#but like to someone like Sam or more common folk; it almost makes sense that ofcourse its the young masters that go off and do great deeds

[toupee-or-nottoupee]

sometimes it hits me that Bilbo, Frodo, Merry and Pippin are all heirs to their clans like ??? like i love the comedic exploration of Bilbo is the grandchild of Old took, the Thain, the effective "leader" for matters of the shire and tho not direct line really, it does makes Bilbo a prince to an extent if u wanna go royalty terms and thats funny to pair with Thorin and Company. But then u peel back and like,,, oh,,, sam is literally the only with the humble background and like its not that Frodo Merry and Pippin are just "nobles" and gentlehobbits no no, they're heirs to their clans, literally the two big shot families with some of the biggest smial (hell theyre two different regions entirely. we talk abt hobbit settlement as The Shire but Buckland is its own thing too!!) like the entire fellowship is just a bunch of princes and a gardener like guys *head in hands*

[maskedemerald]

15 Questions Tag Game

I'm finally getting to catching up on the tags I've gotten while I was ill. You'll be seeing a lot more of me now!

Tagged by @the-down-upside-finch and @taveren-writing because I got tagged twice I'll do this for my OCs from both my upcoming NaNoWriMo projects: Blue is A Curiosity Piqued's current and upcoming protagonists Aelfraed and Arnvalr. Red is Magic Act's protagonists Magician and Night. Sorry this is going to be a long one but hey you get some Fae shenanigans and some detective vs thief shenanigans.

Rules: Answer the 15 questions as your OC or yourself. Tag up to 15 people.

Tagging: @card-queen @pb-dot @thetruearchmagos @dogmomwrites @i-rove-rock-n-roll @stesierra @guessillcallitart @sparrow-orion-writes @ashwithapen @cat-esper @jasperygrace @sam-glade @alnaperera @amaiguri @akiwitch

I'm curious to learn more about you and your characters!

Are you named after anyone?

Aelfraed: I was named after my grandfather... though I was almost named after my father. Very glad that didn't happen its bad enough sharing a lastname. Arnvaldr: Dunno, never met my folks and never bothered to ask my sister Vigdis. Don't really care they were all probably shitty.

Magician: That's actually pretty hard to answer when I don't remember what it was. Night: Wouldn't you like to know human. You can't trick what is mine so easily. You are not that clever. Though the attempt is amusing.

When was the last time you cried?

Aelfraed: A couple of weeks ago now, its been a good thing to have gotten away from the university in the long run despite everything else that happened. Arnvaldr: pft, poor detective. Dunno the last time I did.

Magician: After Night threw me in the deep end. They left me to trick some fae into believing I wasn't human by myself, specifically one that I'm sure was planning to kill me. Night: I apologized for that Magician, you seemed to be fine at the time. You had them convinced. Magician: You called that an apology? Ugh you make absolutely no sense. Do fae even cry? You thought I was ill. Night: Correction, I thought you were ill because you kept sleeping for more time than you were awake. Fae do cry, I have cried. Magician: When? Night: I would rather not talk about it Magician.

Do you have kids?

Aelfraed: I've never really considered it. Arnvaldr: Never, nope. Not happening.

Do you use sarcasm?

Aelfraed: Its not really something I use, I would rather state things clearly. Arnvaldr: Figured you'd pick the boring answer Detective. Life's more fun with a good dose of sarcasm.

Night: Me? Never, I only ever say exactly what I mean. Magician: Uh-huh, sure you do Night. There has to be some sarcasm in all that cryptic stuff you end up saying. Wait... stop laughing its not my fault you manage to say that with a completely straight face!

What’s the first thing you notice about others?

Aelfraed: Their mood probably. The expression on their face. Arnvaldr: Really, doesn't the au... never mind. I guess we have something in common Detective, well sort of.

What’s your eye color?

Aelfraed: They're gray the same as my father's, not a nice kind. They always seem so cold and judging. Arnvaldr: Huh I thought they were darker than that, probably just the lighting. Running across rooftops at night isn't the best way to get a good look at someone. Mine are green in case you missed it. Aelfraed: Are you trying to make finding you easier? Arnvaldr: I'll say again, catch me if you can Detective.

Magician: Mine are a redish brown... Night? What did you do to my eyes! Why are they more red! Night: Pft, you didn't notice Magician? I thought you would have noticed before now. You didn't really think you'd fit in with such ordinary eyes, you've seen mine. I am sure humans do not have this shade of purple. Magician: I was a bit distracted with the ears. Also that's more than just purple.

Scary stories or happy endings?

Aelfraed: I would rather see a happy ending, life is bad enough without adding horror stories to it. Arnvaldr: Wuss, give me horror any day. Happy endings just aren't realistic.

Night: Horror, without a doubt. The more disturbing the better. Magician: That tracks, living with you is like being in a horror story and I've had enough of that. Happy endings please, hopefully I'll get one.

Any special talents?

Arnvaldr: Does thievery count, or maybe my nack for escaping. Aelfraed: I would say no. With what you steal I'm rather surprised you're still alive.

Magician: I'm pretty good with my magic tricks by this point, as long as I have my gear there is a lot I can pull off. Night's is probably being terrifying. Night: ah haha, funny. You are just easy to scare Magician.

Where were you born?

Aelfraed: A smaller town outside of Edinburgh. Arnvaldr: I don't really know, don't really care.

Magician: I was technically born in the city. Mum had to go to the hospital and we didn't have one nearer but I grew up in a small town that's practically countryside. Night: One of the many fae realm pockets. I believe the mirror to Magician's small town though according to Magician the two are quite different.

What are your hobbies?

Aelfraed: Reading, give me a good book and I'll be happy for hours. Even better if I'm learning something. Arnvaldr please don't say theft, please tell me you have something else to do. Arnvaldr: Oh come on, the theft is fun! But if you insist, running... specifically over rooftops.

Magician: Magic tricks, cycling and video games. Night: For me gardening, my blue roses are quite well kept. Though also the stars and my experiments. Magician: Don't give them any ideas, you don't want to be one of their experiments. Its a nightmare. Night: Shhh, you're scaring them away.

Do you have any pets?

Arnvaldr: Hmm I'd like one, not really able to look after one though. Don't tell the Detective I feed the strays when I can, I don't want him getting the wrong idea.

Night: I have Nyx, he's a crow I found near the lake portal. Magician: Wait so Nyx looks like a normal crow because he is?

What sports do you play/have played?

Magician: A little football with my friends, its fun but I'm not serious about it like some of them. Night: I would explain but we would be here for some time, I doubt humans have fae sports.

How tall are you?

Aelfraed: Quite tall, I think I got most of the height in the family. Only my father is taller and that's not by much. Arnvaldr: 5ft 3, less height really helps with the whole thief thing.

Night: You think I am constrained to a specific height? No, though I do prefer to remain on the taller end of things. Magician: A little jealous that you can just choose. I'm 5ft I'm hoping to get a bit more as I get older.

Favorite subject in school?

Aelfraed: Everything, I missed the variety of subjects once I started at University.

Magician: Science, it gave me so many ideas for tricks. Its not really school but I really like the theatre club at the community theatre across town too.

Dream job?

Aelfraed: I don't know right now, I've left university and haven't worked out what I want to do now. What about you Arnvaldr? If you didn't need to steal what would you do? Arnvaldr: Come on, I'd probably still pocket things. Maybe a Focus Engineer or Archeologist. Aelfraed: I didn't know you were interested in history. Arnvaldr: I'm not, but that's where the interesting treasures come from so where better to pocket them. Aelfraed: There's no changing you is there.

Magician: I want to be a magician but I think that's obvious, maybe a stage actor too.

Woooo! Thank you for reading to the end! If you're curious about the projects I'm going to be working on both during NaNoWriMo next month and will be posting more about them!

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Stare Enough

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 4034

Summary: Bucky's got a new stare. Sam spends all afternoon and most of the evening working up the courage to meet it.

Both Sam and the food are the main attraction at this party and the problem with that situation is that it takes so damn long for one main attraction to get a second to enjoy the other.

He’s grateful—god, is he grateful—for the turnout. Friends, neighbours, the kind of people he and Sarah call family without there being any actual relation by blood, they’ve all shown up. Since the Blip, Sam’s felt like he’s always around, but this feels like a real homecoming. No sadness, nothing bittersweet. It’s a celebration and he’s at the center of it. Him and the food.

At last, Sam’s done the circuit with his plate, spooning creamy salads and grilled vegetables, stacking shellfish pink as a sunrise. There’s a fresh-baked roll perched atop a scoop of sweet potatoes and caramelized onions that smells so fucking warm and mouth-watering he has to resist walking with his nose buried in it. He collects a set of utensils furled in the middle of a paper napkin (courtesy of an efficient assembly line of old ladies, chatting and twisting neat rolls of cutlery), plate bowing into the palm of his other hand, and that’s when his damn phone vibrates in his pocket.

Sam halts and makes a sound of frustration. Nobody’s come to this thing empty-handed, so there are dishes crowding the surface of the tables, no place to set his plate down. His phone vibrates again. A teenager comes up to peruse the spread in front of him and Sam sighs, knowing what he’s about to do.

“Here,” he says heavily, offering up his beautifully arranged and wonderfully fragrant meal. The cob of corn shining with the butter he lovingly smeared over it nearly rolls over the edge. “You’re the luckiest kid in the world.”

Quickly, Sam turns away, sliding out his phone and bringing it to his ear. He doesn’t want to witness the boy digging in. His stomach growls as he greets Joaquin Torres.

“Sam,” Torres says. “Uh, I mean, sir. Mr. Captain Am… Captain Wil—”

“Take it easy,” Sam laughs. “You know me, Torres. Don’t get starstruck now.”

“Honestly, I never really got over you being the Falcon. Now that you’re Captain America… Apologies if it takes me a little while to be cool about it.” After a pause—taken while Torres attempts to become cool with Sam being Captain America, Sam assumes—he asks, “You celebrating?”

Not far from where Sam’s standing, there are two little girls singing along to their clapping game. At a table behind them, a trio of elderly gentlemen are arguing over which one of them it was that caught that 50-pound snapper off the dock back in 1978. There’s a sear of meat and fish being rotated onto and off of the grill and, bouncing over everything, music from a speaker someplace.

“Yeah,” Sam says with a broad grin. “Yeah, we are. I’d save you a plate, but I can’t even manage to hang onto my own.”

He doesn’t mention that Torres is responsible for that situation; he’s aware that, besides being a fan, the Lieutenant is a little bit infatuated with him. Sam’s trying to be gentle until the day he can respond to Torres with friendly smack-talk, the way he would Steve or Scott or Bucky. Maybe not exactly like he does with Bucky.

“Don’t worry about it,” Torres cheerfully insists. “I wasn’t calling for that, I just wanted to give you a heads up about something.”

“Alright. Let me just…”

Sam strides away from the heart of the party towards the water, seeking quiet. Kids dart in front of him and that’s nothing unusual, but when he follows them with his gaze, he sees they’re running towards Bucky. Bucky, who has his Vibranium arm extended and two kids dangling off it already, one of whom might be Sam’s nephew. Of course, Mr. Casual, Mr. Smiles, Mr. Social Butterfly, is carrying on a conversation like his arm isn’t being used as a jungle gym. A conversation with Sarah.

For just a moment, Sam stops in his tracks, considering whether he should go over there and break up any potential flirting. But then he watches them. Bucky’s just talking to her, not flicking his gaze up and down while he checks her out. And Sarah, she’s relaxed and smiling, totally at ease, like Bucky’s another member of their community. That makes him a friend. Family.

That’s one thought too far and Sam jerks himself into motion again, walking until he’d be swimming with another step.

“What’ve you got for me?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to watch as much of the coverage of the fight outside the GRC vote as I can, trying to get a sense of how they’re spinning Walker’s reappearance, the legacy of the Flag-Smashers now that Karli and her inner circle are gone… Anyway, there’s a lot of footage and you’re at the center of most of it.”

“Guess the new suit draws the eye. And the cameras.” It’s no surprise to Sam. Part of the job of being Captain America.

“Yeah, but…”

“What is it, Torres?”

“Bucky’s in the background a lot,” he explains in a voice that tells Sam there’s more Torres isn’t saying.

“Makes sense. He was in the thick of it as much as I was.”

“He’s there at the end too. When you were talking to the Senator about power and the common struggle. Man, that was a great speech. Do you think—”

“Torres. Please. The point.”

“Right, for sure, man. Bucky never takes his eyes off you.”

That flusters Sam for a second. He wasn’t expecting the blunt delivery, especially of those words. He squints down at the water where it’s lapping the side of the dock. He knew Bucky was there; they spoke right after, when Bucky tried to feed him that bullshit (and he knew it was bullshit at the time) about texting and missing the exact speech Torres is apparently still hung up on.

“So Bucky was actually listening to me,” Sam says carefully. “That’s a surprise, but it isn’t really the kind of thing that’s significant enough for you to bother notifying me about, is it?”

“I’d say that depends on what you consider significant.”

“Torres.”

“I know, but he’s not just listening! It’s how he’s looking at you!”

“Like he’s wishing I would wrap it up?” Oh, Sam remembers Bucky’s miracle from their session with Dr. Raynor.

“Like he’s totally into you! Major heart eyes. Sir,” Torres hastily adds.

And Sam should reprimand him for this. Calling with a trivial piece of information when he must know Sam’s already being very selective about which of the hundreds of recent calls (and it’d be more if more people had this number) he chooses to pick up. Calling to speculate on how Bucky was staring at Sam that night in New York.

“I don’t need to tell you this is gonna be one of those investigations we keep between you and me,” Sam states.

“For sure. I just thought maybe you’d wanna know.”

“Uh huh. You get any real news, you pass it along.”

“I will.”

Sam ends the call and turns. He looks to his right: the sparkling river. His left: his people, all the way down to the squirt with the glasses who’s hanging off a metal arm, and the man that arm belongs to.

He’s felt it, the way that Bucky stares. It’s not like it used to be though, when it irked Dr. Raynor at the police station in Baltimore, or confused Walker and Hoskins in the back of that jeep in Germany. This new stare of Bucky’s isn’t one Sam’s ever caught him doing. Bucky hasn’t quite let him. That’s actually how Sam noticed it was happening—Bucky would immediately glance away instead of leaving that dead expression on his face when Sam met his eye. Now that he has proof of it, proof he’s certain Torres would send him footage of in an instant if he asked, he’s scared to look.

Instead, he watches Bucky look at other people. Like Sarah. Like kids from the neighbourhood. His literal hangers-on disperse as Sam observes, scattered after Bucky leans towards them to say something. Sam sees half his smile and even that much has his heart swelling up in his chest. Bucky weaves through the tables and standing groups, the dancers and the kids who’ve broken out a skipping rope. (After eating from that buffet? Kids are crazy. Gonna make themselves sick.)

Without thinking too hard about it, Sam returns to the noise and the smells, trailing Bucky with a stealthy eye on his ass in those jeans. There’s no friction here between him and everybody else Sam cares about, he can see that in every short, friendly exchange someone engages Bucky in as he walks. Things flow as smoothly as the butter oozing off the corn Sam reluctantly gave up. Clearly, they remember Bucky from when he was here helping with the boat. They respect him. They like him. They’ve gotten to that last thing faster than Sam has, which makes Sam feel a little embarrassed as well as a little overwhelmed by how much the two of them have actually been through. He’s seen Bucky as a mindless killer and it almost brings a genuine tear to his eye—here on this glorious day in front of all these folks—to see the dork who rushed out to get his hands on a copy of The Hobbit in 1937 return in his current form as the dork who’ll take a fake punch from AJ and blush over brazen old women telling him how handsome he is.

Bucky stares different? Well. Sam feels different about the staring.

Sam keeps his distance until Bucky reaches the food, then his stomach gurgles a reminder than he hasn’t eaten yet. No ass is nice enough to distract him from his meal. He sidles up beside him and Bucky seems unsurprised, not even glancing over.

“Anything important?” he asks.

“What?”

“Your phone call,” Bucky clarifies, adding a heap of glossy green beans to his plate. Damn, those are some of Sam’s favourite. Bucky better not take all of them. “They need us somewhere?”

“Oh. No.”

Bucky shoots him a suspicious look after this stilted response, but he doesn’t say anything until Sam grabs a plate of his own, hungry eyes roving the feast that’s diminishing now that people have started coming back for second helpings.

“Put that down,” Bucky instructs. He doesn’t wait; he takes the plate out of Sam’s hand and tosses it back towards the pile. Thankfully, the plates are made of paper.

“Buzz off, man,” Sam tells him, reaching for the plate again. “I’m starving.”

“I figured.”

Wait.

“That’s for me?” he guesses, gazing longingly at the plate Bucky’s preparing.

“Yep.”

When Sam doesn’t reply, Bucky pauses with the plate in one hand and a serving spoon in the other and sighs.

“I didn’t want you to miss the good stuff. This party’s for you.”

“I think it might be for both of us.”

Bucky seems too self-conscious to say anything to that. He goes back to loading up Sam’s plate while Sam quietly feels his throat close up with emotion as he watches. He clears it gruffly.

“I woulda had to eat the cake you brought,” he jokes. “Pretty sure only the really little kids have eaten any. You know, people who don’t know better.”

“I was tryin’ to be a good guest.”

“I can’t believe you brought a store-bought cake,” Sam says, laughing as he grabs a set of cutlery for the second time and continuing to shuffle along next to Bucky.

“Have you ever seen me cook?”

“…No.”

“Exactly. Trust me, what I did was kinder.”

“If you say so.”

“You know what, Sam?” Bucky demands challengingly, turning to face him. “I do say so.”

Sam’s eyes go from the plate Bucky’s holding between them up to Bucky’s face. He’s close. And he’s got this look, this dancing look in his eyes that undercuts the shit out of the hard line of his eyebrows. Trying to seem all stern. All Sam can think for several seconds is that, if he just grabbed Bucky by the chain around his neck and hauled him forward, they’d never get the food stains out of their clothes. But their laundry would smell delicious.

He clears his throat.

“Then you better stay for a while.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches up and he hands Sam the plate he’s prepared for him.

“I plan to.”

When Sam picks a table to sit at, he makes sure there’s enough room for Bucky too. When Bucky sits next to him, he sits so close that their thighs press together and claims that’s all the space there is. Bucky talks and laughs when other people at the table talk to him. He’s easily drawn into conversation now and Sam feels weirdly proud of having brought this great guy home to meet everybody, even if he’s not here like that. People tells stories about last week and last century interchangeably, one old smartass making Bucky howl with laughter when they toss out a memory of Little Sam Wilson streaking from his house to the river for a naked swim. This is the danger of welcoming Bucky into the community. Sam, suppressing a smile, doesn’t really mind.

Elbows up on the table so he can eat, talk, and gesture emphatically with his fork, Sam feels Bucky’s stare creeping up on him. Slow, like the sun slides across the landscape when the clouds blow past. Bucky didn’t make this food, but Sam can feel his satisfaction as he watches Sam accept what he provided. Feels like there are grasshoppers springing around in his stomach. He still has a roll on his plate, one side soaked in family-secret barbecue sauce, and he tears it in half. While the rest of their table are caught up in some story being boisterously told by overlapping voices, Sam turns to Bucky and wordlessly offers the bread, edges dimpled where he gripped to split it. They watch each other chew and Sam’s closed mouth is smiling.

Inevitably, somebody pulls Sam back into the conversation and he does his best to laugh and heckle, covering the fact that he wasn’t listening, that he dropped the thread. The voices rise and rise and fall like water slopping over the side of a bucket.

In the next quiet moment, Bucky inclines toward him slightly and says, “You wanna talk later?”

And Sam says, “Sure.”

The day feels long, long, long, and Sam’s face gets sore from smiling, tired from talking. He does not confess that to Bucky, who’s almost always at his side. Lights go on overhead and beers come out of coolers, leftover food packed up and redistributed among neighbours, small children with drooping eyelids toted home. At first, Sam thinks Bucky’s leaning into his side because he’s drained from so much socializing too, but when he meets his eye, he just sees an invitation.

“Where are you two goin’?” Sarah asks when they slink past her carrying a too-big Cass in her arms.

“Just walkin’,” Sam tells her.

“Gotta stretch our legs,” Bucky contributes.

She looks from Sam to Bucky and back, smiling knowingly.

“Uh huh,” Sarah says.

Sam grabs Bucky by the shoulder to turn him forcibly away from his sister’s insinuations and just… forgets to let his hand fall as they wander along the water. Bucky’s steps angle towards his until his arm’s bumping Sam’s side, Sam’s arm slung around his shoulders. Is this still the body language of a couple buddies on a warm Delacroix night? Is it now, when Sam drops his arm and brushes the back of his hand across Bucky’s?

They leave the party lights on the horizon with the lazily setting sun, scrabbling off the end of the dock and onto the riverbank. Sam reaches up to give Bucky a hand down, so he won’t step in the soft mud and sink to his ankles. Bucky clasps his hand firmly and jumps.

The sound of people drops off down here and the sound of wind in grass, frogs hiding between reeds, rises.

“Are there alligators in here?” Bucky wonders, scanning the river’s edge.

Sam laughs.

“For sure.”

“And you swam here when you were a kid?”

“Even then,” Sam boasts, puffing his chest out, “my courage was legendary.”

“Yeah, and your nudity. Is there anyone within a mile of here who hasn’t seen your bare ass?”

Their eye contact holds. Oh right. Sam breaks away with an awkward, hiccupping laugh, directing his gaze at the dirt.

“The gators haven’t gathered too close to the dock in decades,” he promises Bucky. He stares out at the undisturbed water, enjoying the sun on his face. “Got skittish of the boats. Most of ’em, anyway.”

“Consider me not entirely reassured.”

“You scared of a little Louisiana lizard, man? Didn’t you grow up with Creature from the Black Lagoon?”

“Nah, that was after my time.”

“Damn, you’re old.”

Bucky snorts a laugh, refusing to look at him.

“You wanna take a dip?” Sam goads.

“No.”

But by the time Sam’s pulling his shirt over his head, Bucky’s peeling off his socks. Sam spares him a smile and keeps going, the ground soft underfoot. It could be like the few times they’ve changed in proximity to one another before, but it’s not. He senses Bucky’s eyes on him the whole time. Face hot, he takes a quick look in Bucky’s direction as he’s unzipping his jeans. His heart feels like his new suit—wings just waiting to unfurl.

When they’re down to their underwear, they wade in.

God, it feels nice. The water’s cool and the sun’s clinging to the horizon.

“Just don’t get any water in your mouth,” Sam instructs, then dunks his face and comes up squirting water at Bucky from between the gap in his front teeth, a trick he perfected as a kid. “That arm ain’t gonna rust, right?”

“You asked for this,” Bucky warns. He points a menacing finger and plunges below the surface.

Sam twists as he treads water, trying to see what’s going on down there, searching for a ripple or bubbles of released air. His legs move in twitchy kicks because that’s where he’s expecting Bucky to grab him. But the idiot is playing some kind of psychological game first, making Sam wait a full minute. Two minutes. Three.

He’s opening his mouth to call out Bucky’s name when he breaks the surface. Sam’s ready to swap the concern he was about to form into words into a taunt instead—did Bucky get down there and decide the scariest thing he could do was let Sam’s imagination take over?—until Bucky shakes his head and slicks his hair back. Then the words get caught in Sam’s throat and he just kinda stares.

“There was a really gross fish down there,” Bucky informs him. “Do you guys have eels there? Mighta been an eel. Maybe we should get out.”

“Alrighty, scaredy-cat, let’s get you to shore.”

Bucky propels himself out in front, arms moving in powerful strokes, and Sam’s hand darts out on instinct, fingers closing around Bucky’s hard calf muscle. Bucky jerks and Sam burst into loud laughter.

“Did you think that was an eel? Did you?”

“You’re lucky I…”

I’m lucky you what? Sam wants to ask when Bucky trails off, but he just swims after him.

During their game/possible eel panic (there’s no way it was an eel), they weren’t always fighting the current, so they’ve drifted downstream some. Bucky takes sloppy, sloshing steps out of the water, underwear that might’ve been light grey now dark and plastered to his ass. Sam feels like he’s choked on river water, though his mouth is dry. He lumbers out too and they begin the march back in the direction of the dock and their clothes. The water tickles as it runs down Sam’s legs; must be bugging Bucky too because he plucks his waistband away from his skin before letting it snap back. Clenching his jaw, Sam stops himself from trying to see too much.

This end of the dock is made of old boards before it transitions to pavement farther down, wood smooth on Sam’s feet when he and Bucky haul themselves up, dropping their collected clothes and shoes into a single pile. No point getting dressed until they’re dry, so they sit on the edge of the dock, feet swinging. Feels good. Feels home. They don’t speak until the sun’s set, the sky orange, then grey, then rich, velvety blue.

“You know, don’t you?” Bucky asks softly.

“Know?”

“Yeah, you know. Whenever you don’t know something, you talk and talk—”

“Sometimes I can work through a problem better if I vocalize,” Sam explains.

“But when you do know,” Bucky goes on, ignoring Sam’s input, “you’re quiet.” He looks at Sam. “You’re quiet.”

What else is Sam? Nervous. His skin’s prickling with it, and because even the warm air feels cold when he’s just climbed out of the river. There’s a wet patch spreading around him that he can barely see with evening rapidly deepening into night. He lifts a hand from the dock and sweeps it up his neck, brushing water droplets away.

Without glancing over, he says, “You’re doing that thing you do.”

“What?”

“Staring. That new stare you do.”

“Maybe,” Bucky acknowledges. A bird starts calling, the sound drifting in and away like the sway of a hypnotist’s watch and Bucky’s silent until it’s over. “Maybe I’m staring for the same reason you’re quiet.”

Sam waits. Bucky doesn’t add anything, so Sam turns to look at his face, hung with cool shadows.

“You’re not gonna say it, are you?”

“I thought you would say it,” Bucky argues defensively.

“You’re the one who’s been staring at me like that for a week. You should go first!”

“Please, you don’t even know how I’m staring at you, I only do it when you’re not looking.”

“Do it now then and see what happens,” Sam dares him.

“Fine.”

Just like that, Bucky locks in like Sam’s attention is the only handhold on a sheer cliffside. Vital and stable, a last chance, the one thing around him that wants to help him higher instead of watching him fall. A lot of that’s familiar from his regular hard stare, but then something opens up behind his eyes. Some fragile thing (that might be Bucky’s sense of caution) breaks. Suddenly, Sam’s seeing what Joaquin saw in the news footage and amateur cell phone video. Except he’s seeing it two feet in front of him. It’s intense. It makes the air a little harder to breathe.

Bucky’s lips curve into a smile, then part as he says, “I love—”

Hopefully, he wasn’t going to end that sentence with ‘store-bought cake,’ because Sam can’t really take back his reaction. The finger slipping behind Bucky’s ear as he cradles his face, the mouth sealed to his. Especially that. Thankfully, Bucky kisses him back, just as hard, and then harder.

“Thank god,” Sam pants when they break apart.

“You interrupted me.”

“I got you to stop talking? Guess we’re in my miracle.”

“I’d complain…” Bucky shrugs. “…but your miracle is pretty nice.”

“Not bad, right?”

He sighs and looks out over the water. Bucky pushes up on his fists and sits closer, offering his hand for Sam to interlace their fingers.

“Hey,” Sam prompts when it hits him that it’s super dark outside and they aren’t gonna dry much more like this, “did you book a hotel room again?”

“You kiddin’ me? I spent all my money on that cake.”

Sam laughs.

“Right, well, I guess you need a place to stay tonight then.”

“You know anything nearby?” Bucky asks with a soft smile.

Getting to his feet and bracing to pull Bucky up after him, Sam uses his free hand to motion towards their clothing pile.

“Put your pants on,” he says, “and I’ll see what I can do.”

[7soulstars]

hey there. I don't know if you are taking requests rn so if you don't just ignore this one. I was hoping if you could do various avengers x reader .. reader has the ability to manupilate emotions , she can take away emotional pain, negativity and sadness from anyone and replace them with relief, positivity and peace, by simply hugging the person! every avenger turns to her after a mission for cuddles and comfort, you can take it from there if you like! thank you💞

 Hey darling ! Thank you so much for requesting! I really really love this request it’s really so adorable oof- I made it into a fic and I hope you like it! Anyways, lets get straight into into it !!

Euphoria

Pairing: Avengers x Avenger! Reader

Warnings: Little like really little angst, Hydra, Overwhelming fluff, Half the Avengers act like literal babies around Y/N . I HAVE ALL THE AVENGERS SAFE AND ALIVE IN THIS AND AVENGER LOKI !! Ooc characters??

Summary: Sometimes even the empath needs empathy but she refuses to say it

............

Euphoria ; the experience of excitement and intense feelings of well-being and happiness.

A silent motion walks down the streets, a silent motion called The Empathic Soul that was involved with them, The Avengers. While the rest protected, she distracted, like a guardian of the common folk who had never seen her. They wouldn’t know, but they praised, thanked and loved. Every time there was pain, there was war, there was casualties, she was there and they just knew it. They looked around but couldn’t guess. The sudden wave of calmness replacing their sorrow and panic distracting their attention from her, their silent protector.

That was what the world had named Y/N, The Empathic Soul as she watched the title flash on the TV screen at Stark towers as she sat beside Vision who was failing to crochet no matter how hard he tried. Y/N wouldn’t consider herself a hero, she didn’t fight bad guys although she was very capable of doing that, she didn’t go and almost get herself killed for the sake of getting rid of ‘pests’.

But she was an Avenger ? Yes. She was, but she didn’t consider herself a hero. 

She was behind the scenes, away from common eyes just there to clean up the mess and to take the worry of the mess out of everyone’s head. The Avengers had a polarising reputation. Although it got better after they won against Thanos there were still those who disliked them. But there was not a single civilian who would speak out the title of the Empathic Soul in despise. Y/N would like to keep it that way she had told Fury. She didn’t really have the best life growing up, the strain had given her the powers and she wouldn’t dare use it for anything other than the good of the people. She knew protecting someone came with a cost. Her powers can be used for things unimaginable, wrong things and that’s why she needed to stay anonymous.

Though not all praises about Y/N may be true, one thing was for sure. She was a gem, one of the most selfless person anyone had ever met. With or without knowing about her powers. She couldn’t stand seeing someone sad and that is what made her the sole person every single Avenger was ready to get along with each other for.

Y/N had been a part of the team for 3 years now and she had made all the trauma dissipate and had even managed to make the most unapproachable team mmates open up. She had made sure Stark Towers was always warm and fuzzy no matter how cold the world seemed.

The meanest of all things Y/N has done is manipulate the emotions of people like Zemo to make them confess and feel the pain of the people they caused pain to reflect and repent whenever Agent Everett called her in for.

The robotic voice of Vision snapped her out of her zone as she looked at him as he pointed at the elevator. As Y/N turned to look she felt an overwhelming level of tension.

Oh. It’s one of those days.....

The door opened to a familiar multitude of spandex and metal clad people filling into the living room all making an aggressive beeline at the empathic. 

“I CALL DIBS ON Y/N !”,yelled some simultaneously as they glared at each other and argued. Some went straight to the bar pouring themselves a drink and another very specific non alcoholic one along with it. Some stood frozen, colour drained off their face, to be more specific, Wanda,Peter,Bucky and Bruce. Peter walking straight into Y/N’s arms as she held them open as soon as she saw them. Wanda and Bruce following as Vision looms and floats behind them.

“That bad huh ?”, Y/N asked as she tried managing to drag the four towards the couch and plopped down with them. Bruce parted away from her and Wanda followed suit a pleasant smile slapping onto their face.

“18 casualties ”, she heard the blonde star spangled man as he wrapped an arm around her waist moving to hug her by the side as Natasha’s arms wraps around Y/N neck from behind the couch, her head plopped on top of Y/N’s for a few before she whispered a thank you and left to go find Bruce. “And 5 completely decapitated buildings you always forget the buildings Steve ! Now move I need a hug from our gal !”, Sam complained as he agressively made motions for Steve to move away from Y/N as he nearly tackles her. “Careful Sammy, it seems like Peter’s fallen asleep”, the empath notifies as she carefully rests the Spiderboy’s head on the couch from herself as Tony lays a blanket on his body. 

“Kid was really hard on himself today, he froze mid battle and was thrown right onto a car, the injury was not that bad but it sure was something. He kept asking if he could call you the whole way back”, Tony said as Y/N stroked Peter’s hair as she got up. “Made you a drink as I poured myself one”, he said offering the glass to her which she took and set back down on the table and then proceeded to take Tony’s glass away from him before he could even sip on it. “This is your third glass and I can sense your annoyance, come here ”, Y/N scolded him as he opened his arms for a hug. “My suit broke down halfway through the fight”,complained Tony into Y/N’s hug as she patted his back, concentrating on pushing the positivity strain in the man.

“I need to be back at the sanctum.... Y/N ?”, came a voice making Tony groan why is it that every time I hug her that you need a hug? The sanctum can wait ! Isn’t Wong there?” “Tony...”, warned Y/N earning a eyeroll from the billionare as he made her promise him hugs later as he sauntered away. Y/N let out a soft laugh before taking Stephens hands into hers and a gentle smile . Stephen placed his hand on her cheek as a smile plastered on his face. “You should have come with us......they-......I and the rest of them needed you.....”,he mumbled making sure no one heard. “I’m sorry, I would have joined but I had to get some Hydra agents to spill some secrets.....”,she reasoned. “If I did not have to return I would have loved to talk to you more about how I feel.....although you will feel it before me and-” “I come visit tomorrow”, she stated simply earning a sigh of relief from the other as he stepped into the portal still hesitating to leave your hand.

There were three left Y/N knew. And she knew where they would be. She walked down the hall that leads up to all their rooms, a door opened and before she could react she was lifted into a bone crushing hug who’s only culprit could be the golden retriever god. “Thor! I was looking for you! How are you feeling!” “Pretty usual Lady Y/N ! I suppose you are visiting my brother ! I couldn’t join today’s mission, I was visiting Asgard ! Anyways I shall let you be !”, and with that he went back into his room. He wanted stay but he knew so needed her more than him he decided he could bother her later.

“They were children ! Can Midgardians stoop this low, they were experimenting on children !”, Y/N could hear as she got closer to the door at the end of the corridor. She opened the door slowly and softly, right after knocking it once.

She saw a flash of black and and overwhelming sense of anger and sorrow before she was tackled by two bodies that made sure her head didn’t hit the floor.

“Hey calm down wow what the hell Loki? Buck? What went THAT wrong?” , Y/N asked the two who had gotten quite close to each other with help of her involvement throughout the years. They realized their similarity and now shared quite of lot of things with each other that they could never tell others. Well, other than Y/N. Y/N slowly replaced their emotions as they let out an appreciative grunt. Before sitting back up. “The people taken hostage by Hydra were children. They were beaten badly, hell some were flinching even when we tried getting them out. I may have done some questionable things in my life but I would never think of doing anything to children. This why this planet needs to be ruled !”,spat Loki in frustration as Y/N rubbed his back soothingly. They were silent for a while before Bucky spoke up. “Those kids were being trained, like Nat. Easier to manipulate, easier to make into soldiers like me.” Y/N sighed, her face dropping as she tried not to hiss in pain. “You saved them though right ? I will probably be called to rehabilitate them. I promise I’ll make them feel better”, she tried to assure them. “ It is not about that darling, I just wonder how many children might be there in Midgard that are being forced into things like this out of their will.” 

Y/N never said anything after that but what happened was bothering her and was clear as water. But every time they would try asking her she would quickly change their mood to a Euphoric state and distract them. It felt as if matters were getting worst and Y/N looked sicker and sicker. The team had no choice but to ask Fury.

“ I suppose she has not informed you about her mutation.”

“ What about it ?”

“Well it is not as easy as she makes it seem. You see, every time she replaces an emotion, she feels them. The malice, the pain and everything stays inside her and will stay that way until it is not given to other people. Y/N grew up in an abusive home. Empathy was never shown to her and it got worse by the time she was 15. She first started experiencing immense pain and one day it became intolerable. The pain, without her will got transferred to everyone in that house. No normal human could handle it the way she could and they eventually died because of it. She blames herself and that is why she is not allowed to go on missions with you because we fear that might happen again.”

Everyone was  bit shocked by the story they were bombarded with. The felt guilt. All this time it was her who was comforting them and never once had they asked her about how she felt. In fact, if Y/N had not interfered with certain things they might have regretted their actions or may have committed unforgivable acts.

She was their hero. And sometimes the hero needs to be saved to.

Y/N was startled to say the least when her bedroom door burst open and several bodies jumped on her making her feel a sudden high and the pain in her head trying to leave She closed her eyes and tried as hard as possible t not let go of it.

“Y/N I swear to god let it all out ! Were a lot of people we can handle it ! Be a little less harsh on yourself !”, nagged Wanda leaving the empath speechless over the fact that they found out her secret. After more perstering she let go. “Jesus Christ !/Oh my god!/How do you live with this!”, yelled different people simultaneously as they felt what Y/N has been holding to herself for all these years. “Lady Y/N I take back what I said about being the strongest it seems like you are the strongest one to be able to do this and take care of all of us with a smile”, Thor declared.

“You know we love you right miss Y/N ?”,Peter questioned.

Y/N couldn’t say anything if she did she would cry. Her heart swelled even more and for the first time in her life she felt like she truly belonged. The soft tune of Euphoria by Jungkook played in the background the lyrics etching the end of this story.

“Take my hand now, you are the cause of my Euphoria”

--The End--

....... I have never written such an intricate fic on this app. I do not know if it is good or not anymore because I am in too much feels. I really really hope you like this *crosses fingers in anticipation*.This was really fun to write! I did delete the draft like 7 times though because I wasn’t confident about it😅.. I really hope you like this🥺🥺.....Please like and reblog my posts if you like them! Feedback is highly appreciated and please do not plagarize my work. I really work my ass of on them! Thank you so much for supporting me darlings !❤🥰

~Love, Hri

[thatwritingnerd]

12 for sebastian/abigail? @gendercraft

Idiot - Sebastian/Abigail

Summary: Sebastian believes he’s hopelessly pining for Abigail whilst Abigail thinks Sebastian is an idiot for missing her hints and flirting until she has to spell it out for him. Turns out they’re both idiots.

For the prompt: We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way

Warnings/tags: fake dating relationship, pining, first kiss, love confessions

Word count: 1.7k

--------------------------------------------

It was a thing. Not a thing thing. But a known thing. That is Abigail and Sebastian’s relationship. Something gentle and easy, from growing up together to friends to now dancing together at the Flower Dance. It was as casual as it gets, frequent hang outs (albeit with Sam as a third oblivious wheel most of the time), common interests, being two rather odd folk in town – their quirky, standoffish natures. It was perfect, almost too perfect.

That is, of course it was.

Too perfect, too planned, a ruse, a fake.

Growing up their friendship was natural, Abigail as a more outspoken, loud quirky type, already with bright purple hair at the age of thirteen, and Sebastian as the softer, quieter weird type, who, also at thirteen, wore nothing but black. But Abigail’s smile and weird enthusiasm over videogames drew him in, hooked him into a weird friendship, into years of shouting over videogames, laughing over Solarian Chronicles, teasing over pool at the bar.

Little changed between them over the years, yet everything did.

They grew up, school became college and work, playdates became nights at the saloon and city trips, and their innocent childhood friendship became town gossip of something more. After all, there had to be. Right? They were almost inseparable, always hung out around town – well, with Sam but he had his own things, with Penny, and Vince, plus the whole thing with his dad. It didn’t help that all of the town’s singletons were seemingly paired off and trying to be set up by the older residents, well, mostly the gossips and the shifty mayor.

So, why wouldn’t they play along? Keep their parents off their backs from the ‘when are you going to find that special someone?’ type of questions muddled together with other life questions. It became easier to play along that to go against the force.

He’d leave, say he’s going to Abby’s, and actually go. Her door forced half open just to be sure nothing was going on for her parents’ sake, not that there would. Abby would do his nails, some shitty true crime documentary on in the background, and they’d dye each other’s hair. It was then, hair matted to his forehead in ink black dye, Abby’s soft hands in his hair, looking at her in the mirror watching her laugh and giggle over their stupid shitty jokes, that he realised maybe, maybe there was something more there, something a little less platonic.

Sebastian would never say anything, ruining their friendship would be the last thing he wanted to do, but he couldn’t help noticing things that he hadn’t bothered to before. The soft crinkles at the corners of her eyes when she genuinely smiles, the way her bright hair curls and kinks in the rain, her rough and brash nature becoming more intriguing than pure appreciation.

Then it’s not quite pretending anymore, is it? At least, not on his part. Soft, sideways glances when she’s not looking, the gentle smile on his lips whenever she does something stupid. Sebastian realises, in the dead of night, that, yeah, he’s a little in love with Abigail now. And he’s in too deep to stop this pretending, to break it off would arise questions and, well, it would break his heart to not get to see Abby so much on this personal level. But tell her and break her heart in another way? He could never.

So, he kept it inside, as much as he could.

Except Sebastian is a complete and utter dumbass. Abigail has known for years now, her friend can miss hints like bricks to the face, invites to her house when she’s home alone, time just the two of them out and about – “Like a date?” “Sure”. But how dense can one man really be? A man who is so smart, intelligent, and clever, yet a complete social idiot that it kind of makes Abby want to punch him in his pretty face.

She’s tried and tried for years, from her silly schoolgirl crush to her awkward hormonal teenage fascination, now to this softer love for this boy she has watched become a man, always by her side no matter what. Yet, she has to resort to what always gets her way – brute force and honesty.

She waits for him one evening near the lake beside his house which isn’t unusual, her flute abandoned in her lap serving only to occupy her nervous hands. She had to tell him, she cannot keep it a secret inside of her for much longer, it will drive her insane, but would it not be more vexing to tell him and not only receive rejection but to lose him altogether. Abby knows, logically, she won’t lose him, not completely, but ruining their current relationship, their movie and makeover nights, their late night cemetery walks, their ventures alone into the surface of the mines, she might miss that more than anything else she has to gain from telling him the truth.

It’s too late though, the door to the carpenter’s closes loudly into the silent night, the faint click of a lighter letting her know it’s Sebastian.

“Finally,” she breathes out, faux exasperation clear in her voice, “you must have better places to be than with me.”

He laughs, soft and gentle, genuine, under his breath in a way she’s become accustomed to.

“You know that’s not true, you’re like one of my only friends, and we know Sam’s scared of the dark,” he says, sitting similarly crossed legged next to her, face light up by the soft glow of his cigarette, “but don’t tell him I said that.”

The word friend hit her confidence a little, knowing just what is at stake. Yet, she’s come this far to ask him here, no questions asked, in the dead of night, the least she can do is be honest, right?

“You’re real stupid, you know that?” she starts, lips quirked up at the edges.

He glances at her out of the side of his eye, one eyebrow raised before he rolls his eyes, he huffs, “and here I thought you were going to tell me something important and unknown.”

Any other time Abby might have laughed – might have, she doesn’t want to give him the idea that he’s hilarious after all, it might go to his head – but this time she doesn’t, instead she watches him watching the slow ripples in the mostly still lake. A breath out of smoke every so often and that really shouldn’t be so distracting for her, she’s spent many a night wondering about his oral fascinations in more ways than one.

She pushes some of her hair out of her face only for the slight wind to push it back across her field of vision which, honestly, is kind of rude when she’s trying to have a moment here.

“Hush you, it’s important in the unknown conversation,” she continues, trying to play it off cool but something in her voice faulters and Sebastian looks at her, properly looks at her, and realises this might be serious enough to turn his body to face her but not serious enough to put his cig out.

“You’re stupid and a dumbass and so socially inept that it seems impossible to even try to get you to notice what I want you to, and I really hope I’m making sense and not just making a fool of myself because that would be real stupid too, but you miss it all, all my hints and flirting, well, maybe my flirting isn’t that good but I fucking put on a dress and danced for you, with you, Jesus, Seb did you really think I was just inviting you round mine late at night when my parents weren’t in for videogames? I mean, don’t get me wrong I like that, and I wouldn’t change our friendship for anything but… but maybe I want something more and maybe it’s stupid of me to think that but… I like you, Sebastian, I really, really like you.”

She finishes her speech with a loud breath out, a pink flush on her cheeks that has nothing to do with the weather, and her eyes downcast, more interested in the grass that her best friend whose eyes pierce into her very soul.

“Ok, so maybe I’m stupid,” Sebastian finally says after what seems like an eon, “but maybe I didn’t want to ruin this either, you know, us, I think I’d rather have pined for you for life than lose you as my super kickass best friend. I thought if I kept it inside, I could keep you forever, even if it wasn’t how I wanted and, well, maybe I thought it was wishful thinking and then, unsurprisingly, overthinking that made it all seem one sided. But I, uh, I really like you too.”

Abby lets out a breath she doesn’t realise she was holding, finally looking back at him. He looks, for lack of better words, stunning. Cig stubbed out against the bottom of his shoe at some point, dark hair having fallen over his face casting a shadow over his skin which is brightly pale in the moonlight, his cheeks tinged pink and lips wet no doubt from nervous licking. And she has never wanted to kiss him more now than ever before.

“So, we’re both idiots then?” she asks, laughing more out of nerves than anything else.

“Yeah,” he says, softly, “guess we’re both idiots, though I don’t think I’ll ever hear you say that ever again.”

“What that I really like you?” she says, nothing but faux innocence.

So, he does as he always does; sighs and then rolls his eyes. Then, he does as he never has before; he leans in, and down, and captures her lips with his own, tenderly and warmly. And she could definitely get used to this, cool fingers on her cheek, and the smirk she feels against her lips.

Sebastian pulls back, his smile gentle and eyes unworried in a way she hasn’t quite seen in a while, “no, that you’re also an idiot.”

She snorts, eyebrows furrowing and nose twitching, and she shoves him away a little too hard to be completely playful and he lands back with a winded sound but he laughs.

“Idiot.”

--------------------------------------------

Remember to reblog if you enjoyed!

[sleepynegress]

Spoiler-Filled Reaction to the 1st Ep of TFATWS: ‘New World Order’ ...

Okay, so I may switch up and do weekly recaps via audio. Either way, I’m getting something out before the weekend is up... Still!...  It’s a been a few days, so I can go a bit more in depth with my thoughts on that pilot ep.

~ So, that opening was quiet and down-to-earth. For me, it was hammering home not only the humbleness of Sam (despite the bravado, the man is naive in his optimism and *not* superpowered), but being stuck in his initial thoughts about the shield.   ...That it didn’t feel like it belonged to him. Sam’s personality, has been established as super-loyal and almost childlike in his feelings that things will work out and doing the right thing because it’s right (which is why he didn’t get paid enough BTW naive pride). 

-which comes into play w/ his conflict w/ his sister later... I’ll come back to that.

~ We jump into a dangerous mission that shows off Falcon’s personality. He’s gonna get it done with style and optimism even when working with equipment that needs a few updates.  The stunt coordination here was fantastic!  I legit whewed! aloud at Balroc paragliding into *multiple* helicopters... Sam’s hair-pin turns milimeters from canyon rock, propellers, and rockets... ~ I *loved* Torres’ fanboying. It felt like a parallel to Sam fanboying Cap, in CA:WS and evoked the well-established superhero trope of a person *marveling* aloud at what you’re doing making it so. much. cooler. (as an oldhead, the random black dude emoting about Superman’s suit after he comes out of a phonebooth, in the Reeves movie, is my earliest memory of this trope). ~ Then we see the Tunisia titlecard, which yea! it didn’t just say Africa, but ehh, once again “yellow tint” is code for “exotic” country full of brown people. It did cut through the typically more alt-right-tinged military propaganda w/ the Tunisian man thanking Sam for saving his wife, the bare minimum of humanization... but it saved the scene from just “backdropping” the people/culture w/o any humanity, at all, as is typical... That and the way these two BIPOC spoke to one another (there is a certain kind of rapport we non-white folk have w/ each other) was my first hint...that this showrunner ain’t a white dude. The joking about him knowing Arabic...like cheering/teasing when we show our range to one another.  Mainly, this interaction was to show that Sam is to Torres what Steve was to Sam in some ways...with a bit more “brazen kid” on Torres’ part, along w/ introing the idea of the Flagsmashers. ~ Then, naive Sam decides to donate the shield to the Smithsonian...because he doesn’t feel like he’s earned it and because in his mind it still belongs to Cap and because he’s out here trusting this governement even after all the B.S. he’s done lived through.  Even Rhodey was having his doubts... Maybe being around during the blip makes a person more savvy and cynical, IDK. ~ So, then we see Buck in therapy and since I’ve been through trauma, I know that mindset.  Sticking to routine is a big “win”.  Not really caring about anything beyond the bare essentials (yall saw that man’s apartment). And the feeling of being displaced would be amplified by the fact that this man is more so than anyone who has existed(!).  ~ I noticed that Seb leaned into his Rom-Merican accent, which was a great acting choice, it evokes his sense of having traveled without a solid sense of self in a place, because he was essentially, asleep all those decades, while the brainwashed aspect of himself was enslaved to Hydra. I LOVE his therapist.   Fannishness for a cute guy, means a lot of people don’t like her being “mean” to him... But I’mma tell you, as someone who actually has been in therapy for a good bit, you *need* someone who will call you on your bullshit so you can properly work on it.  I love that she’s also a vet and there’s nothing cutesy and coddling in a male-gazey sexy or motherly way. She’s doing her fucking job and not letting his ass slide. To me, that read as a hat-tip to a woman drecting this. So, we see Buck manifest his trauma w/ profound discomfort in his own skin.  He doesn’t know how to interact anymore, how to swagger in this strange time and place (because dude had all kinds of 1940′s swagger and juice back in CA:TFA) So, he’s just awkwardly honest, and beating himself up for that. But... he’s still alive, so he totally perked up in the presence of this attractive server and Yori notices and like so many old people, just busted his chops and skipped all the what he wasn’t gonna do and did it for him, w/ Leah’s confidant acceptance -ahhh, I luv her!- as an assist. ~ Then we flip back to Sam in Delacroix and we meet his sister and his nephews and his community(!) which really nails down Sam the man, the person, the human apart from his underwritten assists to the Avengers. We see that Sarah knows and loves this naively optimistic ‘I will find a way to fix it because it’s the right thing to do’ hard-headed brother.... but good-God! he doesn’t know shit about real-world day-to-day struggle... If you’ve seen Anthony Mackie in The Hurt Locker... one of the big themes explored, is how tough it is for vets who have been through explosions and firefights in another country... to adjust to day-to-day struggle in “normal life”. THAT is what Buck’s therapist was calling out when she said BULLSHIT to him saying he wanted peace (lol, no he doesn’t, like Sam he wants that righeous kind of adrenalin only being in action for “good” gives) and what Sarah is frustrated w/ is regarding him not understanding or respecting the kind of struggle she had to deal w/. ~ As an aside I *loved* her *nose-scratch* “Can I talk to you for a minute??” Whew! That is a black-ass way to let you know someone is pissed w/ you and wants to hash all the shit out. That’s why Sam avoided it, lol... ~ So, the date with Leah, who does all the right things...Goes terribly, because Buck is still too deep in his trauma focus on anything about how great she is.   Note, that just about everything that happened on that date reminded him of aspects of his trauma to the point where Buck, (being an absolute dick!) just fucking, walks out on her!!  I NEED her to chew his ass out for that and I need him to *not* be able to make it up to her (and I’d also love some fanfic, where Buck actually does *ahem* treat her well... I know Asian women be shorted in fanfic too!) ~ So, he goes to Yori’s apartment and stares like an obvious knucklehead (still dealing w/ being stuck in his trauma) at the alter to the man who was just in the way of that brainwashed aspect of himself, pays for the lunch and walks off...AND, NOTE!!  YORI DID NOTICE ALL THIS. So, this will eventually come to a head...yikes! ~ Then we’re back to Sam, and Sarah who tries to have that talk, but old boy ain’t trying to hear it. Insisting that he’s the man to swoop in and save the boat and the business *sigh* by some magic (hanging with magical beings...will do that, I guess). And Sarah smartly is just frustrated and skeptical, but lets him go on and try and fail in the same ways she already did so. many. times... in those five years. ~ And then we see bb Torres being brazen kid stupid amateur spy w/ the Flagsmashers. I honestly thought old masked dude stomped him to death, at first... The camera pan showed the cliched dead-man pose, after all.  I guess he pulled that (super!)stomp, which means... Flagsmashers aren’t the lethal villians here IMO.   I think they escaped from the *real* villian. ~ And then comes some real world racist bullshit... This scene at the bank *nails* a particular kind of frustratingly infuriating racism that is common. Where they will act like they are doing you a favor because they like and want something from you... but still won’t serve you in the same way they would a white person. It’s this strange willfullly “I like you negroes, you entertain me! -but fuck you -but I still like you!” patronizing thing that we know all too well. *whew!* That was real. And then that heartbreaking scene where after Sarah rightly told-ya-so’s.  -Sam is working on that mess of an engine and reality *finally* sets in when the key  didn’t even attempt to turnover.

~ Then Torres messages Sam (and he’s alive!) and we all know Sam knows these Flasgsmashers got super-serum, but isn’t saying. Even TORRES knows (bless his heart). ~ And from there we go straight to the U.S. government rubbing salty dirt in Sam’s wound with the new/fake Cap holding the shield aloft and winking like “It’s mine now, bitch!”. ---And the credits, I won’t get into except to say if you want ALL the spoilers in the credits, watch that linked video, I posted earlier. But they are SIGNIFICANT spoilers.

[ultramarcypan]

tradition

Arlo x Female Builder

It’s just a short little drabble I did for a friend, but I figured I could share!  I’ve played like 5 mines of My Time at Portia so I did have to do some research for this; warning that it may be OOC lmao.

It's been a strange year.   Good, all things considered she thinks, especially since she'd sailed to Portia on a whim to take over the decrepit workshop Pa had left her.  And workshop was also a generous term for the plot of land and shack she'd found upon her arrival; it had taken weeks of hacking and sawing at twigs and trees to save up enough lumber to patch the MANY holes in the house and slap together rudimentary machines for building anything more complex than a simple fishing pole.  She distinctly remembers how for the first month or so, every night she'd stumbled to bed with aching limbs and blistered, raw hands, and had to fight not to cry over the pain and the unfamiliarity of it all.  In her weakest moments, she'd even considered leaving.  Barnarock was only one boat ride away, and there was still a life waiting for her there.  She owed nothing to the sleepy little town of Portia, really.

But the townspeople had helped. They were a colorful bunch, the lot of them.  Barnarock was so different; people there minded their business and it was a miracle to get more than a curt nod from someone when you passed them in the street.  There was no mayor who had a good heart even if his business sense was questionable.  There wasn't just one restaurant, where people would call out to you as you passed by, invite you to chat and sit, buy you lunch because you looked tired, and then walk back with you to your house just because they could.  No one popped by unannounced at your house with a home-cooked meal because they'd made too much and were wondering if maybe she'd like some?  There were no rivals that---well, no, that wasn't being fair, Higgins was a unique person all the way around she figured, but it didn't make him any less crucial to the town all his.....eccentricities aside.   And there certainly wasn't any Civil Corp in Barnarock.  The people there scoffed at the notion of danger, living protected in high walls and isolated from the rest of the world.  The notion of animals and monsters roaming just in fields a stones throw from the town would've rocked them to their very core. The thought crosses her mind that her old friends would be shocked and possibly repulsed if she told them that she spent a good chunk of her time now spelunking in nearby caverns and sewers for precious ore and materials to support the town and the people that have become her new home and family. She's paid richly for her services, though she keeps insisting it's entirely too much.  It's not much different to how every shares their food, their clothes, their yarn, their tools with her---she has crafting materials to spare and the machines to turn them into things, so why shouldn't she give back to those who helped her start? Arlo had laughed when she told him as much.  "Well," he'd said around a grin.  "I imagine what you build has a lot more impact than just a homemade pie, no matter how nice it may be."  To emphasize his point, he'd gestured at his hip, where the gleaming sword she'd forged for him the month prior was strapped. Arlo was another thing that Barnarock didn't have.  That was the difference she was most acutely aware of. She remembers the first time she'd met him.  It had been two weeks, maybe, into her residency at Portia.  The fields around her home were relatively safe but also barren of any lumber, long since stripped bear due to her efforts to fix the place up.  And the colorful llamas that grazed just beyond had seemed so tame from far away. Turns out, the rainbow colors were the only nice things about them. She'd been on the ground, out of breath and bleeding from a nasty scrape on her forehead, dealing with the fact that a rainbow llama may actually be her cause of death when there had been a terrible shout from behind her.  Startled, the llama had reared and she closed her eyes waiting for pain that never came.  When she finally dared to open them, the animal was on the ground motionless, and someone, a stranger, was standing over her, leaning down. To her shame, she'd passed out then. She woke up in a building that she was able to identify as the Civil Corp headquarters in town, a place she'd passed by a few times but never actually bothered to go near.  She'd met them all that day, cheerful Sam who'd been the one to explain to her just what had happened, Remington who'd offered her a cup of team and a friendly pat on the shoulder while he'd looked over her cut once more, and Arlo, who'd lingered by the door watching her with sharp eyes and the hint of a frown.  Without the threat of dying to distract her, she'd been able to properly take in how broad his shoulders were, how sturdy his stance was, how comforting his very presence was. He'd shown up on her doorstep a week after she'd slunk out of their headquarters, apologizing profusely for her foolishness and thanking them over and over for their kindness.  She'd had all of 30 seconds to stammer out a hello and one more thank you for good measure before a wooden training sword was tossed at her. When she'd expressed confusion, Arlo had shifted his weight just a bit, looking her up and down.  "Training," he offered as explanation, and she'd blinked.  He had heaved a sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets.  "If you're going to be hard headed enough to wander straight into a herd of monsters," he'd said (which was a little RUDE, even if it was true) "Then I'm at the very least going to make sure you know how to defend yourself.  You can't count on me to protect you every time." "Can't I?" She'd mouthed off before she could stop herself, and then clamped a hand over her mouth.  There was silence for a moment where she was gearing herself up to apologizing once again to him when he'd laughed---a deep belly laugh, loud and proud and actually pretty nice to hear. "Flattered as I am that you think I'm that talented, let's err on the side of caution."  He'd spun around to walk over to an empty spot on her land and it hadn't even occurred to her not to follow. So yeah, it's been a strange year.  Learning how to sword fight, how to build, how to be part of such a tight knit community hadn't exactly been on her agenda, but she's not upset at how it's turned out at all.  And now, the year is almost over. Celebrations in Portia are just one more difference between it and Barnarock.  The town goes all out on holidays, and New Year's Eve isn't an exception to this rule.  She's never seen the plaza look so full of life, so bright.  The amount of candles lit all over is so high she's pretty sure it could count as a fire hazard, and there are streamers and ribbons and balloons of every color no matter where she looks.  The tables from The Round Table have all been dragged outside and not a single towns-person is missing, all crammed around them, sitting and mingling together and watching the clock tower tick down as a new year approaches them. She's huddled against the wall of Town Hall, preferring to leave the seats to some of the older folks who need them or to some of the kids who are struggling to stay up, slumped over onto the table with their heads pillowed on their arms.  There's movement out of the corner of her eye and she tenses for just a moment before she sees a flash of bright red.  "Hey Arlo." "Well, fancy seeing you here."  He drawls.  She rolls her eyes--where else would she be on the night of a festival?  "Mind if I join you?" "Not at all."  He slides closer, pressing against the wall with her, letting their shoulders brush against each other.  "Kinda shocked to see you here," she tells him casually, ignoring the way her heart is beating against her ribcage.  "Figured you'd be out in the wilds playing hero or something equally as noble." He huffs a quiet laugh, bumping against her lightly.  "Not tonight," he says.  "Even heroes have to rest now and again." There's a lot of ways she could answer that.  She could tease him for his constant need to serve and protect---one of his more admirable qualities, even if it worried her and the rest of the Civil Corp to no end.  She could accept it for the simple statement of truth it is, grunt and let the comfortable silence that is so common between them take over. Or she could be more daring.  More forward.  More honest with the feelings that the two of them have been dancing around for an eternity now.  Say something like 'Well, who am I to turn away a hero in need?' as she leaned more heavily into him, let her hand brush against his, let her thumb stroke over the calluses on his palm that she knows are there from years of training and hard work. She doesn't have to choose any of those options though, because a sudden shout goes up from the plaza and both of them turn, startled.  Gale has both of his hands in the air, and a RIDICULOUS party hat on his head, pointing up at the clock tower.  "10 seconds left!" The people of Portia cheer loudly, and she doesn't even bother to fight the fond smile that finds its way onto her face.  They count as one, loud and happy even in the cold night.  "10!  9!" "Hey."  It's the urgency in Arlo's voice that has her turning towards him.  It's rare for him to sound so serious without any immediate danger present.  He's fiddling with the hilt of his sword, a nervous habit he doesn't seem to be aware he has. "Yeah?" "8! 7! 6!" Arlo takes a deep breath in and it would be FUNNY that he looks so nervous because it is so wildly out of character, but instead it just makes her anxious as well.  "I'm gonna do something that may be stupid."   "What?" "5! 4! 3!" He takes a step towards her and then another, and even if she wanted to back up, the brick wall of Town Center is behind her, stopping any possible retreat.  "It's tradition?"  It's half a question, half a justification she hears from him.  "So I'm really sorry in advance if you get mad at me, but I've also really wanted to do this for months now." "Do WHAT Arlo?"  She's blinking rapidly up at him, at how close he is, praying that he can't hear the drumbeat of her heart over the shouts of the crowd. "2! 1!" Instead of a verbal answer, he swoops down on her and she has maybe a millisecond to process the sound of party poppers from the crowd as the countdown ends, the smell of his earthy cologne that's right there, the feel of his hands on her shoulder, before his lips are on hers and he's kissing her, right there in the plaza like it's the most natural thing in the world. "HAPPY NEW YEARS!" Her arms flail at her side and a distant part of her mind is shocked that she's made it as long as she has fighting monsters and mining if she's taken out by something as simple as a kiss.  That tiny voice gets shoved far to the side as she realizes that Arlo is pulling away, most likely because she's doing a wonderful impression of a stone statue right now.  Panic overwhelms all her higher functions and she latches onto his shoulders, tugging him closer again and finally, FINALLY getting the sense to respond to the kiss properly. It's nothing special.  It's barely more than the brush of lips against each other, chaste and shy and shorty really.  She pulls away after a few seconds and the first thing she manages to process is that Arlo is blushing, which is funny because the red of his face clashes horribly with the orange of his hair.  She giggles, overwhelmed by the whole situation, and burrows her face into the crook of his neck shoulders shaking slightly. "Well that's not very nice."  He sounds just as shaky as she feels, which is nice.  "A man kisses you on New Year's Eve and you laugh at him?  Don't know how things work where you're from, but a kiss on New Year's Eve is pretty traditional."  One of his hands has wandered to the small of her back and is hovering just above it, like he's afraid to touch her fully.  "Didn't take you for the bullying sort." "You misunderstand."  She mumbles into his neck, lips brushing against the soft flesh there.  She leans back just enough to grin at him, all teeth and promise.   "I'm just a stickler for tradition." And she pulls him down for another kiss.

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 6, Number 13

Trees

It’s four in the afternoon and already getting dark, a foot of snow on the way. One year is nearly over — and yes, we’ve got some essays on that coming up after the holiday break — and another one is taking shape in our inboxes, mail chutes and hard drives. But for right now, let’s take another look at 2020, doubling back on the records that caught our ears without exactly fitting our schedules, the ones that almost got away. Here are the usual free improvisations and long drones, hip hop upstarts and cowpunk also-rans, a harpist, a cellist, a tabletop guitarist and at least one stellar punk record that has us hoping for sweaty live music again in 2021. Contributors this time included Bill Meyer, Bryon Hayes, Andrew Forrell, Patrick Masterson, Jennifer Kelly, Jonathan Shaw, Arthur Krumins, Ian Mathers and Ray Garraty, heck let’s call it a quorum, and see you again in the New Year.

Mac Blackout — Love Profess (Trouble In Mind)

Love Profess by Mac Blackout

Mac Blackout owes his surname to his membership in the Functional Blackouts. That’s a garage combo that was once the subject of an article about how they’d been banned from various venues on account of the destructive chaos of their live performances. But you can’t do that forever, and nowadays Mac’s a painter and solo recording artist. His latest sounds are unlikely to make anyone want to put a chair into the mirror behind the bar, but they might send you flipping through your record collection, looking for the sounds that you and he have in common. Love Profess opens with a burst of piano-pounding, sax-overblowing free jazz, but that lasts for about nine seconds before it gets swallowed by some John Bender-worthy synth throb. Give “Wandering Spheres” a couple more minutes, and Mr. Blackout goes full La Dusseldorf on us. By turns spacy, spooky and seriously compelled to vent nocturnal loneliness, this half-hour long LP is both as familiar and as unknown as a well-shuffled deck of cards.

Bill Meyer

 Ross Birdwise — Perfect Failures (Never Anything)

Perfect Failures by Ross Birdwise

Vancouver-based electronic improviser Ross Birdwise rails against spatio-temporal norms. The concepts of tempo and rhythm are malleable in his universe. Architecturally, Birdwise is Antoni Gaudí, working in fluid lines to build incomprehensible structures. With Perfect Failures, he leaps even further away from the orthogonal grid of musical construction, dissolving beats into grains of sound. The warped rhythms found on Frame Drag are divested in favor of an approach that more resembles electroacoustic composition. As a matter of fact, the title track comes on like a digital recreation of a piece of classic musique concrète. Birdwise avoids venturing into purely ambient territory yet borrows some signifiers from the genre: keyboard melodies, elongated tones, washes of sound. He overlays these seemingly innocuous elements with crashes of noise, oblique jump cuts and hyperkinetic sequences, constantly forcing us to shift focus to make sense of his soundscapes. The febrile nature of the music is what intoxicates, but the discordant melodies are what enthrall.

Bryon Hayes

 C_G — C_G (edelfaul recordings)

C_G by C_G

Belgium-based French electronic artist Eduardo Ribuyo (C_C) and Israeli drummer Ilia Gorovitz (Stumpf) join forces on C_G, a one-take collaboration of molecular machine noise and improvised percussion. It opens as a slow creep, Gorovitz playing minimal rhythms that sound like someone walking through the pre-dawn streets of an awakening city. Ribuyo accretes whirrs, cracks and electrical pops to evoke the dread of a night not over. On “Normalising Cruelty,” for instance, the discomfort builds, the drums tumble in flight, the noise intensifies. The relative conventionality of the percussion tracks seems intentional and serves to focus attention on the granular details Ribuyo conjures from his machines. Think the experiments of similarly minded Mille Plateaux and Raster Norton artists. When played through headphones at volume, its full queasy Room 101 buzz and grind squirms most effectively into the brain. Easy listening this is not, but if and when home gatherings resume this would be an ideal way to clear the house.

Andrew Forell

  Che Noir — After 12 EP (TCF Music Group)

If you’ve been paying attention to hip-hop in the last few years, Buffalo’s Griselda camp has dominated the “old heads” conversation away from whatever the kids are vibing to on TikTok. But there’s life away from an Eminem partnership, and not just in the form of Benny the Butcher: Witness Che Noir, who has been on fire throughout 2020. After starting off the year with the 38 Spesh-produced Juno and following it up with the Apollo Brown-produced As God Intended, Che’s closing things out with this self-produced seven-song EP that covers a wide range of territory without dipping into tales of street hustling, just the age old struggle to get some respect. “Hunger Games” is an early highlight that shows her chemistry with Ransom and 38 Spesh, while she completely takes over in speaking to the times on “Moment in the Sun,” which is the clear emotional highlight of the EP. Amber Simone’s pleading chorus on closer “Grace” is another stylistic turn and closes things on a high note. The last words you hear are Simone’s as she sings, “Imma go get it”; the lingering effect is that you know Che Noir is already showing you as much. Miss this one at your own risk.

Patrick Masterson 

 Cong Josie — “Leather Whip” b/w “Maxine” (It Records)

Leather Whip / Maxine (AA single) by Cong Josie

Frankie Teardrop rides again in this smoking synth punk single from Australia’s Cong Josie. “Leather Whip” is about as menacing and minimal as synthesizer music gets, braced by the hard slap of gate-reverbed drums and a claw-picked bass sound (maybe electronic?) and Cong Josie’s whispery insinuations. “Maxine” is just as stripped, with blotchy bass sound and swishing drum machine rhythms framing a haunted rockabilly love song. It’s very Suicide, but isn’t that a good thing?

Jennifer Kelly

   Divine Horsemen — Live 1985-1987 (Feeding Tube)

Divine Horsemen “Live”1985-1987 by Divine Horsemen

With Divine Horsemen, Chris D of the Flesh Eaters had a brief but memorable run in vivid, gothic, country-tinged punk. This disc commemorates two red-hot live outings from 1985 and 1987, the first at Safari Sam’s in Huntington Beach, California, the second at Boston’s The Rat. A sharply realized recording shows how this band’s sound fit into the cowpunk parameters set by X, with strident guitar clangor and hard knocking rock rhythms (the ax-heavy line-up featured in this recording included Wayne James, Marshall Rohner and Peter Andrus on guitars, the Flesh Eater’s Robyn Jameson on bass). The secret weapon, though, was the ongoing and volatile vocal duel between the front man and his then-wife Julie Christensen, a classically trained soprano with an unholy vibrato-laced belt. You can hear how she transformed his art by comparing the Flesh Eater’s version of “Poison Arrow” with the one here. It’s as aggressive as ever, musically, and Chris D. is in full florid, echoey, goth-punk mode. Christensen, however, is molten fire, letting loose cascades and flurries of wild vibrating song. There’s a scorching, stomping romp through the vamping “Hell’s Belle,” and a lurid rendering of mad, howling “Frankie Silver,” and, towards the end, a muscular take on the Stones’ “Gimme Shelter.” Christensen later made a mark as one of Leonard Cohen’s favorite backup singers, and Chris D is still knocking around with a reunited, all-star Flesh Eaters, though there’s some talk of getting this band back together as well. I’d go.

Jennifer Kelly

 Dezron Douglas & Brandee Younger — Force Majeure (International Anthem)

Force Majeure by Dezron Douglas & Brandee Younger

Harlem harpist Brandee Younger and bassist Dezron Douglas faced down New York’s early months of quarantine with a series of live broadcasts recorded in their apartment on a single microphone. This document of intimate resilience collects highlights of the Friday ritual. Younger and Douglas perform covers of spiritual Jazz, soul and pop songs as well as the delightfully titled original “Toilet Paper Romance.” The music is so close you feel the fingers on the strings and frets. Younger’s harp playing is a revelation, pianistic on John Coltrane’s “Equinox”, pointillist yet robust on his “Wise One” which they dedicate to Ahmaud Arbery. Douglas provides vigorous and sympathetic accompaniment and his solo rendition of Sting’s “Inshallah” is a tender tough exploration of his instrument. Along the way there are lovely versions of pieces by, amongst others, Alice Coltrane, Kate Bush and Clifton Davis. Douglas closes with the words “Black music cannot be recreated it can only be expressed” and Force Majeure demonstrates that the same goes for humanity and creativity.

Andrew Forell

Avalon Emerson — 040 12” (AD 93)

040 by Avalon Emerson

It’s been a big year for Avalon Emerson, who started 2020 prepping a move from Berlin to East Los Angeles and ends it back home stateside with an almost universally acclaimed DJ-Kicks entry to her credit. This three-song 12” for the label fka Whities is a nice way to close out a triumphant year, illustrating her penchant for bright melodies and percussive detail. “One Long Day Till I See You Again” is a welcoming slice of beatless percolation to close; “Winter and Water” leans heavily on rhythmic tricks in the middle. That makes A1 “Rotting Hills” the ideal lead as a balance between them. There may not be so obvious a gimmick as a Magnetic Fields cover, but that makes it no less valuable for showing what Emerson can do. Call it one more fluorescent rush.

Patrick Masterson

 End Forest — Proroctwo (Self-released)

Proroctwo (The Prophecy) by End Forest

For some of us, the fusion of folk music forms with crust and metal mostly issues in obscenities like Finntroll (yep, a Finnish band that makes folk metal songs about…trolls) or in politically toxic, Völkisch nationalist fantasias. But some bands get it right; see Botanist’s remarkable work, and see also End Forest, an act just emerging from Poland’s punk underground. Singer Paula Pieczonka employs a traditional Slavic vocal technique that roughly translates to “white singing” — but before you get creeped out by any potential fascist vibes, please know that the “whiteness” at stake in the phrase is purely an aesthetic value. And her voice is really great, open and soaring. “Proroctwo (The Prophecy)” has the sweep and drama of a lot of contemporary crust, and all of the genre’s interest in symbolic violence. The lyrics envision a future wrought and wracked by social conflict, a coming conflagration of torn bodies and of piles of dislodged teeth housed in some horrific archive of viciousness (that’s quite an image). It’s harrowing stuff, big guitar chords accented by sitar and flute. The track is available on Bandcamp, along with several inventive remixes by Polish musicians and DJs, like Tomek Jedynak and Dawid Chrapla. End Forest indicates that a full record is forthcoming sometime in spring. Looking forward to it, y’all.

Jonathan Shaw

 Lori Goldson — On a Moonlit Hill in Slovenia (Eiderdown Records)

On A Moonlit Hill In Slovenia by Lori Goldston

Goldson creates movement and tension in an arresting way with a rough-hewn approach to the cello. This could be a good entry point to her solo work, which is varied and bridges the gap between DIY attitude and elevated levels of musicianship and considered approach. The flow of her playing here evokes the almost brutal scrape of the strings, which gives a welcome texture to the melodic squiggles.

Arthur Krumins

Hot Chip — LateNightTales (LateNightTales)

The LateNightTales series of artist-curated mixes has seen a fair bit of variation over the years since Fila Brazilia first took up the torch in 2001, which makes a certain amount of sense; how we spend our late nights can differ wildly, of course. Hot Chip’s instalment in the series hits some of the expected notes (at least one cover, in this case a deeply moving one of the Velvet Underground’s “Candy Says” they’ve been playing since Alexis Taylor and Joe Goddard were in high school together; a closing story track, in this case Taylor’s father reading a bit from Finnegan’s Wake) and otherwise depicts the kind of late night Dusted readers might be more familiar with than most; one where a clearly voracious and eclectic listener is keeping their own private party going just for another hour or so, but always keeping things just quiet and subtle enough to not wake up anyone upstairs. The three other, non-cover new Hot Chip tracks all make for standouts here but there’s plenty of room for accolades, whether it’s for the smoothly groovy (Pale Blue, Mike Saita, Beatrice Dillon), the more avant garde (Christina Vantzou, About Group, Nils Frahm) to just plain off-kilter pop (Fever Ray, PlanningToRock, Hot Chip themselves). The result works as both a wonderful playlist and a survey of the band’s sonic world; and it does work best when everyone else is in bed.  

Ian Mathers

Annette Krebs Jean-Luc Guionnet — Pointe Sèche (Inexhaustible Editions)

pointe sèche by Jean-Luc Guionnet, Annette Krebs

Annette Krebs and Jean-Luc Guionnet recorded the three long, numbered tracks on Pointe Sèche (translation: Dry Point) over the course of three days at St. Peter’s Parish church in Bistrica ob Sotli, Slovenia. Location matters because this music couldn’t happen just anywhere; Guionnet plays church organ. Krebs was once part of the post-Keith Rowe generation of tabletop guitarists, but since 2014 she has abandoned strings and fretboards in favor of a series of hybrid instruments called konstruktions. Konstruktion #4, which appears on this record, includes suspended pieces of metal, a handful of toy animals, a wooden sounding board, vocal and contact microphones and a couple touch screens that manage computer programs. While both musicians have extensive backgrounds in improvisation, this recording sounds more like an audio transcription of a multi-media collage. Guionnet plays his large instrument quite softly, extracting machine-like hums, brief burps and dopplering tones that flicker around the periphery of Krebs’ fragments of speech, distant clangs and unidentifiable events. The resulting sounds resolutely defy decoding, which is its own reward in a time when so much music can be reduced to easily identifiable antecedents.

Bill Meyer

 KMRU — ftpim (The Substation)

ftpim by KMRU

If you happened to catch Peel, Joseph Kamaru’s wonderful release on Editions Mego in late July, but haven’t paid attention before or since, early December’s half-hour two-tracker ftpim done for (and mastered by) Room40 leader Lawrence English is a Janus-faced example of the Nairobi-based ambient artist’s power. As Ian Forsythe put it in his BOGO review of both Peel and Opaquer, “Something that can define an effective ambient record is an ability to disintegrate the perimeter of the record itself and the outside world,” a line I think about every time I listen to KMRU now. “Figures Emerge” feels more immediately accessible to me as a relatable environment where the gentle, pulsing drone is occasionally greeted by sounds outside the studio, while “From the People I Met” is more difficult terrain, a distorted fog of post-shoegaze harmonic decay — no less interesting, but perhaps more metaphorical in its take on the outside world. (Or not, given how 2020 has gone.)

Patrick Masterson

  Paul Lovens / Florian Stoffner—Tetratne (Ezz-thetics)

Enough years separate drummer Paul Lovens and guitarist Florian Stoffner that they could be father and son, and Lovens membership in the Schlippenbach Trio, and Lovens role as drummer in the legendarily long-running Schlippenbach Trio establishes him as an august elder of free improvisation. But the partnership they exhibit on this CD is one of equals committed to making music that is of one mind. Whether matching sparse string-tugging to purposefully collapsing batterie or burrowing sprung-spring wobbles to an immense cymbal wash, the duo plays without regard for showing us one guy or the other’s stuff. The point, it seems, is to how they imagine as one, and their combined craniums generate plenty of imagination. They operate in a realm close to that occupied by Derek Bailey and John Stevens, or Roger Smith and Louis Moholo-Moholo, but their patch of turf is entirely their own.

Bill Meyer

  Mr. Teenage — Automatic Love (Self-Release)

Automatic Love by Mr. Teenage

Melbourne, Australia’s fertile garage punk scene has squeeze out another good one in Mr. Teenage, a Buzzcockian foursome prone to short, sharp riffs and sing-along choruses. A four-song EP starts with the title track, whose arch talk-sung verse erupts into rabid, rip-sawing guitar, like Devo meeting the Wipers. “Waste of Time” piles palm muted urgency with explosive release, with a good bit of the Clash in the crashing, clangor. “KIDS” struts and swaggers in a rough-edged way that’s close to the violence of early Reigning Sound or Texas’ Bad Sports. “Oh, the kids these days,” to borrow a phrase, they’re pretty good.

Jennifer Kelly

 Nekra — Royal Disruptor (La Vida Es Un Mus)

Royal Disruptor by Nekra

Remember punk shows? Remember half-lit, dusty basements and fully lit, dirty kids? Remember your sneaker soles sticking to scuffed, gummy linoleum? Remember greasy denim battle jackets and hand-drawn Sharpie slogans? Remember warm beer (watery domestic suds in cans and cups) and cold stares (angsty bravado and bad attitude for its own sake)? Remember anarchists arguing with nihilists, and riot grrrls arguing with rocker boys? Remember people laughing and people smoking and people shouting and people spitting, all without masks? Remember the anticipation that crisps the air when the amps switch on? Feedback from the cheap-ass mic stabbing your ears? Beefy dudes elbowing through the press of flesh? That volatile, stomachy mix of happiness and truculence? Those warm-up thumps of the bass drum and the initial strums of crackling guitar? Remember all that? For the time being, in the United States of Dysfunction, here’s the closest thing you’ll get: an EP of feral, fast punk songs that sound like they’re happening live, right in front of your face. Thanks, Nekra — I really needed that.

Jonathan Shaw

 Neuringer / Dulberger / Masri — Dromedaries II (Relative Pitch)

Dromedaries II by Keir Neuringer, Shayna Dulberger, Julius Masri

Yes, Dromedaries II is a sequel. It follows by three years a debut cassette which was sold in the sort of microquantities that 21st century cassettes are sold. So, it’s more likely that you have heard another of the bands that the trio’s alto saxophonist, Keir Neuringer, plays in — Irreversible Entanglements. While the two combos don’t sound that similar, they share a commitment to improvising propulsive, cohesive music that will put a boot up your butt if you get in the way. While IE focuses on supplying music that frames and exemplifies the stern proclamations of vocalist Camae Ayewa, the trio plays instrumental free jazz that balances individual expression with collective support. Neuringer, double bassist Shayna Dulberger and drummer Julius Masri play like their eyes are on the horizon, but each musician’s ears are tuned into what the other two are doing. The result is music that seems to move in concerted fashion, but usually has someone doing something that pulls against the prevailing thrust in ways that heighten tension, but never force the music off track.

Bill Meyer

Kelly Lee Owens — Inner Song (Smalltown Supersound)

One of the distinctive things about Kelly Lee Owens’ marvellous debut LP a few years ago, as noted here, is that it felt so confident and distinct that it could have easily been the work of a much more seasoned producer. That impression, of a deftly skilled hand at the controls and a keen artistic sensibility and taste shaping it all, certainly doesn’t recede on Inner Song, whether it finds Owens homaging the grandmother who provided support and inspiration (“Jeanette”), gently but firmly rejecting unhealthy relationships (the utterly gorgeous “L.I.N.E.”) or teaming up with John Cale to make some bilingual, deep Welsh ambient dub (“Corner of My Sky”). And that’s one pretty randomly chosen three-song run! Owens continues to excel at both crafting gorgeous, lived-in productions and maybe especially with her handling of voices (her own and others), and she’s comfortable enough in her own skin that if she wants to open up the album with an instrumental Radiohead version (“Arpeggi”) she will, and she’ll make it feel natural, too.  

Ian Mathers

San Kazakgascar — Emotional Crevasse (Lather Records)

Emotional Crevasse by San Kazakgascar

You won’t find San Kazakgascar on any map, but give a listen and you’ll know where this combo is coming from. Geographically, they hail from Sacramento CA, where they share personnel with Swimming In Bengal. But sonically, they are the product of a journey through music libraries that likely started out in a Savage Republic and sweated in the shadow of Sun City Girls. They likely spent time in the teetering stacks of music collections compiled in a time when the problematic aspects of the term world music were outweighed by the lure of sounds you hadn’t heard before. More important than where they’ve been, though, is the impulse to go someplace other than where they’re currently standing. To accomplish this, twangy guitars, rhythms that straighten your spine whilst swiveling your hips, bottom-dredging saxophone and a cameo appearance by a throat singer who understands that part of a shaman’s job is to scare you each take their turn stepping up and pointing your mind elsewhere. Where it goes after that is up to you.

Bill Meyer

     John Sharkey III — “I Found Everyone This Way” (12XU)

Has Sharkey mellowed? This early peek at the upcoming solo album from the Clockcleaner legend and Dark Blue proprietor suggests a pensive mood, with liquid jangle and surprisingly subdued and lyrical delivery (albeit in the man’s inimitable hollowed out and wounded snarl). But give the artist a power ballad if that’s what he wants. The song has a graceful arc to it, a doomed romanticism and not an ounce of cloying sentiment.

Jennifer Kelly

 Sky Furrows — Sky Furrows (Tape Drift Records/Skell Records/Philthy Rex Records)

Sky Furrows by Sky Furrows

Sky Furrows don’t take long to match sound and message. As Karen Schoemer drops references to SST Records and Raymond Pettibone, bassist Eric Hardiman and drummer Philip Donnelly whip up a tense groove that could easily have been played by Mike Watt and George Hurley. Mike Griffin’s spidery, treble-rich guitar picking is a little less specifically referential, but does sound like it was fed through a signal chain of gear that would have been affordable back in the first Bush administration. The next track looks back a bit further; Schoemer’s voice aside, it sounds like Joy Division might have done if Tom Herman had turned up, pushed Martin Hannet out of the control room before he could ladle on the effects and instead laid down some space blues licks. Schoemer recites rather than sings in a cadence that recalls Lee Ranaldo’s; pre-internet underground rock is in this band’s DNA. The sounds themselves are persistently cool, but one drawback of having a poet instead of a singer up front is an apparent reluctance to vary the structure; it would not have hurt to break things up with some contrasting passages here or there.

Bill Meyer

  Soft on Crime — “You’ve Already Made Up Your Mind” b/w “Rubyanne” (EatsIt)

7'' by Soft on Crime

These Dublin fuzz-punks kick up a guitar-chiming clangor in A-Side, “You’ve Already Made Up Your Mind,” which might have you reaching for your old Sugar records. Sharp but sweet, the cut is an unruly gem buoyed by melody but bristling with attitude. “Rubyanne” is slower, softer and more ingratiating, embellished with baroque pop elements like flute, saxophone and choral counterpoints. “Little 8 Track” fills out this brief disc, with crunching, buzz-hopped bass and a bit of guitar jangle under whisper-y romantic vocals. It’s a bit hard to get a handle on the band, based on such disparate samples, but intriguing enough to make you want to settle the matter whenever more material becomes available.

Jennifer Kelly

Theoxinia — See the Lapith King Burn (Bandcamp)

See the Lapith King Burn by Theoxenia

Students of Greek mythology will grasp it right away, but in the internet age, it doesn’t take anyone long to figure out that when you name your record See the Lapith King Burn, you’re casting your lot for better or worse with the party animals. The Lapiths were one side of a lineage that also involved the considerably less sober-sided Centaurs, and the two sides of the family had a bloody showdown at a wedding that has been taken to symbolize the war between civilization and wildness. Theoxinia is Dave Shuford (No-Neck Blues Band, Rhyton, D. Charles Speer & the Helix) and his small circle of stringed instruments and low-cost repeating devices. If you were to dig through his past discography, it most closely resembles the LP Arghiledes (Thrill Jockey) in its explicitly Hellenic-psychedelic vibe. But, like so many folks in recent times, Shuford has decided to bypass the expanse and aggravation of physical publication in favor of marketing this LP-sized recording on Bandcamp. If that fact really bugs you, I guess you could start a label and make the man an offer. But if fuzz-tone bouzouki, sped-up loops and unerringly traced dance steps that will look most convincing when executed with a knife between your teeth and the sheriff’s wallet poking mockingly out of the top of your breast pocket sounds like your jam, See the Lapith King Burn awaits you in the realm of digital insubstantiality.

Bill Meyer

 Trees — 50th Anniversary Edition (Earth Recordings)

Trees (50th Anniversary Edition) by Trees

This boxed set presents the two original Trees albums from the early 1970s, The Garden of Jane Delawney and On the Shore, with the addition of demos and sundry recordings from the era. Here the band took the UK folk rock sound emergent at the time and drew it out into its jammy and somewhat arena rock guitar soloing conclusion. It’s good to have all of this in one place to document the myriad ways that Trees wrapped traditional material into new forms and with a bracing, druggy feel.

Arthur Krumins 

 Uncivilized — Garden (UNCIV MUSIC)

Garden by Uncivilized

Guitarist Tom Csatari presides over NYC-based large jazz ensemble known as Uncivilized, whose fusion-y discography stretches back a couple of years and prominently incorporates a cover of the Angelo Badalamenti theme from Twin Peaks. This 27-track album was recorded live at Brooklyn’s Pioneer Works space in 2018 with a nine-piece band, who navigate drones and dances and the multi-part Meltedy Candy STOMP, a sinuous exploration of space age keyboards and surging big band instruments. Jaimie Branch, who lives next door to Csatari and was invited on a whim at the last minute, joins in for the second half including a smoldering rendition of the Lynch theme. It’s damn fine (though not coffee). Later on, Stevie Wonder gets the Uncivilized treatment in a pensive cover of “Evil,” led by warm guitar, blowsy sax and a little bit of jazz flute.

Jennifer Kelly

 Unwed Sailor — Look Alive (Old Bear Records)

Look Alive by Unwed Sailor

Johnathon Ford, who plays bass for Pedro the Lion, has been at the center of Unwed Sailor for two decades, gathering a changing cohort of players to realize his lucid instrumental compositions. Here, as on last year’s Heavy Age, Eric Swatzell adds guitars and Matthew Putnam drums to Ford’s essential bass and keyboard sounds. Yet while Heavy Age brooded, Look Alive grooves with bright clarity, riding insistent basslines through highly colored landscapes of synths and drums. The title track bounds with optimism, with big swirls of synth sound enveloping a rigorous cadence of bass and drums. “Camino Reel” is more guitar-centric but just as uplifting, opening out into squalling shoe-gaze-y walls of amplified sound. Ford, who usually leans on post-punk influences like New Order and the Cure, indulges an affinity for dance, here, especially audible on the trance-y “Gone Jungle” remix by GJ.

Jennifer Kelly

 Your Old Droog — Dump YOD Krutoy Edition (Self-released)

Dump YOD: Krutoy Edition by YOD

American rapper Your Old Droog has been releasing solid music for years. He never had ups for the same reason he never had downs: he never left his comfort zone. Dump YOD Krutoy Edition (where “krutoy” stands for “rude boy” or “badass”) may be his breakthrough album. He always kept his Soviet origins in check, and here for the first time he draws his imagery from three different sources: New York urban present, Ukrainian folk and Soviet and post-Soviet past (even Boris Yeltsin makes an appearance). In this boiling pot, a new Your Old Droog is rising, among balalaikas and mean streets of NYC, matryoshkas and producers with boring beats, babushkas and graffiti writers.

Ray Garraty

[songtoyou]

Letting Go

Paring: Steve Rogers x Reader/You

Rating: PG

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1,616

Description: Steve and you are assigned in pairs for a team exercise. The task is to come up with positive solutions to a negative experience. 

A/N: I don’t know where I was going with this drabble exactly. I just wanted to write another Steve and Reader one-shot.

I don’t permit any of my fics to be posted anywhere else on the Internet without my permission

Note: This story has been updated for edits of grammar and punctuation.

“So, due to a slight altercation the other day, I think it would be best if we all partake in some team-building exercises,” Pepper announced to the group, which consisted of the original six Avengers, plus Sam, Wanda, Vision, and you.

You could not believe how you got the job position. You were not an enhanced individual, nor did you have any combat skills. Heck, you were not even a scientist. No, what got you the job helping the Avengers were your computer hacking skills that rivaled Daisy Johnson. It was Fury who sought you out. 

“You have made quite a name for yourself. Not only are you on the FBI’s most dangerous hacker list, but you made it onto the CIA’s, Shield’s, and I suspect Hydra’s as well. How about you use those skills for good?” Fury pitched to you.

That was about two years ago. With you primarily staying behind the scenes, it was your job to help guide the Avengers on missions. You were always “buzzing” in their ears, as Tony affectionately put it. Your task was to keep everyone safe and make sure they had the right information. They were not only your teammates but family as well. And with family comes arguments and fights about stupid things such as taking someone’s blueberry Pop-Tarts without asking. 

You raised your hand to get Pepper’s attention. “Pepper, I just would like to reiterate that the whole altercation, if that is what you want to call it, that occurred in the kitchen was Thor’s fault.”

“Y/N, we are not here to point blame on anyone,” Pepper clarified with a sigh.

“Uh, excuse me, Lady Y/N, but I told you time and time again that I was not the one to take your Pop-Tarts,” Thor defended himself.

“That is bullshit! You are the only one besides me that eats those. No one else! It was you! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find non-frosted blueberry Pop-Tarts? They’re almost impossible to find!” You were shouting now. 

“What the fuck! Are we stuck doing this due to fucking Pop-Tarts?” Clint yelled. His annoyance was evident on his face, similar to everyone else.

“Tony, I got to back to the lab. Do I really need to be here for this?” Bruce asked quietly.

“If I am stuck here having to do this, then so are you,” whispered Tony. He had to stick around to be supportive of Pepper. 

Pepper remained neutral. If she was annoyed or frustrated, the woman did not show it on her face. ‘This woman needs to be canonized,’ you thought.

“Look, everyone here is a team member. So, it is standard to do team-building exercises every once in a while. Whether the incident in the kitchen occurred or not, it is a good idea for all of you to partake in these exercises to help grow as a team,” Pepper informed calmly. “I’m going to pair everyone in teams of two: Thor and Sam. Vision and Tony. Wanda and Natasha. Clint and Bruce. Steve and Y/N. The name of this exercise is winter/loser. Partner A will share with Partner B something negative that in happened in their life. Now, this can be work-related or personal; however, it must be true. Partner B will help Partner A focus only on the positive aspects of the experience. The purpose is to help reframe our negative situations into learning experiences. I’ll give you guys twenty minutes, then we can reconvene as a group for the next exercise,” Pepper instructed the group.

You got up and walked over to Steve. You gave him a small smile, which he returned. Steve always made you nervous whenever you were around him. He was not only intimidating but devastatingly handsome. You never really talked to Steve outside of missions. You both did not have much in common as it would appear. You two were literally from different times. Steve was very conservative and a bit stuffy, while you preferred to be opinionated and outgoing.

“How about we go to my office? It’s quieter in there,” Steve suggested, and you followed him out of the conference room.

 Steve’s office reflected his personality. It was clean and organized—nothing out of place. One thing you noticed about Steve was his need to always be in control. Ushering you to take a seat at the table by the window, you obliged. 

“Do you want to go first?” Steve asked.

“Not really,” you stated honestly. “I’m not really in the mood to talk about the negative experiences I have endured. I like to put them in a box and bury them deep inside my soul,” you said with a hint of sarcasm in your voice.

Steve sighed. “Y/N, be serious for once,” he scolded.

You scoffed. “I am serious. Why don’t you go first?” When you saw the hesitation in Steve’s eyes, you clocked him on it. “See, it’s not that easy. You don’t want to go down that road either.”

The two sat in uncomfortable silence, with neither wanting to speak up. 

“Okay, how about we go about this a different way,” Steve suggested.

“I’m listening.”

Steve got up from the table to retrieve a piece of paper and pen. “How about instead of relaying our bad experiences, we look at ways to overcome them,” Steve said as he wrote a title on the piece of paper, ‘How to Let Go of Negative Thoughts.’

“You serious?” you asked.

“Do you have any better suggestions? I am actually trying to turn this into a positive experience for us.”

You knew Steve had the right idea. So instead of giving him an attitude, you decided to be a team player. “I think when it comes to dealing with negative experiences, the first thing a person should do is to choose to let it go.”

“That is good. Okay, what else?” Steve asked as he wrote down the first step. Writing things down helps to get something off your chest,” Steve recommended and wrote that down as well when he saw your approval.

“Playing the blame game never solves anything. How about live in the present? Focusing on the past never helps anyone, would you agree?”

Steve could sense to prying tone in your voice, so he merely wrote down the new step. After a while, the two of you came up with a list of ten steps:

1.) Make the Choice

2.) Write it Down

3.) Stop Blaming

4.) Live in the Moment/Present

5.) Be Empathetic

6.) Surround Oneself with Positive People

7.) Stop Replaying the Bad Experience

8.) Transform Painful Memory into Something Good

9.) Make a List of How You Can Control the Situation

10.) Focus on the Future

“I have to say, Rogers, that this is quite a list you helped come up with; you really are a good leader, you know,” You told him. 

In all honesty, you admired Steve. He was the embodiment of what a good person show strives to be. 

“I could not have done without your help, Y/N.”

“Can I share my negative experience with you?” You asked Steve sheepishly. 

He motioned for you to go ahead. After you let out a sigh, you went along. “When I was in fourth grade, one of my classmates told me that this boy liked me and that he wanted to be my boyfriend. I was shocked because no one paid attention to me. Least of all, boys. So, I was excited. I was happy. However, that turned out to be all lie. The guy who claimed he liked me came up to me and said it was not true. It was a prank. I was devasted. Not so much of not having the boy like me, it was feeling of being used as a joke that bothered me.”

Steve leaned in closer to you and placed his large hand on tops of yours. “The same thing has happened to me. Too many times to count,” Steve confessed.

“Why are people such assholes, Steve? I don’t get it. Like, it is not that hard to be a decent human being.”

“Apparently, for some folks, it is. Can I confess something to you? You have to promise not to get upset,” requested Steve.

“What is it?” You enquired, raising one of your eyebrows.

Taking a deep breath, Steve went on to say, “I was the one to eat your Pop-Tarts. I’m sorry. I had just gotten done at the gym, and it was late. I was tired, and I didn’t want to make anything. So, I saw those blueberry Pop-Tarts, and they just looked delicious…”

You shook your head. You were not precisely angry at Steve but more amused. “Steve Rogers, I will give you this one pass. But don’t you ever eat my Pop-Tarts ever again,” You reprimanded him in a nonthreatening tone. 

All of a sudden, the two of you busted out laughing. “Ugh, now I have to eat crow and apologize to Thor. We should head back to the conference room anyways,” You said, standing up from the table with Steve following you.

Before you reached the door to open it, Steve spoke up, “Hey, how about I take you to the store so you can restock on Pop-Tarts. I know a place that carries the unfrosted blueberry ones.”

You happily accepted his offer. “Do you want to get coffee as well? Don’t worry; I’m not suggesting Starbucks. I know a place in Brooklyn that has excellent coffee, and they aren’t too pricey.”

“I like that idea,” he replied as he led you out of his office and towards the conference room with the other Avengers.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shackled

Chapter 1

Summary: After nearly ten years, Sam Winchester calls Miriam Bard to collect on a life debt. Unfortunately for Miriam, Sam leaves out a few important details.

Warning: Implied loss of family, grieving, depression, cursing, Demon!Dean, Sam’s tendency to leave out vital details for folks helping him to save Dean (read: Sam’s tendency to be a Winchester)

Word count: 1,895

Author’s Note: This story would not be possible without @thoughtslikeaminefield​ , who convinced me to write and finish this story, cheered me on every step of the way, and convinced me that even after over a year of not finishing a single thing, I hadn’t lost my writing after all. MJ, thank you for poking the story til it squeaked. And for the banner. And lots and lots of other things. If you’re reading this, hi! Have a seat and strap in, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride (in the best way!).

“Hey, Miriam, it’s Sam...Sam Winchester...I don’t know if you remember me from-”

“I remember you, Sam. Not likely to forget a Winchester, much less...it’s one in the morning, what’s up?”

“I need to call in that favor.”

“All right. Where do you need me?”

…

Miriam stared blearily at the road as it stretched out in an infinite blur of dismal sameness, each expanse of asphalt and surrounding fields a dreary replica of the one before.

The last couple hundred or so miles had been hypnotically wretched, especially with the remnants of her headache hanging on by the tips of its claws since Sam Winchester had woken her with a phone call a few hours ago.

Caffeine and aspirin had taken the edges off, but straining her eyes into the endless darkness, alternating occasionally with too-bright headlights shattering the night (fucking halogens), had done nothing to ease the sharp ache that wouldn’t quite dissipate.

If she was being honest, the headache had been hanging around much longer than just a few hours, and if Sam’s call hadn’t woken her, the nightmares would have. They always did. She couldn’t really remember what an uninterrupted night of sleep felt like anymore. Exhaustion was her state of existence; it was preferable to feeling anything else.

“Suck it up, Miri,” she muttered into the muffled quiet of the car. Even her GPS was set on silent; the soft hum of the engine was the only noise she allowed to permeate her cocoon of quiet suffering.

Aaron would have been blasting some stupid metal band on the stereo, slapping her hand away every time she went to turn it down or change the station. He wouldn’t offer to drive and let her sleep off any physical maladies, but she wouldn’t have accepted anyway. He was a shit driver, and she always said she’d rather live long enough to let the next case kill her rather than the inevitable wreck if her brother was behind the wheel.

“Suck it up, Miri! Take another pill and quit whining!” he would have told her in the middle of an air drum solo.

Would have.

“Shut up,” Miriam muttered aloud. She drove on.

She pulled up outside something she would have dismissed as public waterworks or an electric station if Sam hadn’t told her what to look for. No cars outside, no mailbox, nothing to tell her this was an actual residence and not the setting for a seventies slaughterhouse flick. She checked her phone.

Text me when you get here; I’ll come let you in.

Alrighty, then.

Sam met her at the door and led her into the last sort of place Miriam could have imagined, a cross between a sci-fi/post-apocalypse novel and some sort of Cold War relic. He gave her the briefest of explanations as he led her through the bunker, saying something about legacies and a secret society, information which mostly passed right through her fatigue-addled head.

Pretty nice home base, she thought as they walked through the meeting room and past the library.

The research-oriented part of her itched to run her fingers over the spines of those books, to find out what was inside. Miriam cringed internally as she heard the echo of Aaron’s voice calling her a nerd, equal parts affection and ridicule in his voice. Then she throttled the pain down, locked the thoughts away, and dragged herself back to the present.

A few minutes later, Miriam was slinging her duffel down on one of the nicest beds she’d been able to claim in any capacity in months, maybe even years. Absolutely spartan and about six decades out of date, almost military in decor, but it was clean, and it had air, electricity, and both sheets and blankets on the bed. No nasty or rotten surprises left by former inhabitants; definitely an upgrade on a few of the shitholes she’d stayed in.

“We’ve got a fully stocked kitchen just down the hallway, and showers. Let me know if you need anything,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his head.

Miriam decided to save him further discomfort and cut to the chase.

“Fancy digs, Sam. It’s been a few years. You wanna tell me what’s got you so bothered?”

She’d noticed a distinct lack of the elder Winchester on the way in, but Miriam’s own recent history had done nothing if not jam a filter firmly in her mouth that kept her from sharing any and all thoughts that flowed through her mind.

Sam’s mouth quivered at the corners before he schooled his features into a mask of control that failed to hide the depth of his worry.

“I...Dean is why I called you. It’s...complicated.”

She took advantage of the awkward pause to re-evaluate Sam Winchester. He’d aged a lot in the few years since she and Aaron had run across the Winchesters. He’d grown broader since she last saw him, and he gave the impression of being even taller than she remembered, to say nothing of the length of his hair. She resisted the urge to offer him a hair tie for his shaggy mane.

Her gaze flicked down to his injured right arm, bound to his chest in a sling. She waited for several beats, but when he didn’t continue, she crossed her arms sternly, letting a shade of her impatience show on her face.

“You called me, Sam.”

Sam cleared his throat as if he still couldn’t get the words out. Miriam sighed. Her headache flared, burning the inside of her skull like a wash of acid between her eyes. Fatigue pulled at her, weighing her down towards the bed, but she locked her knees and straightened her back until she could trust her weary body not to betray her to gravity.

“Sam, we’re not close friends, I get that, but you called me here because I owe you, and hopefully because you know you can count on me. I haven’t been in the field recently, wasn’t planning on it any time soon. I’m tired; it’s been a hell of a year. If you want my help, talk to me. If not, I’m taking advantage of your hospitality to catch a few hours sleep in a decent bed, then I’ll head back out.”

“Dean’s a demon.”

His bald declaration woke her as the coffee she’d consumed after his phone call hadn’t.

Wasn’t expecting that, she thought as her eyebrows threatened to meet her hairline.

“Demons aren’t my area of expertise, Sam. And, let’s be honest, it’s fairly common knowledge that the Winchesters can exorcise a demon. What do you need me for?”

Sam shook his head, tension making the movement jerky and stiff as his jaw tightened. He had circles under his eyes to rival hers, and his shoulders slumped with a weight she knew all too well.

He reached up, awkwardly tugging down the neckline of his shirt to reveal a tattooed symbol she vaguely recalled from research she’d done years ago.

“Neither of us can be possessed,” he said, shrugging his shirt back into place with a wince of discomfort. “Dean is...Look, just come with me; I need to check on him anyway. You'll see.”

Making a physical effort to keep her jaw from hanging slack, Miriam followed Sam from the small bedroom. The whole situation was surreal, and the bland, institutional walls of the bunker only added to Miriam’s sense of dissociation.

She raised a curious eyebrow as Sam led her into what looked like nothing so much as a large file storage room.

Their footsteps echoed strangely; the space felt somehow emptier than the full shelves should have allowed. The ceiling, higher than what seemed necessary, continued much further back than the shelves. And what kind of shelving needed caging to connect it to the ceiling? The metal screen wasn’t what drew her attention, though.

The second she set foot in the room, Miriam felt an inexplicable pull to look behind those shelves, to push past Sam and shove the files out of the way. There was a presence in the room, something that spoke to a place deep inside her that she’d trained herself not to acknowledge, something familiar and forbidden all at once.

For the first time in months, she felt something more than tired, foggy despair.

Whatever was back there, Miriam wanted it.

It took her a second to realize that Sam was speaking.

“Don’t...um...don’t let him get to you, okay? It’s Dean, but it...isn’t,” Sam finished lamely with a grimace.

Miriam tilted her head to the side, considering his words. She opened her mouth, then closed it and shrugged, bracing herself for whatever it was Sam didn’t seem to be able to explain.

His shoulders slumped for a moment as he struggled to pull himself together.

Miriam hadn’t spent much time with the Winchesters, just the couple of weeks they'd worked that witch case all those years ago. Sam and Dean had been so in tune with each other, working the case with instinct and skill on a level that she’d both admired and envied. Then they went and saved her stupid brother.

Sam had been so much younger, then, not exactly sure of himself, but much more solid and in control than the tired, injured man in front of her.

“I owe you, and I mean it,” she’d said back then, shaking first Dean’s and then Sam’s hands, looking each brother in the eyes.

“You need someone to watch your back, to help you take something down, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t normally speak for that asshole,” she nodded at her younger brother, currently sleeping off the leftover ill effects from the hex bag that had nearly taken his life, “but I’ll go ahead and vouch for his dumb ass, too. Call me if you need me. Don’t lose my number.”

She hadn’t heard from them since.

Oh, she had heard plenty of them. What hunter hadn’t? All sorts of misadventures and exploits, taking down creatures most hunters had only ever heard of, much less encountered. But Miriam had gotten no phone calls from them, no requests for help. She figured they'd probably forgotten her and Aaron the moment they’d left town, rock blasting from the speakers of their legendary Impala as they cruised on to the next town, the next case.

“Why now, Sam?” Miriam asked quietly. “After all this time, why call me now?”

There were approximately a thousand more questions she wanted to ask, chiefly what the cage behind those shelves was holding, but she held her tongue after the one. Sam had obviously brought her here for a reason, so she reminded herself to be patient and ready for whatever happened next.

The younger Winchester hung his head for a moment longer, then turned eyes on her that were so familiar, her heart seized in her chest. She saw those same eyes every time she’d looked at her own reflection in the mirror since she’d returned from that last job, with one more scar and one less brother.

“Because I knew you’d understand.”

And then Sam straightened, and she watched as he willed steel through his limbs, stiffening his spine and hardening his features. He pulled on a narrow section of shelving and rolled it out of the way.

“Heya, Sammy.”

...

Chapter 2 is up! 

[mischiefandspirits]

Doppelgänger (2/?)

Previously on Doppelgänger ~ Masterlist ~ Next time on Doppelgänger

Danny, Sam, and Tucker were just 14 when they took a look inside the portal Danny’s parents had built. From there, everything changed. They woke up with white hair, green skin, and powers they could learn to control. They were hybrids, halfas.

They were the hero Doppelgänger.

{Parental Bonding}

“We can possess people!” the trio said, Tucker bouncing in midair. Sam crossed her arms. “That seems really wrong. We didn’t do it on purpose. Imagine how many dates we could get this way. We don’t need dates. We know we want to go to the dance.”

Sam turned human, dropping onto Tucker’s bed with a scowl.

Danny floated closer to her with an apologetic expression.

“Sorry,” he and Tucker said.

“It’s okay. I know you guys aren’t intentionally prying. It’s just kind of annoying sometimes.”

“We’re getting better at keeping things separate,” they said as Tucker sat down at the end of the bed. “Maybe we’ll be able to figure out secrets as we work on it. Do we need to have secrets though?”

“Yes, Danny, we do,” Sam said, poking the boy. “You might have loose lips, but I like my privacy.”

Danny pouted and transformed. “I don’t have loose lips. I just don’t get why anything has to be a secret between us. We’re best friends.”

Sam grabbed his arm and tugged him onto the bed with her.

His pout immediately fled as he curled up in her arms, his head tucking beneath her chin.

Tucker gasped and turned human. “It’s a cuddly Sam day!”

She shot him a glare. “Not for you it isn’t.”

He ignored her and joined them on the bed, pressing up to her back and draping an arm over both his friends. She grumbled, but relaxed back against him as Danny poked his head up to give them both kisses on the cheek.

They rested together for a while before Sam’s phone went off.

She nudged Danny, who’d been dozing. “Come on, it’s getting late. We should get home before someone realizes we aren’t in our beds.”

“No one will check on me before morning,” Danny said with a nuzzle.

She pushed him off the bed.

“Well then.”

Tucker sat up as the two stood and transformed. “Sam, wait.”

They turned to him.

“Uh, you know, since neither of us have dates and you really want to go, the two of us could go to the dance together as friends.”

Danny smiled and Sam tilted her head.

“Really?” they asked.

“Sure. I’ve pretty much struck out with everyone in school anyways and someone has to keep an eye on Danny.”

“Hey! True. HEY!”

{One of a Kind}

Skulker looked between the human boy he was tailing and the ghost child glaring down at him. He could have sworn the half-ghost was the child of the hunters Plasmius had paid him to investigate, not the boy's female friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No, that can’t be. He was sure the girl was the ghost child. He knew he had seen the technology-boy asleep with the hunters’ child!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Skulker gaped at the three ghost children surrounding him. “What are you?”

“We are Doppelgänger, and you are done here,” they somehow said together while sounding like only one.

At least he'd still accomplished the job Plasmius required, Skulker thought as he was pulled into a cylindrical device.

{Attack of the Killer Garage Sale}

“You’re not going to go to the party?” Sam asked as Danny tossed the invite Dash had given him in the trash.

“Sam, I don’t think we’d need our bond to feel your hatred for this entire situation,” Tucker said.

“Sorry.” She’d really been trying to hold back her more jealous and controlling nature since the accident. It wasn’t fair to her partners.

“It’s fine,” Danny said, knocking their shoulders together with a smile. “It’d feel weird without you guys anyways. Who would talk trash about the A-listers in our heads or get turned down by every person in the room?”

“Rude,” Tucker said.

“Besides, what would happen if a ghost showed up. Dash’s place is too far from either of yours for our mind link.”

“That’s true,” Sam agreed.

“You could always just call our phones,” Tucker said and his partners paused, surprised.

“Phones,” Sam chuckled. “How did we forget phones exist?”

“We might be getting too dependent on the mind link,” Danny laughed, rubbing his neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam and Danny looked up as Tucker dropped down onto the couch between them.

“You guys could have helped,” he huffed, passing the thermos to Danny and turning human.

“Tech’s you thing,” Danny said with a shrug, tossing the thermos into his Space Fold.

“Did you need help?” Sam asked, handing Tucker a bowl of popcorn.

He snorted. “Technus, master of technology and destroyer of worlds, was running an old version of Portals XL. It was easy to slip through the cracks with my powers. That’s not the point though.”

{Splitting Images}

Sam and Tucker watched Danny’s parents run off, then turned to their partner. “Watch it, Danny. Your parents almost c-” they stopped, then glared. “Who are you? Where’s Danny?”

The boy who was mostly not Danny frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sam grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the lockers, her eyes glowing yellow.

“Tell us where our partner is now?” she and Tucker said as one and he stepped up next to her, his own eyes purple. “We can feel you’re not him!”

Poindexter immediately caved. He was smart enough to know he’d have a hard time taking on one halfa on in a fight, let alone two.

Sam was a lot more willing to hear out the old school nerd once her own nerd was safely in her arms and the three decided to let Poindexter stick around, so long as he agreed not to hurt or humiliate any of the bullies he went after, only spook them away from their targets. Especially when Danny told them about how Poindexter was treated in his own version of Casper High.

And they thought Dash was bad.

{What You Want}

You said she’s a genie ghost? Why didn’t you just wish her into the thermos? Sam asked.

Tucker and Danny shared a look from where they were hovering over the sick girl’s home.

You both are idiots. Get out of here before one of my parents spot you.

We’re invisible, they pointed out, but said their goodbyes and left all the same.

“Why didn’t we think of wishing her away? Because only one of us got all the common sense when the portal mashed us together. True. Oh, man! What? We forgot to share about the plasmablasts! Shoot, we’re dead. No puns right now, this is serious!”

{Bitter Reunions}

“Bad news,” Danny said as soon as he picked up the group call. “My parents are dragging me and my sister with them to their college reunion in Wisconsin.”

“That sucks,” Tucker hissed.

“Yeah, but our news is worse,” Sam said. “Knock knock.”

Her words were matched with a knock at Danny’s window and he opened the curtains to find Sam floating outside.

“Who’s there?” Tucker asked.

“Sam,” Danny said, gesturing her in.

“Sam who?”

“Sam’s at my window,” Danny snorted as she floated through intangibly. “What’s going on?”

“Wait, she’s at your house? Why? Do I need to come?”

“No, we took care of the problem for now.” Sam reached into the bag she’d strapped to her belt -- Danny could open the Space Fold for her and Tucker from a distance, but they only really did that for the thermos -- and pulled out a torn picture. “Look familiar.”

“Is that my dad?” Danny asked, taking it. The man in the picture certainly looked like his dad did in his collage pictures.

“That’s what we thought too.”

“What’s going on?”

“We took on this group of vulture ghosts just now and they had a picture of Mr. Fenton,” Sam explained. “They said they were on a search and destroy mission.”

“They want to kill Danny’s dad?”

“Why?”

“We don’t know,” Sam sighed. “They got away from us before we could interrogate them properly. We could have used our speed.”

“Sorry, my parents are in an inventing lull so they’re actually paying attention to my curfew,” Danny said, still looking at the picture.

“I still don’t get why Danny’s faster than us.”

“Tiny.”

“You mean smol.”

“No.”

“Yes. And it’s not fair.”

“You take hits better than Sam and I,” Danny pointed out. “And Sam’s stronger than us. It balances out. Now can we get back to the fact that someone put a hit out on my dad?”

“Sorry, we don’t know anything else.”

“At least you guys are going out of town. Hopefully, Sam and I can track down the birds before you get back.”

“Yeah, I hope so.”

Sam took her partner’s hand and pulled him into a hug.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Holy crow.”

“Tell us about it,” Danny groaned.

“We should have been there,” his partners said.

“We’re kind of glad we weren’t,” Danny said, poking his head into the RV for a second to make sure his parents and sister were still asleep. “Who knows what Vlad would have done if he knew about us? He thinks we use the royal we.”

“We can’t believe there’s another halfa out there. And he’s such a creep. Do we think he’d want us? Or only one of us?”

Danny frowned, rubbing his chest. It was weird being in ghost form, hearing his partners in their ghost form, and yet not being a part of the mind link. “We don’t know. And we don’t want to know. He doesn’t need to be anywhere near us. He’s a fruit loop.”

“Agreed.”

{Prisoners of Love, Part 1}

The trio floated back to back as they looked around the Ghost Zone. Danny pressed closer to his partners, eyeing a group of small blobs that he swore was following him, while Sam vibrated with excitement and Tucker snapped pictures with his phone.

“Can we just find the gift already? This place is amazing. No, it's not. It's creepy. And it goes on forever. We don't even know where to start to look! Maybe we can ask for directions?”

Tucker flew up to one of the doors. He knocked and opened it.

“Excuse me,” they said. “Would you be able to -”

“Get. Out. Of. My. ROOM!”

Tucker shut the door.

“Well, that won’t work. This is hopeless. We’re never gonna find that present. Our folks are gonna get divorced and it’s gonna be all our fault.”

Sam wrapped her arms around Danny.

“We’ll figure this out. Maybe we just need to think like a box. Think like a box? Well, the box isn’t a ghost. It’s from the human world.” Danny’s head popped up. “Yes, maybe the ghost zone’s gravity affects human world stuff differently than ghost stuff. If we can track the orbital paths, then we can figure out where the box went. But how would we figure out these orbital paths? We know one way. No.”

Tucker flew down to one of the floating islands, then transformed.

“Stop!” Sam and Danny shouted, flying up to him. “We don’t know how the Ghost Zone will affect a human. Our parents haven’t run any tests yet!”

“I’m fine, see,” Tucker said, gesturing at himself. “I can even breathe just fine. Everything’s okay.”

“For now.”

“I think it’s a little too late to worry about ectoplasmic radiation, so what are you two so worried about.”

“Only one of us is worried. We’re both worried.”

Sam shoved Danny, then shoved Tucker when he started laughing.

The boy yelped and braced himself when the shove knocked him towards a tree.

He passed right through it.

“What the heck?” the two said.

Tucker stood up and set his hand on the tree. Then he pressed down and his hand slipped through the tree, coming out the other side.

Danny dropped down next to him and tried to do the same, but couldn’t get his arm to go through the tree even when he turned intangible.

Sam snapped her fingers.

“Ectoplasm. Everything here is made of ectoplasm. Maybe being in the ghost zone naturally puts everything in a semi-intangible state, which means humans can pass through it if they try.”

“So we’re the ghosts here!” Tucker cheered, bouncing. “Sweet!”

“It’s definitely something to keep in mind.”

Tucker smiled and held up his arms. “Now that that’s settled, let’s see how this human gets affected by ghost gravity.”

Danny hesitated, but Sam shrugged and picked Tucker up and threw him into the void.

He flew a few yards before slowing down until he was just floating in place. They waited a moment, but nothing else happened.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Tucker said then transformed.

Danny and Sam flew up to him, all three saying, “That should have worked though. There has to be some sort of orbit or else the box would have just been right outside the portal and we check right after it got knocked in.”

Tucker shrugged and pulled out his phone. Danny’s eyes locked onto it. He grabbed it out of Tucker’s hand and tossed it.

“Hey! Look, it’s moving!”

The trio watched as the phone’s trajectory slowed, then started again slightly to the right of where it had been heading before.

“Humans might just be too heavy or dense for ghost orbit. Or maybe it’s a consciousness thing, like with the intangibility. Whatever it is, let’s just get going. If we lose our phone, we’re going to regret it.”

The three set off drifting a short ways behind the phone. They stuck close enough to be sure they didn’t lose it, but far enough that they wouldn’t accidentally alter its course. Eventually, the phone floated intangibly through one of the doors, this one looking like a rolling warehouse door.

The trio shared a look then opened the door and flew inside.

The lair was just a purple void filled with a variety of random items.

“So this is where all that stuff ends up. It’s like the void of lost items,” they said as Tucker grabbed his phone.

“Yes!” the trio turned to see the Box Ghost flying up. “It all ends up in the possession of THE BOX GHOST!”

“Ugh, this guy. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a cardboard box to haunt.”

Boxy blinked looking between the three before pointing at Sam, who was floating in the middle.

“I am The Box Ghost! Where do you think we go when you release us from your round, cylindrical trap?”

Danny looked unimpressed, Sam crossed her arms and started looking over all the junk, and Tucker ran a hand over his face.

“It is not our turn to deal with this. You mean the Fenton Thermos? The gift has to be here somewhere.”

He looked between them then threw up his arms menacingly. “I am the Box Ghost!”

“We know.”

“And beware! For I am merely ONE of your foes who reside in this realm! In fact, you might say,” the box ghost snorted, “we’re a PACKAGE DEAL!”

“I swear if we laugh at that, we’ll punch us. We’re not laughing at that. It’s the Box Ghost. We would laugh at that. That was a bad pun even for us.” They groaned and Danny floated closer to Boxy, holding his hands up in a show of good faith. “Look, we’re looking for something important, we don’t have time for your box puns.”

Suddenly police sirens sounded and the trio looked around.

“Flee!” Boxy shouted. “Lest you be hermetically sealed and shipped to your doom!” He tried to fly off, but a blast of green energy hit him, causing his wrists to be bound in handcuffs made of energy.

Sam and Tucker flew up to grab Danny’s arms. “Hey, what’s going on? We need to get out of here! Let’s -”

A blast hit them and they were bound together.

“Unauthorized duplication. That’s against the rules.” The trio looked up to see a large white ghost hovering over them. He pulled out a green book. “Or at least it is now.”

“Duplication? Like Plasmius? Wait! This is all a big misunderstanding! We’re not -”

The ghost moved so it was like he was crouched on invisible ground and shoved his face into Tucker’s. He grabbed Tucker’s phone and said, “There may be chaos everywhere in this Ghost Zone, but there’ll be order in my prison.” He stood up and turned to a group of ghosts in riot gear. “Merge them and ship them off.”

One of the ghosts smiled and pointed a police baton at them.

“Hold on! You’ve got the wrong -”

He shot them with a blast and a ring of energy wrapped around them and squeezed. It grew tighter and tighter and their bodies were pressed closer and closer.

“Stop! Wait! Please!”

And then there was a snap. It wasn’t audible. It wasn’t even physical. It was just a feeling as three bodies became one.

Doppelgänger looked down at their hands in shock, their mind a whirl of emotions and thoughts. They barely noticed as the ghost police grabbed their arms and threw them in the back of a prisoner transport van.

“We’re one?” they whispered, staring at their hands.

They certainly didn’t feel like one. They could feel Sam's and Danny's and Tucker’s minds rioting against one another in their head. It was like the trio were all trying to overshadow each other at once. Their body shook with hot and cold and lightning. They tried to pull apart, but the bands on their wrists, ankles, and waist kept their powers dulled and their ectoplasm merged.

The police returned and Doppelgänger shuffled into the corner of the van to keep away from the monsters. Thankfully they only shoved the Box Ghost inside and shut the doors.

Doppelgänger turned to the wall of the van. “If we transform, we can slip out. Can we transform with these bonds? Better question, what would happen if we transformed like this?” They shivered at the idea of being merged in their human forms. “Yeah, no. We need to figure out how to separate, then we can transform and get away from these psychos. Seriously, as if living corrupt police weren’t bad enough. We need to focus. Can this situation get any worse? Our folks are splitting up, our sister’s a basket case, and we’re going to ghost jail.” They curled up, trying to hold themselves as best they could with their bonds. “It will be okay. We’ll be okay. They’ll have to remove the bonds at some point then we can get away. It will be okay.”

[jebazzled]

Primary Sources: Journal Apps Done Right

Hello, gang, and welcome to another tutorial on character applications and development! Today we're going to be discussing one format sometimes used in building a freestyle application: journal applications. We'll be talking about what these primary source-focused applications are, their pitfalls, and how to make them work to your advantage.

Primary Source Applications are a structure rarely used in site-standard apps, but are relatively common in the world of freestyle applications. This structure usually takes the form of a character relaying events in a diary or journal, or sometimes in letters to another character.

The pros of this structure are the same as the pros mentioned in my tutorial about optimizing interview applications:

PRIMARY SOURCE APPS: PROS

don't need to worry so much about transitioning between scenes in a freestyle

can move through a lot of information very quickly

easy venue to showcase character voice (in theory)

The cons are largely the same as well:

PRIMARY SOURCE APPS: CONS

character voice almost never comes across as authentic, prioritizes exposition over context or authenticity

mechanisms to cover all important information can read as contrived and corny

In most situations, an app will cover a character's personal history, interpersonal relationships, and other sensitive information - things that may or may not realistically make it into a diary. Almost every journal app I've read has led with a child writing something to the tune of "Dear diary, my name is Susie. I was born on June 6, 1996 in Plainfield, Illinois, to Sally and Sam. I have three brothers..." This reads as stilted to a cringeworthy degree, both in the sheer graceless regurgitation and in the utter lack of character voice. As a side note, writing in the voice of a child is difficult, and adults often write children as either too simple or too grown-up. My best advice - barring "read a lot of fiction for 8-12 year olds to get a sense for how a child's voice is done well "- is to skip writing in a child's voice at all. 

especially on "literate/advanced" sites with a big culture around freestyle apps, it's very easy for primary source apps to come off as more beginner. (tips for overcoming this perception are later in this tutorial)

If it sounds like I don't like primary source apps - you're right! I hate them! Or more accurately - I hate them in practice. I think there is an argument for the use of primary source apps, as a stylistic choice to communicate characterization. And the truth is: I almost never see anyone put in the work to use primary source apps in that context.

WHEN TO USE A PRIMARY SOURCE APP

Primary source apps can be interesting and helpful when written for character-based reasons. If your primary reason for choosing to write an app in letters or journal entries is to be able to blow through a great deal of exposition quickly:

STOP. DO NOT PASS GO. DO NOT COLLECT $200. 

If your primary reason for choosing to write a primary source app is because it seems an easy way to unload information, your application is going to read as underwhelming and stilted at best, and at worst, cringeworthy to the point of masking all of your hard-earned writing skill.

Your application is your writing sample. Your application is one of the few data points people have on you as a writer - particularly if you are new to a site - and it is in your best interests to put your best foot forward, even if it is more work and more time-consuming, so that people will want to write with you. What's the point of getting an app up in record time if it's only going to get pended for being below the writing level of the rest of the site community, or if it's going to be largely ignored by other writers because it's not compelling prose?

I understand that folks hate writing apps and I do not care. You need to write good apps. Even if your threads are incredible, you need to be able to write solid apps.

If your only reason for choosing to write a primary source app is because it seems an easy way to unload information, you should be writing an anecdotal application. You can check out my guide to writing freestyle applications in the anecdotal style here.

An anecdotal freestyle application will almost always do a better job of illustrating your character's perspective and voice than a primary source app, because the style of writing is more similar to what you will use in threads. The exception is when a primary source app serves a specific purpose in developing the character

I'm not talking about "developing" in the sense of "relaying information, explaining backstory." I'm talking about "developing" as in: communicating something specific about this character, something fundamental and foundational, that cannot be better communicated any other way. Something that needs to be shown in practice to come through.

MAKING A PRIMARY SOURCE WORK

The best place to deploy a primary source app is in situations that depend on an unreliable narrator. A character who is manipulative, deceitful, or otherwise untrustworthy can offer a compelling use of journal entries and letters.

In the case of using primary sources to define an unreliable narrator, the purpose of the journal entries should not be to describe events for the sake of it alone, but should be to illustrate a potentially unfaithful description of those events. In this use case, entries should build a composite of our character that calls their accounting into question. Is Delilah's record of the night her boyfriend was attacked by a tiger believable, or are there gaping holes? Does she have a tell - for instance, a specific way she constructs sentences, when she is not telling the truth? Does she change details between entries, exaggerate her own importance, or otherwise lean into subjective points of view?

Unreliable narrators need not always be villainous: a high schooler filled with self-loathing might write in his journal with the voice of someone who considers themselves a hero or an underdog. Someone experiencing a crisis of faith might write devotionals that sound half-baked or otherwise weakly felt, despite their insistence otherwise. A time traveler's journal might cross its own path and predict its own future, for example, in the case of the journal of Doctor Who character River Song. A character experiencing memory loss may only be able to communicate how she sees the people around her caring for her, without being able to communicate who they are to her specifically, or being able to honestly communicate similar care for them.

To figure out what to cover in your primary sources, it might help to create two lists: a list of things you need the reader to understand about the character, and a list of things as the character understands them. These may not always come into conflict, but often will: for example, a Death Eater character should be understood by the reader to be a genocidal fascist, but the character might wholly be convinced that they stand on the right side of history, which is a perspective the reader should see coming from the character as well.

If it sounds like this use of a primary source app takes masterful plotting and is a lot of work: you're correct! The primary source app fails when used for reasons of speed or convenience. It is when it is chosen for deliberate artistic messaging that it shines.

If you've decided that a primary source app makes sense for the development of your character, the next step is navigating the writing. It is easy for journal entries to become expository, stilted, and bizarrely formal - to so plainly diverge from the character's voice despite being written in the first person that the app becomes cringeworthy and painful to read. This final section of this tutorial will cover do's and don't for writing your primary source application.

PACING

DON'T feel the need to describe the character's life from birth to present. Remember that journals are written for the writer, which means that background information is already known to the journal's in-character intended audience. Susie isn't going to write to herself to tell herself her age, address, and how her parents met.

DON'T start too young. Important events from childhood can be obliquely mentioned by a teenager or young adult as they relate to more contemporary events, which saves you from writing years of filler and from trying to write years of filler in a child's voice.

DON'T include every detail. Remember: journals are written for the writer. Every time you are about to explain something, ask yourself: did the character already know this, prior to the events of the journal entry? If the character already knew this, do I need to explain further? 

For example: instead of writing, "there is a crawlspace behind the empty china cabinet in the dining room. I read in there all afternoon and pretended it was the land from my favorite book, The Chronicles of Narnia," try: "I read in the crawlspace all afternoon and pretended I was in Narnia." The character knows where the crawlspace is and what her favorite book is.

DO foreshadow. Think of experiences in your own life that had a major impact on you, or that in retrospect began a pattern in your life. When they happened, you may not have recognized the significance, but you recognize that significance now. Lay similar groundwork for discovery in your character's journal, and allow them to slowly come to similar realizations.

VOICE

DON’T write in a child's voice unless you are already comfortable doing so. An application is where you put your best foot forward, and if you aren't yet comfortable writing in a child's voice, it is going to read painfully awkward if you do it now. If you're looking to get comfortable writing in children's voice, I recommend reading a lot of middle grade novels; otherwise, trust me when I say that 9 times out of 10 your attempt to write a kid is going to come off as weirdly Victorian.

DO consider dialogue. How does your character speak, in a thread context? How does that compare to the way their voice sounds inside their head? To the way they put together sentences and tell stories for their own consumption?

DO show a bias. The point of a journal is to honor that character's perspective- which means that their observations should be biased and subjective. If you want to highlight inconsistency or other flaws in a character's logic, the way to do this is by showing those flaws and letting the reader realize them themselves. You should always show rather than tell - but in a first person context, telling becomes particularly egregious.

DO consider audience. A journal's audience is only the character, which means the character might use shorthand or reference things for which the reader lacks context. That's fine. Consider a journal app as writing that starts in media res: in the middle of things. If the material is a letter, consider what a character is willing to tell someone else as well as how they would present that information. Do they admit to wrongdoing or try to save their own skin? Do they acknowledge multiple viewpoints or color a story in their own favor?

When done well, a primary source application can be a compelling look into a character's interior world. it takes work, deliberation, and careful plotting, but the results can be very rewarding! I hope this tutorial helps you in trying this method of application development on for size. Happy writing!

[gascon-en-exil]

Joining the Game Late: S8E6 “The Iron Throne”

Synopsis

Tyrion surveys the damage and finds his siblings, while Jon almost fights Grey Worm over executions. Arya and Jon are in the crowd as Daenerys gives her victory speech and Tyrion gets arrested for throwing away his pin. Tyrion goads Jon into growing a spine; he sort of does. Daenerys lives out her Season 2 vision and expounds upon her philosophy of conquest before Jon stabs her (not like that) and Drogon burns the symbolism...but not Jon for some reason. A tense trial at the Dragonpit, with Edmure still being a dumbass and a bid for democracy from Sam that goes over poorly. The man on trial nominates Bran as the new king which everyone accepts because he monologued a good thesis statement for the show, except Sansa who makes the North independent. For their crimes Tyrion is still Hand, and Jon is sent back to the Night’s Watch. Grey Worm, his antagonism ignored, sails to Naath, while Arya sails west off the map and Brienne finishes Jaime’s entry. The new small council features Sam dropping the book series title, Bronn arguing over the necessity of rebuilding brothels, and Davos completing a very old brick joke. Jon comes home to Tormund, and the two of them and Ghost lead the Free Folk north of the Wall as Sansa and Arya join them via cuts for a Stark ending.

Commentary

There are parts of this ending that I like. I like that the episode concludes with the Starks; uninterested as I generally have been in the family as primary PoV characters, it’s thematically appropriately to close out on the ongoing adventures of Jon, Sansa, and Arya. I like that Jon/Tormund is less of a joke than I was expecting, that Tormund features prominently in Jon’s final scenes and that the show sends them off as a sort of family unit along with Ghost and the remaining Free Folk. I like Brienne’s addition to Jaime’s entry in the book of the Kingsguard, highlighting his heroism while also remaining honest about his final decision...and delicately leaving out the incest, or her own fling with the man for that matter. It’s sterilized, and yet not wholly so, a fitting way to end the story of such a morally complicated figure whose very existence in the narrative seems to hinge on a deconstruction of the knight in shining armor archetype. I like the realization of Dany’s vision at the end of Season 2, a tacit understanding by the showrunners that they (and GRRM advising them) knew they were eventually going to get to that image of the Iron Throne in a ruined Red Keep covered in snow. I like that the show doesn’t belabor the “where are they now” aspect of the epilogue, that not everything is perfect and tidily wrapped up even if most of what isn’t is left unmentioned offscreen. It reminds me very much of most Fire Emblem endings, in the sense that a true happy ending remains elusive and there are always challenges left to face and tales remaining to be told. This isn’t Lord of the Rings, concluding when a fat and allegedly relatable guy named Samwell plops down a book (for the most part not written by him) bearing the title of the work in-universe as if to say that that’s the end of that and everything will sort itself out, nor is it Harry Potter with its treacly epilogue pairing everyone off into neat heterosexual marriages with 2.5 children and middle-class comfort. The story will continue, and you can place bets on how many decades of peace Westeros will have before there’s another continental war and a bunch of these characters get violently offed like the generation before them.

There are parts of this ending that I can abide. I’ve reconciled myself to the indignity of Bronn taking Highgarden by seeing in him a type of character like Thénardier from Les Misérables. Both of them are amoral, avaricious assholes despite occasional entertaining moments, and despite that their stories reward them not only with survival but with wealth and notoriety far beyond what they deserve purely as a demonstration that life is often unfair like that. Perhaps Bronn’s lordship of the setting equivalent of Paris was an explicit nod to that? I don’t mind the council at the Dragonpit laughing outright at Sam’s suggestion - transparent as it was coming from the author’s self-insert - of elective democracy, because much like FE the pseudo-medieval stasis this setting is locked into is not realistically equipped to handle such a revolutionary political shift, much less competently depict it in around half an hour of remaining screentime. I can bear the overt allusions to fascist regimes in Daenerys’s victory speech scene, because if you’re going to pivot her from liberator with worrying violent tendencies to tyrannical conqueror hard enough to make it reasonably justifiable that the show’s two most prominent remaining “good” guys would conspire to assassinate her with only that one scene to do it in you may as well go all out with the shorthand. Drogon not roasting Jon is stupid, but melting the Iron Throne is a great symbolic image: destroying all the ruin and strife it represents, coming full circle with the Targaryen reign over Westeros, and so forth.

And then there’s one part of this ending that’s really hard for me to swallow, particularly as Fire Emblem: Three Houses presents a variation of the same scene with much better execution. As this episode aired only about three months before the release of FE16 the similarities between Daenerys’s death and the final cutscene of Azure Moon can be nothing more than an interesting coincidence, but as you’d be hard-pressed to argue that Edelgard did not take some design cues from Daenerys - and to a lesser extent Dimitri from Jon - during the game’s development it’s a useful coincidence for contrast purposes. I mentioned a few posts ago that most of the uncomfortable elements present in Dany’s death are absent in Edelgard’s; she and Dimitri are not sexually involved at any point, and the game focuses instead on their familial bond even though (ironically) they are not biologically related. Dimitri also kills Edelgard in self-defense, after he reaches out his hand to her and she responds by throwing a dagger at him - which is considerably less awful than Jon leading Daenerys into a kiss just so he can stab her. Three Houses also benefits in that Dimitri is a far better realized character overall than Jon Snow, with a clearly defined arc in Azure Moon, meaningful convictions that place him at odds with Edelgard on both a personal and philosophical level, and even a stronger queer angle - also with a bear belonging to a historically marginalized culture/ethnicity, humorously enough. Jon by contrast feels at this stage mostly formless, with nothing strongly defining him (barring perhaps his affection for the Free Folk, which is what he returns to when everything is said and done) and in fact a repeatedly reference lack of desire to do things. Little wonder then that his decision to kill Daenerys comes more or less entirely because Tyrion told him she was the final boss and had to be taken care of.

Regarding Dany herself...if you’ve been following this liveblog the whole way through you know that I’ve been watching her character since the show began for signs that she’d wind up where she does. Yes, they are there, quite in abundance actually, and where the show stumbles comes of course from how terrible paced the story is by the time it reaches her breaking point. The audience has to make do with some of the most obvious fascist signposting imaginable and a single nonsensical speech to Jon (something else she has in common with Edelgard incidentally, who has many of these) revealing Daenerys to be the egomaniacal conqueror she always was with no subtlety whatsoever because the show has run out of time for subtlety. To this episode’s credit I do appreciate that Grey Worm continues to stick around as a foil and reflection of Daenerys. His rage over Missandei’s death sees him executing captured Lannister soldiers en masse, and he continues to demand justice for Tyrion’s betrayal even though after this point the writers stopped caring about him and shipped him off to Naath for an ending (where I am told there are plague-bearing butterflies? That doesn’t bode well.). In Grey Worm one can see a version of Daenerys’s own anger at all that she has suffered and lost, and how destructive that anger can be - only Grey Worm doesn’t have a dragon that can charbroil a city in minutes. Still, these are mere scraps of characterization to set up such a drastic shift in presentation for one of the show’s two biggest leads, and I can definitely understand why fans were angry about it and probably still are. Even as someone who was expecting this all along and was never personally invested in Daenerys the way I was with some other characters, her death - the centerpiece of this episode, and the lead-in to GoT’s epilogue - was easily the biggest sour note of its finale, less that it happened at all and more how, and probably the single event in the last two-ish seasons that more than any other really needs the book series to flesh it out and develop it into something worthwhile.

I think that’s a wrap. I’ve spent nearly four months on this liveblog and have written far more than I possibly imagined that I would. Maybe sometime in a year or so I’ll return to this series again and just watch it through without taking notes. Perhaps I’m in a minority for believing that GoT would even be worth a rewatch. Eh...if you’ve read all this at least you know why.

[jensengirl83]

What He Lost

Dean x reader

Word count-2564

Warnings-Angst, a little fluff, character death?, mild language, implied smut

Summary- Dean thinks back on memories with the reader. Replaying what brought about the end of their relationship

A/N-Inspired by the song Call Me by Shinedown. No happy ending here today folks. Sorry not sorry lol

Another night that sleep eludes me, memories of you haunting my dreams. What I wouldn’t give to go back to that night, beg you to stay instead of driving you away. You still here with me, sitting at the library table, drinking, laughing. Your laugh, I can still hear it echoing through the bunker when I close my eyes, still see that radiant smile that could bring me to my knees. Your y/h/c tied up in a messy bun, big y/e/c eyes looking into my very soul. I can see you chewing on your bottom lip when you get nervous, the way your tongue would peek out between those pouty lips when you were in deep concentration, the way would scrunch up your nose when I said/done something stupid. Which was quite often come to think of it. Sometimes when the whiskey is flowing heavy through my veins, I still hear your voice. That is the memory that hurts the worst, I think. Not hearing my name pass your lips anymore, whether it was you scolding me, laughing at me, breathlessly whispered as I made love to you.

I shake my head like I can just erase the memories, downing the last of the whiskey in my glass. I wish I could erase you, but then again, I could not make it through another day without being able to see you in my mind. Missing you like this is absolute torture. The cross I must bear for the rest of my life. The last conversation we had driving you away, taking you from not only me, but Sam too. That is another guilt to add to the others. Sam loved you too, not like I do, but you were a sister in his eyes. Now he must live without you because I was a coward.

I run my hand down my face in frustration, feeling tears on my cheeks I did not know I had shed. That is a common occurrence these days. Sammy doesn’t even mention the tears anymore. They are a part of my daily life at this point. I wish everyday I could tell you how much I miss you Y/n. The bunker, the family, this life is not the same without you here. Oh, the memories we made, so many good, but also a few bad. The bad ones, of course, my doing. The day I first kissed you one of the best.

You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner, singing and dancing to the music blaring from your speaker on the counter. I was leaning against the door frame, unable to take my eyes off you. You are so beautiful, in one of my T-shirts you had stolen at some point, pajama shorts giving me a small peek when you moved the right way. I watch as your small but supple body sways to the beat of the music, your voice singing a little off key, but still beautiful.

“You just going to keep staring Winchester?” You ask with that smile I have fallen so hard for.

“If you keep dancing like that, then yes.” I reply with a grin, flirting a little hoping you get the hint. I have been throwing them at you like a major league pitcher lately.

“Well, Dean Winchester, are you flirting with me?” That mock look of disbelief making me laugh.

“What would you say if I was Y/l/n?” Please let this be the moment she finally gets it.

“I would say it is about damn time Dean.” She laughs with her hands on those full round hips. How many times have I imagined grabbing her by them, pulling her body to mine? With out hesitation, I am standing in front of her, my hands on each side of her face. Her skin is so soft, her smell invading my senses, driving me wild. I lean my forehead to hers, a very important question passing my lips.

“Can I please kiss you sweetheart?” I hold my breath waiting on her to answer me. She replies, but not with words, her hands are fisted in my shirt pulling my lips to hers. Her kiss is even more incredible than I ever imagined. Her soft full lips moving with mine like they were made just for me. Our need for air breaking us apart, but not moving an inch away from her.

“That was amazing Y/n.” My pure admiration of this woman I can’t think of anything else to say.

“I know Dean, I am quite amazing, am I not?” The laugh from us both filling the kitchen.

The memory bittersweet, causing more tears and heartache, but flooding me with the love I still have for you. Poor Sammy has tried to get me to move on, Cas too, but I will never be able to get past you. You came in my life like a twister, turning everything upside down, but in the most fabulous way. There was never and will never be another woman in my life that can compare to you. Sweet and sassy, but bold and daring. Loving and caring, but also hard and dangerous. You were a force to be reckoned with for sure, but that is why I fell in love with you. I remember when I first told you I loved you. That was a great day.

“Good morning beautiful.” Looking over to you, your hair splayed across the pillow, you are an absolute vision.

“Morning handsome. Now let me go back to sleep.” I laugh wrapping my arms around you to keep you from rolling away. A morning person you are not.

“Don’t think sweetheart.” You huff at me but with a smile on your face.

“But Deeaannn. It’s my birthday. Shouldn’t I get to sleep in?” The way you drag out my name would annoy me if it was anyone other than you. You, it drives me crazy.

“Don’t you want your gifts?” I smirk knowing that will get your attention.

“Gifts? I only seen the one wrapped on the dresser.” You are so damn cute when you are confused.

“Yeah sweetheart. I couldn’t wrap the second one.” I raise one eyebrow hoping you will catch on.

“Hmmm I think I’ll pass.” I know I must look like a kicked puppy; you are laughing none the less. I really thought that would work.

“C’mere…” You have your hands in the hair at the nape of my neck, scratching lightly, making me moan into your shoulder. I kiss your neck slowly moving up to the sensitive spot behind your ear, nibbling and licking making you arch your back in pleasure. No woman has ever turned me on like you do. Every breath, every touch, every kiss, making me insane with lust.

“Dean..” Your voice just a whisper of breath. I would keep you here in this bed forever just to hear my name fall from your lips that way. I have never been one for the mushy chick flick moments in the bedroom, but with you, I live for them. We lay like this for what seems like an eternity, kissing, touching, sweet whispers of affection. I look into your soft y/e/c eyes and realize, you are my world, my everything. The words leave me before I can stop them.

“I love you Y/n.” I will never be able to forget the look of adoration on your face. Like I am your world, your everything too.

“I love you Dean.” Your hand cups my cheek and I can’t help but to lean into your touch. Ours lips meeting in of the most passionate and needful kissed we have ever shared. The way we made love that morning, like we were the only two people on Earth.

I have never tried harder to be the man you deserved than I did after that day. Swearing to you that I would change my ways. God knows I tried, doing anything and everything to show you that I was a different man. I was in many ways. I no longer had an eye for a woman that was not you, the need for whiskey to make it through the day, diminishing greatly. It was like I could see the world through new eyes, ones that knew what happiness was, what true love felt like. That was until that day, the one that was the beginning to our end. The hunt had been a bad one. I remember it clearly. You had gotten hurt trying to back us up. Which was no one’s fault, but I just could not get the picture of lying there dead out of head. The what ifs getting the best of me.

“What the hell were you thinking Y/n? Do you have a death wish?” My temper out of control, I knew it was, but there was no reigning it in.

“No Dean! I was doing my job. You know, killing monsters!” We had our arguments, but I already knew this one was going to be the worst.

“Well how about next time you kill them without almost getting yourself killed too!”  I knew you were angry now. Your cheeks flushed red, nostrils flaring, clenching your jaw.

“You know what Winchester? How about you do not tell me how to do my job! I was hunting before I ever met you!” You were a great hunter, rivaling both myself and Sammy. Before I fell in love with you, I would have been bragging how you handled yourself today. That was before my heart is now tied to yours. The thought of losing you making me insane with fear, making me say things I know I shouldn’t.

“Yeah? I’m surprised you were even alive for me to meet you then sweetheart.” Sweetheart, the term I used with love for you, but today it was laced with venom. The derogatory way the word left my lips visibly making you flinch, putting a crack in my heart. At this point I just want you to tell me it’s over. I don’t want you to hurt, but that doesn’t stop me from continuing to break your heart.

“Dean….” Sam, always trying to fix my messes. My fear of losing the people I love has done me in this time. Deep down I know I am pushing her away, but the anxiety from the hunt spurring me on.

“No Sam! She was reckless. No care about what could have happened. I can’t hunt with someone like that!” Oh shit, I really put my foot in my mouth this time.

“Really Dean? Then you can find someone else to help you and Sam. I will not hunt with you again!” I can see her trembling, her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. I have went this far, why not put the final nail in the coffin.

“Fine, do me one better and just be on your way. I don’t need you anyway.” The audible gasp from her and Sammy was deafening. I had gone too far but there was no going back now.

“You don’t need me?” The pain and heartbreak in her voice, the tears now spilling down her cheeks.

“Not if that is how you are going to act Y/n.” They are both staring at me like I am a stranger. At this point I am, even to myself.

“You are evil Dean Winchester!”

“Call me a sinner, a saint, your favorite, the worst, whatever makes you feel better.” I don’t even recognize my own voice, so much disdain and bitterness being spoken to the woman who I love so much.

She turns without a word heading down the hallway. I am motionless, still standing there stoic, my dumb pride keeping me from going after her, dropping to my knees and begging her to forgive me. Sammy is beside me, looking at me with shame and disappointment clear on his features. That hurts almost as bad as the pain on Y/n’s face.

“What have you done Dean? Are you really going to let one bad hunt get to you? I can’t look at you right now. You just broke her Dean, you know that, right?” I do not utter a word, too ashamed of myself, how I acted.

“I’m going out. Let me know when she is gone.” With those words I am on my way to the garage. Needing to get out of here before I break. The last thing I want is for to leave, but after what I said to her, I can’t bring myself to stop her. She will be better off with out me.

I have been at the bar for who knows how long at this point. My mind going back over our fight. The regret swallowing me whole. I should have stayed at the bunker and stopped her, instead of running away. Dean Winchester, the ultimate runaway. Never staying to face my problems but running and trying to drown them in cheap whiskey. My shame is keeping me from calling her, but maybe she will call me, yeah, she will call me. Like she read my mind, my phone rings, her picture flashing across the screen.

“Oh god sweetheart I’m so glad you called.”

“Dean Winchester?” It isn’t Y/n on the phone. The instant feeling of dread filling my body

Standing up harshly, my chair crashing to the ground behind me, I grab my jacket and keys. I have to go see her, the memories finally too much. I make my way to the garage and jump In Baby, sticking the key in the ignition and putting it in drive as soon as the engine starts. I am on the road going straight to her. I know this is going to hurt but I need to talk to her. Tell her again how much I love her and miss her.

I pull up and turn off the car, slowly opening the door, knowing the pain that is coming, but needing to do this. I walk up the path, looking at all the different flowers. You always like bright and colorful flowers of all kinds. I should have brought you some, but being in a hurry to see you, it didn’t cross my mind. I sit down in the grass, slowly lifting my head to look at your tombstone. The biggest reminder of the deadly mistake I made. You had been crying when you left and had lost control at some point. The last phone call from your phone being from the officer to inform me you hadn’t made it.

“Hi baby, sorry it’s been awhile. This is just so hard. I love and miss you sweetheart, so much. You are still the first thought when I wake up and the last thing I see as I go to sleep. I am so sorry that your last thought was that I didn’t need you. I’ll always keep you inside my heart and mind. You healed my heart and my life by just being in it. Cas told me that he came to see you in heaven and that you forgive me. Now if I can just forgive myself. Anyway, please know that I love you Y/n, always have, always will.”

I reach to run my fingers over the picture I had placed on her tombstone. Her beautiful smile, forever reminding me of what I lost.

 Tags: @flamencodiva​ @sorenmarie87​ @foxyjwls007​ @waywardbeanie​ @emoryhemsworth​ @voltage-my2dlove​

[nosferatyou]

New Tune: Part 1 (Jake Kiszka x Reader)

Summary: Two guitarists meet at a Rock Festival, only having a week with each other before they have to return to their own lives. The bond they create is unfeigned and resolute. 

 WC: 1.7k

Warnings: Cursing and drinking

Hello! This is the first series i’ve done in years! And i’m honestly really excited about it. The title is cheesy and probably wont make sense till the last chapter, but its a heartfelt story. I know its a short first chapter but we are just getting started. I really hope you guys like it! 

The rush of performing is worryingly amazing. Just playing for hundreds of people who all share the love of music harmoniously together in one room is even something magical in itself. But playing the music that joins us together? Its indescribable, and its why I fucking love my job. I get to do that almost every night for hundreds of different people. The thing I love most is just being able to jam onstage with my best friends, and creating music with them. Most of our songs are created through our live shows, and it’s all 100% us in every performance. Not what our managers think will make the most money or sell out the most shows, but it’s exactly what we want to create. Fucking Rock and Roll.

Which is what we are doing now, at some random festival in California just trying to play some fucking music. We were lucky enough to get on the roster at all, first of all our name isn't too well known yet and we play a bit heavier than the people on the setlist as is. It's  all of course Rock, but there is a fair share of indie and folk thrown in for good measure. 

We more play psychedelic rock? I guess that’s the way you could describe it, lots of fuzz, delay effects, and weird ass lyrics that could make Jim Morrison say “What the fuck?” Luckily our manager was friends with the event coordinator and squeezed our name in last minute. I honestly don’t think we are even on the Lineup. 

“Hey fuckface! Come help me with this keg!” Screamed the Lead Vocalist to our band, but also my best friend, Matt. 

I looked up from my phone to see the exasperated boy doing his best to get it up the stairs of the tour bus, but failing miserably. I get up from my spot to attempt to help move the heavy keg from the base of the stairs. 

“A keg? What are we in high school? I mean yes, we could very easily drink our way through this, but wouldn’t cases of beer just be easier?” I asked, also struggling to get it up the stairs” 

“I mean… Where's the fun… In that?” He said, pausing in between his words to lift the heavy thing. 

We finally got it to the top, both letting out a whoosh of air before going to fall back on the couches in exhaustion. We sat in silence, settling with the fact that we were both extremely out of shape despite doing countless shows. WHich honestly in itself is a huge work out. 

“Alright! Up we go, it’s up here so let’s get this party started before we die of exhaustion.”

Matt hopped up quicker than expected and grabbed the valve for the keg off the counter.

“Now that. Is a fantastic idea.” He pushed a filled cup and then filled his own. We clinked our drinks and threw them back, both easily swallowing it all. 

“Let's get absolutely fucked.” Matt said, emphasizing the word fucked. "Wait..." I half questioned. "If our thing is drinking outside, then why are we putting the keg in here?" 

He gave me a blank stare and then dropped his head in shame. 

"Fuck." 

Jakes POV

“Jake I swear to god if you don’t walk faster I'm going to steal that guitar of yours and add my own special touch to it.” 

“Well calm down and slow your pace, and then I'll catch up. And Honestly josh, I don't even want to think of what you'd do to my girl.” 

Josh suddenly slowed down and got right into my space, and then very animatedly started to explain how he would decorate her. 

“I'm sure you remember that one very fun tambourine I had at that one show. You know, the one with all the tassels.”

“Mhm, That one tambourine from that one show.” I absentmindedly replied, not really paying attention to his whole show.

 More taking in all the surroundings of all the buses around us, housing all the artists playing throughout the week. Josh and I have a habit of doing this at every festival we’ve been too, which wasn't much, but it was enough to create the tradition. These were always fun to go to, meet different musicians and wind down for a week. Festivals were always fun simply because we could take a real break. We tend to get a bit overrun with tour dates because of management, but here we play once or twice, and spent the rest of the week doing press or enjoying ourselves. We all honestly looked forward to it. 

Josh suddenly stopped talking about his favorite tambourines and said, “What was that?” 

We wandered around with a bit more direction lightly following the voices that bounced off of all the buses.

I stopped to listen and heard two people very aggressively discussing what seemed to be Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughn. As we kept walking, we started to hear them more clearly. 

The girl yelling “Honestly Matt, If you tell me right now, that your prefer Stevie over Jimi I’m fucking leaving this band.” 

“Y/N, I prefer Stevie.”

After that the man, presumably Matt, said that all hell had broken loose and swears and counter arguments were thrown left and right. 

Josh seemed very interested in the whole scene and did his best to follow the voices so he could find the source. I was honestly pretty interested myself. 

We finally rounded a corner to find two, seemingly, very drunk people intensely arguing while still half laying down in the lawn chairs they had set out in front of their bus. A keg sat between them, and a stack of red solo cups on top. Nothing but a lantern and the moon keeping them alight.

“Sure, we all love Stevie, he’s a chill dude. But Jimi? He ascended. He fucking made music. He created most of what Stevie played. I honest to god, Matt, will physically fight you.” 

The girl caught my eye when we rounded the corner, and very aggressively pointed at me. 

“You, long haired pretty boy in the Chelsea boots. Come here.” 

I looked over at josh and we seemed more than happy to see what this random stranger had up her sleeve. He kind of pushed my shoulder forward so we could make our way over to them. I had no idea what to expect. 

She sat up in her chair and Matt stayed unmoving, still half laying in his chair. 

“Which is better? And there is a right and wrong answer. Stevie Ray Vaughn or Jimi Hendrix.” She glared at the Matt when she said Jimi's name, he seemed unbothered. 

“I mean Jimi is the obvious here, any guitarist would agree.”

“Ha! Fuck you Matt Im right, its just factually true. Suck. My. Dick.”

“Well he’s one random guy that doesn't answer the whole mystery.” Matt slurred.

Josh quickly butted into the conversation, which isn't new. 

“Well if my opinion has any weight than I vote for Jimi, but speaking of strangers. Im Josh, and this here is my twin, Jakey”

“Its Jake.” 

The mood quickly changed and a smile appeared on the girls face. She held out her hand and gave a quick but firm handshake, introducing herself.

“The name is Y/N, and this Ignorant bastard is named Matt.”

She reached over to the keg in between them and refilled her cup, then poured two more for Josh and I. 

“For my two new friends.” She smiled, handing the cups to us. We happily accepted, and Josh made his way to sit on the ground in front of them, I quickly followed.

“Alright boys, Name your band and then instruments, seeing as were here and all.” She said gesturing to the place.

 Josh quickly spoke first “Well we are two halves of Greta Van Fleet, and I sometimes play vocals, occasional screams, but mostly tambourines.” He joked.

Y/N snorted at Josh's introduction. 

“And you?” she asked directing her attention to me. 

“As Josh said, two halves of our band Greta Van Fleet, And I play Lead Guitar.”

Her eyes seemed to light up at that comment and quickly responded with a smile.

“ Isn't that a coincidence, so do I,” 

As the night went on the booze flowed more, and so did the conversation. We all quickly learned we had a lot in common, and got along pretty damn well. Matt wasn't very present, because, well, he passed out moments after we got there. But as the night went on, the more we all truly felt comfortable with each other. It was simply one of those times in your life when you meet someone you truly feel akin too. Maybe it was because we were all drunk, or maybe it was a fluke. Her love for music dripped off of every word she spoke, she just gave off positivity and confidence, and her passion for life and work truly shined through. She consistently listened to us throughout the night, less worried about discussing her personal life. She seemed genuinely interested in every little thing Josh and I had to say.

It felt like we were there for all of five minutes, but before we knew it, it was 4 am. By that point so much random shit was coming out of our mouths that it wasn't coherent. Eventually Josh and I helped her round Matt onto the bus and said our quick goodbyes before we left. 

As we walked back, Josh's already never ending smile seemed brighter, seeming touched the domestic events of the night. 

“I really like her, Jakey.” 

A smile was growing on my face as well, though ever so slightly more subtle.

“I did too, Josh.” 

We eventually stumbled our way back onto our own bus, not bothering to change before hopping into our bunks.  It would've been pitch black if it weren't for the dim blue lights under the seats. In the bunks next to ours were Danny and Sam, sleeping pretty soundly in their own. Lucky for us they can sleep through anything. Especially Sam.

I heard a loud thump, looking over to see josh sitting on his ass and looking more grumpy.

“Fuckin bunks are so high up. I swear to god…”

He eventually got up, mumbling to himself angrily before eventually climbing up and falling asleep.

I laid restless in my own, sleep seeming unlikely for the night. My mind could only focus on the enigma that was the girl we had the pleasure of meeting. So I just laid in my bunk, staring at the low ceiling, mind unfocused on anything except what just happened.

Chapter 2

[spnjediavenger]

Chapter 15: Insurance

Chapter 15: Insurance

Disclaimers: i do not own supernatural or any of its characters, nor do i own jenny; i only own elliana and anaya

@sarimaposthumous helped write some dialogue between ellie and lucifer and also the ‘flashback’ at the high priestess. And also proofread. Thanks babe <3

Time frame: Season 11-12

Warnings: angst; TRIGGER WARNINGS: brief implied sexual assault in recap, implied suicide attempt at very end (last few paragraphs) with blood mentioned

Notes: glad to be back in the swing of writing again. It took me awhile to get into this chapter and was only able to write a couple paragraphs at a time so it might suck but here it is anyway!

Please leave comments! Thank you for reading! <3

THEN

“Sam, Dean. Good to see you again. And who’s this with you? New travel buddy? I’m Lucifer, though I’m assuming you already knew that,” the devil said, talking directly to Elliana now. “What’s your name?”

“Go to hell,” Ellie said coldly.

“Oh, I just got out of there, sweetheart,” he easily countered.

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she spat, taking a challenging step forward. Sam and Dean pulled her back, causing Lucifer to smirk.

“I like her,” he said to the boys. “Feisty.”

“Lucifer,” Ellie said a bit distastefully, though her heart dropped to her stomach. “What do you want?” she snapped.

“Now now,” Lucifer tisked. “Damon, here, wanted to just kill you. But I had him bring you here instead. So you should really be thanking me,” Lucifer said, nodding as he continued. “I thought we could chat a bit – get to know each other.”

Lucifer put his hand on top of Elliana’s head, grasping it.

Ellie blacked out for a second before a mixture of images and feelings flashed across her mind. Her parents lying dead on the ground; falling to her knees, scared, and awaiting her death; Running fearfully from a demon; starving on the side of the road with no money left to afford a place to sleep; and-

Ooooh, what’s this? Lucifer’s voice practically purred in her mind - and Ellie could hear the smirk in it. Let’s play with this a little.

“You’re too weak. You’re powerless. There’s nothing you can do to stop me,” the vamp smirked. He fed off her until she passed out.

The rest of that day was filled with feelings of fear, powerlessness, and struggling. Her body being overtaken by his. Whatever innocence she had left from her last run in with him being stolen from her.

“All I know is that damn demon that killed her folks somehow found and possessed her, poofed her to Ohio, and dropped her off with Lucifer. He messed with her head then my contact found her. Crowley said she hasn’t said a thing since. Just been up in her room, huddled in the corner, terrified. My contact doesn’t know what Lucifer did or made her see - but she said Ellie won’t even let anyone touch her.”

NOW

Pain. That was the first sensation Elliana felt. She didn’t quite wake up; she didn’t breathe first. There was just pain. And she couldn’t tell which was worse - the physical pain, or the emotional pain.

Ellie had been writing in her journal when Garth came upstairs. “Hey Ells, I hate to pull you away before dinner but do you think you could make a quick diaper run? Jim had to go out and I was gonna help Bess feed the pup,” he asked. Elliana was more than glad to go out. It was good timing, too, since Anaya was due for a walk.

On their way, Castiel had appeared looking worked up. As soon as Cas had appeared, Anaya turned around and pricked her ears up apprehensively.

“Cas? What are you doing here?” Ellie asked cautiously, wondering why the angel would come to her since she was on hiatus from hunting; and even more so without calling or texting her first.

“Sam and Dean are in trouble and require your assistance immediately. If we had another option we would take it but you are the only one available.”

Once Cas spoke, Anaya quickly stepped in front of Ellie and lowered her ears and growled lowly at the angel.

“Anaya, what’s wrong with you?” Ellie asked, thoroughly confused. “It’s Cas!” she said, extending an arm towards him. Anaya took a challenging step forward and bared her teeth, snarling now. Elliana took these cues and pulled her angel blade out of her jacket, gripping it in an offensive position towards ‘Cas’.

“Who are you?” Ellie challenged.

“I know I’m in a different suit and all, but you still don’t know me?” the imposter said with a smirk. Their irises flashed a bright red and Anaya wasted no more time in lunging forward at Lucifer.

“ANAYA, NO!!!” Ellie screamed, trying to grab the dog’s collar. It was unsuccessful.

Lucifer flicked his wrist and it was done.

Anger, sadness, depression, fury, confusion; every emotion flashed through Ellie suddenly and all at once, sending her flying at Lucifer, angel blade pulled back to stab him in the chest but instead was met with two fingers to her forehead that sent her into a deep rest.

“Wake up, Ells!” a loud voice sneered, sending a splitting headache through Elliana’s skull. She squeezed her already closed eyes, now wet with tears, and turned her face into the floor; she now realized she was laying on a cold cement floor. A foot pushed her onto her side and she groaned, planting a hand on the floor to ground herself.

Cas- Lucifer paced idly around Ellie with a smirk as she roused, taking pleasure in her contorted face and bruised body.

“Have a nice nap?” he quipped, smirking still.

Elliana, face still turned into the pavement, said to him in a cracking voice, “You killed my dog. You killed Anaya.” She took a pause to let out a silent sob. “Why did you come for me? I’m not even hunting right now.” The girl now pushed herself up begrudgingly, every limb sore, and sat up against the wall behind her. “And I’m warded,” she continued. “How did you find me?”

Lucifer chuckled a bit, as if it was a silly question. “Jenny led me to you, of course,” he said. Ellie still was unnerved with Lucifer in Cas’ vessel; speaking in his voice.

The girl scoffed a bit, eyes still closed. “Yeah, right. Why the hell would Jenny do that to me? Especially when she was the one to get you away from me in the beginning.”

Cas-Lucifer gave the girl a smug look. “Oh, she never told you? That was all just a show. Jenny and I have quite the romance going on,” he smirked again (which Elliana was quite frankly getting sick of).

Ellie finally opened her eyes to squint at Ca- Lucifer. “Why would Jenny be with someone like you?” she spat. “The one that tortured me? She’s like a sister to me, and I’m one to her. And she was the one to help me get Sam back so you weren’t let out of the cage again.”

“Ohhh that little trip. Did you like her little nickname for me?” he said, ignoring her common sense.

Jenny scoffed at Crowley. “Do you really expect us to believe you want the Winchesters back in action? I’m sure business has been booming since they shoved Luci back in the cage and Dean hooked up with Lisa.”

“That whole trip was a pretty good coverup, minus the nickname slipup. That little ‘favor’ she owed me for letting you go? She had to get me out of the cage. But it turned out not to even be an issue for Jenny; she wanted me out,” C-Lucifer explained, still pacing in front of Ellie.

“No...no,” Elliana said, slowly shaking her head. “I don’t believe you. Jenny would never do that to me,” she continued, though her voice shook with emotion. She couldn’t help but think about what Lucifer was saying. Every cell in her body reminded her that he was the father of lies. He was just trying to beat her down. But how else would he have been able to find me? She thought. The guys don’t know where Garth’s place is and I turned the tracker on my phone off. And I’m warded so Cas/Lucifer wouldn’t be able to find me...and Jenny does keep tabs on a lot of hunters…

C-Lucifer smirked deeper, sensing the uncertainty in her. “Let’s go back in time then.” He approached her and lifted a hand towards her head, making her push herself further into the wall. “Don’t worry,” he soothed. “We’re not going to your past,” he continued, kneeling down and putting a hand on her head. “We’re going to mine.”

The two end up in The High Priestess to see Jenny on her laptop at the bar. Lucifer is standing next to Ellie with his arms crossed. Lucifer, who looks like Nick again says, “I took the liberty of changing into Nick for this little show-and-tell as opposed to your little winged friend.”

Ellie turned to see Castiel enter the bar and Jenny looked up at him, slightly taken aback by this handsome stranger. “Welcome,” she says. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just a whole lot of you,” Cas winks, his eyes turning red before blinking them back to normal.

“Lucifer!” Jenny exclaimed before leaving the bar and pulling him into a hug. He grabbed her face and pulled her into a kiss. Next to Ellie, Lucifer snapped his fingers and she saw the Castiel next to Jenny transform into “Nick.” Ellie looked at Lucifer who shrugged.

“Sorry, I couldn’t bear to see that goody two shoes angel all over my girl,“ he emphasized to Ellie to try to prove his point.

“You’re finally out of the cage!” Jenny exclaimed but took a step back to look him over. “But why do you look like this?”

“I just had to ride this vessel out to get out of there as fast as I could; I couldn’t wait to see you, babe. Not that you did much to help seeing as I was in there long enough. It seems like you didn’t even try to free me.” He stepped towards her almost menacingly, pulling a fake pout.

Jenny bit her lip and her shoulders slumped. “I’ll admit, I gave a half-hearted attempt to try to free you, but Ellie got me to try and help her free Sam and it was hard to do both without her knowing….” Jenny crossed her arms, looking at Lucifer who almost looked dejected. “And after you tormented her, how could I turn around and be with you again?  I was just so torn.”

Lucifer pulled Jenny’s arms around him and held her. “So, you’re saying that without Ellie, we could be together? No uncertainties?”

Jenny slightly pulled back to look up at him, “Honestly, yeah. She’s a reckless girl who can barely keep it together to hunt properly. I’m always stuck worrying about her and yet again I am sacrificing my happiness for her,” Jenny sighed and put her forehead to his chest.

He brushed his fingers through her hair. “Don’t worry Jenny. I’ll take care of that brat for you.”

“You will?” Her question was muffled by his chest.

“Of course. Anything for you, babe.”

The Lucifer next to Ellie snapped his fingers and they were transported to Jenny’s room. They could see the two of them kissing and Ellie could tell where this was going.

“Enough!” Ellie barked, turning her head away. Lucifer was leaning against the wall watching the scene intently.

“Oh come on, this is the best part.” Ellie turns around, grabbing her hair in her hands. Lucifer sighed and said, “Ugh fine. Prude,” and snaps his fingers, taking them back to reality.

“Do you believe me now?” Ca-Lucifer asked. “She knows how much I hurt you but she still wanted to be with me. I almost hate to say this but her relationship with me seems to outweigh your safety and friendship. Guess she wasn’t who you thought she was after all. Which is all the better for me.”

Elliana closed her eyes again so Ca-Lucifer. It’s Lucifer! she had to remind herself. She closed her eyes again so Lucifer wouldn’t see the tears building up. She didn’t want to believe what she saw but...for some reason she did. And it broke her heart.

“So why haven’t you killed me already?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“What’s the fun in that?” Lucifer asked, acting shocked at the question. “Besides, I need to have something over the Winchesters when this whole battle-against-the-darkness thing is over. Don’t worry, I’ll check back regularly,” he fake-assured her. “If I can’t, I’ll have Damon do it,” he continued, his smirk reappearing. “But first, let me just take a little picture to show them...there we go.”

Then, he snapped his fingers and vanished; leaving Ellie with only her mind. And that was just about as bad as being stuck with Lucifer.

Sam and Dean were in the library of the bunker, reading through lore to try and find anything and everything on the Darkness. Sure, they had Lucifer’s eventual help, but they still needed a game plan. Both boys’ phones buzzed at the same time, Sam’s once - indicating a message, and Dean’s ongoing - Garth was calling.

Sam opened the message, seeing it was from Cas, and saw it had a picture attached but was taking time to download.

Dean picked up the phone and Sam glanced up at him when Dean greeted him.

“Woah, Garth - slow down, man. Ga-Garth! Calm down! Now, slowly tell me what’s going on,” he commanded, initially unphased by the lanky hunter fumbling over his words.

As Garth began explaining things to Dean, Sam glanced down at his phone again to see the picture from Cas had finished downloading. His heart dropped to his stomach when he pulled it up.

“Dean-”

“Sam-”

The brothers spoke over each other, frightened looks on their faces and they looked back at one another. Sam held his phone up for Dean to show him the picture. Before either of them could utter another word, the bunker’s door opened and slammed shut again. Cas sauntered down the iron stairs, his posture in itself an indicator to the boys that Cas was not the one driving at the moment.

The boys abruptly stood up, each pulling out their angel blade, and faced Lucifer.

“Now, now, boys, do anything with those little sticks in your hands and you kill your angel buddy. I don’t think you want that, do you?” he taunted.

“What did you do with Ellie?!” Sam and Dean yelled simultaneously.

“She’s safe. For now,” Lucifer said, crossing his arms with a smirk.

“What do you want?!” Dean asked, still wielding his angel blade. He knew it wouldn’t do a thing against Lucifer but he had to have some kind of defense.

“Elliana is...insurance,” he said. “I just want to be sure when this whole mess is over you don't do anything to send me back to the cage. I won’t do anything to her if you leave me be.”

Sam straightened up, still clutching his angel blade. “Yeah? And how do we know you won’t hurt her anyway?” he asked, not believing a thing Lucifer said.

“You don’t,” he answered right away. “But do you really want to take that chance?”

“Cas, come on; help us out, man,” Dean begged, voice still rough.

“Oh I’m sorry, Cas isn’t available at the moment - would you like to leave a message?” Lucifer said smugly, fully enjoying this game.

The brothers stood down, giving each other woeful glances. For now, there was nothing they could do.

Back in the cement cell, Elliana paced rapidly, running her hands through her hair.

This can’t be happening, she thought. I finally got away from it all. I was healing through therapy, I had a family life with Garth and his family, I was going to earn my degree soon. I was away from hunting.

Then her thoughts began to get darker, realizing what she was bound to be in for. Torture, extended solitary confinement, more traumatic memories connected with Lucifer and Damon.

No, Ellie thought once more. I can’t do this again.

Frantically looking around the room again, having already looked for ways out, her eyes stopped at the small mirror hung on the wall. Her heart clenched at the thoughts crossing her mind but her fear won control and she threw her fist at the mirror, shattering it into pieces. She took a moment to look at her broken reflection on the floor before picking up a piece of glass. The last thing she remembered was the warmth of the blood running from her throat and the fluttering of wings.

Chapter 16 ->