giggles. Every so often, you'd zone out imagining him cackling madly at your work, using his Red Pen of Death to hurt your pride. Sometimes you'd imagine a deeply passionate argument between you two, ending with you throwing things. Sometimes it ended with you splayed out on his desk. Again.

When that happened, you'd mentally return to the lecture and find him looking at you, curiously. If you didn't know any better, you'd swear that he could read your thoughts.

He paced the front of the room in a heavy black sweater with the sleeves rolled up, occasionally pushing his thick rimmed glasses up his nose as he spoke. The brief pauses he took to sip water or ask a question were punctuated by the click-clack of keyboards throughout the room. Or, in your case, the shuffling of papers. Writing with pen to paper helped your scattered brain remember things better, though you couldn't help but feel largely out of touch for the archaic method of note-taking.

"Who decides what literary work is inherently American?" He asked to the class, "Where's the line? When the artist of color is placed into a box as an 'other' or designated as American with an asterisk, are publications and critics implying that the author is not truly American?

"After all," he said, removing his glasses to wipe them, "the cultural zeitgeist is shaped by an amalgamation of many experiences. Is the story of an immigrant from Colombia 100 years ago any less American than the tale of a farmer from Oklahoma during the Great Depression? When we ask for tried and true stories of American Grit, whose stories are we reading?"

Sure, he said that experiences mattered. But, god, was he anal about the details. The newest revision of your work peeked from behind your notebook, scarred in red ink. When you received it back earlier that afternoon, you resisted the burning desire to throw it back at him and tell him to eat a dick. The first couple of times he shot your writing down, you could understand perfectly what he was looking for. This time, you were sure that you were following his advice down to the letter, and it still wasn't good enough for him.

He absentmindedly pushed his salt and pepper curls from his forehead and you wanted to flip a table.

Oscar paused his pacing in front of your desk as you scribbled your thoughts down. You chanced a glance at him to find him already looking over your notes.

"Huh," he had the audacity to smile at you and mutter softly, "Nice handwriting."

Your cheeks warmed at the praise of your neatly looping cursive. The eyes of your peers burned into your back.

He gently tapped your desk with his calloused knuckle and continued on with his lecture, as if his little comment was just a natural part of his daily performance. It was the first time in a while that you'd interacted with him in a way that didn't involve him explaining why your marked up thesis was shit. You could appreciate the compliment, even if it had nothing to do with the quality of the work you put blood, sweat, and tears into.

And now you were annoyed again.

You knew that Oscar wasn't surprised to find you standing outside of his office. A polite smile graced his lips, though something else flickered across his features that you vaguely recognized. You plastered your own polite smile on your face and waved your thick stack of paper at him.

"Explain, Oscar."

Without another word, he tiredly unlocked his office door and motioned for you to enter the roomy space. Numerous large bookcases lined the wall parallel to his desk, and stacks of newspapers and literary journals decorated the ottoman rug that spanned the width of his office. A small fridge and espresso machine sat on a desk in the corner. Above it was a fading portrait of a young looking South Asian man with neatly combed hair and a trimmed mustache, wearing a smart looking suit. The first time you saw it, you surmised by the aged clothing and studious expression that it was a portrait of the university’s very first professor of color, Benjamin Kapoor.

The office was nearly the size of your studio apartment. Perfect for the department head, you thought. The minute he shut the door behind him, he sighed and ran his hand down his face.

"Well, first of all, 'Hey Oscar, how are you?' I'm great. Thanks for asking," He sarcastically quipped. “Would you like some coffee? Maybe some tea, if you’re cutting back on your habit, again?”

"Small talk is redundant," you handed him your papers, "you know why I'm here."

He plopped down in the plush chair behind his desk, and you followed suit on the couch beside it. His chair creaked as he leaned back and thumbed through the pages, reading his own notes. You couldn't quite get a read on his perception, but he hummed in thought. After a couple of minutes he handed your work back to you and shrugged.

"In simple terms: it's mechanical. You’re holding back on putting emotion into your characters. Your protagonist's factory worker father and merchant marine brother don’t feel real. It's too matter-of-fact. Too cold."

You shook your head in frustration, "I don't understand. First, you tell me that my language is too flowery. Now you're saying it's too mechanical. Which is it? Pick a criticism, because now it just feels like you're pulling it out of your ass."

The words slipped out before you could catch them, and your eyes widened in surprise at the venom laced in your tone. But, to your surprise, Oscar just laughed.

"Look, find a middle ground. I don't know how else to state it any plainer than I already have."

You wondered if you'd get expelled for throwing his briefcase out the window.

"I'm glad you think your bias is funny."

His expression changed at the implication, and he stared at you in confusion.

"Bias? Jesus, is that what you think?"

The words you'd been holding in for the majority of the semester came spilling out of you.

"I feel like you don't really respect me as a writer," you crossed your arms, "You think I'm stupid. Or incompetent. But this right here," you motioned to the paper in your lap, "This is just ridiculous. It's nitpicking and tearing my work to shreds. Do you get something out of this? This story means a lot to me. It's the story of my family. Do you understand the level of research and reading it took to bring this work into fruition? With all due respect, it's fucking hard, Oscar. I'm doing the best I can."

He merely stared at you with furrowed brows, "With as long as my tenure has been—for as long as you’ve known me, you think I don't know this?" He stood up from his chair and sat on the edge of his desk in front of you, "You think this problem is unique to you? I aim to challenge all of my students."

You laughed humorlessly, "I've seen the notes you write on other people's stories. It's nowhere near the same level of harsh."

"To you, it may not be."

"I still don't understand what you want from me. More details. Less details. More emotion. Less emotion. Descriptors, but not too descriptive. Make your characters realistic, but oh no, not too mundane. It's all bullshit--"

"It's missing the essence of you." He confessed, scratching his bearded chin, "Your story reads like something anyone could write. The only personal touches in your story--and if you notice, the only things I haven't edited much--are your letters and journal entries. They give a clear idea of how your characters interact with one another. And I think you add a little bit of yourself to them, outside of the narrative.

"Your voice is prevalent in everything you write. Unique and intuitive. Your work isn’t you, Bee. I miss...that."

There was a pregnant pause. Your stomach swooped at the slip of your old nickname, and you crossed your legs to stop the nervous fidgeting. He swallowed hard, and toyed with the watch on his wrist.

"I think..." you began, meeting his eyes for the first time, "I think I'm subconsciously trying to sound like you. Even though you piss me off."

He barked out a laugh, "I don't know if that's a compliment or a testament to how I can improve."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. He soldiered on.

"You're a brilliant writer. I just know you can do better," he drummed his fingers on his desk. Suddenly he grinned at you, "You've read my writing? You like my writing? And you're admitting it freely? And here I was thinking you hated me." Now it was your turn to furrow your brows in confusion. Catching your expression, he explained, "Every time I look at you, you either look bored, lost in your own thoughts, or like you want to murder me. And then there's the arguing--"

"I don't hate you, Oscar. You just exhaust me." You said, standing up to meet him at eye level. "You'd argue with you, too. You can't always be the only sarcastic asshole in the room."

He looked at you with a mix of amusement and what you could only describe as relief. He leaned forward, letting out a deep breath he seemed to be holding the entire time. You were close enough to smell his favorite dark roast coffee and his signature cologne--something bold, but warm and comfy. Kind of like him.

"Did you have any other questions? About the thesis or...something? You know you can ask me anything." he crossed his arms over his chest. Was he flexing? The thought tickled you.

"Just one. But not about the thesis." You asked, gently, taking a step towards him, "You said every time you look at me, I look pensive. How often do you look at me?"

He eyed you slowly. Fire danced behind his gaze, despite his calm demeanor. It reminded you of the look on his face when he read a moving sonnet or recited romantic prose. The sight of him looking at you like his favorite work of art made your belly warm. After a beat of silence that dragged on for ages, he licked his lips and shook his head, finally tearing his eyes away from you. He murmured, "More often than I should." Then he sighed, "We shouldn't be having this conversation. I'm not--it's..."

"No you're right," you began, feeling the rush of bravery trickling from your quickly beating heart, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You could never do that. It's just not professional--"

"It's SUPER unprofessional actually--"

"--you could lose your grant and--"

"--you JUST finalized the divorce--"

"--implicit bias and difficulty being objective--"

"--it's just a passing thought."

He pushed away from the desk, taking a step closer to you, and grabbed a fistful of his hair.

"Maybe..." he cleared his throat, "you might want to...go."

You nodded, "I should leave."

"I could walk you out."

Neither of you made another move and his fingers tapped on his thigh. You watched his eyes travel from your face and down your body, as if he could see right through your clothes.

"Are you?"

He was so close that you could count every single strand of hair in his thick, coarse beard.

"Am I...?" He questioned, eyes dropping to your lips.

"Going to walk me out?" You finished. You could see him weighing his options. He glanced at the door, then back at you.

“I…it’s—” He sighed again, “I miss you, Bee.”

You wanted to get mad and tell him that he wasn’t allowed to do this. You felt stupid for being so easily baited by a smile and sharp wit. Instead of being smart and telling him to fuck off, you shook your head.

“You miss feeling wanted,” you corrected, “You don’t miss me.”

“You don’t know how wrong that is. Do you know how many times I’ve gone out with other women and found myself thinking ‘I wonder what Bee’s doing right now. Is she with someone else? Am I making a mistake?’” He removed a carton of cigarettes from his pocket and tossed it on the desk, “I thought I was making a good choice. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.”

“A good choice for who, exactly?” You asked, eyeing him with skepticism.

“For both of us. For you.”

You could admit that hooking up with him while he was in the process of a divorce was messy. For the brief 3 months you were together over the summer, you couldn’t stop being doubtful. It blurred the lines of whether he was fucking his sadness away or if he truly had feelings for you. You felt your fingers twitch as if they wanted to reach out and grab him. Instead, you shoved your traitorous hand into your back pocket. You were petty enough to not be the first one to make a move.

“The thing is, Oscar, I’m a grown woman and I don’t need you to make decisions for me.” You countered, “I might be younger, sure, but I’m not a kid.”

“I know.” He agreed, quietly.

“You said you wanted time to process things—”

“33 Weeks,” he said, suddenly, “An arduous, sunless, painful 33 weeks without you. I never fully understood the pain of missing you until I was forced to see you and not touch you. Every time you speak or look at me or challenge me, I feel even more stupid for letting you go.”

You couldn’t help yourself, “You are stupid.”

You cracked a smile at him and he smiled back, eyes crinkling at the corners behind his frames. He reached out and caressed your face, tracing a calloused thumb along your cheek and resting his forehead against yours.

“Goddamn you’re beautiful,” he groaned, slowly closing his eyes. You could trace every wrinkle, freckle, and scar with a finger from memory, if you wanted to. The spearmint gum he favored between smoke breaks tickled your nose, and his hand slipped down to the point where your throat met your clavicle.

You were keenly aware that your pulse was thrumming rapidly under his pen-calloused fingers, and that your chest rose and fell in quick succession. You closed the space between you, pulling him in for a deep kiss. The traitorous hand that freed itself from the confines of your pocket curled into his sweater. Oscar's arm snaked around your waist and the hand near your throat tightened, pulling a low, strained moan out of you. He mockingly mimicked your moan and pulled away to kiss along your jaw.

"You need to be a little quiet, Bee," he nipped at your skin and you smiled, "you don't want the others to hear, do you?"

You opened your eyes to meet his gaze, and you knew he could see the devilish glint dancing in them.

"I mean, I can try."

When you stretched out over his tidy mahogany desk and he pushed your legs apart, hiking your skirt over your ass, you couldn't help the self-satisfied grin that pulled at your lips. You wanted this for so long. You craved it. None of the toys in your nightstand could compare to the feeling of his strong hands on your thighs and the feel of his tongue teasing you open.

"Oh my god...look at you," he sighed, burying his face deep between your legs. You giggled, running your fingers through his curls to grab a handful and pulling a soft groan from his lips. Your hips twitched when he pressed a firm thumb against the front of your panties. The way his breath hitched left a deeper feeling of longing that seemed alien to you. And as he peeled the fabric to the side and spread you open to him, his free hand gripped your thigh greedily and hiked your leg up with your knee to your chest.

You felt your heart thrumming in your ears with anticipation and the major thrill of someone potentially walking in on you with his head between your legs. He wrapped his lips around you, swirling his tongue in small quick circles in that same way you loved and could never quite get used to. Your mouth fell open as the haze of ecstacy started to cloud any thoughts that weren't about him.

"I needed you." You whispered, gently scratching his scalp, "I needed you so bad."

He hummed, moaning against you and tickling your inner thighs with the soft hair of his beard. You peered down at him to watch him devour you like a starving man's first meal. He'd taken his glasses off, and you could see the way his lashes fluttered in complete bliss as he dipped his tongue into you. He looked up at you and locked eyes just as a shrill moan threatened to burst from your lips. You quickly covered your mouth and you felt him smile at you. He pulled away, replacing his mouth with his thick fingers. With each flick of the hand he watched you arch your back off his desk and scramble to grab onto something...anything to ground you.

He sharply pulled you closer to the edge of the desk and hoisted your other knee up to your chest, leaving you completely exposed to him and anyone that could walk in the room. He teased you with the tip of his tongue, watching you squirm impatiently before he curled his tongue against your clit.

He'd been dreaming of seeing you like this. But even his dreams couldn't live up to the reality of how sweet you tasted and the look of nirvana on your face. He He could hear the sharp intake of breath and the small whimpers you earnestly tried to swallow down. He wanted to tell you to be as loud as you wanted. Fuck the rules and anyone who heard. But that'd be stupid.

And you didn't deserve stupid.

He found that perfect sensitive spot that made you smack the desk with your hand and try to wriggle away from his mouth, but he pulled you closer.

"Mm-mm, no running." He mumbled nipping your thigh. He returned his lips to you, sucking you slowly between his lips. Your chest heaved, and you scrambled to figure out what to do with your hands. When you reached down to press his face harder between your thighs, he let himself release a low, muffled groan. He needed you so fucking badly. He wanted to stretch this out for as long as he could, but he knew that was impossible.

He wanted to make the most out of the limited time he had with you.

He pulled his mouth away and dipped his fingers into you, coaxing you closer to the edge. And when he leaned forward to kiss you, you pulled him in hungrily, wrapping your thighs around his hips and undoing his belt with quick fingers. He pulled away to look you over once again: your hair was a mess, your lips were swollen, your eyes were glazed, and you looked fucking beautiful. You reached up to stroke his cheek.

"What?" You asked, scrunching your nose at him.

"Are you sure?"

"About?"

His hand remained splayed on your lower stomach and your fingers were hooked in the waistband of his boxers. You sat up and he leaned forward to press his forehead against yours.

Oscar murmured, "Bee, if we do this, I'm not going back to keeping my distance. I'm going to fuck you in every corner of this office. I'm going to want you again," He kissed you, "and again," another kiss, "and again."

You absentmindedly brushed your fingers against his lower stomach and traced the outline of his dick through his boxers. "And on the weekends?"

You dipped your hand behind his waistband, and pulled it down to wrap your hand around him. He hissed sharply, shutting his eyes.

"Shit, honey..." he groaned. "I'm all yours."

You slowly stroked him, watching him melt under your touch. For a moment you could see the younger version of him, just as handsome but not nearly as refined as he liked to present himself in public. His salt and pepper curls were no longer neatly styled and you saw the hint of flush peeking out from under his olive skin. His perfect mouth fell open as you traced the swollen head of him with your thumb.

When you finally took a breath and felt him guide himself into you, that familiar flutter in your lower stomach made you bite your lower lip. A deep shudder wracked both of your bodies like your first hit of a long abandoned drug. He kept the pace slow and steady, focusing on the way you felt around him and trying to keep it to memory like he'd never experience it again.

You pulled him down for another deep kiss, wanting a connection with him in every way possible. You noticed the brief way his strokes faltered, and the way he grabbed your thighs to pull them around his hips to push deeper into you and at just the right angle to make you cry out.

"Right there," you pleaded, arching your hips up to angle him deeper, "God, rightthere rightthere rightthere."

He grunted, dropping his head onto your shoulder as he picked up the rhythm of his hips. "You're perfect for me. You're fucking perfect, angel. I'm never letting you go again."

You tried to form coherent thoughts and words, but everything turned to a sludge of gibberish on your tongue.

You hated the way that he seemed to know you like a familiar map. It was so easy to drown in him. When you reached down to touch yourself, he grabbed your hand and pinned it to the desk, interlacing your fingers. He dipped his free hand between you, choosing to tease your clit with his thumb while he picked up the pace of his strokes.

"Did you miss this, Bee?" He murmured under his breath.

You nodded, allowing your eyes to drift closed.

"No, baby, look at me." He commanded.

You did as you were told, looking deep into his gorgeous dark eyes that seemed to read you from the inside out.

"Did you miss me?"

"I missed this so much." you moaned, feeling the warmth building in your lower tummy.

He thrust into you sharply and a shrill cry rang out that you were sure echoed into the hallway. You nearly slammed your head into the desk with the force that your body jolted. The sensitivity was almost overwhelming and when you tried to scoot away again, he gave you another smack on the thigh.

"What did I say about running?" He let go of your hand to pull your thighs tighter around him as he drove into you with renewed vigor. His jaw clenched as he focused on your building pleasure. Thumb returned to your clit. Your mouth dropped open, but nothing came out but a strangled gasp. His thumb sped up between your thighs and you let out a string of slurred words as your hips shook.

"Fuck, I love you so much, oh God, oh God. I fucking love you."

"This is yours, now. It's all yours. Nobody else's." He breathlessly whispered against your cheek.

You reached down to grab his hand almost begging him for reprieve that you knew he wouldn't give you. You tightened around him and he sucked air sharply between his teeth, which only gave him more determination to push you over the edge. You pulled him down into a kiss just as the wave of pleasure crashed over you and you drowned your cry into his mouth. His strokes grew sloppy and erratic as you rolled your hips against him with equal force.

"Come on baby," you cooed to him, curling your fingers into his hair and giving it a sharp tug. He buried his head into your shoulder and let out a low, deep grunt as he came. You felt him press small kisses along your neck, trailing them up your chin and to your lips. After taking a minute to get his bearings, he reluctantly pulled out with a low shuddering breath. He kissed you again, and you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders enjoying the feeling of his hands on you.

After some brief, very gentle aftercare, you helped each other get redressed, sharing kisses and touches along the way.

"So..." he leaned up against his desk, cleaning off his glasses to put them back on, "am I seeing you tomorrow?"

You gave him a slow, deep kiss and his hands traveled to your ass, "If I'm up all night revising with your stupid edits, we'll see how I feel. No guarantees, though."

[voylitscope]

Stucky Recs: Pride Edition

So, the original plan was to do dystopias and apocalypses as the next theme. I actually started that post. It's sitting in my drafts. But then between work, moving, and other real-life stuff, I sort of ran out of days in May. Now it's mid-June. And since it is mid-June -- and since part of the whole point of these rec lists is the theming -- I thought I'd go for Pride recs instead.

We'll do dystopias in July.

I could have done a lot of different rules/qualifiers with this theming, but, for this time/post I went with, "actively has sexuality themes as a decently large plot point." I ended up with 12 fics.

Note: As part of my personal campaign to combat the persistent idea that every great fic in this fandom was written in 2015, I'm now marking recs of fics written post-2016 and recs of fics written post-Endgame.

Canon

🏳️‍🌈 Tin Soldiers | idrilka | Teen | 19,743 words

You know what's great? Fake pop culture, fake academia, and fake social media. This fic makes such good use of all of those things and is so smart about it. I love that this fic narratively sandwiches CA:TWS. So a large part of the point here is the public perception of Steve, and of SteveandBucky right before, during, and then after the events of CA:TWS, in a world where all of that is real. The way it's done is brilliant and feels so true and accurate to life. There is live tweeting and live reactions. There are news headlines. There's fandom culture and blogging. There are social media arguments. It's just so well done. There are a lot of fics that look, at least briefly, at the public perception/use of Steve's legend in some way, and a lot of them are fantastic. I'm just so especially of fond of this fic. There's a hyper-realism to it. Plus, it includes a scene of people live reacting to Steve spontaneously and bluntly coming out on CNN. It's some beautiful stuff.

Quote:

As Michelle Mbatha argues in The Anatomy of a Sidekick, “Barnes’ transition from a partner to a sidekick marks the point at which the relationship between Barnes and Rogers becomes that of a mentor and pupil, thus effectively prohibiting any potentially »unsavoury« readings of their partnership” (121). In this sort of dynamic, one which emphasizes the much more prominent age difference, there is, indeed, no place for any assumptions of queerness or any sort of code similar to that which permeated cinematographic works of the time, signifying penalizable, “forbidden” practices falling under the censorship guidelines (see also: The Celluloid Closet, 1995). Bucky, then, in taking his place as Captain America’s teenage sidekick, becomes figuratively castrated in order to appear effectively sexless and thus avoid any possibility of coding their relationship as queer.

Moreover, the insistence upon heteronormative and ultimately exclusionary interpretations of Rogers’ relationships with Barnes and Carter respectively, both in the comics and in biographical writings, comes from the need to reaffirm the image created by the American propaganda, which constructed Captain America to reflect the intrinsically jingoistic policies of the United States, to propagate the myth of American machismo and uphold the wholesome image of the American everyman at the same time.

🏳️‍🌈Let me be buried under your name | tempestaurora | Teen | 50,669 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

Oh no. This one. So, sometimes, my notes on fics in my rec database have sensible things like comments about tropes or moments I definitely want to point out. Other times, well -- The notes on this one say, "DOG TAGS," and also, "OH GOD." Which is very helpful of me. To myself. But I will say more coherent words about it to all of you. I imagine that fics that have both wartime and post-TWS scenes are emotionally trying for us all, and this very painful, and very beautiful fic is certainly a good example of why. There is a heartbreaking quality to the wartime Bucky POV, the during Hydra captivity POV, and the post-TWS Bucky POV that has really stayed with me. Bucky's thought processes, and his descriptions of Steve at various points, especially, are so observant and vulnerable all at once. It's also all just -- Guttingly but wonderfully romantic.

Quote:

Maybe he’d read before the light died entirely. Steve had bought him a pulp novel at the market and Bucky had been working through it slowly, dragging out the story and making it last, to make the most of the pages. He’d likely read it three times over before trading it for something else, and even then he’d tell the story to himself – mythical, magical things he’d never even thought of existing; time travel and other worlds, aliens and laser guns and space ships, exploring the stars. His eyes fluttered shut, and he just listened to Steve’s breathing, to him drawing, to the birds outside the window. He’d more than once thought that he could live in this moment forever; that he’d be more than happy to live out the rest of his days just like this one, with Steve and a crummy apartment and a warm summer day. Screw marriage, kids, and a house in the suburbs – this was where Bucky pictured when he thought of home. This was what he’d be imagining on the cold nights in Europe. This was what he’d fight to come home to.

🏳️‍🌈We wear red so they don't see us bleed | unicornpoe | Teen | 2,161 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

This is the most beautifully tense little fic. A canon-divergent-before-canon-starts fic (I never know how to classify those. If it's AU, but Steve and Bucky still move in together by like, 1939-ish... is it fully AU? Like, yes because them as childhood friends is important, obviously, but also -- in the grand scheme of overall canon -- sort of no?) that has Steve and Bucky sitting in jail cell doing this dance of little cues about each other. This is all little words and gazes and touches; there is a conversation under a conversation in this fic. They're having this casual chat as strangers in jail, except they're also having this whole second secret dialogue underneath it where they're trying to make sure they speak each other's language. Also? I adore this characterization. I love it.

Quote:

Bucky stands up and crosses the cell in two long strides, draping himself in clean lines along the section of free bench next to Steve; he pulls one leg up beneath him and stretches the other out, so that their ankles almost touch. Turned toward Steve as Bucky is, he can watch fully the sharp, barely-there movement of Steve’s eyes flickering down to their legs, and then back up to the wall across from them. He doesn’t turn to Bucky. It’s mostly silent in here. There’s a faint murmur of voices somewhere down the hallway, the quiet, steady tick of a clock hidden from view, the various noises of the men locked up with them—but other than that, nothing. “Where’d a guy like you learn to throw a punch like that?” Bucky asks finally, when he’s spent too long staring at the delicate, fucked-up line of this man’s profile, spent too long raking his eyes over and over again down the line of his feather-soft lashes. The corner of Steve’s mouth ticks up, just slightly, just a little bit.

Shrunkyclunks

💗I just met you (and this is crazy) | littlesystems | Explicit | 41,784 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

This is one of those fics that surprised me with just how much I liked it. I certainly wasn't expecting to dislike it, but I was not expecting to love it so much, either. It's a joy, though, just a total feel-good joy. It's a fic that has Steve and Bucky pretty instantly head-over-heals for each other, something I never ever object to, and the instant attraction works so well here. I think, too, so much of what I love about this one, is that they make each other so happy in it -- like the two of them truly just get dumber and happier and more in love with every 100 or so words of this fic. So then I get happier and happier as I continue to read it. Seriously, this fic is a joy in part because Steve's POV is so damn giddy and joyful about Bucky. I love that. It's good stuff.

Quote:

“You’re a person, Steve. And if people hurt you or take advantage of you, that’s not your fault, either. You should be able to go to a bar. You should be able to hook up with some guy. There’s nothing wrong with any of that. The fact that someone took pictures is the photographer’s fault. And the fact that newspapers decided to print it is the editors’ fault. And the fact that some fuckwad decided to lie for a quick buck is his fault. You may regret it, and that’s fine. But I don’t want to hear you blame yourself again. Got that?” Steve nods. His throat feels tight enough that he’s not sure he can speak. Bucky tips their foreheads together and they sit in silence, until Steve has naturally matched his breathing to Bucky’s - slow, deliberate, relaxed, and not geared up for a fight. Bucky kisses him softly, then.

💗The Voyager | notlucy | Explicit | 76,740 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

I am a sucker for the Steve and Bucky road trip fic. A very recently arrived in 21st century Steve on a road trip with a modern Bucky? All that time alone? In those motels? That might or might not have the right number of beds? This is a good trope that we should very much use forever. This fic is such a classic sort of road trip fic. Honestly, I've never been on any sort of proper, real road trip, but I'd like to think this fic feels like a road trip -- what they must feel like, anyway. There's such freedom in the storytelling here. There's a suspended sense of time in this fic. There's a way this fic rolls along with a pace that makes sense here, in this story -- it's a pace that definitely wouldn't work in all stories, which is exactly why it does, in this one. It's lovely, it's a little bit surreal, and it stays with you long after you finish it.

Quote:

“Wow,” Bucky managed. Words were difficult when faced with something so spectacular, the canyon spread out before them lit with the slow, smoldering burn of that deep, ancient glow. “Awesome,” Steve murmured, the word incongruous in his mouth. Bucky nearly poked fun, until he realized Steve meant it literally - what they were seeing was awesome. Smiling, he leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder before entwining their fingers, not caring a whit who might see them. Who might care. At that moment, Bucky wanted to tell the entire world, because he was in love. Except it wasn’t love. Strong like, maybe. Effortlessly increasing affection, sure. But not love. You couldn’t fall in love that fast. He’d only known Steve since May, after all. It was at most infatuation. Appreciation. Fascination. Bucky was a very level-headed person. It wasn’t love. But it was something.

Modern

🌈On The Back of a Raindrop | musette22 @musette22 | Explicit | 52,215 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

Something I love to read in kid fics is any time that thing happens where it's not just Steve and Bucky acting like a couple without being together yet, but a group of people starting to act like a family unit in every single way -- except that no one has talked about that, or acknowledged it, and technically, someone is actually still the neighbor, or the babysitter, or, in this case, the gardener. I love that, and I love this fic, specifically. Featuring this sweetest and loveliest and healthiest family forming in a backyard garden over the months of a beautiful summer. It's so domestic, so intimate, and it happens so naturally over the course of this story. It makes everything feel so perfectly meant to be, so romantic, and so satisfying. Also! One of my database notes on this one is, "SARAH," because this is a fic with a very alive Sarah Rogers, and I love, love, love, Steve and Sarah's relationship in this fic.

Quote:

Now that he’s gotten to know him, seen him with the twins, has gradually watched Bucky’s tan deepening and bringing out the grey-blue of his eyes, Steve is so wildly attracted to him sometimes that it knocks the breath right out of him. It’s how he ends up sketching Bucky again on Wednesday, from his usual spot in the shade. He makes sure to make it a PG rendition this time, including Gracie and Miles as well, so that when later, Bucky asks him ‘Hey, whatcha drawin’?’, Steve can actually show him the sketch. Bucky is silent for the longest time when Steve hands over his sketchbook. For a moment, Steve almost panics, wondering if he accidentally forgot to draw Bucky’s jeans or something, but then Bucky looks up, a look in his eyes that Steve can’t quite pinpoint. “This is amazing, Steve. Could I… Would you mind if I hold on to it, maybe?” Steve blinks in surprise. “Of course, yeah. I mean, it’s not my best work. I could do you something better if you like.” “It’s perfect,” Bucky frowns, seeming almost offended Steve would suggest otherwise. “I love it.”

🌈One for Fiction | thepinupchemist | Explicit | 6,713 words |*Post-2016 Rec*

I very much enjoy a shrinkyclinky-ish modern fic where Bucky is a disaster about the fact that Steve, like, exists. I am just so here for this, and this very adorable fic is a top-tier demonstration of that. Featuring a Veteran-turned-librarian Bucky and a barista Steve, and a lot of awkward flirting. At a library! Also featuring a lot of Bucky being a disaster about Steve, but also a lot of Steve being like, "...have you? seen? or? met? yourself? You are definitely the catch here." It's cute. They're cute. This fic is cute.

Quote:

“Fun fact about the library,” Bucky went on, “As long as no one can see your computer screen, you’re allowed to look at porn. That’s protected under intellectual freedom.” Steve raised a brow. “Interesting.” They meandered back to Bucky’s display. The night, as far as nights went, was a quiet one for the library, and the cafe was a ghost town, but for the group of teenagers with bags of McDonald’s scattered across the table and AP History books open on their laps. “Where’d everyone get their pronoun pins?” asked Steve, as Bucky pushed his stepladder upright, collected his tape dispenser, and climbed back up to finish hanging the flag garland. “They make ‘em at one of our sister libraries,” Bucky said, “Have a pin press over there and everything. I’m picking up a couple of shifts for one of the ladies over there next week; you want me to grab you some?” See, Bucky used to be this smooth. He used to be this smooth all the time. Apparently, trauma and PTSD aside, he could still be smooth every once in a while. A pleased little smile tilted beautiful Steve’s beautiful lips. He said, “That would be awesome. Do they have pride ones, too? Like your rainbow?” Does Steve like men? Steve might like men. Be cool, Barnes. Don’t be weird.

🌈Wholesale Change | biblionerd07 | Mature | 83,320 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

You know how sometimes you're the captain of an NHL team, and you're very talented, but over the years you've gained a bad reputation? And so your people all but force you to do a The Bachelor-esq dating show? And you've been having a terrible few years and feel like your life is falling apart? And also you're bisexual and closeted because of the whole NHL thing? And also the camera guy on that dating show is your long-lost very attractive best friend? Who also used to play hockey? Look, this fic has a ridiculous premise. In the best possible way. It's a delightfully ridiculous premise. It's so much fun. There's literally a dating show. Steve gets mad about dating show manipulations and lies! And, you know, Steve definitely ends up selecting one of the dating show contestants. Steve definitely does not fall for Bucky instead! Steve definitely does not purposefully out himself on live TV. Steve absolutely follows the rules and sees the dating show contract through! Because as we all know, Steve Rogers follows rules and does what people with authority tell him to do. Always and at all times. So much fun. So delightful.

Quote:

“I’m so tired of lying,” Steve says. He almost sags with the weight of it all, now that’s admitted it. He was trying so hard to outrun it all. Outskate it all, maybe. But he’s been losing for a long time now. “I know,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m sorry. But I don’t think letting him tell the world is going to make you feel any better. You need to tell the truth on your own terms.” Steve sighs and leans his shoulder against Bucky’s. “I’ll talk to whoever I pick,” he says. They deserve that, at least. He doesn’t want to pick someone under false pretenses. Falser, anyway. “You won’t get much alone time,” Bucky warns. “But I’m sure you can find a way.” “Nothing gets in Captain America’s way when his mind’s made up,” Steve says in his cheesy commercial voice. It was a line from some ad campaign he did for a sports drink he didn’t even like. Bucky snorts. “I was thinking more about Steve Rogers,” Bucky says. “That asshole’s unstoppable.” And after a line like that? All Steve can do is kiss him.

🌈Songbird | chicklette | Explicit | 70,843 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

I am very fond of this fic. It's music industry closeting -- but then planned sexuality revealing. Through lies. This is a fic that starts off with what should have been a one-night stand -- a great one, as one-night stands go, but a one-night stand. Except, pictures are taken of them very early the next morning, hugging, in front of Steve's apartment. And Bucky is very famous and very not out. Bucky's already got a damaged reputation and a host of other problems, and so his team decides that, actually, Bucky pretending to date some non-famous, pretty-faced, nice boy for a couple months might do his reputation some good. So, then, as you can imagine, being Steve and Bucky, the two of them spend the fic doing a very excellent, really great, just super good job, at sticking to having a formal arrangement. A no sex, no feelings, totally-just-a-business-deal-smile-for-the-camera-thing. They're total pros at it, okay? It goes so well for them. They definitely succeed. Just because, whatever, they quickly become friends and get close, it's totally still fine. They're definitely still doing really amazing at this, alright? They've got it under control. They're not going to crack on any of this. No sex. No not-for-the-cameras-kissing. No feelings. No one will cry at any point. Nope. They're So Good at this. Like I said, I'm super fond of this one.

Quote:

Steve smiles, his face going all soft and sweet, and it’s like a knife to Bucky’s heart. Ten more weeks, and someone else gets all those smiles. It’s a Goddamned shame, is what it is. His thoughts are uncomfortable enough that Bucky gets up and goes to the railing, looking back out over Manhattan. All the people there, living their lives, day in and day out. How many broken hearts is he looking at right now? How many people starry-eyed with new love? How many people, he wonders, comfortable in an old love, one that’s solid and still growing, deeply rooted, secure enough to be safe, but fresh enough to still bloom? “Penny for your thoughts,” Steve says, and Bucky tilts his head to look at him. “There’s a million love songs happening right now, just waiting for someone to write them.” “That’s awful hopeful, coming from you.” Bucky chuckles. “Nah, I was just wondering how many people we’re looking at right now with broken hearts.”

🌈Strong Saftey | queenmab_scherzo | Mature | 23,043 words

As a first note here, I will point out that this fic is a sequel to Targeting, and it is probably most satisfying when read with full context. But I really do think it can absolutely be read on its own. I really, really appreciate and love the way this fic handles Bucky and trauma. (the Targeting 'verse mirrors canon very closely, re: bad things happening to Bucky. Except that it's about college football.) Bucky's headspace here, and the way that then translates to his actual dialogue/actions is so, so well done. Plus, Steve and Bucky are preestablished in this fic, and it's healthy and lovely and romantic and makes me emotional-- Bucky is so hard on himself about everything, all the time, but he's got Steve, who is wonderfully loving and supportive. Also! Bucky befriends a cat. Also! Bucky legitimately has Steve saved in his phone like this: "Punk ❤️."

Quote:

"Vanilla latte, no whip?" the barista calls. Steve goes to the counter for his drink, but keeps his ears open. "I just wanted to tell you—I came out to my high school team last week. And, um. It's gone really well actually." "Wow," Bucky croaks. "Yeah, it just, I've been scared about it for a long time, but then you told the whole NFL, so I thought—yeah. I just wanted to say … thanks." From the corner of his eye, Steve can see them shake hands. "Wow," Bucky says again. He clears his throat a little. "Thank you. I mean, thanks for telling me." "I'm headed out to visit Oregon now, actually." "Football?" "Yeah." "Holy shit," Bucky says, candid as ever. "That's legit, man. Good luck." "Thank you." The kid starts to turn away, then adds: "For everything." When Steve goes back to Bucky's side, Bucky is staring into the paper bag at his donut. He sniffs, audibly.

"Are you crying?" Steve asks quietly. "No." Steve can't see his eyes through the sunglasses, but his nose is really red. It makes Steve smile. He doesn't press the issue.

🌈Rough Edges | sparkagrace @sparkagrace | Mature | 33,278 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

Showmances and Rivals-to-Lovers on the Stars on Ice Tour! There's a lot to be excited about here. This fic is such a delight, truly. I love it. You know that post that goes, "What is a rival other than a crush you're mad about having?" Steve spends the first chunk of this fic so disproportionately angry at Bucky for incredibly minor things. Like standing in rooms or... skating. It's amazing. But then there is bonding and heart-to-hearts. Often on skating benches! And, as it turns out, those two being around each other a lot is, as always, a very, very good thing, in the long run. One that helps them both. Also! Becca texts Bucky lots of pictures of Alpine -- pictures from Alpine. Also! Bucky and Nat have a somewhat frighteningly intense friendship/skating partnership and it's all just so, so great.

Quote:

Bucky continues on the corner edges while Steve sorts through one of the color groups. He thinks he has enough to make up branches of the tree that was displayed on the front of the box. He likes it when he finds the pieces that fit together, it’s like his brain fires little electrons of glee when they slot into place perfectly. He tries not to think about the fact it’s the same feeling he gets sometimes when he and Bucky execute their twizzles in perfect synchronicity. The same way he likes the sound of their prop swords clashing when they’re choreographing their throne number. Everything seems to feel matched when he’s around Bucky lately, like they’re synced partners as much as he is with Maria or Bucky is with Natasha. Puzzle pieces. Bucky seems to be enjoying it too. The quiet as they work together to put together this puzzle that neither of them would have looked twice at if they weren’t desperate for a distraction. A distraction from his heartache, from Bucky’s boredom… from the way that Bucky keeps looking over at him, from how he wishes they were doing this under different circumstances.

🌈Right where we are | steveandbucky | Teen | 10,395 words

This is actually the first fic in a whole 'verse, and they're all super sweet and super lovely. I really enjoy the way this Steve and Bucky build their relationship. I love seeing them get to have happier lives where they just get to be good for each other and good to each other, and this 'verse's Steve and Bucky, who do their best to communicate and who are so so cutely smitten from the gate, are great for that.

Quote:

“Hi,” Bucky smiles again, wider this time and the effect it has on Steve is embarrassing, since he can barely get out a greeting in response. Bucky looks ten times better in person. His now longer hair parted in the middle, and he has a two-day-old stubble, looking gorgeous in a navy blue shirt and dark form-fitting jeans. “Fancy running into you here,” he says as he leans closer to be heard above the music. Steve gets a waft of cologne, a sharp and somewhat sweet scent that draws him in as he briefly leans in to speak close to Bucky’s ear. “I’m just here with some friends, I swear I’m not stalking you.” Bucky laughs heartily, ducking his head and crinkling his nose as he does. It’s the cutest thing Steve’s ever seen, and fuck if he wouldn’t spend every minute of every day trying to get Bucky to laugh like that again. “Didn’t think you were stalking me. But what a coincidence, huh?” Bucky says, still grinning. “Nice to finally meet you, Steve Rogers.”

Bonus:

So, this is WIP, and I haven't started reading it yet. But! From everything I know about it, it absolutely fits what I'm going for on this rec list. Also, I've loved every other fic by @zenaidamacrouras1 that I've read. So while I can't actually rec something without reading it, I did feel like this should be in this post somewhere:

Unpredictable Synchronicity | Zenaidamacrouras1 | Mature | 106,788 words (WIP)

Second bonus:

These are fics that 100 percent should/would be on this list, except that I literally just rec'd them in my Brooklyn stories post. They are wonderful for all reasons described in the Brooklyn post:

Three White Horses | magdaliny | Mature | 16,601 words

Not In The Answer But The Question |  aimmyarrowshigh @aimmyarrowshigh | Teen | 27,382 Words

Ill With Want | thedoubteriswise | Mature | 26,999 words

This turned into a very long post, but that feels fitting. Happy Pride! 🌈

Like I said, next up will be dystopias, apocalypses, etc.

More Recs

[disenchantedif]

A ko-fi commission I completed for the Theo/Cam poly route!

“You got sand on my toes,” Theo complains, staring down at his flip-flops.

Cameron freezes from where he’s trying to shove an umbrella into the ground, and you can’t help but laugh at his expression. This, of course, makes Theo laugh as well…and earns you a side-eye from Cam.

“You’re not helping.” Cam says, exasperated as he watches the two of you laugh, “You know he gets worse when people laugh at him.”

“I get worse?” Theo gasps dramatically with a hand pressed over his heart like a distraught church-goer, “I’ll have you know-”

“See?” Cameron cuts the cambion off as he looks at you, gesturing sharply with his hand, “Look what you did.”

Theo nearly cackles, going over to wrap an arm around Cam’s shoulder to place a messy kiss on his cheek, “You love it.”

“Unfortunately.” The sorcerer says witheringly, “Also, it’s a beach, Theo. There’s sand everywhere.”

“I know, it’s awful!” The cambion says mournfully, “I’ll be digging it out of places for a month.”

“Sand in various crevices aside,” You tilt your sunglasses down to glance around the beach, “Why the hell is it so quiet today? It’s a mid-July Saturday. The height of summer. Where are all the families and annoying tourists?”

“Uh, well, it might just be slow…for some reason.” Cameron shrugs, wholly unconvincing, “What do they say? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“Bet the Trojans wish they had,” Theo says as he digs through your cooler to find a drink.

You both pause, looking down at him.

“Sometimes I forget he’s actually smart,” Cameron says, glancing at you, “Then he says stuff like that and I’m brutally reminded.”

Theo pouts, slinging the cold water on his fingers right at Cam. In retaliation, Cam kicks sand all over Theo. 

“Children,” You interrupt blandly, “Back to the matter at hand, please?”

“I mean, Sam is right.” Theo says, trying to dust his swim shorts off in vain, “Maybe something to do with that sign over there?”

Posted on the bulletin board right near the beach entrance is a sign that read ‘BEACH CLOSED FOR PRIVATE EVENT’ in big, bold letters. 

You jolt, going to grab your bags, “Shit! I didn’t even see that! Let’s go, like, now. Before whoever rented it out shows up, preferably.”

“We don’t have to leave,” Cam sighs, finally getting the umbrella to stick up straight, “We’re the, uh, private event.”

It’s quiet for all of two seconds before Theo starts laughing.

“You rented the beach out for our date?” The cambions says between bouts of amusement, “Seriously?”

“Technically, my aunt did.” Cameron grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck, “But, uh, yeah.”

Your eyebrows raise, “That’s…actually sweet.”

“Thank you!” Cam gestures to you while narrowing his eyes at Theo, “And that’s how someone reacts to a thoughtful gesture from their boyfriend, Theo.”

“From their boyfriend’s aunt, you mean.” The cambion snickers.

You cough to hide your laughter, but Cam notices. He huffs, shaking the towels out.

“Sam doesn’t like people around,” He snips, “I thought it would…be nice, I guess…”

Smiling slightly, you grab his arm and pull him down for a brief kiss.

“It was nice.” You say as you part, “And I do appreciate it, Cam. Thank you.”

He flushes, his cheeks turning a dark red, “Uh, no problem.”

“Yeah, Cam.” Theo comes closer with a grin, “Now we don’t have to worry if anyone sees us naked.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. You lean down, grabbing a fistful of sand and swiftly dumping it down Theo’s swim shorts in response.

“Oh, come on!” The cambion gripes, shimmying as he tries to brush himself off.

He has little to no luck.

Cameron is the one cackling now, “What was that about digging sand out?”

Theo flips him the bird, losing his shorts quickly and practically sliding into the water in an effort to defeat the itchiness.

“You know, Sam, if you wanted my shorts off, you only had to ask!” Theo calls out from the water.

“I don’t think being nude was necessary for success in this case.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “But whatever. Not like anyone will see.”

You both join him in the water, Cam carrying his shorts along and insisting he put them back on after a rinse in the seawater. Theo complies only after demanding a kiss from you both in compensation for his so-called ‘sand-related emotional trauma.’

He gets two kisses, along with two eye rolls.

“You know, the wings actually make floating in the water easier,” Theo says, lounging on his back as he uses said wings like a glorified raft.

“No shit.” Cameron blinks, brows furrowing, “They make all kinds of floating easier. They’re wings.”

“I was simply pointing out an observation.” Theo laughs before flipping around and submerging himself in the water once more, “Hey, Sam! Cameron! Wanna play mermaids?”

“You’ll lose,” You say with full confidence, “I’ve been going swimming with Penny in the Athletic Center every Wednesday.”

“That’s not even fair,” Theo says, “Playing mermaids isn’t even a competition and you’d kick our asses. You have, like, professional mermaid training.”

“Professional mermaid training…” Cameron repeats the phrase slowly, “That’s not something I thought I’d hear today.”

“But I’m right! Sirens are scary, real-life mermaids, and Sam got training from one.” Theo points out, “She would wreck us playing mermaids.”

“Training is a strong word,” You admit, “But I would wreck you, yes.”

“What about…Marco Polo?” Cam suggests.

Theo gives him an incredulous look, “Are you forgetting the time we played hide and seek in the Rec Center while Sam and Vik were in Intro to Alchemy? You glamoured yourself and followed me around while I looked for you!”

“That was pretty funny.” Cameron chuckles.

“It was humiliating.” Theo mourns.

Your brows furrowed, “Why have I not heard this story?”

“Because it was humiliating!” Theo re-affirms.

Cam only shrugs, “I was sworn to secrecy.”

“So, no to Marco Polo. I’m never playing any game involving seeking with you ever again.” Theo pokes Cam’s chest with a finger.

“I have an idea,” You announce.

They both turn to you, their full attention focused on words that never come. Instead, you use your arm to make a giant wave that hits them both in the face with water.

Theo throws his hands up, “Hell yeah! Splash fight!”

Things only devolve from there, and you’re suddenly very glad Cam’s aunt rented out the beach. You don’t know how tabloids would spin the story of The Chosen One, The Unchosen One, and a cambion having a splash fight in the ocean, but you can imagine it wouldn’t be an attractive story for any of you.

[sphxremint]

(man this art is really old but im usin it anyway lol)

☆ Heya heya一it's me, Mint!

I'm the guy that does the funny draws (and music (and sometimes edits)).

Some of you have definitely heard that line way too many times before. Or some of you probably just know me as the Simple Yet Stupid guy. If you haven't seen me before, congratulations! You've successfully met "that guy" (me) for the first time!

This is my tumblr. I reblog stuff I think is neat and post art/music/stuff I like once every [unspecified time frame]. I dipped (sort of) from Twitter (ah, sorry一ECKS [X] as it's called now) like a year or two ago because some guy had too much fun ruining it. Now I'm here more often!

Right, this is an intro post. lemme get on that...

☆ cool things you should know

• I'm 20 (born July 4th, on MINT day. not whatever the hell independence day is. eugh)

• I'm aroace (certain of it now! we out here)

• I'm black (there's like no way to make this funnier it just is what it is)

☆ some other neat stuff

• I draw!

I'm definitely not consistent with it at all, but I'm trying, 'cause it's fun and I like doing it. I may be into a lot of medias too, but I'm mostly an oc artist, and it's a curse I will bear until the end of time

• I make music!

I'm also not very consistent with it, but I'm a bit less open about it... I do it for fun, really; though it's more of a personal thing compared to my art.

• My timezone is CST

...which is about UTC -05:00. if you need to know that. i know we all got varied timezones

• I'm very good at being inconsistent!

(such as basic punctuation and grammar. cause thats important. sometimes i'll actually use apostrophes and sometimes ill just completely forget mid-sentence. lmao)

☆ my 5 core interests

aka. The main things I like! I switch between the 5 of these on a whim. You can inquire me about any of these. Be ready when it happens.

• Sonic The Hedgehog (he's just THAT GUY, yknow. just a guy who loves adventure. ultimate life forms and whatnot)

• Kirby (i'd forfeit everything for him. #1 blorbo living life)

• FINAL FANTASY (esPECIALLY XIII and XIV. but it's mostly XIV. two lalas ready for Dawntrail WOOO)

• Celeste (#1 game ever. i love everything about it so much, i naturally get my friends to play it. i'm also pretty good at speedrunning. smile)

• and anything osc! (though I'm not part of the fandom "like that". just on the surface layer, yknow? bfdi, ii, boto, ppt2... funny shows go brrr)

☆ cool and awesome tags

□ #mint.txt = probably some random garbled text i spat out one night

□ #mintdraws = i sure do! and you should go look at it!

□ #mint.png = funny image included (not guaranteed)

□ #mint.mp3 = rarely use this but i still want people to know i make music

□ #mint.ask = because i get those. sometimes art, sometimes stupid funny stuff

□ #simple yet stupid = yeah its for those funny objects i talk about. i put this one here just in case

□ #mint's expoboard = i'm probably talking about one of my ocs

☆ and some extra stuff i guess

□ my sonas and stuff if you need that

□ my carrd! go read it cause most of my extra links (and contacts) are already there

□ my toyhou.se Did you know I have a toyhou.se? because I never shut up about my characters, and sometimes people just need the Repository of Information. well... here it is.

Okay. I'll update this post more as time goes on, but... that's about it. That was probably like a read and a half. oops.

Remember: if you do follow me, you are (unofficially) officially consigning yourself to my presence and any stupidity and/or brainrot that follows.

...if that's cool with you. lmao =ᴗ=)b

(big shoutouts to the old pinned i had. you will forever be missed)

last updated: 08 / 27 / 2024

[farmerlarrry]

Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)

masterlist | chapter ten | chapter nine | read on ao3 | playlist

story summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos.

a/n:  Happy The Last of Us day everyone!! Also happy birthday to Joel. <3 (posting this a bit late in the day but it IS the 26th for me still lol). Had to do a transitional chapter for everything to add up and make sense later on, next chapter will be much more exciting!!

word count: 4050

if you want to be notified when I post new chapters, follow @farmerlarrrylibrary and put on notifications! If you'd rather be tagged, just let me know.

Chapter Eleven

Roughly a year and some months later

Summer is quickly coming to an end, the leaves have started to turn into warm tones of red, orange, and yellow. The lush greenness of the land disappears with each new day. It’s just about midday and you’ve been sitting at the base of a boulder for about an hour now, simply staring off into the distance. A layer of freshly fallen leaves coat the ground. You feel wholly at peace. A chill runs down your spine as a slight breeze begins to pick up. The sound of leaves rustling reminds you of a thousand little whispers, making you not feel so alone up here. You tuck your knees in closer to your chest, regretting not wearing or bringing anything warmer than your thin long sleeve shirt out on today’s patrol.

It’s a very serene day. Patrol went perfectly fine, you had a longer trek than usual as it was your day to check on the dam. Of course, nothing was out of the ordinary and you sort of went into a state of autopilot. From there, you circled around, heading straight for the outlook as you do most days. Everyday is pretty much the same, and have begun to blend into one another. Wake up, patrol, outlook, dinner, sleep. Rinse and repeat. Every. Day. The one thing that you never get tired of is coming here. The view is just as beautiful as the first time you saw it. In some sort of strange way, when you’re here, you can still feel the strong, intense presence of Joel, as if a part of himself still remains up here even after he’s left. Today in particular, it’s extra strong and in an odd way, it’s comforting.

You take a look next to you, looking at the barren ground. A bittersweet feeling overcomes you, one you have to immediately ward off before you become nauseous or it turns into something more. The feeling comes and goes. 

When you first started coming out here on your own, it was in the dead winter. You’d only stay a few minutes, sometimes a half hour at most, but never longer. The reasoning not really being the weather, how the cold seeped in through your thick winter coat chilling your right down to your core, or how your nose was so cold it’d take the rest of the day to regain feeling. Sure you’d use that as an excuse to yourself, but deep down you knew the real reason. The memory of the last time you saw Joel haunted you for months after his departure. You couldn't escape the guilt nor the hurt it caused. It took you a while to build up to spending more time up here. When spring came and your emotions subsided, you started staying for longer periods of time. Soon you began to bring your lunch with you, slipping books in your backpack to sit under the shade on the warm summer days. For your birthday, Nessa gifted you a beautiful leather bound journal. She told you she had it made special for you by someone in the community, remembering how you loved writing and journaling back in high school. After that you started carrying it with you everywhere you went. You haven’t quite gotten into the routine of writing regularly, but on the occasion you do, you’ve found it to be therapeutic. This is how you’ve learnt to deal with things, with pen and paper. 

Tucking the pen between your lips, you pull out your leather bound journal and flip open to the last entry, there’s about a half page worth of writing.

Sometime in mid July.

Tommy and I just came back from a couple day trip. It was just him and I this time. We ended up coming back empty handed, not that it really matters, since we just go out for fun, to get out of the community and have some time to ourselves. Spent a lot of it hiking. It was a peaceful trip this time around, we weren't bothered by no one or came in contact with any infected (unfortunately the number of infected popping up outside of the city has been increasing as of late) Nessa said she wants to come along next time… Tommy told her she could just to make her happy, but we both know she wouldn’t be able to last a night out here without throwing some sort of tantrum. The ground is too hard, she can’t sleep because she’s scared, she’s cold, she’s hungry…. I love Nessa to death, but taking her out on a trip like this is not my definition of relaxation or fun. Tommy was telling me on the way back he wants to take an extended trip soon, it’s been awhile since he’s done one (last one was when he found me). Maria has told him no multiple times already, telling him it’s not worth the risk and that Jackson is already doing so good on its own. He sort of alluded to his want to go east. I didn’t say much, I hope he invites me along if he does end up planning something.

After glancing over the words, you flip to the next available blank page, tapping the blunt end of the pen against your chin thinking about what you should write.

—

You’ve been in the community for little over a year now. To you, it really doesn’t seem like it’s been that long. Time really does go by fast, especially when you’re living, not just surviving. Within the last year, you’ve been able to create a life, you have a few people you’d consider your friends, you have a job, and you finally feel like your life is yours. The feeling of not belonging quickly subsided after about two months in. It was like your body and mind finally caught up, realizing you didn’t always have to build your walls up so high, always having to be on the outlook for potential danger. Life feels normal. Well, as normal as you can imagine.

You somehow managed to push past your hatred toward Nessa’s group of friends. At first it was no easy feat, most of the time having to bite on your tongue, or completely remove yourself from whatever situation was causing you frustration, but eventually it got easier. You became used to how they acted, learning when to block them out. You still aren’t a huge fan of Heather, Aimee, or Drew, but it is what it is. At the end of the day, they are Nessa’s friends, and Nessa is one of the most important people in your life. You do it for her. Regardless, they can actually be a lot of fun when they aren’t shit talking the other members of the community. 

Soon the group would be referred to as the gang , Heather was the one to initiate the title, and then everyone sort of continued using it.

About once a week, all of you meet up at an old abandoned building on the far west end of the community. Most of the time a mass amount of alcohol is involved, occasionally an old stash of weed. Sometimes you all will listen to music on an old record player Drew found in the cellar, other times someone will bring a deck of cards and you’ll play card games. The nights always end the same; Heather and Aimee both shit face drunk, barely able to move and usually one of them ends up puking at some point in the night, the other gagging in response. Drew takes over as the entertainer, sometimes he will put on plays, reenacting interactions he’s had with the others, playing up the situation and making it way more dramatic than it actually was. Other times he’ll put on a concert, strumming on a three stringed guitar and singing as loud as he possibly can, making up lyrics as he goes. Nessa always ends up in a fit of laughter, her face turning red as she gasps for air.  You, being more modest with your alcohol consumption, tend to sit back and laugh amongst the others. Whatever ends up happening, it is never a dull night.

And then there’s James. 

After Joel left, when Nessa wasn’t available – whether she was busy with the others, helping with the kids at the school, or when she decided Tommy and her needed to have more alone time– James was there for you. For a while, wherever you were, James was right by your side; whether you were in a talkative mood, or just wanted to sit in silence. You’ve come to learn that he is entirely different from what he presented himself as during that first interaction at the gates. James is incredibly kind and sweet, he’s laid back and easy going— for the most part. There’s times where he can get uptight, particularly when he is on guard duty, but he believes that the rules are meant to be followed to a tee, and there's little to no excuse to break them. Which is probably why he and Joel were always at each other's necks. 

Nearly all the girls around your age swoon over James. Stopping whatever they’re doing to look at him— when he enters a room, or walking around the community minding his own business— they always turn to one another, sharing whispers and giggles. Between his looks and the way he generally acts, you can understand why. Any girl would kill to be with someone like him. He pretends he doesn’t notice, but based on the way his cheeks turn red when it happens, you know the truth. He loves the attention. 

You were able to take over Joel’s spot on border patrol with the help of James. From what you’ve heard, Maria was quite hesitant giving you that type of assignment so soon after arriving. Nessa was the one who ended up telling you, and you assume she heard it from Tommy. You don’t know what James said or did to make it happen, but whatever it was, you were grateful he was able to do that for you. 

You can still vividly remember him coming out from the main building one early morning as you and Nessa were heading toward the school; walking with large strides, practically jogging, toward you with a big smile on his face. His long hair being flared out to the sides by the wind. Welcome to the patrolling squad, missy, he shouted across the main town center, causing people to turn a look between the two of you. You shrieked in excitement, running toward him and burying your face into the side of his neck. He wrapped his arms around your waist, swinging you around in a circle. That day was the first day you felt the pure essence of happiness in a long time. The excitement of getting what you wanted was overwhelming.

Nessa never really understood your undying desire to do border patrol. She always told you that you should try and work at the school with her because it was easy and it was fun , or she suggested at the very least you should work in the infirmary. You’d just shrug her off. She wasn’t willing to understand, nor do you think she ever would be able to. 

When you first started, James accompanied you. The two of you would meet at the stables before the sun would rise, making sure you were out early before most were even awake. He took you through a few rotations; checking the fences, clearing the dam, checking the hunting sheds deep within the heavily forested areas, patrolling other parts you weren’t even aware of. He wanted to make sure you knew the proper way of doing things, always making sly remarks which were obvious digs at Joel.

 For the first few months, it was great. But you wanted to be able to do more . Nearly everyday, either on your way back to the main gates or when you’d pass the barn, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to escape and go to the outlook Joel showed you. It was a while before you were able to get back there. 

On one particularly cold and bitter winter day, James had something come up. He met you at the stables as per usual, a perturbed look plastered on his face.

“I won’t be able to go with you today,” He was straightforward. You gave him a small nod, curious as to why and also, who was going to take his place. Please don’t be Drew, please don’t be Drew… you begged in your mind. Last time Drew went with you, it turned out to be an absolute shit show, nearly leaving you stranded on the side of a mountain. “And unfortunately all the guards are busy n’ there’s no one to spare, so that means…” 

“I can go by myself,” You responded maybe a little too eagerly, knowing what this meant. You could do things on your own accord, at your own pace, you could go wherever you wanted and no one would know. James gave you a confused look as you bit down on your lip in anticipation. Never in a million years he’d agree to that, you think.

“That– you know you can’t do that… it’s– it’s not safe, what if… what if something happens. You can just join one of the other groups today and then–” He took a step forward, grabbing your wrist, the snow crunching under his shoe. You could see his breath as he let out an exasperated sigh.

“It’s just fences today, we’ve done this so many times,” You subtly pulled out of his grasp, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. James looked at the ground, slightly shaking his head. “If I can’t do something like this on my own… I probably should get a new assignment.” 

James heartedly chuckled at what you said, taking a moment to contemplate. You gave him wide, pleading eyes. Regardless of his answer, you knew you were going to go, no matter how it made him feel. A fire burned inside your belly at this unexpected opportunity. 

“You do the fences, and come right back, okay?” He finally said, you returned a giddy smile to him, pulling him into a tight hug. He returned your tight embrace, resting his hands on your lower back. “I’ll be on channel 4, if you need anything, you better reach out… and radio me when you get back.”

That day was the first time you returned to the spot, and it certainly wasn’t the last. You made sure to be up and out of your house earlier than before, accidentally leaving James behind, every morning. He asked about it the first few times it happened, you lied and told him you couldn’t wait around for him because it was imperative for you to be back at the community by midday… except you were never back by midday and he knew that. Every time he tried bringing up how you shouldn’t be going out alone, you cut him off changing the subject. After a while he stopped trying and never pushed the matter further, although you could tell that it bothered him. 

You liked to be out there by yourself. Once you step out past those gates, just you and Lucky, you felt as if you were finally able to breathe. You didn’t have to put on a false façade, you were able to just simply be.

On the off chance you didn’t feel like going out alone, you’d stop by Nessa and Tommy’s place on your way out to the stables, inviting Tommy to come along. Those days were few and far between, but Tommy was always happy to join, dropping whatever it was he was supposed to be doing to accompany you. The two of you would talk about all sorts of things; fishing, music, things from before the outbreak, mainly it was Tommy sharing more of his many stories that landed him in a deep amount of trouble. Spending that time with Tommy was therapeutic for you. He quickly became one of your closest friends, and now was like a brother to you. 

There was only one unspoken rule while you two were together. Talking about Joel was off limits.

You never really stopped thinking about Joel. As time went on, the hurt that he caused you slowly melted away, it just kind of sat dormant, always lingering and occasionally it would hit you, but you’ve learned to not let it become debilitating. He often appeared in your dreams, usually unexpectedly showing up in the dining hall, or showing up on your doorstep, or some other part of the community; the two of you would catch each other's eyes. Every time you had this dream, there was a different outcome. Some nights you were relieved to see him, other nights all you could feel for him was anger. No matter how you acted in your dream, when you woke up, a part of you deep inside was always happy to see his face again.

However, no matter how under control you may think you have it, you still look for his face in everyone you come across. You look for that comfort and calmness he brought to your soul in everyone. No one ever comes close, and you sometimes wonder if you’ll ever feel that level of contentment ever again. With more time, this feeling will fade, you always tell yourself. Just give it some more time. 

Since being here, you’ve been able to reconnect with Charles. So much has changed since the apartment building, Dottie and Henry have grown so much. Charles has sort of become like a father figure for you; always checking up on you, making sure you’re fed, your house is stocked up with extra supplies. You’ve been able to actually get to know him now that things are different. 

The two of you first bonded over a book. He caught you reading one early morning, you were sitting on the edge of the field where they grow and harvest root vegetables. The Chrysalids by John Wyndham. You found an old copy in the building that you and the rest of the gang would hang out at. That’s an interesting pick, his voice came out of nowhere, nearly scarring you to death. The cover caught my eye, you responded no louder than a whisper. The truth is, the premise of the book fascinated you, especially considering your own reality. What else have you read, he took a seat next to you. From that point, you and Charles would meet up any chance the two of you had a free moment, talking about books, which eventually took a turn and you ended up forming a close bond with him. 

Now most evenings, you spend over at his house with James. Charles, the kids, you, and James all eat dinner together, and after James helps with the kids’ homework while you and Charles go off to his den. Once the kids go to bed, James and you head out. He insists on walking you home every night, regardless of the fact that he lives on the complete opposite side of the community. You think it's a sweet gesture, but a completely unnecessary one. 

In the spring, Tommy and you started going on fishing trips, usually spending the night out in the woods. Tommy told you about all the summers he spent as a teenager with his friends out at the creeks behind his childhood home; fishing, wrestling in the mud, smoking. Then eventually Charles found out and started tagging along, apparently before the outbreak, he was an avid fisherman, just not a very good one. Once it started becoming a weekly weekend trip, James and Henry would tag along as well. But most often it was just the three of you. You started to cherish the nights you spent under the stars after it started getting too cold, something you never thought you’d end up enjoying and yearning for after all the fearful nights all by yourself. 

—

Placing the pen in the spine of the notebook to hold your place, you close it and set it off to your side on the ground. You reach for your worn out bag, sticking your hand through the half unzipped pouch and feeling around the depths. You pull out a brown paper bag, carefully unrolling the top. Today’s lunch consisted of half a sandwich, the once whole one that Nessa gave you when you stopped by yesterday morning. 

As you're unraveling the moist paper wrapping, you notice some sort of commotion brewing at the main gates. From up here you can see the area in front of the gates, as well as a good portion of the community. The large doors draw open, and about two dozen guards come out from it. Some on foot, others on horseback. You can see half of them beginning to ready their guns, drawing them from their holsters. Your mind completely forgets about your lunch, you’re no longer hungry. You strain your eyes, squinting them, desperate to figure out what's going on. Without looking away, you grab the walkie talkie from the side of your hip, turning the volume dial up. You are instantly hit with an array of voices, some cutting in on each other, sentences overlapping and cutting out. 

“ Yup, just north of the main gates,,” A clear sentence finally comes out. “The—”

It cut out again, and you hit the base of the walkie talkie with your palm. 

“Can you repeat,” A different voice responds. It must be cutting out for everyone , you think. 

“The—” They repeat, cutting out again. “Down by the dam, there‘s only one survivor.”

“Copy,”  A bit of annoyance hangs in their tone. The dam? I was just at the dam an hour-ish ago, you start thinking about when you were there, did you miss something? 

Getting up, you walk over to the edge of the cliff. You have one hand on your hip and the other is holding the radio up to your ear. 

Suddenly everything goes quiet, no one is talking. Your eyes are now locked on the ground, darting from side to side. Surely if they needed your help, they would call you in, right? You start to worry, now switching over to channel 4, the channel that James uses to communicate with all the higher ranking and more experienced guards.

After a few moments of silence, all the guards now out of view as they disappear into the tree line, you return back to the spot at the base of the boulder. Picking up the sandwich, you set the radio down between your crossed legs. You take a modest bite of your soggy sandwich, chewing slowly. You have an odd feeling in the center of your stomach, boarding nausea. 

“C–n..Som–dy” James' voice suddenly comes over the radio, nearly causing you to jump. You force the food down. He’s cutting in and out. Your breathing becomes shallow. Something feels different, you think, you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. 

Another moment of silence follows. You narrow your eyes, drawing your brows close together.

“Tommy ,” He calls out, this time much more clearly. “For fucks sake.” 

Just static.

“Can someone find Tommy , tell him to get to the front gates immediately… Maria too,” His voice is tense, urgent sounding. Your heart is beating fast. “Tell them… Tell them there's a situation.” 

“On it,” A voice promptly responds. “If they ask… what– what should I tell ‘em?”

You listen closer, there’s a long pause before James says anything.

“Tell them…” James’ voice sounds hesitant. There’s some muttering, but you cannot make out who is talking or what they’re saying. Just tell them, you hear faintly, it sounds like it could be Nora, but you can’t be sure. She’s listening right now, I kn — his voice cuts out for a few seconds— this is bullshit, James responds instantly in a hushed, harsh tone.

 “Fine, tell them Joel is back.”

read chapter twelve here!

painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings

[hpowellsmith]

Honor Bound Character Intro: Fiore and Catarina

Here's a more detailed look at two of the major characters of Honor Bound, Fiore and Catarina. As parent and child, they're strongly linked, and their relationship with each other is tracked as well as your relationship with them as individuals. In order to get very close with Fiore, you'll need to have a solid relationship with Catarina too; Fiore won't want to be close with someone who isn't kind to their daughter.

Via military higher-ups, Fiore has arranged for you to guard Catarina while she's living away from home at boarding school. It's your choice how - and if - you'll shape Catarina's school life, and what connections - friendship, romance, or something else - you'll build with Fiore along the way.

INTRO POST | DEV DIARY & FEEDBACK THREAD | PATREON EARLY ACCESS DEMO COMING 6TH JUNE | PUBLIC DEMO COMING 4TH JULY |

-

Fiore:

Full name: Honored Fiore Roldan

Age: 35

Gender: selectable between trans man (he/him), trans woman (she/her) and nonbinary (they/them)

Background: an eminent scientist awarded a title for their contributions to agricultural science, though they haven't done much of note since then. They grew up in the capital of Teran, New Belmir City, and still live there in a luxurious but empty house. They married young, are now widowed, and their only child, Catarina, is fourteen.

Personality: serious, anxious, intelligent, protective

MBTI: INFJ

Appearance: mid-height and heavily built, with dark skin, brown-black eyes, and black tightly coiled hair.

Style: Fiore currently wears their hair in braids reaching to their upper back and carefully tied back. Their clothes are tastefully expensive and not entirely practical: business casual. They like the colour lilac.

At their best: intellectual, measured, caring

At their worst: fussy, indecisive, overcautious

You'll like Fiore if you like… someone quietly smart, who's eager to be liked, who (over)thinks before acting, for whom still waters run deep, who cares fiercely and is a devoted parent but who sometimes finds it hard to connect.

You'll like romancing Fiore if you like… a slow burn, shared support in the face of old regrets and new problems, forming a new family, reconciliation, facing up to mistakes, intense long-repressed emotions, being looked after, and someone who will take charge in a caring way if you're into that.

-

Catarina:

Full name: Catarina Roldan

Age: 14

Gender: cis girl (she/her)

Background: Catarina grew up in New Belmir City with her parents Fiore and Jaime. When she was 8, they divorced, with Fiore taking primary custody; when she was 10, Jaime was killed in a road accident. Catarina has a keen mind and is unafraid to tell people when she thinks they're wrong. Her dearest goal is to go into scientific research related to the young field of computing.

Personality: ambitious, perfectionistic, contrary, enterprising

MBTI: ISTJ

Appearance: plump, going to be taller than Fiore, with dark skin, dark brown eyes, and tightly coiled black hair.

Style: Catarina currently wears her hair in two puffs. When not wearing the golden Ozera school uniform, she likes to wear wide-legged trousers and turtleneck sweaters.

At her best: friendly, determined, eager

At her worst: stubborn, seeing things in black and white, inconsiderate

-

Fiore and Catarina: Fiore truly wants nothing but the best for Catarina but is finding it difficult to let go and allow her to spread her wings. Concerned for her wellbeing, they don't want her ambitions to push her into burnout; they're also anxious for her safety in the light of their fame.

Catarina and Fiore: it's been a tough few years for the two of them. Although they've had support from family and friends through the divorce and bereavement, they have found it difficult to connect and are often at odds. In particular, Catarina finds Fiore's anxiety patronising, and chafes at the idea that "it's the taking part that counts, not the winning". Why would she not want to win?

[joyfull24]

Perils of Napping

I get triggered by the term contact napping. It’s used by people who are generally against parents holding their kids while they sleep. Since I’m not one of these people, I can’t tell you what bothers them exactly. But something does because they call it contact napping instead of napping.

There are a lot of warnings out there. Apparently, once you start contact napping you won’t be able to quit it. Naps are more addictive than hard drugs. How will you get anything done if you hold a sleeping child? You’ll perish of exhaustion and then who will want to take care of your needy baby?

My baby, like all babies, likes to be held to sleep. He is currently 10 weeks old. And sometimes, don’t tell anyone with pediatrician in their job title, I hold him while he sleeps. You might think this is incredibly dangerous, as parenting books today make it seem like the leading cause of childhood death, behind accidentally drowning, is getting dropped off the sofa by your sleeping parents. I have not fallen asleep while holding my child on the sofa, yet, but I still feel guilty when I do it.

Because this is contact napping and apparently for my little human’s development, I should be laying him down always to sleep in a cold, dark, empty crib until he has a flat spot on the back of his head and he needs an expensive helmet to correct his neck tendons. I’m giving pediatrician’s flack, but my son actually has a great doctor who is very relaxed. He recommended a parenting guidebook and specified that we should use it to troubleshoot instead of looking things up on Doctor Google, which I think is generally good advice. Only problem is, its his job is to know my son, not me. No one has ever handed me a book I didn’t read cover to cover.

So reading this damn thing is where some of my bitterness comes from. The authors’ would have me believe that they put their kid down for every nap every day of their lives. My own experience as a child tells me this cannot possibly be true. Maybe it is. But I kinda want a kid like me. I want a kid who can sleep in the car on a forty hour road trip to Disney because their parents saved up for months, but didn’t want to pay to stay in a hotel to split up the drive, since that would be wasting money. I want a kid who can sleep at a summer concert, in the middle of July, and maybe crack an eye when the fireworks go off. I want a kid who can sleep at Buffalo Wild Wings on the table in between trivia questions with that weird little tablet gripped in their sticky little fingers (pretty sure they don’t use the plastic punch pad tablets anymore, I’d guess trivia’s on your cell phone now – feel free to correct me, I haven’t been to a BDubs in years).

I think napping on the go is an important trait. I don’t worry about this with my kid so much. I am confident he will inherit my super power…to sleep on trains, planes, and automobiles. His mom has woken up mid-trip to jump off a train two stations early in the middle of Rome (she doesn’t speak Italian). She’s also ridden all the way to Kenosha and had to turn around when she missed her stop having a good nap after work. These are important life experiences I wouldn’t want him to miss out on!

...

Read the rest for free over on Word Press: https://joy-fulls.com/

[petervintonjr]

Today we celebrate the life of Stormé DeLarverie, the affectionately-named "Rosa Parks of the gay community" who may or may not have actually thrown the first punch on June 27, 1969 at the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village (see Lesson #94 for more about this key event). While actual accounts conflict, DeLarverie herself would on occasion make this claim, however she also chafed at the idea of naming the Stonewall Uprising a riot; such a word, to her, changed the narrative and permitted the agitators to drive the story, not the victims. "It was a rebellion, it was an uprising, it was a civil rights disobedience," she would agree, but "it wasn't no damn riot."

Born in 1920 New Orleans on an unknown date (she would later claim December 24th as her birthday), DeLarverie's African-American mother was in fact a household servant to her white father. Her parents later married and the family moved to California, but she was ultimately mostly raised by her grandfather. Not unexpectedly, Delarverie endured more than her share of bullying and harassment from other schoolchildren, due not only to her mixed race but also her tall and lean androgynous looks --which would later work to her advantage; being able to pass for either white or Black, woman or man. For a time she rode horses with the Ringling Brothers Circus but stopped after a fall. She came out as lesbian at the age of eighteen, and remained in a committed relationship with a dancer named Diana, until Diana's death in the mid-1970's.

Between 1955 and 1969 DeLarverie was the featured emcee of the touring Jewel Box Revue, significant as one of the first-ever integrated drag revues, showcasing both black and white entertainers. The revue featured men in drag, though DeLarverie was the only male impersonator: one popular gimmick was to encourage audiences to try to guess who the "one girl" was from among the revue performers. At the end Stormé would reveal herself as a woman during a musical number called, "A Surprise with a Song," often wearing tailored suits and sometimes even a moustache that made her unidentifiable. The Jewel Box Revue also drew integrated crowds of both black and white audiences, and was even featured at Radio City Music Hall and at Harlem's famed Apollo Theater.

Only a few weeks after Stonewall, on July 11, 1969, DeLarverie was one of the founding members of the Stonewall Veterans' Association, and remained an active member for many years, ultimately serving as its Vice-President from 1998 to 2000. Throughout the 1980's and the 1990's she patrolled gay and lesbian clubs and bars on lower Seventh and Eighth avenues, ever vigilant and on the lookout for anti-gay and anti-black intolerance, a responsibility she took seriously until she reached her mid-eighties. She was a regular at New York's annual Pride parade, was honored at the Brooklyn Society for Ethical Culture, and received a proclamation from then-Public Advocate (now State Attorney General) Letitia James.

For further viewing: Stormé: The Lady of the Jewel Box, a 1987 film directed by Michelle Parkerson.

"Something Like A Super-Lesbian:" Stormé's May 2014 obituary at https://hello40s.com/2014/05/28/something-like-a-super-lesbian-storme-delarverie-in-memoriam/

[literaticat]

How true do you think “no subbing to editors in August” is? My agent is holding off on subbing to some editors I REALLY want to sub to until late July at least, but I kind of want to ask to do it earlier…

Quick question: Did you read my lengthy answer from yesterday? Go do that.

Now, in that answer, I said that I PERSONALLY would not be keen to send a new submission to editors at the end of August.

Mid-July is not the end of August. The END of July is not the end of August. EARLY AUGUST is not even the end of August, though it's getting close to it!

Your agent wants to send "In Late July" -- you want them to send earlier than that. Hate to break it to you, but friend, but we are on the downside of July already. So I guess what you are saying is, your agent wants to send it sometime in the next two weeks and you want them to send it yesterday?

FWIW, in terms of timing, there is no difference between this coming week vs the week after (or the week after that, for that matter). There is zero benefit to be gained from sending earlier. It'll be fine either way. If it were actually going to be MID AUGUST, I might suggest just waiting until September -- but July? It's fine. (And yes, if timing WAS an issue, I would for sure suggest WAITING rather than PUSHING FOR EARLIER.)

Point being, your agent knows what their own schedule looks like and what publisher schedules look like. Trust that they know how to do their job. THEY REALLY WANT YOUR BOOK TO SELL.

...

OK, fine, I hear authors saying -- if it doesn't matter, why won't my agent do it RIGHT NOW???? Because I WANT THEM TO????!

Perhaps it would help to get a bit of a peek behind the curtain at the Agent side. (MY POV, obvs, I can't speak for YOUR agent, but they would likely resonate with some or all of this!)

From my perspective: For ME, sending submissions is actually not quite just "dash off an email and press send." It would take me a solid UNINTERRUPTED day (like, 8+ hours) to 1) make a proper submission list, cross-referencing it with every other submission to be sure I am not overwhelming any one editor, cross-referencing with the most updated info from our database, probably running it past my colleagues to see if they have any intel to add, 2) write a pitch, look over the ms for the umpteenth time, edit and rewrite the pitch, get second eyes on the pitch, write and fuss over the personalized emails, and then 3) quadruple check everything is right, and get them out. HOWEVER - I have never had an uninterrupted day.

Bear in mind that there are actually lots of other things I have to do which are arguably MORE important (or at least, more time-sensitive) than sending this ms out -- like anything to do with money, contracts, negotiations in progress, "book emergencies", etc. So, the time-sensitive things HAVE to come first. But OK, no problem, I can just break the 8 hours or so up into chunks over the course of a week.

So, let's say on Thursday I have a couple hours and can do that submission list Jenga (I don't want this ms to overlap editors with other projects, each author has their own submission history that needs to be taken into account, etc etc - it's complicated!). Then on Friday I have an hour and can do the first pass of the pitch letter -- over the weekend I can look over the ms again -- on Monday I can do whatever tweaks and fussing -- and then if I can finish that day, I'll schedule the emails to go out on Tuesday. GREAT. Done in under a week!

HOWEVER. I also do have other clients (sorry!) -- each of them ALSO thinks that their ms is the center of the universe. Which is fair!

But if it takes me the course of a week-ish to do one submission, and three (or six... or eight) people all desperately want me to send to editors RIGHT NOW -- and meanwhile time-sensitive things keep happening -- how would that work exactly? I can do two or three sort of "semi-simultaneously" -- like stagger them, work on multiple submission list researches at once, etc -- but it takes longer. It also makes the JENGA of it all more complicated.

I want to give each project its proper time in the sun! I WANT to spend time on this and do it carefully! WHY DON'T YOU WANT ME TO DO THAT? If I know that X is when I will have time for this, and you are like "NO, DO IT NOW" -- that would make me cry.

I probably should not have let you that deep into my brain, sorry.

[feekins]

here are my thoughts and things and whatever translation weirdness I find as I re-read ch 5 of Trigun Maximum vol 6!

(NOTE: I'm reading the Dark Horse [physical] and the Overhaul [online] translations side-by-side)

I remember this chapter gets Heavy, so let's start with something silly - here after the title page:

(Dark Horse on left, Overhaul on right)

it's not a translation thing, but I had to include a comparison so you can see that it's not, like...weirdness involving image compression or quality or whatever - it rly does say BUNCH GRASS SALOON there, and that just. tickles me. so much. it's so cute! and exotic-sounding, I'd imagine, if you live where anything that's everything that's publically accessible is desert.

(Dark Horse on top, Overhaul on bottom)

now, getting into the 'meat' of this chapter, we have minor wording differences between translations for this all-important line. both make sense, but given the theme of this chapter (titled "Colorless Expression" in both translations), the Overhaul's wording choice is more fitting. das nuance, babey =u=

oh, another tiny thing that tickles me: when that kid tackles Vash, the Overhaul translates the name of the kid's 'attack' as "Flying Mid-air Crab Pinch" whereas Dark Horse calls it "Flying Volley Crab Pinch" - both very cute!

(Dark Horse on left, Overhaul on right)

reading the Dark Horse translation, this bit of conversation always confused me - and it's moments like this where the Overhaul's is just. SO helpful. domfock has spoken on some of the translation choices that're made to clarify who's talking, and it looks like the above is one case of that. this happens a couple more times throughout the chapter, and I appreciate each and every one 💕

...oh. that church scene. haha. hellooooo, teenage me's religious trauma;;;;;;,

FIRST: this bounty hunter's name is Justin, so in my head, he is forever voiced by Justin McElroy goofing around 🤣

SECOND: timeline stuff!!! we now know that this chapter takes place 10 years after Lost July (which happened in the year 0104), making the "current" date sometime in the year 0114 - 1 year after we see Meryl in Trigun Maximum vol 1 (on her birthday in February 0113), and 4 years after Jeneora Rock (which happened in October 0110)!

SILLY THING: the label on the bottle reads "RED ROCK" - which also happens to be an irl soda company. it was founded in Atlanta a year before Coca-Cola was. also they make yummy grape soda =u=

SAD THING: I didn't get the significance of this part when I first read it as a teenager. I wasn't raised around alcohol - I thought this bit was just Vash being A Silly Lil Guy. reading this as an Adult who only very very very very very rarely chooses to consume An Alcohol, partially bc I know way too many ppl who struggle with substance abuse/addiction (ALCOHOL IS A DRUG)...Vash. 🥺

it goes right along with the "Colorless Expression" thing...

*wounded animal sounds*

something about we the readers knowing Vash's power is what did The Thing but that Knives is what triggered itgxxjgxjgjxg

...oh, Overhaul. I hurt. using "people" thereby implying these townspeople don't even see Vash as a person... (you also gotta wonder - how many of these people were just in that church?) 🥲

then, there's an interesting difference in wording between the two translations after Milly asks Vash (in both translations) "How can you keep smiling like that?"

"look" VS "do" - it all comes down to nuance.

all Vash is trying to do is keep going... 😭

this post. just...all of this.

😭😭😭

[rin-and-jade]

Hello, it is D again, returning with some news and answers and more questions :D

Starting off with some answers, I've only actively been aware of Shadow for a few months but they feel like they've always been there if that makes any sense? Their presence feels natural, but I wasn't consciously aware of them until like mid-July. I kinda feel him more if I talk about them ig, like he knows that they would wanna be here for that conversation? Additionally, when I feel "closer to them" per se, it does feel like my emotions are being influenced, at least slightly. Like I'll feel them move closer and I've got this tightly bound coil of anxiety in my gut that lessens when they move away again. I'm also kinda certain that he/they feels right when referring to them, like with pretty much anything else I get a strong feeling of wrong that I'm pretty sure isn't me? Idk tho

In news... there really is none. My attempts at finding stuff relating to memory and repressed trauma weren't very helpful unfortunately :/ but from talking with people apparently my particular flavour of memory loss isn't the most average of experiences so that's a thing (will probably elaborate more if I remember)

Ok questions!! This is more of a "do you guys know anything or can a follower help please" question than one that's really really intended for you guys lol but yeah. Is it a normal singlet thing to have these different personas, basically. Like you've got your online persona, your school/church/I'm-a-functional-human-being persona, your close friends persona, and your late at night persona. And these different personas are aware that the others exist and know more or less what they cover, but any specific memories with them are locked? Like for example I know that I went to school today but unless I magically become school-D right now I know zero specifics. Important to note that I have no control over when I "become" these personas, they just kind of happen. They all feel like me, but my memory is split up between them and they tend to respond to different names and have slightly different pronoun preferences. And sometimes if a memory from a time I don't have access to gets unlocked I start to get fed a lot of related memories like they're slipping through cracks in my brain and it gets rlly hard to figure out which persona I feel like :) is this normal or should I be concerned? Ideally I would like the different D's to talk to each other because online-D just straight up has no knowledge of homework existing it seems and while personally I (don't know who "I" is atm if we're going with the personas tho) don't really mind I just got a burst of agitation that I'm pretty sure wasn't me that implies that sentiment isn't shared.

There's probably some more stuff that I wanted to mention that I forgot about but my memory has been a mess lately and we're sick and I finally don't have that freaking insomnia so I'm gonna go to sleep now byee <3

I mentioned that this is from D right?

Hm.. i see, you can elaborate more with your findings later then.

yes,, it is actually normal for singlets to have different sides or "sonas" but only to an extent, they do not involve having locked memories from each other and in fact, can transition, and they know which they should be, they also know other kinds of memories (i have singlet friends and i observed them for long, but it is in my own interpretation) that isn't limited to the certain persona they're currently as.

There's a subtle sign that you're disconnected between each of your own sides? If that's how i see it. If you don't have the usual memory amnesia, what about the emotional one? Go check please, possibly look for osdd,, i hope others can give you some input too.

- j

[pepperbox]

What are your thoughts on the Trigun reboot?

the big tl;dr is that i'm enjoying it a lot!! there are a couple things that i'm like, not suuuuper thrilled about but overall: it's a yes from me!

(for clarity, i was a huuuuuge fan of the '98 anime and watched it with my mom as a kid! i read trimax later in life and adored that, and now the og anime is like. fine?? but comparatively falls flat for me now as an adult in my 30s. i've rewatched the anime only once as an adult but i've reread trimax uhhhhh three times in the past year alone lolol)

i'm gonna bullet point this bc that's just how my brain works best:

i love the animation! there have been a few instances where it felt off, but overall it's been a feast for my eyeballs

I'M SORRY BUT I LOVE THE NEW VASH DESIGN transmasc icon, he's perfect. i am absolutely not biased, ignore my undercut--

also it updated his look for the 2000s?? the broomhead was a Look in the 90s but it's so dated now i'm SORRY LMAO

also who out here is making hair gel on this fucking desert planet, i s2g,

the inclusion of roberto at first i was kinda ??? about but i quickly adjusted to him, esp as he started throwing soon-to-be-dead-mentor flags all over the fucking place. he cracks me up but i'm legit just waiting at this point for him to die to further meryl's development and to pass the torch derringer on to her

i do hope millie makes an appearance for meryl (so they can be girlfriends, as is only right) but her absence really doesn't break trigun for me bc uhhhh y'all, her and meryl have relatively minor roles in trimax and straight up disappear for like, volumes at a time

also i really hated her random romance with wolfwood in the 98 anime even as a kid and i will never forgive it for that

but ymmv!!!

i do think the pacing is a bit fast and i wish they either had longer episodes or more episodes to let it breathe a little! not entirely plot-wise because i actually like the reveals so far we've gotten because it's keeping even long time fans guessing for what's coming, but just for the relationships between the characters

like i would like more casual interactions between the four protags, and more vash & wolfwood getting to know each other before we jumped right to them butting heads so aggressively over morality and killing

but i do love that it also heavily showcases the consequences of vash's actions (or inaction)

because as meryl pointed out during the nebraska fight, he isn't actually doing anyone a kindness, he's just running away from pain

i am also sad that they took wolfwood AND livio's tits by the looks of it

rip ����

also i am. not thrilled about elendira? i was really excited to see my wife on screen but instead they did that to her :(

ANYWAYS

i am curious about where the story is going to go!! because lost july hasn't happened yet but we're walking towards it, but when?

is it going to be mid-season? is it going to be the end of s1 if we're getting more than one season? will there be a time skip?

will [redacted manga spoilers] arrive?

will we get to see chronica and domina??

there's still SO much to cover, but i know they're mashing some things together (like jeneora rock was a couple different settings smashed into one, and it seems like the gung-ho guns and the eye of michael are even more woven together??) so we'll see but

I HAVE QUESTIONS

BUT YEAH like!!!! i am enjoying it a lot overall!! i have a few gripes with it but i am so fucking happy to be watching trigun again, and as much as i would adore a 1-to-1 trimax adaption like they did with fma, i am really enjoying it being a retelling because i genuinely don't know what's going to happen!! it's fun!! i'm having fun!!

also there's a really emo thought i had about all trigun adaptions just being different lives for everyone and they're just caught in a loop

history doesn't repeat but sometimes it rhymes

but!!

i also love the fact that it's screaming that it's a passion project. that people who love the source material are all working on it, with nightow. they're bringing back VAs for both japanese and english versions, fans are animating and voicing it, it's amazing and shows how much love is going into this series, and i'm so glad to be able to experience it again

[mariacallous]

If you’ve been to Rome, there’s a high chance you returned home with a slab of guanciale, two Fabriano notebooks and a copy of the hot priest calendar in your luggage.

The hot priest calendar is not its official name but, over the past two decades, the moniker has stuck (for reasons clear to anyone who’s seen it). Next year marks 20 years since the “calendario Romano” was first published, during which time it has grown from labour of love to cult souvenir.

Each month of the A4 flip calendar is represented by a nameless man of the cloth, photographed in black and white and usually against an ornate liturgical backdrop. Some wear a cappello romano(a type of wide-brimmed hat), others a clerical collar. December, the unequivocal favourite among calendar fans, rarely changes – he is pictured holding a copy of Le vie di Roma close to this cassocked chest. Broadly speaking, each “priest” is “hot”.

Much like the Pirelli calendar, published by the UK subsidiary of the Italian tyre manufacturing company, the connection between the images and the subject being promoted can feel, at times, tangential. But the motivation is pure, says the calendar’s 60-year-old Venetian photographer, Piero Pazzi. It is, he says, a “clean and honest product that simply advertises Rome and its most eloquent symbol: the Catholic clergy”.

But confession time: “They are not all priests, and they are not all from Italy,” says Pazzi, himself a Catholic, who has spent the past few decades visiting Rome and Seville to take these pictures. He uses a Fuji camera and photographs the men during trips to the cities during Easter. It’s a random process of selection, he explains, which means it can sometimes backfire: in one instance, an estate agent from Spain was mistaken for a priest and appeared as 2008’s “Father March” (he was wearing a black tunic at the time). But those photographed in Seville “are mostly acolytes of the countless brotherhoods that parade in the processions of Holy Week”, according to Pazzi.

During its mid-2010s heyday, the calendar is said to have sold about 75,000 copies a year and, despite a dip during the pandemic, it remains in high demand.The 2023 iteration has just gone on sale, costing around 10 euros depending on which shop or kiosk you buy it from – and is already fetching three times the price on eBay. Pazzi prefers not to estimate how many are sold now in case he gets it wrong, but he will go so far as to say that “in Rome, it is quite common”.

Rather than “photographer”, he uses the terms “archivist and archive researcher”; photography, he says, is just a hobby. His favourite subject is actually animals, especially cats – he has two of his own – and he also likes photographing gondoliers, a calendar of which predates that of the clergymen, but it’s the hot priest calendar that turned him into the Rankin of Catholicism. He says he created it to “educate the tourists who visit Rome by providing precise information on the Vatican state” – with facts and titbits written inside. He describes this as “very simple information, which the average tourist fully disregards”.

Still, the calendar is not without controversy. It has been criticised for repeating the same images year after year, although Pazzi disputes this claim. “Sometimes I replace the pictures,” he says. Looking through back issues, it appears to be true that February, May and July often change. Some of the repeated priests occasionally switch months, too.

Equally, accusations of Vatican propaganda have found their way on to various chat forums (the Vatican did not respond to requests for comment). Pazzi says the two are not linked: “I have never been reproached or called into question by any religious authority for the calendar,” he says, adding that, about 10 years ago, the Vatican confirmed that “it was not its official initiative but that of a private individual”.

The calendar itself is printed by a specialist “and distributed in an artisanal way”, he says, rather than being mass-produced. According to the calendar bumf, profits go to Snap, a support group for women and men abused by religious and institutional authorities.

Pazzi says the absence of the priests’ names is simply proof that neither the calendar, or its poster boys, are “products of vanity”. As to whether the calendar has led to a lifetime of fame, he thinks not. “These are photos of priests,” he says, “not photos of film stars.”

[susiecarter]

belated happy new year and hope you’re doing spectacularly! is it okay to ask what wips you’re currently working on? 👀

:D An even more belated happy New Year to you, anon, and thank you so much, I hope 2023 is treating you awesomely so far! It is always 100% okay to ask me what I'm working on, no worries (I might not answer very quickly, obviously :'D but yeah, always okay to ask!). I intended to make last year my Year of Finishing Shit, but then my reverse bang fic ate basically all the words I had to give for 6+ months of the year, so it turned into more of a Year of a Lot of Noodling and Outlines and Paddling Duck Feet Beneath the Surface of an Outwardly Still Pond. :D WHICH MEANS my list of WIPs right now looks something like this:

a very long overdue Bruce/Clark gift for the stupendous and wonderful jaejandra <3 [aiming to post by 2/14]

several extremely top-secret things I hope to be able to finish for the Candy Hearts Exchange [if I make it, these will be unanon by 2/21]

several more extremely top-secret things I hope to get done for the Id Pro Quo Exchange [if I make it, these will be unanon by around 4/1]

an EVEN MORE top-secret project I will be able to share more details about starting in mid-April

Past that point, it all gets much vaguer :'D but I have several bigger projects I'm hoping to tackle sometime this year, including but not limited to:

Bruce/Clark bodyswap canon-divergence AU, as an extremely late bonus gift to fill a prompt for Fluffypanda <3

Lois/Diana trope bingo (I have this fully outlined, I've even started the draft, I just haven't finished it yet /o\)

Bruce/Clark arranged marriage MoS AU, as an extremely late bonus gift to fill a prompt for chantefable <3

my white whale, aka BvS Was Bruce Wayne's Vaguely Kinky Coma Dream, which needed reworking YET AGAIN but I think I've finally gotten it back on track /o\

the next installment of GQ/Croc eggbaby fic

the next installment of crossover Mandalorian/Great Wall fic (ALMOST! DONE! but not quite)

several Top Gun kinkmeme fills (first off the presses is probably going to be wingfic and then some Ice whump, since I have words down for those two vs nothing but lots of flailing notes on the other thirty-odd prompts I've saved :'D but yeah)

I am very gradually working up more notes and a clearer plan for sequels to about half a dozen things, too, including Shape of Hope (the one with Sage), Enemies to Lovers (the fuckbuddies mpreg fic), 50 Shades of Wayne (... yeah no one needs to be reminded which one that is :'D), AND MORE. I'm also signed up for the Top Gun Big Bang, which is in signups right now (!!!!) and has posting planned for late July and presumably August. :D And god knows if I happen across any DC event weeks between now and the end of the year, I probably won't be able to resist throwing myself at them!

So, yeah, I hope that gives you at least a couple things to look forward to, in the short term or the long term (and if you want to hear more about any of the non-top-secret stories :'D then just say the word, I have SO MANY NOTES AND OUTLINES on all of these and I would be more than happy to ramble about what I have planned in excessive detail). Thank you so much for asking, anon! <333

[cloudedgalaxies]

can you tell us about your yuu?

I absolutely can! I was meaning to post something about her sometime because I've mentioned a couple of things about her in all of my fics so far. I have a big project I've been meaning to share as well and needed to compile everything too, so this is perfect! Thanks so much for asking about her <3

For the sake of not accidentally infodumping too much, I'll try to just go over general stuff for now, but if there's anything you want me to elaborate on, let me know!

Name: Yuu Anatole

Birthday: July 7 (Cancer)

Height: 167 cm

Dominant Hand: Right

Homeland: ???

Club: Gastronomy Club

Best Subject: Enigmics

Hobbies: Photography

Pet Peeves: Doing Crowley’s work

Favorite Food: Bubble tea

Least Favorite Food: Canned tuna

Talent: Helping others/“Beast taming”

Yuu is female and uses she/they pronouns, although the majority of NRC is unaware of this and believe that she's another guy. Crowley, in his bountiful kindness, has given her a rather baggy uniform to wear he was just lazy and didn't want to get one in her actual size, as well as a potion she's to drink every night to help disguise Yuu even further. Throughout the course of the canon story, the main boys end up learning about her secret, and they are all aware by the end of Book 6.

Back in her world, she lives with her mother and her older twin brother. Yuu isn't all that clear about why she was brought to NRC instead of him, on top of the already confusing facts that she's not from Twisted Wonderland and doesn't have magic.

Unfortunately, I am not an artist, so I can't give a visual reference of her, sorry TwT. I can give a general description though! Because she's from Ramshackle, Yuu's school uniform doesn't have a vest, and carries the ghost camera around with her everywhere. Yuu has dark brown hair a little shorter than Leona's in a hairdo sorta like this, and her eyes are the same blue color as the ghosts' are from Ramshackle. She also wears glasses! I like to imagine they look pretty similar to the ones Azul has during GloMas.

As Yuu and her friends continue to face off against dangerous and deadly overblots, Yuu inevitably gets wounded. These scars, unlike others she has gotten from scuffles with and without magic, do not seem to fade (spoilers for overblots below):

Prologue/Dwarf Phantom: a diagonal cut on the front of her left leg, extending from her mid-thigh to mid-calf

Book 1/Riddle: a thorn imprint scar on her right wrist, which spirals up around her arm until the elbow

Book 2/Leona: four claw marks on the right side of her head that spans to her ear. There are little notches and cuts on her ear in the scar’s path

Book 3/Azul: three evenly spaced circles centered on her collarbone

Book 4/Jamil: a snake bite on her forehead, slightly above her left eyebrow

Book 5/Vil: a poison burn resembling a poisoned apple on the right corner of her mouth

Book 6/Idia: a burn vaguely in the shape of a daffodil between her shoulder blades, where the cords from Phantom Ortho connected to Idia during his overblot

Book 7/Malleus: lightning scars that go down the nape of her neck and over her shoulder blades that almost look like thorns, where wings would have been should she have had them

Grim (during that night after the VDC): a gash from three claws on her stomach, just about on her belly button