#i found out he was a planned romance or at least ending sort of and now im seeing my hawke from a whole new perspective

[sparemoon]

RELEASE THE DA2 VARRIC ROMANCE ENDING BIOWARE

[insomaniacat]

orv spoilers

tbh I'm so happy there is no explicit romance in orv (minus the brief stuff that happens with jhw and lhs) and because of that I feel like I've been able to appreciate kdj in such a profound way as a character

like sure i like joongdok and yoohankim but to me at least kdj has this level of asexuality to him that I don't usually associate him with anyone that romantically. And their relationships are still as complex and has such a great depth that they are like THE foundest of families and I can return to the kim dokja company at the end of the day as all of them being my comfort characters. you know that saying like 'i love you so much i'd make the world burn for you'? it's meant to be this dramatic line about how much you love someone (romantically), but kdj's company fully encapsulates this in a platonic way that just isn't cringey or anything like that

they are all so platonic but they love each other to such an unconditional way that they ALL decide to relive through all the scenarios again in the hope of finding kim dokja again. and later, they all help to write and spread a story - stories, the thing the reader loves - again, in hopes of bringing kdj back home. they aren't sure if it'll work, but it is through this love they all have that they don't give up and put their hope in this seemingly impossible method

and this is also what makes them fundamentally different from kdj. unlike kim dokja in the apocalypse, they do not have any sort of proof their methods will work. kdj has twsa - the novel he grew up reading, the novel he fantasized living in, the novel that he's spent 13 years following, learning every nook and cranny and probably even planning out his own way to survive the apocalypse from this lengthy novel. he has some sort of assurance his methods will work, with the amount of time hsy put into describing the settings (remember that twsa was not popular and one of the complaints was that tls123 put too much emphasis on the settings that deterred people from reading it, when really, that too was a way to ensure kdj survived the apocalypse later on). he has had time to reassure himself and plan for it, and probably had yjh case test them all

but kdj's company had no assurance - they did not grow up with a book that confirmed their methods of bringing kdj back would work. they did not have any 'third plans', no 'ressurections', no 'restarts', that kdj had in the apocalypse. all they had was their own hope - something kdj didn't have when he was fifteen sitting in that hospital bed after that failed suicide attempt, feeling like the whole world was against him. Until he searched up those three words on his phone. Those three words that were probably 'Ways of Survival'.

And then he found his hope in twsa. he found his hope in yjh, the protagonist made just for him. he found hope in the story that he believed in for the next thirteen years. the story that got him through high school, the CSATs, the military. his hope was in this tangible book that carried him through the apocalypse.

kdj's company had none of that. they only had their hope in kim dokja - the man they survived the scenarios with. they could only put their hope in their memories of surviving with the man that saved them, even though there was no evidence he lived in their world anymore. they had to put their hope in the fact that they remembered he existed, even though they had to acknowledge that they didn't know everything about him.

sing shong touches upon this idea a lot throughout orv - does something really exist if no one knows about it? or, in a more modern saying, did a fallen tree in a forest really fall if no one heard it? what proves the existence of something? what proves that something truly happened? sing shong seems to make it pretty clear that the existence of something can be represented metaphorically like a 'story', and stories need a 'reader', some sort of spectator that witnesses it, for the 'story' to exist.

for kim dokja, his final sacrifice, where he split into infinite little pieces scattered across the universe, was to ensure that everything existed. that open ending, as tragic as it was, was meant to be comforting. that his sacrifice was supposed to be so existences like you and me, are real. no matter how lonely we may feel throughout our lives, a metaphorical 'kim dokja' is looking at our own stories, spectating our own stories, even living our own lives himself.

and what i hate to say sometimes is that kim dokja is not really a character - he is an idea. he is an idea of some being affirming our lives, that it's real, that what we do from day to day, even something as simple as getting up in the mornings and brushing your teeth, or thumbing through a store catalog, matters. and this is why kim dokja sacrificed himself. for all the stories that may have not 'existed' if no one was watching it.

and it's out of love. this tragic, terrible love for the world, that eats away at yourself until you are nothing. but at least you exist.

[heartpascal]

fight the tide

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: you face the consequences of going to seattle

▹— a/n: hello, this ended up being different to what i had planned. i hope yall enjoy anyway. its very angsty. very sad. at least to me. be careful with what you read. mind the warnings. love you.

▹— warnings: MAJOR TLOU 2 SPOILERS, suicidal ideation, or thinking about dying, almost hoping to die, major character death (referenced), canon-typical violence, eg murder, descriptions of blood / being covered in blood, kinda religious imagery / talks of divinity (no explicit religion mentioned), hints at a possible romance with jesse

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything!) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915  @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being (pedro)

MASTERLIST

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Setting off from Jackson was a distant memory, by now. It was hazed over, an image in your mind that didn’t seem to fit into reality, no matter how you tried it.

The past few weeks didn’t seem real to you, either.

More than once, you had found yourself waiting to wake up. As if all of this could be some sort of bad dream. A nightmare that you couldn’t escape, no matter how many times you pinched and clawed at yourself, trying to figure out how to prove that this wasn’t real.

Because, really, how could it be? This world, this city, it didn’t feel like it could be true. You didn’t feel like you, and this certainly didn’t feel like it was your life. Wherever you looked, the terrain showed the aftermath of a rampage.

Bodies strewn across the ground, puddles of red dripping down curbs, down cars, down buildings, down your hands. It was beneath your fingernails, caked into your hair, drying on your clothes. For a moment, you thought it was yours. It was the only plausible reason for why you were feeling so empty, wasn’t it? The only explanation for why your heart felt as if it would burst at any given moment.

This rampage was an act of such violence, such rage, it seemed unfathomable to you. You couldn’t remember a time where you had felt something so deeply that it presented as destruction. As a massacre.

That was the word for this, too. Massacre. All of these bodies were once people, once held love and life and the ability to hurt and kill others, just as you did. And when you looked closer, when you looked at their guns and their knives, the bows and the arrows, you knew they had been trying to kill you.

It made sense.

You didn’t want it to, but it did.

These people had tried to kill you, had tried to slaughter you, and they had ended up dead for it. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, either. Joel had killed more people than you could count, just for the crime of trying to bring you harm. It made sense that he would do it again.

“Joel?” You called, your voice echoing in the empty surroundings, bouncing off of bodies and weapons, off of the tangible feeling of death that hung in the air.

Your chest was heaving, breath entering and leaving your lungs so rapidly that it didn’t have time to supply the oxygen you so desperately needed. You hadn’t noticed how unsteady your breathing was, until you had spoken, until you had called out for Joel. It made you feel dizzy, all of a sudden, like everything was hitting you all at once.

For a moment, you didn’t notice that he hadn’t answered you.

But his silence lingered, and the only thing you could hear through it was the sound of your own panicking breaths.

That feeling from earlier — the one of your heart, which had been feeling as if it would burst at any given moment, revealed itself as a choked sob. It jumped out of your throat when you opened your mouth to call for Joel again.

Your devastation didn’t register, for more than a moment. Until you remembered why you were here, why there was a gun in your hand, empty of ammunition. When you looked around, you didn't find Joel. Instead, all you found was blood and death and your machete lay on the ground, a dent in the grass, covered in blood and gore.

There was something hanging over your head, something which felt as if it was holding your head underwater. It felt like the water was forcing its way down your throat, into your lungs, filling them up until all you could do was choke, heave on the lack of breath. Your head was exploding, pressure against the sides of your skull, pushing out, out, out, like a fungus was bursting through you. Only the vague feeling of your hand pressing against your head reassured you that you weren’t Infected.

The memories flashed before your eyes, distorting the image of destruction ahead of you, filling your mind with reality. Joel. Cracked skull, insides out. The unrelenting taste of iron on your tongue, your teeth. Getting on a horse in Jackson, and leaving. Fighting your way through Infected, people, even past Tommy. All in your search for vengeance, for Abby.

And all it had led you to was before you, laid out in death.

Did this make you a monster? Was it evil? You’re not sure if you believe in such a thing anymore, but if you did, you think it would look like a woman, braided hair, golf club raised in the air. But there’s this nagging feeling at the base of your skull, asking you, are you better?

You don’t know what it means. Are you better? Than what? Because of this? You want to ask Joel, but when you turn, he’s still there. Still lay out on concrete, skull scattered around the room, blood staining your skin.

It’s all you can think of. It’s all you can see. Even in the bodies around you, the people that you killed, you see a flash of white, a splatter of blood, and it’s all Joel. There’s the imprint of his boot in the grass, the sound of his voice in the wind, but the only heartbeat you can hear is your own.

Your knees press into the grass, and you stain your jeans with blood, but it feels soft. Softer than the concrete in that basement, softer than the frozen dirt in front of his gravestone. It’s welcoming, or something like it, and your heart aches with it.

A sound breaks through the air, pierces through the air that carries Joel’s voice, and it takes you more than a moment of your throat aching to realise it’s you. And there’s disappointment in that, you realise, that the only person here is you. Nobody is here to kill you, and nobody is here to protect you.

The sound coming from you doesn’t sound like your voice, doesn’t have any familiarity to you. It doesn’t convey words, but rather something harsher, something deeper, a sound which traverses language and time. It breaks these barriers, and empties the chest of something ancient, something eternal.

It wavers as time passes, it comes and goes, much like your recognition. Sometimes, you’re here, belting out something that doesn’t fit into words, and then you’re there, screaming out for mercy that never comes. And all you can hear is Joel, and he’s yelling at you, to you, but you can’t tell what he’s saying.

All you can see is his lips spelling something that he couldn’t say, that you couldn’t translate. You want to tell him you love him. You want to scream at him for going down there. You want him to pull you away from these corpses, but he can’t, and neither can you.

No matter how hard you try, there’s nothing you can do to pull yourself up, to overcome that weight that continues to drown you. It presses down on you until your nose is against the grass, and all you can smell is iron and dirt.

You stay there, one palm pressed against the machete that had been resting on the ground, the other gripping the dirt, for what seems like eternity. There’s no escape from it, nowhere you can turn to pull yourself from this mourning, this hell. And you know that nobody is coming to save you.

It sends a chill down your spine — tingling and bringing feeling back to limbs that had long-since turned numb, the realisation that you are going to end up just like Joel.

Here, against the ground, reduced to something less than human.

And — like Joel — there’s no fighting it.

If Abby approached, golf club raised to the heavens, you would accept it. You would welcome it.

Because surely, whatever would be waiting you, it would be better than this. This endless moment of suffering, of pain and grief so deep it encompasses your whole being. You wonder—hope that Joel would be waiting for you.

You feel guilty, a moment later, because you know that Joel deserves to rest—whatever that meant. And you also know that he had never done that, when he was around you. It was selfish to hope for him to be waiting for you, to hope that he would put whatever was awaiting him on hold, all for you.

Joel had been waiting to die for a long, long time.

Ever since Sarah.

And that fact sends a fresh wave of guilt through you, as if you could hold on to any more emotion, because Sarah was his daughter. She was everything he had wanted, since the moment she was born. And he had been waiting to join her. He had waited for Tommy, for Tess, and then for you and Ellie.

Maybe, Sarah sent Abby for him.

Maybe she got tired of waiting for her dad, whilst he feigned dad for two orphans, left alone in the bitter end of the world.

You try to think of her like that. Some sort of angel, a gift sent from Sarah, all to give Joel the mercy of death. To give him the easy way out. Because Joel didn’t have a choice about dying, Abby had made sure of that, so he couldn’t feel an ounce of guilt for leaving you and Ellie and Tommy to pick up the pieces, to carry his body home to an empty house, a dip in the earth.

It made sense to you, somehow.

Abby seemed so… unmovable.

She was like the force of nature. Nothing you, or Joel, or anyone, had done would’ve stopped her from doing what she did.

If you thought of her like this, as something divine, something above yourself, it was easier. It was easier to forgive yourself for failing to stop her, and now, for failing to end her.

But it also makes the guilt so much heavier.

And you don’t know how you can carry it, anymore.

Because if she was that, if she was something like a divine intervention, then you were doing everything that Joel had never wanted, for nothing. This, right here, this explosion of death, this blood, staining your hands, was what Joel had tried to steer you away from.

He didn’t want you to turn out like him.

Angry, burned, covered in blood.

Monstrous.

He was covered in the scent of stale blood, of death so old it had decayed to nothing, to earth and ash and life reborn. He was stained with it. Distorted by it. It had made his vision red, for as long as he could remember.

Joel didn’t want that for you.

Joel didn’t want you to end up here, knelt in the grass, drenched in blood and sweat, in guts and gore and everything wrong with this world.

And there’s even more guilt in that knowledge. You’re disappointing him. You can practically hear his voice ringing through the air, asking you what you were doing, why you were doing it. You could hear him telling you that he’s not worth all of this. It hurts that you can’t tell him otherwise. If he was here, you could have screamed at him, told him he was worth everything. But he’s not.

How do you carry that around with you? How can you? Are you supposed to drag the weight of Joel’s dead body behind you for the rest of your life?

He would tell you to let him go. He would tell you to live your life. But Joel had never really understood just what he meant to you, to everybody. He could never quite grasp the concept that he was loved, that he was one of the reasons you got up in the morning, one of the reasons you always fought to go home.

The problem is—you don’t want to let him go.

Your hand curls around the grass beneath it, sticky with blood, as if you could physically hold on to him. More than anything, you’re worried about losing the memories. If you let go of Joel, if you let his death fade to the back of your mind, would his life follow? Would you start to forget everything he had done for you? Everything he had meant to you?

Would you forget the sound of his laughter? The smile that only appeared on occasions, which lit up his entire face? The hug he greeted you with when you came home after a particularly hard day? The embarrassing talk he gave you about liking people your age? The feeling of having a father?

If you could, you would stay in those memories forever.

A ghost in your own past, haunting the man who had gone somewhere you couldn’t quite bring yourself to follow. You would go through all of that, the good and the bad, all over again, if it meant you could stay with Joel. Because despite everything, all of the things you had lived through, Joel Miller had become your home.

How could he expect you to let go of that? How could you be okay with that? After the life that you had led, you deserved to go home. It was hard not to resent Joel for expecting you to be okay with letting him go—divine intervention or not.

And you know, that if the tables were turned, if it were you who had been buried, if it was Joel who was here right now, he wouldn’t let you go. He would hunt Abby down, and he would make her suffer for what she had done, because Joel Miller was a force of nature, too.

Either way, he would have to find her.

So, shouldn’t you?

You think that you need to know. You have to find out if she’s this unearthly being that you have made her out to be. You need to know if you could’ve stopped her. If Joel could be alive, right here, right now.

There’s something so poetic about it all, you think.

Maybe, if you were in a better headspace, you could’ve figured it out. But really, what use was poetry in this world?

You’re working up the courage, the ability, to move, when you hear the footsteps crunching gravel just behind you. They’re heavy, purposeful, and you realise you’re still weeping, still screaming out for someone who can’t come. You think—hope—that this is Abby, here to put an end to this suffering. To these unending questions.

But there’s a warm hand against your back, a moment later, and no golf club swung at your skull.

“I’ve got ya, kiddo.” A voice says to you, hands grasping your shoulders, the twang of an accent so familiar that you’re reaching out, eyes closed, waiting for the person to reach back. When they do, your eyes open, but it’s not who you thought it was. You hadn’t died on this grass, and Joel wasn’t here to get you. Instead, Tommy stood in his place, his hands cleaner than your own.

When you look around, you wonder if you’re the monster that people will tell their children about. The person who ripped people to shreds, who tore them apart for no reason other than a quest for vengeance, one that wasn’t even fulfilled. Maybe, you think, you will become a cautionary tale. A warning for others. An example of what not to become, even in the apocalypse.

This was senseless. It was a slaughter.

All of these people are dead, and you don’t even know their names. They fought to protect themselves and the people around them, something of a team, maybe even a family, all because you are angry, and you are hurt, and you miss your dad. How many of these people have families at home? Families who will never see them again, because of you.

You know you’re not a divine being.

There was no otherworldly reason for your massacre. There was nobody behind a curtain, choosing your actions. No—there was just you.

What right did you have to decide these people should die? What right did you have to end their lives? Was one man—one dead man—truly worth this? Did he deserve to be the reason for your murderous rampage? Would he have wanted this? Would he be proud?

“C‘mere.” Tommy says, kneeling on the ground beside you, and shifting you until he could hold you tightly in his arms. If you don’t focus so much, if you let your mind wander, this could be Joel. It could be your dad hugging you, staining his clothes with the blood you’re drowning in. They’re similar enough, brothers, that you can imagine it is.

He’s holding you together.

“We need to get you out of here.” Tommy tells you, breaking the illusion you had been hoping to live in forever. You know he’s being patient with you — you can tell with every gust of wind that rustles the grass below you. Each one could bring more people, more bodies, yet Tommy refuses to rush you. Instead, he holds you tightly, like the cracks in your surface may lead to you bursting.

You suppose he’s right to worry.

His brother is dead. Joel is dead. And here he is, holding you in one piece, as if that wind could shatter you.

Selfishly, you don’t want him to be patient, or gentle, or kind. You want Tommy to show you some kind of mercy, to bring you peace of mind, of soul. But he can’t, unless he has some kind of insight that you don’t, unless he has ripped Abby apart and seen the divinity in her creation.

“C’mon,” Jesse says then, appearing out of seemingly nowhere. You hadn’t realised he was even nearby. Didn’t hear him approaching, though that could’ve been because of the unearthly wailing that had surrounded you. “I’m sorry,” He says, hand wiping at your face where it rests against Tommy’s shoulder. “We have to go. We have to go now. I’m sorry.”

And he does sound sorry—god, he sounds more apologetic than you had ever heard him.

You don’t know if he’s sorry for making you get up, for making you face the world again, or if he’s sorry that you’re even here, sorry that Joel is dead. You don’t know which you would prefer. You try to decide, and realise not long after that the two of them had pulled you to your feet, hands gripping you, waiting for you to hold yourself up.

“Jesse,” You choke out, reaching for him, as if seeing him for the first time. His hands are holding your own before you can even get out another word, uncaring of the blood that covers them. He squeezes once, twice, thrice, before he lets go to press his hands to your cheeks, grounding you, almost.

“It’s okay.” He says, and you can see in his eyes that he knows it’s a lie.

He takes your hand, pats your cheek, his forehead against your own for no more than a moment, before he’s letting Tommy take over, letting the man soothe his fatherly instincts. Uncle Tommy. You imagine a life where you would have called him that.

Tommy leads you away.

Away from the bodies, the gore, the guilt, hopefully. He grips onto you the whole way, pulls you along every time you stumble, holds you up whenever you long to fall. All the way until you reach a theatre, where Ellie and Dina have been bunkered, one of them tells you. We’re going home.

You wonder if they’re going to bury you in the ground, beside Joel. Home. You think it sounds nice.

[itsthatmff]

Taking you out on a date ||| Genos, Garou, Metal bat

Appreciation post for the teen trio of opm 🤭

She/her pronouns used!

Requests are open anytime <3

Genos

“I apologize, I must have disappointed you.”

Poor boy literally spent DAYS analyzing your likes and dislikes in order to take you out to the perfect date, as you both made plans to go out on the weekend.

He spent so much time trying to sort out potential places to go that he ended up with nothing on the day you both wanted to go out.

He stood there, in front of your door about to pick you up, with the guiltiest expression on his face. (Well as guilty as a cyborg can look, ykwim)

says sorry for about 100 times before he shuts his mouth. You literally have to stop him mid sentence for his explanations to end.

“IT’S OKAY- you could have just asked me where i want to go instead of making it so hard for you. I like Aquariums, why don’t we go there?”

“Oh.”

Feels like the most stupid (person) in the world at that moment. Had he known it was this easy, he probably wouldn’t have gone through such lengths. (He would have. Cuz boy doesn’t realize that he’s in love with you.)

Usually Genos is pretty blunt and forward, i guess that’s why trying to come up with something was so hard for him. For the first time, trying to ask you directly didnt cross his mind, as he wanted to make you happy all by himself.

You both spent the rest of the day at the aquarium, with you admiring the sea animals, and him admiring you. He realized after a while that his gaze was stuck on you, and definitely made a mental note to ask dr. Kuseno if there was something wrong in his system.

EVERY TIME YOU MENTIONED THAT AN ANIMAL LOOKED CUTE, HE PAMPERED YOU WITH INFORMATION ON THAT SPECIFIC ANIMAL.

Like the tension would be all romantic, you’d be looking at glowing jellyfish, and he’d be staring at you, smiling a tinsy bit. Then you’d say something like “look Genos! That jellyfish looks so cute!” And the next second, Genos would turn into a search engine.

“That’s an Aequorea victoria, also sometimes called the crystal jelly. It’s a bioluminescent hydrozoan jellyfish, or hydromedusa. It can be found off the west coast of North America. The species is best known as the source of aequorin, and green fluorescent protein-“

“Okay- thats enough genos.”

All in all, it would be a pretty fun date! Genos would end the day by saying “I really enjoyed going out with you, Y/N-san. Next time I will take you out to someplace even better. No mistakes allowed.”

Garou

“What are you looking at? Don’t you like it?”

Guy heard “let’s go on a date!” And rolled with it.

Though his idea of a “date” might look a bit different.

100 percent took advantage of it when you said “let’s go somewhere you like”

So of course y’all ended up in an all you can eat buffet.

And he won’t be paying for it 💀 (the fee might look a “bit” expensive, make sure you take a good amount of money with you)

Chugs down a plate after the other, so at least the money isn’t wasted.

Once he sees your kind of upset face, he stops taking bites of that real good steak and looks at you confused.

You were happy to spend time with him, you really were, But this just wasn’t what you thought it out to be. Of course you expected it to be at least a LITTLE romantic, even though he wasn’t your boyfriend yet, nor did he know that you liked him.

But sorry to disappoint you, romance is a foreign word for this oblivious man.

If you tell him how you feel about the date though, he’ll give you the widest smirk “you’re happy to spend time with me?” Completely ignoring everything else you said

Once y’all are done eating, he’ll make sure to walk you home, if you’re cold he’ll even hold you. So that’s at least something ?

You have to be REALLY forward and blunt with him, or else all he’ll do is tease you.

If you really wanna make him blush just straight up hold his hand, he won’t do nun. Yelling at you or hurting you is an absolute no for him.

Metal bat

“My sister suggested this place, ya like it?”

Metal bat pretty much has all the knowledge he needs when it comes to girls, as he has to take out and hang out with his little sister a lot.

Most of the time it’s shopping malls where his sister drags him from shop to shop for hours.

So like once they were both shopping for a cute little bag because Zenko had won a piano competition and big brother was proud asf 🤭 and ofc she had realized that he’d be mentioning this one girl from time to time.

“Big bro, why don’t you just take her out on a date?”

But like, we’re talking about a little kid here, so her advice may not be as fitting 😭 she literally only gave him tips on where SHE would like to go.

“If I were her I’d love to be taken to an amusement park, and then he should win me a big unicorn plushy !”

But Metal bat loves his sister more than anything, AND he has 2 brain cells so ofc he’d listen to her, thinking it’d be the best date idea.

A couple days later (he especially took a day off from work for you and told the HQ that they shouldnt call him even if there’s an emergency) he takes you out saying it’s a “surprise”, but once you both stand in front of the amusement park, your reaction isn’t quite what he expected.

It was an kids amusement park. ALL of the rides were fit in for children.

You were happy of course, but metal bat expected you to be fawning over him by now. (That’s what zenko at least told him. Quoting “she’ll be head over heels once you both arrive big brother!”)

“Why are we at an kids amusement park ?”

“My sister recommended it”

“…”

“…”

“Makes sense.”

Well you both already got tickets so all you could do was make the best out of it.

At least the food was good! Metal bat bought you candied apples, chocolate strawberries, cotton candy, everything you laid your eyes on.

And he got you lots of plushies, like, LOTS of plushies.

The kids there did recognize Him tho, so it took a while to get away from the crowd of children wanting autographs and photos.

Metal bat ends up feeling like he ruined your date, so you can see him being kinda upset, after cheering him up though, you both promise to go to a place that both of you could enjoy next time.

He literally has to hold himself back not to spit out the words “i love you” cuz you looked so adorable on that day. (Especially eating the cotton candy)

[kisses4lao]

kung lao x reader where they are like secretly dating and little by little making it more obvious to everyone??? Like, leaving hickeys, bite marks etc, until they start noticing and pointing it out??? Sorry if its confusing😭

I'm a sucker for a good secret dating romance, I gotchu anon

Tw/cw: gn reader I think??? Idk do correct me if I'm wrong, not really NSFW but mentions of sex, a lot of marking and Kung Lao being a tease, cursing

Not proofread as per usual

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

You were a really good friend of Johnny's, just so happened to be one of Liu Kangs pupils as well. Although you didn't have super strength like your best friend did, you were highly trained by him.

When everything started going to shit and everyone had to go team up at the request of Liu Kang, you were quick to try and make friends with everyone, making it less awkward for potential missions.

You made quick friends with Kenshi, Tomas, even Raiden. But you had a very odd relationship with Kung Lao. According to Johnny, he'd often times catch Kung Lao, eyes drifting over you, not leaving unless you looked directly at him.

Other times, he'd say Kung Lao would attempt to talk to you, but Johnny could sense by his body language he was nervous.

You couldn't help but admit Kung Lao was attractive. He was exactly your type and everything you wanted in a man. But to his credit, you were nervous as well, not wanting to make small talk either.

That all changed when you two were sent on a mission together, basically just to scout something out or some shit. To be fair, Liu Kang seemed like he was making this mission up on the spot. Almost as if he knew you two had feelings for each other.

When you got to the spot he told you to scout out, it was a waterfall. A fucking waterfall. You both were told to stay there for the entire day, at a waterfall.

Either there was something actually going on or Liu Kang just has a twisted sense of humor when it comes to this sort of thing.

Truth be told, Liu Kang could tell you two liked each other. He could feel the perverted thoughts of each other just bubbling in your minds and decided he couldn't take it anymore. So, he decided to basically send you two on a date. Completed with nice scenery, no one around, and he even gave you guys a basket full of little finger sandwiches. How cute.

The two of you ended up just talking the entire time bonding over such a silly fear you both shared. You both had eventually realized what was going on and why you were sent on this "mission" and decided to make the most of your alone time.

During that "making the most of it", you had taken each others firsts, under the pale moonlight while the sounds of the waterfall next to you drowned everything else out. All you could think about in that moment was each other.

The original plan was to make it so that nobody found out at first. However, Kung Lao had gotten extremely caught up in the moment and ended up leaving hickeys on you in visible places. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

The love bites on your neck and the scratch marks on his back were very evident the day after, however. While you were upset that they were so visible, Kung Lao was more than happy to show off his back to everyone. He even offered another round just to get more.

He assured you that everything was gonna be alright, a few marks isn't gonna kill you and it shows your affection for one another, which is why he loved his scratches so much.

Neither of you thought it would be a good time to say you guys were dating, so you decided to try and keep things on the down low. You did, at least. However, with the hickeys he'd leave on you, it became very hard to come up with excuses on the spot.

When the two of you got back from your little mission, mostly everyone could sense something was different. Raiden was consistently asking Kung Lao why he has scratches on his back because he decided today was the day he'd train shirtless (because of course he would), and Johnny would NOT leave you alone.

Johnny just would not stop asking you where you got the hickeys from, even though he knew the answer. You would always blush from embarrassment when he asked though, eyeing Kung Lao as you did.

When it came to night time, Kung Lao made it a point to sit next to you. This made Johnny sit across from you, which you could tell he wasn't very happy about. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, arms crossed as he watched you and Kung Lao talk like there was no one else at the table.

Mostly everyone picked up on the small touches you'd leave on his arm and the way he'd caress your thigh. The way the both of you were laughing made it seem like you'd known each other for years.

Over the next few days, you'd continue to sleep together. You'd start leaving hickeys on Kung Lao as a lesson, but instead of being upset , he was ecstatic at the way you'd left a mark on him. He'd ask you over and over leave more marks on more visible places.

Practically everyone in your group knew you were together, you'd just stopped hiding it. You'd occasionally climb onto his lap while he was sitting down and watching him train, while he'd give you small kisses and wrap his arms around your waist very often.

Johnny had decided he's had enough with your very obvious mutual pining and asked the question that should've been clear.

"are you two fucking?"

EVERYONE snapped their heads to look at the three of you. Kung Lao has his arms around you and you were hugging into his chest, while Johnny was in front of the both of you with his hands on his hips.

The silence from the both of you was enough for the answer to be known. Raiden and Kenshi let out small disappointed sighs as Johnny scolded you about keeping this from him.

All the whole Liu Kang was internally patting himself on the back for being a good wingman

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

A/n: if my fics ever become proofread, immediately assume my account has been hacked. You guys ever go over shit you wrote??? That's embarrassing, I'm not doing that.

[thepersonnamedsam]

hello! i hope you’re doing well!! could i request some dating headcanons for jamie x reader x roy? if you’re not comfortable writing poly ships, then just headcanons for Jamie would be fine!! i just found your blog but i just want to say that your writing is super amazing!! thank you!!

headcanons - jt9 & rk6

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader x roy kent

summary: headcanons about the favourite poly couple on the field

warnings: i sincerely hope no one sees this as a warning, but still; poly couple, some sexual themes but nothing explicit

note: thank you so much for your request! and i’m glad that you like my stuff <3 it’s more like a story than headcanons, hope it’s okay like this.. :)

masterlist / taglist

roy kent - the man, the myth, the legend, would you ever see him in a relationship? probably. would you ever see him in a relationship with one than more person? but that’s exactly what’s going on

you met jamie first, he was a little prick you weren’t very fond of, but when he transferred to afc richmond, he changed. he also met roy

jamie introduced you to roy and he fell for you immediately - you didn’t

it took you a while to like both of them

but you did like jamie first

it made roy furious - he started to treat jamie like some sort of slut

that’s when you talked to roy and you felt something when he looked at you with those eyes

your stomach churned and your heart fluttered- you didn’t do anything though

what you did do, was tell jamie

he was shocked at first, but he kind of understood your feelings

because he kind of felt those feelings for roy too

you mastered a plan to tell roy, but he crashed it, when he just pulled you aside one day and kissed you

he told you, that he couldn’t stop thinking of you and that he would tolerate the prick

you were so happy, both boys or men as roy would say, now happy and yours

at first you tried to hide your relationship- the team knew you were dating jamie, so the relationship between you and roy and jamie and roy had to be kept a secret

the relationship between roy and jamie was anyway a bit different- they weren’t like a couple couple (at least they thought they weren’t)

it was more like a bromance rather than a romance

hugging and showing love in the way of saying it or light touches was normal between the two, but kissing or even sex, wasn’t happening between the two ballers

as non intimate the relation between those two were, yours with them was even more intimate

jamie is definitely the soft one, he treats you like a princess. does everything for you and wants you all the time

roy on the other hand was a bit more harder. he is a softie inside and only lets you see this side when you two were alone, you loved it though. but when jamie is around, he is this big, rough teddy bear

it was hard for roy to not show you his love around the team

he once even wanted to ask the diamond dogs what to do - until he realised that they also didn’t know

but sooner or later the team found out

it was when jamie’s dad just showed up and jamie punched him, when roy realised that he gave a fuck about what the others were thinking and that jamie needed him right then

the team was about hesitant at first, not understanding the whole dynamic, but they soon understood it and supported you fully

at the end of the day, you three were laying on bed, jamie in the middle of you and roy, his head was laying on your chest and roy was spooning him from behind

your right hand on his cheek, stroking it softly, and the left hand in his hair, massaging it gently

roy had his arm around his waist

you were whispering sweet nothings, told him about your day and how much you missed your boys

jamie is such a softie, but you loved it

he cried that night, but he was glad his two loved ones were right by his side

roy is usually the jealous type- when jamie received too much attention from you he was grunting, not voicing his feelings, just grunting

but it was okay for tonight

you were usually the one who cooked - the boys are on cleaning duty

roy usually didn’t complain, oh but jamie, my god does he complain

„why do i have to clean up the kitchen? you were the one who cooked?“ he would say after you cooked the meal

and roy mostly responded like this: „that’s exactly why we have to do it, you little fuck, she already cooked!“

roy swears like a sailor, we all know that, it didn’t make you uncomfortable, but hearing fuck every two seconds was something to get used to

so he tried to tone it down - it didn’t work

jamie laughed every time when he saw you twisted up face in the beginning

but after some time you didn’t even hear it anymore

but believe me, roy would do anything for you

getting you both from the night club because you were too drunk to even remember where you were

buying you expensive gifts because that’s what you deserve

bringing home flowers to surprise you

helping jamie, because that’s the only wish you ever had - that the two boys would love each other

and they did, in their own way

you loved them and they loved you, very much so

and you were so happy to have them in your life

i mean, how could you not love them

°°°

taglist: @topguncultleader , @lovelyy-moonlight , @youkissedareaderinthedark , @thybulleric

[kiddbegins]

Closed Off - Will Halstead

requested: yes

word count: 2,231

warnings: nothing really, just cute, closed off reader i guess?

a/n: i apologize if this isn't written well?? i cant tell-

Masterlist

“You’re a lot different under the sheets, aren’t you?” “How so?” “…You’re way softer, I like this side of you.”

When you started working at Chicago Med, you swore that you would just live your life there as a doctor and that was that. No romances, no mingling of any sort. As minimal talk of your personal life as possible. 

You wanted to leave that part of you back in New York and let Chicago be completely detached. As well as not letting your coworkers into your inner circle. And so far it had been working. Most of the people you worked with knew you were self reserved, respected that.

Including one Will Halstead but he really couldn’t get past the fact it drew him in even more than any sort of mystery usually would. Seriously, how could he just ignore that the new beautiful doctor at the hospital had so much hidden behind a brick wall. 

He of course respected your want to privacy, but that didn’t stop him from conveniently going to the vending machine at the same time as you, offering up any sort of light conversation he could. Simply wanting to offer out his attention and want to at least be friends.

And in all honesty, you found it cute. That he cared, if that was even the right word to use, to try and let you hunker down in this city. To know that you had each and every person in this hospital to lean on regardless of what you tried to shut out.

Usually you would just brush him off, but today was… decently hard. You had no real way to save this mother and you had to tell her family that. So you decided on grabbing something to try and calm yourself down. Some chips.

As always, Will followed you, leaning against the side of the machine with a slight grin. “Hey, what kind you getting?” He waited, knowing if you were going to reply it wouldn’t be right away. And he was right.

With a sigh, you looked up at him, “Salt and vinegar.” Short and bluntly, leaning down to grab the bag out of the bottom, sucking in a breath before going to go around him. As if he could tell, Will turned with you.

“Hey, wait. You alright?” His hand went to your arm, something that usually wouldn’t have made you stop but for some reason you did, gripping the small bag of chips in your hands. Genuinely you didn’t know if it was the bad day getting to you or what but you shook your head.

Will frowned slightly, pushing past the surprise that you actually spoke to him, “Do you wanna talk about it? Maybe I could help?” He offered, you nodding faintly. If it meant even possibly coming up with something to help your patient you’d do it.

“Yeah, my patient, she’s sick and I can’t save her. She’s past the point of chemo and everything so,” You paused faintly. “I don’t really know what to do.” Something you didn’t admit lightly. 

You were good at your job, cold shoulder or not. And honestly, one of the highest success rates of doctors in the ED, only topped by Dr. Choi. “Let me take a look at her and her papers and I’ll see if I can find anything. New eyes and all.” He once more offered.

Part of you was ashamed of the help but you brushed it off. Will managed to find something and by the end of the day, she was on a new treatment plan that was hopefully going to get her home before the holidays.

Later that night, when shift was about to end, you went into the break room, not looking for Will, but bumping into him was actually alright. “Hey, Halstead.” He lifted his head towards you with a hum of acknowledgement. “I just wanted to say an actual thank you for today.” You paused, actually feeling a bit nervous speaking up.

“I’m glad I could help. Always nice to see a parent make it home to their family.” Will shrugged his jacket on, watching as you still stood there, hands clasped together, “Was there something else?”” 

With how quickly you usually split from any sort of conversation it was odd that you didn’t with him, at least not now. “Well, I was uh, gonna see if you’d let me get you a drink.” Will’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Because honestly, I don’t think I could have handled losing that mother today.” You rolled your tongue against your cheek nervously.

He nodded faintly, doing his best (and failing) to hide the smile that was actively growing on his face. “Well, I think I’d like that.”

“Just the one though.” You faintly laughed, “Don’t get your hopes up.” You managed to joke faintly, Will holding his hands up in defense. He’d take anything he could, conversation was conversation and that was how the two of you ended up next to one another at Molly’s that evening, a beer in both of your hands.

Will leaned on the counter, “You know, you’re pretty hard to read.” He spoke, looking over at you. “And I like to think I’m pretty good at reading people.” He sipped from his drink with a thoughtful look behind his eyes. That much was true, Will was good at knowing what kind of person he was getting entangled with.

Not that he ever had the best judgment on what that meant or would lead to but at least he had a baseline. With you though it was like there was nothing. You didn’t give off anything. He had nothing to base his thoughts off.

“Well, that’s kind of the point.” You shrugged, taking a swig from your bottle, “That’s exactly how I want it to be.” Will shifted at the statement, facing you more, his eyebrows pulling together as he looked over at you.

“Why?” He chuckled faintly. “I mean, you’ve been in Chicago a few months now and all I got from you is that you’re from New York and that you like cats.” The only reason he even knew that was the pin you had attached to your jacket that you sometimes wore.

A small black cat pin. “Well if I answered that I’d be giving away all my secrets, wouldn’t I?” You cocked an eyebrow up, crossing a leg over the other. Will chuckled faintly, nodding with a shrug. He sighed faintly, tilting his bottle towards you.

“I guess you’re right.” Once more he took a decently big swig from his beer, taking a moment to think over his next words, “You know I’m gonna keep trying to get to know you right?” Will spoke, glancing to you. If he was one thing it was stubborn and one thing he wanted more than anything was to sneak through one of the tiniest cracks you had to have. 

Because everybody has one in the walls they put up. “I know.” You leaned your elbow on your knee, glancing up at him. “Doesn’t mean I’ll give in though.” The two of you shared a look, and you were unable to say you weren’t attempting to flirt at least a little bit. And it wasn’t like you were fully against talking to him in general. He wasn’t the worst company.

Will hummed faintly, he wasn’t sure what he was exactly allowed to do or say. Sure you had asked him to get the drink but that only put you at acquaintance level. If that. And as much as he wanted to reach out, put a hand on yours, he couldn’t let himself. That would be too far. 

At least to him. But truthfully, you couldn’t keep the facade up that much longer. Because he was persistent and you were only so strong. “Well, I figured as much. But hey, maybe I’ll crack you down.” Will smiled warmly, and for some reason that was it. That was the smile that made you just want to confess everything you’ve ever held back to him.

You sucked in a deep breath, looking away from him in a vain attempt at keeping your composure. “Yeah, maybe.” There was a brief silence, you finishing your beer before standing, grabbing your jacket off the back of your chair. “Well, thanks again. Enjoy the rest of your beer.” 

Will stood quickly, reaching his hand out just as fast, stopping before it touched your arm, “Wait, you’re leaving already?” He said, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. Slightly you nodded, lifting your gaze to him with pursed lips, his eyes locking with yours. 

“Uh, yeah, I should,” You gave him a light smile, frozen in place as much as you wanted to walk away it was like you couldn’t. Something about looking at Will just made you want to stay. Whether it was the warmth of his eyes, how he pressed you for conversation while still respecting when you snipped it in the bud.

Something held you there, and it wasn’t the hand he lightly put on your arm, stepping slightly closer, “Or, you could stay. Let me buy you another drink.” His voice was hopeful and so alluring that before you knew it you were agreeing, sitting back down with another drink in your hand. 

It was like somehow he just knew that you didn’t actually want to leave. That you wanted to keep talking. And he managed to keep you wrapped up in conversation along with a few more drinks that led to you walking out together and you laying in his bed that night. 

Not minding when his hands traced over your skin or how your head rested against his chest, his hands twisting through your hair, luring you to sleep.

-

You were the first to wake up the next morning, shifting onto your side to face Will. He was still asleep, his arms tucked under his head and hair sticking up all over the place. It was admittedly extremely cute and you couldn’t help but gently reach over, raking your hand through his hair and pushing it off of his forehead.

He just looked so peaceful, content, that it almost made you feel bad for always brushing him off. Made you second guess the fact that you were so closed off. Maybe this was your way of finally opening up. Will shifted slightly under your touch, making you retract it quickly, eyes widening. 

“Mmm, what time ’s it?” He mumbled, eyes still shut. Just slightly you leaned up, looking over his shoulder at the clock on the bedside table, having to push hair out of the way as it fell over your eyes.

“Only 7,” You spoke softly, laying back down, this time meeting his gaze as he finally opened his eyes. Will grinned widely, shifting closer, his arm going around your waist, nuzzling up against your side. “You’re clingy when you just wake up huh?”

The man nodded as best he could, tucking his head away in the crevice of your neck. “Only when I’m this comfortable.” His statement was muffled but you understood it nonetheless, unable to keep yourself from bringing a hand up to rake through his hair. “Now you just don’t want me to get up,” He chuckled lightly.

You hummed softly, twirling some of his hair around your fingers. “You are admittedly kind of cozy, I won’t lie.” The man lifted his head, looking across your face quickly. A deep blush covered your cheeks as he looked at you.

He was practically studying you, taking note of your face, how you looked back at him. All of it. “I… what?” You asked quickly, eyebrows tightly pulling together.

Will shook his head slightly, “Nothing, you’re just a lot different under the sheets, aren’t you.” He leaned up on his elbows, planting them on either side of you as he spoke. It made his heart flutter, the way you only seemed to be comfortable letting him in.

“How so?”

“You’re softer. Not as closed off.” He spoke, a breath catching in your throat. The man reached out, hesitantly putting a hand on the side of your face. “I like this side of you.” Will swiped his thumb over your cheek, “A lot.” He admitted, giving you a tight smile.

Everything he said was thought over, worried that the wrong move or wrong saying would send you running. That he’d overstep in some way or another. But in reality, you missed being around others. 

A lonely life in Chicago was just that. Lonely. And as much as you were content with how you were living there was always a bit of something that had you wanting to change your own mind. 

Heavily you sighed, giving up on keeping yourself from leaning into his palm. Will grinned wider, shifting closer to you. “Does this mean you’re done with that? At least with me?” He muttered, eyes meeting yours as you slightly nodded.

“At least with you,” One of your hands went over his, pulling him closer. Will’s arm went to the spot on the bed behind you, leaning forward. “Which makes you, very lucky.” You mumbled, in turn putting your hand on his cheek instead,

Will laughed quietly with a hum, “Is that so?” His voice low as you got closer to him, nodding once more before pressing your lips to his firmly, putting your arm over his shoulder tightly.

“It is.”

JOIN WILL'S TAGLIST HERE!

tags: @winchesterszvonecek, @everything-fandom, @thebejeweledwatercat, @mrspeacem1nusone, @wnbweasley, @alexxavicry, @halsteadbrasil, @firetruckstuckley, @lilithblade, @angelicbxtchthea

[star-girl-05]

Reader falls in love with doctor

I Like Like You

Doctor Who x reader

You knew you were doomed the moment you found yourself listening to his long-winded spiel about things you couldn’t begin to understand. In spite of this, you sat there, never interrupting, just nodding when he paused for a breath, checking if you were still listening. Of course you were you'd always pay attention to him.

Despite the fact that he had no idea, everything he did made you want him more. His obliviousness to your feelings was both annoying and a relief. You could only imagine the horror if The Doctor ever found out about your feelings. Everything would change between you too. The Doctor doesn't do romance. He might flirt but it's all harmless. You know that. 

You know that nothing would ever happen between you and The Doctor. That didn’t make it any easier to try and get over him. Especially when you spent all of your time with him. Your whole life revolves around him, and when you're trying to get over someone that's not a good thing. 

You just wanted to get over your crush, so you could continue to travel with him without your heart getting in the way. So you decided the best way to do that was to get with someone new. That someone ended up being a guy named Daniel. The two of you have been texting for a few weeks. 

You're only now getting around to actually meeting him. Having convinced The Doctor to take a small break. He had no idea you planned on going on a date. He only realized that was your plan when you came walking out wearing a stunning black dress. Both his hearts stopped functioning for a moment. You looked absolutely ravishing, he let his eyes wander for only a moment before turning back to the console. 

In his mind, the Doctor can recall the exact moment when he realized he was in love with you. The two of you were returning back to the Tardis after a dangerous adventure. Both you and The Doctor had a few cuts and bruises. Nothing life-threatening but you were still fussing about them.

He can still remember how focused you were when you changed his bandages. It was as if you were performing surgery and not cleaning a superficial wound. In that moment though when you were lecturing him about being safe, he realized just how much he needed you. How much he loves you. 

His world stopped when he realized that fact. Things he once thought of as an impossibility were suddenly becoming possible. He never saw himself as settling down, planning to travel forever. If you asked him though, he would commit fully to the life. He’d get a nine-to-five, working to save up for a house with a picket fence. He would do anything and everything to make you happy. Maybe the two of you would have kids. That was a dangerous thought, one that made his hearts race. 

That was all a silly dream though, completely hypothetical. He would never tell you his feelings, you deserved better than him. So he’ll just admire you from afar. 

Right now though having seen you in that dress he wants to do much more than admire you. “Where are you headed dressed like that?” He tries his best to seem casual as he asks but he's nervous. Nervous you're going to say a date, which is really the most likely answer. 

“I’m going on a date”, a date with a man that isn’t him. This is what he wants; he consoles himself, but it does nothing to make him feel better. 

“Oh”

 Oh, what is that supposed to mean? He turns away before you can decipher the look on his face. Secretly you were hoping to get some sort of reaction out of The Doctor. Nothing huge, maybe just a blush, something to show you that he at least thought you were attractive. 

“I’ll be back later, so don’t wait up” Your steps are slow as you make your way to the door. Repeating affirmations that the perfect remedy for getting over The Doctor is a night out with a handsome guy. 

The Doctor watched you leave his knuckles turning white from how tight his grip was on the console. He stayed like that for a few minutes staring longingly at the door. He wants you to have a good time just not with anyone that isn’t him. He hated himself for thinking that but the more he stood alone in the tardis the more thoughts like that plagued him. Until he can't think rationally anymore, grabbing his phone and dialing your number. 

It’s been ten minutes. You and Daniel are just about to sit down when you get the call. The Doctor never calls, he barely uses a phone unless it’s an emergency. You give your date an apologetic look telling him you’ll just be a moment. 

“Is something the matter?”

“No… I nevermind” he quickly hangs up the phone leaving you even more perplexed. You redialed his number only for it to go straight to voicemail. You tried to text him only to be left on unseen. Why isn’t he answering? You begin to panic knowing The Doctor there's no telling what could be the matter. You say a quick goodbye to Daniel before running to the tardis. 

You're out of breath and your feet ache when you reach the Tardis. The sigh of relief you let out when you saw the Tardis is still there. You quickly open the door only to be greeted by The Doctor fiddling with the console. His head popped up at the sound of the door opening. “This is a surprise. What are you doing back so early?” he gave you a goofy smile, one you might admire if you hadn’t run all the way here. 

“I’m back because I thought something had happened to you. Do you not know how to answer a phone?" 

“Oh that's what that ringing was I thought there was something wrong with the tardis”, he knew it was his phone he just couldn’t bring himself to answer it. Having no excuse for his random call. Though knowing his lack of response got you this worried made both his hearts skip a beat.

“Are you kidding me? I left my date just because you can’t distinguish the sound of a cell phone ringing and the tardis?!?”

“I’m sorry, I’ll know better next time." 

“Good, I’ll see you later” you give a glare. “Don’t call” the Doctors eyes widen as you open the Tardis doors. He thought this meant you’d cancel the date. 

“You're still going?” He tries not to sound as desperate as he feels. 

“Yes luckily Daniel hasn’t been scared off by me abruptly leaving”

“Are you sure? I mean you're already back here and you know we could just go on an adventure” he was already fiddling with the console but you're quick to stop him. Grabbing his arm and pulling him away. 

“We can go on an adventure some other time” he gives you a pitiful nod a pout resting on his beautiful face. “I’ll see you later Doctor” he watches you walk out eyes drifting over your figure. A feeling of dread overtook him. He felt like he was losing you. What if your date with Daniel goes well and you decide to stop traveling with him? The thought has him running after you. He catches up to you quickly both his hearts aching. “Doctor this better be important."

“It is” you give him a look to continue telling him Daniel is waiting for you. He takes a deep breath; he can’t believe he's about to say this. “Darling, don’t go on that date." 

You rolled your eyes. You wanted a reaction out of him but you were finding this annoying. All you wanted was to sit down, eat some nice food and have a nice conversation with a cute guy. 

“Just listen, I like you” your eyes widen, you think you must have heard him wrong. There's no way the Doctor said he likes you too; he must mean in a friendly way. 

“I like you too” 

“No, I mean I like like you, in a kissing type of way” his explanation has you giggling. 

“You like like me in a kissing way” you reiterate with a smile blooming on your face. 

“Yes” your heart is about to explode. You’ve only dreamed of something like this happening. You're immediately pulling him by his jacket pressing your lips against his. It's everything you thought it was going to be. 

You pull away softly panting, “I like like you in a kissing way too” he laughs pulling you back into him. 

You texted Daniel apologizing for cancelling on him and informing him of your new relationship.

[fountainpenguin]

🌆 Heroes' Journey 🌆

WordGirl

Pulling back the curtain on a world where mere mortals possess wild superpowers, with a focus on WordGirl and Kid Math's mentor-apprentice-equals relationship. Heavy consideration on how superpowers affect society, with emphasis on found families, secrets, and the mortifying ordeal of being known.

#ridwork guides

What Is This AU?

A slice-of-life WordGirl period piece that expands on the worldbuilding and character relationships seen in the show. Worldbuilding is thoughtful, lightly angsty, but mostly lighthearted with a goal to avoid infodumping and serious angst.

Give it up for Rex trying to hide his powers while more and more people grow convinced he's only hiding them due to abusive upbringing. Shout-out to Becky juggling his superhero training with her fractured social life.

AO3 Series - Heroes' Journey

WG Character Study Series - 28 Million Degrees

All WordGirl 'fics - Any series

WordGirl blog tag - #Satirical vocab alien child show

Posts about Rex and Becky as a comedic duo - #LexiHexa duo

Tone

Serious, but sprinkled with fluff and general tomfoolery. Cute and goofy moments interspersed with light relationship drama. Blends cartoony vibes and a thoughtful take on the worldbuilding.

Ex: Chuck has a broken foot that takes him out of the villain game while he recovers. Becky has to do homework. Yet we still have the Narrator and featured words :)

Characters

Heroes' Journey is a relationship study focusing mostly on Becky, Rex, and Huggy. Parents, friend groups, and neighbors play supporting roles.

Factor It In spotlights Rose Franklin, Victor Best, Eileen, and Granny May, as I figured they could use some extra love. Most villains show up at some point in the Heroes' Journey timeline.

Ships

Canon-compliant within the show's timeline. For me, this means Tobey has a crush on WordGirl, who doesn't reciprocate. Becky has a crush on Scoops, and Scoops/Violet is mutual. Also, Brent/Miss Question, who I definitely don't call [‽] in my head.

Romantic ships are not a big focus in the series as I prefer emphasis on friendships and rivalries, but you'll see romance in the background. Exposition Guy/Exposition Guy's Wife OTP SWEEP! ... Tim and Sally are there too, I guess.

- I write Becky as asexual with no interest in sex, pregnancy, or kids. She loves romance books and would like a fairytale romance, but... her true love is unlearning guilt, taking breaks, and finding peace with herself, I think :)

- Rex sort of has a crush on her, by which I mean he's convinced it's "obvious" the two alien superheroes will end up together. I see them growing up to have a pretty queerplatonic relationship. As he grows, he also develops a crush on Violet (She's kind to him) and Tobey (He uses calculations to build robots; idk what you expected).

- It's important to me that you know Rex is bisexual and when he's an adult, he will tell you this and giggle because "bisect" is a math term and he thinks it's funny every time he says it.

Setting

Fair City, which I've set in the state of Washington (Spotted owls and sasquatches represent!)

"AlgoRhythm" takes place December 1997 and the main 'fic - Factor It In - opens January 1998. This series may range from as early as Huggy's pilot years and Becky's infancy to as late as their adulthood.

Is It For Me?

If you like Becky, Huggy, Rex, the Narrator, thoughtful character relationships, and deeper worldbuilding about life in a world of superpowers, this series may be up your alley! I strive for canon-compliancy for pieces set during show canon.

I try to spotlight less popular characters in the show. Popular villains like Dr. Two-Brains are definitely there, but I try to give folks like Hal Hardbargain, Timmy Timbo, and the Coach their chance to shine as well (both as villains and civilians).

I have no "Becky's family finds out she's WordGirl reveal planned for this story," at least not in Becky's youth.

Major Themes

Expectations, pressure, stability, control, culture, conforming vs. self-expression, envy, trust, pride, guilt, secret-keeping, growth, self-reflection, moving on, and found family

Plot Highlights

- "AlgoRhythm" follows Kid Math as WordGirl introduces him to the Evil Villains Association at an overstimulating party.

- Factor It In bridges the gap between Rex's arrival in "Kid Math" and his cameos in both his Rex and Kid Math clothes in later episodes.

Other works in this series further develop the relationship between straightforward Rex and wishy-washy Becky, with plots ranging from teaching Rex about life on Earth to teaching Becky about the culture of Lexicon and Hexagon.

- Generally, the vibe is that Kid Math is inexperienced and therefore falls for tricks that don't feel WordGirl, so people try to take advantage of him. He gets frustrated when he doesn't understand why he has to follow certain rules and she gets frustrated by his stubborn pride. Shenanigans occur and require problem solving.

- "Flypaper" depicts The Gang in their late teens and young adulthood. Becky is now in college and left Huggy with Rex, who's Fair City's main hero until she returns. She feels detached and uncertain about where she is in life. Also, WordGirl and Super Why speak on a panel together and I badly need you to know.

Ongoing?

I wrote a one-shot in 2018. In 2023, I posted more content. This series is ongoing with infrequent updates at the time of posting.

- On hiatus & in need of buffer building. Intent to finish.

Warnings, notes, and explanations below so readers can learn more about this AU.

👀 Take a Peek

New here? You might like to start with these:

These character studies take place within this universe, though they're not listed as Heroes' Journey content since they focus on side characters:

- "Your family is doing okay" (G - 4400 words) - First meeting of Exposition Guy (Milo) and his to-be wife (Miah)

- "A penny for your thoughts (Oh no)" (G - 7000 words) - A zero-dialogue challenge with Captain Tangent

- "28 Cities" (G - 25k words) - A one-shot series focused on queerplatonic Rhyme and Reason. A taste of childhood with powers vs. without powers. Ongoing, but on hiatus.

Start Reading

Recommended ways to get into the full AU

"AlgoRhythm"

- Get started with a fluffy piece about Kid Math training under WordGirl, then attending a party so she can introduce him to different villains.

- Intro to basics like character dynamics, superpowers, and how Rex thinks

- Fluff, humor, & found family vibes

- Large cast of characters

🗺️ Worldbuilding

- It's rare to be born with powers, but not unheard of. The determining factor is genetics, as is the case with Kid Potato and the Butcher, or the Bests.

-> In-story, there's a character called the Nightmare King: father of Exposition Guy, the Narrator [and his twin], and Invisi-Bill. Their abilities range from semi-omniscience to invisibility, with the Narrator having both.

- Those who have powers are charmed. Doctor Two-Brains is not charmed as he relies on tech, and neither is Captain Tangent, who replies on a curse and his hook.

- Miss Question is not technically classified as charmed due to receiving her powers from lightning. However, she's found acceptance in the charmed community and she can use the label if she wants to. Chuck IS technically charmed, but doesn't identify with the label because he doesn't consider himself to have powers; it's just part of his family history.

-> Chuck would register as charmed on a blood test while Miss Question would not.

- It can take years for powers to show themselves. Most people show theirs as a toddler or during puberty. It's very rare for someone to spontaneously discover powers as an adult. There is seemingly no limit to the types of powers people can have. 1 power is the standard, but some people have as many as 3. It's very, very rare to have more than 3.

-> Rhyme has about 4 powers depending on how you classify things like super strength and durability alongside her super speed and freeze breath. Her dad has wind powers and her mom had water powers. Her family has a long history of charmed genes while Reason's has a long history of none.

- Charmed individuals may study in public school or in specialized charm schools that tailor teaching and accommodations to better suit them. Becky fears that if her parents learn about her flight and super strength, they'll send her to charm school (away from her friends).

-> Becky and Rex are not charmed because they're aliens; their powers follow special rules. However, Becky is "out" as a charmed individual who can speak with monkeys.

- All Lexiconians and Hexagonians have the potential for superhuman abilities. However, these abilities are nullified when they're on their planets, which contain trace amounts of Lexonite / Hexanite in the soil and ground them like average people.

-> Rex was raised with the intention of leaving Hexagon to pursue life as a hero somewhere else. He has the book knowledge for his powers, but no practical experience until coming to Earth.

- During Factor It In, Rex tries to conceal his powers while moving between foster homes, unaware that his caseworker found out about his quick healing and flight. Miah hints to him several times that she and Milo [Exposition Guy] are "a very charm-friendly household."

-> Flight is a rare ability. Miah suspects Rex may be lying low to avoid being traced by an abusive supervillain relative. Beyond that, she's surprised he would hide his powers, as it's not like they're unheard of in this world.

- There's a lot of depth to my takes on Lexiconian and Hexagonian culture, such as Lexicon being more into exploring nature and hunting or gathering food while Hexagon is more into mechanical things and agriculture. Rex is scared of storms because he grew up on a planet that had weather under control, and it's overstimulating for him.

- Both Rex and Becky have synesthesia. Rex can't read because "that's a Lexiconian's job." Also, Hexagon apparently had unicorns and Becky is jealous. My 'fics trickle details like this in over time.

- Last thing worth mentioning is that Huggy grew up with a lot of simians. Some he's on good terms with, others he has rocky history with, but it's generally accepted that Lexiconian monkeys are very intelligent and make great pilots.

- You can also send an Ask if you want to hear me talk about this world. I tag WordGirl content as #Satirical vocab alien child show

📋 Notes & Warnings

- Canon-typical violence (It's taken seriously and people do get injured, but the vibe is what you'd expect for goofy superhero content).

-> Cuts, scrapes, and wooziness are fair game, but no blood or gore. The most serious injury is probably Chuck's broken foot.

-> You should assume all robots are fair game to be destroyed.

-> No serious injuries or character death. Death mentions are backstory only

- Abuse mentions (Adults suspect Rex ran from an abusive home). However, no on-screen abuse besides the basics like family pressure from the Bests and Doctor Two-Brains having a rough go of it.

-> In "28 Cities," it's implied that Rhyme's dad pushed her superhero training pretty far and that she was emotionally and/or physically abused in the process. Reason only hears about this later.

- Rex has canon-typical morbid commentary (which is funny if you take it as "ha ha logic boy" but you could also read it as "Oh that's super dark Rex wtf?")

-> Ex: wanting to tear down the city

- Rare mentions of death (Ex: Rhyme's backstory ("28 Cities") where it's said her dad is a hero turned villain since his hero work didn't pay well enough to provide for Rhyme after his wife died.

More details about Rex's crush on Becky:

Rex sees himself as "Becky's obvious choice in partner someday" and is repeatedly flummoxed when she rejects his elaborate plans to court her 15 years from now.

Becky's asexual with no desire for pregnancy, but as they get older, people definitely try shipping her with Kid Math. She does go out with him in their teens/young adulthood in "A Little Ambiguity," which is a lovely date where no one has childhood baggage weighing them down.

As years pass, a young adult Becky starts seriously debating if she should "settle" with him because there are just so many parts of marrying Rex that are easier than trying to date other people, like the fact that he knows her superhero identity, doesn't think she's fragile, and he can take care of himself in the event that he's targeted.

-> It's the inherent angst of "I don't want kids anyway and I would really like a companion and he knows me so well, but WOW is he going to be so smug about it and I hate that."

It's this weird QPR where Becky's not sure if she feels "love" in the ways it's commonly defined and she's upset and burned out and lonely. Meanwhile Rex has gone on lots of dates, but always felt like she was the clearly logical option. Ah yes, Lexiconian definition crisis meets Hexagonian practicality.

-> I can't even say that I ship them because I Don't Romantically, but I need to study her chronic wishy-washiness & his refusal to look beyond surface-level understanding of things. Do u see my vision?

- All my WordGirl 'fics

- Want more info? Send an Ask!

You can create works based on this AU. Please cite me and/or the AU as appropriate (i.e. for things very specific to this AU). You are free to expand on ideas you've thought of thanks to my AU as a jumping off point. I'd love to reblog or link things to my AO3 works if I see them!

I write content with morally gray characters. Please don't portray my story events or worldbuilding out of context with intentional malice. As in, I request you do not post things created for the specific intention of bashing me or the AU

[always-andromeda]

hi! so excited for your valentine’s event! if you’re still accepting requests, could I perhaps get a white chocolate truffle with our dear mr. the riddler?

to keep it fun and seasonal, maybe it’s your first valentine’s day together and all he’s ever seen are movies, commercials, etc. so he’s super flustered and nervous that he has to like make this grand gesture and buy you a bunch of stuff, but maybe whatever he’s planning falls thru for some reason and he’s really upset? but then you comfort him and let him know that you don’t need any of that stuff and you end up eating an entire box of cheap chocolates together and watching a movie or something?

but also if you don’t like that premise, absolutely feel free to go with whatever you want! love your writing!! 💘💚

– 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐄𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐍𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: don't you worry, anon. I adored this premise. and I genuinely loved writing it. so much so that it came out to a little over a thousand words oops I didn't mean to I promise!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: this ended up being a bit more angsty than I meant for it to be lmao, bits of fluff, blood mention (nothing graphic), Edward essentially has a meltdown, nothing else I can think of!

The day was supposed to be perfect. It was supposed to be a chocolate filled, candy coated, heart shaped, ribbon wrapped day of romance. That's how these sorts of holidays worked, right? Edward expected that he'd be planning so much that he'd barely get to feel the gratification of any of his efforts. Your adoring expression when you saw how devoted he was to making everything special would be his reward.

But with the way things were looking, he was losing it. Edward took a shallow breath and closed his eyes, going over the mental checklist for all of the things that had gone wrong that day.

He hadn't gotten the day off even though he'd requested it nearly a month in advance. Edward wouldn't forget the sneer on Zach's face as he chuckled and said, "Don't you need a date in order for that to work, Eddie boy?" Never mind his protest that he did have a date, which was precisely why he needed the day off in the first place. Zach didn't care. It had taken everything in Edward not to tear him to pieces in his stupid corporate office.

He figured he'd deal with it. That just meant his day was going to be a bit busier. At least the restaurant he wanted to take you out to was all set.

At least until he got home from work, flower bouquet in hand and called the restaurant for the fourth time that day, learned that their computer system had crashed, and wiped most of their reservation roster for the night. 

As much as Edward pitied the poor, panicked employee on the other end and the kind of night they were going to face, he had his own worries. He hung up quickly and leaned back against the kitchen wall, making a mental note to call later and see if the issue was fixed.

Alright, Edward. You're already lucky that you got this chance in the first place. And you're screwing it up. Just breathe. And do something.

So he did something. He found a vase in one of the cupboards for the flowers; a nice crystal one that would look perfect displayed on the coffee table, waiting for you when you got back to your apartment as well.

All his life he'd had butterfingers. And once more, they struck at the worst possible moment. As he carried the crystal vase to the coffee table in the living room, before he could quite process it, the vase was slipping from his hands and falling to the floor with a heart shattering crash.

Now he was on the ground, hurriedly sweeping the pieces of broken glass with his bare hands. Among the shards were flowers, now all scattered and already starting to look disheveled. The water was soaking into the knees of his slacks.

And the icing on the cake? Of course he had to slice his finger on a shard of glass when he wasn't paying attention. Without hesitation, he attempted to stop the blood flow...using the sleeve of his white button up. But he was already too far gone. 

You're screwing it up. You can't do anything right, can you? You're going to end up alo–

He clamped his hands around his ears, trying to block out the voice, trying to catch his breath, trying to hold onto something; anything. But it was like he was drowning. Going further and further down, the water clogged all of his senses.

Edward? Eddie? Eddie!

Finally, he felt a hand on his shoulder. And it all stopped. Edward opened his eyes and blinked heavily, catching your scared expression for only a few seconds before you replaced it with a tentative smile.

"Hey, are you with me?"

Edward nodded slowly, only just beginning to feel the waves of hot tears that had started rolling down his cheeks. This wasn't the first meltdown you'd witnessed from him. But it was the first one he'd had on a holiday. As much as they intimidated him, he'd managed to keep it together. Something about this one though pressed him so thin that he felt like he could shatter at any minute. 

And you already seemed so aware of it as you helped him get up and said, "You're home, you're with me."

You caught sight of the bright red blood on his shirt cuff and took his hand in yours tenderly, examining the small cut on the side of his index finger. "Let's take care of this first, alright?”

You took him into your little bathroom and carefully cleaned the wound before rubbing in a small dot of antibiotic ointment and sending him in your room to pick out a set of pajamas from your dresser. Normally, Edward would feel embarrassed, having sets of pajamas at your apartment for all the times he stayed over; he hated being alone at night. But now, he was grateful to get out of the damp slacks and bloodstained button up.

By the time he finished getting dressed, you'd picked the remaining pieces of glass, sopped up the water, and placed all the flowers on paper towels in your kitchen. And when he'd looked at them shamefully, you came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his midsection. Then you spoke, "They're beautiful flowers, Edward. Thank you. Maybe I could press them and use them in a project. That way I can keep them forever."

Edward hummed lightly, "That sounds lovely." You are lovely, he wanted to say. But somehow, he could tell that you already knew it as you walked him out to the living room, a massive box of chocolates and a small bottle of red wine on the coffee table.

"It's not much, but I didn't know if you'd have anything planned. So I figured we could spend the night in," you explained.

Edward didn't have the energy to scold himself for forgetting to tell you about his plan for the evening. None of that mattered anymore. He was tired. Exhausted, actually. But more than that, he was in love. In love with you and your gentle touch and your hopeful eyes as you waited for his reply. Like if the chocolate and the wine wasn't there, you'd probably still be content anyways. Content with him.

"I wouldn't ask for anything else, my angel," Edward said, his lips forming into a small, semi-circular smile as he pulled you into a warm, comforting embrace.

[leewritestoomuch]

I saw your hyoga request and it’s truly a shame not many people write fanfics of him since I love him so much.

I was wondering if you could write smth along the lines of hyoga and a chemist reader having this sort of enemies to lovers kinda romance and in the beginning it’s all rocky but maybe during their trek in South America everything changes :) sfw ofc

This is my first time requesting so I don’t know if I’m doing this completely right so I understand if it is ignored. Thanks :))

Enemies to Lovers with Hyoga

This isn’t head canons but it flows like head canons and I don’t know if I like it 😭 I’m sorry, I hope I’m just being critical of my own work and it’s actually good.

Why should he be expected to save your life if you’re in danger? It’s pathetic. Truly. He’s frustrated, beyond it actually, that you don’t know how to handle an animal threatening you in the forest. But, as much as he hates it, you’re his ally. And admittedly, you can use chemistry to your advantage in just about any situation needed.

He finds that respectable, so he won’t kill you, but he questions himself for helping you out of a dangerous situation. Especially since he hasn’t liked you very much since his and Homura’s attack on Ishigami village some time ago.

You were the first person he saw, and you ran scared. He found it pathetic, because doing that with an animal, in most cases, would get you chased down and killed. So he followed you like an animal would. He stabbed you, and in order to get away with your life, you threw some sort of chemical in his face. That dirty trick, arguably much better than being stabbed, however, gave you enough time to get away.

He opted to move on to dealing with Kinro, but you stayed back, wounded and hiding. It’s smart, but you’re truly pathetic, he decided.

He should have taught you a lesson about running from a predatory animal, but he didn’t feel that he owes you anything. So why did he help you now?

He goes on thinking that over for months, between the voyage from Japan to New America. And it’s during that time you decide to ask him and the other guys to help you train. Your expression of interest in learning to use a spear, and maybe even his technique, had caught his attention.

So during that time he teaches you to use the spear even a little bit, he begins to notice there is just something about you. He doesn’t know what it is, so he pushes it down. He’s not one to go easy on you, so every day you have new bruises from getting hit with the blunt end of a practice spear. He often gets you and Mozu to spar, but of course, Mozu beats you.

You have no hope of ever beating either of them, lest it be pure luck or a battle of wits.

He takes a certain amount of interest in the way you are a master in your own field, but he catches you asking to learn other people’s skills even a little bit. He knows you have no real plan to be a spearman, but the skill is a nice thing to have. And he can respect that.

So during rest times, you finds himself near you, then eventually, throughout the days, talking briefly with you. Eventually, you two are having actually conversations. And he finds himself more interested in you than he ever has another person.

You often talk his ear off about chemistry. He hasn’t taken chemistry since high school, and he isn’t interested in the least, but he doesn’t mind it too much. You explain why there are always chemicals in your bag, and why they’re sealed so well. And eventually he asks what you threw in his face.

You explain it was harmless, but would burn a bit. He smiles.

“Ah, so just a bluff?” He smiles beneath his mask

“More of a distraction, but sort of.” You answer, looking out at the sea past the walls of the ship deck.

Eventually, you two become an unlikely couple. And the only way anyone would find out, is when he expresses his confidence in your abilities by addressing you as his partner. Unless, you were rather talkative and told everybody.

More often than you’re sparring with anyone, you’re discussing matters with Dr. Xeno and Senku, sometimes Chrome too. You help them find answers when you can, but often you and Chrome don’t fully understand some of the science they get into.

On foot, in South America, is where you two would find yourselves aware of your feelings. You spend most of your time side by side, or on the same motorcycle. And he realizes your arms around his waist aren’t something he minds at all. Your head rests on his back.

For a while, it’s just understood during this time that the two of you aren’t just friends or allies, but there is no word from either of you. No word until he calls you his later, and it’s just understood. He assumed as much and you don’t mind.

[iamvegorott]

Magicians Don't Need Superheros Pt16

First: Link Prev: Link Next: Link

----------

Marvin was back in the library and he’d been in that library for a week; reading, taking notes, getting annoyed, and falling into a routine of sorts as he did what Henrik said he was supposed to do and got settled into the House. 

He wasn’t aware of the time as he strolled between some shelves, taking a break from the current magic book he was reading and curious about what else the library offered. Marvin had already found the comics and manga Jackie had mentioned and, admittedly, read a few issues and volumes but he wasn’t going to tell Jackie that since he had a feeling his ears would be talked off. Maybe after he finished a series he’d mention it, but even then he wasn’t sure. 

When Marvin first ‘appeared’, as everyone called it, Jackie’s rambles were irritating but the longer he was here, the more Marvin realized it wasn’t really the rambling that got to him during that time. He was just on the verge of a mental breakdown at the sudden shift in realities and anything set him off. Now that he had accepted his new life, and had some consistency, Marvin discovered that he was used to Jackie’s excitement, hell, sometimes he found it…comforting. 

“These are romance books,” Marvin said to himself with a chuckle. “Curious to know who these are for.” He picked up one of the books and flipped it over to read the summary on the back. "God, this sounds so cheesy. Who reads these things?” 

“Hey, Marv!” Jackie’s voice spoke behind Marvin, but when he turned around, he didn’t see him. Marvin looked to the left, to the right, and still didn’t see him and he decided to look up a bit.

“Why are you on a bookshelf?” Marvin asked.

“Better view.” Jackie shrugged. 

“You must be a mixture of a cat and a dog.” Marvin chuckled as he returned the book to the shelf, accidentally leaving it so the spine stuck out a bit. 

“Would that make me like Catdog? You know the cartoon with the cat on one end and the dog on the other? Maybe not Catdog, since they’re two different people, so like a hybrid? A cat who barks or a dog that meows?” Jackie rested his cheek in his hand as he thought about it. 

“What about one of those little furry things you’re not supposed to feed after midnight?” Marvin suggested.

“Gremlins!?” Jackie laughed and bounced off the shelf, casually landing next to Marvin. “Did you know that there’s a scene after several Gremlins are killed that there's one in the background with a knife in them and they’re still moving? Like twitching and stuff which means that either it’s like slowly dying or it survives and that’s a whole different thing to think and worry about.” 

“I only know them by name, I haven’t seen the movie.” Marvin made his way back to where he’s claimed for his ‘researching spot’. 

“Movies.” Jackie corrected. 

“Are you putting those on the list as well?” 

“You have to at least see the first one.” 

“I guess I can handle that. Is this before or after the Twilight marathon?” 

“After. But we have to finish Avatar the Last Airbender first and we gotta watch the live-action as well. The show, not the movie. I wouldn’t put you through that.” 

“Is that our plan for the night?” Marvin was already tidying up and putting the last of the books on the coffee table.

“I’m actually going on patrol tonight after I get some dinner,” Jackie said. 

“Patrol?”

“You know, check around the city for signs of danger. Heroes do it all the time. You can join me if you want.” Jackie pulled his mask out of his hoodie pocket and put it on his face. 

Marvin thought about it for a second. He’s been cooped up in the House for a while, going out sounded like a nice break in the monotony. Plus watching Jackie bounce around and potentially singing his own theme song sounded entertaining to witness.

“Sure. Why not?” 

x~x~x

Marvin leaned against a street lamp, texting on his new phone, messaging the others on the ‘Septiceye Group Chat’ while Jackie was chatting it up with some ‘civilians’ as he had called them. So far, the patrol was just him and Jackie walking around the city. It was nice exploring the place when he wasn’t trying to escape. They got a treat from a bakery, tea and coffee from a cafe, they even popped into a frozen yogurt shop and tried a few samples before sharing a cup since they were beyond full by that point. It’s been a really nice and relaxing evening. 

You two enjoying your date~?

Anti’s text got Marvin to roll his eyes and he didn’t even respond. He tucked the phone back into his pocket with an annoyed huff. Marvin’s annoyance turned into a chuckle at the sight of Jackie casually holding up the largest fellow of the group he was talking to with one arm, holding them up like they weighed nothing. The others were all shouting in shock and taking pictures. 

Eventually, Jackie put the person down and the group were all laughing and saying he was cool. Marvin saw the brightness in Jackie’s face, the way he could tell that if Jackie was an actual dog, his tail would be wagging fast enough to cause a tornado. For a man who was likely strong and fast enough to snap the neck of everyone in the city in a matter of minutes, he was pretty adorable. 

“You all have a good day!” Jackie waved the group off, using that ‘hero voice’ Marvin caught him doing when he wore the mask. 

“Done with your fan club?” Marvin asked. 

“A good hero always has a great standing with civilians.” Jackie was still using that voice, chest puffed out and closed hands on his hips. 

“It helps when the hero is a dorky sweetheart.” 

“Well-I’m-I’m just-” 

And there’s Jackie’s actual voice. 

“Is it time to head back? The sun set a while ago and most of the shops are closed.” 

“It is getting late.” Jackie looked around and stiffened at seeing a woman strolling down the other side of the street. “Oh, shit.” He suddenly slipped away into a nearby alley. 

“Shouldn’t you go see if she-” Marvin didn’t get to finish before Jackie was yanking him into the alley as well. “What in the world, Jackie?” 

“She lives in the apartment above that store, she’ll be home in a moment,” Jackie whispered. 

“Why do you know that and why are we hiding?” Marvin used his regular volume and Jackie shushed him. 

“It’s nothing I just-”

“I will yell for her if you don’t tell me.”

“Marv, please-” Jackie’s eyes widened when Marvin took a deep breath and he waved his hands between them in a panic. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell, just don’t yell.” 

“Who is she?” Marvin lowered his voice to a whisper.

“She’s…I went on a date with a while ago. She called me a freak of nature that deserves to die alone and ghosted me.” Jackie confessed with a sigh and then tried to bury that sadness with a weak chuckle. “Not the worst date I’ve been on but not the greatest either. There was this other girl I went on a coffee date and she was really sweet but we just didn’t click and then this one guy-where are you going?” Jackie caught Marvin when he started walking off.

“I just want to talk to her.” 

“No!” Jackie held both of Marvin’s arms and tugged him back.

“I just want to talk, that’s all.” Marvin tried to free his arms. 

“With you, words are a lot more deadly than a weapon.” 

“I do have a pocket knife.” 

“Marv!” Jackie pulled fully this time and held Marvin to the wall so he could see him face-to-face again. “It’s fine. I’m over it. I just don’t want the awkwardness that would happen if she sees me, not unless I have to.” 

“Well, Mr. Fine and Over it. You currently have me pinned to an alley wall in the middle of the night, and you’re close enough that if I lifted my head slightly, we’d be kissing and it would be even more awkward if someone saw us like this.” Marvin waited as Jackie looked down at them and quickly held his arms up as he stepped away. 

“I just didn’t-I didn’t want you to-she doesn’t need-” Jackie’s blush was hidden by the dim lighting. 

“Let’s go back to the House and try to get an episode in before calling it a night,” Marvin suggested and Jackie’s body relaxed with relief. 

“That sounds really nice.” Jackie made sure the one woman was gone before leaving the alley with Marvin. 

Marvin held his hands behind his back as they walked, his fingers and phone glowing green for a moment before what looked like a small streak of green lightning jumped off his fingers and danced across the street. It headed for the shop Jackie pointed out and traveled up the wall, slipping through the crack of the partially opened window, and right when they were out of earshot, the lights in the apartment went out. 

A night of inconvenience while searching for new light bulbs would suffice. 

And what Jackie didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

[callipraxia]

Even Further Interview Analysis - On the Portrayal of "Otherness."

Maybe fourth fifth sixth time will be the charm when it comes to attempts to communicate what I'm thinking about this topic, post-Hirsch interview. I'm drawing from several quotes here that don't immediately link together at all, but trust me, folks. If you want to, of course. The full transcript of the interview, conducted and generously shared by @fordtato and @hkthatgffan, can, as always, be found here. The three previous interview-related pieces of content I've written can be found in their own section here on the handy-dandy directory post on the dreamwidth archive of my less ephemeral blog posts. 

For some variety, we're going with a quote from one of the Interviewers, a Hirsch quote I only made a joke about in my original post, and...uh, one of the same quotes from Hirsch from my last post. I...have a lot of thoughts, I guess. At the same time. In no order that can be translated into the English language very exactly. Anyway....

[Hana]"...with Ford in particular, with all of the content in the journal about him feeling “strange, on the outskirts of society, not understood,” it resonates so much with LGBTQ+ fans. Everyone I know who’s a big Ford fan is from some part of the LGBTQ+ community. There’s lines in there about romance baffling him, and stuff like that, where we’re like, we get it, we understand it, it makes sense, it resonates. Regardless of whether or not this was intentionally planned when you wrote it, how do you feel about Ford being interpreted as a bit of a queer icon for so many in the fandom?" -------------------- [Alex Hirsch] "When you do a clone story, the point of a clone story, in my mind, is a character seeing themselves in a different light, right?" -------------------- [Alex Hirsch] "I think that Bill was trying to find Ford, but I think- I always think of Bill as like, this guy who has, like - you know, he’s stirring the pot of soup that is the Ford plan, and he’s got like 900 pots of soup across the universe of different things he’s working on, and at any given moment, he’s so cocksure that it’s all gonna work his way eventually. Bill’s a trillion years old, so it’s like, Ford disappearing for thirty years is like- [snaps fingers] is like somebody saying they’re ghosting you and then texting you the next weekend, you know what I mean?"

This...thing will be divided into three parts: The Part Where Calli Talks About Sex and Gender and Neurodivergency, The Part Where Calli Talks About Mental Disorders, Addiction, and Fiddleford McGucket, and then, last but not least, The Part Where Calli Talks About Different Approaches To Writing Aliens. These do not, however, each correspond to one quote, and there will be some overlap here and there, so bear with me, if you will. There's also a stronger element of "reader response" in here than there was in the "Ford Plan" essay - there's still a good amount of canon analysis, but I do talk a bit about my own reactions to things and compare my writing process to Mr. Hirsch's toward the end, so I completely understand why those parts might fail to interest people. That said...let's begin.

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I. The Part Where Calli Talks About Sex and Gender and Neurodivergency TW for mentions of toxic masculinity, possibly homophobic aspects of queer-coding, domestic abuse, and my view that Bill is so close to being a sexual assaulter that his, er, anatomical limitations are a moot point.

There's a certain irony to Ford's status as a queer icon that I don't think I've ever seen pointed out before. I'm basically writing a book about this, actually (sort of - long story), but since I have no idea if that will ever go anywhere, I'll talk about it a bit here anyway. It's how, in a story where one of the threads is Dipper sorting out what it means to be a man, it strikes me enormously that his personal idol ends up almost personifying Traditional, Slightly Unhealthy Masculinity, at least at first glance.

Ford's first major action on-screen is, of course, picking up J1, so that we can see his hands...and then he hauls off and punches someone in the face. I wrote a 10,000 word essay (readable here) about Ford's anger issues and how they interact with his sense of self; the reason I wrote it was because of the revelation that Ford's actually a lot more casually violent in his limited screentime than Stan is. I won't go over all that ground again, but the second thing we ever learn about Ford is that he can and will shoot first, basically. And possibly literally, since he's carrying a massive gun throughout the scene and the very next episode establishes that he keeps at least one firearm (or...shooty-weapon of some sort, anyway) concealed on on his person at probably all times, considering he had it on him for game night with his nephew. Based on the weird mix of manual weapons and (if Stan was telling the truth, anyway) firearms in the Mystery Shack and in the Bunker, it seems entirely possible that he's been a bit of a weapons aficionado for a long time, well before he started walking the multiverse. As for afterward, well...afterward, the man sets his head on fire for a laugh, swings around with his magnet gun like the illegitimate love-child of Magneto and the Amazing Spider-Man, and I read a degree of awe in Dipper's statement that the aftermath of Weirdmageddon was the only time he'd ever seen Ford cry...in the whole month he's known the man. Given how few contexts he's had to reasonably see Ford have much a reason to cry in, I assume the remark was made just to underline the severity of the situation: Ford is this tough, stoic space cowboy who just went through days of torture at the hands of a mad god without breaking, so you know it's Serious Business if he's crying. Manly men like him just don't do that, do they?

Of course, along with all this testosterone poisoning, we also did always see plenty of evidence that Ford wasn't actually a talking sci-fi cardboard cut-out of the Marlboro Man. For one thing, there's the way he introduces himself verbally, once he's past the whole fistfight phase of events: "Greetings!...I like this kid! She's weird!" I suspect he started making his way toward also being something of an icon in the neurodivergent communities at about that exact moment. The moment also had the effect of reminding us: this potentially intimidating figure in black with a gigantic gun who can beat Stan in a fight is also, after all, also the Author of the Journals. We don't know much about the Author, but we do know that he was a scientist so brilliant that McGucket, a genius in his own right, accepted a place as his assistant. Hard to be that without also being something of a nerd, right? We also know that he's a very talented artist, and that he writes in oddly-structured sentences, and also that he writes in cursive - maybe that was just something I noticed, since I also write in cursive and occasionally oddly-structured sentences, but it was endearing and relatable to me, anyway. Most importantly, we also know that he apparently finds the unusual as cool as Dipper, our protagonist, does. In other words, we are reminded that, dramatic entrance notwithstanding, he's one of us, and as Hana noted...a lot of us ain't exactly Models of the Elusive, So-Called 'Norm,' are we? This is only emphasized as time goes on, given his enthusiasm for DD&MD and how we soon learn he is significantly more complex than he might have seemed at a glance - aside from being severely flawed, fully aware of it, and riddled with guilt, he also quotes poetry at what it seems safe to assume was one of the lower points in his life, an action shortly followed by philosophical reflections on the nature of heroism. It's also established that, in the sharpest departure of all from the Traditional Masculinity tropes, he didn't have a female partner before his long exile and isn't still griping about that fact to this day. In the America of his youth, just being a single man in his thirties who had never had a girlfriend, or even just didn't complain loudly about not having a girlfriend in between relationships, was the kind of behavior that could make the government suspect you were both gay and/therefore a Communist, especially if you were someone high-profile enough to be working on science with an enormous grant not all that long after the Space Race. Plus...look, the idea of a domestic abuse victim being shipped with their abuser is...not something I'm all that comfortable with, but I get where people get the idea from, and while Bill is definitely not a man, he does use the same pronouns as one. I can imagine people imagining it as a gay-adjacent ship even before the Journal came out and all but explicitly labelled Ford as One of Us when 'us' is defined as the Not-Straights as well as one of the Not-Neurotypicals. It's possible, as I said in my first interview overview, to use the Journal to build a case for Ford's heterosexuality, but the balance of evidence seems to tilt toward the idea that he's Something Else, even if it's not all that specific about what, probably to some extent because there's good reasons why Ford himself might not know, or at least not know the words to apply to the situation. That, however, is material for the post I'm thinking of putting out, like, the day before the new book comes out in July or something. Here, we're discussing not so much sexuality per se as the experience of Otherness.

As I mentioned briefly in the previous paragraph, the LGBTQ+ community isn't the only one which has taken Ford to its heart. Members of the neurodivergent communities - autistic people in particular - have also related strongly to Ford; in fact, this is actually the primary reason why I related to the guy so much. I'm asexual, so I'm in the Not-Straight Club, but for various reasons, my feelings of alienation began long before I noticed that I still thought kissing sounded vaguely unpleasant while others my age had revised their elementary school opinions on the subject. In fact, one of my earliest memories is of feeling that I was...off to the side, somehow, whenever other people were around. I was just an observer, never quite understanding what I saw, always reading like mad to try to figure out how people worked and apparently coming up with some...odd...ideas in the process before high school, which was when I started running across words in classes that seemed to describe the world as it appeared from my point of view. I wouldn't be diagnosed formally with any of my several DSM-V entries until many, many years later, but there was a profound relief in knowing that there even maybe was an explanation better than just "u a freak, lol." Having those words, and with them some sense of history and community, made it all seem more natural, not less so. This is similar to how a lot of people have said they feel about finding out that there's a word for being gay or trans or otherwise queer in some way, and there was some relief tied up in that, too, when I eventually found out that there's a whole world of other aces as well as other people otherwise wired like I am, but it was less of an issue for me, and therefore not what I first "clicked" with Ford over, even though I kind of read him as some kind of ace as well. Instead, for me, it was over how I related to the feeling of being the one person in the room whose occupational interests didn't align with everyone else's - of being the kid who could never quite get it right at Show and Tell. Over knowing what it's like to have your classmates nearly put you in the hospital when you hadn't done anything to them. Over how even the things your family says to make you feel better just underline how you're Different, how you're not really part of the circle even with your own parents. And yes - over having developed a certain amount of bitterness and distrust and general unfriendliness toward the 'normal' world over time. That's definitely a place where there's the potential for the portrayal of Otherness to become...an issue. Another such place is when we get to the matter of Bill.

Bill is presented as a highly alien being, but there's a lot of ways in which he's all too human. Far too many of the ways in which he's all too human happen to be ways that strongly imply that if he had a human body, he'd be one of the not-charmers we used to see getting interviewed and then arrested on To Catch A Predator. And he uses male pronouns in English, appears with accessories which allow big dramatic gestures, has a high-pitched, whiny voice, is a relentless sadist, and is most frequently shipped with human males. All taken together, if one looks at Bill through the lens of queer coding, he can come across as something not dissimilar to the stereotype of the Depraved Homosexual, a homophobic stereotype used to imply that gay people, and especially gay men, are inherently villainous and dangerous...and that's even before we get to the Penthouse scene, where Bill makes his entrance singing a love song to someone he's abused for years who, at that particular moment, he also has on a short leash. Literally.

Did the writers intend for Bill to come across as The Dangerous Gay? I...like to think not, but as Hirsch himself admits in both the discussion of Grenda and to an extent the discussion of the intent behind Ford's alienation - the world was radically different back then, so that you could end up unthinkingly writing certain things then that you know would never fly today, and which you wouldn't even try to make fly today, not least because now you know better than you knew back then. To his credit - well, the thing he specifically apologized for wasn't my apology to accept, as I am exceedingly cisgendered, but I do feel he handled having that brought up about as gracefully as possible. As far as Bill goes, though...maybe you could convince me he wasn't deliberately portrayed as a gay pervert specifically, but I'm not sure there's an argument which could persuade me to buy the idea that Bill wasn't intentionally, or at least knowingly, portrayed as some form of pervert, especially in season 2 and the Journal. The first time I read the Journal, after a steady progress of growing more and more uncomfortable with the overt psychological, financial, spiritual, and physical abuse, I threw the thing at one point in Ford's first section while exclaiming, "what in the sam-hell?!" - which, for me, is the equivalent of much stronger profanity, because I usually swear like Fiddleford, if I must add any embellishments to my expressions of disapproval at all. That was how overtly rape-like I found the post-betrayal possession plotline in the Journal. Okay, so, Bill doesn't have a penis. Cool. I don't care. He's still shown (repeatedly, even) to take sadistic pleasure from robbing others of their physical agency, of reducing them to helpless objects which he can treat however he pleases. Even once he loses the ability to do this to Ford completely, he goes out of his way to overcompensate for it: when we first see the two interact in "The Last Mabelcorn," Bill introduces himself by warping Ford's dreamscape into his own image before he proceeds to box Ford in even further, surrounding him with copies of Bill's self and also getting into his personal space and touching his mental representation of himself, to Ford's obvious consternation. And then we get to Weirdmageddon, where first he turns Ford into his backscratcher, and then the next time we see them, the scene is played almost like a literal attempt at seduction - though, of course, with nasty little details like the "literally on a leash" and "the sofa is alive" bits, just to keep Ford off-balance, so that he reacts instead of thinking. It's possible that they also, to some extent, to play into the depiction of another Other category often associated with Bill, though I don't tend to personally share this view. in a...questionable way. This topic is the portrayal of mental illness as Other.

The Part Where Calli Talks About Mental Disorders, Addiction, and Fiddleford McGucket TW for, well, discussion of mental illness, addiction, and how both Fiddleford and my grandfather had those issues.

I suppose we all see the issues that touch us personally first, so let's just jump straight into it and speak of probably the first thing in Gravity Falls that made me uncomfortable. That thing was Fiddleford McGucket.

"Legend of the Gobblewonker" is a great episode, but I'll be honest: the whole bit with McGucket at the beginning of the episode made me cringe the first time I saw it, and it kinda makes me cringe whenever I rewatch it to this day. There's just not much getting around it: McGucket looks and sounds like a caricature of people from the same part of the world as me. The way the other characters regard McGucket makes me self-conscious (well, moreso than usual) about the way I sound when I talk, and I kinda want to kick Blubbs a little every time I see the episode. Or maybe even say something exceedingly unkind to him about how he's a fine one to make comments about other people's mental capacity when he's dating Deputy Durland. Not something I'd actually do, of course, because it's not Durland's fault that he is like he is, but dang, do I want to put Blubbs in his place in that scene sometimes. It then gets even less comfortable for me once I consider that McGucket is also portrayed as a caricature of people with dementia, severe mental illness, or both in that scene, and it becomes more uncomfortable because when I combine that with everything else about McGucket, it starts feeling an awful lot like the butt of the joke is someone with an uncanny resemblance to one of my real-life grandfathers. And then came the twist of the episode, and that...actually opened up a whole 'nother can of worms for me, because to me, the way McGucket acts at the end of "Gobblewonker" and during some asides in "Society of the Blind Eye" makes me think that he is, essentially, faking insanity in order to manipulate people in the "present" times of the show. And that's...not the same issue, exactly, as him being written as an insulting caricature, but it's kinda uncomfortable, too.

I will give Gravity Falls this: it does a decent job of sympathetically portraying characters who are clearly not mentally well or neurotypical all the time. Dipper and Mabel are all too familiar to those of us who grew up with unacknowledged stuff going on, and you'd have to try pretty hard to write Stan more like someone with ADHD and moderate depression, not to mention some compulsive behaviors. Ford's mental breakdown in 1981 is also played completely straight with little to no effort to inject any humor into it, even though he falls into the category of "visibly 'crazy'" toward the end of it. We know very little about Dipper and Mabel's background, but the troubled circumstances in which Soos and the Stan Twins grew up are also handled fairly realistically and sympathetically. Notably, however, while Ford acknowledges he came close to "losing [his] sanity" in the past, none of the Pines family ever acknowledges that there might be something "wrong" with them in the present - that is a label reserved for others, mainly Bill and Fiddleford, with a side of every member of the Gleeful family and a sprinkling of Pacifica to taste. This makes it a tad awkward that all of them originate as villains of one or another caliber...and yes, I did mean to include Fiddleford there. Watch "Legend of the Gobblewonker" with the assumption you've never seen anything else about the character and listen to what Fiddleford says after his robot is wrecked, and then put it together with the nature of the problem Fiddleford was trying to solve. Fiddleford wasn't just looking for attention - he was specifically trying to convince the people that there was a dangerous monster in the lake. Later in the episode, when Soos and the Mystery Twins have the bad luck to get too close, he also plays the role to the hilt, seriously endangering their lives before he's stopped by a quirk of geology. The outlines of his plan become obvious from there: if the robotic nature of the Gobblewonker hadn't been revealed, then either the stories of what happened to Soos' boat (or, in the worst-case scenario, the dead bodies of its occupants) would have seemingly confirmed Fiddleford's ravings about a dangerous beast that destroys watercraft living in the lake. At that point, Fiddleford would have gotten validation, sure...but even more importantly, fishing season, whether officially or unofficially, would have gotten cancelled as a result of his shenanigans, despite the effect this would have on the local economy, which is why I tend to think he went with the 'lake monster' strategy in the first place. It seems to me that his reasoning ran something like, “if Tate's excuse for refusing to interact is that I frighten the customers, the obvious solution is to create a situation where there are no customers in a way that can't be traced back to me.” And if someone has to take significant property damage, or even get actually hurt, to make that happen, well....

So yeah. Swap him out with someone doing absurd things for the sake of his love life instead of because of his desire to induce his son to speak to him and it's pretty classic villain behavior. This is underlined by Fiddleford's own descriptions of his other stunts: the pterodactyl-bot he built in response to his divorce was "homicidal," and his next project is apparently going to be a death ray. In the Journal entry which corresponds to the episode, Dipper is still clearly wary of him. Anyone who didn't know how the story was going to end could easily buy this episode as an indicator that Fiddleford would at least sporadically be a threat, perhaps along the lines of Gideon - who, incidentally, Fiddleford is more than happy to work with at the end of the season, even though building the Gideon-Bot would have necessarily given him some insight into Gideon's predilection for illegal mass surveillance operations. In every other appearance he makes in season one, though, Fiddleford merely acts out a parody of psychosis, with his two bouts of conflict-enablement at the beginning and end of the season merely bracketing the act; once we learn about the essential falseness of his act in "Society of the Blind Eye," the brackets become underlines that reinforce what the episode shows us retroactively. "Society of the Blind Eye" shows a man who perhaps, based on his reaction to the image of the Blind Eye, has PTSD or something similar, but except for his moment of panic after he sees the Eye in the Journal, he is clearly shown to be in full command of his faculties throughout the episode. It happens twice, in fact, in his first scene of the episode: after throwing up an almighty clamor, he stops carrying on about Lee and Nate vandalizing his home once he thinks he is out of earshot of others and mumbles that they did indeed "get [him] good." A moment later, he spots his "visitors" and then slips right back into character, yammering about his hourly arguments with his own reflection...at least until Dipper flatly tells him to drop the act, and he does. Instantly. Without hesitation. He no more thought that his reflection was some other hillbilly watching him bathe than I did. The implication in "Blind Eye" is a bit pitiable - that he pretends to be the happily deranged Ol' Man McGucket character to cover up his loneliness and lack of self-esteem - but it's still him faking insanity, which is...not good behavior, at least. He ends up being a cringy stereotype of people from my part of the world and from my social background (my father was born as poor as it sounds like Fiddleford was in a state which shares a bit of border with Tennessee), and he also seems to be someone who is exaggerating the symptoms of his mental problems the way so many of us in Diagnosis Club are often accused of doing in real life. And he comes across as a bit of a pot shot at homeless people, sometimes, too. That's...a lot of issues for one dude to have, especially given his relatively minor role in the series proper.

Of course, the dirt-poor cackling hick stereotype...I'm not partial to it, but I don't actually really hold that one against the writers too much. Southerners make fun of ourselves all the time, after all, and the line between laughing with people and laughing at them is a treacherous boundary, one which everyone probably perceives a little differently, which is why it's always more comfortable to write about your own people. The way I 'read' the Folks Who Talk Like Me - that is, Fiddleford, Bud, Gideon, and kind of Farmer Sprott, I guess - in the series makes me generally feel that the writing staff was in fact laughing at us and not with us, but since I am not Jewish or Hispanic or even a man and yet presume to write from the points of view of the Stan Twins and Soos on a regular basis, I...don't reckon I'm quite standing in a glass house, but I'm close enough to doing so that it would probably be a bad idea for me to throw around any stones no matter how careful I try to be about that sort of thing, y'know? But the "Fiddleford crazy" narrative - that one kind of bothers me.

I mentioned a couple of paragraphs ago that my first impression of Fiddleford was that he's not dissimilar to what you would get if you wrote a somewhat unkind parody of my grandfather, who had severe bipolar disorder with psychotic features in his later years. To a degree, I still see Fiddleford that way even after it becomes apparent that he's not half as out of it as he pretends to be, and that's because when do we learn for sure that Fiddleford is sane, it's in the same episode that we learn about something else he has in common with my grandfather: that is, a history of addiction. They even both created the instruments of their own destruction: Fiddleford invented the memory gun which gradually eroded and scarred his brain to the point that there's a bit of an implication that he might not ever fully recover, and Pawpaw spent several decades as an alcoholic after making a decent chunk of his lifetime income bootlegging, a classic case of getting too high (or low, as the case might be) one one's own supply. In the "Blind Eye" tapes, we get the impression that Fiddleford also genuinely did descend into madness for at least a while in the year or so after the Portal Incident, and it's shown to be a direct effect not of trauma from his experiences with Ford and Bill, but of his chronic use of the memory gun. Mr. Hirsch even compares him to an alcoholic in the Interview, and while my grandfather was luckier, it's not at all surprising or unrealistic that Fiddleford's habit ends with him homeless, wifeless, friendless, cultless, and estranged from his only child. The McGuckets are as much of a tragedy as the Pines family in their own way, and you could easily write a decent neo-Southern Gothic about them alone...if, at least, you figured out what to do with Fiddleford post-breakdown a little less clumsily than the showrunners did.

There's a gap that doesn't make sense. Fiddleford in the "present day" is clearly far more rational than he was at the end of the Blind Eye tapes and is just playing up his former symptoms when he deems it useful so that he can avoid confronting his problems directly, but in the last Blind Eye tape, he was so out of it that he was speaking about Bill in tongues. What the heck happened? Is the implication that once he was kicked out of the Blind Eye, he just...automatically recovered enough to use his new reputation strategically for no reason other than lack of access to the gun, instead of seeking out other drugs? And then, when he ends up facing his demons by sheer accident at the end of the episode, he just...spontaneously finishes getting better instead of being even a little re-traumatized by the horrors floating back to the surface of his mind, or the sight of what he looked like as he fell apart back then? And then he is just effortlessly forgiven for everything by everybody? Bear in mind that he probably abandoned his son before he finished his mental collapse (it's possible that Fiddleford just stayed in Gravity Falls and started the Blind Eye because Emma-May had already initiated their divorce, but when he walked out on Ford, there's no evidence that there was anything at all preventing him from continuing to walk right on back to Palo Alto) and that it's canon that for a while, he was non-consensually wiping Ford's memory when he deemed it necessary. Since the memory gun is presented as Fiddleford's drug of choice, him secretly using it on someone else is...well, to put it extremely mildly, not cool, dude, not cool at all. And far from using the Journal to patch up this uncomfortable fact the way they tried to use the Journal patch up how equally uncool it was for Mabel to slip drugs into people's food, the writers actually used the thing to establish these events as canon shortly before having other characters begin singing Fiddleford's praises to the skies with no acknowledgment whatsoever that he, like his fellow older adult characters, is a messed up person who's done some seriously messed up stuff in his day. It also surprises me that I can't recall ever seeing a single person imply that Tate might have only "forgiven" Fiddleford in hopes of getting the money after the old man kicks the bucket. Where everyone else has a variety of fallout to their sins sooner or later, Fiddleford only pays on-screen for what he did to himself, not for how it affected other people, and the degree to which he even had to pay for that is glossed compared to what other members of the cast get. What makes him so special?

It's possible that, having played Fiddleford as nine kinds of potentially offensive stereotype throughout the series, the writers just decided to not go any further in the hopes that this would even up the tally sheet and sweep the issues with the character under the rug, so to speak. It's also possible that he and Tate are being shielded from exposure to the full fallout of the plot solely by their status as minor characters - I had to dig release-the-balrog levels of deep to construct any kind of canon-based personality for Tate for my fics, and though his role in the backstory is huge, Fiddleford's actual contributions to the story are fairly small. He doesn't even get to remember "wait, Stanford Pines is the Author, and his device leads to demon-land?!" before we find this out by other means. Redemption arcs, too, are one of the show's weaker points; this is most obvious with Gideon, who snaps out of what has appeared to be a near-delusion at the end of one speech near the very end of the show and is just readmitted into society without much comment, but the process of showing someone changing instead of just showing them changed is one the writers seemed to have struggled with a little in general. I think, though, that at least part of the reason why Fiddleford's redemption comes about a bit awkwardly is really just because of an inherent weakness of allegory: when you use a thing as a representation of something else, it's never going to fit perfectly. It will always have extra baggage and individual quirks that, once you look at it for a few minutes, start to undermine the message in some way.

Fiddleford may be genuinely mentally ill to some degree - aside from his apparent breakdown about the time he got kicked out of the Blind Eye, he's also fairly realistically portrayed in the Journal as anxious and possibly dealing with a "functionality-allowing" level of OCD - but he definitely isn't actually an alcoholic: he's a symbolic representation of an alcoholic. In "Society of the Blind Eye," Fiddleford is really just a means to an end, the vessel through which the show conveys one of the lowest-key "don't do drugs" messages ever written by showing that trying to cope with your problems by blacking them out will just make things worse for you in the long run. This fits in with how the writers intended to use Fiddleford in "Legend of the Gobblewonker," where I was supposed to come away with a message about being nice to my grandparents instead of with the impression that this man is as dangerous and unscrupulous as anyone or anything else in this town, and it fits in with the characters-as-tools approach to writing that Alex Hirsch mentions several times throughout the Interview (remember that thing? The thing I was originally talking about? Yeah...). It's obviously more successful than anything I've ever done, but my objection to that approach is that it causes the exact kind of snarls I've been talking about in this section here: when the character is a character, you play out the consequences of these things, but when the character is just a symbol for something else, you're likely going to end up with these dangling issues that create uncomfortable snarls the second you take a closer look at them. I'll continue to elaborate on this theme in my next part, where I talk about Dipper's clones and Bill and the Axolotl and other such non-human entities.

The Part Where Calli Talks About Different Approaches To Writing Aliens. No real TWs here, but there are spoilers for some of my fanfics.

I made a joke about Mr. Hirsch's comment on clone stories in my original running commentary, but it really was a line that surprised me a little. This is because it never, ever would have occurred to me that the point of a clone story could be to see their "template" in a different light. Probably this is in part just due to other fiction I'm familiar with which deals with the clone idea in a lot more depth, but I do think it is also at least in part an effect of philosophy and/or habits of character creation.

The role of habit, of the tendency we all have to write things the way we always have done without thinking about it, cannot be underestimated. I come from a play-by-post roleplaying background; until GF and the idea for For Want of a Jailbreak slammed into my life like a freight train in 2021, my game was also the context of all of the creative writing I’d done for the past twenty years. Creating a character who exists solely to play a role in someone else’s story therefore just sounds odd to me, considering I have sunk hundreds of thousands of words and the majority (a slim majority, but still) of my life to date into something where literally everyone is the main character of their own story while simultaneously playing a supporting role in two or three or seven other characters’ stories. If you recognize this format, it’s because it’s not entirely dissimilar to how the plots, such as they are, of American soap operas work. Characters may start out as just adjuncts to the plots of established cast members, but if they gain any traction at all, they’re quickly going to start developing their own storylines, just like Tracey and Quattro did after I tried to put them in FWJB Part II to create a specific conflict. They created the desired conflict, all right, but they also created fifteen others and somehow ended up being absolutely essential to the thematic unity of the piece – it doesn’t work without them, even though I never intended for them to contribute to any themes. I didn’t even intend for the series to have any themes; I had absolutely no plans to explore ideas in this fun little AU I’d cooked up. The themes just arose from the characters instead of me manipulating the characters to prove a theme.

This approach does, admittedly, have its compensations, or at least compensates for one of my greatest creative weaknesses: I suspect I would have gotten bored and/or never figured out how to end Part III if I’d had a Message in mind when I started talking. I’m not a terribly organized person, and if I try to get organized, I have so much fun making plans that I never get around to actually doing anything. My imagination also, though, to put it mildly, is rather weak in areas where Mr. Hirsch’s seems to be quite strong. This is probably no small part of why I find analyzing what he says about his writing style so interesting, really, and after doing so for a while, I think I’ve found an essential difference. It’s that he seems to generally know what he wants to say and then just says it instead of waiting to see what he ends up with, and he doesn’t spend an awful lot of time worrying about all those grey areas on the fringes that complicate the message. The first half of that sentence is a strength; the second half is...more complicated.

One of the perks of knowing what you want to say and saying it boldly, without worrying too much about all the finer shades of grey around the edges, is (or at least, I imagine it is) that it makes writing symbolically much easier for authors like Mr. Hirsch than it is for authors like me. Things are rarely symbolic in my universes; I can write you a twenty-page essay about [insert symbol] from [insert famous novel] if you give me two days and a source of pressure, but that’s because I am really good at participating in English lit classes, not because I really feel the symbolism. Symbols just aren’t what I think in – I’ll never forget reading about how zombie stories are apparently often written in times when people are anxious about immigration and that vampires represent fear of the Gay, because I’d never been more baffled in my life. It just failed to compute. If people wanted to write xenophobic and homophobic rants – or so I wondered as I read what the undead were apparently supposed to really be about – then why didn’t they just...do that, so the rest of us could avoid them and get on with wondering “but no – what if everybody at the cemetery did just pop up one night? How would we really respond to that?” A few years ago, in one of my Charlotte Bronte moods, I wrote 48 poems on post-it notes at work and then revised them all into a Mead composition book, and not one of them means anything. Half of them are descriptions of actual events, with minimal commentary. They’re poetic in form, but they aren’t really poetry because I’m not really a poet. Mr. Hirsch’s work is not (generally, though some of it is) poetic in form, but the imagination behind it is a poet’s. Therefore, he could write “Double Dipper” and use the clones to make a point without proceeding to get into all those side issues that go with the kind of clone story I’m more familiar with, such as personhood and legal rights and all that kinda stuff. The clones to Mr. Hirsch are symbolic representations of introspection, not characters; it’s debatable, really, the degree to which anyone in Gravity Falls should be considered a true character outside of the Pines family, because even though the show uses the town’s name as its title, it isn’t actually about the town of Gravity Falls: everything else in the setting exists solely to tell the one family’s story, and that’s that. It's tidy and compact, like a poem.

I, as established, am more of a “spend ten years cross-hatching tiny different areas with subtly different pencil points to create a greyscale drawing” person (metaphorically – I like metaphors much better than symbols), but I have to admit – there is something attractive about the idea of drawing in broad, bold lines like that. Attractive and a little frightening. Part of the reason it’s frightening is because, of course, overlooking those details means someone is going to get angry with you sooner or later. Unfortunately, that's also part of the reason why it has a certain appeal. It's when you write like that, after all, saying things without fifteen qualifying statements tacked on at the end or a lot of deep dives into the minds of the characters, that you create room for audience engagement and therefore create an intellectual property that can, in theory, outlive its first audience and attain a lasting degree of success.

Some years ago, I formed a theory about the Harry Potter books, and so far, nothing I’ve come across has contradicted it. That theory is that the series owes part of its success to its “dormitories based on personality” system and the way that encourages people to identify with “their” House, and that it owes most of the rest of its success to the ways in which it betrays its own ideals. From a very early point in the fandom, after all, there was a certain...tension over the places where the series said one thing but seemed to practice another one, to greater or lesser degrees. The books knock us about the head with the idea that individual choice is destiny, but sons always look uncannily like their fathers, somehow. I could write a whole essay about ways Book 7 takes every issue the series ever had, magnifies it, covers it in high-wattage lights, and then...just walks off, apparently having never noticed there was a problem at all, much less that the problem had just got worse. These contradictions grew sharper and sharper as the series went on, to the point where eventually, it became clear there was a real issue in the foundations of that IP rather than just a failure to think about the full implications of a few things, but I suspect there is something universal about successful properties in the broader idea, because all things which bold-strokes authors seem to never, or at least only minimally, think of and which people like me can’t stop thinking of? Those things make up the boundaries which define the spaces where fandoms grow. There’s a lot of books I’ve loved passionately in my life, but only a very few I’ve written about outside of school. The balance of good points and unpalatable implications cannot be anything other than precarious anywhere it occurs, but it’s on that razor’s edge that a certain kind of personality feels compelled to explore the areas that cause discomfort instead of doing what I did with, say, Divergent, which was “loudly express my displeasure to anyone who would listen after getting halfway through the second book before my distaste for the main character became so overwhelming that I couldn’t finish it.” I don’t think that Gravity Falls’ issues are as deep-rooted and insidious as the ones in Harry Potter, but there’s some issues just the same, and...well, here I am, aren’t I? How many words have I written about this one interview so far? The document I’m typing this in is using Times New Roman size 12 font and very narrow gaps between the lines, and these words are about halfway down the tenth page. I’ve written three reasonably competent novels set in this universe and a handful of short stories I wouldn’t be embarrassed to produce in an undergraduate fiction-writing class and also some fairly well-received canon essays. And in July I reckon Disney is, indeed, going to part me from yet more of my money, even though it’s a book about Bill when “Bill dies” is one of my very favorite moments in the whole series because I hate him. I also consider him one of the problematic issues of the franchise for – believe it or not – even more reasons than the ones I’ve already discussed in the first two body sections of this document, though he could be the ultimate expression of those as well.

I already discussed in part I why I find some aspects of his portrayal uncomfortable as far as it comes to sexuality, so I’ll not repeat that. As for part II, the reason I don’t take any particular offense to him on the mental health angle is that I don’t personally regard Bill as a depiction of a mentally ill character. He says he’s insane, but Bill says a lot of things and even the most honest of them are no more than half-truths. Bill cheerfully classifies himself as "insane," but like Fiddleford, he isn't, at least not by any definition of the term which is precise enough to be useful. Bill's behavior can come across like a bad dose of anti-social personality disorder with narcissistic and histrionic features, which is quite an unfortunate combination to have when he also is a sadist, but he knows right from wrong, as he proves by how quickly he goes from gloating to groveling once he’s trapped inside Stan's mind. He may not understand exactly why it works or how it would feel to have someone do it to him, but he understands perfectly well that he’s putting the emotional thumbscrews to Stan and Ford by attacking Dipper and Mabel, and he understands just as well that they are not in any mood to play games after they turn the tables on him. He also betrays a clear consciousness of guilt in the scene where Time Baby raids the Fearamid and he acts like a teenager who just had the cops called on his noisy party full of underaged drinking. He is not at all confused about why Time Baby and company want to rain on his parade or under any impressions that appear to be out of touch with reality. When he does things like present Dipper with a screaming head that he treats like a gift, I truly don't believe he's so "lol crazy," or even so alien that he doesn't understand that nobody would want that thing; I believe he does things like conjuring the head and the living sofa and whatnot because he understands humans and therefore knows they will disturb his victims, who will therefore be off-balance and who will therefore continue to react instead of think. This keeps them right where Bill wants them, in positions where he has the maximum advantage before he offers a deal. This is controlled, well-reasoned behavior, not the result of a lack of comprehension of what a human boy in the 21st century finds desirable or of what Ford might consider appealing interior design. Here’s the part where I get around to those aliens I mentioned in the section title, because while I can’t fathom liking him, I do think I would have loathed him less it if he had been a little more alien. As it is, though, he ends up compacting everything I dislike about humanity into one geometric figure and not, to my mind, doing much else.

While a character like Bill has to have a good grasp of human psychology and an ability to imitate it in order to manipulate his victims, one of my issues with Bill is how I never really got the sense of how Other he is. We’re told that he’s Other in ways that aren’t just versions of villain stereotypes, but we’re not really (in my opinion, mind you) shown it. From even the limited amounts we know about Bill and the GF Multiverse, we can deduce logically that he probably does have incomprehensible numbers of plans going at once, and that he can somehow process them all at the same time when even the slightest attempt to do the same would probably drive one of us to madness or force our heads to collapse into black holes, but emotionally, I don't ever feel it, and so it’s relegated to something Alex has to remind us of, because Bill ended up too human for the thought to flow naturally, somehow. Hopefully we'll get some good dirt in July, but for now, Bill is an alien, but he doesn’t quite feel like one. He doesn’t feel like something with answers, like something above us, like something older than the galaxy. He feels more like a human being than some of the actual human beings do. He feels like...well...to quote Ford, “the scam artist he is.”

To be clear, though, I’m not bashing the writers here: for one thing, writing alien intelligences without stumbling into insulting some category of people by pure accident is hard. Most writers are human, and the less like you something is, the harder it is to imagine the world from that entity’s point of view. For another thing, too - no matter what else Bill is, he's also one of the most effective representatives of evil I’ve seen in fiction in a very long time, and since he is a central villain in a high-stakes story, that means he succeeded in the most important part of what he was there to do. The writers had the guts to follow through with making him a virtual singularity of unpleasant traits without softening him up around the edges along the way or even giving him the excuse of an alien's incomprehension of why what he is doing is bad, and they had the skill to write him as pure, unabashed evil in a way that nevertheless acknowledges how complicated people’s motives for dabbling in the Dark Arts can be. He is a symbol even I can work with: I find it believable that he could get a lot of people to do the wrong thing for the right reason, because his alienness just makes him generalizable, a sort of talking abstract concept, like a sentient but bodiless force of evil that looks a little different to everyone who looks at it. Most people who do evil things, after all, are not born declaiming the “now, gods, stand up for bastards!” speech from King Lear: there’s something we can, with a greater or lesser degrees of effort, understand about many people's reasons for stepping onto the slippery slope even if we still firmly denounce the act of taking that step. Bill also seems to start small, at least on the surface, in what he asks of his marks, so that it feels like: oh, surely I can be just a little selfish just this once, and it won’t hurt anyone, and probably no-one will ever even find out about it – that’s the routine he runs on Dipper in “Sock Opera.” Or he uses those groomer traits of his to slowly skew your view on normality and/or morality, so that perhaps you’re Ford, and view stealing nuclear waste as a “public service” after he whispers in your ear for long enough. I can understand how he managed to get by so long before he resorted to the inelegant tactic of using people's family members as hostages to get his way; although evil and unappealing in himself, he has the skills to present what looks like an appealing deal to others a lot of the time. It's a sign of an intellectual maturity in the show's composition that we see Bill, most of the time, as less of the mad god and more of the guy you don't want to do business with, really, but who you know you might well end up needing to do business with - as the manifestation of all the little compromises everyone makes, which for some ultimately spiral out of control. And while he is annoying, even that can work in his favor under the right circumstances, because he’s the kind of annoying that makes at least some people (ie, me) want to put him in his place. I think I’m sensible enough to realize I couldn’t really outsmart him, but I dang sure would want to try. He can get an emotional reaction from anyone, and generally the one he wants at that. He’s a brilliant creation, really, and an accomplishment for a creator to be proud of regardless of whatever else he is.

The Part Where Calli Tries To Draw Some Conclusions

In the beginning, five tries to get this far ago, I had no idea what, if any, coherent point I might end up with. I didn’t even really expect to end up with one. I just had reactions to what I read in the transcript, and I knew that if I wrote about them, I’d get a clearer idea why I was reacting and maybe some new insights into something I love, ie, the show. I was not looking to write an essay about how Gravity Falls is Problematic in its portrayal of the Other, and I was not looking to write an essay to defend it from such charges. I was just writing to figure out what exactly it was I thought about the issue. Now, here at the end, here’s what I think I’ve written:

1. There are some ways in which some of the depiction of Otherness in Gravity Falls are indeed potentially problematic. 2. These issues are not, on the whole, crit fails. Every work has its flaws, and, as usual, the ones left in GF just highlight the excellence of the rest of the final product even more. 3. Commercially successful writers and fan writers may, in part, be distinguished by the approaches taken to character selection and usage; we're also symbiotic organisms, where we get improved quality of life and they get fans who stick around and spend money for a really long time. 4. I...may have figured out how to get rich? Pretty sure I can't use it, but I think it just might work for someone with the skills. Let me know if you're the one who pulls it off, somewhere out there.

There's a lot more I could have said here - and, in fact, a lot more I did say in one draft or another. Sometimes I ended up cutting passages when I got to the end of them and realized I no longer agreed with my original premise, and sometimes I gave up on a point as so convoluted that it would have made it difficult to get back to the main point afterward. In several places, there's ideas that feel important, but I can't quite pull them out of the air yet. But here's where I think I'm going to wrap this one up for now.

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 4

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia

Synopsis:  When falling in love is the easy part where does the difficulty lie? In a society where we’re defined by our job, it’s those little details as a relationship goes on that ends up setting a course for whether or not a couple can make it in the long run

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

As a cherry on top of an otherwise roller coaster meeting, Donatello hit you with a one-two punch before departing. The first being that he had a change in schedule that required his attendance that weekend. It meant he would not be able to continue his sandwich escapade until Monday. The second was that in accordance with this change he would lighten the restrictions on texting.

On one hand, it meant that your fourth meeting would again coincide with work; something that you were hoping to avoid. As you made your way back to your building, you were plotting any number of ways you could avoid your boss’s attention. Risking a tongue lashing was worth it for Donatello, but that didn’t mean you’d walk into the scenario willingly.

Alternatively, you now had free reign to bother the object of your affection as much as you wanted; within reason, at least. He’d been quick to add that he preferred substantial conversation be made in person and you got that sense that he was testing you again. The weekend now felt like a trial run on whether or not you could keep your new privileges and somehow, even though it felt acutely childish, it also struck you as a fun gambit. Hopping up the steps to your high-rise, you yanked on a door with twirling force.

-

 You: and they only told me to that I needed to pick-up the coffee when I was already standing in front of the building!

Donatello: A pathetic mismanagement of time and resources.

Kicking your legs hard enough to make your office chair rock back and forth, you put your phone back down on your desk. Against all odds, Donatello had been a relatively attentive texting partner though you had taken great care in crafting your messages. You’d given him a reprieve until Saturday and then opened mid morning with brunch conversation. He found the conventions of which overblown and you’d used that as a jumping off point. It was curious that his responses came at a surprising pace considering he had plans, but you weren’t about to point that out. He’d been pretty clear about what he’d divulge and even if you were curious, it was still early enough in whatever this was that it wasn’t about to be an issue.

You straightened.

Had he just called you a resource?

Bouncing on the idea, your chair squeaked as you went for your phone again. It was just begging to be addressed.

“So, that’s it…”

Stalling and instinctively shoving your phone under a folder, you darted up to see a co-worker hanging off the wall of your cubicle.

You gave the man a soured glance and pulled your phone back out. You weren’t on ‘go to lunch with’ sort of terms with this employee, but you’d built up an ‘office gossip’ sort of rapport. “Happy Monday to you too.”

“Who’s the beau?” He took a sip of his water bottle.

You sunk down until your chest was almost touching your desk. “That obvious?”

“Only if we add in those late lunches…?” He trailed off with a smarmy grin that said you had to respond even though he already knew the answer.

Finally collapsing down, you held your phone outstretched and activated it out of habit. “Fine, yes. I met someone on my lunch break.”

“Is he hot?” Your co-worker pulled his arm free from the metal frame to enter your space.

“Yes, but I don’t have any pictures yet.”

“Too bad.” The man nearly sang the phrase.

You hummed in agreement when his introductory phrase came to mind. “What did you mean earlier?”

“The boss wants to see you.”

You shot up so fast the papers on your desk flittered away from the movement.

Your co-worker smirked into another sip.

“You didn’t think to, I don’t know, open with that?!”

“I had to find out why. Thankfully it was written all over your face.”

You glowered at him as your quickly snatched up any necessary paperwork. “Big help.”

“Anytime.”

“So, that’s just it? He’s mad about the lunches?” Making sure to lock up your bag with the phone inside in case someone got any bright ideas, you rounded your desk to stare the man down.

“He didn’t seem mad actually.”

You squinted.

“Maybe a little mad.”

You folded your arms.

“Look.” The man finally relented by bringing his bottle up. “He just laid into me for filling up my water too often and then asked me to grab you next. It’s going to be one of those days. Everyone’s going to get their ass chewed out.”    

“Was that so hard?” You huffed, exiting your cubicle with him in tow.

“It was less fun!”

With a flick of your wrist you banished your co-worker as you took a sharp corner. Your boss had a windowed office down the hall and you headed towards it. The blinds inside were pulled shut which was never a good sign. He was the kind of man that liked to keep them open for peak vigilance. Already dreading the exchange, you marched up to the door and rapped your knuckles on the glass. From inside there was a muffled affirmation.

Opening the door revealed your boss at his desk with his elbows craned to the tabletop. From there his fingers were thread which obscured his mouth from view.

Either he watched one too many anime in his day or he really was just that cartoonishly evil.

“Y/N.”

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

It was playing out the lines of a surreal office drama.

“18, 27, 36.”

You stared at him blankly.

He stood, his thin gaze focused solely on your face.

“Some type of lotto numbers?” You knew that wasn’t the answer, but you needed something to break the silence.

“That’s over an hour of time.”

You gave a tight nod and tried to keep your mouth in a similarly taunt line.

Your boss sighed and one of his arms fell over. You watched as he groaned into standing until both palms were flat on his desk and he was hovering over it. “How long are you going to play dumb?”

Any answer would be used against you so you pleaded the fifth.

“The lunches!” Your boss roared and slammed one of his hands down for an echoing thud. “All last week you took longer and longer lunches.”

It was only Wednesday on, but interjecting that fact now wouldn’t help your case.

“Did you think no one would notice? Your co-workers certainly did! Imagine them coming to me when they can’t seem to find you?”

He was lying through his teeth. Barely a soul in this company bothered to communicate without an email’s read receipt.

“How am I supposed to get anything done like that? While you’re gallivanting off, who knows where, on company time!”

“I’m sorry, sir-”

“Sorry, huh?” He clipped your apology with a sneer. “Not sorry enough to inform anyone of your absence or offer to make up for the lost time!” He snapped upright in a rigid fashion, but then his spine seemed to loll as if it were made of jelly. “So, you admit that you thought you’d just get away with it? That you deserved special privileges that none of your fellow associates have? That I would surely be too busy to notice? That your time is worth far more than anyone else’s?”

A hundred defenses sat on your lips, but you crushed them by squeezing them together until it stung your jaw.

“At least you know enough when you keep quiet.”

You loathed this bastard.

“That means you’re not a lost cause.” His shoulders heaved forward as he rounded the desk. “You’ll make up the 81 minutes with your lunch break today.”

You had meant to stay neutral. Even the slightest move would act against you, but at the command your shoulders seized up in fear.

Donatello in his black coat flashed in your mind’s eye.

“Oh, sorry.” On that springy spine, your boss bounded forward to catch a bottom up look at your face. “Am I interrupting something or do you actually want to keep your job?”

One of your eye lids twitched and you hoped from his awkward angle that he hadn’t picked it up. The exaggerated candor of his voice grated on your ears in a way that made you sick to your stomach.

“You’ll take your lunch, of course. State laws and all, but you’ll have to move your plans. Oh, wait…”

Since his gaze was still trained on your face, you flexed your fingers before knuckling them white.

“No need to bother heading back to your desk! Did I mention it’s already prepared for you?” He rolled back, leaning a little too far. “That’s just how considerate I am! Even when an employee doesn’t return that same sort of thing!”

You watched him your jaw so tight it was near spasming. 

He walked the few feet over to the cord in the corner of his office and pulled swiftly. It opened up the blinds to a view of the office. Several employees nervously glanced at the move out of their periphery wanting to see who’s head was on the chopping block, but not wanting to bring attention to themselves to be next.

“See that copier.” He pointed and you moved your body stiffly. Said machine had a multiple daunting stacks of paper shoved onto the desk beside it along with multiple repurposed postal crates below.

“Yes.”

“You’ll need to scan all that and file it accordingly.”

They had a kid for this. A grunt hired on part-time for this kind of menial task.

“Oh, and do remember to remove and re-staple each document after scanning! Don’t want to jam the poor thing up!”

Hard copies weren’t even kept. Shredding was something else the part-timer did.

“When you’re done, you can take your lunch. I’ll even adjust it so you can still go home on time. Quite gracious of me, don’t you think?”

You’d quit right on the spot if you had anything else lined up.

Returning to food service never looked so good.

“What was that?” Your boss mimed putting a hand to his ear.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” You could only manage the barest of nods and he seemed to relish in your silent fury.

“Call Bernie over next on your way out.” There was the sharp noise of the blinds closing again and you turned for the door. You heard your boss retreat and assumed he was falling back into the asinine posing he’d concocted. Crossing the space to the copier, you caught the next victim’s eye and signaled to him that his time had come. The man scurried away and you seethed into the first page. Picking it up found dozen of documents in the first stack with only a couple of pages stapled together in each set. Anger depleted at the futility of it all. You couldn’t even sneak away to tell Donatello you’d be late.

You really hated your boss.

-

Belting down the sidewalk, you narrowly miss several pedestrians as you ran towards the sandwich shop. The scanning hadn’t taken as long as you thought, but you were still almost two hours late. Donatello hadn’t even sent you a questioning text.

Did he think you’d ditched him?

Had he simply left?

There was no way anyone sensible would still be waiting.

Still, you ran.

Closing in on the shop’s door at an alarming pace, you threw on the brakes in a manner that had your heels grinding against the concrete. Stopping shy of the door, you didn’t see his large figure inside, but this shop had some rustic décor that would have been easy to conceal him. In the barest form of your reflection, you attempted to smooth you the jog’s ruffling before grabbing the door handle. You gave a sharp tug that it protested before you realized it was a push door.

Choosing to believe you were burning from the exertion and not embarrassment, you shoved the large wooden thing. It heaved open and you took several hurried steps inside before it gave you enough vantage to view the space.

Your heart sank.

He wasn’t there.

Your shoulders gave out and your arms dangled pathetically. With weak limbs you procured your phone to find your messages in the same state as when you had run out of your building. Bitterly you guessed that your boss would at least be satisfied to find there was no chance you’d be late again. Sighing, you hovered a thumb over a text window to type a message. You got out exactly four letters when a sharp stream of cold air blew against your neck and down your collar.

You yelped at the sensation; goosebumps cropping up on your arm. Several patrons looked towards you and you slapped a hand to the back of your neck. Spinning around, you stared up, scandalized, as Donatello watched you with the corner of his mouth quirked.

Damn him and his love of scaring people.

“What are you still doing here?!” You hissed, still rubbing your neck.

He straightened up and gave the barest shrug. “Taking a late lunch.”

Your hand fell away as you stared at him. He evaluated you flatly in return.

He’d waited.

All that time.

A few clucking chuckles petered out of you before you started laughing. One of his brows raised at the action and you had to put a hand to your stomach to keep from doubling over.

“A-Ah, sorry!” You waved at him, trying to reign yourself in.

He continued to watch.

“I just imagined you, waiting behind the door all that time!”

You could sense the way he soured though his face were clean of any unsavioriness.  

“Thank you.” You came out of your fit with your eyes shining and beamed him a smile.

He took it in and brushed past you.

Rapidly becoming accustomed to the song and dance, you chased after him without hesitation.

He got to the counter before you could properly catch his side so you waited as he placed the order. You watched his interaction and remembered how he’d mentioned this place’s archaic ordering system. From the look of the shop it seemed more probable that they forwent online ordering to preserve the ambiance. He paid again and you cursed yourself for getting caught up in errant thoughts.

“That puts me three behind.” You griped as he lead the charge to the table.

“A scoreboard that only you will be keeping track of.” He tucked himself into a chair and regarded you languidly.

“You have to care some. It’ll get annoying if only you pay!” Taking your own seat, you looked at him with set features.

His flat gaze said it wasn’t worth his time.

You sighed.

“I’m more interested in what kept you.”

Coming off the puff of air, you looked away. It might be another thing only you were keeping tally of, but your boss had already been giving way too much air time. From texts to capping off nearly every meeting, you hated the thought of giving that guy one more second.

“I had… work to catch up on.” It was the kind of sentence you only decided on about halfway through. It meant it would either sound unconvincing or exhausted. Checking back with your companion found him staring with what felt like a higher intensity.

Or it could have been the guilt talking.

“You know, from being late?” You offered, turning towards him in hopes the move would read more open.

For the first time his stoic gaze felt suffocating.

You drowned under the weight of it until he shifted his position.

“What about you?”

“You already thanked me.” He reached into his coat and you watched curiously.

“I mean… Yeah, I did, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still curious. You waited all that time and didn’t send a message? How long would you have waited if I hadn’t shown up when I did.”

He pulled out something you couldn’t quite see and removed his glasses. You stared, taking in his relatively unmarred face greedily as he seemingly adjusted them. You wondered if he ever went out without the bandana before he donned his frames again. Adjusting through the colored lenses, his attention drifted towards the kitchen.

“Donatello.” You gave a scolding note to your voice.

Had he done all that in an attempt to throw you off his scent?

It had almost worked, but that wasn’t the point.

His eyes returned to the table, but avoided yours in a way that brought your brows up. Whatever he wasn’t saying was something he really wanted to avoid. It made you all the more curious.

“I don’t…” He started and his lips curled slightly showing his distaste in the peek of a canine. “Like to speak in uncertainties.”

You straightened as the statement absorbed into your person.

He didn’t know.

Your stomach flipped.

He didn’t know how long he would have waited for you.

He had done many things at this point that did it for you, but something about this one in particular warmed your cheeks. You brought up a hand in an attempt to cool them when you caught a glimpse of a waitress walking over. She had thankfully come with your meals and you bobbed an embarrassed nod at her in appreciation. She took it with a knowing giggle and scurried away so as not to interrupt further.

“I like you.” The phrase jumped off your lips and you moved to close them off with a bite of your sandwich.

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.” There was an amused air to his voice.

“Seriously though…” The rhythm of chewing had an oddly soothing effect. “I’m gonna have to haul ass back to work after this. I can’t be late again.”

From where he was about to take his first bite, Donatello halted and looked straight at you.

It was only then that it dawned on you that you might have negated your earlier boss dodging comment.

“You got in trouble.”

His careful eye was a blessing and a curse.

“I… was hoping not to get into it.” You tucked your gaze into your bread.

“For my sake or yours?”

Within a blink, your eyes widened. “What?”

He gave his usual silence.

“No.” You finally looked at him. “I’m not expecting you to repeat yourself, I actually don’t know what you mean.”

He seemed to take in two things at once.

You realized you had yet to verbally confirm you’d deciphered that bit of his speaking mannerisms.

You’d been hoping to keep that one closer for a little longer, but it was bound to come out sooner or later.

“You’re one to speak your mind, but you also pay far too much attention to me.”

He’d seen right through you.

 “I could be trying harder to get another job…” The muscles in your shoulders bunched up.

His eyes shot downward and then right back to you.

You wilted under it, but he didn’t follow it up with anything else. Unsure yourself, you moved back to your sandwich. He didn’t resume eating and his intense gaze continued to bore into you.

“I’d love to, but unfortunately I can’t read your mind.” You finally forced out when you couldn’t take the atmosphere any longer. 

He continued the stifling leer for several more seconds before he broke it. He turned his head fully away and then spoke only out of the corner of his mouth. “If it’s upsetting you, then feel free to talk about it.”

Your features softened. “It won’t bother you?”

He huffed. “That is the exact sort of response I was hoping to avoid.”

Whatever gooeyness coating your features translated to your innards feeling similarly like mush.

He certainly didn’t want to answer your question because he would out how kind he was being.

Overwhelmed by the feeling, you gently kicked his leg from beneath the table.

While he didn’t exactly look offended, he seemed it. In retaliation and in spite of the table’s protest, he folded his legs away from you.

“Eat. You’re wasting time playing footsie.”

Giggling down at your meal, there was a sobering quality to your sandwich. There was something else to this meal you’d almost forgotten. As you picked it up, the heft of it being the last one weighed heavily in your hands. You took a small bite, but the time constraints meant you couldn’t make it last. “I had to do a bunch of busy work to make up for the cumulative hours I’ve missed.”

Across from you Donnie finally began to eat.

“It’s stupid because we literally have an employee for that. I’m sure it was some stupid pseudo-example of office power dynamic garbage.”

You scarfed down several bites in annoyance.

“There wasn’t even a threat of being late again! I just don’t want to give him any more fodder to complain!”

Your sandwich was slowly disappearing.

“Not… that it matters after this…”

The feeling you’d been trying to chase away with your latent angry reared its head.

You hadn’t made those additional plans.

“Does your company participate in those lax days?”

“Lax like casual Friday?”

He gave a nod.

“Not really, though everyone has a TGIF sense and less work definitely gets done at the end of the week.”

You took another bite and something about the conversation jogged your memory. When you brought your attention back to Donatello, he seemed to be waiting with a knowing look.

“If it’s on Friday when everyone else is loose with lunch hours than he can’t whine!”

“As long as that’s the case.”

“But… this is the last shop.”

“There are others.”

“No, you were very clear about there being four.”

He gave you his patented look.

You gave a coy one of your own and he deferred against it having not realized you were messing with him. You wanted to relish in his embarrassment, but there was simply no time. “Won’t that interrupt your sandwich study?”

“There was no exact time frame.”

You smiled.

“Finish.”

It was a reminder so you dove back into your sandwich. Polishing the last bite off, you looked up at him curiously and he nodded in a way that meant you’d cleared the ticking threshold. You noticed he hadn’t finished his meal and he simply wrapped it back up in response.

“Did this shop…?” You turned, ready to pounce on more staff.

“No, since I missed my usual consumption window, I’m not as hungry. Otherwise, they were a decent showing.”

“I wish my body worked like that.”

He gave a tepid shrug and you both packed up to leave.

“Ugh, I don’t want to go back yet! We’ve barely spoken!” You gave a dramatic flourish and jumped ahead a few steps. He watched on dully as you turned and held out a longing hand to him.

He allowed you to hold the pose for several beats before making a large sidestep to open the door. Your laughter chased after him.

“Dinner typically takes longer.”

You only heard the comment as you passed by him to head outside. You double took so quickly you almost reentered the restaurant.

“Are…” You held your breath. “You have to clarify if you’re asking me out.”

He stepped closer as he let the door close and you hadn’t quite moved away. Before you could give him his space, he crowded yours in a manner that brought his face right up to yours. “Thursday, go on a date with me. I’ll make a reservation.”

From where you were holding your breath, you were surely suffocating as your forgot how to take in anymore.

He was so close.

The way he’d said it.

You wanted to ascend.

“You have to confirm if you want it to happen.”

“Yes!” You watched, up close, as he winced when it came out a little too loudly. “Yes, yes, a million times yes!”

“I’m regretting my decision already.”

“I’ll see you Thursday… wait and then lunch on Friday?!”

He straightened up and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Remembering this probably fell into the repetition category, you adjusted yourself and gave him your best molten stare in gratitude. “I’ll be waiting for the details.”

He gave a nod that seemed tight for a different reason and departed.

You resisted the urge to click your heels as you headed the opposite way.

NEXT

[parieha-aaa]

alright you guys wanted it , so here it is . below the cut is a " ( romantic ) shipping guide " for my muse , ryomen sukuna . this post will essentially detail anything i think is vital when being involved in a romantic relationship with him , or getting close to him at all .

beware , there is information under the cut about gore , violence , cannibalism , war , and terror . this man , this curse , isn't easy to stomach for most people and even less likely to romance . his information will not be typical , he isn't even human , he hasn't been human in three millennium at least . tread carefully . this will CONTAIN STORY SPOILERS .

first and foremost , ryomen sukuna is a human that existed 3000 years back during the heian era . this much is concrete canon , but here we'll get into headcanon territory and other noncanonical material , so do keep that in mind , this pertains to my headcanon ryomen sukuna compared to canon sukuna . my ryomen sukuna's human years were spent as an instructor of jujutsu , much like satoru , working under the watchful eye of the surrounding society and bowing to their whims for some time . he only began to push his limits when he began to operate outside their rules ; developing a cursed technique , finding new methods to utilize cursed energy that was seen as troublesome and dangerous to be experimenting with at the time . though sukuna had a few students , he didn't have any near the end of his life as a human , and put forth all his energy into finding new and interesting ways to weaponize jujutsu and cursed energy . he was a master of it by the time that the elders found out what he was doing , planning to toppel the established government of the real , very much normal world , which meant killing the reigning emperor , emperor kammu .

however , since sukuna grew up during this time , he's well versed in all manner of poetry , most of all in haiku . although this isn't to say he was the one writing it , since he was the current most powerful sorcerer , many of those around him seek HIS hand rather than the other way around . so , that's to say ryomen is used to having women and men looking to court HIM rather than HIM having to do anything for anyone else . he refuted them all , of course , no matter how extravagant the display . he did not marry , he did not have children , he was the only ' sukuna ' , his lineage was dependent on him & him alone . he quite preferred it that way . that being said , he was quite the cultured individual , he attended plays and theater , spent his time mingling with the higher class and aristocracy . looking at him in modern day , it might be hard to imagine that people would once look forward to seeing him anywhere for any reason .

that is to say his first execution interrupted his plans & his reign as a sorcerer , and began his life as a curse . this is when his ' beautiful ' face was transformed , when he was stripped of his sorcerer prestige , but went on wrecking havoc as a curse . with uraume at his side , up until the day of his death , he finds himself in a sort of existential limbo . yet , thanks to sheer fortitude , he kept his sanity in tact until he was incarnated into the modern day .

in the modern day , much of what sukuna was once honored for is seen as barbaric and offensive , par for the course when dealing with the changing times . one of the few things that he's happy to have kept is the pretty face , or rather , happy to have acquired it . in the heian era , a pretty face was indicative of good nature , and he uses that to his advantage . getting him to approve and tolerate your muse isn't difficult , sukuna wouldn't say he's asking for too much ; just your absolute and utter loyalty and , if he can't have that , then what use are you ? if you're not powerful yourself , why should he regard you at all ? he values power . raw , unadulterated , strength . but being that he is also a teacher , if he sees potential , he's not against helping and pointing out what you need to work on , like he does with megumi multiple times . just quit listening to that brain dead modern day sorcerer and listen to me . i can train you . i can help you . i can make you something worthy . he sees this as , not manipulating , but a genuine favor .

ryomen is also , like satoru , demiromantic . he has an interesting view on sexuality , especially since he sees it as a means to an end instead of romantic . so that brings us to his dates -- and his dates are simple , refined , but simple ; just being in the same room together is good enough , doing your own things , not necessarily together . he likes music , mostly traditional style . he is a big fan of peace and serenity , incense , candles , red lacquer , all those things are gifts that he would like .

that being said . he doesn't want to hear " oh how could you do this " or " that's terrible " when he's eating people and human limbs . it's a quick way to end up on the receiving end of dismantle . however , this does mean hearts , human hearts , are a big deal , and he'll accept them as gestures of romance . he'll be eating it though , as a reciprocation gesture .

he is terribly possessive though . and i mean possessive in a bad way . he'll chain you down if he thinks you might run away . or he'll break your legs if he gets even the inkling of a feeling that you'll flee . if he doesn't have your word , you're a liability . after all , that's another thing about sukuna ; he is lonely at the top , but he , unlike satoru , has accepted it , and accepted that no one will be capable of reaching him . it's simply not possible . simple humans , simple as ever , could not and would not ever be at his level . it's a sad , 3000 year realization .

[fanfic-scribbles]

Dinner Date Chapter 28

Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers has a girlfriend. A prickly, generally asocial girlfriend, but they make it work. They have more in common than some people might think.

Quick Facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 28: A Celebration of Life

Chapter Summary: Steve gets an early birthday present, and reflects on good things past and present.

Chapter Word Count: 4342

A/N: This frigging chapter. It took some work but I’m finally pretty happy with it, and I hope you all have fun with it too. Warning for the very end: there is a section marked ~extra~ that goes into third person, present tense from an outside perspective. It was a little experiment and if you don’t like it I don’t think you have to read it since it is slightly divorced from what this fic is actually about, but…it does hint at something that will come up again in the future. Not any time soon, judging by how much work this chapter took, but… :3 Anyways. Enjoy!

~

Watching Pepper on the phone was an…experience.

Steve was doing some Avengers stuff in the training room and he was late so I ended up waiting in one of the upper floors, because apparently leaving to chill at a coffee shop was ‘weird’ and ‘anti-social’ and the day Tony Stark got to brag about being a better-adjusted human being was the day I bit off my own tongue. So there I was, drink in hand, with Pepper for company, while Pepper was still technically working. Or something.

What could have been an unbearably awkward situation though became a masterclass in how a functional adult handled a difficult phone call. At least, I assumed it was difficult. I sort of hoped it was difficult because if this was what she had to deal with normally that was fucked. I tried not to stare, and she was far enough away, (in this giant room bigger than most city apartments), that words filtered in and out, and she danced the line between patient and patronizing in a way her voice kind of masked but her facial expressions betrayed. It was kind of hilarious, at points, but eventually her expression relaxed, her shoulders sank, and she said, “Thank you,” in a way only the truly tired could, and after a few more pleasantries she lowered the phone, let out a heavy sigh, and detoured back to grab something from the fridge before she came back to the sitting area.

“I am so sorry about that,” she said and fell back onto the chair next to me.

“Oh, no, don’t be–” I said and waved her off, only realizing that was my drink hand just before I could slosh liquid onto a couch that probably cost more than my rent, and quickly settled back down. “I’m sorry for crashing.” I could only bite my tongue so far though. “However, no offense, but Tony Stark doesn’t get to be right about anything, ever, if I have a say in it.”

“That’s the only right way to deal with him,” she agreed. She popped the tab on her can, whatever was inside fizzed, and she took a long drink. Even that looked refined when she did it. She breathed a sigh of relief. “In any case, I have most of his birthday sorted, so that’s one thing off my plate.”

I nodded. Tony Stark’s birthday would be a huge to-do– wait. “Wait.” Wait. “Didn’t…didn’t he just have a birthday?”

“I start planning well in advance,” Pepper said. She gave me a very tired look. “Do you have any idea how hard he is to shop for?”

“God I can only imagine,” I said, because even without the obscene amount of money…yeah. I had decided to err on the side of liking Tony Stark, (especially after he had that PR ‘snafu’ for going off on that asshole who had been snarkily homophobic about Steve), but he was, and probably always would be, A Lot. “That must be nice to have it all set up though. I just barely found something for Steve’s birthday.”

Pepper got a look on her face that felt familiar. Though whether that was a ‘Steve’ grimace or a ‘another fucking gift-giving holiday’ grimace I was a little unsure of. “Speaking of people hard to shop for…” She sighed and rubbed her head.

I could sympathize. Hardcore. “If you really want to get him something he’d be fine even with a nice message on a pretty card.”

She gave me a ‘seriously?’ look, so I said, “Seriously.” And I (seriously) thought about it. “Heartfelt can be hard though, so I get it. But he really isn’t fussy. Charity donation in his name? A ‘get out of PR jail free’ card the next time he pisses off Fox News?”

She seemed to consider it, but then shook her head. “What did you get him?”

I puffed up, because my gift was awesome. “Concert tickets for an act and opener he’s going to love, and I’ve planned out dinner at a place he hasn’t been to yet.” It was torture to have to wait on the second one, but it was going to be worth it. Pepper was right; Steve was awful to buy for and always insisted he didn’t need anything and I was about to score ‘best girlfriend ever’ points for at least a month. I could only hope the memory of this birthday would help ease the sting of the future gifts I was inevitably going to whiff it on.

“That sounds wonderful,” Pepper said. Calculating. I did not like that. “How good are the tickets?”

Yeah, I really didn’t like that. “They’re perfect.”

She smiled deviously. “I bet I can get you better ones.”

“Nuh uh, paws off,” I said and mimed smacking her hands away. “This is my gift. You go get your own.”

She faked a heavy sigh– the smile gave her right away. “Any suggestions?”

I shrugged. “Are there any art things going on?”

It was a sort of flippant suggestion– she seemed like a fancy, in-the-know lady, and fancy, in-the-know ladies would know about stuff like art shows. However, I realized we both understood it for the surprisingly good suggestion it was at the same time. A part of me was a little bummed I hadn’t thought to bank that for myself for another time. A bigger part of me though was pretty happy to look smart in front of Pepper Potts. Also being helpful to Steve’s friends was nice or whatever.

And by the near-glow of her eyes, she already had a good idea, which was going to be good for Steve, so I couldn’t be too upset about it. “That. Is genius.”

I shrugged and tried not to smile as hard as I wanted to. “I try.”

“Do you know what kind of art he likes best?” she asked, whipping out her phone and tapping at the screen with furious purpose.

“He varies a lot and I haven't delved into his absolute favorites yet,” I admitted. It seemed to change by the week sometimes. “He posts some stuff on social media and goes around there liking things. Though if I could say one thing, I would advise you to be careful of abstract. Some of it he really likes and some of it he really fucking hates and I have no idea where that line is.”

“It’s okay; this– I think he’ll like this. It’ll be a little early but…” she said and beamed at me as she held the phone up to her ear. ‘Thank you!’ she mouthed and walked off before starting a whole new conversation.

I shrugged and leaned back against the couch. Since it involved Steve, I’d probably find out why she seemed so excited soon enough.

~

A few days later counted for soon enough. “So,” Steve said, fake-casual as he slid onto the couch next to me. Why he bothered trying to attempt casual with that barely-suppressed grin on his face, I could not fathom.

“So,” I said and kissed him, because he really was too cute to resist sometimes.

“So,” he repeated, but slipped his arm behind me and cupped my hip in a way that told me we could continue that line of activities later. “Pepper got me two tickets to an art gallery I’ve been looking forward to,” he said, focusing again. “Opening night of a new exhibit. Would you come with me?”

“That sounds great,” I said. “Pepper doesn’t want to go with you?”

“She’ll be there, but she said she’s going to be networking,” Steve said. “This way we can come and go whenever we want. I’ve been to a couple of showings; most of the time the people there are too snooty to care about Captain America hanging around, but I’ve seen previews of the pieces that are going to be there and they look amazing…”

Steve continued to go on about some of the artists and that somehow led to lighting and negative space and tonality and I sort of lost the thread after a while but I couldn’t help it– interesting though it was, it was more interesting to watch him go off into his own little world, smiling so easily as he talked about art education videos he was watching and he was just so happy that I couldn’t help but stare at him and soak it all in.

When he took a moment to go to the bathroom, I snuck out my phone and opened up my text log with Pepper.

Me: A++++ gift giving he’s going to be excited all the way to it Pepper: Thank you for the excellent idea Pepper: I hope I’ll see you there? Me: Definitely

“Who are you texting?” Steve asked as he sat back down and pulled my legs into his lap.

“Pepper. I was just telling her she did a great job with your gift,” I said and put my phone down.

“Really?” He let out a sigh of relief. “I was afraid I was boring you already.”

“I like hearing you talk about it,” I said. “I like hearing you happy and excited.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s almost like I care about you or some bullshit.”

“Well that can’t be right,” Steve said, but he was smiling too hard to be serious. “You have a reputation and all.”

“Damn right I do,” I said, and opened my arms. “Now get over here and ruin it.”

His grin was a little more wicked for what I had meant by that but, well.

I definitely didn’t mind his definition of ruin.

~

Art parties had pretty great food.

Well, this one did. The drinks were a little substandard but I kept an eye on the waiters with the finger platters at almost all times as I wandered around with Steve who, true to his prediction, did not get glommed on at all. I also watched for snootiness but everything felt really oddly chill and relaxed and…nice. It wasn’t as fancy as I had feared, but it definitely still cleaved to the nice side, and we had dressed up accordingly, but everyone really did seem to be there for the art, which was also pretty awesome.

And then there was Steve. He mostly stuck by me as we wandered from piece to piece, and whenever the artist was around and willing to talk with him, he always took the chance. So far he had a hundred percent success rate in surprising them by actually knowing his shit, and that was kind of vindictively fun to watch. I hadn’t paid attention to the theming and was at the point where I was too embarrassed to ask, but it seemed like a new art take on classic pieces and movements of the past. Leyendecker through a Warhol lens which had a companion piece of Warhol but make it like Leyendecker. Art deco graffiti. Alphonse Mucha if his seasons were made in the era of global warming.

So it was pretty fantastic. And we even got to hang out with Pepper for a little bit, the three of us stealing away to a corner with a small pile of pilfered snacks and drinks.

“You really do find the best hideouts,” Pepper told me appreciatively.

“I take my duties as resident miser very seriously,” I said, and tried not to beam too much at the compliment. Steve was grinning at me though, and when Pepper was distracted by saying hi to someone, I threw a napkin at his face.

“I saw that,” she said, but with a wicked smirk. She then stood up and straightened the end of her form-fitting dress. “Steve, have you seen the hallway gallery yet?”

Steve and I both peered where she was gesturing; a very wide hallway with good lighting that not many people were going down now. “Not yet,” he said as we both sat back.

She smiled cryptically. “I think you should. There’s a really great artist– well, several of course, but there’s one with a piece in particular that I…I think you might like.”

She escaped with a quick farewell, and I munched on the last of the snacks. “Mysterious,” I said once I was dusting my hands of the crumbs.

Steve stood and held his hand to me. “Let’s go find out, Watson.”

I scoffed, but took his hand. “I’m way more of a social disaster than you,” I said as we walked. “I should get to be Sherlock.”

“Solving mysteries seems like a lot of work though,” he said.

“True,” I admitted.

We meandered leisurely down the hallway, looking at each art piece and leaving the scarce few people behind as we went. I remembered briefly looking down this area at the start of the night and thinking, ‘Nope,’ with the ridiculous amount of people that had been down here before, but apparently they had all seen what there was to see, leaving us to enjoy it practically on our own.

“This is nice–” I suddenly bumped into Steve. “Oof!” I quickly backed up a few steps and he remained. Stock still. “Steve?” I asked, but he was staring up at the wall to my right, his expression stricken, and I turned to see what had him by the metaphorical throat. It was a mural, massive, and it took me a second for it to all come into view. When it did, when the image of a man with a very familiar visage fell into place, all I could manage was a soft, “Oh.”

“Bucky,” Steve said in an awed exhalation. I looked from him, to the painting, and back and forth again. He seemed to be taking it all in and I had nothing I could think to say, so I did much the same. It was a beautiful work of art; colors faded seamlessly together and words of varying sizes acted as modified stippling to create the whole image of one James Buchanan Barnes, larger than life like a comic book hero, but with a serious set to his face, wearing the iconic jacket, and fading out where it looked like he’d be holding a gun in his arms.

After several minutes of utter silence, I tentatively rubbed Steve’s arm. He flinched a little, but gave me a small, slightly twisted smile. “Sorry,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure you were still breathing.”

He huffed a laugh, but his eyes looked a little wet and he blinked furiously. “It’s…I’m sorry; it’s…”

I squeezed his arm. “Hey,” I said softly. “It’s okay. It’s always okay and it’s always going to be okay.”

He swallowed and sniffled, but through sheer stubbornness did not let go of one single manly tear. Crying in public did suck though, so I wasn’t about to give him a hard time about it. I rubbed his arm up and down as comfortingly as I could, trying to help, and he moved slightly to take the hand I wasn’t using. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it,” he admitted softly, and gave me a weak smile.

“I know,” I said softly. I would have kissed him if I could have gotten away with it, but someone was walking down the hall towards us, so all I could manage was a brief but tight squeeze of his hand before I let go entirely, and he visibly tried to brace himself for the oncoming interaction.

“Hello!” a breathless woman said as she approached. She looked young but carried herself confidently, dressed in a stylish combination of pants, half-skirt, and suit-top, with locs in a beautiful half up-do that framed her face and cascaded down past her shoulders. “I was told there was someone who–”

As soon as she saw Steve, a lot of that confidence just evaporated and she froze with kind of an ‘urk!’ look on her face. As the seconds ticked on and Steve didn’t (probably couldn’t) speak, I squared up and hoped I wasn’t going to make a mess of things. I cleared my throat. “Are you the artist?” I asked. She looked at me, still a little frozen, but she managed a jerky nod and pulled her shoulders down from her ears. “It’s beautiful,” I said as emphatically as I could.

She seemed a little reassured, but her eyes flicked back to Steve, who was looking at it again. He swallowed and managed to look at her, a small smile on his face. “Absolutely amazing,” he said.

She exhaled such a long breath that I had to bite my hand not to laugh, while Steve was startled into doing just that. “I’m so sorry,” she said and waved her hand, relaxing a lot more as she walked closer. “My brother told me someone was standing over here but he didn’t mention who, and when I saw you, I wasn’t sure if it was uh…offensive?”

“In your brother’s defense, no one’s come that close so he probably didn’t get a good look at me,” Steve said, still a little dreamy as he looked at the picture. After a second though he frowned and looked at the woman, more focused. “Why would it be– it’s not offensive; it’s incredible. And I mean technically too; the way you…”

He drew closer to her, talking about the art itself, and she snapped into being a professional, talking to him, explaining the piece that was part of a series on the Howling Commandos, and I stepped back to let them have at it. I couldn’t keep from looking at the art itself again. I tried to imagine how I would think, if it was of Steve, if Steve had– but…I didn’t really want to think of that, right now, in the middle of what was actually Pepper’s birthday gift to him, meant to mark his life.

Though, I thought and tilted my head to see it from another angle, what a life. To make such a mark on the world that this many years after he was gone, an artist, a complete stranger, would spend however many hours of her life putting forth the effort to try and make him as large as the legacy he left behind.

Steve was right. It was pretty amazing.

~

We stayed there until it was time for the gallery to close. Though Steve had made sure he had all of the artist’s socials, and her website where he could see the picture any time he wanted, he still seemed to be soaking in the presence of the piece itself. So I felt a little like a jerk that I was getting sleepy, and I leaned into him to try and relinquish some of the energy used in standing straight to focus on appearing as awake as I could. He leaned into me in return, and I looked up at him. His expression was…peaceful. A little happy, even, and he glanced over at me and smiled a little more.

“What are you thinking?” he asked softly.

I was more curious about what was going on in his head, but I wondered if even he knew. I still didn’t know how I would really feel if someone I loved so dearly was now being immortalized by strangers in giant murals, gone long enough to have become simply part of a story long past. Steve was here, and alive, and I was grateful for every moment of that, every turn of his life that led him here, that I didn’t want to think of the other way it could have easily been.

So I snuggled in and asked, maybe a little quietly, “Is it weird if I say your boyfriend was pretty cute?”

That probably could have gone badly, I thought in a way too belated realization, but Steve snorted and clamped his hand over his mouth as he tried to get a handle on it. Eventually he breathed deep, but the smile stayed strong. “He was very handsome,” he agreed and shot me a little smirk. “He would have corrected you with that.” Steve shook his head. “God, the two of you…I don’t know if I’d’ve survived that.”

I rested my head on his shoulder and squeezed his hand. “You probably would have been fine,” I said. “I would have been hard on him too. Sharing a boyfriend doesn’t get you any free passes. Just ask Peggy.”

He snorted, then looked abashed. “Fair enough.” He looked around. “Let me just snap a quick picture of this and then we’ll head out, all right?”

“Of course,” I said and took a few steps back to make sure I was out of the way. Steve took several shots, some from different angles, and then started to slip his phone back into his pocket when he suddenly stopped, and looked at me. “Hey,” he said. “Can I take a picture of you in front of it too?”

I leaned my head to one side and looked at it again. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Past and present; I just…really like the idea.”

“Sap,” I said, but my heart melted faster than an ice cube in July and I went to stand in front of the picture. I didn’t know how to pose, but after a moment considered how well Steve had taken my joke about how attractive Bucky was and– what the hell. I turned my back to the subject, clasped my hands in front of my face, bent one leg behind me, and threw the most coquettish look over my shoulder I could muster.

Steve snorted so hard, and took so long to regain his composure, I started tilting from my poorly-thought-out balance before he finally snapped a photo he was happy with. “You’re terrible,” he said with an out-and-out grin as I rejoined him.

“You love it,” I said and stood as close as I dared, even with the event winding down.

Steve showed no concern for any of that, and wrapped his arms around me. “I really do,” he murmured and snuck a soft, but lingering kiss.

~

~extra~

The picture causes a sense of overwhelming echoes in the back of the mind. It makes him want to break something.

He doesn’t. Someone spent time and effort and this isn’t his and this isn’t him. Not really. Not anymore. He sighs and relaxes his shoulders, and checks the time absently. The security guard won’t make it over here for at least another twenty minutes, and he intends to be long gone by then.

He should be gone now, and yet he stays. James. Barnes. Bucky. They don’t feel quite right anymore, fitting better the unreal image in front of him, and yet still he keeps them, like a familiar old coat gone too tight at the shoulders but too sentimental in value to throw out. In any case he refuses to be the Asset or the Soldier, and he can’t think of another name he would choose otherwise, and so he…keeps them. Just in case they fit right again.

He can’t wait to be out of New York though. He thought it would help, maybe bring things into focus, but those old memories come with flashes of pain, like when they were forced out of him, and he has to grit his teeth against every flinch they bring. He only wanted to come and check on…Steve. Because Steve is, was, always has been, the one thing that matters, and as hard as it has been keeping him ignorant of the ‘Soldier’s’ identity, the one thing that makes it easy is imagining the look on Steve’s face if he realizes what Bucky became.

That fight. It still hurts to think of; makes him wince. It’s better now than it was at the time though. At the time he fought through what felt like double-vision, a face ghosting over the one in front of him, and then to complicate things, the Target, the Mission, was competent in ways he had never known before; every hit matched, blow for blow, the Asset’s implacable strength against the Captain’s unyielding resolve.

And then.

“I can do this all day.”

And he had cracked in two. Six little words had broken him entirely, backup had arrived, and the Asset-not-but-yes had…fled.

But not back to his masters.

The months thereafter were (are) a haze of repressed memories, repressed nightmares, repressed…everything. But without constant conditioning and punishment, he had managed to pull himself back into the shadow of a person. And now he…

He breathes slowly, and finds himself holding his forehead again. He shakes away the pain, stands tall, and looks back to the museum entrance where he had watched Steve leave. With his date. With his partner. And it…hadn’t made him violent, like he feared it might.

Steve is happy. Genuinely happy in a way that makes Bucky nearly relax with relief, and the hurt isn’t as bad as it could be. He’s taking care of and being taken care of in return, and the jealousy and anger Bucky was prepared to have to deal with is just an empty space. This is good. This is better for everyone.

He sighs and checks his watch. Time to go. He has a tip that the redhead has not managed to sniff out yet (Jesus Christ she’s like a bloodhound sometimes) and he’s left another trail for them to pick up on while he follows this because, no offense lady, but this one is a lot more personal and he is actually looking forward to tracking this particular ‘head’ down so he can kick it right in the teeth.

Steve has a life. A good life. And he has a chance to live it now. He’ll handle cleaning up the small fries, and come home at the end of the day. Bucky will continue to take care of the worst of it. As he has. As he should.

He turns, and leaves the image of James Buchanan Barnes in the past. Where he belongs.

~

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