#i love the framing and the light work in this show but the writers could learn a thing or two about subtlety and trusting the audience

[crippledanarchy]

Lmao they really named the guy that shoots House "Moriarty" and then crammed the episode with as many well known Sherlock references as possible, just in case the viewer missed the allegory

[st4rtar0t]

Describing your love trope with your future spouse as a writer

Pick a picture

MASTERLIST ☆ PAID SERVICES

LONG POST AHEAD!

Pictures belong to their rightful owners, I only own the content of this post.

Picture 1

Arranged blind date

I stared at my reflection, the dress clinging to my frame in a way that was both flattering and unfamiliar. It had been months since I’d worn anything other than sweatpants and old t-shirts. My heart pounded as I thought about the evening ahead. What had I let Emma talk me into?

“Trust me, y/n,” she had said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You deserve someone who treats you right. This guy is perfect for you.”

I wanted to believe her. After all, Emma knew me better than anyone. She had seen me through the worst of my relationship with Adam, watched as I shrank into myself, convinced I was unworthy of love and respect. She had been my rock when I finally walked away.

Now, she was determined to help me move on, even if it meant dragging me into the world of blind dates.

“You look stunning,” Emma said, stepping into my bedroom. Her smile was warm and reassuring. “And you’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

I nodded, trying to steady my breathing. “What if he’s... I don’t know, another Adam?”

Emma shook her head firmly. “He’s not. Trust me. I’ve known him for years. He’s kind, funny, and he’s been through his own share of heartbreak. You two will understand each other.”

Taking a deep breath, I followed Emma out the door and into her car. As she drove, I gazed out the window, my mind a swirl of anxiety and hope. The city lights blurred past, a cacophony of life that felt distant and unreal.

We arrived at the restaurant, a cozy little place with warm lighting and the comforting aroma of home-cooked meals. Emma squeezed my hand. “He’s waiting at table five. Go on, I’ll be right here if you need me.”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

As I approached table five, I saw him. He was looking down at his menu, but there was something about him that immediately put me at ease. He had an air of quiet confidence, and when he looked up and our eyes met, he smiled. It was a smile that reached his eyes, genuine and warm.

“y/n?” he asked, standing up and offering his hand.

I took it, surprised by how natural it felt. “Yes. And you must be Michael.”

He nodded, his grip gentle yet reassuring. “It’s really nice to meet you. Emma’s told me a lot about you.”

I laughed nervously, taking my seat. “All good things, I hope.”

“Only the best,” he said, his eyes twinkling with kindness. “She’s very fond of you.”

As we started talking, I found myself relaxing. Michael was easy to talk to, his sense of humor lightening the mood. He shared stories about his work as a graphic designer, his passion for painting, and his dog, Max, who sounded like a real character.

“So, Emma tells me you’re quite the photographer,” he said, his tone genuinely interested.

I blushed slightly. “I dabble. It’s just a hobby, really.”

“From what I hear, you’re pretty talented,” he replied. “Maybe you could show me some of your work sometime?”

I nodded, feeling a warmth spread through me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. “I’d like that.”

The evening passed in a blur of laughter and easy conversation. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was enjoying myself. Michael was attentive, respectful, and genuinely interested in what I had to say. It was a stark contrast to the indifference and criticism I had grown accustomed to with Adam.

As we said our goodbyes, Michael looked at me with a hopeful expression. “I had a great time tonight, y/n. Can we do this again sometime?”

I smiled, feeling a lightness in my heart. “I’d like that very much, Michael.”

As I walked back to Emma, who was waiting with a knowing smile, I realized something. Maybe, just maybe, I was ready to open my heart again. And maybe this time, I’d find the love and respect I truly deserved.

⁠—⁠☆

Emma hugged me as soon as I reached her. “See? Told you it would be fine.”

I hugged her back, gratitude welling up in my chest. “Thank you, Emma. For everything.”

She grinned. “That’s what friends are for.”

And for the first time in a long while, I felt hopeful about the future.

Picture 2

Friends to lovers

I stood outside y/n’s apartment, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. The city was quiet tonight, the streetlights casting a warm glow on the sidewalk. I had been here countless times, but tonight felt different. Tonight, everything was about to change.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. Almost immediately, I heard her footsteps approaching. The door swung open, and there she was, her smile lighting up the entire hallway.

“Hey! Come on in,” she said, stepping aside to let me pass.

I walked in, my heart pounding in my chest. “Hey, y/n. Thanks for having me over.”

We settled on her couch, the same spot where we’d shared countless conversations, laughter, and even tears over the years. She handed me a cup of tea, her eyes sparkling with the warmth I had come to cherish.

“So, what’s up?” she asked, taking a sip of her own tea. “You sounded a bit urgent on the phone.”

I looked at her, really looked at her, and realized just how much she meant to me. Her kindness, her strength, her infectious laugh—all the little things that made her who she was. It hit me like a tidal wave. I was in love with her. I always have been.

“y/n, there’s something I need to tell you,” I began, my voice trembling slightly.

She set her cup down, her expression turning serious. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything.”

I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. “y/n, you’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember. You’ve been there for me through everything, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She smiled, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “I am your best friend. I will always be there for you no matter what happens. Now tell me, what is bothering you?”

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment. “But that’s the thing. I don’t just see you as my best friend anymore. Somewhere along the way, my feelings changed. I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, there was a silence that felt like an eternity. My heart was in my throat, fear and hope battling within me.

“oh…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I pressed on, needing her to understand. “I know this might come as a shock, and I don’t want to ruin what we have. But I had to tell you. I can’t keep pretending that what I feel for you is just friendship.”

Her eyes searched mine, and I saw tears forming. Panic surged through me. Had I made a terrible mistake?

But then she smiled, a radiant, beautiful smile that took my breath away. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for so long.”

Relief washed over me like a flood. “You... you have?”

She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks. “I’ve loved you for years. I was just too scared to tell you. I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

I reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek. “You’ll never lose me, y/n. You’re everything to me.”

She leaned into my touch, her eyes filled with love and vulnerability. “I love you.”

The words were like music to my ears. I pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly. “I love you too, y/n. More than you’ll ever know.”

We sat there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, the world outside fading away. All that mattered was this moment, the love we had finally confessed, and the promise of a future together.

As I held her, I realized something. Love had been right in front of me all along, in the form of my best friend. And now that I had found it, I was never letting go.

Picture 3

Opposites attract

I watched him from across the room, the way he moved with such effortless grace and confidence. The party was in full swing, laughter and chatter filling the air, but all I could focus on was Ethan. He was the epitome of extroversion, charming everyone around him with his easy smile and quick wit.

I, on the other hand, was more comfortable in the shadows, observing rather than participating. I preferred a good book to a loud party, a quiet evening at home to a night out on the town. Yet, here I was, drawn to someone who was my complete opposite in every way.

Ethan caught my eye and waved, making his way over to me. My heart skipped a beat, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling inside me.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice warm and inviting. “Why are you hiding over here all alone?”

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Just taking a break from all the excitement.”

He laughed, a rich, contagious sound. “You know, you’re the only person I know who comes to a party to take a break from it.”

I smiled, feeling a little more at ease. “Well, someone has to keep an eye on things from the sidelines.”

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with that mischievous spark I was starting to adore.

“Sure,” I said, surprised by how much I wanted him to stay.

We sat down on the edge of the patio, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the warmth of the crowded house. For a moment, we just sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of the party fading into the background.

“You know, Y/N,” Ethan said, breaking the silence. “I’ve always admired how you can just... be. You don’t need all this noise and attention to feel happy.”

I looked at him, surprised by his honesty. “And I’ve always admired how you can light up a room just by walking into it. You make everything look so easy.”

He smiled, a softer, more genuine smile than I’d seen before. “It’s not always as easy as it looks. Sometimes, it feels like I’m just playing a role. But with you... I feel like I can be myself.”

My heart swelled at his words. “I feel the same way, Ethan. With you, I don’t feel like I have to hide.”

We continued talking, sharing pieces of ourselves we hadn’t revealed to anyone else. I told him about my love for painting, how it was my way of expressing emotions I couldn’t put into words. He opened up about his fear of being alone, how he surrounded himself with people to avoid facing his own insecurities.

As the night wore on, I found myself drawn to him in ways I hadn’t expected. Despite our differences, or maybe because of them, we fit together in a way that felt right. His outgoing nature balanced my introversion, his confidence bolstered my shyness, and his warmth melted my reservations.

Ethan reached out, taking my hand in his. His touch was gentle, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through me. “Y/N, I know we’re different, but I can’t help how I feel. Being with you makes me want to be better, to be more.”

I looked into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability and sincerity there. “I feel the same way, Ethan. You make me feel... alive, like anything is possible.”

He leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “So, what do you say we give this a try? Us, I mean. I know it won’t always be easy, but I think it could be something amazing.”

I smiled, my heart full of hope and excitement. “I’d like that, Ethan. I’d like that a lot.”

As he pulled me into a gentle embrace, I realized that sometimes, the most unexpected connections can be the most beautiful. Despite our differences, or maybe because of them, we were falling for each other, and I couldn’t wait to see where this journey would take us.

[death---dealer]

Well.. since all we have to do is ask.. could we get an imagine with Owen where he and reader have been long time friends with secret feelings… maybe throw some angst in there, and then at the end they tell each other and we get a cute makeout sesh or something? 🫣🫣🫣

Authors Note: holy self-indulgence batman. I usually don't write stuff like this but let's give it a whirl. If it's not your thing, then just scoot along.

Title: Monkeying Around. Words: 4.2K+ Pairing: Owen Teague x Reader. Summary: You and he were best friends. What happens when he goes to Australia to film a little movie we all know and love? Taking place in 2022-2023. ** THIS IS PART ONE, THERE WILL BE A PART TWO IF ENOUGH INTEREST IS SHOWN ** Reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated! Show support for fanfic writers!

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“Oh my god,” You laughed, clutching your phone that much tighter as you tossed your head back in amusement at what had popped up on the screen upon accepting the FaceTime from your best friend. His face was always refreshing to see; the crisp white nature of his t-shirt balancing off the darkened nature of his eyebrows and his--- You blinked, sitting up a bit with a stammer, “Owen, y-... Your hair, what happened?”

You could hear the sigh he gave through your headphones, wishing nothing more than to have him beside you to cause the hot breath that accompanied it against your shoulder. Slowly, you admired the way that his lanky wrist rubbed the back of his head, feeling the pricking of shorter hair between his long fingers as Owen muttered.

“They had to cut it for the uh… Suits. You know,” Drifting his hand forward, there was a delicately placed motion in front of the striking features he held, your vision coated with his thinned ulna and radius along with the splay of long digits. No rings or bracelets against his skin, you drew your bottom lip in, probably for filming… Your mind was quick to deduce a reasoning.

Your heart fluttered a small bit at the smile that tore against his features when Owen rested his hand back down after charading to you in silence that he meant the suit that fit on his head with the camera attached for the film he was working on and you heard the shuffle as he held his phone more sturdily and sat back on what appeared to be a bed. “The head piece, it’s gotta fit. My hair was in the way! I told them not to--- I said ‘You can’t do this, my best friend in the whole wide world--- she’s gonna kill me if I cut any of it off’.”

“You’re bald.”

“I still have some hair! Just not… A whole lot.” Playfully defending himself, Owen drifted his tongue along the front of his teeth and felt his lips pull into a smirk at your reaction. You cackled almost manically and garnered yourself a laugh from him. Slowly, your smile dissipated into nothing more than a mirrored reflection of how Owen looked. Solemn around the edges as you both stared at each other through a screen, peeking in at 10,000 miles apart from each other. It was light there, abundantly so as the timezone shifted greatly. Morning for him now, it was cusped around the evening for you back in the States and the sun would begin its departure soon and Owen would have to leave.. You would… Have to let him.

There was a small sinking in your stomach at that. There was nothing you could do to get Owen to stay, you knew now as it had been a month into filming and the schedule for him seemed so tedious. It probably was, given much of what he was doing was considered physical workouts at times.

 “Does it feel weird?” There was a drull nature to your tone as you shifted your body upwards to prop against your bed frame with a small grunt.

“Kinda refreshing.”

Earnest honesty was the way to go as Owen flashed that boyish grin that only until recently with him being gone did you realize that you missed greatly. The way it would shift from innocent to absolute terror filled in a matter of moments when he thought of something devious was captivating, the strong brow ridge was formidable now that Owen had grown a bit more you wanted nothing more than to caress with your finger tips, a strong mouth… You pouted to yourself at the feeling rising against the back of your neck.

When… did this become… Not friendly anymore…? Something… Deeper.. All things about him you expected to miss, he was your best friend but this… Owen… You missed, drawing your pointer finger against the case of your phone. “Won’t be for long, you know?” He must have seen the look on your face as you attempted to smile, “Hair grows back. It’ll be back to normal in a few weeks, I wanna bet it’ll be back to normal length when I come home.” “You just look so different,” Swallowing hard, you sat up a bit more so Owen was able to see your face properly instead of at an acutely unflattering angle. “Probably that Ape School. Got in your head, huh? Hoo-hoo.” There was piqued interest in how Owen laughed at that, baring his teeth for you and only you in the moment as he nodded in agreement.

“That’s… gonna take me a long time to get out of my head, I tell ya.” Owen huffed, “I’m gonna chase after you. I’m planning on taking the stilts they have me using when I need to move on all fours---”

“I will never forgive you if you chase after me as a monkey.”

“Not monkey,” Owen corrected you with a smug smile as he brought the camera closer to his face. Blessing you with a comedic angle that was facing upwards into his nose, you were finally beckoned to laugh wholeheartedly, “They’re called Apes, (Name).”

“Sorry, Monkey boy---” You popped your mouth as Owen chuckled deeply in his chest, the reverb itself attractive and you wanted to hear it in your ear. “Ape Man, more like it.”

“I’ll be the Ape Man to your Ape Woman.” 

“Think you can get me tuition to Ape School to start my training? I can book a flight to Australia---” “I’ll book the flight for you!” He joked, hearing a soft pattering against the door of his room. “Shit. I gotta go. Filming starts in thirty and we still gotta drive to the studio---” “Go, Ape Man.” There was an attempt to hide the disappointment in your voice but Owen was able to hear it as if you were already crying. He looked at the screen for a second longer than was needed, seeing the tear of your mouth from a smile into a mild frown. Not usually noticeable, but… He knew you well enough. Hell, being friends all these years, Owen probably knew you better than you knew yourself at times but… That wasn’t the point here as he heard Lydia and Travis chattering by the door, another knock ensuing.

He wanted nothing more in the moment than to sit and talk for hours like you two had done so many times before, occasionally even into the later hours of the morning. It took a lot to convince his mom to even let you stay in his bedroom, let alone that late but Owen managed. But there you were. Thousands upon thousands of miles away without him. He brisked you a slight half-smile that did nothing to reassure either of you.

“I’ll talk to you later, Ape Woman.”

“I’ll probably be asleep when you’re---”

“I’ll blow your phone up if you don’t answer me.” Owen chuffed, amused at the grin you gave him as your finger hovered over the end button to cut the call short. It pained you, always but it was better than letting him hang up on you. Anything… Was better than that.

“You better, Teague.”

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‘Flight lands at 3. Will you be here with mom and dad to pick me up?’

You stared at the text from your best friend, glancing longingly at the name ‘Owen’ accompanied by the monkey emoji. Fingers flicked against each other as you drew your laptop to a slow close and tucked your phone into the familiar stance of your hands. Hovering above the letters, you contemplated the answer. Months seemed to fly by without worry.

From October, into November… December… Two more and it was now nearing the beginning of March and the sensation of loss was right around the corner at the lack of contact that the two of you were at no fault for. Owen was busy, you understood that. Withdrawing was your way of letting him deal and do what he needed without you constantly pestering him. It was your choice as your fingers tapped a quick response, setting the phone down ardently face down as to not linger on it.

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‘Can’t. Busy with work. I’ll swing by when you get home.’

Owen’s blue-ish eyes stared at the message in a deepened state of dissatisfaction. That… Was not an answer he was expecting as his thinned thumbs tapped away at a response. Anything that made sense, his mind fluttering with sudden onset worry that you were mad at him. Why would you though? He’d done nothing wrong--- In fact, he was coming home so why weren’t you more excited? That was selfish, he thought to himself and drew a deep breath in, the rattling against his collarbones unexplainable. Reckon, there had been days where you two weren’t speaking. Owen’s thumb shifted upwards to look at the shared messages between the two of you, seeing more blue on his side than seeing any responses from you. 

Memes were Owen’s way of going around it, a few pictures sliding against his gaze as he clicked his phone shut, peering out the window of the airport. You’d been pulling away for months now. No doubt it coincided with his filming schedule and the proof was right there on the screen of his device. Lack of responses, you eventually even stopped reacting with the laughing emoji to the pictures he sent on set, fully garbed in his lyca suit and motion-capture camera. Not allowed, but Owen managed to sneak a few for your viewing pleasure. What was he expecting in the first place? Your undivided attention like you were his? You were just his best friend! Best… Friend… 

Eyelids slid shut. There was a small worry in his mind… What… If you found someone during that time? A boyfriend, he seethed inside of his own mind Sure, it was only a few months but you were well--- Owen tapped his phone against his thigh and sighed again, this one more melancholy than the last as he had no idea where this onset of feelings truly came from. You were you and he had no doubt that there’d be a line waiting as if he were first in it. 

He needed to say something. Anything.

Looking at his phone once more, he deleted the previous message. The ‘I miss you’ Owen longed to send in favor of a less drastic approach. Something… Less desperate, he hoped. 

‘Dinner is at 6. Mom is making my favorite ;) If you wanted to swing by.’

Owen left it open. Tapping send, he hoped… The hook at the end would garner him a monkey joke. Anything from you that wasn’t stagnant.

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“(Name)!”

Groaning softly, you rolled onto your side and peeped your eyes open for only a split second before they rested back shut. That voice… Your mom… She could wait, you decided and rolled back onto your stomach, face flattening into your pillow with a sigh of contentment. There was nothing quite like an afternoon nap. Well… From the darkness against your eyelids, you figured it was seeping into the evening time but that didn't matter as you tugged your blanket closer to your body. You’d sleep the rest of the night given the chance, better than picking up your phone and having to see what you would assume to be a bombardment of texts and maybe even a call from Owen. 

“(Name), if you don’t get out here I’m going to---” “What do you want!?” You snapped at your own mother, tugging yourself out of bed in a flurry and nearly slamming your door open as a result. “I’m trying to sle---” Peering down the hallway, you felt a small amount of shell-shock hit you at the lanky frame you were so incredibly familiar with. From the tear of the shoulders inwards to make himself appear even smaller, the long casing of his arms… The tousled hair and pursed mouth. Smacking your lips, you held up a hand and muttered hazily, “I’m still sleeping, that’s what this is.” Nodding at that, you trudged a hand through your messy hair and turned back to go into your room.

“Owen just stopped by to say hello!” Stiffening at his name, you rolled your shoulders and looked over your right one at the body standing next to your mom. “He’s been gone for so long, (Name), why didn't you tell me he was coming over?” There was nothing quite like getting scolded from her when you were still half-asleep though the other times she did this were often due to you not cleaning your room when you were younger. Go figure, you said sarcastically in your mind and reached up to rub your tired eyes.

“I---” Stammering once more, you held up your hand defensively in front of you and trailed down the small hallway into the ambient light of the living room. You ogled at him, no shame resting in your gaze as you started at his feet… All the way up Owen’s long and thin legs, the tapering of his waist the actual epitome of dreamy and the way his shoulders cascaded with strength you had not realized he garnered from his time in Ape School.

That was only noticeable up close and the shine of the necklace around his neck captivated your attention for a few moments to look at where his collar bones fused together under the otherwise pale and smooth skin you felt would be burning under your touch.  He was here. Actually… Here… Why? 

“I uh--- Sorry, mom. I must have… forgotten to tell you and I fell asleep---”

“See, I told you she fell asleep.” Owen told your mom with such a linen of recognition. You mom knew him as your best friend, after all. They were cordial and kind, friendly even as your mom constantly pestered you at times that he was single and you were single thus it made sense to want to date. 

Adamantly, that was torn down when you told her you had no interest. Owen was… Just a friend, your best friend that you lost contact with over the last few months, even now as Owen was looking over at you with what could be described as aggravated skeptical agreement, pointing at your mom with his eyes. ‘Just go along with it’, his expression said.

He was covering for you, you realized and laughed in the back of your throat at that. It was like no time had passed and Owen was chattering to your mom in the charismatic way he did in order to get himself into your bedroom with the door shut. Nothing would happen, he was always so assuring to her and even in this moment, you swallowed hard at the pat he gave your mom on her back. 

“Always sleeping, can’t even reply to my texts sometimes. You don’t mind if we go talk? I haven’t seen her in months, wanna tell her all about Australia.” His words were biting and unexpected as you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

Your mom looked at you and then back towards Owen with a smile, “Of course. Come over for dinner sometime and tell us all about it as well, I’m sure (Name)’s Father is interested in how big the spiders are down there.”

Owen playfully held his hand up and made a circle shape, “They’re huge.” Was said in passing as his taller body passed your mom and followed you closely to your bedroom. 

Your mouth flew open the second your bedroom door shut. “Why’re you here? I was really enjoying my na---”

“What a way to greet your best friend of all time upon his arrival from down under,” There was a faux accent placed on the last two words as you gave him a quirky grin. “I invited you to my coming-home dinner and you just left me hanging---” You groaned softly, bringing a hand upwards against your forehead to rub it tenderly. “I was taking a nap.” Truth. “I didn't even see your message!” Not so much the truth. “Liar,” The dark haired blond snapped at you with confidence and a smug smirk. He was right, you realized and gazed yearningly at the crown of his skull as Owen turned in your room so he was facing you properly, eyes lingering around the walls that held so many memories for the two of you from high school. His hair… Grew back. Not as long as when he left, but it was propped beautifully up and the mused tangles dug their greedy claws into you and you wanted to see how soft it was. You were just tired, you pushed that down and swallowed hard. 

“You have read notifications on, (Name).” Mentally, you slapped your forehead and looked off to the side, turning on the light to a lower hue so it wasn’t blinding you. Vaguely, you gave him a gesture to sit at the bottom of your bed as you crawled your body in and plopped down. A familiar position, this was how you two sat when in deep conversations with each other during the late nights of the summers. Sometimes, Owen would even sit beside you instead, letting his bony shoulder play against yours as you both fumbled over laughter. 

“Okay, so I read it and then I fell back asleep. You should--- Be with your parents, you just got home! I’m sure they miss you---” “Why weren’t you replying to my texts while I was gone?” “Oh my god, Owen.” Rolling onto your stomach, you pressed your face into the pillow once more. “Can I please fall back asleep and this is all just a nightmare?” Your voice was muffled as you felt the shift on your mattress and when you turned your head to peek, Owen was sitting beside you, nearly half off the bed as you were spread out, limbs flared outwards comfortably. “‘M sorry, I didn't mean that.”

“So, I’m the stuff of nightmares?” He joked and tilted his body against your own as you let out a small groan of approval at the sudden wash of body weight. It was hard to resist the small smile that played at your mouth, satisfaction falling on Owen for getting you to do that. “I don’t like being woken up---” “I considered just coming back, your mom was yelling for you though---”

That made you laugh hard as you cased your expression into the pillow again with a meager nod. 

“I was gonna come by tomorrow, honestly… I--- Just wanted to see you. It’s been months, (Name).” “I told you I was busy with wor---”

“I was the one busy with work, you think I don’t know what you were doing?” “Oh wise one,” You snorted and turned your head once more to look at him, your neck wrinkling with the unnatural movement, “Tell me, what was I doing that I wasn’t aware of?” “Am I a fortune teller now? I must have forgotten my ball in my other pair of pants,” Sarcastically, he rolled the beautiful rounded nature of his eyes and dropped his shoulders in comfort of there being some semblance of fun loving camaraderie between you two despite the small passage of time. “You were ignoring me!” “Was not!” “Even my sweet memes, you were ignoring all of them.” Owen placed a hand onto his chest to feign hurt and devastation. “The memes were aiight.”

“What about the pictures I sent from the set? You know I broke a big Disney rule sending those.” He teased, watching as you readjusted and placed a hand near your face. Lightly, you watched nearly cross eyed as Owen tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, the silver of his bracelet bouncing off what light was in your bedroom.

“They’re going to punish you for sending all that goodness in a lyca suit.” You raised eyebrows suggestively. 

“Not much goodness to be had, you should have seen Kevin Durand. Absolute madhouse. Big and buff,” Owen puffed out his chest and you laughed gently with the action, “I’m just… Me.”

“You’ll be a lot more when the movie comes out, you know. Even if you’re playing a monkey.”

“Ape.” “Will your Ape self be buff?” Owen smiled at you, cheekily at first before it touched back into reminiscence. He missed you and your comments. He missed the interactions despite forming great bonds with his co-stars while abroad. Nodding slightly, he turned his body to face you more head-on and you were catapulted into panic as your line of vision was almost thrusted directly onto his crotch. Nervously, you dragged your eyes upwards at the sound of his voice and watched his Adam's apple bob, “Why do you ask? You gonna have a big crush on him if he is?” “Maybe.” You snickered, rolling onto your back and gazing up at him with tenderness. 

Owen gasped dramatically, “I come back from Australia and you have a thing for furry Apes?” “Not when you put it like that!” Sniffling softly, you shut your eyes tentatively and drew a deep breath in, relishing in how it felt to be suffocated before exhaling sharply. “Maybe I’ll be just like everyone else and have a big crush on the actor instead. Remember the phase I went through with Andy Serkis? Same thing!”

“Well, in your defense, you could pull Andy Serkis any day.” Owen said confidently, throwing himself into self-doubt without care. 

“I’m glad you think that. I literally look like hot trash right now. I--- Would have gotten dressed up if I knew you were going to come over.”

“Leggings and a shirt are enough for me.” Owen admitted quietly, “Y’know I don’t really like all the glitz and glam. Makes me uncomfortable…” “The irony.” You teased, “Being an actor and such.” “That’s what’s so great about the role! I… can still walk down the street and act like a normal person. No one is seeing my face and no one is looking for me! Paparazzi who?” He admitted in a hushed tone to you, almost cusping around a whisper as if he were telling you a deep secret, “I don’t like that. I wanna still be able to come here…” He looked down at you with eyes that appeared more green in the ambience of the room, “Without anyone following me or speculating about what is going on. If anything… were to… go on.” 

“I don’t understand what you’re saying Owen.” You swallowed hard again, this time it got stuck in your chest. “You leave for a few months and come back all cryptic? What brainwashing did Disney do to you?” That was meant as a joke but as you fluttered your eyes back towards him, you felt a sinking in your chest. His expression was torn clearly into two camps. One of contemplation that rode against his strong brows and one of self-deprecation from the way that he was biting at his bottom lip. “Seriously, are you okay? You’re not jet lagged or…”

“Nahhh, I’m alright,” The man said next to you and lightly nudged you with three of his long fingers, “Just… Missed home, you know? You go off to pretend to be someone else. A completely different species and you start to miss home. Start to miss parts of yourself you didn't know were so important.”

“Australia turned you into a philosopher.” 

“I’m serious, (Name)!” Owen laughed ardently. Not at you. Never… At you but at the implications that your words made him sensationalize. They always did say that distance made the heart grow fonder, was that too philosophical to say to you? Would you understand what he meant? “Things…. Changed while I was there and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” “Y’know you’ll always have me, Teague. I’m like a wart that won’t go away.”

“Right between my toes.” He played off you with such ease and felt a twisting inside of his stomach as he drew the fingers he had nudged you with down your forearm and to the bare skin closer to your wrist. “Things are gonna… Change. I’m going to have to do a press tour for this next year and then the premieres. It’s in my contract for me to be gone a lot…” Owen wasn’t sure if this was allotted information to share or not but there was no care, “I freaked out… On the way home thinking you hated me or something---” “Owen, you nee---” “I just… Wanna make sure when I get done with all of this, this whole… thing,” He gestured rather vaguely much like you had done earlier with his long arms, “That you’re still gonna be here cheering me on.”

“I’m your own personal cheerleader, you know that! I helped you keep your hair dyed when you did IT---” “This is different.”

Lifting yourself up, Owen broke the subtle contact he had around your gentle wrist and brought his hands back into his lap, watching out of his peripheral as you propped into a seated, cross legged position. “Seriously, are you okay? You sound like a crazy---” “Think I am jet lagged. Those fourteen hours are killer.” Owen deflected with a strangled laugh and stood up slowly, “Should get home. Get some sleep… In my bed.”

“Owen…” Your eyes were soft as you looked up at him, watching as he trailed around your bed to the door, “Y-you could spend the night here, you know. Like old times. I’ll sleep on the floor---” “Don’t worry about it,” He grimaced a smile for you that seemed forced. “I’ll swing back around tomorrow. We can go get ice cream at our spot.”

That was intriguing enough, your bottom lip dragging inwards as he grasped the handle of the door, “Hey.”

“Hm?” If Owen whipped around any faster, he was sure that his head would dislocate from his body.

“Did you steal those stilts from the set?”

“They’re in my car.” He admitted with a rushed laugh from you that made his heart beat that much quicker in his chest. “Why do you ask?” “Just wondering if I need to put my running shoes on tomorrow. Was hoping… You’d chase me a bit. Give me a taste of your Ape self.”

“I’m pretty fast on all fours.” He boasted. “Ape School taught me well.”

“Then it should be an easy chase.”

[delusionaldeadgirl]

I’d Bleed Myself Dry For You

Spencer Reid x Famous Singer!reader

Summary: Spencer’s ex is a famous singer. Penelope’s favorite to be exact. After what happened to Maeve, Spencer didn’t share his love life. The team finds out after the fact.

Warnings: Sad, Use of Y/N

Excitedly, Penelope runs out of her “lair” up to Derek with her laptop. Seeing as though there weren’t any cases, the team was just doing paperwork at the BAU.

“Woah slow down Baby Girl. What’s going on?” Derek asked. “ONLY MY FAVORITE SINGER Y/N LIVE-STREAMING HER DC SHOW!”

Spencer’s ears perked up at the name. No one knew their history. He didn’t want to seem suspicious at the mention of her so he just went back to what he was doing.

Penelope opened up her laptop. The lights of the venue twinkled like stars. Almost as if they were shining on her through the screen. She knew every one of Y/N’s songs, everything about her, except her past shared life with their very own Boy Genius.

As the music began, Penelope leaned closer to the screen, her heart racing. The first few songs flew by as the crowd was loud with excitement. But when Y/N introduced a new track, an immediate hush fell over the audience.

“This next song is about love and loss, and how the memories still linger”. By now Derek, Emily and JJ had all surrounded Penelope’s laptop. As the music started, Spencer couldn’t help but look up from his work to listen to Y/N’s song. As soon as it started playing he noticed he didn’t recognize it. Which isn’t common given his eidetic memory.

“Pull the plug in September”

“I don’t wanna die in June”

As the song went on, those around couldn’t help but be captivated by her performance. Even Spencer. What really captured their attention was soon, on a screen behind Y/N, home videos began to play.

“And the funny thing is I would’ve married you if you had stuck around”

Y/N sang with tears in her eyes.

In the series of clips, moments unfolded—sunlit days in the park, laughter over coffee, and momentary glimpses of a tall figure with curly brown hair. The hand on Y/N’s shoulder, the way he fit in frame. Penelope recognized those slightly awkward mannerisms anywhere.

“Wait is that…?” She whispered, shifting her eyes to look at Derek. “What’s going on?” he asked as he noticed her shift in demeanor, JJ noticing as well.

“That’s Spencer! It has to be!” She whispered, not very quietly. Emily leaned closer to the screen, piecing it together. “So that’s why he gets quiet when we bring up his love life” She said.

Spencer unbeknownst to what they were saying was entranced by the sound coming out of Penelope’s speakers. The marriage lyric hitting the hardest. He knew she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He let his traumas and doubts get in the way of what for the first time ever, felt like true love.

As the song continued, the lyrics tugged at Spencer’s heart. It was clear that this song was about a love that slipped away, a love that still held weight. Their love, she missed him as much as he missed her. He felt so stupid.

“I had no choice in the matter. Why would I? It’s only the death of me”

The final lines washed over them like a wave, and when the applause erupted from the audience, Penelope sat back breathless. “I can’t believe this. How could he keep this from us?”

Spencer rushed out of the bullpen. Derek crossed his arms, “Looks like Pretty Boy has some explaining to do”.

Penelope nodded, sympathy settling in her chest. “We need to make sure he knows we’re here for him.” JJ added.

“Very true. However I am rooting on getting them back together” Penelope said.

They all share a giggle at a classic Penelope anecdote, wondering how Spencer is processing this.

a/n: this is a common fic theme i love so i wanted to add something of my own to it. i’m not a writer so please be nice.

[katerinaaqu]

Question who is your favorite character in Greek mythology?

Like in general? Including epics and tragedies and myths etc?

Odysseus. Straight out

I find myself relate to him in so many ways and his torments and trips and mistakes always speak to me differently; the perfect combination of someone you might consider "prodigy" but shaped and carved by hard work and life, a complicated personality that even the ancient Greeks had trouble placing.

Some like Homer or even partially Sophocles and Statius named him their hero; complicated and controversial and so human. Others like Hesiod named him almost an anti-hero. Eurypedes or the Romans pictured him almost a villain.

Warrior or a sneaky coward? Noble or a man that is thirsty for the love of the crowd no matter the price? A rape victim or a cheater?

It gets me so intrigued that not even the ancient sources could handle him and so many different writers pictured him in a negative light while writers like Homer or Statius picture him as of noble heart but controversial nature and ways. Writers like Conon in August Augustean times wrote Odysseus capable of stabbing at the back the very man that admired him and respected him to gain fame while Homer writes him as a man who would throw himself on the sword to make sure his men would come back alive. Hyginus makes him a planning and scheming man who would frame an innocent for treason and set an elaborate plan to do it while Pausanias mentions a crime of passion or at least not as planned and thorough as Hyginus mentions etc.

So yeah I believe that Odysseus is my favorite especially as presented by Homer; a man full of contradictions. He is the man that would jump in front of a 6 headed immortal dragon for his men but the same man conquered a city by the night against all ethics to finish a war. The same man that refused to steal from a cave that belonged obviously to a monstrous creature and decided to give them the element of doubt was the same man that conquered the city of Ismarus, killing the men and enslaving the women and taking the resources from it. The same man that jumped in the battle to save Diomedes against all personal safety was the same man that was holding his army back till the right and safest moment to fight. The same man who had no problem facing the behemoth of a man Ajax, called his name almost for last when he volunteered to face Hector so that he would have as fewer possibilities be chosen as possible. The same man who killed 108 young vigorous men in his own home was the same who was embracing and kissing his son his wife and his loyal slaves. A strong and ruthless king but also a king that rules like a father to his people.

And also most importantly; a man that could be anyone of us. He stayed alive and survived by seer will at times. No demigod or superhero. He was a man like everyone of us; showing to generations to come the strength of mind and willpower.

I just love Odysseus!

[performativezippers]

When writing romance, what causes the relationships to feel like they lack a 'spark'? like, chemistry? I got these two characters who are opposites, they have a lot of things in common, potential for conflict and/or love, but despite that, it still feels like there's Nothing Fun happening there. They have more chemistry with the villain than with their love interest, and... i have no idea why! XD what could be missing?

ooh this is a great question! I have no idea what's going wrong in your piece specifically (although if you want to send me a page or so of them interacting i'd be happy to look at it and let you know what i see) but in general, here's what comes to mind first.

on-page chemistry is hard to write. it's hard! this is why actors are required to do chemistry reads, right, because if it could be guaranteed on the page, it wouldn't matter if the actors were limp socks. movies and TV shows have so much more to work with: not just actors, but camera angles and cuts, framing them in one shot together, lingering glances, MUSIC, lighting. fiction writers just have...words!

so those words need to try to fill in all of those gaps.

you've said your characters are opposites with a lot in common and potential for conflict or love. my first thought is where is the tension between them? are they attracted to each other? are they in competition with each other? what is keeping them apart and why is it integral to your story? if it's enemies to lovers, why are they enemies and why can't they just make up and get along? if they're friends to lovers, why can't they just start being lovers? if there's an external obstacle, like they'd both be kicked out of the dragon riders for fraternizing, why don't they just do that? and once you have that why, is it infusing every scene they have together? because it should be!

Not that you want every scene between them to be, "Sam, I wish we could kiss but we would be kicked out the dragon riders if we did," "I know Jamie, I do too," that would be repetitive and boring and annoying as fuck for the reader, right, of course. But every romantic interaction could be tinged with regret, with want, with yearning for a different situation. What if when Sam looks at Jamie before a big battle, they see an alternate reality in Jamie's eyes, a world in which everything were different--no war, no riders, no command--just the two of them with a cabin and a woodstove and a warm quilt Jamie's made on their bed, a world in which nothing would come between them, where Sam would never have to see Jamie saddle up to fight in the sky, would never have to wonder if Jamie would ever come home, would never have to wonder what Jamie's lips would feel like against her own?

in that example, there is want (we want to live happily together) but there's tension (we can't be together and also there's war that might kill us) which rubs against the want and creates sparks.

so I'd say think about your piece and your characters, and look at if their desire is sharp enough, and the tension keeping them apart is jagged enough, to rub up against each other and send up sparks that will eventually devour everything in flames.

because you've said they have more chemistry with the villain, i think you're close, because usually villain/hero chemistry comes from exactly this. the hero wants something (win the war for my side, save my dragon and my friend) and the villain wants something else (win the war for the other side), those wants are in direct contradiction (aka in tension), and that tension is taut enough to shoot up sparks. so you can do it! you're already doing it! just try to add that tension and this-is-what-is-keeping-us-apart to everything between the two romantic leads and see where that takes you.

in terms of the writing on the line level, make sure you're giving enough non-dialogue narration for the reader to understand the impact of the dialogue or actions. we've all read "flirting" that falls flat, which is usually because the words are flying back-to-back without any non-dialogue ("narration" or "inner life") to give it weight. i'm known for using lots of body examples (how does it feel in her body, does her heart clench, her teeth grind, her speen rise) but there are a ton of ways to do it! what does it remind her of, how does it feel in emotions, how does it feel in her body, what is she thinking, what is she imagining, what else is she noticing, what does she wish would be happening instead? those are all questions that might get you to some real, raw richness inside your POV narrator. here's a little example I made up:

instead of

"you look great up there," sam flirts as jamie vaults into her saddle. "you too," jamie blushes. "stay safe." "fight strong," sam intones. "see you after."

try adding in depth via narration, like

Jamie vaults into her saddle, and Sam's heart clenches. "You look great up there," she says. It comes out more flirtatious than sad, just what she wanted. She feels so weighed down by her feelings for Jamie, but she wants Jamie to fly unburdened, light and creative and free, the way she fights best. Jamie blushes, and Sam blinks back tears. God, what if this were all different. What if Jamie was safe, what if it were five hundred years ago and the dragons were merely pets and modes of transportation, not war machines. What if she could make Jamie blush out of memory of how they'd spent the morning tangled up together in their furs, instead of this--this bleak, unspoken, never-to-be-consumated, possibly unrequited thing between them. "You too," Jamie says, just as softly. And then, somehow even more tender, "Stay safe." Sam knows there are other rider saddling up around them, that command is always watching. She says what she's supposed to in return, hoping the words have magic to them. "Fight strong," she says, hearing others around the paddock saying the same incantation to each other but not meaning it the way she does. "See you after."

I hope that's helpful! Let me know your thoughts, everyone!

[chaifootsteps]

(incoming rant, apologies)

anon who said Stolas is not a "goodie pure angel who does everything right" - that's not entirely the problem his critics have, tbh?

the creators have said he's flawed but ultimately a good person, which is basically the narrative the show runs with: that Stolas is just a bit flawed and made some mistakes, but they're ultimately minor and he deserves to be happy

what his critics contend is that Stolas is not just a bit flawed but is abusive towards Blitzo and neglectful of Via far beyond just regular divorce upheaval. but the show never owns up to that - it never seems to think all that deeply about his behavior or how hypocritcal or neglectful he is

second the anon states that just because the show depicts his reactions doesn't mean the creators are saying he is innocent.

this completely ignores how framing works and how it can be used to send a message. when the camera shows Blitzo leaving the Anti Blitzo party while looking at Stolas smiling and surrounded in glowing light, what is the framing trying to say? it's not "the relationship was fractious and these two need time to themselves", it's "Blitzo has made a huge mistake and missed out on the love of his life due to his own flaws". when the camera favors Stolas crying when Blitzo chews him out, what is it trying to say? it's not "Blitzo has a point here", it's "Blitzo has gone too far and his cynicism is costing him love". when it shows a perspective shot from Blitzo's eyes looking at Stolas while he cries about wanting someone to want him, what is it trying to say? it's not "Stolas is still failing to tell Blitzo what he loves about him in particular", it's "Blitzo does want to be that person for Stolas but won't admit it"

the framing communicates what the writers mean and it favors Stolas, every single time

the part about "anyone who babifies him is in the wrong" - idk if this is aimed at his stans or in universe, but if it's talking about the characters it definitely doesn't seem that way. Verosika literally calls him "baby" and she's framed as being correct when she tells Blitzo he should just let Stolas go and sleep with someone else if he wants. she's the voice of reason in the episode as far as the framing goes - if she wasn't supposed to be, Blitzo would be allowed in the script to fill her in on all the context she's missing about the "relationship" and point out the amount of projection she's doing. but he's not and frankly I don't think the show has earnt the benefit of the doubt when it comes to the writing being secretly sophisticated - they literally had Stella say out loud 'I like tormenting you'. it's not that deep and acting like where they're going with Stolas will be is ignoring the consistent pattern around how he's been written or rather, rewritten

and this is a repeated pattern with Stolas - anytime someone could make an obvious rebuttal to something he says, they never do even when it makes little sense.

Stolas claims it wasn't cheating because Stella never loved him? For some reason Andrealphus and Stella don't point out it was still cheating no matter how he tries to spin it and he hurt Via to boot, in a scene where they're trying to assign blame to him to get more in a divorce settlement

And that's not going into the numerous times this happens with Blitzo. The opening of Apology Tour is basically an argument between the two and Blitzo, who has been characterized as a combative and defensive person to this point, suddenly doesn't pull out anything but vague notions about Stolas looking down on him despite the many, many things he could have said to point out how shitty Stolas has been?

even when Stolas pulls the ultimate self-centred card of 'I can't believe you prioritized your daughter's health over me even though you literally sent your employees to help', Blitzo responds with something the writers can use to make him look worse (that he didn't tell Stolas about the Harvest Moon assassination attempt, which is another retcon why he didn't but let's shelve that for now) instead of what you'd expect him to say: that Stolas is being a selfish jackass who thinks the world revolves around his entitled, ungrateful self when a prince like him should have had his legions rescue him instead of making a working class imp risk his family to help him

that example above really zeroes in on the dissonance. they've written Stolas to be a petty, vindictive piece of shit who's portrayed as somehow in the right for judging Blitzo for not immediately LARPing as his white knight and being at his beck and call whenever he asks for it. any writer who had an objective view of their own characters would not let Stolas say something as awful as he said in Apology Tour (and that's just one of many awful things he says in that scene alone) and just let it slide

but they do, because as far as they're concerned Stolas' petty behavior is just him being sassy and finally standing up for himself against...*checks notes* the person he coerced into sex who made no secret of the fact that he found Stolas' attentions repulsive from the start.

I'm genuinely curious where this 'critics take any line Stolas says in the worst faith possible' thing comes from, or claiming critics don't think comes from. It's because critics think about the episodes on more than a surface level that we criticize Stolas, because we don't accept what the framing is trying to say and nothing else.

In what way can someone take Stolas shaming his love interest for taking his daughter to the doctor in good faith? Or him engaging in literal abusive behavior by rewriting reality to favor himself (and being only nominally aware he's even doing it) and doing DARVO on Blitzo? If it was just one thing - just Stolas doing a classism occasionally - then it might be easier to think it was just him being insensitive.

But Stolas is a character who coerced someone into sex in a show that categorically refuses to use the words 'coercion' or 'rape' to describe what he's done, while showing blink and you miss it shots of Blitzo looking violated and furious at what he has to do to appease Stolas, during a musical montage that's once again framed like Blitzo is the one realizing he's wronged Stolas and getting teary-eyed about it.

this isn't critics claiming Stolas is being treated like a perfect angel when the show makes it clear he's flawed. this is critics claiming Stolas is abusive and the show is bending over backwards not only to hide it, but to act like he's this great catch Blitzo is missing out on and Blitzo is more in the wrong

One moment of Stolas saying 'well maybe I did something wrong' during that song doesn't make up for the fact that the writers act like someone who has had all of season 2 to put it together that he's screwed up and has been told multiple times what the problem is, is 'just not being self aware enough', like it's some minor thing he's trying to claim Blitzo was the one to make it all about sex or that he never looked down on him.

someone who rewrites reality as much as Stolas does and lacks apparently any ability to self-reflect and actually apologize and improve is abusive. period, kill shot, end of.

the only thing that would convince me at this point that the writing isn't trying to retcon Stolas into a better person than he is (and failing harder than ever) would be if in the upcoming storyline where he presumably loses everything, the writing spares no quarter that he messed up:

that the power dynamic between him and Blitzo is pointed out and how stacked the deck was in his favor is said explicitly without victim-blaming Blitzo

that using the fact he was getting shot at to make the deal is acknowledged for the aggravating factor it is

that he was gambling with Via's inheritance solely to get more sex out of Blitzo and him claiming to support his business is self-serving claptrap and he knew that all along

that he doesn't love Blitzo, he loves the idea of love and anyone who will save him from his loneliness will do (or at the very least he sucks at communicating why he loves Blitzo)

that Blitzo had every right to not only be confused but angry with him when he confessed and Stolas expected not only immediate forgiveness, but his love - love he felt entitled to and threw a tantrum when he didn't get it

that he's a neglectful father who promises to do better and not only fails to do so but prioritizes his affair over her and drinks himself into oblivion when he's sad even though there's a possibility she might need him

that he didn't tell her about Stella or the assassination attempt because he was again prioritizing Blitzo

that he's failed to raise his heir and teach her magic properly, the literal only thing the Goetia family wanted out of him

that he abuses his imp servants and sees the lower classes as invisible objects for him to use - when he isn't busy extorting sex out of them, that is

and finally that he blames everyone else for his problems and fundamentally never changes. Blitzo is still an object who should meet his needs and Via is still his neglected daughter who should accept the bare minimum from him when he remembers she exists

this isn't the profile of a flawed but sympathetic character, it's one of a deeply unsympathetic loser who takes while giving virtually nothing back. and that's what the show refuses to own up to. we're supposed to think Stolas is tragic but want him to turn his life around, while I would rather see Striker finish the job so Blitzo can be free of the miserable Stol1tz plotline and become a better person in other ways that actually matter, instead of finishing his transformation into Stolas' very own Emotional Support Poor

tl:dr but Stolas' critics don't think he's a Mary Sue. He's a Jerk Sue, a Black Hole Sue. He's a far worse person than the show wants to admit and they've sunk to truly pretzel levels of mental gymnastics trying to prove that to the viewers with all their retcons and insane troll logic lately

Excellent writeup. Stolas's writers say he's one thing, his words and actions say another, and it really is as simple as that.

[simmerandwrite]

Sink Into Me - 05 - mob!Steve Rogers x plus size! reader

Summary: You were simply doing a good deed, pulling the handsome stranger out of the way when a car jumped the curb. Little did you know that the life you saved belonged to Steve Rogers, the Army veteran turned art dealer with connections to the Brooklyn crime syndicate.

Steve Rogers, who won’t stop calling you his guardian angel.

Steve Rogers, whose new goal in life just might be repaying his debt to you.

Steve Rogers, who isn’t shy until it comes to his feelings and will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Chapters: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

Wordcount: 6k

Warnings: some smut in this one, vague references to violence, canon level violence (series), body image issues (series)

Notes: thank you all for reading! means a lot to me. i’d love to hear your thoughts and remember, a reblog goes a long way for a writer on this hellsite!! ( if you see me in the wild, i’m @simmerandcry​​)  

--

As happy as you were to have Steve laying beside you in bed, you weren’t ready to sleep yet. Not when you hadn’t seen him in almost a week. Sure, you had both very quickly made up for lost time – you weren’t sure you’d be walking straight tomorrow – but it was these quiet moments, just the two of you, that you cherished the most.

With your head resting on his bare chest, you traced your fingers along the tattoos that decorated his skin. The eagle, the poetry verse, the cross, the script displaying his mother’s name - you liked how they all seemed to tell a story and also provide an extra bit of insight about Steve.

“Which one did you get first?” You asked quietly, propping yourself up slightly to get a better scan of his torso. He had pulled his boxers back on after you cleaned up but he still had plenty of skin showing. “And which one hurt the most?”

Steve glanced at your curious smile then scanned over his chest. “This one hurt the most, against my ribs.” He tipped to the side slightly, revealing a traditional style tattoo that lined the right side of his torso. “And the first..” A laugh escaped him, moving his hand to tug at the waistband of his boxers. He pointed to the faint outline of a fading tattoo, just a few letters that adorned the front of his left hip.

You twisted to see what he was pointing at. “I never noticed that - what does it say? ‘Punk’?”

“Yeah,” Steve was laughing again, running his thumb over the letters. “Me and Buck gave each other tattoos one night. Dumb teenage shit, you know?”

“That’s strangely… endearing,” you laughed along, letting out a long breath and returning to your spot resting against him. “Bucky’s your best friend?”

“Seems a bit juvenile to say it that way, but yeah. I trust him with my life.” Steve circled his arm around you and held you closer somehow. The light touch of his fingertips grazed your shoulders. “Me and him, we’ve.. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“Can you tell me something no one else knows about you?” You closed your eyes, fighting off the heavy wave of sleep that was creeping in. “Not even Bucky?”

“Hmm.” Steve paused, taking the extra moment to press a kiss to the top of your head while he thought of his answer. “I closed on a new property today.”

You opened your eyes again. “Okay, that’s… a fact, I guess.”

His chest rumbled, smirking. “I bought a cabin in Connecticut, near the state border. It’s a little thing - triangle A-frame structure, two bedrooms, comes with a canoe and a kayak, there’s a trail down to a lake..” 

You couldn’t help but push yourself up again, turning to smile at him with wide eyes. “It sounds beautiful! Just an investment property orr…”

“No, it’s for me. I want somewhere to escape the city. It needs some work but I want it to be all season.”

“I can’t wait to see some photos.”

“Maybe we could..” Steve trailed off, eyes closing momentarily before he opened just one to peek at you. “Could up there on a weekend? Just us two?”

Your cheeks warmed at the thought of a weekend away with Steve, away from everything, cozy around a fire. “That sounds like a dream.”

“Well, let’s make it happen, sweetheart.”

 ---

“Hey, you’ve barely even commented on that terrible design - where is your head right now?”

You sighed, tearing your empty stare from your TV across the room and down towards where Maria was sitting on the rug. You had invited her over to binge the latest season of your favourite reality tv fashion show and, well, you were clearly being a bad host. 

Truthfully, you were lost in your thoughts. You’d been drawing in them a lot over the past few weeks. You could feel your work life balance slipping away as another busy project season approached. And moving had thrown you for a loop. But mostly your mind was racing thinking about Steve. Your pros and cons list about him and the state of your relationship was growing on each side.

God, the pros were so good. He was attentive, kind and interesting. You both had fun together, you laughed a lot and he cared as much about Hercules as he did you. And the sex was amazing - he really enjoyed taking care of you. Steve was strong in his convictions, fought through adversity, and remained passionate about the things that mattered to him.

But on the other hand, you knew it was fair to have doubts. Steve was busy with work and whatever else was going on in his life and you didn’t see each other as often as you both would like. And there was the large mystery of what he really did for work anyway, though you could put enough pieces together. Quiet phone calls, an endless list of people who seemed to report to him, the illicit activities at the club, his resistance to the police… 

“Are you okay?” Maria shifted slightly, pausing the show and turning to look up at you as you clutched a pillow anxiously on the couch. 

“I’m just thinking about Steve,” you finally admitted, closing your eyes and collapsing back into the couch.

“What else is new?” Maria joked, eyes narrowed as you watched you. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been willfully ignorant about his..” You hesitated. “..His work.”

Maria scooted closer, propped up on her knees. “Okay, yeah, let’s dig in because what is all that about? I was kind of joking about the mob thing but..” Her eyes grew dramatically wide. “Wait.” Reaching for her phone, she tapped on the screen and looked back at you. “Hey Google - what does a mob boss do?”

“No, come on,” you laughed, though it was mostly to hide your concern. “It’s going to burst the bubble, you know? The minute I really admit all this out loud.”

Maria scanned over the webpage illuminated on her phone. “It’s kind of a spectrum of information here. Whatever this thing is he’s running, they could have their hands in a lot of stuff like loaning money, tax fraud, political racketeering, illegal weapons, murd–”

Shaking your head, you reached for her phone and took it from her. “Stop, please. I don’t want to..” You sighed and draped your arm across your eyes. “Last week, I was staying over at his place and he got a call in the middle of the night. Something so important he had to leave for an hour but of course he didn’t give me any details. But that can’t be a good thing, right? I’m not an idiot.”

Maria just sighed, your name quiet on her lips. “I know you’re not an idiot. But maybe.. I don’t know. Maybe this was only meant to be short term.”

A beat of silence sat between you both. Eventually, you took a deep breath. “Steve is a good person.”

Maria nudged you with her elbow. “Is he?”

“Yes! The side of him I see is… good, I think.”

“And the side you don’t see?”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Maria said your name softly, enticing you to peel your arm away and look at her. “It just sounds like whatever Steve does - lawful or illegal or whatever - it could be dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt or caught up in something you shouldn’t be a part of.”

“I don’t want that either,” you replied quietly. A dramatic groan followed as you fell sideways onto the couch cushions. You knew Steve would never, ever let you get hurt. The real problem though was - what could even be potential harm for you? Wasn’t being with Steve just adding to that big potential risk? Maybe it really was time to admit that and maybe it was time for a hard conversation. “It feels like I met the right person at the wrong time.”

Maria offered you a small sympathetic smile. “It also feels like it’s time for the second bottle of wine.”

 ---

Even thinking about starting the conversation with Steve intimidated you. Deep down, you knew you were just delaying it on purpose - remaining perfectly content in your honeymoon phase. 

After a long workday, you had collected Hercules from his daycare then headed home, showered and talked yourself into being bold enough to bring it up with Steve. You met him at Shield, where he promised he was just about done with some paperwork then you could find somewhere to go for dinner.

You waited patiently in the chair across from his desk, fingers tapping against the arm of the chair as you watched him. Out of all the days, it was this day he had chosen to reveal to you that he sometimes wore reading glasses.

And fuck if he didn’t look even more attractive in a pair of glasses. Now your stomach was swirling with anxiety and something else, too. You weren’t sure how much longer you could contain yourself.

“You okay?” Steve’s voice broke through your thoughts. You met his gaze over the desk. He had stopped his pen from marking up the ledger ahead of him, staring at you with stoic curiosity instead. “I’m almost done, I promise.”

“No, no. Take your time.” You waved your hand and looked anywhere else in the room. 

He kept a photo of his mom on the corner of his desk. A framed antique movie poster decorated one wall and–

“Sweetheart?” 

You sighed and looked back at him. “I’m fine. Just.. I had a long day. My boss has been micromanaging me like crazy and… just tired, I guess.” 

You could tell he didn’t really believe you, but thankfully he didn’t press. He did drop his pen down, though. With one swift motion, he closed his ledger book and leaned back in his chair. 

“C’mhere, my tired girl.” 

With another sigh, you pretended for a moment to consider rejecting how he was inviting you over to his side of the desk. But you couldn’t resist. You stood and shuffled your way over there, letting him gently perch you on the side of his desk as he stood from his chair.

His hands found your hips quickly, as he leaned down and looked into your eyes. “We don’t have to go out.”

“No, no,” you shook your head. “I want to! I just..” You scrunched up your face, trying to find something convincing to say. “My mind is all over the place today.”

Steve gave you one of his little charming half smiles, slotting himself between your legs and moving his hands up to cradle both your cheeks. His thumb brushed over the apple of your cheeks. “Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Before you could let out the breath you were holding, across the room someone banged on the door. Steve grumbled under his breath and opened his mouth to dismiss whoever was there, but instead the door rushed open.

“Rogers, your phone broken? We were supposed to start this meeting twenty –” 

You tried to turn your head to see who was there, but Steve held you steady. A series of expletives left his mouth as he stepped back for a moment, shouting towards the door. 

“And since when do we meet in my fucking office, Russo?” Steve dropped his hands and moved towards the door, acting as a barrier between you and the opposite side of the room. You craned your neck to see them standing on either side of the doorway.

“I’ll meet you at the bar then..” The other voice eventually replied, footsteps disappearing in the hallway.

“Fuck..” You heard Steve muttering again. 

Well, date night was definitely off the table, you were certain of it.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I double booked and –”

“Steve, it’s fine.” You dismissed him immediately, hopping off the desk and meeting him in the middle of the room. “I can take my rotten mood home, it’s probably better this way.”

“I’ll get Shaun to take you home, okay? He should be downstairs.” 

You could see the genuine disappointment on Steve’s face. He clearly felt bad that his meeting had slipped his mind but it occurred to you that certain things were probably easier for him to prioritize and, well, where did that leave you?

You just nodded and accepted the offer. Steve grabbed your hand and guided you back down to the main part of the bar, making one quick hand motion to his driver, who immediately jumped to attention and hurried outside to pull a car around.

“Come over after?” You brought your hand up and poked his chest. “I’ll order a pizza?”

He nodded, reaching for his wallet. “Let me pay for it, at least.”

“Steve,” you laughed, stopping his hand and looking over your shoulder briefly. You didn’t recognize a few of the people lingering around the bar, a few of which were clearly watching you and Steve. “It’s okay.”

He sighed, head shaking. When you resisted again, he held up his hands in defense. “Fine, but I’m coming over with a pint of gelato then.”

You smiled. “Sounds amazing.” You looked back again, then raised up onto your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you later.”

---

Steve sent you a few updates throughout the night. That his meeting went longer than he hoped, that they had to meet up with someone else, that he was sorry and would be there soon. When he finally showed up, you had already packed the pizza away and changed into your pajamas to sprawl out on the couch. Hercules was sprawled out under your feet just the same.

When he opened the door, you twisted and offered him a smile. Though it disappeared quickly when you got a better look at him under the lights in your kitchen. You didn’t mean to gasp but when you narrowed your eyes, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. 

“Steve - are you bleeding?” You leaped up from the couch and met him near the kitchen sink, pulling his shoulder in an attempt to see his neckline better. “There’s blood all over your—“

“Shit.” He took a step back from you, letting out a long breath as he lifted a hand to his collar. “Fucking shit.”

“Are you hurt? What happened?” You twisted your head again, trying to look but he turned away. “Steve.”

Silence hung between you both. 

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “I’m fine. It’s…it’s not my blood.”

You took a step back, trying to ignore the heavy feeling that took over your stomach. Maybe you were about to have the dreaded conversation sooner than later. 

Steve turned on his heel and looked at you, teeth gritted as he found his words. “It's, uh, an occupational hazard.”

Brow furrowed, you frowned. “This isn’t funny.”

He pulled at his collar and sighed again. “I’m not laughing.”

“Steve.” You walked backwards until you hit your couch, perching yourself on the end with crossed arms as you watched him across the room. He wasn’t making this conversation any easier - shedding his jacket and collared shirt left him in just a goddamn white tanktop and fuck if he didn’t look so incredibly built. “Did you - did you ki-”

He cut you off, head shaking as he muttered out your name. “Please don’t ask that question.”

You took a deep breath. “We have both been ignorant here, okay? And I don’t want to ask but I don’t know if I can avoid it anymore so.. So, you’re in.. the mob? You run the…”

Steve smirked, briefly, then shook his head as his jaw tensed. His discomfort was evident in every twitch. “That’s an archaic term.” He let the air out of his lungs then reached for his jacket. “No, we can’t do this. I won’t do this.”

“Tell me the truth!” Your voice came out louder than you intended, but you carried on. “I’m not an idiot, Steve. And neither are you. I’m smart enough to figure out that whatever you consider your ‘business’ - it’s above the law, or below it, I guess.”

He gritted his teeth for a moment as he considered his words. “Fine. I guess we’re talking about this now.” He paused. “It’s my responsibility to manage a network of people, alright? People who..”

“You can’t even say it out loud,” you scoffed quietly, shaking your head as you looked away. 

Steve huffed, calling your name to grab your attention again.  “What do you want me to say, huh? That I have a team of people working for me. I loan money, I make trades and get a cut, I turn a blind eye to things when necessary. I don’t always follow the rules or act with civility. That part of my life -I, I don’t want you involved, okay? So forgive me for trying to shield you from that.”

“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favour, Steve!” You sighed. “I don’t get it. You’ve shown me who you are - who you really are - time and time again and that version of you, I just.. how does the Steve who has a little hideaway cottage upstate, who-who funds after school programs in his neighbourhood - how does he kill people!?”

Steve took a step forward, your name on his lips. “Listen to me, I didn’t—”

You choked out a dry laugh “Stop. You have literal blood on your hands.”

He shook his head, mouth agape. “I use force when I need to and I like to ensure my message is understood by any means possible. But unless absolutely necessary, I don’t take lives.” 

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

“I told you I’d never lie to you.”

You didn’t reply. 

“You called me, sweetheart. Remember?” He closed in the space between you and reached for your hand. “Those idiots were breaking into your apartment and you didn’t dial 911, you called me. Why?”

Hesitantly, you extended your arm and let him squeeze your hand. 

He brushed his thumb across your knuckles. “Because you know that deep down, maybe the cops wouldn’t get there quick enough. Maybe they wouldn’t help you at all. You’d get a report, one follow up call and nothing else. I know there are good cops but they are overworked and outnumbered. And the bad ones.. I’m doing my part and taking care of my city in any way I can.”

You looked up at him again. The blood was still staining his neck. With one firm tug, you removed your hand from his hold. Your voice shook. “You should go.”

“I think we need to— ”

You flicked your wrist to the door. “Go.”

Though you could see him resisting, Steve relented and stepped back from you. His mouth opened to argue but snapped shut quickly. Gripping his soiled shirt, he moved towards the doorway. 

“Steve?” You stood up and he paused, meeting your glossy eyes. “Do you think you’re a good person?”

“What matters more is if you think I’m a good person, sweetheart.” He paused and waited for a reaction from you but you remained motionless. “I’ll, uh- goodnight. I’m sorry.”

Just as soon as the door clicked shut, you collapsed onto your couch, consumed by your tears. 

 ---

You weren’t entirely sure why your day went so poorly - was it your boss and their awful attitude? Was it the coffee you spilled all over your lap at lunch? Was it the fact that ignoring Steve and every thought about him was grinding on your emotions?

All you wanted was a hot shower and dinner under a blanket on the couch. That was it. You just had to make it home. You figured at least the bad day was behind you as you headed to your apartment. Because you couldn’t imagine it getting worse.

Hah. 

You [6:51PM]: hey You [6:51PM]: i know we left everything up in the air You [6:51PM]: but I don’t know what to do  You [6:52PM]: I think someone is following me

Maybe you were being paranoid. Because you were in a hurry. For that same reason, you couldn’t be certain the same man from the subway was following you to your bus stop. But when you hesitated and turned down a side street, pretending to be very interested in the fruit display outside some nearby bodega, he slowed down too. And when you opted to turn back and join the line at Starbucks, as a test, he followed. 

You tried not to panic. 

Your first thought was to message Steve, a habit you had been struggling to resist all week. He’d reached out a handful of times since your fight but you had done a damn good job not replying. But now? He was the first person to come to your mind.

Moments after you reached out to him, your phone rang. 

You brought it to your ear as you waited in line. “Hi.”

“Are you safe? Where are you? Can you share your location with me?”

You let out a long breath. “Sure, just a sec.” You pulled your phone away and did as he requested. “Done.”

“That’s perfect, thank you sweetheart. I’m on my way to meet you. Are there a lot of people around you?”

“Yes, plenty.” 

“Great. My GPS is telling me you’re at Starbucks? Is that right?”

“Yeah - want me to grab you a cake pop? You seem like the cake pop type.” You paused. “I’m just gonna order - should I call you back or..?”

“No, you’re good. I’ll be right here. Go ahead.”

You smiled at the barista, trying to maintain your composure. Pulling your phone down slightly, you ordered. “Just a tall americano, please. With a bit of milk.”

Steve chirped in your ear. “Decaf?”

Oh, shit. It was after six already. And here Steve was, in the middle of your panic, reminding you of your own caffeine sensitivity. You paused before paying for your drink. “Can you make that decaf, please?”

After you paid, you heard Steve again. “I’m about a block away.” God, he was moving fast. You could hear honking behind him. 

“Okay, I’m uh..” You faltered, scanning the crowd for the man who has been following you. You ducked behind a couple sitting at a tall table when you noticed him lingering near the door. “The guy.. I think he’s waiting for me to leave. Maybe. I don’t know, actually. I might have made this whole thing up or -”

“Just stay where you are, keep talking to me.” It sounded like he was walking now. “Whatever your gut tells you, it's important. Nothing wrong with that, I promise.”

You hummed a quiet agreement. That kind of justification did make you feel better but your doubts continued to creep in. Grabbing your drink as your name was called, you took a few steps forwards and finally spotted Steve at the door. 

“The guy in the blue jacket?”

You quietly confirmed, finally meeting Steve’s eyes across the sea of people waiting in line. The sight of his smile, though just there for a moment, mostly settled the turmoil in your stomach. 

“Just stay right there until I come get you, okay?”

With a final nod, Steve ended the call and returned his phone to his pocket. Then you watched as he very subtly stepped up to the man you had described, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. 

The man froze. 

Steve reached out and gripped his shoulder, guiding him outside and beyond the window. Then you lost sight of them both and you tried not to let your mind wander. 

You sipped your coffee, sliding into a chair at a free table - though you were smart enough to keep your back to the wall, waiting for Steve to come back for you. Finally letting yourself breathe, the gravity of the situation seemed to settle in you. Why was someone following you? Was this connected to the break in at your apartment again? Was it something related to Steve?

Steve. 

God, you couldn’t believe how he dropped everything to come protect you from whatever this was, if it was anything at all. Actually, no, you could believe it. Because Steve had proven many times that he cared about you and your wellbeing. 

“What matters more is if you think I’m a good person, sweetheart.”

Could a good person do bad things? Didn’t that make them a bad person? Fuck, you didn’t want to get into the moral gymnastics of this again. 

You were freed from the spiral of thoughts when Steve dropped into the seat across from you, eyes narrow with concern. You knew he was searching your face for distress, pain, anything.

“You okay?” Finally he spoke, slowly reaching his hand out to grab yours as it sat on the table. You squeezed back as he held on.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“He didn’t touch you?” 

“No, no. Kept his distance enough that I was second guessing myself but..” 

You wanted to ask who the guy was, if Steve knew him, why he might be following you. But you didn’t really want answers to those questions.

“Let me take you home,” Steve let your hand go and nodded towards the door. “Do you need to get Hercules?”

You revealed a small smile though it faded quickly. “I do.. but..” You swallowed the lump in your throat and closed your eyes. “Can I.. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay, let’s grab your boy and we’ll go to my place.”

---

Despite the straight lines and cool tones that decorated Steve’s apartment, you felt comfortable there. The entire journey to get through his door, from the car ride to the elevator, you felt like you were holding your breath. But walking into his living room, as Hercules padded across the kitchen floor to slurp up some water from a dish Steve had left for him, you felt the tension release from your shoulders. Finally.

You fiddled with the sleeves of your sweater as you crossed the room, stopping in front of the large windows that looked down onto the city. You felt small suddenly.

Behind you, Hercules’ wandering footsteps came to an end as he flopped down in the middle of the living room. Then, you could hear Steve walking towards you too, slowly. 

He stopped at your side, casting a brief sideways glance to you before he shifted his gaze to the skyline.

You swallowed hard, tangling your hands together as you spoke. “I called you.. that night... Because you make me feel safe, Steve. I can’t really explain it but it’s something I’ve never felt before..” A small laugh escaped you. “Even now, wearing my heart on my sleeve, I think I should be scared and yet..” Turning your head to the side, you met his eyes. “..I’m safe.”

You couldn’t read his reaction. Was it confusion, relief, understanding? He dragged a hand across his jaw before looking away again. 

“Steve?” You grabbed his nearest hand. “Thank you.”

To your surprise, Steve pulled his hand back for a moment then turned and brought it up to cradle your cheek. His eyes burned with something you hadn’t seen before - something deep, intense. “You don’t have to thank me - you shouldn’t have to thank anyone for caring about you, sweetheart. It’s an honour — it’s my privilege to keep you safe.”

You were shrouded in him - the intense feeling of protection radiated through his stare, through his touch, his words. Why couldn’t this be easier? Right then, it felt easy but you knew it wouldn’t always be that way.

You closed your eyes briefly then looked back up at him. “What do we do now?”

He licked his lips, resisting breaking eye contact with you. “Who I am- it doesn’t go away.”

“I know. Logically, maybe walking away makes sense.. before this gets more tangled. But I just don’t… that’s not what I want.”

Steve stepped forward, closing in the space between you. “Okay. Then what do you want?”

You couldn’t answer. You wanted to smash your lips into his, run your hands down his back, feel him on top of you. But your logical brain stopped you. With all the willpower you could manage, you pulled away and took a small step back. “I want to.. uhm. Shower. Do you mind if I—”

Steve took a step back too, nodding. “Of course. Yeah. Go ahead. There’s fresh towels in my bathroom..” 

With a solemn nod you turned and headed down the hall, doing your best not to look back at him. 

Fuck, you were so totally fucked. What the fuck were you doing?

Steve’s shower was incredible compared to the one in the guest room. Spacious, with heated tile on the floor and a rainfall shower head. You turned on the water to warm up as you undressed, opening the door to his small linen cabinet to grab a towel. Then you saw it - the neat stack of your preferred shampoo, conditioner, lotion and body wash. 

Had Steve grabbed those just for you? You could cry just thinking of him walking around CVS and matching the toiletries to the ones you kept in your own bathroom. You wrapped the towel around your torso and moved the soaps to the bench in the shower, then peaked your head out the bathroom door. 

“Steve?” You called out his name, hearing quick footsteps heading your way. 

He stepped into the bedroom and met you at the door frame. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just, uh..” you hesitated, taking a deep breath. “I can’t figure out how the shower works.”

He frowned. “Huh. I can show you the-” His face turned to a smile instead, taking in your coy smirk. With one hand he reached for the hem of his shirt. He gave you another look, as if to make sure you really wanted his company. 

You grabbed his hand, letting your towel drop to the floor. “Come on.”

Steve didn’t waste any time tearing off his clothes and joining you under the water. Once you were both well soaked, the whole shower filled with steam as his lips found yours. 

He was hungry for you and you were hungry for him too. Gone were the doubts and fears and worries as you were left with just Steve - with his calloused careful hands and his soft lips, his calculated touch. He was a man with a mission. 

“Fuck,” you whimpered out, breathless as Steve’s lips moved towards your neck. “Steve, I..” 

“Tell me what you need, baby. Tell me and you can have it.” His hands snaked over your body, gliding easily over every inch of your skin. 

You gasped as his hands gripped your ass, before slipping around to the front, between your legs.

“There.. Yes,” you breathed out against the shell of his ear. “Make me come, please. Fuck me, tell me I’m yours..”

One of Steve’s hands came back up to capture your lips again, to cradle your jaw as his other started to play a symphony between your legs. His fingers moved gently at first, circling your clit slowly to warm you up. His tongue danced against yours, grinning against your mouth as you let out a tiny whimper. “Is that good? Is this what you need, my love?”

My love? The man was going to kill you, unraveling you inch by inch, touch by touch. 

“Yes, yes!” Was all you could muster to reply as Steve sped up, challenging both himself and you to get you there with a bigger impact. You barely had time to prepare yourself for the climax, shaking against his hand as his lips clamped down against the skin of your neck. 

You could tell he was going to leave a mark there.

You didn’t care.

In a swift motion, he moved his hand from between your legs to the outside of your thigh, lifting it up against his hip and pulling back enough to align himself with you. On your other leg, you raised yourself onto your toes to meet him and then you heard it - that deep, sensual growl that echoed from his chest.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he seethed through his teeth, head tipped back momentarily as he pushed himself fully into you. You pulled him back to your mouth, holding his cheeks in your hands as you breathed him in. “I need this - need you..” 

He collapsed against you, thrusting slow and steady, eliciting a whine from you with every extra push. And then, before you could even understand what was happening, Steve was lifting you - hands gripping the underside of your ass cheeks to hold you steady. You nearly protested, thinking about the sheer physics of what was happening - but damnit, Steve was stronger than you realized. 

“I won’t let you fall, baby. Won’t let anything happen to my girl, I promise..” He answered your racing questions without hesitation, keeping you safe and secure in his arms as he fucked into you with an unmatched intensity. Christ, you feared the tiles might shatter behind your back. 

“You’re my girl, all mine..”

You wondered momentarily if the subtext behind his words matched yours. When he said you were his, did he mean it? In his heart and soul? 

“Wanna do this forever..” He continued, head nestled beside your own as his pace increased. “Wanna make you feel good, happy. Safe. Want you around me forever.”

You were nearly bursting at the seams, anticipating the wave of feelings as another orgasm approached. “Steve..” you were breathless, barely audible in his ear. “Come with me, baby.”

“I’m close..” he returned, pulling back to find your lips. “I’m gonna— ”

He collapsed against you as he reached his peak, grunting as the last motions of his hips tensed and he flooded into you. He held you there, legs shaking around him as you came down from your own climax. 

You both caught your breath, lost in the sound of the water hitting the tiled floor. 

 ---

Steve never wanted to take his moments with you for granted, especially in the early morning light. You were a dream under the golden rays - somehow attached to his side in your sweet slumber. This was all he dreamed of. Silent, calm, serenity. 

Resisting his urge to check his phone, he shuffled and pulled his arm around you, keeping your back cradled against his chest. Fuck, even your half dressed form under the sheets had him ready to go first thing in the morning. 

You rustled under his hold. “Morning..” The rasp of your first spoken words melted his heart. 

“Did I wake you?” He asked before pressing a kiss to your neck, hot breath tickling your skin. 

“No, no. Internal clock. Herc probably needs to go out..”

“He’s still asleep,” Steve replied, pausing to crane his neck and check on your sleeping dog just outside the doorway to his room. “Content.”

“Me too,” you said quietly, pressing your hips back against Steve. All of him. A low moan escaped you. “Very good morning..”

Steve took that as enough of a cue and let his lips get to work. Kisses were pressed against your neck and shoulders as the hand tucked around your waist reached below your shirt. With every twist of your nipples, your hips moved more aggressively. 

Steve grinned. “Let me take care of you, baby.” His hands explored all over - from your chest, across your soft stomach to underneath the waistband of your underwear. “God damn, I love how you feel. All ready for me..”

It wasn’t long before you were shaking at his hands and he was lifting your thigh to slide in, hungry and relentless to really feel you. He held you tight, your bodies moulded together as the city woke up beneath you. Steve breathed out your name again and again, like some kind of secret prayer. 

With a firm hand gripping your hip, he let himself go with a possessive growl. God, he could start every day like this forever if you’d let him - a reminder to you both of how he felt for you, how you were tied together, how you’d both get to think back to this moment during every other hour of the day. 

Eventually, you had to leave the bed and return to the real world. 

Steve took you home, waited as you got changed for work as he caught up on his own outstanding messages. Then he took you to drop off Hercules and delivered you safely to the front door of your office. 

After one or two or three kisses, you reached for the handle of your door. He called your name to stop you. 

“Steve, I’m already late,” you frowned, tipping your head to watch him. 

He sighed, though a small apologetic lined his face. “Just one more thing. Next weekend - would you be up for a road trip to the cabin? We can talk about.. everything.”

You thought for a moment then nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.” Leaning in, you stole another kiss. “Okay, I’ve gotta get upstairs. Thanks for the ride. I lov-” You blinked and caught yourself. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Steve watched as you hurried away. He sighed, teeth clenched, only putting his car back into drive once you were safely inside. 

With a tight grip on the steering wheel, Steve headed into Manhattan. The early morning traffic would normally bother him, but he didn’t mind the extra time with his thoughts before he made it to his meeting. 

If he could even call it a meeting. God, he hated the mind games his mentor liked to play. Elusive, tricky and always trying to teach a lesson - Nick Fury was a force to be reckoned with. 

Steve pulled up to the The Gemini Hotel, nodding to the young kid scurrying working the valet desk as he handed over his keys and headed inside. Steve didn’t bother even sparing a glance towards the attendant at the front desk and he ignored the concierge too, striding directly to the elevator to head up to the penthouse. Conveniently, he ran smack into Fury’s right hand man once Steve stepped into the elevator. 

“You’re about twelve hours late,” Phil Coulson started, eyes stealing ahead as they travelled upwards. 

Steve didn’t reply. When the elevator dinged, Steve surged forward and hurried down the hall to the familiar suite. With a grunt, he pushed past the security guard waiting outside the door and made his way inside.

“Good fucking lord, can’t a man read the paper and eat his croissant in peace?”

Steve ignored the commentary from Nick Fury, who was leaning back in an office chair with his feet propped up on the desk. Steve reached across and pulled the newspaper away, slamming his hands down on the desk and staring the other man down. “Fury, we need to talk.”

--

Up next: drama, probably. and some more Steve POV.

CHAPTER 04 - CHAPTER 06

[lets-go-hurt-someone]

I know this is a BG3 blog, but humour me.

A good decade before Astarion could step gracefully out onto our computer screens and into our hearts, there was Zevran Arainai. I want to shine a little love on my first delightfully murder-y elven rogue.

Ruminations beyond the cut. Fair warning, it’s long and there’s heavy discussion of how they each reflect on trauma and abuse. The similarities are honestly never ending.

Of course there is the obvious— they’re both blonde, they’re both pretty, they’re both the unambiguously pansexual elfy rogue boy of the group. They are sassy and sarcastic and cynical but in a fun way! Oh, and the accent! You take them along for the sneak attacks but keep them for the delightful snark.

And of course, they both introduce themselves by tricking and then trying to murder you.

It makes absolutely no logical sense to trust either of them, really: they’re both prolific killers who express no real remorse, but instead some enjoyment, in what they do.

They’re quick to sleep with you, but slow to trust. If you show them compassion, it confuses them. They both have trouble understanding love, wanting love, being loved. After all, they were both slaves. And they both have only been free for all of about 30 seconds when they meet you.

And once they realise they care about you… they stop sleeping with you because their past has so warped the way that they relate to their own bodies and sexuality that they don’t even know what to call it, let alone how to cope with it.

Because they’ve both been forced to make their entire identity seducing victims for slaughter. They’re both survivors of pretty horrific mental, physical, and sexual abuse.

But there’s the difference: that statement is true of both Astarion and Zevran, but only one of the two would really describe it that way. Astarion knows he’s been abused. Zevran… has convinced himself he’s thankful for his lot in life. Until he’s not.

Zevran has late aughties sexism and edgy sexual banter written all over him, to be sure. He outright sexually harasses pretty much every woman he meets, and a few of the men. It’s meant to be light-hearted teasing, but not all of the dialogs have aged well. I remember not thinking much of it back then, it was standard stuff, but now… now I just read it a different way. I don’t know if this was the writers’ intention, but to me he’s always clearly been a victim of sexual abuse who’s coping using hypersexuality. He’s rationalising the hell out of the fact that he sleeps with all his targets (which is rape, of course, but rape perpetuated by someone who has been so abused as to be unable to even consider framing it that way… or he’d have to consider reframing what was done to him, too). Unlike Astarion, a killer and a practiced lover are the only identities Zevran has ever had: so he leans into them, holds them close.

I feel like they managed to sweep some really heavy nuance under the rug by making Zevran seem like he’s just another shallow playboy stereotype for the player to “fix.” Like he’s telling you all these charming stories about bedding his targets before assassinating them, telling you how he’s been trained to be an expert in seduction, and it’s all very intriguing and compelling but then you think… he’s like what… 24? The math from the extended universe puts him out as a working assassin when he was 15 or 16 at the latest. He says he dodged sexual abuse as a child growing up in the whorehouse, and that being sold to Crows was a better alternative… but really, the Crows pimped Zevran out the same exact way Cazador did to Astarion. They both had no choice but to lure countless people to their deaths with their looks.

But while Astarion resents it, Zevran tells you all about it with a wink and a grin… so we get to sigh in relief and move on. You don’t have to interrogate it too much if you don’t want to. But it’s there. And it’s damaged both of them. Right to the end, if you tell Zevran you love him, he will lament it as cruel — he can’t comprehend anything else.

Zevran paints a more impressionistic picture of someone coping with abuse, but with Astarion the game takes us a step further and gives us a closer look at the internal struggle of actually healing. If the archetype is moody sassy trauma elf, Zevran to Astarion is the most wonderful progression of the character trope I ever could have hoped for. (And I’m sure there are some Fenris stans who could write an essay on where he falls in the pipeline.)

What I boil it down to is this: While Zevran was a bit more of a veiled, blink-and-you-miss it sort of representation that hugely reflected what was socially acceptable at the time, Astarion gets to be a fully-fledged meditation on trauma and abuse. He gets to be ugly, and seen as ugly or sympathetic depending on how you treat him. He gets to examine why he acts the way he does, and consider new ways to relate to the world. He gets to make what was only really implied with Zevran explicit.

And finally, at the end of his arc, Astarion gets to say “I love you.” I just love that for him— and for me. The young person I used to be who saw herself in Zevran has grown up and saw herself in Astarion, too, now more mature and nuanced and reflective, putting herself back together piece by piece. These two characters somehow each struck me at a very particular time in my life, in a mirrored way that reflects how their stories mirror each other.

For me, before Astarion, there will always have been Zevran. Two characters I never thought I’d see in a video game, that I can’t help but be dumbfounded at how they each helped me process my own trauma. It’s incredible. It feels important. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way, at least about Astarion.

But I do wonder how many other people have held onto Zevran in a little piece of their hearts too, the way that I have. For all his flaws, he’ll always be my first.

[theside-b]

We really are living the Era of hustling gays on the BL-sphere. But who would’ve thought that Hwang Da Seul would be the one bringing duplicitous characters to KBLs?

The first half of the show plays all the expected beats from the director-writer: somber mood, grounded and realistic approach, intimate shots and this cold and harsh atmosphere, but I must say that when it comes to the craft this might be her best yet. Da Seul has technically never been better, the framing, angles, close-up shots, lighting, volume, you can tell she is doing the absolute most with very little she is given. The contrast between this and Where Your Eyes Lingers is striking, it’s amazing seeing how much she evolved since then.

Story wise, this is also a different one. Because while the first part could easily be taken as To My Star 2 depressed cousin the second half devolves into something entirely new and unique.

The moment Dohoe and Juyeong meet again something feels off, and not just because Dohoe vanished for twelve years. Yes, there is baggage between them, one dragging the past around and the other wanting nothing to do with it, but there is something more lurking around. Hints of what could be happening are slowly dropped along the way, other turns come without warning, the story being told here is still a novelty for KBLs.

Korean dramas as whole tend to depict perfect characters whose biggest flaws can be overcome or erased with the power of love. It’s not the case here. If anything, it’s the power of love that detonates the boys’ relationship and shows a different side of Dohoe that most didn’t see it coming when the series started. Juyeong was predictable for most of the run — the revelation that he knew everything about the scam was a nice curveball — and while we all expected Dohoe to change, seeing him take a dark turn was a (delicious) surprise.

He doesn’t make excuses, he has an evil side: Scamming his way to place where nobody bothers to look into his past, the series shows the many moments where he could’ve easily taken a different path, the openings to come clean with Juyeong, dragging Hyeon Ho with him and not letting go while knowing that he is just stringing him along. He could’ve cleared the mess he created, but as we know, he is committed to what he sets his mind to, it all boils down to him running from the past. None of that would’ve worked on the hands of a lesser actor; Nu Rim (in his first protagonist) and Seon (in his acting debut) are together another Da Seul staple: Couple oozing chemistry.

Whenever they meet in the first half the mood lifts, when they see each other in the second part the pressure rises and when Hyeon Ho is with them the tension skyrockets. Again, Da Seul has never been better behind the camera, she gets everything from them, every single emotion. But the show is not without it’s faults. My biggest gripe is with the time-jump, the twelve years gap felt like made mostly for shock value, could’ve been easily trimmed down, because such long spam of time required quite the suspension of disbelief in order for me to buy certain aspects and plot points. The show also tries to handle one particular storyline that doesn’t quite land for me.

Juyeong and Dahoe’s father relationship is very interesting. Abuser and victim find common ground and something changes, but we don’t see how that happens or how it come to happen, not fully. We get an idea, but that’s about it. Many saw it as some sort of redemption for the father. Personally, I didn’t read like that, there was no redemption for him, he was like that, violent, uncompassionate, desensitized and egoistical to the bitter end, the one element that left me curious was if he was really okay with having Juyeong as his son-in-law, they allude to this, the old bastard implies as much, but it’s left implicit, and then he dies. Oh well.

There is also the plot with the kid and the abusive parents. It was interesting having Dohoe dealing with that, but there is just so much happening that this particular storyline felt like an afterthought, so much so that it took me a bit by surprise when it resurfaced in the final moments.

That said, this one goes down the books as another solid entry in Da Seul’s filmography. That woman is always ready to put viewers through the wringer, and they will be happy to let her do so.

[maxwell-grant]

You’ll prob wait to answer this after Caped Crusader drops, but: Does making Penguin NOT a white guy drastically change the character? And if so, is that a good thing?

Anonymous asked: So... Thoughts on Oswalda from Batman: The Caped Crusader?

@jcogginsa asked: New Batman show is out, and with it is a new Penguin. Have any thoughts on Minnie Driver's take on the Penguin?

Regarding the first ask, I mean, it really ought to, right? That seems to be part of the point of doing this kind of thing, to change or recontextualize something big and important about a character in a new light. If it wasn't supposed to be some kind of big change, if it wasn't meant to at least be something new or say something slightly different, I'd ask what would be the point of doing it. Don't get me wrong, it's absolutely a thing to do just for fun / variety's sake, but it's not a choice that can just exist in a vacuum, it does matter how and why exactly you're doing it.

There's a couple of things that I'd say make or break this kind of stuff for me, besides like, you know, not removing existing meaningful elements of characters identities, like making Jewish or Romani characters generic caucasian Americans, real basic decency stuff y'know, not a lot to ask here. I think a change like this should at least bring questions to strengthen it, like: If this character is defined by certain traits or saying certain things, how is this interacting with those? Is this strengthening those existing traits and statements, is it providing new ones, or is it weakening them without offering much in return? Questions about how much can you redefine a character and still have that character be recognizable and all that, and of course the actual important questions of, Who is this for? What is being said here? Why was this decision made? And so on.

The example that comes to mind regarding that specificity, and how that can work wonders to breathe new life onto a character, is the MCU take on Namor, as Ritesh Babu elaborated on in a Patreon article

The reason I say I never truly cared for Namor is that while I thought him a great, compelling character in plenty of works I loved, I always felt a lack of emotional connection. He was enjoyable, but I didn't care about him, y'know? There was a connect. Watching Ryan Coogler's Wakanda Forever helped me bridge that disconnect. I finally realized what had been missing for me. It was Emotional Context.

Namor is historically an abrasive character. He's an angry character. He's got fury and rage, and he doesn't suffer fools. He's headstrong and unrelenting. He's an unyielding force. And he's great and fun that way, historically handled by mostly White writers (with rare exceptions, such as Greg Pak). But it was also, for me, an anger and rage and fury framed and constructed in such a way that it could be broad-strokes. It could be anything and everything from the pollution and climate ruination to perhaps some other tragic thing involving someone he cared about.

Ryan Coogler and Tenoch Huerta to me granted the character an emotional context here that clarifies everything he is, and all that shapes his thought. He's not angry at the surface world and its clownshit in abstract. It's not just the anger of a distant warrior-king of the oceans. It's the anger of the colonized, of the Othered.

What Ryan Coogler and Tenoch Huerta did is give him specificity. He's not just a broad-strokes figure in White hands, for White writers to write as an archetypal broad-strokes morally murky angry bastard guy. No, there's a specific history to this guy, there's a cultural specificity and context to his very existence.

And so Namor isn't some weird racially ambiguous/sorta white figure in largely White hands, but is instead an Indigenous Mexican hero and legend. He's a Mesoamerican figure and he's Mayan.

Coogler dispenses with the vagueries and broad-strokes thinking of the comics, and like any interesting creator should, asks good, rational questions. And that specificity, that's really what makes it for me. That's what I was missing. This is an attempt at using genre to speak to truth, to realities and real experiences, which are important to Black and Brown people. It's a far cry from some abstracted away thing to serve a primary White audience and its sensibilities or interests. - Ryan Coogler's Namor and Specificity

An example I'll give, as far as one reinvention that can make sense but I didn't find so interesting: The conception of Deadshot I like, from Suicide Squad (1987) and bits of Secret Six, is heavily informed by him being a privileged rich white man, a morally catatonic and emotionally rotten self-serving piece of shit in large part because of his privileged background and experiences, as well as a guy who's purposefully evoking the image of white western cowboys and providing commentary on their archetype. Deadshot, to me, is heavily informed by his whiteness, by his American elite background, and by his toxic masculinity, and thus the cocktail of what Deadshot is, comments on and speaks to comprises specific things that I think you'd have to approach very very differently if Floyd Lawton is a black man. I think the specificity of what that character is saying or tends to stand for is lost in adaptations that fudge those elements to make him more like the Will Smith version - you can definitely have another kind of meaningful and cool take on Deadshot, but it's a Deadshot who's gonna have to be saying different things, if he is to be saying anything at all - and most of the time, he isn't, and so to me, that context behind Deadshot is lost with not a lot gained in return. Under no circumstances does this mean you shouldn't be allowed to do it, but I feel like if you're dedicated to doing this to an existing character, there should be at least some commitment to what they are and do.

Getting back to that first question, it also really depends on what exactly are you changing. Like regarding the Penguin specifically, is it his race? His gender? His nationality? It's a very broad question to apply a single Yes or No to so I'm gonna say it's kind of both. On one hand, obviously some major aspects of his presentation and origin and defining traits would have to be altered to better correspond to that defining change. On the other hand, he is already extensively defined around his issues with his self-image and his surroundings and how people treat him, a person who is ostracized and Othered because of his looks or his background and where he stands in the city he grows up in. One of the consistent cornerstones of Oswald as a character is that he's trying extremely hard to overcompensate in wealth and class and power partially to override the ability of others to marginalize him over his weight or stature or poverty or disability and so on, in no small part that's what allowed him to take on protagonist status in recent years. If he was just a regular white guy, he'd be Rupert Thorne. Although, on the other other hand, I must stress here that treating marginalized traits as if they are equally interchangeable is how you get the X-Men school of representation, and we simply have do better than that.

I was very intrigued by the idea of turning Oswald into a woman. Fat men are very often shamed and ridiculed due to traits they are perceived to have in common with women, to be a fat man is to be dehumanized and stripped of masculinity and thus stripped of your worth of as man. To be accepted, fat men are forced to overperform masculinity just as fat women are forced to overperform femininity, and that element of overperformance is never not present in Oswald Cobblepot, who essentially lives in drag 24/7. A genderbend take on Oswald could certainly add a whole different meaning to his typical overreaction to jokes about his weight or looks, things that are commonly played as a joke. Fat women get consistently treated like absolute garbage by most people in ways that are different, more pervasive and frankly nastier than the ways fat men are also treated like garbage, and if people didn't treat him like garbage, The Penguin wouldn't be the person they are.

Penguin as a woman is a concept that could force a lot of his traits to demand renewed consideration, and in some ways you could argue he kinda already is feminized. He certainly doesn't get treated as a man the way Batman and the Joker and Bane and Gordon are. He overcompensates extremely hard in that regard, and it doesn't stick, he can act as tough and grizzled as he wants and he will never not be "the fat one", will never not get pushed around by the real man in Gotham, will never not be the unfit and bloated and squishy lesser-man hiding behind the umbrella because, why, he's not man enough to grit his teeth and hash it out with his fists. If we go back to Count Fosco from The Woman in White, we'll find this is something else they share in common:

"Fat as he is, and old as he is, his movements are astonishingly light and easy. He is as noiseless in a room as any of us women. With all his look of unmistakable mental firmness and power, he is as nervously sensitive as the weakest of us. He starts at chance noises as inveterately as Laura herself."

This passage holds the key to Marian’s complex attitude toward the Count; she is at once fascinated and threatened by him. As Marian’s description reveals, he is both alluring and dangerous, not merely because of his increasingly suspicious behavior throughout the narrative, but because he unnaturally exhibits the qualities of both sexes.

Even though Marian does not explicitly identify the Count’s androgyny as the reason for her discomfort with him, the novel’s keen preoccupation with identifying unknown figures by their sex illuminates the anxiety underlying Marian’s description of the Count. The Count complicates those binary categories, and, in true Victorian fashion, his deviance attracts simultaneous fascination and repulsion - Count Fosco and the Androgynous Mystique

He is Oswald Cobblepot, the pathetic little momma's boy, because even his personal tragedies are depicted as lesser, insignificant, not the right kind of cool cinematic masculine tragedy, and he is The Penguin, the eccentric oddly enthusiastic about worthless little things like his favorite animals and trinkets - things that the narrative deems worthless because Oswald is worthless in the literal term: he is worth less than Bruce Wayne, less than Batman, and we watch him as he fights tooth and nail to deny this, whether it's by beating Batman his own way or seeking power to avert his lot in life and stand above all the men that have put him down, or even just seeking villainy as a form of self-actualization, through that perseverance and ability to outmaneuver men so much bigger and scarier, who think they can nail the Penguin while their world is swiped from under them.

It's not for nothing that, in terms of where they stand in Batman's world nowadays, Penguin is practically sharing an apartment with Catwoman and the Riddler, the other 60s camp queens who won't leave banding together even when they can't stand each other. So, yeah, I was extremely curious as to what direction Caped Crusader was gonna lean into with the idea. Could it go wrong and be offensive garbage? Obviously, but I also thought it promised an intriguing new direction, of context that could add or rework so much about his existing traits. I didn't like the name Oswalda, no, but even besides all that I mentioned above, with The Penguin show coming out with it's new take on the character that's all about modernizing and grounding and twisting him around, I thought going big on Classic Penguin, with the top hat and monocle and sword-umbrella and existing in a Golden Age Gotham, and doing a genderflip, was a very solid idea to place opposite of it. So how did I feel about Oswalda Cobblepot?

...It sucked, guys, I'm sorry, I'm really not happy to say it. Caped Crusader's first episode was ASS, and 6 episodes in, while the rest of it has been better (not great, but tolerable, occasionally good even), that pilot was the most stone-faced I've ever been sitting through a Batman thing and frankly I don't even have anything to say about regarding Oswalda. There were tentative beginnings of a take but not actually anything that rounds out into one (and frankly I'd say this Harley Quinn also has that problem to a lesser degree, this show so far has been just really barebones across the board), and frankly I'm not asking for much, I've lived off breadcrumbs before when it comes to Penguin, I'd be good with something if there was something. She isn't remotely a threat to Batman and seems pretty damn dumb, and she gets dealt with on the pilot to make way for Rupert Thorne in a way that kinda really betrays the escalation theme they're shooting for here and it's, guys what else am I supposed to talk about here, seriously?

I don't even like the design that much, it feels like they started from Penguin's head and shoulders and then tried as hard as possible to cinch her waist and slim her down leaving a weird disproportion between her upper body and legs, it looks weird in some shots but I guess you could say that's just the animation being, uh, sub-par to be polite. I guess I like her ruthlessness and that scene where she murders one of her sons, even though that's her being really stupid not noticing the obvious snitch in the room, and it's more so because that was the only moment in the episode where something almost cool happened. I do like her being a cabaret singer, but, man she sounds way too boring for a character with such a distinct way of speaking, if she didn't look like the Penguin from the shoulders up you would never tell that's who this was supposed to be.

I'm sorry that she continues Penguin's bad streak from BTAS, man what a bummer. Still, I have been really enjoying The Batman Audio Adventures lately, it's not like I'm starved for a more classically flavored take on Penguin, so it's only a bummer. I'm open to the idea that she can come back in a later season for a better showing, and she was far from the worst thing about the episode, in fact by process of elimination she was overall the best, but she was the one part I had the most slight hopes for. Oh well.

[longing-for-rain]

What immensely bothers me about the way Kataang was written is that it not only hurt Katara's character, but Aang's character as well.

The writers set up the subplot of Aang needing to let go of his idealistic vision of Katara and then... just completely ignored it throughout the entirety of S3?

While I'm not saying that every ATLA character needed to go through an extensive character development, Aang having little to no development as a person and a leader (I am not talking about his physical training as a bender here) is some extremely disappointing writing, considering he is THE protagonist.

It's actually baffling to me how much the show deliberately dodges most oppurtunities to develop Aang as a character and how much the poor handling of Kataang plays a role in it.

Instead of Aang slowly growing to appreciate Katara as a person with all her flaws and quirks and trying to understand her way of thinking and culture, which culminates in him EARNING his Avatar state, we get the inconsistent mess, full of unresolved arguments and overstepped boundaries, that is S3 Kataang, Aang getting the girl only because he's the Hero™ (even though their last interaction before the kiss was an unresolved argument) and Aang being saved by Deus Ex Machina. TWICE. All of which could have been easily fixed, if the writers actually capitalized on the development that was already set up to happen.

I would be more willing to accept the points "he's literally twelve" and "why are you getting so worked up over which fictional characters are dating", if the writing didn't waste the blatant oportunity to develop the character, and if the ship in question didn't nuke any development its characters recieved.

Like, you don't even have to be a Zutara shipper to see how Kataang basically shat on both Aang and Katara as characters.

Agree with all of this, but I want to focus on this bit right here:

I would be more willing to accept the points "he's literally twelve" and "why are you getting so worked up over which fictional characters are dating", if the writing didn't waste the blatant oportunity to develop the character, and if the ship in question didn't nuke any development its characters recieved.

Here’s the thing. Aang is the protagonist of the show. You know, the one character who absolutely should have a solid arc and experience meaningful growth. I’m not saying he had no growth. But it’s just like you said, there are some pretty glaring plot holes surrounding his story. Could be excusable for a side character, but for the protagonist? Really not great.

And people will also act like romance is no big deal, but I think it really shines a light on how Katara is viewed by the creators and fans in relation to romance. From Aang’s perspective, romance can be treated as a minor add-on at the end because it’s narratively framed as his reward for saving the day. Aang doesn’t have to fundamentally change as a character to enter into that romance. It is written in a way that centers him.

Katara, however, does change. That can be seen in any post-canon material. I know they’ll keep trying to retcon this, but Legend of Korra will always exist to show us how little regard for these people have for female characters they’ve relegated to love interests.

[fanficmaniatic]

You know? The studio change makes me really sad.

A big part of Lego Monkie Kid’s soul was its animation and its use of Visual storytelling. There are frames and shots from the first 4 seasons that as stills, work as full illustrations that are able to tell so much about the story! It is clearly something born about of someone’s passion! It has dedication and so much though put behind it.

Animating is a Big, laborious effort. Productions like LEGO Monkie Kid? Even more so. The dynamic shots, the use of lights, the composition, and the fluid movement of the stylized shapes… They made the show unique, yes, but also an incredible hard show to work on. Yet it paid of! LEGO Monkie Kid is a success in China! As it was supposed to be, and even when the US is not the main audience, is doing well here too!

That’s why it pains me so much to see Flying Barks leave. Nothing against Wildbrain, I happen to really love their work and how they animate… yet, Wildbrain is mostly familiar with 3D and Puppet animation. Puppet Animation and 3D are great methods, but neither is the hand drawn 2D look LEGO Monkie Kid has become known for. I have no doubt WildBrain will make the best with the cards they’ve been dealt with, and I look forward to see what they do. But is not the same. Hand drawn and Puppet animation are different mediums for a reason, and is a big noticiable change, specially for an action cartoon.

But I have to say… I am disappointed, in LEGO. So far it looks like the change in studios is due to scheduling issues, and because Flying Barks was not able to keep up with the demands LEGO put in place… To this I say, LEGO Monkie Kid is one of the most laborious works of Animation I’ve ever seen… and they killed it because they wanted it to come out faster?

Such a big part of LEGO Monkie Kid’s identity lays on its Animation, yet the corporation changed the studio, changed the animation method… To make production faster?

Animation takes time. Art takes time. Is sad to see a corporation do this because what is next? Will they change the cultural consultants team for a cheaper, quicker one too? Will they change their writers? I really hope not… But again, most people get into the show because of its animation, and they were willing to change it for the cheaper, quicker alternative.

This looks like a bad corporate decision at best, and a big slap to the face to the artist at Flying Barks at worse.

With the attention the Animation Community has in the show, it could be doing numbers with a bit of promotional material, and a consistent streaming service, yet they never did that, and now the attention from the art people might leave.

All these is to say,

Farewell Flying Barks, You did amazing. I hope you soon get a project that gets its deserve promotion and doesn’t get cancelled or out sourced. Your name shall be known.

[kenny-the-ken]

Nights Like These

ALL AGED UP CHARACTERS!!! THIS ONESHOT CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT!! NOT SUITABLE FOR MINORS!! What's up sexy cunts?! Long time no see!! I'm so so sorry for my absence, I've had some writer's block issues lately, I really wanna apologise and thank you guys for sticking with me!! Enjoy 🤭

Warnings!!: swearing, drugs, oral female and male receiving

Peaceful was the best way to describe the feeling and vibe of the entire situation. You sat long ways on your couch, legs stretched out with Kenny sat behind you, his pale, slender arms wrapped around your waist, chest flush with your back, you could feel his warmth, surrounding you in a blanket of security. You weren't going to lie and say that your relationship was perfect, in reality, no relationship was. People often blindsided through rose tinted glasses, that everything in their life was perfect, but that was all falsified information. Others only spoke of the good, never the bad. You and Kenny however, no matter how good, or how bad, you'd always find yourself returned to each other's arms, bodies flush, and minds at ease together.

You were watching The Office, the flickers of the almost burnt out candle, the only other light source aside from the television, lighting up your small living room. The ashtray sat atop your lap, a joint between your fingers, the crackling embers of burning tobacco and cannabis growing brighter as you inhaled, the smoke cascading down your throat and into your lungs, giving them a pleasing warmth, before exhaling the cloud of grey smoke. It danced in swirls around you, standing out against the bright TV screen. Kenny's chest rippled against your back as he laughed at the show, his grip tightening on you momentarily as you passed the joint to him by placing it between his pale pink lips that were dampened slightly by his saliva. “I love you.” You whispered, your head turned as best you could to gaze at your boyfriend's face.

And on the exhale of his first drag of the joint, Kenny grinned, “I love you too, baby.” His words were hushed, ashing the joint against the ashtray, taking another long drag, as his hand that had lingered on your hip moved, never breaking contact from your body once, to gently cup your breast in his hand, his thumb and forefinger rolling your nipple between them through your loose pyjama top. “Always so touchy, McCormick.” You teased, a playful smile pulling at your lips. “And don't act as though you don't enjoy it, love.”

And you knew he was right. There was absolutely no denying that fact. You wanted him already, and he'd barely even touched you. His head turned, lowering to your neck, your head instinctively lolling to the side, allowing the blond to nip and suck at your sensitive skin. “Kenny.” You whined, feeling him press closer against you, feeling his bulge pressed up against your lower back. “What, love? I don't seem to hear you complaining.” He replied, his voice husky and low, whispering against your neck. Your voice caught in your throat when his hand slid from your hip to just above your pussy. “Fuck.” You breathed out, a small smile on your lips, feeling Kenny's mouth still work on your neck, his fingers still teasing your nipples through your top.

“Maybe you should take this off.” Kenny's voice was low and husky, his warm breath tickling your sensitive neck. And you gratefully obliged, pulling your pyjama top from your body, tossing it to the floor. “That's better, baby. Now c’mere.” The blond beckoned, his eyes half lidded, and gaze fully fixated on your breasts. Kenny was never one to keep his hands to himself where you were concerned, both hands were immediately gripping at your chest, kneading the soft skin between his large, calloused hands, a growl emitting from his throat, practically lunging at you, pushing you backwards till your back landed into the leather couch.

Watching the blond pull his clothes from his thin frame was a sight that you would never get bored of, he was ethereal, his blond hair turning golden in the dim flickers from the candle sat atop the fireplace. “I want you laying on top of me, we're gonna sixty nine.” Kenny smirked, your eyes blowing out in shock, your hand covering your mouth and blush stained cheeks as you giggled a little. “I've never done that before, Ken. I don't know what I'm doing!” You exclaimed, Kenny's hands gripping your ass to lift you up, your legs wrapped around his small waist. “And neither have I, so if it sucks, we'll suck together, okay baby girl?” Earning a shy nod in agreement from yourself, before your lips were pressed together for a deep, intimate kiss.

Your tongues danced together, earning small huffs and moans from both of you, as Kenny lay down on the sofa, with you sat on top of his waist. You could feel his hard cock pressed against your ass, nothing but your thin pyjama shorts and panties separating your skin from Kenny's. “Take those off and then bring that pussy over here.” He purred, his teeth worrying his lower lip as he watched you with anticipation, and once they were off, Kenny's hands were back, griping you hard enough to leave bruises, and helping you get into the correct position.

“You ready, sweetheart?” The name that sounded so innocent and sickly sweet in this moment sent throbs through your pussy. He knew you were desperate, and it was clear he was too. Kenny gripped at your hips, pulling your body down, your chest laying flush against his lower abdomen, legs bent beside the blond’s head, his face disappearing between your thighs, licking a long stripe along your pussy, and the first taste made him hungry for more. “You taste so good, Princess.” Kenny mumbled, his mouth going straight back to work on your pussy, his tongue swirling around your sensitive bud of nerves. Your eyes widened, a long moan escaping your parted lips.

You could barely focus on anything but the pleasure that was pumping through your body, and all of it from Kenny, and it was time to make him feel just as good as you did. Taking his cock in your hands, sticking your tongue out, kitten licking the very tip of his cock, making his hips rise up, chasing for more. What he didn't expect was for your lips to wrap around his head, swirling your tongue around it before taking as much as you could into your mouth, earning a choked, deep moan to leave Kenny's lips that were currently slick with your juices and his saliva. The vibrations sending shivers up your spine.

Kenny's tongue pushed into your tight heat, causing you to moan around the blond’s length. His hands were groping your ass, delivering a sharp slap to it. “Such a slut for me, aren't you?” The blond hissed, inserting a long, thin digit inside you, and pumping it in and out, still continuing to suck, and swirl his tongue around your clit. “Y-Yes, daddy.” You replied, pulling away momentarily before taking his length back into your mouth, your tongue flattening and cheeks hollowing to create perfect suction around him, and when you started bobbing your head up and down, you felt the low groans and grunts leaving your partner’s otherwise occupied mouth.

Two fingers were inside you, pumping in and out and crooking against your g spot, a gasp leaving you, causing Kenny's cock to slip slightly further into your mouth, and when you gagged and swallowed as best as you could with your mouth still full, earning a strangled moan from Kenny who was still lapping at your wetness, his eyebrows furrowed and fully concentrated on the task at hand.

It wasn't long before you both had a familiar knot that was steadily untying itself inside you both. The deep, guttural moans from Kenny, mingling perfectly with your own high pitched moans and gasps. The smell of sex filled the room mixed with gingerbread from the candle that had finally burnt itself out. “I-I’m close, Ken.” You managed to gasp. Kenny hummed in response, “Cum for me, slut.” He whispered against your cunt, his mouth instantly getting back to work on you. His fingers were curling inside you, pumping at a steady pace in and out of your hole, his tongue still circling your clit, and your head was bobbing up and down at a steady pace, with Kenny's desperate thrusts pushing his cock further down your throat, till finally with a final cry from you both, your orgasms crashed you back down to earth. “F-Fuck, Y/N, fuck.” Kenny groaned, a long moan leaving his mouth as his cock shot ropes of white cum down your throat, and once you'd swallowed you could finally call out for him, your orgasm having your head spinning, Kenny's name rolling off your tongue like a mantra, and he kept his mouth firmly on you even after you'd came, licking up every drop of your essence.

And once both of you had finally calmed your breathing, you got off the tall blond, who lay smirking, leaning over to pluck the long forgotten joint from the ashtray, and lighting it back up again, taking a long drag from it. “C’mere.” He whispered, holding his arms out, as your settled yourself on top of him, your head resting in the crook of his neck, your bodies flush once more. “I love you.” Kenny muttered sleepily, placing the joint between your lips, as you had done for him earlier. You took a long drag, exhaling the thick smoke before pressing your lips to his, before pulling away and grinning at him. “I love you too, pretty boy.”

[cowgurrrl]

Everything Leads to You

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (plus platonic fem!reader x Ellie Williams)

Summary: Who says grief and braiding hair can’t go together? [2.1k]

Author’s note: I’m not a fic writer but this was really fun to write and I thought other people might like to read it!

Warnings: grumpy Joel (what’s new), mentions of Tess, brief canonical type violence, ellie not knowing about restaurants, grief, lmk if I missed anything!!

“How do you do that?” Ellie asks as she sits across from you, still wrapped in her sleeping bag. You furrow your brows as you pull the hair tight to make sure that it won’t fall. 

“Nobody ever taught you how to braid hair?”

“I must’ve missed that lesson in FEDRA school. Maybe it was between learning to fucking kill Fireflies and running drills.” She snarks, and you roll your eyes. There’s no heat behind it, and she seems to know. 

Ellie has stuck close to your side since you left Boston, asking questions as you trekked to Bill and Frank’s. Joel is on edge. He hasn’t said much to you since you lost Tess, but you hear him mumbling and turning restlessly in his sleep. His shoulders are always square and tense, and he jumps at the slightest noise. You wish he would just fucking say something so you could talk about what happened. You may not have known her for as long as he did, but you still loved her. You lost her, too. 

“I can teach you if you want. It’s not hard.” You offer, and her eyes light up. 

“Really?” She asks. You nod and shake the braid out to start over. The fallen tree you're sitting on wiggles at the motion but doesn’t move more than that.

“C’mere,” You say. Ellie shuffles over as Joel turns from where he’s packing his things to give you a look. “What? I’m teaching her how to braid hair, not make a fucking shiv.”

“That’d probably be more worthwhile.” He grumbles. 

“It’ll take five minutes,” You say. He sighs and stands, wiping his hands on his jeans. 

“I’m going for a walk.”

“Aye, aye, Captain No Fun.” Ellie salutes. You can feel Joel’s eye roll before actually seeing it, and you can’t hide the smirk as he walks away, mumbling something under his breath. Ellie turns her full attention to you as you show her how to divide and pull the hair to make a tight braid. 

“You don’t want any hair to fall out because an Infected could grab it and use it as leverage,” you tell her as you redo your hair. She nods and watches your movements closely, trying to memorize the sequence. When you're done and your hair is tied off, you let her show you what she learned and watch as she tries (and fails) to braid her hair. She got so frustrated that you thought she was going to tear the hair out of her head. 

“You said this wasn’t gonna be hard!”

“It takes practice. C’mere, I’ll do it for you.” You say as you open your legs for her to sit between. Ellie settles in front of you, her knees pulled to her chest, as you brush your fingers through her waves. You secretly wish you had a real hairbrush, but do your best to be gentle as you tease days-old tangles out. 

“Has he always been so grumpy?” She asks.

“Probably not, but I can’t be sure. He won’t say it, but he’s going through a lot. We both are. It’s not an excuse, but it is a reason.” You say, pulling a burr from her thick hair. How did she not feel that?

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it.”

“Were Joel and Tess, like, a thing?” She asks, and you sigh. You’re asking the question of the century, kid, you think to yourself. 

“I know they were like family to each other, but I don’t know anything beyond that. They were already partners when I came to Boston and weren’t too keen on labels.”

“You didn’t know them from before?”

“Nope. Tess was in Detroit, Joel was in Texas, and I was in my hometown. Somehow, we all ended up in the same place and started working together.” 

“Why did you come to Boston?” She asks. You take a deep breath as memories shutter through your brain like frames from a movie—the fear and confusion of Outbreak Day. Running north like your lives depended on it because they did. The nights spent smuggling and raiding any medicine cabinet you could find looking for a miracle. That last day full of smoke and blood and screams. You shake your head to relieve the sudden pressure building behind your eyes. Thank God she’s not facing you. 

“That… is a long, long story for another time.” Seems to be enough of an answer for now. She doesn’t push the subject further as you section her tangle-free hair into threes. 

“What did you do before the Outbreak? Like for work.”

“Guess.” 

“Probably something super badass like a fighter pilot or a sharpshooter.” She says, and you laugh— really laugh— for the first time since Tess died. Believing in any sort of afterlife is a slippery slope when death is always at your door, but you hope she can hear your laughter from wherever she is. You hope she knows you're doing your best to keep your promise. You hope she knows how much you miss her. 

“Close. I was a waiter.”

“What’s a waiter?” She asks. It’s weird to think she’s probably never been in a restaurant before, let alone know how they work.

“Waiters were people who worked in restaurants which were like big rooms where people would all eat together, and we had to give people their food and drinks and whatever else they wanted. If you did a good job, customers would leave money, and that’s how you got paid.” You explain, and she turns to look at you, her eyebrows knitted together. 

“The people who owned the restaurant didn’t pay you?”

“Well, they did, but not very much. I think I was getting paid two dollars an hour at my last job.” 

“Two dollars? That’s fucking ridiculous!” She practically yells, and you nod, a smile pulling at your lips. You want to tell her everything about before just to see her reaction. 

“It was fucking ridiculous. Now, turn back around so I can finish your hair.” You push her with your shins, and she turns around, still mumbling about two dollars. She gets quiet as you keep braiding. 

It’s weirdly relaxing, only to have to worry about her hair. Wind rustles the leaves around us as birds chirp above you. The air is cool, and the morning sun shines against her dark hair. It’s almost peaceful. You tie off her hair and smile when she takes the braid between her fingers and traces the crosses. She smiles back as she turns to face you, turning pensive at an alarmingly fast rate. 

“Do you think Joel blames me for Tess?” She asks, her eyes dropping to her hands before she can even finish her thought. As if she’s waiting for you to give her the answer she’s been afraid of since you left Boston. She looks so small and fragile. Like the wind could blow too hard, and it would knock her over.

“I think he blames himself. They protected each other for a long time from everything, and even if that didn’t always work out, they found a way to fix it. Her getting infected was the one thing he couldn’t fix, and I think that’s killing him,” You say, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tears threatening your lash line. This kid has a talent for making you cry. “What happened to Tess is nobody’s fault except the stupid fucker that bit her. She made a choice because she knew we wouldn’t be able to do what she wanted us to do, and we have to be okay with that. She would want us to be okay with that even if it’s gonna take some time.” She opens her mouth to say something more, but Joel coming back into the clearing cuts her off. 

“You two wanna paint each other’s nails while we’re here too, or can we start walking?” He asks as he pulls on his backpack. You and Ellie stand, wiping the dirt from your clothes, and walk over to him. 

“Knowing how to keep your hair out of your face could be the difference between life and death, Miller. I’m teaching valuable survival skills here.” 

“Mhm,” He hums, unconvinced. He looks at Ellie as she pulls her jacket on. “We’re gonna go check something out real quick. Be ready to go by the time we get back.” He doesn’t even wait for her to respond before he turns and starts up the path he came from. You sigh in annoyance but follow him anyway. You walk down to the river bank far enough out of Ellie’s earshot before he finally looks you in the eyes for the first time in three days.

“You know we have to take her to the Fireflies, right?” He questions, crossing his arms over his chest. You scoff and glance up to where you left Ellie. 

“Yes, Joel. I understand why we’re traveling across the country with a teenager.” 

“Good. Now, stop getting attached before you get hurt.” He says, and you balk at him. 

“Are you really that pissed I taught her how to braid her fucking hair?” 

“It ain’t about her hair.”

“Then, what is it about? “

“She’s a job. Something we need to deliver so we can move on with our lives.”

“She’s a kid. A scared kid at that, and you’re not making her feel better.”

“Oh, give me a fuckin’ break.” He groans as he walks away from you to pace, his hands on his hips. You cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head back to look at the puffy clouds. You're mostly trying to find the strength to put up his bullshit, but the view is nice, too. It’s silent as you think, the waves lapping at the rocks, the only sound around us. 

“I know you miss her-“

“Don’t.” He whips around to face you. His eyes are heavy and unreadable, the irises almost black. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s gotten actual restful sleep. The answer could range anywhere from three days to twenty years. You almost want to ask. You almost want to reach for his broken hand and tell him it’s okay. You almost want to wrap your arms around him and just hold him. Almost. You shake the buzzing ache for his skin out of your hand and focus.

“I miss her, too, but we both know she saw Ellie as way more than a job. She wouldn’t have done what she did if she thought differently,” You wait for him to get angry and lash out, but he just stands there, staring through you. “Taking care of her or, at least, treating her like a fucking human being is what Tess would’ve wanted. So, that’s what I’m doing. You can keep doing your stoic, pissy thing if that’s what you want, but you don’t get to control what I do, especially when it comes to her.” He grinds his teeth together for a couple of seconds while he thinks. A red bird swoops down and lands on a fallen tree branch not far and sings at us before flitting away. You had always heard that red birds like that were our dead loved ones coming to remind us they were not far away. You never really believed that, and you still don’t know if I do, but the memory pierces your brain with newfound importance. 

When your eyes meet Joel’s again, something has shifted. It’s slight and minuscule, but you recognize it from his arguments with Tess. He’s yielding without words. He’s trusting you. Your body relaxes, and he nods. The whole exchange lasted no more than five seconds but felt like an hour. 

"We can make it to Bill and Frank's today if we start moving now." He says as he walks past you, acting like your conversation didn't happen. You take a deep breath before silently following him. If he heard that stupid bird chirping at you again, he didn't say anything. In the same way, you don't tell him if you saw the stack of rocks on the shoreline.

*TUMBLR STOP DELETING MY LAST PARAGRAPH*

[erisenyo]

Questions for fic writers 1, 3, 5

Anon thank you so much for indicating the ask game, I did not realize I reblogged them both so close together lol

What inspired you to start writing fanfiction?

Epistles by Lady_of_the_Flowers lol. It is an absolutely stellar fic and I couldn't get it out of my head when I finished it. I kept imagining how the story might have gone on, what their BSS reunion could have looked like, how they might have found their happy ending...

And eventually I couldn't get it out of my head to the point that I wrote the BSS reunion (the teashop alley scene for any Burning Bright readers). And then I went hm, this could be better with a bit of context... (880K words later.)

3. Are there any specific themes you enjoy exploring in your fics?

I LOVE playing around with perception! How can two people experience the same event but interpret it differently because of their different frames of references. How can a character's behavior suddenly be recast in an entirely different light because of revelations about their background. How does an external POV contextualize or challenge or reframe an event. How does the reader's own perception come into play, whether through canon events or tropes or genre conventions, where expectation builds perception which then is challenged and recast by the unfolding events, not just within the text but within the reader as well.

5. What techniques do you use to create believable dialogue?

I really like writing dialogue, and I tend to think of building up an exchange in a few layers:

Verbal Habits: is your character a rambler (Sokka)? Blunt and terse (Zuko)? Always trying to poke fun (Toph)? Those verbal habits help build out the conversational voice of each character, and are often rooted in their characterization

Recognize Rhythm: Actual conversations tend to be a mixture of long and short sentences, exchanging listening and speaking, nonverbal as well as verbal cues. A hear-to-heart will have a different flow to it than shooting the shit after work.

Dialogue Isn't Perfect: People stutter and stumble, thoughts start and stop, there's cross-talk and interruptions, spoken word tends to be less formal than written word--building in those pauses and half-thoughts can help it feel more natural, and also show where a character is stumbling or struggling with a thought

Build Around the Words: layering in even simple action is a great way to make a piece of dialogue more engaging while also accomplishing some needed point A-to-point B or worldbuilding or exposition. Characters are also reacting to and thinking about what they're hearing, what they might say next, how it makes them feel.

Don't Forget Nonverbal Cues: Someone saying something with averted eyes and fidgeting hands suggests something very different than the exact same thing said with a direct gaze and squared shoulders. Body language makes the dialogue more rich.

Mix Up Your Sentence Structure: This is related to rhythm, but switch between using dialogue tags or not, put your internal aside at the front of a line of dialogue or the middle or the end, switch between long and short sentences. And do it all with a purpose--fewer dialogue tags and shorter lines of dialogue generally feel like a faster conversation, dialogue breaking in the middle tends to shift the emphasis of the sentence. Get a feel for the ways you can leverage your sentence structure itself to signal tone or pace or pauses!

For this Questions for Fic Writers asks game!