#life and stories are more complicated than that

[tanadrin]

I would love to hear the rant about social media doomerism and conspiracy

I’m on my phone right now but the summary version is something like:

Humans are bad at integrating information into their worldview accurately bc of various cognitive biases

Social media incentivizes us seeking out content that excites fear or anger or irritation

Social media thus causes us to form negative impressions of the world bc it mediates so much information consumption and discourse these days

This general negative affective impression is subject to high confirmation bias and ppl in general are really bad at divorcing an affective impression of a thing from their dispassionate reasoning abt a thing

(Bc one of the functions of an affective impression is to “cache” our conclusions about a topic to save time and effort later)

(In general if you are a cynic and pessimist you can fall prey to these biases w/o social media but I think social media makes more ppl susceptible to them)

People don’t want to be dupes so they seek refuge in cynicism. We treat cynicism as wise or worldly when in fact cynicism makes you a dupe and an easy mark for grifters. Cynicism and low trust foster conspiracism, paranoia, and antisocial politics

(This is why so many congenitally contrarian folks seem to flit effortlessly between the far left and far right; it’s not horseshoe theory, they’ve just cooked their brains on this stuff)

This is a world where populist anti-social politicians like Trump and the AfD thrive, bc they will lie about how everything is terrible and people will nod along, bc it explains why their social media is full of awful stories of, like, immigrants eating pets and shit

But it doesn’t just have to be insane lies only a moron could believe. It can be any impression about a fact in the world that it is difficult to personally check and which is vulnerable to being swayed by anecdote

This is how we get a word where people think crime rates are higher than they’ve ever been when in fact crime is falling

Or child predators lurk around every corner when in fact children are safer than ever

Or the American economy is in a recession when in fact it’s doing historically well by just about every available metric (now with full employment AND low inflation!)

Because in a big world even where things are in general good and getting better you can always produce infinite individual examples of shitty things and pipe those in a steady stream into people’s eyeballs, and then point to that and leverage people’s low trust attitudes and their cynicism which tells them they are smarter than the experts and go “statistics is just a fancy way to lie! The world is secretly terrible! Every bad thing is even worse than you thought and every good thing is a lie!”

(Nevermind the whole phenomenon where anything that is complicated or that someone does not themselves understand gets treated like it’s actually secret and a conspiracy.)

And here I know I have to include some disclaimer about how this is not to discount individual cases of suffering or struggle, which are real, or that there are indeed some really awful things happening in the world right now, which there are, but you know what?

I’m tired of doing that. People with reading comprehension operating in good faith ought to be able to deduce that general statements do not obviate particular exceptions, and people who cling to their doomerism as a kind of emotional life raft do not generally argue with me in good faith.

Sometimes doomerism is a load-bearing pillar of their politics, which I think is dumb—I think you can be a leftist or a progressive without being a doomer! In fact I think doomerism is antithetical to useful politics!

Sometimes they are just depressed and treatment-resistant. Sometimes they are just angry misanthropes who want to feel justified in their misanthropy. Some doomers are themselves in bad circumstances and feeling hopeless about that—to them I am enormously sympathetic. Though a lot of doomers will admit they personally are doing OK—this does not seem to be most doomers.

But I think in general cynicism and doomerism and a worldview dominated by a general nebulous air of Everything Is Awful and by abstract nouns with threatening auras is not conducive to wisdom or understanding or useful politics or leading a happy and fulfilling life.

[why5x5]

I agree. He looks CGI. I can't find anything definite about that, but I did find this

“His relationship with Krypto is complicated. He’s not nearly the best dog. There’s a lot more to Krypto than you see in this trailer.”

Expanding on the decision to include Krypto in the film, Gunn wrote: “Krypto arrives on screens in Superman this summer. Krypto was inspired by our dog Ozu, who we adopted shortly after I started writing Superman.”

“Ozu, who came from a hoarding situation in a backyard with 60 other dogs & never knew human beings, was problematic to say the least,” added the 58-year-old.

Continuing, Gunn said: “He immediately came in & destroyed our home, our shoes, our furniture - he even ate my laptop. It took a long time before he would even let us touch him. I remember thinking, ‘Gosh, how difficult would life be if Ozu had superpowers?’ - and thus Krypto came into the script & changed the shape of the story as Ozu was changing my life.”

KRYPTO SUPERMAN (2025) Directed by James Gunn

[doberbutts]

My would-be rapist died earlier this week and I have been having a lot of Complicated Feelings about it since being told. Long story short he died because he was once again being a creep and someone intervened and ended up cracking open his skull and he died from a brain bleed two days later. And I'm just thinking about how 18 years ago this guy was actively attempting to groom me in the middle of church and bible study and only stopped because my parents believed me when they pried the truth out of me. And how that stopped him from pursuing me but not from just switching to Someone Else until it became multiple Someone Else's and the above situation happened.

Truthfully I don't really know what to feel, or think. I am not sad that he is dead. I'm not really happy either. I think he is an excellent example of the multiple failures we have as a society to protect our most vulnerable populations. He is who I think of when I ask what we do with repeat offenders who do not seem to be getting the message that they are making bad choices, and how we're supposed to protect vulnerable people from predators like him.

I do think, for the most part, that prison reform and prison abolition is a good thing. I do think that the death penalty sets a dangerous precedent.

But what do we do with a man who has hurt person after person after person, who even when confined to a facility for the rest of his life (ie, effectively a prison) continues to prey upon patients and staff alike, until he is sent to an all-male facility and even then tries it with a female CNA before another male patient witnesses it and does something about it?

I don't even know if the other guy realizes what a service he's done to this dude's victims, or the collective sigh of relief his victims took upon the news of his demise.

I will not light a candle for you, Joel. Not even your own family is attending your funeral, or pressing charges against the facility or the man who killed you. But it does make me think about how this could have been better resolved, if it could have been, if a better outcome than a long string of sexual assaults and rapes ultimately ending in a violent death could have been had.

He never did manage to get me. But he would have, if my parents hadn't stepped in on my behalf. He was bold enough to try it while they were just downstairs, reading and discussing from religious texts. Bold enough to put his hands on me in the middle of church as the pastor spoke and everyone could see. To my knowledge, I was his first- or was I? Was he bold because he was inexperienced in doing this, or because he was riding the high of having gotten away with it before? Clearly getting caught just taught him to be more subtle, rather than that he shouldn't have been doing it in the first place.

I think if he had succeeded with me, I would currently be very glad to hear about his death.

But he didn't, so now I am thinking about these things. And feeling a little, play stupid games win stupid prizes.

[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family Ch. 108: Fear

Don't get me wrong, that panel with Twilight remembering his friends was beautiful. I think he feels nostalgic for that connection with other people. However, I think what really caught my attention in this chapter was Melinda.

Come on, look at this:

Look at this face of terror. And she was just remembering her husband's eyes!

A long time ago, when we just met Melinda, I wrote this theory about her being afraid of her husband. Today, it was finally confirmed.

I feel so sad for her. Melinda has probably been carrying this alone for a long time. I doubt she's shared her fears with any friends or family members because, who would believe the illustrious political leader could be an abusive man? This is especially true if there's no actual physical violence in the relationship. However, like I said before, violence is more than that.

Something tells me that the violence in their relationship is mostly psychological. Donovan Desmond uses his authority to tell Melinda what to do, to create fear, to keep her away from their children.

Melinda appears as such a composed woman who has her life together in front of others, and only someone as emotionally perceptive and caring as Yor would notice something is wrong. There's a shame component in abusive relationships: "How did this happen to me? I used to be so strong and brave," combined with disbelief: "Am I overreacting? Is he really that bad? Why am I afraid of him if he hasn't really done anything to me?"

Hopefully, in time, Melinda will realize that fear is not only her responsibility; even if her husband wasn't physically abusive, his behavior caused her fear.

Without a doubt is a complicated issue, which brings me to something that will probably complicate things even more:

Yup, Twilight.

I'll admit that this is the first time that I felt very uncomfortable with what Twilight is about to do, but that's exactly the point. Good fiction/literature is suppose to move something within us, even if at times, it makes us feel uncomfortable.

You probably imagine why: Melinda is a person in dire need of therapy. She deserves (and needs!) a true professional and instead, she getting someone who is only trying to gather information.

HOWEVER...

Time and again, Twilight has shown that despite his line of work, he'll always try to do the right thing and the least amount of harm. So, I'm hoping he will apply that in this specific situation. My guess is that it will start as a way to get information (his classic "for the mission") but then, as Melinda opens up, he will actually give her good advice and hopefully empower her, as a real therapist would do!

Something else to keep in mind is that Melinda story of domestic violence could trigger Twilight himself in some way, given his own family history. We will have to wait to see how that goes.

Bonus

A final note on Melinda's beliefs in occultism: it makes sense.

I won't comment too much on the specific meaning of the cards because my knowledge is limited and I'm skeptical about that. But I will say that it makes sense that someone with so much fear and uncertainty in her life would believe in something that would bring her reassurance that everything will be okay or try to know the future in order to protect herself. (I really want to give Melinda a hug.)

On the other hand, you know who doesn't believe in that?:

Yup, our dear Becky, who is one of the most authentic character in sxf, who is protected and loved by her parents and Martha. That makes sense too.

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

do you think alhaitham is a yearner for kaveh or the other way around

Anon thank you so much for this ask <3 it turns out that this is more complicated than I thought. since alhaitham is so embarrassingly obvious, I think kaveh’s own version of ‘yearning’ can be overlooked, so thank you for giving me an opportunity to explore both! I am using your ask as an excuse to show how embarrassing alhaitham is, he has no shame!! therefore i've had to split this answer into two posts!

alhaitham essentially building his life around kaveh being a part of it is ultimate down bad behaviour:

the house: alhaitham’s character stories give us very little about alhaitham’s life after his fallout with kaveh and his graduation. we’re told that he moves out of his grandmother’s house to move into the research facility gifted to him and kaveh? and it’s only after he moves in that he’s told by a third-party that kaveh has no need for the property, so only then does he convert the property into a house

So it seems he moved in with some expectation of encountering kaveh at some point, especially considering it was their joint property. There’s no reason given why he opted to move out of his grandmother’s house but I think it's interesting that kaveh’s character stories detail that a house is not a home without other occupants who understand him without words, which causes him to sell his parents’ house as he was the only occupant, which parallels with alhaitham moving out of a house in which he also is the sole occupant, into a property which ties him and kaveh together

The bulletin boards/academic journals: although it isn’t specified who made the first journal critique, if it falls in line with alhaitham incessantly responding to all of kaveh’s bulletin board points, I’d like to think that alhaitham reached out first here, just as he moved into their joint property without actually knowing that kaveh had no use for it – although they had separated at this point, regardless of who reached out first, alhaitham was still actively pursuing kaveh’s perspective here, as this was the only instance of kaveh being in his life… oh….

during the archon quest: alhaitham mentioning kaveh without any prompt whatsoever lives in my head, even more so that this seems to be a musing that he didn’t even mean to say out loud? Sick!!

And when kaveh eventually returns, alhaitham says that he doesn’t want to have to explain the whole thing to kaveh, so he should leave the house of daena before kaveh returns, but he doesn’t?

Special mention of the gathering in the grand bazaar where alhaitham equates his own happiness to that of the people of the gathering, and then immediately mentions how he must have taken both keys leaving the house, indicating that another reason for his happiness increased because kaveh has returned, and that his way of life has been maintained - meaning that kaveh is one of his priorities (i brainrot more about this here)

Alhaitham’s story quest: the motif of kaveh ensuring alhaitham’s content is returned to with force in alhaitham’s story quest with establishing kaveh as someone alhaitham chooses not to be objective about, with kaveh being framed as alhaitham’s priority

(additionally, this expression, absolutely criminal)

kaveh’s hangout and voice lines: kaveh is shown once again to be an exception to alhaitham’s objectivity, as alhaitham inserts himself into kaveh’s ‘fate’ to offer him a place to stay when kaveh’s choices led him to selling his house, having no place to go – this overturns alhaitham’s principle of being uninvolved with people’s fates, and pulling kaveh back to shore, as opposed to standing on the sidelines

kaveh’s hangout is really special to me as it showcases alhaitham’s whole understanding of kaveh, not only his inner psyche, but also how to secure kaveh’s happiness through an indirect action, as kaveh’s heart meter increases once seeing the response a student wrote to his annotations, it demonstrates that alhaitham’s care towards kaveh is most explicitly shown with actions

a parade of providence: alhaitham becomes the event's commentator solely to investigate Sachin to see if he influenced kaveh’s father, attempting to give kaveh closure and alleviate his self-destructive mindset. in the same vein, alhaitham leaves kaveh note that in a language the two learnt together for their thesis commenting on kaveh's ideologies and how it can lead to suffering.

this really solidifies that alhaitham's care is demonstrated in actions, and that a shift in communication is needed to properly show this. It’s here that alhaitham’s actions are the most explicit, and this leads to the major improvement in their relationship (which i explore more in detail here)

cyno's second story quest: thank you for chronic book gripper alhaitham reading his book when kaveh is out of the living room, and immediately putting it down when kaveh enters and begins telling alhaitham about his day, for alhaitham to encourage.

the animation that was so essential for the devs to include of alhaitham watching kaveh sketch when kaveh’s back was turned is such a comic example of yearning, it’s actually ridiculous

also alhaitham smiling when being asked to stay in the house of daena to work with kaveh??

alhaitham is one big yearner, he is that guy and he has no interest in beating the allegations!

the second part of this answer will explore kaveh's version of yearning!

[darsynia]

Forgiven: joYOUs | CEO Steve/f!Reader series Part III

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | Ro Roll | Prev Fic

Summary: You and Steve Rogers have been dating for a little over two months, and it's been wonderful. Through it all you've asked yourself if it could possibly be real--but when he finally invites you to stay over at his apartment, you realize that being 'real' has as much to do with his complicated issues at work as it does being a Hallmark movie protagonist brought to life.

WC/Warnings: 5,200 // explicit sex

As 6/7 of my Ro Roll badly-belated-birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, joYOUs is part III in my CEO Steve and f!Freader series. This story also (more lightly than intended) is written for the 'first fall of snow' prompt for @the-slumberparty's December Daze!

Can be read standalone!

Excerpt:

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs.

Joyous

You’ve tried not to read anything into the 36 hours of no-contact since Steve left on his business trip. He had warned you that he would be ‘can’t check the phone’ kind of busy, but you also know that his stress has ramped up considerably with the holidays coming up. You suspect that the café project hadn’t been enough of a respite--but you’d promised yourself not to push him too hard about his burnout, and that includes acting like it’s no big deal that you haven’t talked for a while. 

Just normal early relationship stuff, really.

That all drops away like an uncomfortable bra after a long day at work when you get a text at 10 PM Friday night.

🪴🪴🪴: We still on for tomorrow at 7? I’ve been thinking about you since the plane took off from LaGuardia.

🪴🪴🪴: Whoops i

🪴🪴🪴: was only supposed to send that first part.

🪴🪴🪴: Hit enter too e

🪴🪴🪴: Buck give me back the phone. Don’t send her anything, okay? You’re hopeless, man. You have to leave some mystery. If she had any idea how much you talked about her while we were gone, she’d probably quit her job and leave the state. What’s. Oh shit it’s recording. How do I make it. Give it back. Bucky I mean it just put it down before you screwdriver

Screwdriver?

The (thrilling) mess of words take a minute or two to detangle, and once you parse the dictated back-and-forth, you realize that Steve’s subsequent silence is probably mortification. Adorable mortification.

The phone rings on silent mode, buzzing wildly in your hand. Surprise makes you drop it on your lap like it’s alive-- which it might as well be, because the vibration sends it jittering across your indulgent silk pajamas and onto the floor.

“Shit!” you gasp out, knowing that any delay in answering will probably make everything much worse. You scramble off the bed in a move so inelegant your sister calls out asking if you’ve joined her in Broken Leg Land. “I’m fine, just an idiot!” you holler, finally grabbing the phone from your crumpled position on the bedroom floor.

“That’s not true at all!” Steve Rogers’ voice echoes from the speakers. You must have  brushed the ‘answer’ part when you picked it up, because of course that would happen.

“Oh my god, is there a deity of phones I’ve badly wronged today?” you gasp out, bringing the thing gingerly up to your ear. Thankfully, he’s chuckling, and damn, it’s sexy.

“Seems like it. Should we call this a draw?” he suggests, adding, “I evicted the phone thief, sorry about that. He just wants what’s best for me.”

“Which would be… screwdrivers?” you offer, grinning despite your rational brain screaming at you not to sound overeager. “You somehow don’t strike me as an orange juice and vodka kind of guy.”

“You’re right, and that was a nice deflect.” There’s gratitude as well as sheepishness in Steve’s voice. When paired with the ‘forbidden truths’ in the dictated texts, you may be sitting on the floor in twisted-up PJs, but your mind and heart are floating on a cloud somewhere high above Manhattan. “Should I send a car tomorrow?”

Surprise snarls the response in your throat into a twisted um-cough combo that is entirely indelicate. “Sorry, yes, that, yes,” you manage, kicking yourself. He runs a company, having a car service probably doesn’t seem impersonal to him, even though he’s always picked you up or met you somewhere before this. The Maiden Aunt in your brain tries to argue that the magic is over, but she’s drowned out by College TA, who thinks this is a step up in statistical importance.

Some girls get a devil on their shoulder, but you ended up with a pessimist and an overachiever.

“How about a do-over,” Steve says, interrupting your mental chaos. “Can I pick you up tomorrow?”

“Yes!” you say in a flood of relief. “I’m sorry, you said ‘send a car’ and all I could picture was one of those movies where someone in livery holds up a piece of paper with my name--”

He interrupts before you can gnaw past the foot in your mouth and up onto the ankle.

“I don’t mind driving, don’t worry. See you at seven, then.” With that, CEO Eye, Ear, and Heart Candy hangs up, leaving you in a flustered, anticipatory mess on the floor in your bedroom.

Jennie gives you relentless shit over that whole sequence of events, but she also gives you access to her closet. You’ve already run through your handful of fancy dresses on dates with Steve, and everything else gives you ‘someday I might go clubbing’ or ‘student on a budget’ vibes.

Your sister’s tastes run more expensive than yours, and she’s always been a fan of modular clothing-- skirts that wrap around, blouses with 3x as much fabric as necessary that end up folding and twisting into a masterpiece, etc. It’s worked out well for her while she’s laid up with a broken leg, but the unusual style might help you keep up appearances. You choose a black form-fitting pants topped with a silky wraparound blouse; hopefully they’ll look sophisticated enough for your first visit to Steve’s apartment.

True to form, Jennie makes three ‘wrapped present’ jokes about the two ribbon-tied sections of your shirt before you make it out the door.

Steve is waiting beside his car when you come outside. He’s clearly come from work, wearing tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt that looks so good you’re practically overheating in the brisk winter air. Then he smiles at you, and your body takes a detour from ‘visit to Arizona’ straight down to ‘the Brazilian Rainforest,’ all innuendo included.

Oblivious to your secretly disrespectful ogling, Steve moves to escort you to your car door, standing deliciously close by as he opens it. His aftershave smells heady and masculine, distracting enough that you turn your heel a little bit on the seam of the sidewalk. Your unbuttoned coat swings back and his hand moves to steady you, fingers tangling in the red ribbon holding your blouse together on that side.

“Oh!” you gasp, half because of his sheer strength and half because good god, if that bow comes undone on the street you’re not sure how much you’re even going to care right now. You gently grasp his hand (finding that, yep, the sizzling live wire connection on physical contact is still active), salvaging the knot for the sake of your sanity.

“Wow,” Steve breathes in a low voice that sends its resonance whizzing through your whole body. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur intelligently.

You’re never going to tell your sister how many mental seconds it’s taken you to go from 0 to head over heels for this man.

“Do you need me to adjust the buckle? You were making a face,” Steve explains.

“Oh, no, I was coming up with something suitably embarrassing to text my nagging sister so she doesn’t send me ‘romantic suggestions’ all night,” you admit. “She means well, but I think she’s been watching too many Hallmark Christmas movies. Nothing I do or say will measure up!”

He chuckles. “I won’t comment on what my own nag might have to say on the outcome of the evening.”

“You mean the professional phone thief? He owes you, not the other way around! Telling secrets on dictation while your friend’s planning to bring a girl home-- and then sending it? Hung, drawn, and quartered.”

“Well, the method of delivery may have been terrible,” Steve says, looking over at you while paused at a red light, “--but none of that was a secret.”

The light changes, and just like Jennie’s favorite movies, he holds your gaze instead of driving on. You’re suddenly very aware of everywhere your clothing touches you, especially at your chest, where the fabric of your blouse clings to your curves. When you pull in a breath, Steve’s attention dips down to appreciate them, too.

“Eyes on the road, CEO Eye Candy,” you tease (not for the first time), and his expression scrunches up into easy laughter.

There’s an older, well-dressed couple in the parking garage to his building when you arrive, and the four of you ride the elevator up together until you and Steve step out. Just before the doors close, you catch the woman looking up at her husband fondly, nodding toward the two of you. No pressure! you think to yourself again, but then Steve opens the door to his apartment and smiles with such honest happiness that you forget everything else but him.

Just like he is, the main room is a charming mix of vintage and modern, with warm wood accents and high-tech amenities. There’s something both open and intimate that hits you right away; the floor is dotted with comforting rugs, the walls with bookcases, creating cozy little nooks, but the lamplight is warm and inviting throughout.

“I need to start the oven,” Steve says with a light touch to your arm, gesturing to take your coat. You nod and hand it over before you step farther in, finally letting yourself glance beyond the bookshelves of classics and the homey crochet afghan to the view. 

It’s completely captivating. The wall of windows face east, showing the lively cityscape to glorious effect (and you can’t help but picture what the sunrise would look like!). It suddenly hits you that you’re in Steve’s space. There are no phones to ring and save you from a misstep, no waitress to break the tension, no dog running past chasing its ball in the grass.

If he sees just how far gone you are on him already, will Steve think you’re a gold-digger, or will he understand that you can’t help but be dazzled and drawn in by the kind of man he is, not the things he surrounds himself with?

“Are you all right?” Steve asks. You startle, making eye contact with his reflection in the window, and something about the intimacy of that makes you tell the absolute truth.

“I’m realizing there are no flowerpots to hide behind.”

He smiles and moves closer, one hand casually in his pocket. When he’s just near enough that you can feel his warmth through the back of your blouse, Steve tips his head in a move that bleeds sincerity, still holding your gaze.

“What if you didn’t have to hide?”

You can’t look away. “What if that doesn’t make me any less shy?”

“Makes it all the more rewarding to earn that smile of yours,” Steve says, moving to face you instead of the view.

The weight of where you are, who you’re with, and how much it means to you keeps your gaze glued to the view outside the window, but the city lights blur a little with the frequency of your blinking. You want to reassure him that the shyness is good actually, that it means you really like him, that what he thinks about you is important--

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs. You can’t help but toss him the Skeptical Eyebrow, despite your heart voting on the ‘melt’ option. “I’m being serious,” he goes on. “Honesty is in rare supply for much of my day-to-day. Suppliers expect us to push for cheaper materials, manufacturers are uncomfortable with flexible deadlines, and we’ve fired multiple product designers who get upset by how much we rely on end-user feedback.” He lets out a long sigh, punctuating it with a rueful laugh. “I felt more relaxed with the construction crew than I do with my so-called ‘peers.’”

The frustrated defeat in his tone makes you step close to tuck yourself up against his side, hugging him with an arm around his back. Steve’s arm comes around you right away, and god, you wish you could bottle that feeling. The two of you have shared quite a few toe-curling kisses, but physical affection like this is exciting, despite being prompted by Steve’s ongoing business concerns.

It’s easy to believe that this part of your life isn’t real when you’re at work answering phones and giving directions. You’re never prepared for the way Steve tips your life upside down, and in a way that makes moments like this more magical. Late at night, you do sometimes worry your job at his company makes it harder for him to disconnect.

With his heartbeat thrumming under your cheek and his arm tucked around you, that concern feels as far away as the streetlights visible across the city. There’s still a thread of tenseness in his embrace that tells you he’s not as relaxed as you are. You might not have the money to take him out for a fancy dinner or attend an exclusive event, but you can show him he’s wanted.

“So what you’re saying is that we should brainstorm another building project for the lobby? Preferably within sightlines of the front desk?”

You get to feel his laugh before you hear it.

“Oh, I wish. I’ve actually started looking into Habitat For Humanity, a couple of other hands-on charities,” Steve tells you, squeezing you tighter against him for a second or two. “They’ve got experience with higher profile contributors, safety concerns, that sort of thing.”

The moment hangs. Humor isn’t enough.

“That doesn’t solve the underlying problem though, because the problem isn’t you,” you realize aloud.

“You’re right.” Steve kisses your hairline, but you can sense that his metaphorically held breath isn’t going to release like this. You’re struck by the rightness of your reflection; the two of you fit together so well visually that it’s easy to miss his job insecurities and your uncertain future. Movement beyond the surface catches your eye, and you realize it’s the perfect way to break the tension.

“Oh! It’s snowing!”

“Those are some giant snowflakes.” He hugs you to him briefly before stepping over to a small panel on the wall. “May I?”

The more time you spend with him, the braver you feel. “I’m going to say yes, even though I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Steve’s answering smile is blindingly handsome. “Watch,” he says, nodding to the view. A second later the lights in the room dim or shut off, heightening the glowing cityscape outside. There’s a beauty to the familiar hodgepodge of buildings, more so with the fairy dust of snow drifting down from above.

“It’s like a snowglobe,” you say, tearing your eyes away from the scene to look at Steve. To your surprise, he’s not looking outside, he’s looking at you.

“May I?” he asks again. Heart pounding, you nod, and he walks toward you, his features thrown into sharp relief by the dim light. When Steve finally reaches you, the anticipation has doused you with fuel set alight by the touch of his hand at your cheek. 

This kiss is nothing like the gentle exploration that was your first with Steve. Where then you were still learning each other, this is knowledge. He lifts you up against him effortlessly, his thumb tangling with the ties of your blouse in a way that pulls it taut against your breasts. You let out a gasp as he kisses his way down from your neck over to the neckline of your blouse, making a begging sound of his own.

It sounds like enough of a ‘May I?’ that you whisper, “Yes.”

In three large strides he’s at the couch, setting you onto your feet as he sweeps the afghan and pillows out of the way. When he turns to face you again, you offer him the end of the ribbon tie holding your blouse together.

The reverence with which Steve pulls it loose is sexy as hell, but you absolutely adore the way he locks eyes with you and keeps your gaze when the fabric falls away. You pull in a ragged breath, and his gaze sharpens.

“What do you want?” he asks, his own answer ringing in the undertones.

You want everything, as far into the future as fate allows, but you force yourself to focus on the here and now. “I-- God, I just want you. I want-- oh!” You press your lips together to stop yourself, shy again. There’s honesty, and then there’s honesty. In that confident but gentle way he has, Steve knows exactly what to say.

“Whatever it is, yes.”

He takes your hand and backs the few inches to the couch, sitting down and tugging gently, a clear but respectful invitation. Steve takes a few seconds to just look at you, his eyes tracing across your features and down to the structure of your blouse. He’d mentioned his sketchbook at one of your early-on dates but never elaborated; now the way he unerringly follows each ribbon with his eyes, fingertips, and then lips make you feel like a work of art.

By the time your shirt drops to the floor, you’re practically drunk on the honest arousal you can taste on his lips--and you’re still mostly dressed! One thing you’re certain of: no one will ever make you feel as much like a medieval harlot and an object of worship at the same time like Steve Rogers.

Reluctantly, you draw back from his addictive kisses, pulling his hand from your cheek to briefly kiss his palm. “I’m going to ask you something, and you’re going to answer me without trying to smooth anything over, got it?”

Steve’s gaze darkens with an amused sort of interest. “I’ll see where you’re going with this, but you should know that there are two places I like to be in charge: the boardroom and the bedroom.”

His tone is gentle, but with an undercurrent of steel. You’re completely unable to stop the way your breath catches and your thighs clench. Sweet fires of hell, this man is perfect.

“It’s a deal,” you manage to squeak out.

“Go on, then.” Steve lifts a hand to brush his thumb along your hairline, down your cheek to press against your lips, dragging them open. From there, he continues to where the swell of your breast meets the lace of your bra, skirting your nipple by lifting his hand up to clasp with the other hand behind his head. Throughout, his gaze holds yours, intense and commanding.

“Sure, show me up, like I’m going to remember anything more than my own name, at this point,” you whisper-whine.

“I used it a few times on my recent trip.” His soft admission is in direct contrast to his casual, confident body language. You’re starting to realize there’s a stronger dichotomy to Steve than you thought. Will you get to have the kind, thoughtful boyfriend who saves you from an evening of elitist tedium and a fierce, possessive lover?

Will you survive, if so?

“Tell me. I’m getting a little jealous of whatever it is you’re thinking about,” Steve intones.

You stop biting your lip and grin. “I’m filing away these new pieces of information about you. Just… don’t ask me where I’m filing them.”

“Oh, I will.”

His voice is like a caress that cascades over you, pausing at your most sensitive places. You shiver, both for your own acknowledgment of the sexual tension and for him to appreciate his effect on you. After letting out a breath that’s more like a yearning sigh, you set your hands on the top button of his dress shirt. With Steve’s steady gaze on you, though, you’re questioning yourself.

“My plan sounds stupid in my head now, with you oozing all of this confidence.”

Immediately, his hand covers yours, setting off sparks with every swipe of his thumb on your skin. “At work it’s a facade, a persona, even--and not a flattering one. I didn’t think I could shake it off, the night of the gala. It’s more natural when--” He interrupts himself by pulling you in for a deep, passionate kiss.

“You’re not faking it here,” you observe minutes later. The whole concept is knocking you sideways, but-- “Okay, I need to tell you I’m picturing you in one of those tailored suits commanding a room of powerful people and that is just sexy as hell.”

He rocks his hips up into you. “I’ll let them know--but, roll back a minute. What was your plan? Better yet,” Steve interrupts himself, setting a heavy hand on your hip to hold you still as he grinds up against you again. “Show me.”

His confidence is literally rubbing off on you. “All right, but fair warning: it’s very ‘over-eager receptionist peeks at you between decorative plants.’” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, his warm hand travels from your hip around and down, fingertips pushing aside your waistbands to firmly grip your ass.

“I know exactly who I’m here with.”

There’s enough of the altruistic, spend-a-week-building-with-the-bros tone in his voice to be reassuring, and you nod.

“Right, then.” Briskly, with the heat of arousal singing through you from every point of contact, you unbutton the top button of his dress shirt. “You’re kind.” Button two: “You’re moral and fair.” Your eyes are focused on your ‘work,’ but you can see Steve break into a smile. At button three, you’re almost halfway down. “You’re a hard worker.”

Steve lets out a deep ‘Mmmm’ sound. Thanks to his ass-grab leverage, he blatantly moves your hips in time with his for a cycle of thrusts that leave you breathless. You can’t look at him, so you clear your throat like a prudish schoolmarm and meticulously unbutton #4.

“You’re good at your… job.” It takes a little while to free this button, so you end up worrying your lower lip with your teeth as you try. Once you’re finished, with anticipation lifting every single hair follicle on your body, only then do you make eye contact.

He mutters ‘fuck’ and reaches between the two of you to unbuckle his belt, popping his trouser snap with an expression that challenges you to object.

There are two shirt buttons left.

You’re completely out of your depth, as desperate to come as you may have ever been in your entire existence, and you have zero idea what else to say--but you reach for button number five.

You wet your lips. Slowly.

Steve grips the couch with his free hand-- but the one he’s holding onto you with is still firm and not at all bruising (not that you’d mind. You’ll paint yourself with this man’s passion if he lets you). 

“You’re passionate.”

He makes a cut-off sort of growl in the back of his throat when you move to the last button. You can see the heavy bulge of his cock in his boxer briefs just an inch away from your palms. In a perfect world, you’d say ‘fuck it’ to coming up with another word. In a perfect world, you’d reward both of you by giving up and sliding to your knees, demonstrating exactly how much you appreciate this tall, sexy, beast of an honorable man--and then you have an idea.

Your borrowed pants have a simple clasp, and you move your hands slowly from Steve’s last remaining shirt button to release it, incidentally dragging across his straining cock as you do so. The blatant teasing gets ‘worse’ when you draw down your zipper, nudging, rubbing, and pressing until it’s fully unzipped.

Throughout, Steve’s hand on your ass remains steady, but his breathing grows more and more ragged.

Finally, you lift your hands up and away, denying him any more contact before dropping down to reach for the last button.

“You--” he rumbles, but you interrupt him with two words.

“You’re patient.”

With a practically incomprehensible oath that thoroughly refutes your last impudent compliment, Steve shoves down your loosened clothing and angles the two of you to the side on the couch, all in a single action. Then he sinks two fingers inside you roughly, both of you groaning at the desperate, glorious pleasure of it.

You cram a fist in your mouth, but he stops in the middle of his one-handed shucking of his pants and boxers to yank your fist free.

“All through that shitty conference I imagined the noises you’d make tonight,” Steve grits out, looking down at you with naked desire in his eyes. He twists his fingers mid thrust, and you can’t help but cry out, your hips chasing every movement his talented, devastating fingers perform on you.

You’re already so close. The white-hot, catastrophic release starts to cloud your vision, stayed only by your delayed understanding of what he just said.

“Wait, you’re saying during the--”

Steve kicks the last inches of his lower clothing free and swaps hands deftly, spreading your arousal on his cock with an ‘Mmmm’ of pleasure so filthy you flutter around his fingers in pre-orgasmic shock.

“Thinking about you genuinely kept me sane, and I'm going to turn those daydreams into reality,” he rasps, a modern Greek god with the morals of a saint and the body of a satyr, as if you could ever do anything but gratefully worship him.

You mouth something like the word “Yes,” too desperate for anything more coherent.

The pleasure that follows his first deep thrust is ruinous. You forget everything but Steve, the taste of praise on his lips, the delight his touch chases across your skin, and most of all, the power he arches into you, music and mayhem and meaning, all at once. By the time you’re shuddering around each other you’ve ended up on the floor in front of his couch--and you only notice because Steve’s got a hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’m out of adjectives,” you whisper weakly. “All of the good ones. Most of the naughty ones. Fuck, other languages, too. Even extinct ones. You’re fluent in everything.”

Steve pulls you to his chest and does something athletic that ends with you on the couch beside him, his soft homemade afghan covering the most pertinent parts of your nakedness.

“You make me want to be fluent in everything,” he murmurs. “And, thank you.” Steve grabs his shirt and holds it in front of his crotch. “I’ll get a washcloth.”

He’s jogging farther into the apartment before you can respond, but something about his protective actions trigger a flurry of realization, something you should be--

Oh.

The fall of snow past the giant picture windows brings reality crashing into you. You just had glorious, intense, messy sex in a room that is visible from other nearby buildings!

Steve reappears with a soft-looking washcloth. He’s wearing pajama pants, with what looks like a matching long-sleeved top slung over his shoulder.

“I forgot about the windows,” you say in a small voice, taking the washcloth and using it under the afghan.

“Oh, right,” he says in a completely un-worried voice. Steve looks over at you, sees the half-scared expression on your face, and his demeanor sort of… softens. It’s both obvious and hard to quantify, and it hits you that he’s almost certainly done that before, even if you hadn’t noticed. You imagine there’s a lot of things his clothes and a carefully-crafted facial expression would cover for. He sits down beside you on the couch and offers you the shirt as he says, “The couch is recessed enough into the room that it’s not very visible, I think, but I wasn’t thinking, and I should have asked you about that. I’m sorry.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, and you ask him about that while pulling on his proffered pajama top, juggling the blanket in the process.

“Would it be strange to say I get very… goals-oriented?” he asks, rueful and amused in equal measure.

“How much different a ‘persona’ are we talking, here?”

The question is meant playfully, but Steve takes long enough to answer that you can feel the warmth of the washcloth start to fade in your hand.

“Too different for comfort, I’m coming to realize.” 

He reaches for the washcloth, but you pull it close and get up, gesturing for him to lead you to wherever you can rinse it out. On the way, you can’t help but eye the windows in a new way, perhaps as unintentional adversaries.

“I haven’t let myself be truly seen in a long time,” Steve says as you drape the rinsed washcloth on a drying rack in the dimly-lit kitchen area. “The reason is--well, it might be insulting, but it’s honest.”

You resist the urge to hug your arms around yourself. He’s given you a shirt to wear that matches his, and you were serious with those compliments earlier, despite the pleasure-wrought desperation you felt as you spoke them. “Go on?”

“You’re yourself with me. Not fawning. There’s no facade, no attempt to pretend you have more money or influence. That’s rare. Precious even.”

His statement stings, despite everything that’s happened tonight, despite the way his compliment hews off the rough edges. There’s no derision or judgment in his tone, so you smile at him, albeit stiffly. 

“I don’t really have a way to hide those things. I’m me. I figured if you were bothered by--” you wince, feeling a sense of inferiority rise up inside you (dropped out of college, pulled out of your internship, entry-level job, depleted nest-egg, caregiver for your sister, baggage, baggage, baggage) before you wrestle it all back down. “--any of that, you’d move on, and I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

“I don’t want to move on,” Steve says firmly, brushing his hand over your hair as if to adjust the disarray that came from putting on his shirt. “I want to move forward, even if that means you can see through some of the windows I usually cover with curtains. Will you be exclusive with me?”

“I’d really like that,” you whisper, overcome. “And not just because you fuck like a complete god.”

The words slip out before you can fucking stop them, and you gasp, the tidal wave of your social inferiority to a man like Steve coming blasting through all the tentative bridges you’ve just built. You hear buzzing in your ears, your vision is misted over with regret--but seconds later, you realize he’s laughing.

“Okay I swear on every single deity that exists, I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud! I’m so sorry,” you groan, your relief over his amusement barely tempering the metallic tang of adrenaline on your tongue.

Your… your boyfriend Steve Rogers takes your hand in his and lifts it up, bowing over it before kissing it with more chivalry than a whole season of Game of Thrones. Even one of the early ones.

“Sweetheart, you’re forgiven.”

<- Previous story...

[sheriffaxolotl]

Rough Hands and Gentle Strokes: Arthur Morgan x Art Teacher

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Headcanons on if Arthur was to fall in love with an Art Teacher

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How You Meet

You’re teaching art to children in a small town when Arthur stops by to resupply. He first notices you when he hears the children’s laughter, drawn to the cheerful atmosphere of your outdoor class. Curious, he lingers nearby, watching as you patiently guide the kids through a drawing exercise. One of the children notices him and insists he join the lesson, much to his embarrassment. Despite his protests, your gentle encouragement convinces him to stay. By the end of the lesson, Arthur has sketched an awkward horse that earns him a soft, amused smile from you.

The First Real Connection

After the lesson, you thank him for his participation and make a passing comment about how rare it is to meet someone who sketches in town. Arthur’s curiosity gets the better of him, and he shyly shows you a few pages of his journal. His modesty about his work tugs at your heart, and your genuine admiration breaks through his guarded demeanor. The two of you spend the afternoon talking about art and life. Beneath his rugged exterior, you discover a quiet depth and a warmth that draws you in.

Balancing His Secret Life

Arthur doesn’t tell you about the Van der Linde gang at first. He says he’s a traveling ranch hand, not wanting to scare you away or put you in harm’s way. As your relationship deepens, he struggles with the guilt of hiding the truth, but his protectiveness outweighs his desire to be completely honest.

Discovering His Life

Over time, you start piecing things together—rumors in town and inconsistencies in Arthur’s stories. When you finally confront him, your heart sinks at the truth. Though shaken, you listen as he explains his complicated life. Despite your fears, you recognize the goodness in him and choose to stay, believing he’s capable of so much more than the life he’s stuck in.

Making It Work Around the Gang

Arthur visits you whenever he can, cherishing the stolen moments of peace you bring to his life. He’s careful to keep you safe, often leaving supplies or money behind for your art classes. You insist you’re not a burden, but he can’t help wanting to provide for you in his own way. If the gang’s activities bring them too close to your town, he warns you to lay low, even if it means not seeing each other for a while.

Gentle Encouragement

Arthur is mesmerized by your passion for teaching art to children. He doesn’t fully understand your craft, but he listens intently when you explain it, marveling at your talent. One day, a child gives him a drawing they made during your lesson, and he proudly keeps it in his satchel, carrying a piece of your world with him.

Sketchbook Bonding

One evening, Arthur hesitantly shows you his journal again, admitting it’s “just a habit.” When you praise his sketches, he feels a warmth he hasn’t known in years. You offer to teach him shading techniques, and soon, the two of you are sketching side by side under the stars, sharing a quiet intimacy.

Childlike Joy

Watching you interact with the children melts something in Arthur. Whether you’re showing them how to mix colors or encouraging their creativity, your kindness tugs at his heart. Occasionally, he joins in, awkwardly holding a paintbrush while the kids giggle at his attempts.

Creative Surprises

Arthur isn’t poetic, but he expresses his feelings through thoughtful gestures. He carves you a wooden palette engraved with flowers or brings you rare pigments he finds during his travels. Each gift is a quiet declaration of how much he cares.

Artistic Muse

Sometimes, you secretly sketch him while he’s focused on a task, capturing his rugged charm and vulnerability. When he discovers these drawings, he’s flustered yet deeply moved, secretly tucking them into his journal as a cherished keepsake when you’re not around.

Teaching Him Perspective

Your lessons on how art helps children “see the world differently” resonate deeply with Arthur. Slowly, he starts to apply this philosophy to his own life, finding beauty in small moments, even amid the chaos of the gang.

Tension Between Worlds

The weight of Arthur’s life sometimes scares you, and there are nights when you lie awake wondering if he’ll come back. Arthur wrestles with guilt, occasionally trying to distance himself to protect you. But you always bring him back, reminding him that you love the man he is, not the world he’s in.

Handmade Gifts

Knowing your love for crafting, Arthur surprises you with small tokens: a handcrafted easel, a leather case for your brushes, or flowers he’s picked himself. Though awkward in giving gifts, his sincerity makes each one precious.

Art as Healing

You introduce Arthur to the idea of using art to process emotions. While initially skeptical, he begins sketching moments that weigh on his mind, from memories of loss to serene sunsets. Your encouragement helps him find solace in his journaling.

The Children Love Him

Despite his gruff demeanor, the children adore Arthur. They rope him into art lessons, and while he pretends to be annoyed, he secretly enjoys their laughter. You tease him, calling him your “assistant.”

Escaping Together

When the weight of life becomes too much, you and Arthur retreat to a quiet meadow or lake. With your sketchbook and his journal, you find peace in the simplicity of nature and each other’s company.

A Shared Dream of Freedom

In your quiet moments together, you talk about what life could be like if you left everything behind. You dream of opening a small art school for children, and though hesitant, Arthur admits he likes the idea of a peaceful life by your side. While he rarely considers settling down, being with you makes him wonder what it would be like—perhaps helping you run a small art studio for children. Though he never says it aloud, the dream lingers in his heart, giving him purpose and grounding him amidst the chaos of his world.

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This is shamelessly self-indulgent, as I'm working towards my degree to become a teacher and stressing over assignments that are due. To destress for a bit, I ended up writing this. I hope someone enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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[pininghermit]

The Bard-ling

AN: I'm going to write more of this dynamic. D deserves a bard. Loving the fandom! I would love to get back to all your lovely comments but life is a little busy right now :)

Genre: romance, fluff

Pairing(s): Vampire hunter D x gn Reader

Summary: Your lute stilled mid-strum as realization dawned. This wasn’t just another aimless journey. Today, D was leading you back to a chapter of his past. A flame once touched but never kindled.

You strum your lute, somehow managing to keep pace with Blaze—a name you had lovingly bestowed upon D’s stoic, cybernetic horse. Yet, it was not without effort.

The dunpeal had an uncanny way of drawing out the hidden glamour you worked so hard to suppress. How else was a fae supposed to keep up with a creature that galloped like a streak of lightning across the vast, unkind earth?

“The riveting adventures of D…” you mutter, wincing. “No, that won’t do.” With a dramatic sigh, you scratch that one off your mental list. For all your boundless enthusiasm, D’s name simply refused to fit into any heroic ballad worth its strings.

“How about ‘The Pioneer of Justice, D’?” you propose, your voice carrying into the empty air. The silence that follows is so absolute it makes your ears ache. Thankfully, Blaze is kind enough to snort in response, as though sharing your pain.

“Vampire Hunter D?” you try again, squinting meaningfully at the dunpeal himself. But reading D’s expression is a hopeless endeavor. Where mortals were an open book, D was a locked journal whose pages you were forbidden to touch.

Your mind drifts, as it often does, to the journey that brought you here. It was the year 1230 of your beguiling, back in the shimmering court of Yjorn. How valiantly you had made the decision or so you told yourself, to leave the safety of faerie and step into the world of mortals. To witness their plight, to feel their fleeting joys and crushing sorrows, and to, perhaps, offer your kind’s endless empathy to those fragile, short-lived souls.

At least, that was the story you liked to tell.

The truth, however, was far less noble. As the darling 47th in line to the throne of Yjorn, you had been unceremoniously banished. The queen, your mother, had little patience for your "spoils"—the mortal lovers you’d so generously whisked away to faerie.

How unfair it had been! You were merely sparing them from their wretched lives, gifting them a place in your beautiful, eternal world. But, as it turned out, your mother did not share your vision.

And so, the treasured youngest of Yjorn found themselves wandering the mortal realm, now strumming a lute beside a dhampir who had less to say than the stars themselves.

How the mighty had fallen.

Yet all was not lost. Your beloved companion, though D would undoubtedly deny such familiarity, was a joy to travel with on the rare days he wasn’t bound by his oath of silence.

Your dhampir was, admittedly, a delight on most occasions. Watching the world of mortals and immortals alike stumble into smitten dazes at his mere presence was a treasure you held dear.

Truly, wherever D went, hearts followed. Men and women alike seemed to lay their emotions bare, falling at his feet with their hearts in their hands, eyes wide with awe.

The lovelorn, particularly young mortals swept up in the fervor of first love had a habit of complicating his already unromantic quests.

Seventeen-year-olds, intoxicated by their first taste of passion, often became the heroines of his adventures. How many times had you watched these youths mistake his stoic sense of duty for some deeper affection, their fervent hopes clashing with his unwavering silence?

Today, however, was different. Today, D had surprised you. For once, he wasn’t leading you toward an unknown skirmish or a shadowed corner of the world. Instead, the path he followed carried a peculiar familiarity, one that tugged at memories you thought long buried.

The road to the outskirts of Ransylva…

Your lute stilled mid-strum as realization dawned. This wasn’t just another aimless journey. Today, D was leading you back to a chapter of his past. A flame once touched but never kindled.

Today, you were returning to the home of Doris Lang.

The heroine of your infamous ballad, A Noble Bloodlust.

Through fields overrun and a village in plight, He rode into Ransylva beneath crimson light. With silence his answer, with steel in his hand, A protector of souls in a cursed, hollow land.

Oh, follow the shadow, where the moon lights the way, A stranger who lingers, ‘til the darkness must pay. No name to his legend, no tale to confide, The rider in shadow forever will ride.

A maiden stood waiting, her heart held by dread, Her family in ruin, her brother near dead. She asked for his aid, though his eyes were like stone, And found in his silence a strength all her own.

Oh, follow the shadow, where the moon lights the way, A stranger who lingers, ‘til the darkness must pay. No name to his legend, no tale to confide, The rider in shadow forever will ride.

The song was a marvel, its fame spreading far and wide, unmatched in its ability to immortalize D’s deeds. And for you, the bard of Vampire Hunter D, it had become your crowning glory.

Oh, the chorus! It was irresistible, a siren call to every tavern-goer, who eagerly joined in with booming voices. No crowd could resist singing those words, raising their mugs in tribute to the enigmatic rider.

It was a pity, however, that D himself didn’t share the same enthusiasm. He’d forbidden you to include certain “embellishments” like the Midwich Medusas, for instance.

How could you resist weaving them into your verses when they added such flavor? And yet, the dunpeal had tried, in vain, to hide that particular detail from your prying telepathic curiosity.

Ah, the woes of a bard! Had your mother granted you a touch more power in your exile, such slights to your artistry would never have been made.

But alas, here you were, forced to temper your creativity to suit your stoic companion.

As the road wound closer to Ransylva, you strummed the melody softly, humming under your breath. If Doris Lang remembered him, and oh, how could she forget? The silly mortal would not manage to forget your dunpeal in a thousand lifetimes.

You had no doubt that her story would inspire yet another verse. Perhaps, this time, you’d manage to keep the Medusas in.

D should be enjoying this. He truly should be.

Then why did unease coil in his chest? Why did every laugh, every earnest attempt from Dan to learn the basics of your lute, gnaw at his composure?

Dan was no longer the innocent boy D had once left behind. Time had carved strength into his frame, the gangly limbs of youth replaced by the solid build of a young man. A man who seemed far too comfortable in your company.

And it irked him.

So much so, that D found himself ignoring the familiar sight of Doris lingering nearby, her gaze lovingly flitting toward him. She might have drawn his attention before, but now, his focus was elsewhere.

It was on you. And on Dan’s fingers. Those far-too-close fingers brushing yours as he held your lute with clumsy enthusiasm.

You were his bard. You should be by his side. Next to him.

The sharp twang of a snapping string startled everyone. You froze, your head snapping up to meet D’s gaze, your eyes glinting with the mischievous light of someone who knew. Of course you did. The strain of his power, the invisible pull that broke the string, had betrayed him.

There was a whole other story unfolding, hidden from the eyes of Doris and Dan, shrouded in the veil of magic that bound you to D in ways no mortal could comprehend.

“Alas,” you sighed, turning to Dan with an exaggerated look of disappointment, “it seems our lesson isn’t meant to be.”

Dan flushed, looking sheepish, and fumbled with the lute as you reclaimed it. The smirk curling on your lips was a private dagger aimed at D, who tensed as you approached him.

The lute fell into his lap with a deliberate thud.

“A pity, right, D?” you teased, leaning in slightly, your grin sharpening as you closed the distance. Behind you, Dan shuffled awkwardly, his mind already racing for another excuse to draw your attention back to him.

But D would not allow it.

You didn’t belong with Dan. You were not human. A fae, with all the mischief and danger that entailed, had no place beside a mortal. You were a temptation, a force that could unravel Dan’s fragile humanity.

No. You were a danger, yes. But you were his danger. One that belonged by his side, next to him and Blaze.

Even Blaze, a disposable cyborg horse had become something more because of you. The name you’d given him, the way you spoke to him like he was a creature of flesh and blood, had seeped into D’s consciousness. He’d gone out of his way to care for Blaze, preserving the horse’s functionality against all odds.

Why?

Because it kept you there. Kept you tethered to him.

And as you hovered just close enough to test his already frayed restraint, D accepted the truth. Whatever else you were, you were his. And no mortal boy would change that.

So, when the midnight hour came, and D silently mounted Blaze to set off toward the next nameless town, you followed without hesitation.

The plans of vacationing in Ransylva were long forgotten, drowned beneath the unease that coursed through D like an unseen tide.

No question was carried on the winds, no protest rose from the shadows of the slumbering village you left behind.

All that lingered in the stillness was the victorious laughter of a smug faerie.

[scoobydoodean]

so imagine emma somehow reappeared in season 15. i think we can all pretty much agree that dean would be quite emotionally affected by her, but how do you think sam would react? obviously he’s changed a lot since season 7, and of course they’ve had jack now, so do you think he’d feel terrible and admit he was wrong, or even with all that do you think he’d defend his actions? do you think he would bring up amy and let it become a bigger debate about other times they’d disagreed? thanks in advance if you answer :)

I certainly don't think Sam would try to kill Emma again. I think he saw killing her as a necessary evil in 7.13 due to his and Dean's tenuous psychological states, which caused Sam to assess her as a much more serious threat to Dean's life than Sam would at almost any other point in the series. Basically, in any other season, I think Sam would look at Emma with much more compassion, and would believe they had the practical capacity to try and get through to her (see: 1.16, 2.03, 4.04, 5.06, 12.04, 13.01-13.03). In another season, Sam would (imo) be willing to risk another surprise assault thinking they could handle it if it happened—especially in the future with the bunker at their disposal. But in 7.13, the brothers have no home (not even the impala), recently lost Bobby, and lost Cas. They have absolutely zero stability and no resources. Dean is suicidally depressed, and Sam is hallucinating. Sam does not believe he and Dean have the capacity to handle a brainwashed child who might show up and ambush them within that very precarious context, so he kills her. He has lost everyone and everything, and he absolutely will not risk losing Dean too. That fear comes out as rage at Dean in the car, but I don't think Sam killing Emma was mean-spirited or an attempt to punish him. It was just... incredibly cold and calculated.

Is there a reason why you pick season 15 specifically for an Emma revival? Sam navigating how to handle a revived Emma later in the series would be interesting, but I personally wouldn't do it in season 15. I'd do it a little earlier than that—maybe 13-14. Maybe it's just because of my bias against season 15... but it feels too... mytharc heavy? Sam's morals surrounding family sacrifice change around season 14/15 which adds another complication as far as how he might re-assess 7.13. I think Dean might just implode if he had one more thing on his plate in season 15 and a lot of the juiciest father/daughter bits would be subsumed by Dean's fears of Chuck meddling which to me would be a shame. I also think conflicts between Sam and Jack over Emma would be juiciest in season 13 or 14 and imo there's a lot of potential there that would be overcomplicated or missed.

In general though, Sam handles a lot of negative emotions and traumatic experiences by pretending they do not exist/never happened. This is why he immediately sows the narrative that Emma was not really Dean's child. So he can make that the story and invalidate any significance she might possess. Her coming back would force him to confront something he already knows deep down but won't face—that Emma was Dean's child who had been brainwashed by a cult, and Sam killed her in perhaps the most cold-blooded play he's ever (knowingly) made. It's possible that Sam would react negatively to being in Emma's presence because it would resurface those feelings and that Sam would eventually make justifications to try and shove all those feelings back down again. But I actually suspect if Sam went the "Well things have changed now but I wasn't wrong for what I did back then" route, his main conflict wouldn't end up being with Dean. I suspect his biggest hurdle in terms of family conflict would end up being with Jack in a season 13-14 context, because I think Jack would see their similarities, and it might color his perception of both Sam and Dean's reaction to him in early season 13. I think he'd have a lot of questions about how Sam could see the good in him but not Emma despite him being objectively far more dangerous than her and having actively demonstrated that several times by hurting and killing several people and almost reviving ancient evils, etc. I think it could revive some of Jack's early concerns over Sam wanting to use him and not really caring about him. I'd even wonder if he might see Dean's initial rejection as part of a foundation Sam himself laid when he killed Dean's child then went back on without any explanation. Like I think they could reach common ground and Sam could reassure Jack, but I think it could create some very juicy conversations surrounding Jack and necessary evils.

I don't NOT think Sam and Dean would have a conflict over Emma, but tbh one has to acknowledge that at the end of the day... there is pretty much nothing Sam can't get Dean to shut up about, including his own traumatic experiences in hell that Dean specifically does not ever talk about because of Sam. If Sam tried to kill Emma again, that'd be another matter... but if it was just about whether Sam was wrong for Doing All Of That...? I'm genuinely not sure I would look to Dean to reignite a war over it. If anything, he probably told himself the entire situation was all his fault a long time ago. Now if you push that Emma revival back to the CARVER era...

[bardic-tales]

2024 has been a stressful year for me in terms of writing and my life. It is when I decided to shelve a project that I worked more than a decade on and faced the fact that maybe my data loss of over 2 decades of writing in 2021 deleted some things that I just can't get back.

It's also been a year of rebirth for me. When I shifted my focus towards Fantasy Worlds Collide (FWC), I felt such a renewed passion for writing that I knew that this is what I needed: a change of pace and genre. It did help that my doctor told me a few years ago that I needed to leave publishing my work professionally, as I cannot have any stress in my life. So, I shifted focus from completely original work to this amalgamation of original and fan fiction that you find in FWC.

divider by @strangergraphics

Accomplishments

This year marked a significant shift in my creative focus, as I honed in on the developing Fantasy Worlds Online, delving into Bianca Moore's expansive journey. I embraced the complicated dynamics of her story -- where an eternal cosmic conflict and end of everything prophecy of angels and demons meets Final Fantasy VII. Bianca's tale evolved over time from her original idea of just being a Shinra Scientist in 1997 to the celestial being that she is presented as now. Key milestones include fleshing out pivotal moments, like her harrowing experiences with Sephiroth in the Shinra Manor to braving the fires of the Nibelheim Incident to try to bring him back to her but failing. It also included immense world building for the celestial realm.

Despite struggling with grief and a prolonged creative block that kept me away from seriously writing for over a year, I found my passion again mid-2024, allowing me to immerse myself in FWC once again. Though my other works still remain untouched, I am very proud of the depth and energy I've poured and still am pouring into this universe.

This year also brought an unexpected yet fulfilling new endeavor for me. In honor of a late friend, I started a Tumblr club (@creators-club) to celebrate creators across various mediums. The community's response has been very heartwarming, to say the least. As the holiday approaches, however, the club will take a brief hiatus from Dec 25 - Jan 25, allowing me the opportunity to focus on my family and recharge.

Creative Growth

I decided to embrace a more sensory-driven, character focused style of writing, so I tried to blend rich and vivid descriptions with very deep emotional undertones. I leaned heavily into contrasting imagery -- light versus dark, warmth versus cold, serenity versus chaos. This was supposed to mirror the duality of Bianca and the overarching themes of love, loss, and power.

I also explored new narrative perspectives and techniques, delving into intimate moments between characters. This approach allowed me to experiment with pacing, from slow, atmospheric build-ups to sharp, visceral contrasts, creating what I hope is a very dynamic storytelling.

Challenges and Lessons Learned

Writing Bianca's character was a challenging yet deeply rewarding experience that required me to straddle a delicate balance between crafting original content and integrating her and this original content into the established world of Final Fantasy VII. One of the biggest challenges was ensuring that her journey felt authentic and compelling, especially given that I given her a dual role in FWC as the Harbinger of the End, as well as a character that is tied to Sephiroth's arc.

Balancing her deeply traumatic backstory with her progression into a powerful, self-aware agent of chaos that even a villain like Sephiroth loved and respected required careful thought to avoid overshadowing him or herself.

These challenges helped me grow as a writer by allowing me to sharpen my ability to juggle multiple layers of narrative complexity while staying true to a character's core identity. Developing her arc deepened my understanding of how trauma and loss shapes individuals, including myself, in different ways. Her transition from seeking redemption to fully embracing her darker nature alongside Sephiroth required exploring very nuanced themes of identity, love, and self-destruction.

This evolution not only enriched her story but also expanded my ability to weave original storytelling into an existing world without losing sight of what makes each aspect compelling. It reinforced the importance of taking risks and viewing challenges as opportunities for growth and creativity. Bianca's journey became a reflection of my own as an author: one defined by perseverance, transformation, and the pursuit of something uniquely impactful.

Friends and Mutuals

I just want to take a minute to shout out some friends and mutuals that made my time on Tumblr this year just a little bit brighter. Whether it's through their writing, crafts, or OCs, I enjoyed seeing and reading your work. Even if we do not interact. If I missed you, I still enjoy reading your work.

@abalonetea @the-bar-sinister @rosesonkittens @aalinaaaaaa @whatwedointhecraft

@serenofroses @tolliver-j-mortaelwyver @flowerwiththemachinegun @sapphirothcrescent

@megandaisy9 @writingamongther0ses @watermeezer @cardierreh15

@nightingaleflow @seastarblue @themaradwrites

Thank you everyone for your hard work this year. You all are inspirations. I can't wait to see where 2025 takes each one of you.

Goals for 2025

For the upcoming year, my primary goal is to focus on character development, particularly with Bianca and Sephiroth's complex dynamic. I aim to focus on refining their relationship, exploring the emotional aspects that drive their actions and shape their bond. A key project will be writing and finishing Blood & Stardust, the first fan fiction that will feature the couple. It is set to be 50k words and only 14 chapters. It will start with her falling into Gaia and end with her being captured by Professor Hojo, introducing Diana Ravenscroft: one of the major antagonists of FWC. I hope to explore themes of loss, grief, and destruction, pushing the boundaries of Bianca's emotional and psychological arcs.

This year's experiences have offered invaluable insights into how trauma and complex emotional bonds influence a character's choice and their end goals. By examining Bianca's struggles with identity, loyalty, and devotion, I've gain a better understanding of how those elements impact characters' relationships.

Moving forward, I want to continue to refine my storytelling by including the above themes into my narrative. The growth I've experienced in understanding my character's motivations and vulnerabilities will help me in my future work by providing a foundation to craft more compelling, multi-dimensional characters. I also plan to develop skills in world-building to ensure the settings for FWC feels as engaging and rich as the characters' storylines.

Also, I want to add a note here that I have come to embrace my self-shipping with Sephiroth. I won't go into the personal reasons why I ship myself with Seph and only Seph, but I will say that I can relate to his journey in a very, very personal way. For the first time, I no longer feel like it's 'weird' or 'outside the norm' for self-shipping. I have some followers who do this, too, and my husband is supportive of it. I've learned that this is part of my creative journey, as a way to explore my emotions and provide me comfort.

[broodygaming]

Man oh man, it confuses me, very genuinely that ppl dont think that Beau and Yasha were a good end pairing. That they don’t see it. Idk. I catches me off guard every time I read it because, to me I suppose, they go together like... Chocolate ganache. You heat the milk, pour in the chocolate and stir and stir.... and you’re staring at it and there’s awkward chocolate chunks and it’s just milk with chocolate, oh my god I’ve messed it up, it’s sticking to the bottom omfg ive wasted ALL this milk holy shit I’m an idiot and - Bam. Suddenly. One last little stir and it magically transforms before your eyes into smooth rich brown chocolate ganache.  

Idk. For me. They are this fascinating twirling of strong forces that at some point just meld together to make this beautiful thing neither of them could have ever even visualized. The dichotomy of two violent women who have been battered by the world. Told over and over how Destructive they are. Who have destroyed each other in all these crazy situations? Who have been lauded as machines of war and bastions of retribution or cast out as “too much to deal with”..... These two women who have been taught over and over again that EVERY single fucking hand that touches.... strikes.... So strike back and first before they get the fucking chance.... 

Gods be damned do they deserve gentleness. 

And not to say there’s not many places you can find that. But the idea of standing there, holding your broken parts and looking around to find someone to help you... Not fix you, just help you hold them all... And the peace someone might feel handing them to someone whose hands have known pain. Someone whose hands are scarred and battered and tough. Someone who won’t be shocked to see so many broken parts. Someone who is carrying their own armful and a few more of yours won’t be a huge burden. Someone who fucking gets it. You know? I just think of Beau sliding into that hot bath and thinking of the kind words. Not even just kind words, but the acknowledgment and the sincerity. 

The... “I see you. I see you. And I’m not looking away. I will carry these pieces with you, if you might also carry some of mine”. 

[aardvaark]

im so glad that we never get a clear picture of sophie’s background in leverage & i hope we never do. however i also really like making up various, often conflicting backstories for her in my head. perhaps they’re all backstories for an alias of hers, ones she laid to rest back in season two.

[bitchfitch]

I'm working on that spirit of spring thing and its got me curious about something

[sometimeswritingsometimesdying]

in the years ive been off tumblr ive done a lot of traditional work so here's one of my favorites <3 it's titled "the epilogue"

oil painting & stitching on canvas, february 2024 (words by me!)

[liquidstar]

crazy take: aside from actual lesbian romance stories, obviously, nothing passes the bechdel test better than moe "cute girls doing cute things" anime. its always just a group of girls, few to no named male characters, boys and dating are hardly ever brought up beyond the abstract, if at all. like we're focusing on the girls hanging out rn, we dont need to worry abt that shit. mugi just ate mio's strawberry.

[blood-orange-juice]

Since I'm going all Lacanian on you anyway.

Every time I get asked whether I think that Childe is going to die, I think of this quote:

"I am not pessimistic. Nothing is going to happen. For the simple reason that man is a good-for-nothing, not even capable of destroying himself. "

In other words, I hope that our boy is so pathetic that he'll fail everything. He'll fail his heroic death. He'll fail bringing about the apocalypse.

He'll glitch through a corruption arc especially spectacularly and will continue to live his silly life none the wiser.