#even though i do find the people i work with dumb..... its the principle of the matter.

[balladofthelamb]

im honestly tired of the male attention at work, and i know its literally because my hairs been getting longer, and this frustrates me because while i do love having short hair the most, i actually feel really confident styling with the length i have now and i like having the back of my neck be warm.... and i like being able to dress more masculine but still have a couple more "feminine" attributes, it suits my genderfluidity the most. but then i feel conflicted with my butchness, especially with the type of attention i get from guys, even though i know that attention isnt my fault and i cant control how people perceive certain facets of mine. and in a way, it honestly makes me feel like no one really values my butchness or masculinity. i wish people weren't more kind to me depending on how feminine they perceive me to be. anyways, all this to say, my coworker made some comment, and then explained it to me saying it wasnt a joke, and i was like "no yeah i got it." and he was like "sorry, sometimes i over explain things to the other people here but i think it goes without saying that youre a cut above the rest when it comes to intellect"....... and then he had the gall to try and get me to agree with him........ i really hate guys like this that try and express how they value you by putting others down. UGH!

[mel-13-29]

-She's 'into' me?-

paring - Wednesday addams x fem!reader

summary - y/n attends nevermore for the first time and meets someone named wednesday. enid confronts y/n and tells her about there mutual pining.

warnings - mutual pining - fluff - i think that's all if you find anymore please tell me i'll update!

1619 words its the first time i've wrote that much ——————— Fuck.

That was the only thing going through my mind the whole way to nevermore academy. the mear name makes me shiver.

The crazy school. yes. I heard rumors that there was a girl who almost killed someone. 

yeah sure. I punched someone in the face. but he deserved it. I saw him pushing a girl in a locker. and yeah I guess I should've just minded my business. but I'm a gentlewoman. I just had to punch him and I would do it again. 

and again. 

   and again. 

       and agai- 

But whatever it is what it is if I wasn't being sent to a fucking juvie for phycos now my parents are driving me there in their 6-year-old car I don't even know how it is still working. 

"Why am I even going to nevermore I only punched him and he deserved it," I say trying to change their mind I know they would still take me there but I had to put up a fight that dumb principles son what's his name oh right Jack.

"Cause you punched him!" my dad argues.

"That doesn't mean I have to change schools! it's the principal's son he probably told his dad."

"Enough of this young lady, you are going to nevermore, and you are going to love it there." my mom says closing the argument.

After that, I shut up being silent the whole way to Nevermore. 

And now I'm here in front of the gates of Nevermore. I feel crazy. I know if someone else did punch someone. they would just get detention but this was the principles son. a bastard among basterds he thinks he's the king of the school just because his dad is the principal? 'there are always people like that in the world all you have to do is prove them wrong' my grandma once said so I'll trust her, once I get out of this school. I will get back at Jack. 

I take my bags and hug my mom and dad then I say goodbye. the bags were kinda hevy but I think I'm strong enoph to cary them. I walk up the stairs. finally reaching my dormroom I had to put my bags down to open the door and I saw two people in my dorm. I thought I was in the wrong one until someone said. 

"Oh! you must be the new girl." a girl says standing up on her two feet. 

"Hi." I say awkwardly the other girl says 'awkward' in the background but I don't hear her all I was looking at was the plain room. that consisted of a plain twin bed, a normal bedside table, and nothing else honestly I expected worse. 

I put my bags down and the other girl leaves the girl said 'bye Yoko' so I assumed her name is Yoko. cute name for someone who looks like a real-life human zombie if it had not green skin. 

"The one who just left is Yoko she's you're roommate I'm just staying here Yoko's bed is very comfy so much better than mine," The girl says sitting back on the bed facing me.

"My name is Y/n what's yours?" I say asking her name and sitting down on the bed too. I can't just keep calling her 'girl' for the rest of the school year.

"Enid" enid says then akuward silece again

"Well, I have to go now," I say trying to get out of the awkward situation even though I don't even know how the school works I don't even know what to do after I get out of the room.

"But why you just got here I wanna get to know you!" Enid says standing up "Wait your new right? I can give you a tour?" Enid offers. I say yes. and now were walking down the halls of nevermore academy.

I never thought I'd be walking in the hallway of nevermore academy I thought if I was good enough. they wouldn't send me to detention or suspend me at all. 

for that matter, I just lived my life in silence. always letting the other kids take the spotlight. I just stayed hidden some people don't even know my name. it's dumb. but I loved it. I loved being the school mystery.

Of course, I never told my parents they would urge me to 'make friends' but those 'friends' always stay away from me for some reason. 

"Earth to y/n!" Enid says into my ear waving her hand in my face. crap. I was spaced out.

"What were you thinking about silly?" Enid questions. "I wasn't thinking about anything," I say quickly, trying to avoid the question then Enid opens her hands as if she was pointing at, the lunch room I supposed.

"This is the quad," Enid says introducing me to a place with lunch tables and people in black and blue outfits "Come on I'll introduce you to some of my friends," Enid says walking towards a guy.

"Y/n this is Ajax, ajax y/n," Enid says introducing me to a boy named Ajax I smile trying to look decently good for someone I just met.

"I'm Ajax," the boy says and reaches his hand out for me to shake. I shake his hand and then let go. 

"welp bye, Ajax I gotta introduce y/n to Wednesday!" Enid says, grabbing my hand and guiding me to wednesday.

"Who's wednesday?" I ask, wondering who the person was. 

"Wednesday my roomie," Enid says runing to a girl with an all-black attire she looked really pretty.

"Wednesday!" Enid shouts to get the girls' attention.

"Enid what are you doing here I thought you were with Yoko," wednesday says dully.

"Oh yeah but I wanted to give the new girl a tour around the place ya know so she doesn't get lost," Enid says excitedly to introduce me to her friend.

Wednesday looks at me with her black eyes like she was examining me for some reason it didn't feel odd I kinda got shy and looked down at my shoes until Enid put her hand on my shoulder I look up and see wednesday again it was not visible but I'm blushing

"y/n this is wednesday, wednesday this is Y/n," Enid says and I reach my hand out for wednesday to shake it was just an excuse to hold her hand but she only nodded I pull my hand away a little sad I didn't get to touch her hand

I wave my hand awkwardly not knowing what to do I mean she was just staring at me what am I supposed to do? 

"Well I'll leave you two alone I kinda have to do something," Enid says seeing the tension in the air I almost tell her to stay like she is the only one that can break the tension 

Wednesday walks away and I go after her now knowing what to do "So where are you going?" I ask and she turns her head slightly to look at me not blinking "I'm going to class why are you following me" she says I don't know why I'm following her I should stop I'm probably making her unconftrorbal 

I stop in my tracks and say "Ye-yeah I should go I have um ms. thornhill ill just ask someone else to show me her class" Wednesday hears this and grabs my hand before I could walk one step 

"That's also my class," she says dragging me through the hallways I was surprised but relaxed in her cold hands I'm holding her hand I'm holding her hand I'm holding her hand I'm holding her han- before I could think any further we reach a door I assume Miss. Thornhills class

"So this is miss. Thornhill's class?" I say a little disappointed when wednesday dropped my hand 

She doesn't answer and sits down on one of the chairs I sit next to her not knowing anyone in the class she glares at me but I look at the teacher focusing on the lesson

*Time skip*

It is now lunch and I look around for Enid or wednesday she walked out the door right when the lesson ended and I have to confront Enid for leaving me in that awkward situation 

I feel someone tap my shoulder and I look behind me seeing Wednesday and Enid hiding behind a pillar in the quad she has a thumbs up I feel like she knows something but I look back at wednesday 

"Um, do you need anything?" I ask not knowing why she would come up to me she looks at me with that look again just like when we first met which was 3 hours ago.

"Is Enid behind me?" she asks I nod and before I could ask why.

Wednesday walks away and enid runs towards me "What did she say?" Enid asks.

"She just said 'is enid behind me?' and then left why do you want to know?" I ask and her eyes widen.

"She's totally into you. I saw her walking out of the classroom and in the dorm, she wouldn't stop covering her mouth and looking down like she has never done that before. like ever." enid clams.

"What how- why would she be into me?" I ask stunned by the news. 

"I don't know but she's definitely into you and I know you're also into her 'cause I say you blush when she was looking at you don't try to lie," Enid says then walks off back to her dorm.

How can she also be into me I mean wednesday? how? wait if Enids telling the truth I might have a chance with her.

——————

[meili-sheep]

Theres a fair amount of ppl disliking Alhaitham because hes "mean to kaveh" and its like. you dont understand banter do you. people can dislike characters and thats fine, i just think "mean to kaveh" is a particularly dumb reason because. .. . hes not. Kaveh isnt crying about it, he argued right back. this always happens with a character thats introverted and not shy though, a lot of people think theyre a jerk just because they dont talk a lot. (also in real life. source:me) i really wonder what kind of interactions they have with their friends if they can't recognize banter, though.. . . ..

Honestly, while I don't ship Kaveh and Al Haitham, I do think they are closer than even Kaveh thinks. Al Haitham has a very different way of expressing himself and particularly showing his affection and care. And I feel part of that I poking someone. Trying to push them into what they might find comfort in life.

Like I think he honestly worries about how sensitive Kaveh is. Because he doesn't want his friend to feel bad so you know He tries to point out when Kaveh is being overly emotional? Does this work is it the best way to go about it?

Probably not!

But I don't think Kaveh honestly hates Al Haitham, and by the same measure, Al Haitham doesn't hate Kaveh or is purposely mean to mean to him.

And let's be honest. Everyone has called their best friend a "Bitch" At some point. I feel there is a similar principle at play here.

[recurring-polynya]

Do I mind if I ask how you approach writing longer fic? I've always struggled to write anything more than maybe two chapters long and I'm curious if you have a particular method to how you approach such stories.

Thank you so much for this ask! I absolutely love it when people ask me for writing advice because it makes me feel like a Smart Person Who Knows Things.

Before we start, here is one grain of salt to take all of this with: I have a naturally long-form brain. It is very hard for me to write something less than 1k. Short fiction is great, and there is nothing wrong with sticking to short things if that's what your brain likes to do.

So. You have decided to write a story. This is going to focus on "stories". Some people write fic that's more freeform or whatever, I am not going to cover that. What I mean by a story is this:

It starts

Some stuff happens

It ends

It is highly probable that your story contains a change of state, which could be that a villain is defeated, or a goal is reached, but it could also be that character falls in love with another, or someone learns to like broccoli.

I like to start out by completing the sentence, "This is a story where _______". This is basically like coming up with a summary for an ao3 post, except that it doesn't need to be catchy. Lots of different kinds of things could go in that blank! It could literally be what happens: This is a story where Ichigo goes back in time and punches young Aizen in the nose. It could be about what you want to explore: This is a story where Hitsugaya gets a better understanding of his zanpakutou. It could be about the vibe you want to achieve: This is an AU where everyone is in a punk rock band and has cool hair and outfits. The idea of this is to clearly define what you, the author, is interested in writing. Make sure it feels right! Maybe you pick the first one, but when you say it out loud, you say, "You know, I really just want Ichigo to go back in time so he can horse around with young Renji and Rukia and punching Aizen in the nose is just an excuse for that." That may sound dumb, but it's fine, actually! Most people don't read stories strictly for the plot, they read stories for the implications of those plots! Will my favorite two characters kiss? Will there be funny interactions between these two groups of characters? Will there be sick fights? Stories are excuses to have scenes. Sometimes, you will have a story where the interesting sequence of events is the draw, but the point is to know what you're about.

Once you feel happy with your "mission statement", you need to decide the bounds of your story: where it starts and where it ends. It may be easier to start with the end. In some cases, it may be obvious from your mission statement: everyone gets home, a villain is defeated, Kenpachi realizes the meaning of friendship. On the other hand, let's look at that punk rock AU. You've picked a vibe, but you don't really have a natural story arc. It has to have a destination, though, otherwise, it's not really a story, it's a recipe for 3 chapters of an abandoned fanfic. So brainstorm a little: Maybe they get a record deal? Maybe they win a Battle of the Bands? Maybe Byakuya accepts that the band is actually good and tells Rukia he is proud of her. Do not settle for a plot just because it works. Pick something that makes you excited! You're the one who is gonna have to write it!

I said that we needed to pick a beginning point, too, but I'm actually going to skip that for now. The next thing I do is think of all the Big Scenes I want to write, the ones you are hype to write, the ones that pop in your head as you think about the premise. Make a bullet list. They don't need to be in order. The descriptions don't need to be super detailed, but write down anything about it that is important to you. If there's a mood or a snippet of dialogue or a joke you want to make, go ahead and jot that down so you don't forget it later. What you're doing now is putting broad blotches of color on a canvas, filling in space and leaving the detail for later.

Once you are pretty happy with what you have down, try to arrange it in chronological order. Put your end at the end (if it wasn't one of your big scenes, add it now). The next task is figuring out how to traverse your scenes. You've already picked out where you want to spend the majority of your energy. The rest, I regret to tell you, is your slog writing. Now, it often happens that you will find joy in some of these scenes and your best writing may occur there, but that's serendipity. These are the scenes that you are gonna have to make yourself sit down and write, so you honestly want to limit them to just the ones you need.

So how do we do this? Look at the first thing on the list. Can you start there? If so, congrats, that's your beginning. If you can't, what needs to happen to get to there? Where can you start so that you can get to your first fun scene as soon as possible? There. That’s it. You’ve picked your beginning, good job! Now, go through the rest of your list, and add in things that must happen, even if you don’t particularly look forward to writing them. The characters need to travel from geographic point A to point B. Shuuhei needs to say something that Izuru hears and misinterprets. The Central 46 makes a new law. If you have a good idea of how these things happen, go ahead and write them down, but it’s okay if you don’t know yet. Fill in all the blanks so that if you think of each bullet list as a scene, you could read it as a story, start to end. Once you get writing, you might add more scenes, or move things around or whatever, but you should have a thing that functions as a story.

If you struggle with this, an alternative is a story with a very strong structure that is going to guide you though what you have to write.Here are two examples from my own stories Hold On, Hold On (which is only one chapter, but the principle is the same) is structured around the 5 stages of grief. Not Broken, Just Bent takes place over roughly a week, and I just decided what happened every day of the week. See You on the Other Side takes place in the middle of a bunch of canon events, which worked at mile markers.

Congratulations. You’ve just made a rough outline!

Special note for avoiding burnout!: I am a slogger. I will drag myself through the broken glass of an interminable plot to get to a single thirsty scene. That's why, at this stage, I try to look at the ratio of what I want to write to what I must write. It's gonna vary for everyone, but this is a hobby, and if looking at this proto-outline makes you feel deeply tired, maybe this isn't a good story to be devoting your time to! Can you carve it down? Can you chuck two scenes you really want to write and get rid of 80% of the slog? Or maybe you can't! In that case, just write that thirsty scene as a standalone drabble! Or just go work on something else! Maybe in the future, this one will come back to you and you’ll have a fresh idea or a renewed enthusiasm for it.

Another thing I sometimes like to do at this point is to write out some notes about my characters and their motivations and moods. Character A is homesick. Character B is so determined to defeat the enemy that they are having a hard time being sympathetic to Character A. Character C cares for both A and B and is trying to support them both. This is sort of background info that you want to keep in your head as you are writing. Depending on the type of story you are writing, this might actually be the main plot, or it might be happening subtly, but adding to the emotional impact of the story. It’s very easy for me to write these sorts of emotional arcs, but if you struggle with that, you may wish to go ahead and made a more detailed outline for that, too.

Now, it’s time to start writing! I am great at beginnings-- it is very often the case for me that the opening scene was one of my Big Tentpole Scenes. (Before you hate me too much, I make up for this by being double horrible at endings; just let me have this) Usually, I will start at the beginning and write linearly for as long as I can until I get stuck. Then, I will look forward on my outline and do the next chronological scene that I feel like writing. In general, if I sit down to write and there is something I have an urge to write, that trumps everything else. Inspiration is a precious commodity, and you should embrace it when it hits! You can slog any day. I will occasionally hold off writing a scene that I really want to, because I am saving it, like a prize for myself for getting that far. This is a very personal process of figuring out what motivates your brain and then giving your brain what it needs to be its most productive.

Eventually, you will run out of things you are excited to write, but the good news is, you’ve got a bunch of story now! Odds are that what’s left is going to be a lot of those connective tissue scenes, and you’re just going to have to do them, except that now, because you’re connecting two concrete points instead of two abstract points, it will be a lot easier. You can continue running jokes you’ve started. Maybe you invented a cafe in an earlier scene where your characters hang out and you can have them return there. Try to think of ways to make these scenes more fun, both for yourself to write and for your reader to read. 

Around this time, I like to start refining that rough strokes outline into what I will call an “as-built” outline. (This is an engineering term where you update your plans or models for something to reflect any changes that had to be made along the way). This is a great activity to do at times when you feel like you have writers block. I write down every scene I have written as a 2-3 word blurb, in order. I break the scenes into what I think makes logical chapters, and I will do a word count on those prospective chapters and write it down. As you do this, you will realize that maybe you can move a scene from here to there, which will make it 1000% easier to write. Things may be happening too much, or you’ve got the characters eating three times in the same chapter. If you have subplots and dangling threads, this is where you make sure they get closure. I know this sounds very headache-y, but you are so far along in the story at this point that it’s really not-- it’s a way to look at the problems you have left. Use some sort of formatting (I like to bold things I haven’t done and sometimes I put them in red) and it gives you a very visual to-do list.

You specifically mentioned multi-chapter fanfics and I admit that I don’t tend to think in chapters, I tend to think of the story as a whole and just break it up where it feels natural. The as-built outlining I described is very helpful in making sure that my chapters feel balanced. They don’t necessarily need to be the same length, but I like them to have the same amount of stuff in them. One chapter may basically contain one long scene, and other may contain many short ones. I don’t tend to, but you can certainly have a fanfic that varies between short and long chapters, that can actually be an interesting effect. But like I said, I always like to know what I am doing, and so having it mapped out, you can say “welp, this is what I’ve done, how do I feel about that?”

Polynya, you may be saying at this point, do you write the whole fanfic before you post any of it? and I regret to inform you, the answer is yes. A lot of people write as they go, and I have made one attempt at this and I didn’t like it. I don’t like locking myself in, I just need to be able write out of order and go back and change things. Here is the story of a little in love: someone gave me an AU prompt and I got mildly obsessed with it, and wrote 5 snapshots drabbles in that universe, ending with a slight cliffhanger ending. I probably should have stopped there, but I decided to keep going. I wrote out an outline of 5 acts where the first act was detailed to the degree of each chapter being specified. The chapters here were much smaller than I usually make chapters: 1-2k. I wrote act i and ii and it was actually great, and then I hit act iii which required a lot of set up for misunderstandings and a mini romance arc. I couldn’t wing it, but nor could I figure it all out with outlining. I write dialogue in almost sort of an improv “Yes, and...?” style, so until I do it, I don’t know what’s going to happen. So, what I did was treat the second half of act iii as a complete story in the process I describe above, wrote the entire rest of it, and then posted it. One might notice that the chapter lengths grew to 3-5k each. I have two more acts to go, and I haven’t decided how I am going to do them yet, but I suspect I will treat each of them as their own mini-stories.

(I will admit that in Heart is a Muscle, I tend toward chapters that are about 10k long, and this is honestly too long, someone should smack me. If you like punchy chapters, 1-2k is good. I think 3-6k is probably an ideal chapter length. Is this how long the chapters are in my latest fanfic? Absolutely not.)

Okay, so there’s one more step, which is quality control. I am habitual re-reader-- I read my fanfics-in-progress over and over and over while I am working on them. I understand that not everyone does this, but I am usually the primary audience for my own writing, and this is the actual fun part for me. Nevertheless, you should re-read your work at least once, to make sure it hangs together.

This is purely optional, but I recommend it: get a writing friend (if you don’t like re-reading your work, I recommend this even more strongly). If you can get a full-service beta reader, that’s great, but if you can’t find someone, or if receiving that level of critique stresses you out, it’s perfectly valid to just find a friend who will read your stuff and a) shower you with compliments, b) reassure you about parts you aren’t sure about (or suggest ways to help) and c) point out any huge problems you missed. When I am writing a long fanfic, it is a huge motivational factor for me to be able to send my beta chapters as I finish them. If you are already an established writer, and you have people who consistently comment on your fic, they might be overjoyed to get a sneak peak at your work.

And that’s it! That’s the way I do it, anyway! Some people are able to sit down and write a very detailed outline and the write it start-to-finish. Good for them, I say! I have tried this and it doesn’t work great for me. I will admit that some of my fics (especially my early ones) I just sat down and banged out whole-cloth like an insane person and they are generally better than the ones I actually plan out, but that’s not a reproducible process.

As one final mechanical note, I usually write in Google Docs, which I can access on multiple devices (I used to write a lot on my phone), has convenient sharing functionality, and I use the ao3 html formatting script add-in. I generally have two documents for a single story-- one is the outline, and any other notes I want to have handy. I’ll usually put a trashcan space at the bottom for scenes that got cut but I don’t want to lose. The other is the fanfic itself.

I hope this is helpful! Please feel free to follow up with other questions and good luck with your writing!

[arotechno]

Jughead (2015), Issues 7-8: Discussion and Commentary

Boy oh boy am I excited to talk about this arc!! These two issues hold a very special place in my cold little aro heart.

(By the way, do you see that? I managed to get a digital copy from my library via Hoopla, which means you are spared from my shitty phone grabs. I’ll fix the previous post, don’t worry. Try clicking on the screenshots if tumblr blurs them. And try Hoopla, if you’ve got a library card and have been looking to read these.)

Fed up with him sitting around the house playing video games all summer, Mr. Jones forces Jughead to get out of the house and do something outside. Jughead finds Archie at the pool where he’s working as a lifeguard, and convinces him to take time off to go camping in the woods with him at their friend Dilton’s cottage.

They take Archie’s car out to the woods, only to find that the lake is overrun with Reggie’s over-the-top relatives at the Mantle family reunion. Horrified, Jughead and Archie go out on a hike to get away. This is where things go downhill—literally.

Jughead calls Archie out for his growing fixation with Veronica Lodge, whose father is the one trying to clear out Fox Forest. Archie immediately goes on the defensive, but Jughead, understandably, really doesn’t get it. And here’s where we see that this is a divide that has been brewing between them for quite some time, even if Archie seemingly had no idea it was happening.

The boys end up getting lost, which only serves to fuel their frustrations. It occurs to Jughead, some time later, that the lake they’re camping at is not that far from Camp Lucey, an all-girls summer camp. Shocked and hurt, he accuses Archie of only agreeing to go on the trip to pick up girls, and not to hang out with him. He tackles Archie and they tumble down a hill into the woods below.

This is a really interesting story, from an aro’s perspective. Jughead can’t relate to Archie’s teenage obsession with girls, and it isn’t something they can bond over like other friends may have been able to do. On a simple level, all Jughead really wants to do is hang out with his best friend, just the two of them, just like old times—back when they were younger, before Archie’s interest in girls seemed to take over his every waking moment. Importantly, Jughead never objects to Archie’s romantic pursuits on principle (he does have an issue with Veronica, but that has to do more with her father’s actions than her). It isn’t that he wants to stand in the way of Archie’s happiness—he just feels left behind, and that’s something I think a lot of aromantic people, teenagers especially, can resonate with.

Eventually, Archie and Jughead run into Mr. Weatherbee of all people, who begrudgingly offers to help lead them back to camp. It’s at this point that we get one of my favorite moments in the entire series, one that I have waxed poetic about on this blog before and probably will again.

Archie insists that he is in fact here to hang out with Jughead, and that he’s just being dramatic. Jughead, on the other hand, insists that Archie’s the one being dramatic with his love triangle problems, to which Archie replies:

“Look, I’m not going to apologize for being a normal guy, I—”

And Jughead’s reaction to those words has stuck with me since the first time I read this. He’s shocked, hurt, and clearly a little angry that Archie would say something like that. And it’s a subtle moment, one that you might not even feel the gravity of if you didn’t know that Jughead was aro. What’s most important here, though, isn’t Jughead’s reaction, but the fact that Archie is clearly in the wrong, and he knows it. He tries to backtrack immediately (“Jughead! I didn’t mean it like that! Wait!”), but Jughead ignores him, as Mr. Bee has already gotten them lost again.

This singular page is, to me, a deeper and more nuanced portrayal than many works with “on-the-page” canon aromantic characters. This arc isn’t about Jughead being aro (in fact, none of the comics particularly are). But this is a meaningful incorporation of Jughead’s orientation into his daily life and his relationships with other people—namely, with his best friend. Although Jughead is being somewhat harsh with Archie, never does the narrative place him in the wrong for feeling abandoned, hurt, or angry because of Archie’s words and actions. Even Archie, his best friend, is capable of saying things that hurt him, and his words in this scene are never excused or justified by the narrative.

It also means a lot to me that Archie apologizes the second he gets the chance to, and that Jughead is quick to forgive him and explain that he just misses the time before Archie was so obsessed with girls. I wouldn’t want the story to just turn into a feud between them. You know when you’re on a trip with your friends and you get lost and you’re tired and frustrated you just end up airing your grievances and coming out of it with a new understanding of your friendship while trying to solve the mess you’re in? That’s what this arc is.

Anyway, after a run-in with Reggie’s relative and Mr. Weatherbee’s old high school bully Ted Mantle, the trio manage to make it out of the woods—after several hours of walking until the sun has come up. There, they find that Camp Lucey has actually been renamed, and is now a camp for elementary school girls, where Betty happens to be working. So after all of that, Archie just ends up making a fool of himself, like usual. Mr. Bee’s wife drives over to rescue them and brings the boys back to Dilton’s cottage, where she remarks that she’s heard a lot about Archie and Jughead, and that they’re inseparable.

At its core, this is a story about friendship. It’s about the difficulties that come with realizing you can’t always relate to each other, and you can’t always read each other’s minds, and you sometimes say the wrong thing without meaning to. It’s a story about growing up, but not necessarily growing apart, and being able to reconcile your differences.

Archie assumes that after all of their bickering, Jughead would just want to go home and not hang out with him anymore. But turning back now would be contrary to what Jughead wanted in the first place, which was just to hang out with his best friend.

All’s well that end’s well, and Jughead and Archie patch things over and vow that they will always be best friends. It’s a wholesome moment, and reflects a common struggle for aspec teens that I rarely see addressed in media, if at all. Sometimes, it feels like your friends are all moving on without you, and sometimes they don’t even realize it when they’ve been neglecting your friendship. It takes communication to work these things out, and I’m happy to see that illustrated here.

This arc is my favorite, I think, and there’s reasons for that even outside of the aspects I’ve already detailed here. The kids getting lost in the woods on summer vacation is a fun way of framing the deeper story, and there are a lot of funny and endearing moments in these two issues. (Archie falls on his face, a lot, and Mr. Weatherbee is stoically exasperated with both of their antics.)

These are the last issues written by Chip Zdarsky. So shoutout to him for some of the most nuanced representations of aromanticism in fiction to date, even if he never wrote the word down on the page (I’ll get to that, don’t worry). But these are the first issues illustrated by Derek Charm, whose art style I love (no offense Erica Henderson), and the rest of the volume has a lot of other good aro moments in store. Until then, here’s himbo Archie:

See? Pure of heart, dumb of ass. You can’t be mad at him for long. (He falls into a hole later on the same page.)

Yeah, me too.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Kickstart My Heart Pt.1 (Racer! Yeosang)

Next>>

Pairing: Racer! Kang Yeosang × Waitress/Fuckgirl! Reader (Female)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, 80s AU.

Summary: During an era known for its vibrant colors, eccentric fashion styles and rise of new yet unconventional genres of music, the young generation of that time was infamously known for their need to rebel and live their lives rather scandalously and Y/N is no exception. So when a new and attractive man moves into her town, she has her eyes set on making him her next boy toy.

Word Count: 4K+

Warnings: Dumb attempts at crackhead humor, reader is a cold hearted bitch, guy gets dumped in public, reader's friend is lowkey creepy.

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Throwing on the last article of clothing that had been discarded the night before, the young woman shook out her hair, still damp from the quick shower she just took. Picking up her bag, she looked over at the figure still sleeping soundly, the subtle hint of a smile on his face. With a pitied pout on her lips, she walked over to the edge where his face was. Taking out the lipstick tube from her bag, she applied it all over her lips, painting them in the dark burgundy color that she fancied so much and had practically become her signature hue. Bending over, she pressed her lips against the corners of his mouth, giving him the faintest whisper of a kiss before pulling away. A satisfied smirk was plastered on her pretty features as she stared at the lipstick mark on his face, the only memoir she'd leave him with as she had done with countless others.

Closing the front door behind her, she pulled her denim jacket tighter on her body, shivering slightly from the early dawn's breeze that blew across. It was always like that even though summer had just begun, the early morning hours still feeling obnoxiously cool and then transpiring into slightly uncomfortably warm afternoons that had more than one soul in that quaint town grumbling and fussing about the weather. But oh did the evenings feel absolutely refreshing, and that's when everything would start bustling to life.

Having finally made it out of that small residential area and finding one of the main roads that helped her locate where to go, she started heading south towards the all too familiar diner where she had been working in ever since her school days, first starting part time and eventually transpiring to full time when it came time for her to spread her wings and fly out on her own, a feat she had been most anxious to do to get away from the overly controlling nature of her parents. She knew they cared about her, but she herself cared very little about the morals and principles they had raised her with, a common trait all the young people in that town shared: their rebellious and headstrong nature to not conform and go against everything they had been taught thus far. Live their own lives as freely as they chose to do.

And she definitely lived as she wanted to, even if it ended up with a rather bad reputation and ugly labels that rather than infuriate her, she openly embraced, as others had come to as well.

The light twinkle of the bells above the glass door let the person at the register know someone came in and they immediately plastered on their business smile, which quickly faded when they saw who it was.

"You're late Y/N." The minuscule raven haired waitress informed her, eyes never leaving her coworker's figure that came behind the counter and started punching in her number.

"Only by like 7 minutes." She waved her slip at the nonchalant looking girl before placing it back in its respective slot.

"One day it wouldn't surprise me if you just didn't show up because you got too caught up in.... something else."

Chuckling softly, Y/N walked up behind her coworker, hands coming up to ruffle the cheekbone level bob cut hair framing her unusually small face.

"Awww come on Lynn, you know I'd never leave you hanging here to attend customers by yourself. You're my bestie." Y/N assured her, playfully poking her lips out as she tried to place a kiss on her friend, the poor girl craning her neck away as she tended to dislike physical affection.

"I will squirt ketchup on you." Lynn threatened as she picked up the cherry red bottle as a last resort to get her attacker to back away. A rather noisy struggle ensued between both girls, catching the attention of the owner and cook behind the two doors, prompting her to come out and see what was the cause of such ruckus.

"Well I'll be darned. I don't remember paying you youngsters to simply slack off and behave like the hooligans you are." The middle aged woman spoke up, her thick accent becoming more prominent. Although she had a stern look and hands placed at her hips, the girls knew she was not in reality angry at them.

Looking over at the recently arrived girl, the owner closed her eyes and sighed deeply when she took in the attire she was wearing: low cut white tank, ripped denim shorts that left little to the imagination if she bent down, fishnet tights with a few holes in them, and her beloved denim jacket that was almost always on Y/N's body.

"I swear to god, Y/N , everytime I see you wear them rags you call clothes, I feel like my body is about to collapse. Why must you insist on dressing like a common street worker?"

Y/N wasn't at all offended by her words, having grown used to and becoming fond of her boss's abrupt, direct and honest manner of speaking.

"Gotta start looking the part if I'm going to dedicate my life to the occupation." She giggled at her own joke, resulting in the older woman taking the rag off her apron and smacking her with it.

"This little runt, talking nonsense like that- get your ass back in there and change into your uniform. Can't have you prancing around here in those skimpy clothes and have all these men that come here say disrespectful things about you. Nuh uh, not to my girls." She shook her head.

"Yes Miss Audrey." Complying with the woman's wishes, she pushed open the swing doors leading to the back and quickly made her way to the corner where all the employee's cubicles were located. Grabbing the necessary items, she turned and went inside the bathroom to change into her uniform, consisting of a knee length crimson red dress, which she had actually altered so it would be shorter and display her thighs more, the cap sleeves slightly puffed up and the torso part had a trail of white buttons going all the way up to the modest v-neckline, usually most buttons were left undone so her cleavage would shamelessly peak out. Exchanging her black Doc Martens in favor of her white Nike sneakers, Y/N tied her apron around her waist, making sure it was as tight as possible so it would accentuate her curves and give her body a more flattering appearance. As she made her way out, she quickly piled her hair up before securing it with one of the many elastics she kept around her wrists, leaving out a few tendrils to fall on her temples.

Coming back out to start her daily work, she stood in front of Lynn, who merely spared her an unamused glance.

"How do I look?" Y/N asked.

"Like a total slut." Her friend answered in her usually rude way.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N grabbed a spray bottle and a rag. Making her way over to the table that had just finished being used, she quickly picked up the plates and glass, bringing them back over to where Lynn was, who took them so she could wash them in the sink. Spraying the top of the marble piece, she had began her task of wiping down the table when the ringing of the bell signaled new customers had arrived, and rowdy ones at that too.

"Damn! Is today's special fluffy sponge cake? Cause I would sure love a piece of that ass."

Y/N recognized that annoying voice even from miles away, belonging to none other than one of her old classmates, Jung Wooyoung, whom she considered a friend, if he didn't manage to irk her too much. Turning around, she of course wasn't surprised to see him surrounded by his crew of equally idiotic and adrenaline junkie friends, whom she had to admit were pleasant and fun to hang out with.

"Sit your asses down already, I'll be over in a minute to take your order." She told them before resuming her previous task, earning a scoff from the most dramatic of the group.

"Fine customer service! Don't think you'll be getting a tip from me." His words made her nearly burst into a fit of giggles.

"Wooyoung please, you never ever tip whenever you come. None of you, except Yunho." It kinda saddened her that said male unfortunately wasn't there with them at the moment.

"He doesn't tip you, he tips short stack over there." His friend with cat like eyes pointed towards Lynn, who upon overhearing him held up a rather explicit finger in his direction.

"I'll poison your food San." She threatened with a sing song tone.

"Like I wouldn't know that you already spit on it." San spat back, sticking his tongue out in his immature and infantile fashion.

"Can you guys hurry up and order already? I'm starving and we gotta head to the tracks as early as possible." The fiery red haired male known as Song Mingi blurted out, fingers tapping impatiently against the top of the table.

"If little miss g-string would care to hop her luscious ass over here, maybe we could."

Strutting over to where they sat, Y/N harshly threw the dirty rag on Wooyoung's face, causing a faint grunt to come out of his mouth.

"No matter how many times you mention my ass, I'm still not letting you tap it." She firmly stated, making Wooyoung slightly purse his lips outwards in a disappointed grimace.

"So anygays-" Mingi began.

"Umm I think you mean anyways." San corrected him.

Leaning in towards him, Mingi locked eyes on the shorter male and stared him down with an intimidating glare.

"Did I stutter Choi?"

San immediately shook his head rapidly. With a victory smile, Mingi reclined back in his seat.

"I'm just going to get the breakfast platter with some orange juice."

Y/N couldn't stifle her snort when he said his choice of drink, the other two men looking away in embarrassment.

"You've been drinking orange juice since you were in grade school Mingles, don't you think you outta start taking something more grown up? Like coffee?" San suggested and Mingi did not appreciate it.

"Coming from the one who still brings a plushie to sleep with him, your suggestion holds no value or power." He retorted.

"OK SHIBER IS NOT A PLUSHIE, HE'S FAMILY YOU JACKASS!" San sprinted up from his seat, nearly leaning across to grab Mingi by the color, but he was held back by Wooyoung.

Lynn, who had thus far stayed quiet, promptly came up with a spray bottle and consequently doused the untamed boy on his face.

"Bad kitty, bad kitty." She reprimanded him, unable to resist the opportunity to attack her long time frenemy.

"Lynn!" Y/N looked at her with surprise.

"You're welcome." Lynn replied rather monotone before going back to her place behind the counter like she didn't just spray San with disinfecting water.

"There's too many germs going around anyways..." She muttered under her breath.

Without any further interruptions, aside from the rumbling coming out of the boys' stomachs, they finished ordering what they wanted and Y/N sent it over so they could be prepared. Not wanting to be near their loud asses, Y/N went back over to where Lynn was, peeking over to see what she was currently reading in the magazine she held.

"What you reading?" She casually inquired.

"Horoscope section." Y/N wasn't surprised, her friend tended to be into more mystical, eccentric and rather.....extreme with her taste in fashion and music. If Y/N was the one who turned heads for her scandalous attire, Lynn was the one people turned away from in fear when they saw how she dressed. It was a sight that truly made both of them laugh at people's foolishness, well at least made Y/N laugh. Her friend rarely had any other expression plastered on that wasn't utter disdain for society and life.

Unexpectedly, another customer came in. Both girls looked at each other in confusion when neither of them recognized him. Their town was rather small with few people living there, so they deduced that he must be a traveler who probably got lost on his route. He himself looked around nervously, eyes barely lifting up. Y/N couldn't help herself as she took in his perfect face. Big, round eyes with crystal clear orbs, small face with a V-line jaw, perfectly sculpted nose with no sign of defects, skin smooth and blemish free, he looked like a prince out of a fairytale. He was incredibly pretty, yet stood there so awkwardly that it was almost comical.

"Hey Yeosang! You made it! Sit down! I ordered for you in advanced!" Wooyoung surprised both girls when it seemed he knew the stranger and even waved him over to where they sat. The other two boys also seem familiarized with him and welcomed him to sit with them, chatting up a storm already with him.

"Who's that?" Lynn was the one to finally ask out loud.

"Beats me.....but he sure is adorable."

Noticing the way her lips curled upwards, Lynn could already see the wheels inside Y/N's head turning.

"And I bet you're going to go over there and find out- aaand there you go." She ended up answering her own deduction as she watched Y/N happily walked over with a more bright expression on her face, that soon soured when her boss came out of the kitchen and beat her over to the table, laying down several plates of food.

"I knew as soon as I saw the orders that it had to be the lot of you." She scoffed softly as she looked at the boys' grinning faces.

"You know us Miss Audrey, we wouldn't ever think of eating anywhere else but here. You're the best cook in all of town." Wooyoung praised her with a sparkling charm that could have fooled anyone else but not the robust woman in front of him.

"Boy stop trying to tickle my ears, I've known you since you were in your soiled diapers being carried around by your mama, running around and creating chaos anywhere you went. Flattery may work on them poor girls you play with but me? I can see right through ruffians like you."

Turning her head to finally notice the new addition to the group, she looked him up and down.

"Boy who might you be?" She questioned him, earning the ears of the girls nearby to listen in for any valuable information.

"I'm..... Yeosang Kang, nice to meet you." He introduced himself, tilting his head slightly down when he said that.

"He just moved into town this week! He's the new guy who is going to work with us down at the car shop and help on the race track!" San enthusiastically shouted, making the older woman cringe.

"I may be old, but I still haven't gone deaf for you to yell in such a way boy. So...." She crossed her arms and looked at Yeosang again.

"You a racer too?"

Now the girls, particularly Y/N, were more interested in what his response would be.

"I- yes. So it seems." The poor boy looked so flustered, obviously being more of a soft spoken individual, contrasting starkly to the other 3 boys.

Miss Audrey let out a seemingly displeased hum at his answer.

"As if we needed anymore hooligans running wild. We already got enough with the 3 Stooges over here."

The girls couldn't help but snicker at their boss's words, always having a blast whenever she put the boys back in their place. They however looked displeased, glaring at them intensely.

"Shouldn't you both be off somewhere cleaning dishes or making sandwiches?"

Snatching one of the knifes, Lynn held it up and was about to jump over, but Y/N came up in front of her.

"Lynn, no. Just calm down ok? You know they're just being idiots." Y/N reminded her.

Grumbling something in a foreign language no one knew for sure if it was real or not, Lynn put the knife back, squinting her eyes at them before turning around to not look at them again. Y/N giggled softly, finding it absolutely cute whenever her friend lost her cool and collected form cause it reminded her of a chihuahua, barking and yelping at anything larger than itself trying to establish dominance.

Noticing that in her display of aggression, Lynn had inadvertently knocked over a few of the brochures that were on display for people to take, Y/N stooped down and proceeded to pick them up in a casual manner. Standing up, she neatly arranged them properly, making sure they all faced the same direction and the sides weren't poking out anywhere. Feeling as though someone had been watching her all along, she looked at the table of boys, half expecting Wooyoung's smug grin to greet her, but she was completely wrong as it was none other than the new guy who seemed unable to keep his eyes off her figure, staring intently at the length of her skirt. When he realized she noticed, his eyes went wide, cheeks burning up with utter embarrassment. Y/N however seemed unbothered by this. Wanting to test something, she pretended to accidentally drop one of the pamphlets. Bending over, she made sure he could get a perfect glimpse of her cleavage, if he payed enough attention, he'd be able to see that she was in fact, not wearing any bra. Coming back up, Y/N looked over to see the results, smirking when the agape mouth of Yeosang confirmed to her that he had indeed noticed everything.

"Oh sweetheart, you're gonna be too easy..." She had already made up in her mind that Yeosang would be her next target, and she had to put her plan in action. Placing the brochures down, she was about to go over and start flirting with him, until a familiar voice called for her.

"Y/N! There you are!"

She internally groaned when she heard him, wondering why on earth did he not get the hint of ditching him like that, especially when he very well knew about the reputation she had. She tried ignoring him, but of course, he had had to be the persistent type, no doubt thinking he was going to have a different ending than the rest before him.

"I thought you'd be here. You could have told me you were going to be gone early. I would have made you breakfast."

Knowing she had to say something, Y/N grabbed her pad and gave him the fakest smile she was capable of donning.

"Hi, what can we get started for you today? Waffles? Eggs and bacon? Coffee to start off with?"

The trio of friends, having no choice but to witness the interaction due to it happening right in front of them, snickered amongst themselves.

"Oh shit. He's in for it." San whispered lowly.

The boy obviously looked extremely confused, his smile lightly falling off, but then returning to its hopeful state.

"Why are you acting like this candy bear? Pretending like you don't know me?" When he tried to reach a hand to pull her close, the girl simply pushed him away with one of her fingers.

"Look, clearly you're too stupid to understand so let me spell it out in a language you can understand." Letting out a tired sigh, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, a sour look displaying on her pretty face.

"We had a nice time together, and last night was... average to put it nicely."

"Oh man. That was a total burn." Mingi couldn't help but snort, some of the orange juice being spit back into his glass.

"But that was all it was and all it's ever going to be. So why don't you do yourself a favor and just go back home to your Star Trek figurines and watch the latest episode of Thunder Cats?"

The not so discreet snickering coming from the table behind them only made the humiliation for the man multiply significantly. Turning red with utter despair and rage, he quickly brushed past Y/N rather brusquely.

"Fucking bitch." She heard him mutter under his breath, a phrase she had grown accustomed to hearing among many others.

"Oh god. Homegirl struck again." Wooyoung laughed, swirling his milkshake in his hand.

"Ayo why you gotta do Thunder Cats like that? It's actually pretty entertaining." San commented.

Looking over at the time, the guys quickly stood up, dropping their share of bills onto the table.

"You guys get paid today too right? Come meet up with us at the track." Wooyoung suggested.

"Why on earth would we want to go see your greasy, oil smelling ass after dealing for nearly an hour with you already?" Lynn questioned him, eyes never peering up from her magazine.

"Because Yunho would be there?"

Still she didn't respond, the only movement made was her finger turning the page.

"Bro we been knew she don't give two shits about him." Mingi reminded them.

"Because we're going to the drive in theater after work, they're playing a horror movie."

Lifting her gaze, Lynn closed the magazine, although still stone faced, her eyes seemed to brighten up.

"My interest has been greatly piqued." Her lips showed the faintest whisper of a smile that gave a rather eerie and chilling feel down the people's spines.

"Maybe we should rethink inviting Satan's offspring." San leaned in towards Mingi, shivering significantly.

"Great! So we'll catch you gals later."

The boys quickly dispersed themselves, save Yeosang who still sat quietly, keeping mostly to himself. His fingers fidgeted with the half drunk cup he was holding, gaze fixed on the table in front of him. Looking up, he was attempting to work up the courage to talk to Y/N, but before he could even get the chance to gather strength, the owner came out from the back, whispering a few orders to her and gesturing for her to go tend to a situation in the kitchen. With a defeated sigh, he got up to go join the rest of the gang outside who were waiting for him. Slumping his hands in the pockets of his pants, he moved out of the booth with a solemn gaze.

"Hey."

His steps came to a screeching halt when he heard Y/N call out to him. Looking over, she smiled sweetly in his direction.

"Hope I see you later." With a flirtatious wink, she bid him goodbye as she disappeared into the back.

Yeosang stood there stunned momentarily, replaying her words over and over again in his mind, pondering endlessly at their meaning.

"Little pussy cat sure got you brain dead, didn't she?"

Startled by the unexpected voice next to him, he jumped when the face of the kind yet stern old lady studied him carefully. With a disapproving shake of her head, she decided it'd be best to warn him before he started getting ideas in his head.

"Listen, you seem like a sweet and sensible young man, so it's best for you to listen to me and stay away from that darn girl. Don't let them sugar coated lips of hers sweet talk themselves into your heart. You'll just end up heart broken like all the lovers she's had."

Picking up some of the plates, she gave him one last look, pointing an accusatory finger at him to get her point across.

"She's dangerous." Finally saying what she needed to say, Miss Audrey headed back with plates in her arms, slapping away Lynn's hands when they attempted to pry them off her, barking instructions at her to watch the counter and leave her be.

"Dangerous....." Yeosang thought to himself, the warning the good intended woman gave him sinking deep in his mind. Although he took her words to heart, something about the way she glanced at him pulled at the strings in his chest, taking his breath away when he remembered the risque position she was in that purposely allowed him to view more than he should have. That memory tinted his cheeks pink, lips unable to suppress a small smile. He knew that he should heed the old woman's advice.

But he had to admit that he loved danger and the thrill it came with.........

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Taglist: @little-precious-baby @yunhofingers @brie02 @galaxteez @multidreams-and-desires @deja-vux @hanatiny @couchpotatoaniki @daniblogs164 @a-soft-hornytiny @yunsangoveryonder @minhyukmyluv @nanamarkie @ateezbabysitters @mingismoon @rainteez02

[fic-for-fic-sake]

A Happy Accident

A/N: The other day I found out that Chris Evans may possibly have a sex dungeon? I don’t write real people fics but I knew I HAD to write a Steve Rogers fic about this because I mean...c’mon. Also the text conversation in the fic is indeed a real conversation between my friend and I. 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, dom/sub, flogging, being tied up, penetrative sex, honorifics, praise kink

Word Count: 5.4k

You knew there was trouble before you even reached the meeting room, it was like a palpable tension you could sense coming from the conference room. You mentally prepared yourself for whatever was to come as you walked in and took your usual spot next to Natasha. 

“Do you have any idea what this is about?” You questioned her, murmuring under your breath since nobody seemed keen to speak above a whisper for the time being. 

“Some kind of security breach, we don’t know how bad yet, we have to wait for Stark.” She explained, speaking in clipped tones. She seemed nervous, which was understandable given the circumstances. A security breach could mean a number of things, none of them good. Anything from weapons tech to secret identities could’ve been revealed in the breach. 

The tension seemed to come to a head when Tony and Steve walked into the room. Everyone erupted into a flurry of activity, peppering the two men with so many questions it was hard to make out what came from who. 

“What was taken?” Someone asked. 

“Was it anything serious?” Someone else wondered. 

“Do we need to scrap the new suit designs?” You asked, adding your voice to the babble. 

“Okay everyone settle down and give Tony some room to think.” Steve urged all of you, forming a one man barrier around Stark. Which you had to admit was rather effective. Once everyone reseated themselves and Steve gave Tony a nod, Tony cleared his throat. 

“By now you all have obviously heard that there’s been a security breach. We don’t know who is behind the breach but so far all that was leaked was text conversations of the following Avengers; Wanda, Sam, Bucky, and Y/N.” 

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You were a target in the security breach. But why? Why you specifically and why just your text conversations? It seemed rather harmless considering everything else they could’ve taken. 

“Luckily Wanda doesn’t really text anyone because everyone she knows is here. As far as Sam, Bucky, and Y/N are concerned they only leaked conversations from your work phones, meaning your personal phone security isn’t in question.” Tony reassured you all. Well, it reassured Sam and Bucky at least. 

“Um, what do you mean ‘work phone’?” You asked, looking around with a puzzled expression on your face. 

“You do have a burner phone for personal use, right?” Nat asked from beside you. Now your heart was located somewhere in your feet. 

“I didn’t know I needed one.” You whispered, barely contained horror edging its way into your voice. 

“Well, I mean what’s the worst that could be there?” Sam asked, trying to reassure you. Luckily, or unluckily enough, you didn’t have to answer that question because within the coming days they would all find out. 

After the meeting you tried to go about your normal routine and ignore the security breach as best as you could. That got considerably harder the following morning, when the hacker released your private conversations with your friends for all the world to see. They went something like this: 

Sarah: Do you think Steve Rogers is good in bed? 

You: Obviously, dumb question. 

Sarah: Do you think he’s kinky though? 

You: Oh 100%, no way he doesn’t have a secret sex dungeon or something. 

Sarah: Since you’re an Avenger now you should try to find out. 

You: HAHAHAHAHA that’s hilarious and something I’ll never do, in reality. But in theory PUT ME IN COACH! I bet he would probably make me sign an NDA and I would totally be down for that. 

Sarah: I’ll sign a DNR

You: HAA, I would sign the NDA but also have to tell you what’s happening and then I would make you sign an NDA. 

Sarah: Then you’re breaking the NDA??

You: Not if you don’t tell anyone goddamn be cool. 

Sarah: It’s the principle of the thing

You: ...I wonder what kind of dom he is

Sarah: Idk if he’s a daddy. He feels like a Sir or Master. I also think he doesn’t have soft limits, only hard limits. 

You: as much as I would like to think he’s a pleasure dom I don’t think that’s true

Sarah: I agree

You: Maybe a brat tamer? 

Sarah: That feels too tame for him. 

You: Okay so then just a no holds bard whipping dom. I would wait all day in his sex dungeon just to lick his boots when he came home. Does that make me depraved? Probably. 

Sarah: Possibly, I also think he’d degrade the shit out of you, like kinda pet play shit. I also think he has a spreader bar collection. Aaaand an overstimulation kink. 

You: Oh agreed, that and edging. I feel like he would edge you for hours and then leave to go on a mission or something and you’re not allowed to touch yourself and then he comes back hours later and you’re just aching for release. And then only after you’re BEGGING he would let you come. 

Sarah: Oof. How much do you wanna bet his dungeon is like a sensory deprivation thing? Think about it, hours upon hours of not having any form of relief, after begging nonstop, no real form of your senses and then BAM normal orgasm but heightened to the absolute max. 

You: YEP! I bet he’s like the king of aftercare though, like 1000/10 so sweet. Like Steve Rogers is legit such a nice human being so I assume aftercare is the same. 

Sarah: AYO SIR LEMME BE YOUR SUB

You: GOD FORREAL!

Needless to say, you did not leave your room that day. The next day you tried to get away with not leaving your room again but Nat was having none of that. 

“Come on Y/N, I promise it’s not that bad, I’ve said much worse.” She assured you as she practically dragged you out of your room and into the elevator. 

You buried your head in your hands and let out a frustrated scream. “He’s a coworker, Nat, and I totally objectified him and basically said all the filthy things I wanted him to do to me.” 

“And I bet he’s real flattered about it! The man needs a good ego boost every now and then.” She replied with a laugh. To which you responded with another frustrated scream and a kick to the elevator doors as they opened. “I bet he didn’t even read it, I doubt anyone on the team did.” She said, sounding certain in her own thinking. She half convinced you until you walked into the training room and every pair of eyes turned to you, including Steve’s baby blues. Fuck. 

“Okay we’re working in a group today people, focusing on enhanced individuals with external powers. Wanda and Y/N against Sam, Bucky, and Steve.” Nat announced, opening the door to the special training facility. So you and Wanda wouldn’t trash too much of Stark’s equipment with your powers. 

“Hey Y/N, you been to any good sex dungeouns recently? I’m looking for one.” Sam quipped as you made your way to the starting point. Before you could even think about what you were doing the smell of ozone was ripe in the air and you sent a bolt of lightning hurtling towards Sam who was barely able to dodge it in time. 

“Sorry...hand slipped.” You mock apologized, making it clear that you would have another ‘hand slip’ if he didn’t keep his mouth shut. He got the point well enough but the damage was already done. The tension was worse now than when you first found out about the breach, everyone trying not to bring up the elephant in the room. 

Nat cleared her throat and started her countdown and then the training began in earnest. After an hour you were all panting and sweating, utterly spent from your session. Steve passed everyone a water bottle and you took it gratefully, chugging the cool liquid in earnest. It was then that another comment was made, this time by Bucky. 

“Thanks for the aftercare daddy.” He mocked as he opened his own water bottle. Once again the smell of ozone was in the air but you didn’t have a chance to meet your target before Steve had Bucky pressed against the wall, his forearm digging into the other man’s throat. 

“That’s enough.” He growled through his teeth. Everyone was silent for a minute and you almost felt sorry for the deer in the headlights look Bucky was now wearing on his face, almost. A shower of frustrated sparks extinguished all the lights in the room as you stormed from the room, embarrassment trailing after you. 

That had been four hours ago and you hadn’t left your room, despite Natasha banging on the other side of your door. You had asked FRIDAY not to open it for anyone unless given your express permission. It seemed even the AI knew what kind of a mess you had landed yourself into, as she was immediately understanding of such a request. You were in the process of ordering a burner phone off of Amazon when there was a knock at your door. 

“Nat, I don’t care how many books you offer to buy me, I’m NOT coming out of this room.” You yelled into the empty space of your room. 

“Noted, but uh, it’s Steve. Can we talk?” You were at the door before he finished his sentence. You opened it no more than a crack, not courageous enough to do more. 

“I don’t wanna talk to you, I’m mortified.” You mumbled, looking down at your feet instead of the imposing figure outside of your door. Steve gently pushed on the door with his hand and you let him open it the rest of the way. He brought gentle fingers to your chin and tilted your head back so you were looking into his eyes. 

“There’s nothing to be mortified about, sweetheart. I just wanna talk.” He replied beseechingly. And maybe it was the tone of his voice, or the way he looked at you, but you relented and let him in, closing the door softly behind you. 

“Listen, I’m really sorry for what I said. I obviously never thought it would see the light of day but that’s not an excuse and doesn’t make it okay. Fuck, Steve I’m so sorry. I can get reassigned if you want, have SHIELD put me somewhere else.” You rattled off apologies and half baked plans before you felt his hands gently clasp your shoulders and once again you were forced to look up into his eyes which had gone saucer wide. 

“Doll what are you talking about? You don’t need to be reassigned, it's not that big of a deal.” He said, in an attempt to comfort you. 

“Not a big deal? I practically accused you of having a sex dungeon and being a mega dom.” You blurted out, mortification making your voice rise half an octave. 

He let out a soft sigh before he sat down on the edge of your bed, “It’s not like you were completely in the wrong.” He replied, and that’s when your brain short circuited. 

“What? You have a sex dungeon?” 

“Well, it’s not a dungeon, it's just my bedroom, but yes I do, partake in those types of things you described.” He explained, his voice as even and calm as if he were discussing the weather. 

“Oh.” Was all you could really bring yourself to say. 

“Oh? That’s all? I have to say you were much more articulate in your texts.” He teased, his voice suddenly becoming deeper and taking on an air of authority that wasn’t there a second ago. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

And again, maybe it was because of his tone or because of the absurdity of the situation you found yourself in but you answered him honestly. “I’m thinking I’m absolutely mortified that my coworker found out how badly I want him to fuck me.” 

“What else?” He prompted. You couldn’t breathe properly, he was taking all the air from the room and the intensity in his gaze pinned you to the spot, like an unsuspecting doe finding itself at the barrel of a gun. 

“I’m wondering how correct my predictions were. What kind of a dom you are.” 

“Would you like to find out?” 

“Yes.” You answered before you could think better of it. The second the word left your mouth your eyes went wide at the confession. Because you did want to find out, God did you want to find out what kind of shit Steve Rogers, the golden boy, was into. 

“Then we have ourselves a deal. You want to find out what I’m into and I want to show you.” 

“Right now?” You asked, breathless. You could feel your core ache at the suggestion, the want plain as day. 

He chuckled before he moved to stand before you. “No pretty girl, not yet.” He whispered, bringing his right hand up to cup your cheek and stroke his thumb across the expanse of your lips. “First we have to talk about a few things.” 

“Like what?” You questioned, completely enraptured by this man, finding yourself willing to submit to whatever he wanted you to. You were terrified by how much the prospect excited you. 

“Like exactly what you want me to do to you. Your texts were very...explicit. But, that may have just been talk. I need to know specifics if this is going to work.” Steve explained, backing you up until you hit your dresser. Without a word he lifted you on top of it and stood between your legs, one of his hands tracing absent minded patterns on your thigh. 

It was hard to think with him in such close proximity but you tried to clear your mind because you really wanted this, your mouth went dry at the thought. “I want...I want to be tied up. And I want to be blindfolded. And whipped.” It felt weird to lay your desires out plain before you like this. It made you feel exposed, but it was also oddly empowering. 

Steve nodded his head at your requests. “You mentioned something to your friend about edging and orgasm denial, is that something you still wanted to try?” 

“Yes, but not, not yet. I’ve never um, I haven’t- I’ve never been kinky with a partner.” You explained to him, feeling an embarrassing heat creeping up your face. 

“Hey, no need to be embarrassed, we all start somewhere.” Steve insisted, bringing his hands up to settle on your hips. “Anything else?” After you shook your head he gave you a nod in reassurance. “Okay, I’ll be in touch.” He said as he stepped away from you. 

That was three days ago and you hadn’t heard anything from him on the matter since. You had trained with him, went for a run with him, had the usual team meetings and exchanged the usual pleasantries but nothing out of the ordinary. You had even gone far enough in your wandering mind to think that maybe you imagined the whole interaction. 

On Friday, you were told that Steve had gone away on a mission and by that point the team was done teasing you about the leaked conversation, already having moved on to the next thing. You had made plans to go out with them that night to a community outreach thing in Manhattan. You had just gotten your jeans on when a piece of paper slid across your floor from the door. 

You walked over to it, thinking someone had just dropped their paper, when you saw what was written on the other side of it.

Text an excuse to Stark for the outreach and then come to my room. -SR 

Your heartbeat sped up to a gallop as you read the message through two more times, just to be certain. This was it, it was happening. With shaky fingers you texted Tony a flimsy excuse about draft reports you needed to finish before you put your phone back on your desk and calmly made your way to Steve’s room. 

You went to knock but found the door slightly ajar. Taking that as your cue you stepped into Steve Rogers room. While it wasn’t the first time you had been here, it was certainly a circumstance that you weren’t used to. Everything seemed...different somehow. The curtains were drawn and the only light came from dim overhead lighting. There was a faint scent of jasmine that you assumed came from a candle or incense burner you couldn’t see somewhere. On the bed, the sheets had been changed to something that looked like silk and resting on top was an eye mask and two long chords of rope. Which seemed innocuous enough, current circumstances notwithstanding. 

“Shut the door and lock it please.” A voice commanded from a shadow in the corner of the room. As soon as you locked the door Steve Rogers emerged from the shadows in an all black version of his Captain America suit. You had never seen him in such a suit before and the sight of him in it made your mouth water and your knees buckle. This was really happening. 

“I have to admit, when I read your text conversation I was surprised to say the least. I didn’t know how many dirty thoughts resided in that head of yours but you did not disappoint, did you sweetheart?” He questioned as he made his way over to where you stood, rooted to your spot by the door. He gently pressed against your shoulder and you followed his lead, letting him back you against the door, his strong hands landing on either side of your head, arms caging you in. “And then when we spoke, you were /very/ specific in what you wanted and I am nothing if not obliging, you’ll find.” He whispered into your ear and you couldn’t help the small moan that escaped your mouth at the implication behind his words. 

“Are you ready to be my good girl? Hmm sweetheart?” 

“Yes Steve.” You whispered, your mind not being able to form anything other than those words. 

He made a slight tsking sound. “In here, don’t call me Steve. It’s Captain. Got it?” 

“Yes Captain.” You replied obediently. 

“Good girl, now get undressed for me.” He commanded, stepping back to give you room to complete his task. With nervous fingers you lifted your shirt above your head and undid the clasp on your bra. You watched as Steve’s eyes took in your exposed top half, he licked his lips which made you shiver in turn. Confidence growing by his visible excitement you unbuttoned your jeans and slipped them down your legs along with your panties, until you were gloriously naked before him. 

“God, you're so beautiful sweetheart. I’m already getting hard and all you’ve done is get undressed.” He praised you as he palmed himself through his tac pants. “Come here pretty girl.” He insisted as he picked up the blindfold. 

You walked over to him and turned around as he secured the blindfold against your eyes and tied it for you. “Now, we’re gonna use a color system, okay? Green means you’re okay to keep going, Yellow means to slow down, and Red means stop. Can you remember that doll?” 

“Yes Captain.” You murmured as you adjusted to not being able to see. You tuned into your other senses to rely on what was happening. You felt Steve take your hand and walk you over until you reached the side of the bed. He helped you up before asking you to lay down on your back. 

“Okay pretty girl I’m gonna tie you up now.” He told you as you felt both of his hands take your left arm and maneuver it above your head before securing your wrist in place with rope. He pressed a gentle kiss to the spot before repeating the process with your other arm. “How do you feel sweetheart?” 

“Good Captain, I feel good.” You told him as your heartbeat kicked up another notch. You felt him take your left leg with gentle fingers and tie your ankle to the baseboard of the bed. You gasped as he secured your right ankle, knowing you were now naked and spread bare before him. You felt the bed dip as he kneeled over you and brought his mouth down to whisper in your ear. 

“What’s your color baby?” 

“Green.” You replied. Almost immediately you felt his lips press against yours, desperate and hungry for you. You kissed back with a fervor you didn’t know you possessed. It was a strange sensation, kissing someone you couldn’t touch let alone see, but that didn’t make it unpleasant. You felt blissfully detached from your body and the need raced down to your pussy until you had the sudden urge to close your legs and hide your arousal. 

Steve chuckled against your mouth as his left hand snaked down to see what you were trying in vain to hide. “So eager for me and we’ve hardly started” He lazily swiped his fingers along your folds to feel the wetness that gathered there. He then brought the same hand up to your breast and worked your juices around your nipple, making you groan at the sheer wantonness of it all. Steve happily swallowed your groan with his mouth, his tongue taking the opportunity to pass your lips. 

You fervently kissed him back as his ministrations against your nipple continued. His lips left yours and left a trail of hot kisses down your throat and over to your neglected right nipple. You felt him blow cold air on it and your back bowed against the bed, your arms straining against the restraints. He scraped his teeth against your sensitive bud and you couldn’t help the noises that escaped your mouth. 

“Oh fuck, Captain.” You let out as he took your nipple into his mouth. You could feel his left hand leave your nipple and you let out a whine of protest. He only laughed against your skin before you heard the faint opening of a drawer. Your ears picked up the sound of him rummaging around for something but you couldn’t focus too much on that as the rest of your body was alight with fire as he continued to work on your nipple with his mouth. He finally found what he was looking for in the drawer and he released your nipple with a wet popping sound before you felt his weight shift and he removed himself from you. 

“You mentioned something about being whipped.” He teased, and you could hear that his own arousal had made his voice hoarse. Your cunt throbbed in response. “Do you know what a flogger is pretty girl?” 

“Yes Captain.” You replied from your position on the bed. Your mouth went dry at the mental image you had of Steve in his black tac suit with a flogger in hand. How would he use it on you? Would it hurt? Be pleasant? The anticipation was eating you up in the best of ways. 

“Good girl. We’re gonna do some counting. Since this is your first time we won’t do too many, just ten. But you have to count them pretty girl. If you forget, or lose count, we start over. Do you understand?” 

Oh fuck. “Yes Captain.” You heard him chuckle from somewhere above you before you heard the whoosh of the flogger and the sensation on your skin. You gasped as the leather straps came down hard against your left nipple. “One.” The second one came down against your right nipple and you found that your pussy clenched around nothing. “Two.” 

Numbers three, four, and five were placed on your nipples and your stomach.

“Halfway there pretty girl, you’re doing so well.” Steve’s voice came from somewhere around you. A thin layer of sweat had broken out over your skin and your arousal was through the roof. You found yourself panting in anticipation of the next strike. It came, the leather striking against your dripping center and you let out a gasp as your back arched off of the silk sheets. “Six” 

“Oh you liked that one didn’t you sweetheart?” Steve teased. 

“Yes Captain.” You replied breathlessly. Number seven came in the same spot and another lewd sound left your mouth as the flogger found its spot. Numbers eight and nine he placed on the sensitive insides of your thighs. 

“Last one pretty girl. You’ve taken it so well I’ll let you decide where this last one goes.” 

“Hit my pussy again, please, I want it so bad Captain.” You practically pleaded. Under any other circumstances you would’ve been ashamed at how pathetic you sounded but you didn’t care. Steve Rogers was doing depraved things to you and you couldn’t think straight. You just wanted him to keep doing what he was doing, to take all of you, every tiny nook and cranny of your being until he knew your pleasures like the back of his hand. 

“Such a needy girl, maybe after the flogger I’ll give you a reward.” He replied, sounding pleased with you, before he placed the tenth and final flog against your aching core. “God you look so sexy like this, blindfolded and tied to my bed, maybe I should leave you here as my own personal fucktoy, would you like that baby?” He asked as he inserted two fingers into your mouth. 

You mumbled your response against the digits, your pussy getting wetter at the thought of him using you like that. You were only half kidding when you had texted your friend about it but now, with your arousal so strong, it sounded more and more enticing. Steve removed his fingers from your mouth and brought them down to your sensitive center, rubbing them up and down your slit before inserting them into your slick heat. You gasped at the intrusion and felt your hips buck up in response to being filled. 

Your walls fluttered around his fingers as he began to pump them at a leisurely pace. You felt him make his way down your body to nestle himself between your spread legs and then his hot breath was fanning out over your cunt as his fingers continued to fuck you. “You look so good, pretty girl. Spread open for me like my own personal feast. God you’re so wet. I guess you like to be flogged.” He spoke, the filthy words that left his lips making you wetter than you already were. Without warning he brought his tongue to you and kitten licked your clit, sending a shockwave through your system. 

He took your clit in his mouth and sucked as he continued to work you with his fingers. You fruitlessly tugged against your restraints and bucked your hips in an attempt to get the friction you so desperately needed. 

“God sweetheart you taste better than I imagined.” Steve commented as his tongue lapped up your juices. “I bet I’ll be able to taste you on my tongue for a week.” 

“Fuck, Captain, please can I cum?” You begged, tears wetting the inside of your mask from the intensity of your session. 

“Come for me baby, let me feel you come on my fingers.” Steve commanded and that was your undoing. The knot that had been building inside of you was finally released and you came loudy around his fingers. You felt him lick you through the aftershocks. 

“Talk to me, pretty girl, how are you feeling?” Steve questioned, voice hot once again by your ear. His suit gently pressing against your overstimulated skin. “Give me a color.” He asked, pressing a gentle kiss to your jawline. 

“I’m good Captain, still Green.” You responded, coming down from your orgasm. 

“Such a good girl for your Captain. You’re doin’ so well pretty girl.” He said as he left the bed. You weren’t sure where he went until you felt his dexterous fingers undoing the ropes on your left leg. “I’m undoing the leg ropes first. And then I’m going to fuck you senseless like I’ve been wanting to do since I saw those damn text messages.” Your spent cunt clenched around nothing, as you eagerly waited for him to undo the other leg restraint. You could hear him undo the many zippers and clasps on his tac suit until the bed dipped and he was once again between your legs. 

This time skin met skin as you felt his upper thighs press between yours as he brought himself closer to you still. You felt the tip of his cock slide between your wet folds before slipping inside. The breath was stolen from your lungs at the feel of him sinking into your waiting cunt. A low moan left your mouth as you felt every perfect inch of him spreading you until he bottomed out and his hips nestled perfectly against your own. 

You felt his forehead press against your own. “Fuck you feel perfect, you know that pretty girl? My perfect little pussy.” He breathed against your mouth as he let you adjust to him. He retracted himself from you fully before swiftly filling you up again. Any noise you may have made was swallowed as he kissed you with a hunger you didn’t think was possible. What started as a slow rhythm quickly changed until he was snapping into you with a fervor akin to a madman. 

Your hips eagerly met his thrusts and soon your combined pants and skin slapping filled the room. Still blindfolded, you felt the moment his hand wrapped around your neck and squeezed just so. That had your walls flutter around him and your hips stuttered. 

“Oh you like that don’t you? You like when I choke you huh pretty girl?” He asked eagerly, his voice husky from moaning. 

“Yes, fuck, please Captain, fuck me.” You rasped out. You grunted as he brought his other hand down to press your hips into the mattress before he slammed into you at a relentless pace. Eventually, his hand left your throat to play with your bundle of nerves. 

“Come on pretty girl. Come for me.” He ordered and you were only too happy to comply. You came hard around him, enough that you saw stars behind the blindfold and Steve let out a string of curses and praises for you as he pulled out of you and you felt his cum paint your stomach. 

You had a moment to catch your breath as you heard Steve pad over to what you assumed was the bathroom. He came back and placed a warm washcloth against your skin, cleaning up the combined mess you both made. Then you felt his hands move up to untie the blindfold around your eyes. You squinted into the low light of the room and were shocked to see Steve bare chested and glistening with sweat before you. 

“Hi.” You murmured shyly, finding that some of your confidence had left you along with the blindfold. Seeing him like this, because of you, because of what you had done, somehow cemented this moment in reality. There was no turning back now. 

“Hi yourself, how do you feel?” He asked as he undid the ropes around your wrists. 

“I um wow, I feel great.” You said and realized it was true. In the afterglow of the scene you felt amazing. Sexy and empowered and utterly spent but undeniably amazing. 

“You did great.” Steve assured you as he took lotion into his hands and massaged the areas on your wrists and ankles where the ropes had been. He placed a gentle kiss on each palm when he was done and went to get you a glass of water. “Drink all of this.” 

You took the glass from his hands and drank deep. Appreciating the cool feeling of the water as it slid down the column of your throat, you didn’t realize how thirsty you had become. You finished the glass and handed it back to Steve, who placed it on one of his bedside tables. 

“Good girl.” He praised and you felt yourself blush in response. He noticed. “Do you like being praised, sweetheart?” 

“Yes Captain.” You nodded. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He replied as he helped you into one of his shirts and placed you underneath the covers. He rested beside you and wrapped you in his strong arms. “You did so well today for your first time. It wasn’t too much for you was it?” 

“No, I really liked it.” You reassured him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead with a promise to discuss it more after you slept some.

[inky-duchess]

Lessons Writers can learn from Hamilton

Guess who finally watched Hamilton? I love historical dramas and films and now historical musicals. I am a bigger nerd than before and I can't stop singing My Shot. So what can we learn about writing from Hamilton?

Aaron Burr, Sir

I really feel for Aaron Burr during the beginning of the story. Most of us have dealt with a similar issue: working hard yet somebody is always better than you. Even though Burr is technically the antagonist by story's end, most of the audience does get his point. But the problem with Burr, both by the audience's view and Hamilton's is the fact that he doesn't say what he believes in. La Fayette wants the fall of monarchy and better equality. Hamilton wants to make a place for himself in the world. Eliza wants her family to be happy. Burr tells Hamilton to keep his opinions to himself leading to Hamilton to ask, "Burr, the revolution's imminent. What do you stall for? If you stand for nothing, Burr, what'll you fall for?" Every character should have something they fight for. It endears them to the audience and allows us to stand behind them. Without goals and principles, a character will always just remain a name on a page and a collection of actions without meaning.

A different PoV- a different story.

During the Helpless section of the story, we witness the scene through Eliza Schuyler's eyes. We see her sister Angelica crossing the room to Alexander Hamilton to get him to dance with Eliza. Eliza sees Alexander as an honourable gallant, who has stolen her heart. Then in Satisfied, we see the scene from Angelica's PoV. Angelica is less naïve. She notes Hamilton's recognition of their last name, realizing that he's out to get a rich wife. She also realises that Hamilton will never be satisfied in life and that he's not a great catch socially or financially. "I asked about his fam'ly, did you see his answer? His hands started fidgeting, he looked askance He's penniless, he's flying by the seat of his pants". By showing this scene in dual PoV, we are awaken to both sides of Hamilton, the romantic version and the shrewd politician climbing his way up. By choosing a PoV character to tell a particular part of the story, you are moulding the events to the character's preconceived notions and opinions.

Foreshadowing

Hamilton does one thing exceptionally well. It foreshadows the ending very well. Hamilton repeatedly tells us that he isn't going to throw away his shot. We think it means his shot at rising up from poverty and his chance at notoriety in the Revolution. It starts becoming literal as Philip goes off to his first duel, with Hamilton almost begging Philip to fire his weapon away from his opponent. It doesn't do Philip any good. Later on during the duel against Burr, Hamilton intentionally misses his shot just as his son had only to die when his opponent discharged his weapon, killing him. Burr even called back to Philip's duel while describing Hamilton's affect before their own duel. You only begin to realise how profound the echo of My Shot is.

Alluding to a bigger picture

Hamilton may be a musical with no dialogue but that does not mean that there is no tell in the story. The actors do a great job of alluding to a deeper story behind the lyrics. During his last corporeal scene with Eliza, Hamilton's affect tells us that he at least very much suspects that he is not going to make it back this time. Lin Manuel Miranda's subtle expressions are just masterful. His mouth is saying one thing and his eyes are saying something completely else. In another brilliant Lin moment, the scene where Alexander blows up at Washington after the very first duel, you can see how angry Hamilton is. He is shaking despite his polite, yet curt replies. We don't even have to have the "Don't call me son" exchange. Lin's face tells us everything. Hamilton loves Washington like a father and resents him for rejecting his attempt to defend his name. We do not even have to be told, they showed us. There is always a deeper meaning to what a character does or says.

Your Protagonist is allowed do shitty things

A protagonist is not perfect. Most of the stories we read are narrated by people, who are by definition imperfect. If you look at any story the narrator/protagonist is usually a good person but has flaws or has done some questionable things. Hamilton is the good guy of the story, the protagonist, the hero. He's pro-Revolution, anti-slavery and has a troubled past. Even still Hamilton has an affair. It is not his best move or even the most savoury thing. There is no redeeming reason for him to cheat but even still, the audience either forgives him outright or takes it in their stride. Your protagonist does not have to be squeaky clean. They are allowed to make dumb decisions.

Remember History has its eyes on you

The one thing I often find missing in stories and worldbuilding is the media's/public's opinion on your characters or even the world around them. Hamilton hits the nail on the head. Your characters have no say on how they are perceived by their peers or the world around them. It is an interesting component to add in any narrative. What does the public say about your characters and world? "And when you're gone, who remembers your name? Who keeps your flame? Who tells your story? Who tells your story? Who tells your story?"

[nanaminokanojo]

Play the Game | Nanami Kento X You | Part 2/8

CHARACTERS: Nanami Kento X You (fem!reader | PLEASE READ THE NOTES BELOW*) | Gojo Satoru | Geto Suguru | Shoko Ieiri | Utahime Iori | other JJK Characters CHAPTER COUNT: 2/8 WORD COUNT: 4500+ GENRE: romance | fluff | slight angst | eventual smut | ooc depictions | female reader with described appearance* | modern au | rich people au | aged up characters CHAPTER TRIGGER WARNING: profanity | age gap | strong/mature/suggestive language | mentions of bullying, macabre stuff SPOILERS: n/a

collection masterlist

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight

"Play the Game" Masterlist

The sun hasn’t even risen when Nanami came to consciousness as usual. It did not matter whether he was on vacation or working, he just automatically wakes up at the same time each and every morning without miss. It’s regardless of whether he slept enough or not. He saw no point in tarrying in bed – it was unproductive – and immediately got up without skipping a beat in his routine.

“You’re too vanilla,” he remembered you commenting when you stayed one weekend at his place in the city for an art symposium, having met him on the hallway on your way to bed after staying up all night playing video games. He just brushed your remark off with a grunt back then, but at present, he couldn’t help but muse over the fact that everything he did reminded him of you.

It was a bit light outside when he emerged from the adjoining bath of the guest room. He threw on a pair of grey sweats and a white shirt and grabbed a water bottle and a small towel on his way out of the room, mind set on going for a run. If there was something great about staying at Gojo Manor, it was the fact that it was surrounded with acres of grassland and forest with trails great for walks and jogs.

Nanami particularly grew fond of the path that led to the lake at the bottom of the hill where the mansion stood. There was a direct view of it from the balcony at the back of the structure, appearing like a jewel in the middle of the woods, and it had always been his favorite spot. The late former clan head told him it was man-made and has been there for more than a century that it became a natural feature of the estate. It was a spot in the property with a great history and great value to the clan, thus his gravitation towards it.

It’s her favorite place in the whole estate, too, he thought indulgently.

Inhaling deeply, he set out to the back doors that led to the patio and the walled gardens, starting in a slow jog before building his momentum as he reached open grounds.

And thus, his day began as such.

He came back from his run when it was already too hot, heaving deep breaths and desperate for a shower as his white shirt and grey sweats stuck to his body, drenched in sweat. His leg muscles ached, but it had been a good run.

Greetings from the staff met him as he reentered the manor which he returned with polite nods. He was headed to the stairs when he passed by the breakfast room and happened to hear Gojo talking to you. It went against his principles to eavesdrop in an evidently private conversation but he stayed rooted on his spot upon hearing you speak.

Despite your seeming foul temper upon leaving him the previous night, you seemed to have bounced back to your usual self, your tone sounding more jovial than usual. Your words were at odds to your tone as you told Gojo not to piss you off so early in the morning.

"Are you sure there's nothing going on between you and Kento?" Gojo asked just as the person in question was about to pass the doorway.

"It's really none of your business," you responded, voice devoid of any emotions. He did it, Gojo. He finally fouled up your mood.

"But I'm your brother!" Gojo protested, acting all dumb around you again. He just had that complex where you were concerned. He has always been very soft on you yet he was also fiercely protective. You hated his attention though. Yours was a strange dynamic.

"Worry about your wedding, will you? Geez. Don’t you have a luncheon to host?"

"Why did you kiss him then? On the mouth no less!"

Nanami’s heart skipped a beat, anticipation rising like cold water from his toes going up his chest. He wanted to hear what you had to say. Fuck principles. He needed his answers, too. It did not matter in what way he was getting them at that rate. He was secretly hoping you will say something a little bit more revealing about what goes inside your head given that he cannot just pry inside it even if he wanted to.

"Because I wanted to." You stated it so matter-of-factly that Gojo was at a loss for words for a moment. “Didn’t you hear me? I was dying to do that since he arrived.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“You tell me.” That’s becoming your signature line. “You won’t understand unless you kiss, Nanamin, too,” the tenor of your words turning fanciful. “He has such an alluring taste to him.”

What is this woman on about?

“Oh, god, stop it!”

"You should have seen the looks on your faces though. I was half expecting your eyeballs to roll on the floor. Wouldn’t that have been grand? It’s definitely shocking but a good subject for art if not a medium." At that, you laughed, the sound hitting Nanami like tinkling bells. It was such a happy sound that reminded him of better days although the thought that prompted it was utterly macabre. “Maybe that should inspire my next work. It would be like Munch’s The Scream, the next of its kind.”

"Hmm. Good point…” Gojo mumbled, sidetracked, obviously sharing your sentiments on the idea of such grotesqueness, but regained his composure just as quickly. “It's not funny!"

"But it is." Your laughter subsided as quickly as it erupted from your throat as if it wasn't even there to begin with. Your capricious nature was surfacing once more, and if there was something that was more frightening than your strong, habitual liking for trifling with people, it was that. "So what if I have other intentions behind it? Are you gonna get mad at me or something?”

"Well, do you?!" Gojo sounded like a manatee on the throes of death.

“But what are you going to do, brother? Stop me perhaps?"

He of all people should know just how unstoppable you were when you have set yourself into doing something. “N-no –”

“And what if Nanamin has the same intentions? What will you do then?”

“Hey, that’s enough of you. I know you’re trying to trap me into saying something again.” He clucked his tongue. “I seem to be the only one who isn’t in on your games, and if it is one, I have to know. You’re just way too outrageous these days that I cannot tell what’s serious and what’s not anymore.”

Gojo took a deep breath, sounding distressed as he exhaled. “Is there something else going on?”

"Maybe,” you answered noncommittally.

"That's not an answer at all!" he snapped.

You clucked your tongue, sounding irritated. "Stop screaming, Satoru."

"Do you like him?"

“Is your emphasis on that word supposed to change its meaning?”

If Nanami’s heart was skipping earlier, it has now stopped completely, robbing him of air as it seemed to have affected his lungs, too. You were maddening, not only to Gojo but to him as well. It was evident that you were in your gaming mood again, and although you were only intentionally riling your brother, he was also directly in your line of assault.

Gojo sighed in defeat, mirroring Nanami’s feelings. “Y/N, please, just answer the question,” he whined.

“I guess.” There was a pause then you said, "I mean, what's not to like?"

"What?!"

“Like it or not, Nanamin is a very excellent specimen of the male populace. He’s fucking irresistible and that’s an understatement.” You scoffed. "Even you like him."

Your voice was followed by your footsteps as you neared the door. In a daze at your vocal expression of how you find him physically attractive, instead of backtracking, Nanami stepped forward and collided with your form, nearly knocking you off your feet. He was after all twice your size and a good foot taller than you.

"Careful," he said between deep breaths, one arm securing you by the waist while his other arm gripped onto the door jamb, the position making the veins and sinews of his arm rather pronounced.

“Speak of the devil…” You straightened up, not making any effort to hide the fact that you were checking him out. Your head turned towards the direction of the breakfast room, making him mimic the action only to see Gojo standing slack-jawed, watching what was unfolding before him with eyes wide with shock. Nanami could've sworn his best friend just went into a state of catatonia.

"Didn't see you there," you said, addressing Nanami, your blue eyes assessing him as if in suspicion.

"I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath, feeling the tips of his ears heating up. Before you could notice, he stepped aside, heading towards the direction of the stairs.

"Hey, Nanamin," you suddenly called, making him halt and turn his head to your direction. You were smirking at the direction of your brother as you said, "Nice ass."

He shook his head. It was really just a ploy to get to Gojo’s nerves, and he was your pawn.

**

The sound of graphite scratching on paper like a harsh slash of sword punctuated the impending absence of thought in your mind. Nothing mattered but the sight of your hand gripping a pencil as it created unintelligible strokes on the plain page of the sketchbook on your lap. It progressed to furious scribbling, your movements becoming faster, the sound dominating your corner of the room. Everything has been drowned out – the endless chattering, the sound of porcelain and silverware hitting each other in chaotic cacophony – heightening in a painful crescendo of auditory abomination and dying in the air, overwhelmed by the picture you were creating on the blank expanse of space.

“You must be so proud of your daughter.”

Scratch.

“Who wouldn’t be? It must be great to have geniuses for children”

Scratch.

“She’s just as famous as Satoru.”

Scratch.

Just like that, they didn't exist. The room was empty save for you and the view outside the window coming to life on paper. Your eyes darted from your sketch to the familiar yet equally exhilarating view just outside the parlor. Gojo was animatedly talking about something, easily excitable as always. His fiancée laughed on the side while Nanami was witheringly eyeing him, stoic as always. Shoko, who arrived the previous evening, also joined the group. All that was missing was Geto. You wondered if you should draw him somewhere in the sketch.

The image before you reminded you of those days when reality seemed far away, back when Gojo was still a student, exceptional as always but still young, not the renowned genius tycoon he was at present. His friends would always be around him, lounging around the manor like they hadn't a care in the world.

His crowd grew in number with Geto and Nanami being the two closest pals he had. Shoko joined in shortly in middle school. On the other hand, Utahime came during his university days, also starting off as Gojo’s friend and eventually becoming his girlfriend. Now they were about to get married and it seemed to punctuate all the changes that came with being the grown-ups that they are.

It scared you.

Fact is, growing up and growing old and the changes that come with it was terrifying. Even if you yourself were already twenty four, seemingly had your life together and appearing to have matured without a hitch, that wasn’t the case at all. Genius or not, your brother also had his issues even while he was rising to his current position in society.

The problem was within you, you knew it. That and the fact that you did not really know what growing means. Your work grew, matured like crazy. You didn’t think you yourself grew, stuck in those days when everything was relatively easier. At least then, you only had to worry about your classmates hating on you. Now a part of the public did.

Looking at Gojo and his gang, they’ve all handled that well, making you wonder how they did it. He is one of the youngest CEOs in the country, having built his business empire at just seventeen. Your future sister-in-law is a professor, Geto is a sought-after model and Shoko is a forensic pathologist. They were all great at what they did, struggled as well, but came out with perfect grace.

However, you think the best one out of them was none other than the object of your pining – Nanami Kento. The man made transitioning to adulthood look rather easy. Maybe it was because he had always been mature and held himself in perfect equilibrium. Sure, he was no Gojo Satoru, but he was innately intelligent and became one of the youngest barristers who held the position of a famous attorney’s partner. He handled controversial cases and is one of the best prosecutors in the country with a high winning percentage. His work aside, he seemed to have the least struggle out of everyone.

Your lips curled up at the corners at the thought of the man. Your gaze flicked to him from the sketchbook, sitting there with a beverage in his hand, the noon sun glimmering on his hair and the planes of his face, looking more laid back without a blazer on. He was dressed rather casually in a pair of khaki trousers and dusty blue button-ups, but he still looked smart. He always dressed that way which you found very attractive although seeing him in more casual clothes like that morning was another level of hot altogether. He’s quite a bit formal, making him seem monotonous, but it’s that consistency that you liked about him. It was only a bonus that he was devastatingly handsome with those sharp features and the suits made him look so sexy in that it left everything about his real physique to imagination.

One just could not get enough of him, at least you couldn’t, but you did see how his partner’s paralegal eyeballed him all the time. (You secretly wanted to gouge her eyes out.) That’s the kind of man Nanami was. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, it leaves profound dents to one’s psyche. And man, was he hot in court! He’s fucking sarcastic when he wants to be, to the point of being vile, but one just can’t get offended with the kind of logic he has. Once he speaks his mind, one wishes he wouldn’t stop, but he does and leaves that person craving more, his hypnotic, deep voice a rare treat. He wasn’t big on actions, wasn’t expressive, but when he does something, it’s always with purpose and precision, never over the top and always with disciplined stoicism.

You chuckled quietly, your pencil drawing perfect strokes of his hair when you were pulled out of your trance.

“Yuuji!” you heard Gojo say, pulling your attention to the direction of the window.

You broke into a grin at the mention of the name, hurriedly getting on your feet and running out of the room, deaf to your mother’s protests against your unladylike behavior – the commotion foreign to the ladies in the room who moved with the minutest rustles. You made your way out to the patio, that familiar tuft of pink hair coming into your line of vision. You sprinted through the glass doors towards the person whose name your brother called, smile wide and genuine.

“You kept me waiting long enough,” you called out, voice louder than usual. You’re hardly ever giddy nor were you easily excitable like your brother, but Itadori Yuuji was a different story altogether. You loved the boy with a fierceness akin to a mother and were always ecstatic to be around him but suppressed it by acting gruff. You were crazy like that.

“That’s because you won’t help me with my final requirements,” he retorted good-naturedly, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and nuzzling the back of your head as if you were a fuzzy plush toy, making you drop your drawing implements. Well, you were considerably smaller than him, and he was probably the only one who could do that to you and get away unscathed.

You rolled your eyes, noticing how Gojo had picked up your stuff, looking at the page where it was opened. “You should exert yourself more. You’re no genius after all.”

“That’s mean!”

You smirked at him, your eyes straying to your brother who was smiling at your drawing. He had such a proud, fond look on his face that you couldn’t do anything but stare. He has always been ever since you first held crayons and drew him as a cat. “You even included Suguru,” he cooed, pointing at the missing person you included then proceeding to show it off to his friends. “Guys, look. My baby sister drew us.”

“Surprise, surprise,” you sallied, but you were happy that he’s always showing you off.

Utahime and Shoko stood beside him, also looking at the sketch. The latter raised a thumb at your direction. “Damn, kid. You’re really great at what you do. How do you make things come alive with just a pencil?”

You smiled awkwardly. “I –”

“Give it here,” Nanami suddenly butted in, hand reaching for the sketchpad which Gojo promptly handed him.

You felt Yuuji elbowing you while you stood there, observing the man who was in possession of your drawing.

Nanami blinked then, handing it back to you. “How come I don’t have a face?” he asked, expression expectant of your response.

Annoyed, you snatched it back from him.

“It’s obviously not finished yet,” Shoko commented, but she couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was not that you cannot, but you would never draw his face. Ever. You tried tons of times if the tens of pages of sketchpads at your apartment filled with different angles and parts of him would be a basis for that. You could draw everything else about him, just not his face. No amount of contemplation and practice helped you to know why, but you attributed it to the fact that you could not do his face justice, at least in the sense that you would not be able to bring it to life as Shoko said.

Finally, you said, “I didn’t feel like drawing your face.” You turned away, dragging Yuuji with you. The boy was still giggling like a hyena until you got to the second-floor balcony where you propped yourself up on the balustrade, looking sulky.

"You might fall there, you know," he commented, jumping up the marble balustrade to join you.

"I can say the same for you," came your quiet reply. "Where's Megumi?"

“He’ll be here before lunch.” Yuuji leaned close to you with a mischievous grin on his face. “What, or rather who, is that look on your face for?”

"I think you know the answer to that."

"Did you tell Nanamin?" He addressed the man just as you did and got away with it, too, for some reason.

"Tell him what?"

He scoffed playfully. "Are you seriously playing this game with me? I'm your best buddy. I know everything."

"As irritating as that is, it's true."

Yuuji pouted at you. "I heard what you did yesterday. Why do you have to make games out of everything?"

"That's how I communicate. I thought you knew everything."

Harsh as always, he thought. "Be a normal person for once and just tell him." His brows knit together. "Well, you're anything but normal," he mused aloud. “I meant that nicely.”

You blew a raspberry. "You're just as normal as I am if you claim to be my best friend. Which you are. No take backs."

Yuuji couldn't help but smile at that. You have always been a loner and you did not mind being alone. He was grateful you wanted him around despite that.

"But you should stop doing this. He wants you. It's obvious."

"It's not that simple."

"What isn't simple? If it's Satoru, he'll understand for sure if you just try to be honest. I'm sure he just isn't for it more because he doesn't know how you feel. I mean, if I were him, I'll also protect my baby sister from my male friends. That's just how it is."

You blinked, pivoting your whole body so you were facing him.

"Well, of course, Nanamin needs to fight for it, too," he was quick to throw in, rambling to himself when he suddenly felt you reach out towards him, gently running your fingers through his pink hair. He leaned towards your touch, smiling contentedly.

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"I'm not –"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Are you seriously playing this game with me?" you asked, mimicking his words earlier. "I'm your best buddy. I know everything, one of them being the fact that you worry worse than my mother."

Yuuji jumped off the balustrade, reaching out to grab you in a bear hug despite your protestations. Just like how you were with everyone else, you shunned his affection, but he knew better than to let go when you were saying exactly that. He found that trait of yours adorable.

"You're so irritating," you hissed, flipping your platinum white hair over your shoulder when you finally managed to get off his grip but he wrapped an arm over your shoulder nonetheless, undeterred by your words.

"You know you love me."

"Shut up."

Yuuji pouted. "You sound like Megumi."

"I heard that," the person in question suddenly spoke from the direction of the entry, his deep voice making you and Yuuji turn towards him. "They're calling everyone for lunch."

Yuuji followed behind as you approached Megumi, also one of your closest friends and practically your brother, keeping you in check more than Gojo ever can.

"Guess what," Megumi said to you as you walked beside him. In one of the rare moments you would see it, he grinned and you knew it wasn't because of anything good.

"What?" you and Yuuji, who thought the same by the look on his face, chorused.

"Nobara switched your name card with Miwa's. You're now seated next to your man candy. You're welcome."

“Isn’t that more of a perk for Miwa? She’s scared shitless of Nanamin, you know.”

The three of you laughed while Yuuji could just shake his head at the inescapable trouble that will follow. His only consolation was that it’s fun when it involves you.

**

What were the odds, Nanami thought to himself. He didn't have to look twice to see whose name it was on the card on the spot next to him. He exhaled loudly, unfolding the napkin and placing it on his lap. This could only lead to hullabaloo he was not exactly in the mood to deal with especially after you just told him you did not feel like drawing his face. You sure were mean when you wanted to be.

He surveyed his vicinity. Your father, the current head of the clan from whence your blue eyes came from, was seated at the head of the table, your mother to his right, while Utahime’s parents sat to his left. It seemed to have been the only formalities observed in the arrangement. From across Nanami sat Utahime and Gojo while on his right were a couple he only knew as cousins to the Gojo main family.

He was internally pinching the bridge of his nose. You really had to be the one seated next to him and right across your annoying brother, too.

The luncheon started without you. It wasn't a formal gathering after all except they were serving a full-course meal. It was more of a way to get everyone to know one another over the week for some reason he cannot fathom, and he was glad that only your father was the one who had engaged him in a conversation, mostly about work. It was easy enough to deal with.

"Where are Y/N and her friends?" your mother asked Gojo out of the blue.

Utahime, answering for the clueless person beside her, pointed towards the direction of the door to the banquet hall where you were leisurely walking towards your designated seat with Yuuji and Megumi. The former rounded the table to sit next to Gojo.

"Still managing to be late even when you're already at the venue, baby sis?" Nanami heard Gojo say as you assumed your seat. It was evident in the way his eyes shifted from Nanami to you that your tardiness wasn't exactly the problem.

You blatantly ignored his comment and turned your attention to Nanami. "Had a good run this morning, Nanamin?"

"Just so," he answered, side-glancing at you.

"Yeah. You looked super hot this morning," you said just as Gojo was taking a sip from his wine glass.

Megumi snorted when the older male started choking on his drink while Yuuji was trying hard not to laugh.

Nanami knew he would have reacted the same way except that he had been bracing himself for whatever you will say the moment Gojo opened his mouth. Of course you will use him in your counter attack. It's yet another game, not that he was less affected by your words.

"You should have seen him, Iori," you continued, addressing your brother's fiancée. "He looks so much less uptight in casual clothes."

It didn't escape Nanami’s notice how Gojo was looking at him. He looked about ready to drop onto the floor, but paid him no mind as he leveled his mouth to your ear. "Y/N, let's not make your dear brother snap, shall we?"

"Oh, sweetheart, maybe that's what he needs right now," you deadpanned, meeting his gaze squarely, your disposition unreadable as you let your eyes linger on him longer than was deemed appropriate.

Yuuji finally laughed, earning him a kick to the shins under the table courtesy of Megumi.

What it was about you that made everything else irrelevant and nonexistent when you’re that close to him was something beyond him. You always made him lose control, tempted him to break the rules. He only knew he couldn't act on it. Most of the time anyway. He also felt like laughing, oddly enough.

Utahime just chuckled good-naturedly breaking the tension. "Since the two of you are here, I should tell you that the final fitting for your clothes for the wedding is this afternoon. So, you better go together at the shop."

"Traitor." Gojo pouted at Utahime but nobody was really paying attention to him anymore. For someone so important to society with a flawless image, the closest people around him sure were good at disregarding him when they deemed it fit.

"Okay," Nanami said, looking at you for confirmation.

It was you who looked away this time. "I'm free."

"That's set then." Utahime clapped her hands and to Nanami she cheekily said, "Maybe wear something less formal."

At that, you grinned wickedly at him. So much for avoiding trouble with you.

-end of part 2-

*I used “you” here, but since my character is Gojo’s little sister who is established to be his female clone for reasons essential to the plot, she possesses the same blue eyes and white hair. I did not exactly want to create an OC (although technically, I did by describing Y/N), but I opted for the best of both worlds in this fic, leaning more towards the literary aspect of it as opposed to it just being reader/you-oriented. I hope this isn’t iffy to anyone, and yeah, i’m not being exclusive or whatever.

If you want to be included in the tag list, please DM me :)

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20210709] PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART SOURCES CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[princeescaluswords]

Stans: "Scott was ALWAYS getting others to do his dirty work and kill for him!!!11"

*footage not found*

You know who ACTUALLY was sending others to kill for them or do things for them? Peter. Derek. STILES. The latter asked Scott to consider letting Derek die.

List of People that Scott McCall could be said to have expressed a desire or resolve to see dead in the show:

Peter Hale (Season 1 only -- the only cure for lycanthropy)

Gerard Argent (Season 3A only -- "If you lied and it gets someone hurt, I'll be back to take away more than your pain.")

Jennifer Blake (Season 3A -- "Whatever you're doing to cause this storm, make it stop, or I'll kill you myself. I don't care what it does to the color of my eyes.")

Sebastien Valet (Season 5B -- "History's most vicious, most famous werewolf" and a resurrected serial killer.)

That's it. Now let's look at how they died.

Peter Hale (Season 1 -- Derek Hale ripped out his throat in revenge and to claim power. Didn't stick, unfortunately.)

Gerard Argent (Season 6B -- torn apart by the daughter he betrayed.)

Jennifer Blake (Season 3A -- attempted to be killed by Deucalion in order to remove a threat and then murdered by Peter.)

Sebastian Valet (Season 5B -- killed by Scott throwing the Pike through its discorporated form.)

In the first example, Scott was literally begging Derek to let him do it, because he was afraid that if he remained a werewolf, he would die. I would say that by no stretch of the imagination could anyone claim that this was Scott getting Derek to do his dirty work for him, but I've been on Tumblr too long to say that. In the second example, while Gerard was lying, it didn't get anyone hurt, and Scott did not actually talk to Kate for forty episodes before she kills her father, so much the same as the first. In the fourth example, well, mission accomplished.

Only in the third example did he even have the opportunity to get Deucalion to kill Jennifer for him, and that didn't happen. Scott's attention was focused on Jennifer that he wasn't even aware that Deucalion had recovered from Jennifer's earlier attack. Scott says nothing to the killer, the killer lunges forward and slashes her throat with a witty saying. Deucalion had his own motivations for ending Jennifer's threat, and the final damning detail -- he failed. She managed to crawl away only to be executed by Peter at the Nemeton so he could regain his physical potency.

So when parts of the fandom say Scott got other people to do his dirty work for him, what are they talking about?  It’s an interesting process.

Step One is to determine who a protagonist should want to die based on fandom's own black-and-white ideas of who should live and who should die (in other words, any antagonist who is not a good-looking white man). Often, this echoes the expressed beliefs of character who are not Scott, such as Derek, Peter, Stiles, Allison, Gerard, Deucalion, Noshiko, Kate, Theo, or Sheriff Stilinski. The targets do not have to actually die for this step to occur.

Step Two is to interpret the deaths or near-deaths of these individuals as Scott's responsibility even though he does not want the victims to die and sometimes even expressed the belief that it is wrong for them to die (see Josh and Tracy). They also can insist on interpreting actions taken by Scott to stop the antagonists as an intention to kill when not a single scene or line of dialogue supports that interpretation (see the Master Plan).

Step Three is to take the death of these characters at the hands of other character who are not Scott -- who always have their own motivations for killing the targets -- and assign desire, intent, and conspiracy to Scott. If Theo murders Josh for his electromagnetic powers which will allow him to use the Doctor's Mask to find the host of La Bete, this is actually Scott's dirty work, even though Scott has argued against killing chimera, has no idea of the spare Mask's existence, and it wasn't his idea for Theo to kidnap Deucalion to teach him how to steal powers in the first place.

It's a lovely trick, isn't it? Parts of the fandom get to impugn Scott's motives, calling him a ruthless schemer while somehow still arguing he's dumb, easily fooled, and naive in his beliefs. Then they get to make others crimes -- Derek's, Peter's, Gerard's, Deucalion's, Theo's -- his responsibility even when he doesn't even know they were a possibility. After they do this, they're existing in the same hyper-violent fantasy plane where Scott is a hypocrite for thinking that the death of a young man who was taken by evil men and transformed into an out-of-control monster is something that as the Protector of Beacon Hills -- his unpaid and unasked-for occupation -- he should hold someone accountable.

Try to wrap your head around this logic: Scott is a bad person for letting others do his killing for him, whether the victims be Peter or the chimeras or Gerard or Jennifer, but Scott is also a bad person when he tries to stop or holds other accountable for doing this killing for him. In their warped schema, Scott simultaneously wants Deucalion to trick Theo into killing the chimeras that he supposedly wants dead because he doesn't want to do it himself but is also angry that Stiles killed a chimera that he supposedly wants dead and so didn't have to do it himself.

It's not about a critical analysis of Scott's moral or ethical principles or his leadership style. It never has been. It's been about tearing him down because the production had the nerve to say that Teen Wolf was Scott's story. Peter and Gerard and Jennifer and Sebastian were Scott's antitheses; Derek and Stiles and Theo were Scott's foils. These storytelling techniques show Scott’s development as heroic protagonist by contrasting his actions against theirs.

They can't stand this, even though all of those characters who they liked (unanimously white men) were given arcs and stories of their own, they still functioned as part of Scott's story. So, in their rage, they have to delegitimize Scott as the central character. And they are still trying.

BUT IT’S NOT RACISM.

[gemsofgreece]

random but I find it a bit uncomfortable when we Greeks, especially someone like you who actually knows about history and is educated, calls Scopje "North Macedonia". Just bc they decided to call themselves like that and our dumb, unpatriotic politicians accepted it, I don't see why we should play along. Macedonia is Greek. Alexander the Great was Greek. Period.

If even we Greeks give in and start calling them like this, then we can't expect foreigners not to do so or not to eventually believe the false historical facts spread by that country. And eventually everyone, even Greeks, will believe that Macedonia or Alexander or whatever else were not Greek.

This thought worries me a lot. But since I live overseas myself, I do try educating foreigners about this.

sorry for the lil rant, but it's not the first time I see Greeks (even on tv!) do that and it is disappointing and saddening to me.

like Turks, Germans, French, British or ppl from any other country would never behave the way Greeks do on such a matter.

Really makes me wonder sometimes what it is that makes us Greeks so unpatriotic. it's somehow like being patriotic equals being a fascist for us, and obviously no one wants that so we just accept everyone else running over us, our history and our culture. (generally speaking, not only about that topic and it's definitely not towards you. just an observation of mine)

anyway again sorry for the rant.

I agree, many Greeks have that belief that any slight patriotic sentiment, even without hatred or any feeling of superiority, automatically makes you a fascist. It frustrates me too.

On the topic of our neighbour country, things are very complicated though. It’s not as easy as to say “There’s no other Macedonia - our politicians betrayed us - I try to educate as many people as I can”.

First of all, Skopje is not a correct term to use either. Skopje is their capital city and if I said “there are Pomak populations in Bulgaria, Northeastern Greece and Skopje”, then the average foreigner would misunderstand that sentence. We Greeks simply use that name for the country in lack of any better alternative and because it is not our job to find one for them.

Of course I dislike the name North Macedonia, however I think it is better in comparison to what was being used till the change. Just because we Greeks used the former official name FYROM, it doesn’t mean foreigners did too. It is very sad but it is the truth. In the absence of Greeks, everybody was calling the country Macedonia. The reason is a) the insane propaganda of the neighbours, b) the weirdness of an acronym used as a country’s name and c) the extremely long and complicated name when said in full. Trust me, everyone called them Macedonia and when a Greek showed up and screamed “it’s FYROM”, they were largely ignored or even ridiculed.

Let alone that FYROM is in truth an even more terrible name than North Macedonia. Remember what it means. Former Yugoslavic Republic of Macedonia. What the hell does that mean? That it was formerly (yugo)slavic but now it is not? And that it was or still is THE Republic of Macedonia, the one!!! You get how this was way worse than North Macedonia? North Macedonia suggests that there is another Macedonia too, a South Macedonia. So the average foreigner who doesn’t know much about Greek or Slavic history may be intrigued by that North specification and look up what the “south” Macedonia is and find out about our region and its inhabitants and history. Also the differentiation between North Macedonia and Macedonia (ours, often called Historical or Aegean Macedonia) may intrigue new people to study the issues of the tensions between the two countries and have an educated opinion on it. This was much less probable to happen when foreigners were expected to call the country FYROM and then they were weirded out, so they would be like “oh just call it Macedonia for short” and they would do that without second thought, without knowing someone else condemns this name as appropriation of history and direct land claim.

Of course, the name North Macedonia is mostly inaccurate as only a small part of the far south of the country is part of the actual Ancient Macedonia. The ideal would be a NO Macedonia name but right now it was not realistic. They would not accept it and they were getting deeply under the influence of Turkey. Albania and Bulgaria are deeply influenced by Turkey, Greece felt it was suicide if she destroyed entirely the relations with North Macedonia and was literally surrounded by Turk friends from all sides. I am sure both sides absolutely loathe every single term in this agreement but politics sometimes work differently than our principles. I don’t like it but I have come to a place that I kind of understand. I hate it but it is better than the absolute nothing we had before.

What I can’t come to terms with is giving in for the nationality and language. That really seems as little other than a big fat betrayal. However, if I try hard to be objective about the situation, I believe neighbours are in a worse place than us in the longterm. Huge tensions often arise inside North Macedonia with like 1/3 of “”””””MaCEdoNIAns”””””” being Albanian and Bulgaria claiming the rest 2/3 are actually Bulgarians. And what is factually the truth, that the “Macedonian” language is basically a Bulgarian dialect just must create a situation of chaos within the country. I wouldn’t find it surprising if the nation feels unsafe. And when a nation feels unsafe, the best way to control it, distract it from the identity confusion and give it a purpose is to feed them with a shitload of propaganda, the kind they would LIKE to hear.

When Slavic populations were pushed north and out of Macedonia by the Greeks during the Balkan Wars and then they became part of what was called South Serbia and then part of Yugoslavia and then Yugoslavia collapsed and their population is a blend of Serb Slavs, Bulgarians, Albanians and apparently there must be Greek Slav origins there too, it is no wonder the nation suffers from identity crisis and is susceptible to brainwashing and propaganda. I suppose they hate the guts of all of us surrounding them. So the claim that Macedonian is a separate ethnicity, unrelated to Greeks, and they are the sole descendants, a claim that was only made in 1935 for the first time, was a desperate way to establish an identity against Slavs and Greeks who surrounded them and with whom they felt entirely disconnected and hostile. I mean, at points in time, they were even denying any Slavic heritage. I think lately things aren’t as bad as they were. Of course, their government remains provocative towards Greece even after the agreement but this is no surprise after Greeks agreed on nationality and language. Currently they have tensions on ethnicity and culture mostly with Bulgarians and Albanians so our issue is somewhere in the back. Some of their youth now says they don’t actually believe they are descendants of Alexander the Great and that was an extreme measure to spite Greece. This was one of the terms of the Prespes agreement after all: that they would stop claiming Greek history and culture. Of course extreme and brainwashed nationalists are alive and well (everywhere) but things are better than they were some years ago IMO. I could be wrong though.

Anyway I get why things happened the way they happened. But of course butchering history is not the solution… but as you see they are not very close at solving anything. That was kinda my answer’s point, not sure it came across right. In the meantime, I have to use this geographic term to be understood and it is a little better than any widely understood alternative.

Context for foreigners: Alexander the Great died about 800 years before the first Slav stepped on Macedonia or any other Greek territory. Macedonians and all other Greeks technically stopped being considered as “ancient” half a millennium before the first Slavs showed up.

[princesssarcastia]

first hp and now MCU *sigh*

sighs. anyway the reason the jane foster au thing is taking literally seven years is that I’m physically incapable of writing for the MCU without fixing everything I thought was dumb about it.  can’t just do a canon re-write because I Refuse To Condone XYZ.  The things I thought were dumb are many and myriad, but here’s one of them:

In Infinity War, they won’t destroy the mind stone while it’s still attached to Vision because they “don’t trade lives,” even though Steve made the same damn sacrifice, whatever.  But the thing is the avengers then immediately travel to Wakanda and start trading Wakandan lives for Vision’s.  They trade so many lives for Vision’s, and in the end it doesn’t even matter because they have to kill him themselves anyway.  SO all those Wakandans died for nothing.  They died for the aesthetic of the avengers having an army.  They died because no one thought through “yeah, T’Challa is totally down to sacrifice his people’s lives for one android he isn’t close with.”  They died because, let’s be honest, the lives of those random Wakandan soldiers meant less to not only the white main characters, but also the white movie creators. hmm. what could possibly be the impetus there.  mostly stupidity, but probably also some racism, lbr.

anyway.  all this to say what follows is a snippet where a) the battle to save vision isn’t taking place in Wakanda proper because the avengers don’t trade lives...other than their own.  In fact, it’s taking place in the arctic circle, where Wakanda has a shielded research station with no civilians that Shuri can appropriate to fix Vision without having her citizens die needlessly.  b) it’s just the avengers there, because they’re willing to put their own lives on the line for their friend and their principles. c) they’re using the mind stone as a lure to keep Thanos’ giant monster army focused on them, in this unpopulated place, rather than a city or a country.

you didn’t really need to know that, actually, because this fic snippet is about bruce banner.  explicit tw in the tags you may want to check for if you don’t mind a spoiler.  anyway, oh well, long walk for a short drink of water:

The walls shake with something other than the wind, and Bruce grits his teeth against whatever extrasensory response the other guy is having.  If he doesn’t want to come out to play, then he doesn’t get to raise the hairs on the back of Bruce’s neck.

The other guy.   After two years being trapped while he gets to play, maybe Bruce is the other guy now.  Maybe the Hulk—

“Doctor Banner,” Shuri says without looking away from her interface.  “If you’re going to help, then help.  Otherwise stop distracting me and get out.”

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four...”You’re right.  Sorry.”  He turns back to his equations and keeps calculating what kind of energy source they can create here to replace the mind stone.  Vision may be able to survive without it, but it’s ridiculous to ignore that it serves a purpose in keeping him not just alive, but functional.  There’s a difference between surviving and living and the Avengers aren’t risking their lives just so he can—

Boom.

Dammit.

Shuri’s guard, the one T’Challa left with them—Ayo? Was that her name?—steps further away from them and speaks into her bracelet—kimoyo beads.  Bruce strains to ignore it because he doesn’t need to know what he’s missing outside, doesn’t need to know how poorly the battle is going for his friends, his—his shield brothers, Brun would call it, without him.  There’s no doubt in his mind Shuri could save Vision without him and there’s no doubt in her mind, either; he’s here as a courtesy and because it’ll go faster, at least.  Because he’d be useless otherwise, sitting there with his thumb up his ass while his friends fight and die without him, without them, dammit Hulk—

“Princess,” Ayo calls. 

“Not yet.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know how long, I’ve never done a neural reprogramming for an android before.”  Shuri purses her lips.  “Longer than this, certainly, to revolutionize a field that doesn’t even exist yet.”  She reprograms another synapse.  It looks like maybe thirty percent of them are done.  Thirty percent, after four hours.

Bruce glances at Ayo from the corner of his eye because he’s a masochist and he can’t help himself.  Her face is troubled, and so is Okoye’s on the projection hovering over her wrist.

“Ayo, tell her she needs to hurry up!”  The projection twists like the general has taken her hand from her face.  There’s a flash of silver, a war cry, and a brief, incomprehensible glimpse of something black and twisted and horrible.  It cuts out in the middle of the creature’s answers screech.

Ayo slowly lowers her hand back to her side, and Bruce tries to focus back in on his work.  Tries to focus on the math, on the energy readings, on Vision’s life in here instead of all the death out there, because if he doesn’t—

“I really am going as fast as I can,” Shuri says in a small voice.  Twenty.  She’s just twenty years old, what was Bruce doing at twenty?

Don’t go there.  Don’t go there, Bruce.  Shouldn’t have come back to the Arctic, that was just asking for trouble.

Focus.

What would happen if he lost it, and the Hulk refused to come out?

Focus.  Focus on Vision, on saving his life.  Save lives.  Save his life.

“So you're saying that the Hulk... the other guy... saved my life?”

Another explosion rocks the room, rocks the station, rocks the damn arctic ice pack they’re standing on.  It’s the biggest one yet.    “Evacuate the southeast quadrant.  All personnel in the southeast quadrant, evacuate to the next defense point.”  The intercom doesn’t even crackle as it activates over their heads and Bruce is struck by how odd that is; it’s almost more unnerving that the idea of the situation escalating to the point of evacuation.  Ayo pulls up a map of the station on her kimoyo beads and manipulates it, pulling up what he assumes is the southeast quadrant.

“That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. Saved it for what?”  

“How bad is it?” Bruce asks.

Ayo’s eyes dart to Shuri, who is nothing but relentless; he hasn’t seen her stop once this whole time.  “Bad.  They have breached the facility’s outer defenses.  Princess, perhaps we should—”

“No!”  Shuri all but shouts.  “I will not evacuate, I will not abandon this mission, we’re not finished yet.  Tell someone to come fill the gap.”

“Princess, if they have not already done so, then they may not have the manpower to do it.”

“Then call reinforcements!”

There are no reinforcements because this is a hail-Mary, vigilante mission and all the Avengers on-world are already here.  T’Challa isn’t bringing any more of his people into this, and Steve and Natasha and Tony would never ask him to.   When they fail, that’s it, it’s done.  And so is Vision, and this will all have been for nothing. 

“I guess we'll find out.”

Bruce pushes his glasses off his nose and pinches his brow.  He can’t even think about this; he’s thinking about it without thinking it, a glaring absence that lets you see the shape of it regardless.

“This wasn’t just a Wakandan station, right?  I mean, you guys opened it up to other countries for the science and information exchange?”

A pause.  “Yes.”

“Any military?”

A longer pause.  “...Yes.  Dr. Banner, what are you...”

She trails off as Bruce looks up.  There must be something in his face.

“Did they leave anything behind when they airlifted out earlier?  Weapons?” He adds, because there’s no use beating around the bush.  No time. 

“Probably, but you will find nothing there of any use.  Wakandan technology—”

“Is much more advanced, I know.  But you don’t really have any projectile weapons.

Ayo’s nose crinkles up in disgust, but is already turning back to her charge.  “Of course not.  So primitive.  Princess, we will need time to evacuate to the ship, please.”

Shuri cuts a glance at him, seemingly ignoring Ayo.  “What do you need a projectile weapon for, Dr. Banner?”

“Something desperate.”  He pulls his glasses off and sets them on the table.  “Stay here, Shuri, finish your work.  Save him.”

Bruce has never asked anyone else to risk their life when his own would do. He’s not fucking starting now, when the whole universe is at stake. 

Between him and Shuri, Ayo reluctantly lets the issue go, but he can tell if Thanos’ army gets a single step closer to her Princess, Ayo will throw her over her shoulder and sprint for the quinjet, mission be damned.  He marches out of the room and follows Ayo’s directions to the nearest storage area; the American one, as luck would have it.  Because of course the American team brought guns to the Arctic Circle on a science and information exchange program.  Of course.  A few M11s just lying around, lost in the hasty shuffle to abandon this place.  Bruce picks it up and just holds it.  Feels the weight in his hand.  Ayo was right, they are primitive; primitive and ugly and violent and only good for one thing. Another impact.  The station shakes again, and the lights flicker above his head. Now.  It has to be now. He doesn’t have a radio, but he knows where the southeast corner of the building is, so he keeps the gun in a tight grip and heads that way. Three corridors away and he starts to hear noises.  Yelling.  Screaming.  Gunfire.  Energy bursts.  The ring of Steve’s shield, the whine of Tony’s repulsors.  And above it all that same horrible screeching noise from those creatures invading their planet at the behest of a genocidal maniac trying to kill Bruce’s friends. Kill the Hulk’s friends. Louder, and louder, and louder, until he can’t even hear himself think which is good because he doesn’t want to think about this he never wanted to think about this again even though he did, a lot, like after Lagos and Sokovia and Sakaar. The team has driven them back from the breach in the facility, that’s good.  Wind and snow come howling in through the massive hole and Bruce shivers and tells himself its from the cold. Outside is...pandemonium.  His friends are like brief sparks of light in a sea of writhing, angry, violent darkness trying to tear them apart.  There are so many of them he can barely see the horizon and they show no sign of stopping. In the distance, he makes out Steve, locked in fierce battle with something that looks less like a bargain bin eldritch horror and more like one of those Black Order people. He’s losing.  Even Bruce can tell that. “Now would be a really good time for you to get angry” He’s always angry.  But the anger isn’t enough anymore. “Bruce, what are you doing out here?”  Tony screams at him, flying towards him with his hands still targeting energy blasts at the enemy.  “I thought you said the Hulk can’t come out, you can’t be here!  Go help Shuri!” Ten, nine, eight, seven—oh, fuck it. “Won’t, not can’t, Tony.” One breath.  Two breaths.  He squeezes the grip so hard it starts denting his palm. “Those are functionally the same, big guy, so get the hell out of here.  We got this!” “No you don’t, we’re losing!”  Bruce takes a short inhale through his nose.  “They’re not functionally the same when I can force his—our hand.” That finally makes Tony look at him, and Bruce doesn’t know if he catches it on his own or FRIDAY points it out to him, but he finally sees the gun.  He dissolves his faceplate and looks at Bruce with wide, exhausted eyes.  “No, no, Bruce, don’t you dare, Bruce!” He lunges, but he doesn’t make it before the gun goes off, the bullet tears through Bruce’s mouth and then—and then nothing. The Hulk roars.   Anger isn’t enough anymore.  Self-preservation will have to do.

[twistedtranslations]

Cater Diamond - H-Huh?

You can unlock this story by getting Cater’s SR Lab coat

Translation under the cut

General TN

Cater refers to himself a lot as Cay(-kun), aka in third person, which is pretty important to know. I’ve only translated the line when he uses “Cay” to refer to himself once in the last paragraph for emphasis.

Laboratory

Cater: Damn, our break's already over. Hm, gotta find an empty seat… Ah, if it isn’t Vil and Lilia! I’m butting in and taking this seat~

Lilia: Oh, Cater. For you to be in the same elective as us.

Vil: It’s quite surprising that you chose poison refinement as your elective.

Cater: You think so? The other class sounded really boring.

Vil: Are you talking about "The transition and comparison of abbreviating incantations in ancient and modern times?"

Cater: That one! I've heard that it's the kind of class where you only make chronological tables and write reports. I'll definitely get fed up with something as boring as that. It's not like poison refinement is flashy either, but it has a dangerous vibe~…

Lilia: So when you weighed them against each other, you find this more preferable? I too chose this class for the same reason.

Cater: Really~? You and I, as fellow members of the light music club, really get along~

Crewel: Stop your yapping mongrels. Class is starting.

Everyone: Yes!

Crewel: Our first topic is cultivating mandrakes. If you bestow magic upon the seedling, it will grow faster. Be careful when you concentrate your magic, because how you raise it will affect the effectiveness of the poison. Then, godspeed, cultivate the seedlings you have at hand until they're a suitable size. Start the experiment!

Cater: Okay, let's put in some magic… Wow, the leaves and roots are steadily growing, nice~ If this keeps on, I'll have some healthy crops!

Lilia: … Oho? Cater, your mandrake has bigger leaves than mine.

Cater: You're right. Vil's mandrake… its leaves and roots look really glossy~

Lilia: Now that you say so… When I traveled in the past, I happened upon a soil of mandrakes and their shape and nature all differed.

Vil: The color of a crop can depend on the farmer, especially when it comes to vegetables.

Cater: So you mean to say that mandrakes raised by humans will reflect the character of the person whose magic it absorbed? Isn't that interesting! If we pour our magic in with all our power, we can make some distinctive mandrakes! Don't you think we'll trend on MagiCam if we manage to make some with funny poses and vegetable shapes?

Vil: That doesn't sound bad. I don't really care about the mandrakes trending though.

Cater: Really?! I mean, I proposed the idea, but I thought you, of all people, would find it stupid.

Vil: Now that I think about it, it's about imbuing your own hues in the mandrakes. Isn't that the perfect job for the elegant me? I am interested.

Lilia: I too will take part. I am most looking forward to the result.

Cater: Yay! Then, when we're done cultivating our mandrakes, we should come together and show 'em to each other! I look forward to seeing what mandrakes you'd make!

-

Vil: Here it is. What do you think about my mandrake?

Cater: Wow! This mandrake has an outstanding spine and build. And its roots are so crisp, it looks like a supermodel! Even more, it's moving rhythmically in cool poses. Glorious!

Vil: He's performing as if he's working. It must have been the influence of yesterday's magazine photoshoot.

Cater: As expected of you, Vil. Your amazing self awareness reflects in the individuality of your mandrake!

Lilia: Fufufu, mine is complete as well.

Cater: Huh, your mandrake is energetically dancing?!

Vil: The way it's moving its arms,is this a pop dance? What an awfully cheerful mandrake.

Cater: When you pull out a mandrake, it desperately cries with, resolved to its grim fate, but… Lilia’s mandrake looks completely different from what I expected. It's nice that it's having fun.

Lilia: Kufufu, I am glad I satisfied you. Raising a mandrake like this is very pleasant.

Cater: I won't lose to you two either. I'll make some real interesting guys! Okay, concentrate. While you're pouring your magic in, you should form an image of the mandrake you want to cultivate… There!

Chapter 2

Cater: Okay, concentrate. While you're pouring your magic in, you should form an image of the mandrake you want to cultivate… There!

Lilia: Oho, this is… a mandrake with cute, round, pink eyes.

Vil: Cater, you are unexpectedly girlish.

Cater: No, no, that's not it at all! I have two sisters after all… The Diamond family rates everything on its cuteness~ From drawing, to doing crafts and even when it came to the sweets I bought, I'd get criticized daily if it "weren't cute"…! That's why I got something cute on my first try. Well, I'll show you. The next one will be way cooler!… There!

Vil: Huh, the deep crimson body has a trump card pattern over it… What a bold design.

Lilia: Hoho, it lookes as if it is holding a guitar. It is very handsome indeed. This is the workmanship fitting of one who belongs to the light music club.

Cater: Thanks, you two! Now that I've got the hang of it, I can make other glamorous guys like this in a flash! If I concentrate once more… let's go!

Vil: This mandrake… this one is sitting on his knees as if he's prepared for gym class.

Lilia: Quite pessimistic, this one.

Cater: H-Huh?

Vil: ... Hey, Lilia. You said that the appearance of a cultivated mandrake depends on the personality of the human whose magic it was imbued with, right?

Lilia: Yes. It might be that the usual cheerful Cater hides a very downer side of himself.

Cater: Huuh?! No way, you guys are just overthinking! I sucked at imbuing this one with my magic!

Lilia: Cater, why are you so flustered? So your real essence might be~

Cater: There's no such thing as that~! Lilia, you're just playing with me, right? Come on… From now on, I'll show what I can really do!

-

Vil: Heh… I managed to cultivate three mandrakes.

Lilia: Me too. This amount of ingredients should suffice for refining the poison. How is Cater doing…?

Cater: Tada! These are my mandrakes!

Lilia: Oho, you also have three! A skipping one, a rainbow colored flashy one… and one who is holding his belly while laughing. They all seem fun from their appearance!

Cater: Right!

Vil: Hm, only three? I thought I saw you make more.

Cater: Hah! Don't joke around like that, Vil. These three are all of them.

Vil: Hmpf, if you say so, I won't pry any further.

Cater: A-Anyways, since I went through the trouble of making them, I should take some pics for MagiCam!

*shutter sounds*

Cater: Phew~ Be good, little mandrakes~ I'll keep on shooting 'til I get the perfect shot!

Lilia/Vil: …Ah.

Cater: Hey, which picture do you guys think is the best?

Crewel: Cater Diamond.

Cater: !

Crewel: What do you think that happens to fussing mongrels that do not stop barking.

Cater: A, Ahaha~ my apologies. But it's not like I was the only one…

Vil: It's like Mr. Crewel said. You should take this seriously, Cater.

Lilia: Neglecting the basic principles of being a student, namely the pursuit of knowledge, is deplorable.

Cater: Hey, don’t play dumb, that’s so unfair! Now I'm the only one getting in trouble! You're mistaken, Mr. I just got really excited about the study of this experiment… Here, please look! I put so much effort into the experiment that I grew six mandrakes. This is enough for the poison, right?

Crewel: So you weren't simply fooling around… But you know what happens if you howl any longer than this… right?

Cater: Yes, I'll watch out!… Vil, Lilia! How cruel could you be, abandoning me like that?

Vil: You were the one who started this.

Lilia: Agreed. It is of utmost importance to know when to pull back from entertainment.

Cater: That's not what I agreed to~~!~

-

*humming*

Cater: *sigh* Finally the class is over. Time to pull myself together with some shooting time~ Which mandrake will Cater finally upload to his MagiCam? Yep, the stylish and cheerful guys are great, but this one… I’d better pick this one. Oh. Maybe this mandrake that's always cackling. Cay should always be excited and happy after all~ Okay, mandrake, please look over here~ Stay still for a while. Okay, cheese!

*shutter noise*

[dribbonart]

Steven Universe Rewatch: Now We’re Only Falling Apart

“A Single Pale Rose” doesn’t do that much for me. I know it’s very good, but it doesn’t affect me in the visceral level that the best stories do.

“Now We’re Only Falling Apart” destroys me.

It’s the story of messed up kids who didn’t know how to live. And they found new lives, through each other.

It’s also the source of my favorite joke: Rose Quartz is Pearl’s OC. Like the best jokes, it’s literally true. Pearl just straight up suggested, “What if you looked like this other Quartz, but you were white and had huge breasts?” Truly the pinnacle of OC representation.

I like that Amethyst freaks out about Rose, but she starts to joke about it almost right away. It’s good people have different reactions to the same info.

I guess there are people who have this sort of reaction, but I can’t sympathize. It doesn’t matter where an idea came from, what matters is whether it’s true or not.

 I first got the idea to pursue my own happiness after watching an anime which, in retrospect, is terrible. That doesn’t mean I should go back to being a miserable sad sack.

It hard to see, but it’s realistic to have Sapphire say hurtful things while she’s hurting like this.

Our crash course introduction to Pink Diamond starts with the visual: she towers over Pearl, who respects her like a god. All the scenes with Pink Diamond have this... pressure from her immense power.

Then we find that despite her status, she has the personality of a child. We already have the makings of an interesting character.

This episode makes it extremely clear that Rose had zero plan at any time. She was essentially inventing a new morality based on her admiration for the people around her. Any consideration of her character needs to start from the fundamental fact that she was figuring things out as she went. 

I was going to say that it must be weird to emerge from the ground as a fully intelligent being that can already parse language, but I’m going to turn it around and say what’s actually weird is being a baby. Terrible idea. Do not recommend.

The tragedy of it all is that Rose was fundamentally guided by love and joy, but was put in a situation where that was impossible.

Don’t mind me, just taking some reference pictures for a dumb comic I’m working on.

The show couldn’t be more explicit; The other Diamonds built the zoo against PD’s wishes. You can blame her for a lot, but not this.

When Rose gets angry, just get out of the way.

I love that Pearl and Rose’s terrorist attack still included a trail of rose petals.

This is the cutest thing in the whole series. I’ve seen this image reproduced for most the popular ships.

This is beautiful. Rose and Pearl are discovering who they are, hand in hand. 

(Pearl has gone from inventing an OC to making her own AU.)

Rose admiring and falling in love with Pearl changes so much of the show. This episode means everything to me.

Normally, when they only show us a hint of something, it’s to make us wish we’d seen more. They don’t show us this fusion, even though we’ve already seen it. I think they’re using the same principle, (only show a small portion so we are more interested,) but applying the longing to the characters. From this moment, Pearl and Rose have this idea of being fused in the back of their heads.

OK, this is the cutest. 

“Excuse me, I’m just sprawled across your giant breast I designed.”

It is a little silly that they had just been talking about Garnet and fused moments before they ran into Garnet by accident.

Unintentionally funny image. It’s like Garnet was a Primary School student who just scored a goal. “You did it, kiddo!”

This episode changes everything for me. It’s these four words.

I can’t think of another show that so brilliantly recontextualizes its backstory as this episode.

“I know how big letters are.”

Good ep. 

I wish there was another chapter where Rose learned a lesson from Amethyst.

[tanoraqui]

Grave dirt baby... 🥺✨

me, procrastinating my actual fic? no... GRAVE DIRT BABY A-YUAN

HEY TUMBLR FUCKED UP ALL MY BULLET POINTS ON THIS THE SECOND I HIT POST BUT IT’S 4AM SO I’M LEAVING IT UP ANYWAY. STUPID GODDAMN WEBSITE.

Wei Wuxian has been in the Burial Mounds for like 2.5 months out of what he doesn’t yet know will be about 3. He’s not even sure he’s going to survive yet. But he has managed to manifest an evil sword - the evil sword - out of the aether/ambient resentful energy/an attunement set with an unwise touch in the belly of an evil turtle

and he does know that he’s not going to survive if he doesn’t get the power of the Burial Mounds under some sort of control

so he cuts his arm and with blood running down the blade, draws something adjacent to the first demon-summoning flag but as an array in the dirt. He stands in the middle and - keep in mind that he more or less hasn’t slept in 2.5 months - plunges the sword into the center, still coated in his blood, and draws in all the resentful energy of the Burial Mounds

was it supposed to go into the sword? Into himself? Into just the single 4ft diameter array area, a column of bound death? who knows, not Wei Wuxian! it’s pure gut instinct

u know what else works on gut instinct, thought? Fairy tales.

And in a fairy tale, why, clay of the earth plus iron enough for a blade plus still-warm blood to show the way...

There’s an implosion and Wei Wuxian is standing - somehow still standing - in a small crater where the array used to be, and his evil sword is plunged into the belly of a baby

He yanks it out in horrified reflex, and realizes a moment later that the baby seems unfazed by this. If there was even a wound, it closes before his eyes, and the glimpse he had showed something more bloody clay than flesh beneath the skin

the iron sword crumbles as he pulls it away, as though rusted a thousand years. the baby turns its head from the iron shavings that falls on it, but then reaches up for Wei Wuxian with a cheerfully demanding cry

he picks it up, of course. (he’d think he was hallucinating if he wasn’t absolutely and utterly aware that he’s not)

it is, as far as he can tell, with physical and spiritual resentful inspection, an absolutely normal baby

oh, except when he looks really closely. Then he can sense the neutron star–dense knot of resentful energy where a golden core might (but will definitely not have room to) form. Also, it can command the dead, and when he holds it, so can he. He’s not sure if it’s a proximity-based power share or if he’s passing his desires through the baby, but even Wei Wuxian, at about 3 months with no food save the rage of the dead and no rest save the promise of final release, has to stop investigating at some point. He has things to do!

specifically, he has Wens to kill

so instead of the iconic shot of the dark flautist in the moonlight, we get the dark, uh...man singing a very spooky lullaby to his baby in the moonlight. It is still deeply creepy. It’s a making-it-up-as-he-goes tune based on a Yunmengi lullaby that he certainly learned from neither of his foster parents, and the lyrics are along the lines of, “let them remember what they did, sweet little potato, let them remember why they’re dying”

yeah he’s been calling this child “Little Potato” for 2 weeks 

why

is that not how you name a child

sometimes when he’s more annoyed at it, he calls it “Little Radish”, or even less appetizing root vegetables

by the time he walks in, the baby is asleep in his arms and he’s not singing anymore, just letting the dead do his will. This is what Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji see. The subsequent conversation, Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu at their feet, goes like this:

LWJ: Wei Ying. You have a baby.

WWX: Oh, uh...

PLAY DUMB!

WWX: What baby?

NOT THAT DUMB!

WWX: Oh, this baby! Haha yeah. I...found it.

JC: What the fuck

WWX: Yeah, weird, right? Right near the, uh...

LWJ: They said you were in the Burial Mounds

WWX: Yyyyup. Yes that is. I found this baby by the side of the road after I walked out of the Burial Mounds.

JC, briefly too morbidly fascinated to think about either the demonic cultivation they just watched or the fact that he wants to hug his brother like he’s never wanted to hug another being in his life: What did you name it?

WWX: ....

JC, desire to hug intensifying together with exasperation: oh my god

Sometime in the next couple days - after sleeping a bit, maybe - it occurs to Wei Wuxian that his raw instincts were right and things will go very badly for little A-Yuan (his siblings insisted he name it) if anyone finds out that he’s a not-yet-walking, not-yet-talking little neuron star of resentful energy. So he takes the iron shavings that are all that remain of the Stygian Turtle Sword and forges them into a Tiger-shaped Seal. He also carves a bamboo flute, like he’d been thinking about before the whole...baby thing. He loudly proclaims both to be dark and terrible weapons

(it really is helpful. The sword was...kind of A-Yuan’s other parent, after all, in addition to their third partner, the Burial Mounds. Chenqing gives him finer control of whatever stray resentful energy he chooses to pick up, and the Stygian Seal lets him channel A-Yuan’s power at need, even when not touching him. Which is good - a battlefield is no place for a baby)

even if that baby thinks ghosts and ghouls exist to pick him up and rock him or toss him around (babies like to be tossed)

Wei Wuxian puts so many goddamn spirit-repelling charms on that child, and lets it be marked down to the paranoia of a survivor

using whatever resentful energy he picks up is generally more effective, actually. Less strong, but it quickly becomes clear that the way this works does, in fact, involve Wei Wuxian communicating his desires through A-Yuan, or at least A-Yuan has to put up with the loan of power. There’s nothing quite like abruptly losing control of a field of corpses because the baby got abruptly uncooperative with anything that wasn’t barfing

the baby does eat, for the record. As far as Wei Wuxian can tell, he doesn’t actually need to, but once WWX fed him once, when they first left the Mounds, he wanted it all the time

he still takes A-Yuan with him when he can. That is the paranoia of a survivor. A-Yuan is...

“A battlefield is no place for a baby, A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says gently, as he sets out from Carp Tower after another stolen visit, another failed attempt to convince Jin Guangshan off his ass. “And you are...so busy. LanlingJin takes in orphans, you know...”

“A-Yuan...he’s my blood,” Wei Wuxian says quietly. He’s never been good at lying to his shijie

Whatwherewhenhowwho, he’d see on her face if he was looking at it. But he isn’t. It’s not shame, though, she can see (it really never is, with Wei Wuxian). Fear of disappointing her, slight resignation...but mostly acceptance. Determination. Something almost like contentment.

(When Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangj first took him back to whatever resembled a base camp - somewhere in Qinghe, probably, or maybe Lanling - he had to let a trained healer look at A-Yuan, physical and spiritual examination, and he held his breath and calculated how many people he’d have to kill to get out of here, how fast he’d have to move to not hurt his brother or any particular friends; thought, oh, he’s mine, in a way he hadn’t before - as a child, a son, not just a very strange weapon - 

“He’s quite healthy,” said the doctor, mildly surprised, bouncing A-Yuan on one knee. A-Yuan gurgled happily. “About three months old?”

the longer Wei Wuxian took to answer, the more disapproving her stare got. But that did make sense)

Then all else can be dealt with later. “You should still leave him here,” Jiang Yanli says firmly. “You need to look after yourself and A-Cheng out there. I can look after A-Yuan.”

It takes a bit under two years to win back the lost and burnt territories, scour the Wens out of every crevice, corner Wen Ruohan in his precious Nightless City and bring it tumbling down. Nobody will know the timing but A-Yuan sleeps through the final battle, smiling at dreams that would make a grown man weep in horror. Somewhere, his father is playing a lullaby

About a week later, Jiang Cheng stalks into Wei Wuxian’s bedroom, which he shares with A-Yuan. One of the first rooms rebuilt in the new Lotus Pier. A-Yuan is there, too, playing with blocks while Wei Wuxian idly drafts talismans

“A-jie said the kid is yours,” he says, crossed arms. “Like, yours-yours. When the fuck did you do that?”

(Wei Wuxian has thought about this, by now; gone over the pros and cons of every possibility, the politics and potentials and maybe even the giddy possibility of telling something like the truth)

(the guiding principle is: he has no interest in drawing on the “Stygian Tiger Seal” ever again. The Sunshot Campaign is over. His loved ones are safe, and he sees no reason why they shouldn’t all live long, happy, normal lives)

(also/though, he will burn Jin Sect, Carp Tower, and all of Lanling to the ground before the new Chief Cultivator should touch his son)

“In Caiyi,” he lies. “Right before I got kicked out. I, uh, snuck out a lot more often than you noticed.”

His brother squints at him suspiciously. But Wei Wuxian can also watch him do the math in his head and reluctantly admit that it works.

“So are you claiming him or what?” he challenges. “’Wei Yuan’? You have a courtesy name - wait, no, you are not naming that kid again. You’re going to make his courtesy name be Carrothead or something.” 

“Should I let you pick it, oh wise and noble shidi - no, shushu?!” Wei Wuxian teases, as A-Yuan gets tired of his blocks and starts climbing up him like a jungle gym

Jiang Cheng sighs like the north wind - gusting long and hard, with just the faintest chill to suggest that the skies will be weeping, soon

But...

Despite some evidence to the contrary, Wei Wuxian is generally fully aware of when he’s about to cross a line that cannot be backtracked over. So he meets Wen Qing in the city, and before going to Lanling, he nips into Lotus Pier and picks up A-Yuan

He might leave A-Yuan with Wen Qing in the city when he goes to Glamour Hall, but Qiongqi Pass happens with a toddler watching silently from Wei Wuxian’s hip. Does Wei Wuxian tell him to look away, bury his face in baba’s shirt, or does he not bother, knowing the sort of song that makes up A-Yuan’s sweet dreams?

The Wens become the second through 51st or so people who learn what A-Yuan is. Wei Wuxian briefly considers trying to hide it, but, honestly, there are dead things everywhere on the Burial Mounds, and despite his genuine efforts, he cannot convince A-Yuan that a fierce corpse is anything but the ideal patty-cake companion. (They’ll play with him for hours! It’s a two-nearly-three-year-old’s dream!)

(he doesn’t want to convince him, not really. The last thing he wants to do ever is give A-Yuan anything to be scared of)

nor could he possibly wish that A-Yuan not be...obviously hale and hearty, running rosy-cheeked and strong around these hills of death that slowly seep the energy from any humans, animals, or even sturdy root crops

“So, uh, this is actually my demon baby,” said Wei Wuxian as they all settled in

“this day has been so weird already, this might as well goddamn happen”, said the Wens collectively

“You created a living child out of dead earth, so I’m going to take that as a yes that you can bring my brother back,” said Wen Qing specifically

“...fuck. I mean, yes. I mean - fuck,” said Wei Wuxian. “I- of course I will.”

(it doesn’t work like that, though)

The 52nd person to find out what A-Yuan is is Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian very much does not tell him. They have a pleasant toy-shopping trip and lunch in town, and then the alarm talisman goes off and Wei Wuxian grabs A-Yuan and Lan Wangji tugs them both onto Bichen and when they arrive, Wen Ning is roaring. Lan Wangji knows what’s important; he takes A-Yuan so Wei Wuxian’s hands are free and he doesn’t have to worry about his son

except Wen Ning, black-eyed with rage, throws Wei Wuxian into a tree hard enough to crack a rib, and even as Lan Wangji raises Bichen, A-Yuan shouts,

“Uncle Ning, stop!”

and Wen Ning stops

(as a rule, Wei Wuxian can’t take over with himself and Chenqing anything A-Yuan is controlling, unless A-Yuan lets him, and vice versa. To eliminate variables, Wei Wuxian had made sure that any reins on Wen Ning were his (Wei Wuxian’s) alone. But in that moment, before Wen Ning came fully back to himself, his reins were swinging free - and they were back within the bounds of the Burial Mounds, where A-Yuan was always strong)

and Lan Wangji puts several pieces together at once and prays to every single god in heaven and every ancestor he’s disappointing right now that this was a miracle of love and a very cute child piercing through a fierce corpse’s mindless rampage. That he simply...hallucinated the burst of resentful energy he just felt from the child in his arms

but he’s absolutely, utterly aware that he didn’t

Wei Wuxian explains, stilted and awkward at the bottom of the hill. Challenging and terrified. Holding on to A-Yuan. 

Lan Wangji promises to keep the secret. 

Wei Wuxian takes Hanguang-jun’s word

Remember, oh, remember, that Wei Wuxian walks A-Yuan back up the hill until A-Yuan gets tired and Wei Wuxian picks him up, on their one-and-a-half–man plank bridge through the dark. Remember remember remember that before he can finish speaking that line, there is light - the clearing is lit with lanterns and secret-keepers 2 through 51, and I suppose 53 now that Wen Ning is awake, are waiting with dinner and warmth and welcome. Reader, remember this.

But then...

Aunt Qing and Uncle Ning had gone, and then, with a terrible expression on his face, so had A-Yuan’s baba. Now his baba’s anger and sadness is so strong that the weight of it makes A-Yuan cry from hundreds of miles away, and he curls into Granny’s arms and sends his baba everything he can. Will everything be okay, then? Will everyone come home; will they be able to smile again?

(oh, A-Yuan...)

(No.)

A-Yuan - Wei Yuan, Little Potato (when he’s good for baba or bad for Aunt Qing) or Little Radish (inverse); one day to be Lan Yuan, Lan Sizhui - was born in the good old fairy tale way of earth and iron and blood. It’s a hard thing for any child to lose even a single parent - in one day, in one minute, A-Yuan loses two of three, as the father of his blood burns away in hand the last shreds of Stygian iron, and promptly loses control of his own resentful energy

(the Tiger Seal does nothing like explode, in this world. It was never more than a prop - but a vital one. the benefit of proving it destroyed would be worth the loss of a parent, if only a second didn’t follow on its heels)

A-Yuan has been a dead thing (or close enough) come to life all his life, and both dead and living have been his friends and family. But he’s never felt the transition the other way: from life to death

It’s no wonder, really, that he can’t remember it afterward. No wonder that even on the land that was the last part of him, he was feverish and barely conscious when Lan Wangji stumbled, bleeding, off of Bichen, and took in his arms. No wonder that he remembered very little at all, including the dead. 

But he would be okay. Under physical and spiritual inspection, he’s a perfectly normal boy. He may not be able to form a golden core (there's something in the way), but there are...workarounds. He’ll grow up in one of the most heavily spiritually warded enclaves in the world, safe and loved as he relearns (mostly in secret) what he can do

(For the sake of this story, and A-Yuan’s survival as something close to canon, let’s say there are some truly dark things in the forbidden section of the Lan Library, that could only be used for nefarious purposes - though, I suppose we already knew that. Let’s say there are talismans that will disguise the very nature of qi, so resentful energy may appear spiritual. Let’s say, Lan Xichen becomes the 53rd to know the truth, because his brother needs help - and it’s Wei Wuxian’s child, okay? It’s just Wei Wuxian’s child, quiet and unsure rather than laughing as he always was. If you were in the inner circle of leaders of the Sunshot Campaign, you have absolutely met this child, probably held him and bounced him on one knee)

(What keeps Lan Xichen up at night isn’t the concealing amulet he helped his brother make, which Lan Yuan wears at all times around his neck. It’s the silence he keeps every time he meets Jiang Wanyin’s eyes over a diplomatic table. If anyone had the right to know Wei Yuan survived... But Sandu Sengshou killed Wei Wuxian, everyone knows that, and now he hunts demonic cultivators - what might his pride drive him to do to his nephew, if he ever learned the truth? (Selfishly, Lan Xichen know that if Lan Wangji lost A-Yuan, even just to living at Lotus Pier, Lan Xichen might lose his brother. That fear ebbs with time passing, but the the longer he hasn’t spoken, the worse it would be to do so...))

They don’t restrict Lan Yuan to the Cloud Recesses, no more than any other novice. For memory of their mother, neither of them could bear that. Jiang Cheng does eventually see him at a conference, and stops dead. Years have passed, but that is an entire goddamn nephew, right there. But - how? No, it can’t be. That’s...everyone knows Lan Wangji hated Wei Wuxian. It’s just...and someone would have told him. The Lans value propriety above all, after all.

Anything that can be done with spiritual cultivation can be done with demonic cultivation, save heal. Lan Sizhui makes up for it with an encyclopedic knowledge of undead and monsters, and a prodigal talent for Inquiry

On their first night hunt, the young juniors face ghosts. Unfortunately, this is when Lan Jingyi learns that he’s terrified of ghosts. He’s hiding behind Lan Sizhui and panic is contagious, and the senior accompanying them is in a different room of the abandoned house, and Lan Sizhui forgets that he’s holding a sword and just shouts, “Stop! Go away!” 

the ghost, of course, obeys

Lan Jingyi peeks out form behind him. “Did- did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Sizhui admits (except that he’s absolutely sure he did)

There’s another flicker of movement, just the wind blowing ashes but Jingyi whips around with wild eyes. “Can you do it again?”

[friendship. my point is, he’s a demon baby but he has family and friends who love and accept him.]

And one day, some absolute fucking morons are going to bring him back home, where he can never be anything but strong, and threaten his friends and family? And the threat is an army of his old playmates, commanded by an attempt at recreating some combination of Chenqing and the Tiger Seal? He couldn’t manage it in Yi City, but now A-Yuan, Wei Yuan, Lan Sizhui stands on earth that has never stopped being part of him, or maybe he’s never stopped being part of it. If he closed his eyes he could feel every foot on it, living and restless dead. And they’re threatening his baba - who he remembers, as the earth remembers its old partner, even though the blood is changed - and his father Hanguang-jun, and his extended family and friends?

No.

[captainjanegay]

in the lane, snow is glistening | Stucky | Canon Divergent, Winter Fluff, Pre-War, but also Post Endgame | 2.3k words | Ao3

Summary:

Two times Steve and Bucky take a walk through the snowy park.

based on a one-line holiday prompt - "if you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war"

A/N: It’s funny you said you’re in the mood for some winter fluff cause this one is specifically for you. Thank you so much for the prompt, my love  @its-tortle​ ♥ The summary it's basically what the fic is about lmao You just need to add two dumb boys in love, loads of fluff and bickering and a good helping of emotions.

Also - my seventh fill for the @stuckybingo2020​ ♥

The Prospect Park looks beautiful covered in a thick layer of white fluff, sparkling in the morning sun. It only started snowing last afternoon but there's a good two inches of snow everywhere. The park is relatively empty. The hour is late enough for most people to be at work or whenever they need to be but also cold enough for most people to stay at home if they don’t need to be anywhere. Bucky has no idea why he and Steve are outside. It was probably one of Steve's stupid ideas that Bucky has agreed to because there are only a few things he is able to deny when it is Steve who does the asking.

So here they are. Strolling through the snowy, almost completely deserted park on a Wednesday morning. Both shaking slightly in their worn coats, too thin for such weather. Bucky curses himself in his mind. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. What if Steve catches another cold? Even a light one always completely wears him out, tying him to bed for days. At least he agreed to take Bucky's scarf in addition to his own. He didn't go down without a fight. It took almost half an hour of arguing before Steve finally gave up and took the scarf.

So what if Bucky is now trying not to shake too visibly. At least Steve is warm. Ish, considering the temperature, but it's still comforting.

"Steve, come on," Bucky sways to the right, nudging Steve lightly. "We should head back."

Steve nudges him back, pressing his arm into Bucky's for a bit too long. The alley is wide enough and yet they still walk with barely an inch of space between them.

"Just a minute," Steve looks up at him. "It's the first snow of the year, let's enjoy it without your nagging, shall we?"

Bucky rolls his eyes, annoyed. But he doesn't press any further. Damn Steve Rogers and his stupid ideas. And damn his stupid, beautiful blue eyes. Just one look into them and all of Bucky’s common sense flies out of the window.

“I wonder if you still will be such a punk if you get sick again,” Bucky mumbles. Still, instead of taking the left turn that’ll take them home, he goes right, to take another leap around the park. 

“Probably,” Steve grins.

His smile is as bright as the sun. Bucky feels warmer already, just looking at Steve’s happy face. Steve’s eyes are sparkling and he looks content and healthy and Bucky really hopes it’ll stay this way for the rest of the winter. Or forever, preferably. And maybe Steve’s right. The times they live in aren’t the easiest and it’s important to cherish all the little joys they’re able to find.

“I don’t know why I still put up with you. You’re horrible,” Bucky says. The way he looks at Steve says something entirely different, though.

“You’re horrible, too,” Steve points out. “So we’re even.”

A fond smile still in place, Bucky only rolls his eyes and quickens his pace, just a bit to get ahead of Steve in pretend annoyance. After just a few seconds he glances over his shoulder and sees that Steve is crouching down. At first Bucky thinks he’s just tying his shoe but he’s proven wrong soon enough.

“Oh no. Don’t you dare,” Bucky says as he turns around quickly. “If you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war.”

Steve cocks one of his eyebrows up as if Bucky just challenged him. Which Bucky didn’t, he’s not stupid enough to challenge Steven Grant Rogers. But that’s probably what Steve thinks has happened.

So — of course — before Bucky can say anything else, a snowball hits him right in the chest. After a second the hurriedly-made soft missiles are criss-crossing over the park alley. Steve’s not bad but he’s no match for Bucky and his perfect aim. In the last heroic and desperate measure, Steve runs across the alley with a fierce scream and tackles Bucky. Completely surprised by this sudden course of action, Bucky tumbles to the ground and a surprised laugh is knocked out of his chest as he falls.

Steve hovers over him. He has his arms braced on both sides of Bucky’s face. His bony knees are pressing gently into Bucky’s sides. 

Bucky looks up. He looks at the joyous sparkles in Steve's eyes, at the satisfied grin, the dishevelled hair and cheeks reddened by the cold and exertion. The midday sun is right behind him, making it look like there’s a bright halo surrounding him. He’s the most beautiful sight and for a moment Bucky feels like he can’t breathe. This is the sight he wants to store carefully in his memory and take to his grave when his time comes.

In a split second something around them changes. The world turns, a minute ticks by but the atmosphere changes from joyful to something heavier. Bucky’s perfectly aware of Steve’s gaze that flicks to his lips once, twice, before skipping back up to his eyes. It makes Bucky go crazy. There’s nothing that he wants more than to lean on his elbows and kiss the remnants of Steve’s cocky grin off his face. But he doesn’t. The cold ground under his body, the distant voices of the city make him regain control.

“We should—,” Bucky starts, his voice hoarse all of sudden. “There’s people— We should head back home, yeah?”

Steve lets out a small sigh but he nods shortly before scrambling to his feet. When he pulls Bucky back up, their fingers remain intertwined for a moment longer than necessary.

***

The Prospect Park looks beautiful, covered in a thick layer of white fluff, sparkling in the morning sun. It’s the middle of the winter but only recently it got cold enough for the snow to stick for longer, instead of melting the moment it hit the ground. Despite it being almost midday, there are many people hanging around the park. 

It was Steve’s idea to go outside and wander aimlessly through the city. His ideas of fun are a bit different than Bucky’s. If it was up to him, they’d stay in their warm flat and do things that didn’t require getting cold. But after all this time, he still has a hard time saying no to Steve.

Bucky is not a big fan of the cold these days. Sam always laughs that he’s just a big, mean cat that will hiss and scratch everyone who looks at him the wrong way. He calls him the Winter Panther and actually asked T’Challa to adopt him at one point. Sam is ridiculous sometimes. It’s not Bucky’s fault that he doesn’t like to be around people sometimes and that he really enjoys having his hair pet — but only by Steve and Nat. And maybe Clint. Or Sam, but he’s rarely willing to do that. And Bucky does tend to pick the warmest, sunniest part in any place he’s at.

After everything, Bucky just has a pretty bad associations with cold.

Today is fine, though. He doesn’t mind wandering arm in arm with Steve. Bucky’s safely tucked up in his long, warm coat and he has two scarves wrapped around his neck. When they left home he had only one but after walking for a while he confiscated Steve’s. The idiot had it hanging loosely around his neck anyway, didn’t even bother to wrap it once. It’s a miracle that his coat is buttoned up. This man has turned into a walking furnace after the serum. Bucky is convinced Steve’s leeching his warmth to fuel it.

"You want to head home, already?" Steve asks, looking at Bucky with a soft smile.

There's a tiny hint of concern in his eyes. It's easy to miss but after all those years and everything they've been through, there's almost nothing about Steve that gets by Bucky.

"I'll be fine," Bucky grumbles. They both know it's more on principle. "We can freeze my butt off for a bit longer, no problem."

Steve only rolls his eyes at Bucky, shoving him to the side but doesn't loosen his grip on Bucky's elbow.

"Ah, you're incredibly cheerful today, my love," Steve says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"How could I not be? My partner always has such splendid ideas for our daily activities," Bucky answers, with an overly sweet smile.

"You're such a jerk," Steve laughs. 

After a moment, he extracts his hand from under Bucky's elbow and crouches. Assuming that he needs to tie his shoe, Bucky doesn't stop. When he looks over his shoulder a moment later, he audibly gasps and turns around.

"Fuck off, Steve! Don’t! If you throw that snowball, you're declaring war!"

As soon as those words escape his mouth, Bucky frowns. He looks to the side, trying to decipher that weird feeling of deja vu. A memory appears in his head. 

It's a memory from a life long gone, from a park much like this one, from a winter that ended ages ago.

"Bucky?" Steve asks, dropping the snowball and taking a step closer. "You're OK?"

"Yes, it's just—," Bucky hesitates and when he looks back up at Steve, he sees that the concern in his eyes is as clear as a day now. "I've just remembered something. An old memory," he clarifies and smiles fondly. "I believe it was about a snow fight I've had with some little punk in this park. I said the very same thing to him back then. It's not a very detailed memory. And who knows if it actually happened?"

The smile on Steve's face grows gradually with every word Bucky says.

"Oh, it did happen. I actually might know the punk you're talking about," Steve jokes. His hands come to rest at Bucky's waist as he continues. "I'm pretty sure it was him that persuaded you to take a walk and since you've always been lazy, you've had a lot of complaining to do before you agreed."

"Oh, of course. It's not like I tried to keep the little punk from dying of pneumonia or something," Bucky rolls his eyes but he's smiling.

Steve completely ignores his comment. "The two of you walked for a while, didn't talk much but enjoyed the day. At some point he made a snowball and you said the same thing you did a moment ago. It didn’t make an impression on him, though.”

"Because he was a little shit," Bucky smiles softly, pressing the palm of his hand to Steve's chest.

"Maybe," Steve says with a chuckle. "The snow fight took some time and even though you weren't kids anymore it was the most fun you had in awhile. And then he took you by surprise and did this."

Before Bucky properly registers Steve's words, his legs are swept from under him and he tumbles to the ground. Steve goes with him, an arm behind Bucky's back cushions his fall. If it wasn't for Steve Bucky’s habits, both the Winter Soldier and the army ones would already kick in. But Steve is and always has been a calming presence for him. His anchor. So the only thing Bucky feels right now is surprise and a bit of annoyance, probably. No sight of feeling unsafe so he is able to remain calm. 

Steve's face hovers over him, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

"He easily knocked you down. You stayed like this for a bit, just staring at each other," Steve's hand comes to brush against Bucky's cheek.

The look in Steve's eyes is both tender and heated and it makes Bucky forget all about the people around them, about the cold ground underneath him.

"He couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted to kiss you, right there and then. Just for a moment he wanted not to care about the people who could see you and how dangerous that could be. It would have taken so little effort to do so," Steve's voice is down to almost a whisper.

As if to prove a point, he leans down and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to Bucky's lips. Bucky smiles into it, feeling the tell-tale prickle of tears in his eyes.

"Who knows if he managed to do that after you'd gone back home."

"I think he might have," Bucky says quietly, swiping his thumb across Steve's jaw.

Steve's face is soft and filled with pure happiness. Bucky's heart feels like it's about to burst simply from looking at him, from all the emotions he tries to store inside. Steve’s beautiful blue eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips spread in a big smile. The December sun is shining high on the sky behind Steve, surrounding his body in a bright embrace. He's beautiful. Even after all those years, Bucky still thinks Steve is the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. Breathtaking. And when Bucky's time comes again, he knows that that is the memory he is going to take with him. 

Since the mere sight of Steve is enough to have saved him from desolation once already. 

"Come on, Buck," Steve says, getting to his feet. "Let's go home."

Feeling a bit hazy from the sudden tide of emotions, Bucky let's Steve pull him up. He leans forward, pressing another kiss to Steve's mouth. Even if no words are exchanged, they both know what the other thinks.

I’m yours and you’re mine and there’s nothing that could make me stop loving you.

After shaking the snow off of each other, they head back to the same part of Brooklyn where they used to live in the previous life they shared. 

Their fingers stay entwined the entire walk home.

.

Title: in the line snow is glistening Creator(s): niallhoranbitches Card number: 065 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844513/ Square filled: A4 - New York Rating: Teen and Up Archive warnings: None Major tags: Canon Divergent, Winter Fluff, Pre-War, but also Post-Endgame Summary: Two times Steve and Bucky take a walk through the snowy park. based on a one-line holiday prompt - "if you throw that snowball, you’re declaring war" Word count: 2287