#this had to be done anyway the quote is too appropriate

[serailovesbagelsetc]

Quote from : Ada Limón, “The Good Fight”

[abnormallycreative]

.

[mastermindmiko]

Grimmauld ceilings

Pairing: Sirius Black + Reader Word count: 1k+ Warnings: none, I believe but lmk Summary: You escape from the annual black party to only face the person, you've been escaping from in the first place Hey! if you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist

City lights have always been my enemy, it's always the thought I have in mind when I stare up into the pitch black sky and see not a twinkle in sight. The light breeze wooshes through my hair and I’m slightly calm. I’ve never been up here before, but I can see why I’ve been told that it’s so calming. 

I hear the creak of the rooftop door opening, and I snap my head to where it is. I’ve never been up here before, I wouldn’t know what excuse I would use if a muggle from Grimmauld 11 or 13 were to question why I (A random person) was on their property. Fortunately or rather unfortunately, it wasn’t a muggle that entered. 

“Wouldn’t your mother mind you being here?” He questions with a clipped tone. I roll my eyes at his words, and turn back to lean against the very short railing and stare up at the empty sky. Footsteps approach and another question gets asked, “Aren’t you worried about how Regulus will fair without you?” 

My anger bubbles but I take a deep breath, easy to be done with the breeze, and I feel it simmer down. The smell of the rain that stopped a few hours ago still hung in the air. He leans against the railing and I don’t look at him, but instead catch a glimpse of his informal leather boots with chains instead of laces, a very big contrast to my smooth black heels.

“Don’t you usually enjoy these sorts of festivities?” This question is more sincere a question than the others, but still with a teasing undertone. He was right though I do enjoy them, truly do, not because my parents want me to, something he finds very hard to believe. 

I enjoy the act of getting ready, pinning my hair up, putting on an elegant dress with matching shoes. I enjoy the fancy dinner and the small talk, the drinks, and the food itself. Especially those divine, delectable, amazing apple tarts-

“At least you didn’t miss the tarts yet.” He says, and it's the first time I look at him all night. He’s wearing a black vest with a wrinkled white chemise, a crimson and gold tie wrapped haphazardly around his neck, mostly undone. I ask, “What does your mother think you’re doing right now?” 

“Changing into something more appropriate.” He smirks, and raises a hand gesturing to his body. I didn't give him a response, just a hum, then looked out into the city once more. After the conversation we’d had before break, I was in no mood to be talking to him. He guesses, “You’re up here cause you didn’t want to run into me down there.”

“If you know that, why are you pestering me?” I snap, and I see what was left of his smile fall, I feel guilty, but I don’t let the feeling last, he’s the one at fault here. He sighs, “I’m sorry alright, I didn’t mean to hurt you like that-” 

“Or you didn’t mean for me to overhear?” I cut him off, and he looked down at the floor ashamed. The agitation going through me, made the heels I'm wearing unbearable. I huff and toss them off my feet glad to have the pantyhose touch the ground and not my actual feet. 

“I didn’t mean what I said, I was just so-” 

“Just so annoyed by how bossy and uptight I am, right?” I say, quoting him from right before break started. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. I couldn’t believe it, Sirius wouldn’t ruin his hair like that, it’s the reason why he didn’t play quidditch, too much air, messes with his hair that he puts so much effort into. He seems to realise what he’s done because he winces. 

I have no clue why I started spending time with him anyways, we never got along before. He hated my brother Evan and everyone in my house and my family. He hated his family, everything they stood for and he made it known. I don’t think I’d be allowed to talk to him, but I had to because of the stupid stupid charms project. 

Countless hours of working together, led to me actually tolerating him, thinking maybe everything I was told about him wasn’t right, I even actually might’ve started to- He explains, “I was just so done with everything James, Remus and Peter were saying, I had to get them off my back!” 

“I don’t care what your friends are up to! I thought we were-ugh at least some kind of pleasant acquaintances!” I shout, and he’s quick to reply, “We are! You don’t understand how annoying it was, them pestering me with…” 

He trails off, and a bit of pink covers his cheeks, must be the cold. He looks down at his feet, shuffling in his boots, and the chains rustle. I press, “Pestering you with what?” 

His eyes meet mine, and he takes in a deep breath before blurting out, “They seem to believe that I’ve developed feelings for you during our time working on the project.” 

“Oh.” I breathe, and purse my lips. It feels as though someone stuck a sharp shard of broken glass, most likely from my broken heart, into my stomach. I conclude, “So, I guess all those words were just an explanation as to how you would like someone your parents actually would approve of, someone who’s in slytherin, a rosier too. You must’ve been appalled at the accusation.” 

I wonder if he can sense the disappointment in my voice, I really hope he doesn’t. It would make it all the more embarrassing for me to think that I actually liked him. He admits, “I was more appalled by the fact that they were right.” 

I snap my head up from the floor to look at him, and he’s looking at me with a sheepish smile on his lips, spinning the rings around his fingers like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He rambles, “I can’t believe that I like a girl that when I tell my mother about that she wouldn’t have an aneurysm. I think they might actually like me for it.” 

He chuckles at the last part of his statement. His grin turns nervous as he’s waiting for me to respond, and I don’t respond. Instead, I simply press my lips to his. He hums at the contact, and is quick to wrap his arms around me, lifting me off the ground. 

I find myself smiling wide when we break apart, not as much as he is, but a significant amount. I tease, “I’m still mad about what you said.” 

“I already knew you’d say that.” He says, and pulls out something from one of his pockets. Wrapped around in a few tissues, and he unveils whatever he’s got in there. I exclaim when I notice, “APPLE TARTS!”  a/n: Obviously I had to reference the apple tarts from Gilmore Girls that Lorelai loves so much.

[mentallyisekaid]

「 ✦ Fatui Harbingers x La Signora's Sister! Reader, PART 1 ✦ 」

---

[Part 1] Part 2 Part 2.5. Part 3 Part 3.5

Warnings: spoilers regarding Signora's lore and a certain event in the Inazuma Archon quest, possibly some spoiler-ish stuff about other things too

Word count: 2.7k

This part will include direct quotations from "Teyvat Chapter Interlude Teaser: A Winter Night's Lazzo" that belongs fully to miHoYo. I'll write these quotes in bold, so copyrights won't haunt me like Khaenri'ah lore :)

---

Even among the Harbingers, not much was known about the Fair Lady's (may she rest in peace) younger sister, except for the fact that you existed and had somehow managed to live for over 500 years, just like her. They were all aware of Signora's special circumstances that had made her essentially immortal, but Celestia knows how you had done it?

This is why you'd become something of a urban legend among the lower ranking members of the Fatui. Maybe La Signora had just been delusional, some of them thought - maybe there wasn't a sister, at least not anymore.

You were fine with that, though. You'd never wanted anything to do with your sister or her morally dubious organization anyway.

But she was still the only blood relative you'd had left, and now she was gone.

Attending her funeral was only appropriate.

You arrived at the grand doors of the cathedral, stopping for a moment to adjust the expensive-looking cloak that someone had sent you along with the invitation to the ceremony, requesting you to wear it. Much to your displeasure, it had the Fatui Insignia on it, though you were slightly more bothered by the fact that they'd somehow figured out where you live...

Or maybe they'd known all along.

But even if the invitation wasn't just out of courtesy, you had only showed up because Rosalyne was family, and only to pay your respects.

Their agendas meant nothing to you.

Pushing the doors open, you marched inside, the click-clack of your high heeled boots echoing in the eerie silence.

Curious gazes followed as this visitor, shrouded in mystery, made her way through the aisle - some of them curious, others a bit doubtful - but you ignored them.

Sitting down in the front row, you crossed your legs, leaning back with your eyes glued to the coffin highlighted by faint moonlight. A girl with child-like, seraphic features was leaning her head on its surface, singing a calming tune...

Spooky.

"Well, I never... this must be the Fair Lady's rumored sibling? And here I was starting to think you wouldn't make an appearance, dear."

You sighed, really having hoped that no one would bother talking to you; you had nothing to say to any of them. But for Celestia's sake, you still had some manners...

Glancing over your shoulder at the man who had just addressed you, you gave him a slight nod.

"It does seem my arrival was rather tardy. My apologies."

The man who you recognized as the Regrator, also known as Pantalone, chuckled a bit.

"No matter, it is rare a pleasure to finally meet you~"

"Likewise."

For a moment, your eyes wandered over each of the present Harbingers, these... co-workers of your sister's, before returning to stare in front of you just as indifferently as before.

You spoke a few more words, though.

"Everyone else as well, I suppose. Oh, and please pay no attention to my discourtesy... A lovely night for a funeral, is it not?"

Your charade was poorly put together, and intentionally so; you didn't know these people anymore than they knew you, but it was already clear that no one was here to pay their heartfelt respects for Rosalyne's memory, much less to exchange pleasantries.

A funeral? No, this was nothing but theatre - and here comes the first actor...

"We have gathered here today to remember our dear comrade. In honor of her sacrifice, all work should halt for half a day as the nation mourns her passing."

Hearing these words come from Pulcinella, the Mayor of Snezhnaya himself, you mentally scoffed. So now these crazy diplomats justified mistakes as 'sacrifice'?

Pantalone seemed amused by this declaration, though you noticed a shadow pass over his face.

"Hehe, merely half a day... People say that Northland Bank's true currencies are blood and tears... But Mayor, even speaking as a banker, that sounds a little unconscionable."

Well, it was as you'd expected? Even in this situation, the Harbingers only cared about their own agendas, and Rosalyne would've been the same way.

The next words belonged to someone you found a bit more familiar.

"You speak of her as if you knew what she had to go through," the silver-haired woman started, a derogatory look in her dark eyes.

You glanced curiously at her. This was surely Arlecchino? Out of the Harbingers, your sister had seemed to trust her the most, so you assumed they must've shared some sort of a closer relationship.

The Knave noticed you gaze, and gave you a small nod before continuing.

"Rosalyne died in a foreign land. But you heartless businessmen and dignitaries, always with a convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland... You couldn't hope to understand. So why don't you keep your mouths shut!"

"Ah, bravo...~" you commented with a small chuckle, your sudden boldness earning a few intrigued looks.

It seemed that La Signora's hardly known sister was indeed an interesting individual?

The ginger sitting on the other side of the aisle apparently found your remark entertaining, since he gave you an amused smile. But he threw his comrade's a much sterner look.

"Hey, c'mon now, even I don't think this is the right time or place for a fight."

Tartaglia, the infamous maniac always looking for a fight? Present~

"Utterly risible," a blonde woman scoffed from her place, sitting on the arms of a weird looking robot. Sandrone, you presumed.

And naturally, the oh-so righteous Capitano also had his opinion to share...

"Though her methods tarnished her honor, Lohefalter's sacrifice is still a great pity."

You sighed, shaking your head. There they go again, degrading her death as a mere sacrifice.

"Her loss shall not hinder our progress," the Captain continued, disregarding the matter. "But Dottore, what of Scaramouche --,"

...to which the crazy Doctor answered something incomprehensible.

Right. They weren't even talking about Rosalyne anymore. By now, the whole ceremony had turned out as a complete farce, and you wished nothing more than for Celestia to nuke it with another one of their divine nails.

Someone else had had enough as well.

"It's time to end tonight's foolish theatrics. This time, you have no captive audience."

The Jester's voice echoed menacingly in the cathedral, silencing his fellow Harbingers.

You gazed at him from your seat, raising an eyebrow when he gave you a look as well. In that short moment, unspoken words were shared between the two of you - after all, he knew things about you that the others didn't.

In any case, the speech went on for a while after that. Pierro's exaggerated sympathies, the Damselette needling Dottore about his segments, and... well, you weren't really listening anymore?

Once they finished and scattered from around the coffin, you silently walked over, placing a few frostbitten Cecilias on top of it. They were flowers from your homeland, though to you, Mondstadt was a memory at least five centuries old.

"Pretty flowers," a soft voice came from beside you. Columbina was back to presumptuously leaning on the casket.

You gave her a sidelong glance.

"Well, they're frozen to death by now - but that somehow fits the moment, no?"

"Mm-hmm~"

The ceremony was seemingly over, though you could still sense their presence. Your back was facing them, but it felt like they'd moved closer to the coffin again - or, perhaps, closer to you...

"I don't believe anyone has yet offered their condolences to this poor child," Capitano remarked solemnly, disregarding the fact you were chronologically speaking a living fossil.

Tartaglia sighed, "She doesn't want us to, I think."

You turned around to face them, crossing your arms.

"Well, firstly, you're calling me a child about 500 years too late. And no, I don't need your pity. It's hard to see your last family gone, but we weren't that close to begin with. Besides, Rosalyne knew full well what she was doing - when agreeing to a duel before the Shogun, and when joining the Fatui in the first place. You reap what you sow, and that's that."

The Doctor chuckled. "La Signora would surely turn over in her grave if she heard that."

"Let the dead rest, Zandik," Sandrone scoffed.

Columbina had scooted next to you.

"Poor thing~", she sang in that eerie voice, tilting her head. "How long have you been living by yourself? Maybe you could have Signora's former chambers in the headquarters."

Hmm? What a laughable suggestion, you thought. She was obviously toying with you.

Arlecchino gave the Damselette a warning look.

"Such a thing is something only the Director can decide. Though," she gave you an unreadable look. "I wouldn't be against it. In Rosalyne's honor, of course."

The usually ruthless Knave's comment was found somewhat unexpected among her comrades.

You gave her a weird look.

Something was clearly going on, the atmosphere was strangely expecting and you didn't like it in the slightest. It seems the theatrics weren't over after all?

Pantalone was gazing at you, an amused smile on his lips.

"You look a bit lost there, dear. Don't worry, Pierro will explain some things to you in a moment~"

You frowned. So, there was more in the game here - that letter wasn't just an invitation to the funeral of a sister you hardly even cared about, you'd doubted as much from the beginning.

Not that it really changed anything. As already mentioned, you'd only come for the ceremony...

And now that it was over, there was no reason for you to stay.

"That won't be necessary," you stated, nodding curtly. "I will be taking my leave now. Goodbye."

Your cloak shuffled as you walked past them, heading toward the exit. However, Childe, who had been standing the closest to the doors, now moved to block your way.

You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Tartaglia, right? If you could move aside, that would be much appreciated."

"Sorry, no can do, girlie," he laughed a bit, scratching his neck in an awkward manner. "Boss wants to have a chat with you, so I can't just have you leaving like that, now can I?"

"Right," you sighed. "Well, I don't really care..."

You rudely moved past him, reaching the doors and about to push them open, when you suddenly felt a hand on your wrist. And the grip they had wasn't exactly gentle.

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw Childe still wearing that stupid smile of his but there was now a shadow over his usually cheerful expression.

"Look, you seem like a smart girl." His voice was soft and menacing at the same time. "Things don't have to get ugly here, if you just cooperate a bit."

Ugly? Oh, you could make things turn ugly.

But this wasn't the right time for that - not with the majority of the Harbingers present. It's not like you had a death wish, for Celestia's sake... though, it did seem like Tartaglia was only half serious about what he had said?

You looked past him, seeing the other Fatui diplomats standing there, all with hardly readable expressions on their faces. Your gaze stopped when it reached the Jester. If this was about Pierro having something to discuss with you, you were fairly sure you knew what he wanted anyway...

So, no harm in amusing him a bit?

"Ha. Well, it seems like I have no choice, then."

Childe smiled. "That's more like it."

He started making his way toward the front of the cathedral, while still holding onto your wrist - basically, he walked you back there like a toddler. After all, you might've had a change of heart any at any given moment and sprinted out of there like a lunatic.

You awkwardly sat down on one of the seats, wrapping the cloak around you tigther. The Harbingers were now standing in a semicircle in front of you, gazing down at you like their you were property. Pierro took a step forward.

"Now then, Y/N Lohefalter..."

"You are going to ask about my Visions, right?" you asked rudely. "As in, plural. Both of them. Is my assumption wrong?"

Pantalone chuckled. "Well, aren't you clever, my dear~"

"No, I always knew Rosalyne had told you, which is precisely why I tend to keep a lower profile than this. There's no reason to be so melodramatic over a couple of... gemstones."

Dottore seemed amused by your remark.

"But most humans never receive one. Yet, here you are, blessed with two."

"That, or cursed" you pointed out.

The Jester had allowed this interruption, but all it took was one gaze of authority from him and even you realized it was better to watch your mouth around this man. You tilted your head slightly downward.

"This assumption you made isn't necessarily untrue," Pierro stated in a low voice. "But it's not the whole truth, either."

It wasn't?

You heard footsteps approaching and carefully glanced up at Pierro who was now standing mere inches away from you. Things were getting more interesting, that's for sure.

"I asked you to come here today out of respect for Rosalyne's memory, and of curiosity toward the fact that you indeed bear the power of both Cryo and Pyro, much like your sister, albeit without a Delusion. My intention, however, was also to make a request of you..."

The Jester suddenly kneeled before you, his gesture confusing you. The infamous Director of the Fatui, kneeling before you?

You gave him a doubtful look.

"And what might that request be?"

"To put it simply, I want you to take Rosalyne's place as one of the Fatui Harbingers."

"...Come again?"

The other Harbingers didn't seem surprised in the slightest.

You shook your head.

"You want me to join the Fatui?"

"We've been keeping a close eye on you, Y/N Lohefalter, ever since the Cataclysm and Rosalyne joining our ranks. Back then, she herself made the request that should she ever perish, you'd be asked to take her place."

"Ha," you chuckled. "That does sound like one of her selfish whims... but still, why would you even consider such a thing?"

You looked at Pierro, tilting your head.

"Can you really trust that my agendas align with yours?"

"Every person in this room has their own ideals and it has not proved to be a problem." The Director nodded. "You need not but work in the name of the Fatui, and swear your loyalty to the Tsaritsa. Of course, the latter is expected of you as a citizen of Snezhnaya anyway."

You crossed you arms, contemplating this unexpected proposal.

"And if I refuse?"

This earned displeased looks from the other Harbingers. Pierro's solemn expression, however, never faltered.

"It's far beyond my dignity to be forceful here. That would be disrespecting Rosalyne's legacy, and risking to make you a powerful foe of the Fatui."

He paused for a while.

"But I should also clarify that with the kind of power you hold, you are facing but two choices - to stand with us... or against us."

So that's how it was going to be?

You'd almost forgotten that Pierro was still half-kneeling in front of you; even though one of his eyes was covered by a mask, his gaze held such intensity that you were completely enchanted by it for a moment.

And to think you'd make this kind of a decision on a whim, just like she once had - you really were more similar to your sister than you'd care to admit...

You sighed, standing up and glancing at the other Harbingers.

"Is this how he recruited you as well?"

Sandrone made a 'hmph' sound, "hardly."

"Heh, to think the Jester would kneel in front of someone?~" Pantalone commented. "You're quite an impressive girl, my dear."

"Then again," Dottore chuckled, "she has yet to witness the crueler side of the Director, no?"

Are you sure about that?

Tartaglia sighed, "now, now, don't scare her away..."

Pulcinella and Capitano didn't seem too amused by their comrades' antics. You, on the other hand, had their undivided attention.

Columbina was sleepily humming along to some tune, giving you discreet glances.

Arlecchino shook her head.

"Pierro still awaits for an answer, Y/N. Despite of what he may seem like, the Jester is not a man of great patience. It's time for you to decide."

You furrowed your eyebrows.

"..."

"Guess I'm in, then?"

But for the love of the Tsaritsa, you had no idea what you'd just gotten yourself into.

[too-antigonish]

A little Morsetache backstory...

A Morsetache-related excerpt from the 2019 interview with Shaun Evans about directing Apollo.

Jace: Now it’s 1969. Morse is now sporting a rather era-appropriate mustache. Shaun: That’s right. Jace: Did you grow it yourself? Shaun: Yeah of course, mine in for a penny out for a pound. Jace: My favorite headline on the subject is courtesy of the Oxford Mail quote, ‘Endeavor’s Shaun Evans spotted with mustache. But is it real?’ Shaun: Is that what it said? Jace: I mean how do you react to such scrutiny? Shaun: You know, what? The first I’ve heard of that. I pay little or no attention to it. In fact I pay no attention to it. Two reasons, really, I think. Well firstly, I’m delighted that it gets attention, and long may that continue. However I —  personally it makes me a little self-conscious. So I just try and avoid it, you know, so I’m just kind of thinking about the job. And then when the job is done, thinking about my life and having it, and living both of those things and having no exterior shizzle put on it, if you know what I mean. So you’re just free then, and you’re not self-conscious about, you know, people taking your picture or being under scrutiny so I kind of, I really don’t give it a second thought. Jace: You are clean shaven today. Shaun: That’s right. Jace: Did you come to love it or loathe it?

Evans with 'tache in Miss Julie (2014) Shaun: You know I didn’t mind, I didn’t think too deeply about it. I was doing a play a couple of years ago. Basically how it comes about is when we finish a season, we have the opportunity to assess whether there is still a story to be told, whether there’s still an audience. And then if we think that both of those things are there, then how to move forward in a way that is progressive, rather than, like to improve upon what you did last time, and to assess as accurately as possible what you could improve upon. So anyways, during this meeting, this cup of tea that we — have me, and the executive producer and the writer, the writer said to me, ‘We when I saw you in that play a couple of years ago you had a ‘tache and I was thinking about this idea of not being able to look at yourself in the mirror and hiding behind something. What do you think about it?’ And I thought it was a great idea. That, coupled with being in uniform at the beginning of this series, I thought yeah, you know, it’s good to just take it to a new place.

I mean I know that’s kind of a facile think to say, you know, just a uniform and a ‘tache, but that’s what you have an opportunity with longform stories to do that, and the audience will will go with you as well you know? There’s also a terrific movie by Sidney Lumet starring Sean Connery which I know was a major influence on the first film that we make in this season so so yeah, yeah it’s all good. It’s all good. I had a beard at the time as well, so it wasn’t like a major bowleg like to just shave part of my face.

[voylitscope]

Stucky Recs: Back To School

It's September, and that felt like the very most appropriate time for a back-to-school-themed rec post.

So: A rec post of 11, very seasonally appropriate, high school/college Stucky AUs.

Note: As part of my personal campaign to combat the persistent idea that every great fic in this fandom was written in 2015, I'm now marking recs of fics written post-2016 and recs of fics written post-Endgame.

🎓 The Daily Rogers | Nonymos | Explicit | 32,154 words | College

We have a (surprisingly?) large number of fics in this fandom that use tumblr as a decently central plot point. Of all of them, I feel like this one is probably the most well-known. (Unless it's this one?) This fic, featuring a defenses-way-up skinny Steve and a very sweet, but also very assertive, Bucky, is super memorable, and so incredibly well done. It's somewhat of a meet-ugly, or, honestly, a first-several-encounters-ugly, and I love the way their relationship develops from there over the course of the story. I also love what that relationship turns into once they're together. Plus, the place this story gets them— both as individuals and in their relationship — before it ends is a satisfying and beautifully done one.

Quote:

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Steve mumbled, handing him the phone back. “She, uh, she’s the one who drove me to the hospital when Rumlow broke my arm that first time. She’s a bit protective now.” Bucky stared at him. Steve—and when had Bucky started to think of him as Steve?—looked fucking adorable in Bucky’s hoodie, with his stupid glasses and his pink lips. He’d also left Bucky’s bed completely covered in blood and dirt after attempting to fight a guy twice his size. Who’d broken his arm before and threatened to do it again. “I think I understand a bit better why they made a whole Tumblr about you,” Bucky said. Steve bristled all over again. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky looked heavenwards. “Somethin’ nice, Rogers.” Steve looked—well, he looked puzzled. Like he didn’t know what to do with that.

🎓stars shining bright above you | cable-knit-sweater @cable-knit-sweater | Teen | 3,339 words | High school & College | **Post- Endgame Rec**

Look, sometimes, you want to read angst. Intense emotions. Canon. Canon divergence. Sometimes, you want to cry about these boys. But then there are times that your heart needs to read about them just being all happy and painfully cute about each other — just being wide-eyed teenagers with wide-eyed feelings about each other. My heart does, anyway. This fic is perfect for that. So sweet, so lovely. A fic that left me smiling and thinking about the two of them on a blanket under the stars.

Quote:

Steve thinks he’s going to die. He wants nothing more than to say yes. To the holding down, that is. But he cannot find his voice at all. He looks up into Bucky’s eyes. It’s dark, but the moon and the stars in the sky already provide enough light to see those eyes sparkle. They’re so close now, almost breathing the same air. Forget stars, forget meteor showers. Steve wants to drown in those grey blue eyes, and he’s barely holding his head above water as it is, judging from how hard it feels to breathe.

🎓He's All That | crinklefries | Teen | 88,665 words | College | *Post 2016 rec*

All of the rom-com AUs forever for these two, please. This is such an engrossing and immersive fic. That's something I really enjoy about college AUs, and that works so well in this particular fic —the way that, because actual college campuses are often their own little world, the world's of college AUs can be these really tight little realities with their own specific sort of pacing and consequences. I love that, and I love it in this fic — it's so beautifully done, and it's such a great read, too, I think, because the original rom-com is both high school set and limited to being movie length/tied to Hollywood standards. There is so much more depth and additional story here, while still having that really fun element of being an AU loosely based on a film. So enjoyable, and such a satisfying read.

Quote:

“You do this often?” he asks, keeping his voice quiet to preserve the stillness around them. “Lay on the ground and play dead?” “Yeah,” Steve quirks a smile. “It was the second trick I learned after fetch.” Despite himself, that makes Bucky grin. “You always have an answer for everything huh?” he says. That makes Steve sigh a little, his shoulders droop enough that it’s only then that they both notice they had been hunched close to his ears. “Yeah,” he says. “Character flaw.” “One man’s character flaw is another man’s personality trait,” Bucky says. He stretches his legs out in front of him, props himself up on his palms behind him. “Pretty sure a personality trait can also be a character flaw, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Steve says with a half-smile.

🎓That Boy is a Problem | 2bestfriends | Explicit | 10,091 words | College | **Post- Endgame rec**

I sometimes debate whether I should go with including fics on these rec posts that fall heavy on the porn side of a porn-to-plot ratio, solely because, at a certain point, smut-heavy fics feel like their own thing that should go in their own post. But! That said, this fic, although it does fall pretty heavy on the porn side of the porn-to-plot-ratio is very, very solidly a college fic. It also does have a really fun plot, and I really, so much, enjoy that it features a Steve POV that is an absolute, just total and complete disaster about Bucky. Also! This fic has vibes and aesthetics that I quite appreciate.

Quote:

Steve grins like an absolute buffoon when he sees him, frozen in place like he's rooted there. Bucky glances around, gaze settling on Steve. The expression that spreads across his face in response to the realization that Steve is in fact there waiting for him is incandescent; Bucky actually brightens like maybe he wasn't expecting Steve to show. He draws his shoulders up and walks to Steve. When he reaches him, Bucky reaches out and grabs him by the front of his hoodie, pulling him into a kiss. Steve goes with a muffled squeak, ducking down to meet the firm press of lips. For a second, Steve doesn't know what to do with his hands, hovering just above Bucky's hips as he grasps tightly at Steve's shirt. Just as Steve's knees go weak and fireworks start to go off behind his eyes, Bucky pulls away, blinking at him with big, sultry eyes. "Hey, pal. You're very punctual. You ready?"

🎓Natasha Romanoff's Dating Service | HMSLusitania | Mature | 12,223 words | College | **Post-Engame Rec**

So, here's a thing about me: I really like it when fics emphasize that Steve and Bucky are meant for each other. That's it always them, In all universes. It's a thing I'm big into for these two. And this is why I enjoy so much when a fic pulls off the thing where there is some sort of doubled get-together or double feelings build. Like, ID porn fics can do this sometimes — falling for each other two different ways at once — as can fics like this one — a fic about Steve and Bucky both ignoring Nat's insistence that she knows the perfect guy for them and instead going out to a bar and meeting a total stranger. A total stranger they fall for basically on sight. A total stranger who, as it turns out, is that exact guy Nat meant the whole time. — Yeah. That's a premise I really enjoy. This is a fic I really, really enjoy. A total delight.

Quote:

“Now I’ve got some ridiculously low resting heart rate,” Steve said, tipping his head sideways towards his wrist. Taking the hint, Bucky pressed his fingers to the pulse point below the base of Steve’s thumb. Maybe he did have a low resting heart rate, but if he did, Steve was not currently at rest. It made Bucky feel a little better, knowing that for some reason – Bucky? – Steve’s heart was racing. “Do you want to, um,” Steve started. When he paused, unsure, he touched his tongue to his bottom lip before chewing on it and something in Bucky’s body short-circuited. He just hoped it wasn’t the actual mechanical hardware attached to his left side, because that would be ill-timed. “Go home with you?” he suggested quietly. “Yeah,” Steve said. “That.”

🎓What a Wonderful World This Would Be | Mambo | Teen | 28,723 words | College

You know how sometimes you read a fic and you find yourself literally making embarrassing sorts of noises out loud about it? And also feel yourself making ridiculous faces at your screen in response to it? Right, that was me reading this fic. Featuring an art major Steve who is completely convinced Fraternity Bucky is going to be some total jerk of a guy when they're paired as project partners — until they have all of one conversation and Bucky is ... you know, sweet, friendly, smart, charming, and generally Bucky-like. So then Steve spends thousands and thousands of words falling hard for Bucky while also being super confused by why Bucky wants to keep spending time with him — and incredibly doubtful that Bucky actually does want to be spending time with him. Even though Bucky spends thousands and thousands of words being the Very Most Obvious that he's super into Steve. It's so ridiculously and delightfully cute. I love it a lot. Also! This fic is actually the start of an entire college AU 'verse. I've only read this first fic, but the rest of the 'verse is on my TBR and is likely equally delightful.

Quote:

Steve’s brow furrows. “How do you know I do?” Bucky moves his laptop off his lap, sets it on the floor. He stretches his arms up over his head, exposing the stretch of tan skin where his shirt rides up over his jeans. And Steve is definitely not looking for purely artistic and aesthetic reasons, but manages to drag his eyes away before Bucky notices. “You always annotate your books. I can see all those post-its from where I sit, even. You don’t talk much but you’re always leafing through your book because you know which exact quote will prove somebody wrong. Don’t try to argue; I totally notice.” That’s not untrue. “No fair,” Steve says. “You sit behind me. I can’t stare at you creepily at all.” “Not starin’, just appreciatin’ the view.” Steve must look confused because Bucky laughs again. “You’re kinda cute,” he says. “‘Specially when you blush.”

🎓Alkynes of Trouble | yammz | Explicit | 11,450 words | College | **Post Endgame Rec**

The author tagged this "enemies to friends to lovers" and "the softest of enemy-ships though," which, honestly, is absolutely perfect tagging for this incredibly sweet fic. It is soft. Everything that happens in this fic is very, very soft. Steve and Bucky are assigned to be lab partners! They spend all semester in this terribly and wonderfully cute slow burn! There's tutoring! There are coffee dates shop hangouts! There is cake! There is a Very Meaningful hug! It's all very, very charming and super adorable. Plus, this is a fic that works with one of my personal favorite tropes: someone slowly realizing that they were wrong about another person and falling for that person — hard — as they do. I'm always weak for that, and I love this fic's delightful — and, yes, very soft — take on it.

Quote:

His notebook was full of eraser marks, his lines uneven and confusing, running into each other when he made his structures too small for the amount of bonds between molecules. He could always see them in his mind, but drawing them out was hell for him, his hands just a little shaky. Steve didn’t seem to have that problem because Steve’s notebook…that shit was just about the prettiest art Bucky had ever seen. He couldn’t help himself from reaching out his fingers and running over the neat, perfect hexagons with their lines and perfect little letters for the attached elements. They looked straight out of a printed textbook. Steve didn’t move, the solid mass of him almost against Bucky’s side. “How long do these take you?” he asked. “Oh, I’m quick,” Steve supplied cheerfully. To prove his point, he drew a quick acetyl salicylic acid, copying its structure from the sloppy one on the board, where the lab’s flowchart was. Bucky was mesmerized, his form perfect and confident and tiny, so at odds with how huge Steve’s hands were. “See?” “Okay, well,” Bucky let out a laugh, “You can definitely write the lab report.”

🎓Lane Lines | sparkagrace @sparkagrace | Mature | 132,519 words | College | **Post-Engame Rec**

A fic I spent a weekend totally engrossed and lost in on first read and that, ever since, has always been sitting somewhere in my brain. I think something that really, really appeals to me about sports AUs is when they're used as a lens to translate some things Steve genuinely struggles with in canon — the ways he handles guilt, the ways he feels responsible for things and people, his loneliness, etc — into these incredibly real-feeling modern, actual world, contexts. This fic does that so unbelievably well. Steve isn't truly okay, at all, during most of this fic, and affects everything. I love that so much. I also love this fic's worldbuilding, with a childhood Steve and Bucky backstory, a college swim team friend group, the pressures of professional athlete life, Olympic sponsorships, world records, and in-verse media like fake tweets and news articles. (This fic is the first fic in an in-progress 'verse, all of which I would also recommend.)

Quote:

“I didn’t want to come,” Steve says, trying to be honest, “but I’m glad I did. It feels nice to clear the air. I think it’s the most fun I’ve had in a while actually.” Steve thinks maybe this has been the happiest he’s been in a long time. He doesn’t want to tell Bucky that or speak it out loud, but the knowledge that this is happiness, and that he truly feels lightness in his bones, thrills him and he wants to keep that feeling close to him as long as he can. “I’m glad you’re here now. Just you.” Bucky says. Steve doesn’t know how to respond to that so he takes another swig of the champagne. There’s bubbles in his stomach but he’s not sure if it’s from the champagne or Bucky’s words. “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?” Bucky says. It takes Steve a second to understand what he’s referring to.

🎓Targeting | queenmab_scherzo | Explicit | 149,148 words | High school & College

I do not know if I will ever be over the way this fic manages to mirror canon so closely while being about high school and then college football. I feel as if that shouldn't work. And yet it does, and I love it. I also love the way, because this fic so closely mirrors canon, we get a lot of Steve refusing, just absolutely refusing to give up on Bucky. Or doubt Bucky. Or listen to anyone's objections or concerns about Bucky. There is a lot of Steve being determined to get real answers to things, and Steve being determined to make things right, and Steve being determined to not let Bucky take the blame/punishment for things, and Steve being determined to not let Bucky go. So you know, very much like canon. Except it's about football? It's so, so good.

Quote:

Bucky doesn't attack. He backs away instead, an immediate, heartbreaking reflex, crystallizing proof that Steve isn't dealing with a predator. It's inhuman, the raw metal of his eyes and his expression, his hollow features, the way he blinks slowly and deliberately. He just won a football game, for crying out loud, not just any football game, the Game of the Century, he beat the number two team in the country and he can't even crack a smile. There is James Barnes, but where is Bucky. Bucky used to smile through broken bones and blood in his teeth, where is that Bucky. Come back, what happened, come back to me. Heart thudding, Steve surges forward, thinking about 49-yard field goals. "At least take my phone number." For a long time, he doesn't think Bucky will respond, and when he does, it's on an exhale, an inaudible brushstroke on dry canvas: "Fine." "You—do you want to write it down or something?" "I'll remember." The noise of the crowd rises and falls.

🎓Okay, so he can play… (pretty's got nothing to do with it | Darter_blue @darter-blue | Explicit | 50,858 words | College | **Post-Endgame Rec**

I realized when I was pulling this list together that I actually probably should have included this fic back in June as part of my Pride recs post I didn't, obviously, and I'm a little annoyed at myself about it. But, that allows me to rec it now, and this is absolutely a college fic. So I guess that works out. Anyway, like I said when I talked about Lane Lines, I love when a sports AU also works as a lens to look at some of Steve's less-than-healthy ways of dealing with things. This fic, which is about college hockey, is another great example of that. There are a lot of things in this fic — many of them, but not all of them, related to Bucky — that Steve has told himself he Absolutely Cannot Do, and his journey of letting go of some of that over the course of this story is one I enjoyed so, so much. Like I said, I could've rec'd this one in June, so there's a lot centered on sexuality happening here. There are a lot of feelings and a lot of romance. Also, one of my spreadsheet notes in the tropes column for this one says, "GRAND GESTURES." So.

Quote:

Bucky doesn’t know what to do with those smiles. He doesn’t know where to keep them (because he so desperately wants to keep them) that they won't cloud him. That they won’t press into his stupid crush and spill it over into something more dangerous. The team dynamic is flowing, winding, warming into something so comfortable, it bleeds into their game, and it’s like they can’t lose. They win their next two home games, Bucky chasing down Steve’s scoring record and loving every second of it. The way Steve isn’t even mad about it. The way Steve nods at him in the locker room at the end of the games. Claps him on the shoulder now with the rest of the team… All of it leaves Bucky so wholly unprepared.

🎓Persued by a bear | Zenaidamacrouras1 @zenaidamacrouras1 | Explicit | 19,200 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

So, they're slightly older in this fic than any other fic on this list. (Well, actually, maybe not? They're a bit older in Natasha Romonaoff's Dating Service, too.) Steve is a professor and Bucky is a PhD candidate. This is also the very most academic of all fics on this list, and it's a complete and total delight from start to finish. It's a Shakespeare conference! There are tweed jackets, and suspenders, and pickup lines using Shakespeare, and the cutest Steve POV voice. I'm always, always a huge fan of a fic that features what could have been, should have been, a one-night stand, but that turns into so much more — with some hiccups, but also a lot of shameless flirtation, along the way. This fic delivers that so incredibly well and is just such a fun read.

Quote:

“You’re good at what you do, too, James,” Steve says softly, looking up at Bucky through his lashes, and shit, he didn’t mean for this to get all sexy all of a sudden. Bucky’s just. Really sexy. “You should call me Bucky. If you want," Bucky says softly. "I think I do, Bucky," Steve says because. He does. And Bucky's at a completely different university, and he's obviously a full-on, real-deal grown-up. Maybe this is okay. "Watching you work and listening to you think after following your scholarly writing for so long was incredibly hot,” Bucky says in a rush. “I’m sure you get that all the time. God, now I sound like a groupie.” Steve suppresses a smile. “Believe it or not, I don’t really have groupies."

There are a few additional fics that could be classed college/university fics and that absolutely are on my rec spreadsheet/in my bookmarks, but that I didn't include here. These are almost all fics with a plot about driving home (from campus) for the holidays/car sharing/motel room sharing/etc. that I feel like are holiday fics more than college fics, and holiday fics will almost definitely be their own post. (I didn't realize I had more than one fic like that bookmarked. But apparently, I do.)

I do have an apocalypse/dystopias/etc rec post sitting in my drafts I'm stressing myself out about it. Probably unnecessarily. I swear it's coming soon. Maybe I'll also do something seasonal in October? I haven't thought about that yet, but it's completely possible.

Fic Rec Series

[craby-bouquet]

When in Rome... {CH-Seokmin}

~part 3~

Lee Seokmin x Reader

Romance, Royal!AU

1.2k words

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You took your bag from the overhead storage hurriedly. What was it about airplanes and feeling rushed? The small hallway was jammed with people wanting to get out and you did not want to be the one to keep them all. 

The airport in Wraya was small compared to the one in Dres Van, where you used to live and work. Dres Van was known for its fashion, so it was the place to be as an upcoming fashion designer. 

You waited for your 2 suitcases at the baggage carousel and followed the signs to the exit. You were slightly surprised to see a gorgeous black car waiting with someone holding up a sign with your name on it. The man introduced himself as Reginald, the princes’ driver. Prince Seokmin had sent him specifically to pick you up because: “only the best for my new designer” Reginald supposedly quoted. 

He took all your bags from you and loaded them into the trunk, he seemed to get slightly offended when you offered to help. You wouldn't know what it was like to be a princess, but you felt like one right now. A driver, a beautiful car, everything being done for you. 

The drive wasn't very long. You'd almost argue that the longest part of the drive was the driveway to the castle, which was a gorgeous, ancient looking building. Even though Wraya was one of the smallest countries of Pledis, it was also one of the oldest, and its royal castle reflected that. You drove past the front entrance to the side of the building. From here you could see the newest part of this historic building, which looked a little strange. Such an old building connected to a very modern building. But it felt right, in a weird way. 

Reginald stopped close to the staff entrance, taking your bags out of the trunk. He told you to wait for someone to pick you up and then drove away. 

You looked at the sun drained garden, trying to drown your nerves in wonder.

“Hello,” someone said softly.

It startled you slightly, making you turn around swiftly. To your surprise you stood face to face with the brightly smiling prince Seokmin.

You remembered to curtsy, then doubted yourself. Were you supposed to curtsy? How did you greet a prince?

“Your highness,” You greeted. Was that a proper greeting? “Hello.” you followed up, just to be sure. Suddenly you felt self conscious. You were aware of everything about yourself. If you had known the prince would have been here to greet you, you would have worn something different, maybe re-done your makeup in the airport bathroom.

“I almost introduced myself to you just now, that would have been awkward considering we've already been introduced before!” The prince laughed and smiled a bright smile.

You couldn't help but chuckle.

“If I has known your highness was going to greet me at the car, I would have worn something more appropriate.” You decided that as his new clothing designer, you should address your baggy, wrinkled pants and oversized t-shirt.

He waved with his hand, “No worries. You look perfect. And you weren't the only one who wasn't aware I would be escorting you, so let's hurry slightly before James gets here.” He winked, but you were fairly sure he wasn't actually joking. 

Before you could do or say anything, the prince had taken both your suitcases, and walked off at high speed. He baffled you, you stood there, frozen in place, for a few seconds before charging after him.

"Your highness! Your highness, please! Are you sure you should be taking my bags?” As you caught up with him you could see he was smirking.

“Of course! It's rude to not offer your guests help with their suitcases.” He looked at you with an expression you couldn't quite place, “And, anyway, here in Wraya you don't let a lady carry heavy things if you are able to help her. So here I am, customs and such.” 

At this point you had entered the building, you were too busy with the chaos prince Seokmin admitted to really take in your surroundings though.

“I am hardly a lady, your highness. With all due respect, I really think I should carry my own bags.” You really hoped that wasn't disrespectful in any way, you just didn't want anyone to see you with the prince carrying your things. You didn't want them to get a negative first impression of you.

He stopped abruptly, looking at you with a serious expression, “You want to disrespect our customs?”

You had never seen him serious, on pictures, during interviews, he was always just smiley and full of sunshine, his sudden moodswing startled you visibly. That's when you noticed he seemed to barely be able to hold in his laughter.

“I'm joking. But they're really not heavy or anything.” He said, while handing one of the two suitcases over to you. 

You took that win, one was better than nothing and there was no way you were going to argue with a prince. Carrying one of your own suitcases calmed you a little, enough to look at the amazing building you found yourself in. 

Even though you entered through the old part of the castle, it was clear you were now in the newer part. Clean lines and such. It looked like a house built in the 70’s, but way bigger. There was a blue carpet floor-liner with intricate details, it seemed to go through the whole building. On the walls were some gorgeous lights, about 5 meters apart from each other. They looked like flowers.

You tried to pay close attention to where the prince was leading you, so you wouldn’t get lost in the future, but you already knew it was hopeless. You told yourself to ask if they had a map of this place you could use in the future. 

“I really hope you’ll enjoy your time here.” Prince Seokmin said, he was walking beside you, the few staff members you ran into bolted aside when the two of you walked past, he smiled at every single one.

“Thank you, I’m sure I will, your highness.” 

He seemed to slightly cringe at your politeness, something you had noticed him doing before. You wondered if ‘Your highness’ wasn’t proper, maybe you had to address him with something else. But he didn’t say anything.

“I mean, you know, working for mister Popelin must have been fun… I just hope you can find joy here as well.” He shrugged and kept looking ahead. 

You frowned, working for mister Popelin was your dream, it had been since you were young. But you were lucky enough to have worked for him for a few years, “It is a great opportunity to work for you, your highness. I am very much looking forward to it.”

That answer seemed to satisfy you. He looked at you with a big, cheeky smile on his face.

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[veryveryverytemporarily]

‘Would it have made it better if we’d also kidnapped Marco?’

‘Who?’

‘Isn’t that yer fella?’

‘There is no fella, I made him up to keep me Mum off my back. I don’t need anyone in my life. I’m done with that.’

‘Suit yourself.’

Cain moved off towards the bar, leaving Aaron like subterranean lava, slowly rolling.

‘Hi.’

Unexpectedly a tall figure slid into Cain’s empty bench seat.

Aaron flashed his eyes with insolent amusement that anyone would think it appropriate to approach him.

His expression was an invitation to leave again, but the stranger seemed unfazed.

‘My name’s Charles, father of Ethan, I also officiated at your sister’s funeral.’

Aaron snapped his chin away, like a boxer in a ring.

‘What d’ya want me to say mate? I don’t give a damn, literally,’ he growled.

‘Well, that’s not why I wanted to talk to you, anyway.’

The problem was he’d got his attention.

‘Robert,’ Charles said, spreading his hands, like he was unrolling a map.

If Liv’s mention was the pivot, then this was the punch, leaving Aaron too winded to speak.

‘He asked you to apply for a visiting order.’

‘No.’

‘He said to tell you, and I quote: - if you can shift your arse all the way to Italy then you should be able to manage the Isle of Wight.’

‘I don’t want to see him, padre. And how come you’re in touch with him anyway?’

‘My father, Victor, was in a high security prison, their paths crossed and Robert discovered the connection to Emmerdale and asked me to get in touch. I thought, maybe he wanted some spiritual support.’

‘Robert doesn’t do God.’

‘You’re right as I discovered, but he does do manipulation. As far as I can gather, he’s got in with some unpleasant thugs: You’d fit right in. Whatever, I’ve passed on his message and done my part. Good day to you.’

And as quickly as he’d arrived, he was gone.

Aaron stared unseeing at the shiny surface of the table, the stained beer mats, where the Vicar had so carelessly unfurled the map that long ago Aaron had rolled tightly and tied with double knots and locked away somewhere even he couldn’t reach. The map of Robert.

He glanced around nervously, then reached a hand to caress its invisible surface.

[chiropteracupola]

please might i hear about ladyhawke or seaside for your health?? or polycule surgery if you have any of it i haven’t seen yet??

here is his lordship. also

and here is a hobbit in return! all of which is extremely apt since the ladyhawke au happens to be The Story Wherein I Turn Keith Windham Into A Cat.

it has been a while and a while since I have actually spoken of it, so I shall re-explain - it's a Flight of the Heron AU based on the film Ladyhawke*, where a pair of lovers are cursed so that one is a hawk during the day and the other a wolf during the night, inseparable but forever apart. and I thought that the combination of Vague Magics and Fabulous Synth-Laden Tunes and Significant Birds would suit Ewen and Keith admirably! but rather than red-tailed hawk and wolf, I've gone for some more Scotland-appropriate creatures with golden eagle and wildcat! even so, it's not going very well for them...

Guthrie waits, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so faintly, and watches him. “Ah, Major, I still don’t know what’s between you and yon Jacobite…” Keith’s title falls from his mouth like an insult, and it stings all the more for knowing that in a matter of hours, that too may very well be stripped from him. “But I see there’s something, all the same! And to think you put so upright of a face on it, when all the time you’ve been double-dealing with that pretty Highlander of yours.” “I have done no such thing!” snarls Keith, shoving forward against his restraints. Ewen, though he is hooded and has his talons tied fast to the back of a chair, ruffles up his wings in agitation. Guthrie starts back, his hand clenched tight on the hilt of his knife. And then the sun slinks below the horizon at last, and Keith’s muffled cursing is cut off as his body twists itself into a new form. He drops to the ground, half suffocated in the seemingly increased weight of his own clothing, and remains, waiting for the aching, arching movement to subside. Above him, distant in the warm darkness that has settled around him, he hears faint laughter. Guthrie’s hard hand reaches through the opening of Keith’s coat, and with a quick twist of his wrist, gets a handhold in the looser fur at the back of his neck. Keith, still worn down from the stress of the shift, hangs limply, too exhausted to do more than hiss and put out his claws. “Scratch at me all you want, Windham, there’s but little that you can do to me now.” His smirk is fully developed now, teeth shining in the candlelight.

and polycule surgery! I do not recall if we have actually Talked About It Out In The Open before, altho' I have ...posted some Images.

here we ask the question of 'what happens when the guy who's gotten shot in the duel is a) the doctor and b) the very specific kind of confident-crazy that causes self-surgery to seem like a good idea', which I know perfectly well is a question that's already been asked and answered far better by Patrick O'Brian. shhhhh I'll borrow a plot point if I want. it's Artistic. anyway, to quote a random youtube commenter on the m&c scene in question, it takes 'a certain amount of skill and intestinal fortitude' to do such things, but you best believe they are going to do it!

now, because this one's consequently rather gory, I'll put it under a readmore...

Watching a man die under his hands had been a familiar sight for a long time. But watching a man twisting the knife in his own side, delving inch by inch into his own gut to find the bullet lodged deep within? That was both new and nauseating, and even as it disgusted him to see it done, Jeremiah could not look away. A sharp sound glanced over Ansel’s teeth like breaking glass — there, his fingernail must have scraped against the chunk of lead still buried in him. The room was so quiet that Jeremiah could hear his own breath, could hear the wet popping sound of the digit being withdrawn from the wound. His finger was bloody past the second knuckle, his hand shaking as he twisted it free. But he smiled, open-mouthed and gasping for breath, and looked up at them expectantly. He was proud of himself, the bastard. Of course he was proud of himself. He ought to be proud, said some miserable voice at the back of Jeremiah’s mind. You couldn’t do that. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he felt Ansel’s grip tighten until his hand felt as if it was caught in a vise, the fingernails digging in just below his own knuckles. Though he was putting on the bravest face he could, their doctor surely could not have done such a thing alone. “Not too deep,” said he, giving a little nod as if directing something trivial indeed. Ansel dashed his hand against the edge of the table, sending a spatter of scarlet into the air. “If you please… the forceps…” Mannerly as always, though his smile had quickly become a strained sneer under the burden of the bullet.

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #664

Top Ten Movie Insults

You fight like a dairy farmer!

Sadly that’s not from a film, otherwise – of course – it would be number one. But cinema has long had a fascination with invective; words as weapons, wielded to wound. Basically, people insulting each other is pretty funny, and it’s been used a lot in all sorts of fiction.

Despite the world being, well, the world (gestures at everything), it wasn’t current affairs that prompted this particular listicle. It’s actually been gestating for a few months, after I rewatched a particular film and was reminded of how much I loved this one particular insult. Yes, it’s on the list, and it features quite highly. You’ll see for yourself before too long. Anyway, that got me thinking about my favourite cinematic insults. Because some of them are belters.

Some of them, also, are very rude. I’ve tried to avoid incessant swearing. But sometimes it can’t be avoided. As a result, this is probably the filthiest list I’ve ever done. It shall be hidden under the fold, as it were; placed in a metaphorical brown paper bag like a naughty magazine or a copy of the Daily Star. Those of a nervous disposition are directed to one of my other Top Tens, like this delightful one about the Muppets that’s still probably the closest this stupid blog has ever come to going viral.

And that’s about it, really. There follows a list of some people being mean to each other and calling each other naughty names. There are probably some big ones missing – I never got round to watching Blade: Trinity, because everyone said it was shit, so Ryan Reynolds’ famous line does not make this list on technical grounds. But there are definitely some classics here, from the sublime to the ridiculous to, well, ones that just blow the bloody doors off. There is, I think you’ll find, an insult for every occasion; all of them from the movies.

How appropriate. You fight like a cow.

No disrespect, but you’re a cunt. (Brendan Gleeson, In Bruges, 2008): straight in with the filth. But it’s not the no-no words that make this funny; it’s the repetition, the sheer weight of cursing that Brendan Gleeson inflicts upon Ralph Fiennes. And more than that it’s the matter-of-fact delivery, which Fiennes takes with quiet, simmering anger. There's a sadness and a banality to it which speaks to the tone of the film as a whole, and it’s a beautiful, sensitive performance from Gleeson.

Yes, it’s true. This man has no dick. (Bill Murray, Ghostbusters, 1984): really a punchline to a wonderful setup from Dan Aykroyd (“dickless here shut off the power.” “Is this true?”) but it’s a terrific punchline; a playground insult delivered at the best (worst?) possible time. Even funnier is that in the melee that follows, when William Atherton lunges at Murray, you hear the latter try to defend himself with “well that’s what I heard!”.

I bet you’re the kind of guy who would fuck a person in the ass and not even have the goddamn common courtesy to give him a reach-around. (R. Lee Emmry, Full Metal Jacket, 1987): to be honest, Emmry’s entire speech to his squad of recruits is fantastic and full of outrageously offensive insults. On the one hand, this is such over-the-top invective as to be utterly hilarious; on the other, it speaks to his characters horrendous and overbearing nature that (spoiler alert) leads to two deaths. This incredible, evocative, imaginative insult is the icing on the whole filthy cake.

You dense, irritating, miniature beast of burden! (Mike Myers, Shrek, 2001): this was, in fact, the insult that inspired me to write this whole list. It's such a benign, slight thing really; it washes off Donkey’s back when Shrek spits it at him. But the structure of it, the layering of adjectives, and the use of “beast of burden”, makes it both funny and memorable. My favourite line in the film.

Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelled of elderberries! (John Cleese, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, 1975): a line that was quoted ad nauseum when I was at school and every third boy suddenly discovered Python. The group was successful with humour both highbrow and old school, and this was positively playground; Cleese’s French knight is so supremely childish as to be hilarious. “I fart in your general direction”; legitimately classic.

It was nothing like that, penis-breath! (Henry Thomas, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, 1982): Spielberg and writer Melissa Mathison really had a handle on the performance and language of the kids in this film, and Elliott’s frustration and anger and not being believed, and being patronised by his big brother, boils over in supremely realistic fashion. It's the sort of thing a kid would say, spat out almost nonsensically, and Dee Wallace’s reaction – spontaneous laughter followed by telling him off – is spot-on.

You stuck-up, half-witted, scruffy-looking nerf-herder! (Carrie Fisher, The Empire Strikes Back, 1980): this is partly the script – the escalating series of increasingly-silly adjectives – but mostly Carrie Fisher’s expert performance; searching for the most cutting and incisive insult possible, trying to maintain composure despite obvious fury. The way she spits “nerf-herder”! what even is a nerf-herder? And, of course, it’s capped by Harrison Ford’s wounded “who’s scruffy-lookin’?”

Look up “idiot” in the dictionary, you know what you’ll find? (Val Kilmer, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, 2005): a film made up almost entirely of fantastic one-liners, hilarious dialogue, and cutting insults; this one is simple but also ingenious. A furious Val Kilmer barks the question at a pathetic Robert Downey Jr, who knows how the joke ends – “a picture of me?” – only for Kilmer to give it an inventive and, well, really bloody funny little twist.

That fake old tough guy! (Joe Pesci, Goodfellas, 1990): this one might be less popular, although the scene is certainly iconic. Pesci’s Tommy DeVito is belittled by Frank Vincent’s Billy Batts, and turns homicidal. Pesci’s performance throughout the film is a livewire one, at turns boisterously comedic and terrifyingly vicious; here, though, clearly rankled, there’s none of the menace or charisma, just a primal rage. Tommy is almost reduced to a childhood tantrum, and as such his insult is pathetic, small, but darkly funny.

This is my bargain, you mewling quim! (Tom Hiddleston, The Avengers, 2012): a line so famous that it very briefly became something of an unofficial catchphrase for Hiddleston. On one level it’s just a biting, sneery insult, reeking of misogyny, spat by a rage-filled Loki at Black Widow; but then there’s the fact that, well, how on Earth did they get the word “quim” by Disney? I can only assume that a lot of people didn’t know what the word meant. It’s fitting, really, to circle back to gynaecology here at the end of the list; a somewhat more palatable version of the insult from In Bruges. And yes, I instantly regret the use of the word palatable in this context.

EDITED TO ADD!!! As a rule I don't edit my lists after publication, so this ranking will stand. But I've only just remembered one of my favourite - and simplest! - movie insults: Withnail to Uncle Monty. You know the one. In fact, I'm shocked and ashamed that I forgot Withnail altogether: "A coward you are, Withnail! An expert on bulls you are not!" is also great. Sorry everyone!

[slayerdurge]

🐧?

Thanks so much for the ask! [Questions here] Rules: askers can send a bird, and receive the corresponding thing. If you don't have something that corresponds to whatever bird it is, or you don't want to share the only thing that fits (I'm not telling!) then either share a matching quote from a published work and link it, or share a random quote from your wips of your choice. :)

🐧 a funny quote (silly! laughs! jokes! puns!) Hmm... not sure if I have anything that's like laugh-out-loud funny. My V is funny, but it's a dry humor, and my narrative can have a sense of irony to it that I would say is humorous, but, again, not the type of humor you'd outright laugh at.

The first thing that comes to mind as funny is V's interactions with Carter Smith, one of her subordinates who is an idealistic techie reluctantly working for Arasaka but who is deeply uncomfortable with the ruthlessness required by the job. (In canon, he's the guy who reported Jenkins and V's plan to assassinate Abernathy to her because he thought their plan was immoral. But then Abernathy decided he was a "loose end" and was going to have him killed but he killed himself to keep her from getting the pleasure.) Their interactions are largely inspired by the interactions between Coriolanus Snow and Sejanus Plinth in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. (Coryo is actually my #1 inspo source for Valerie Locke) In the sense that, for example, Sejanus's mom once tells Coryo that he is Sejanus' only friend and in his head Coryo thinks "How sad. To have no friends." So anyway... without further ado, here's a couple of quotes of Carter and V's interactions. Quote #1

[V] pulled up her optics' phonebook through the appropriate series of eye flicks, and called Carter Smith—a tech specialist who’d been with Arasaka a few months longer than she had. Smart guy, but too squeamish by far. V never could understand reluctant corpos—if working for Arasaka hadn’t struck her as the absolute most fun she could be having with her life, she simply wouldn't have done it.

Quote #2

V let out a breath and leaned her back against the wall, allowing herself a brief moment of celebration. Nothing like a brush with death to make you remember you’re alive. “That was kind of you, V,” said a soft voice in her ear. “Protecting him like that. Instead of solving all your problems with violence.” “Carter—” “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Someone’s gotta keep our bosses on their toes, don’t you think? Over and out.”  He disconnected the call. V smiled to herself in amusement. He’d called her kind. It was strange the way people's minds worked sometimes.

[positivelybeastly]

If Hank had backed down from every strange and mysterious opportunity that had ever beckoned at him simply because it might kill him . . . well. He'd probably live longer, but it wouldn't make him the pre-eminent mutant scientist on Earth, now, would it? Science demanded bravery, curiosity, optimism, self-criticism - and, on occasion, sheer bloody mindedness in the face of certain danger. Oddly enough, all excellent qualities for superhero work, too, he often found.

So, yes, he had ignored Tess' 'sage' advice, and gone anyway. He'd done his due diligence, of course, cracked open the Avengers, S.H.I.E.LD, and S.W.O.R.D databases, and a few others besides, but everything about her had cleared. Rich, eccentric, but, so far as he could tell, guilty only of conspicuous capitalism and the crime of thinking one's grievances could still be solved as though it were 1924 instead of 2024.

The harpoon gun story had raised an eyebrow, he couldn't lie.

But, there he was, in upstate New York, stepping out of one of the Institute's fleet of unmarked SUVs designed for local mutant rescue. The black leather of his boot sank into mud, and he smiled a little, not particularly caring that he was likely to track it - it had been too long since he'd been back to Dunfee and soaked in the air of his parents' farm, and even with the knowledge that this was still very much a venture into the unknown, the smell and the feeling and the sights that surrounded him felt . . . homey. Maybe that was intentional, maybe it wasn't, but it was simply how it was.

His greeting is arch, but not unfriendly. He notes with a wry smile that he and his new acquaintance have almost the exact same pair of glasses, half-mooned and golden framed - Hank's are just a touch more modern, lighter in weight and precision machined. Appropriate, he supposes. Old money, old manners.

"It's a wink and a wiggle and a giggle in the grass, and I'll trip the light fandango, a pinch and a diddle in the middle of what passes by~"

He adds a throaty baritone to her voice as they blend their Sondheim, and it no doubt adds to the smile she gives him, even if behind his twinkling eyes, he's still very much suspicious of all of this. "Sharon St. Clare. A pleasure to meet you, madam. I appreciated your invitation, even if I was a touch puzzled by it."

In an instant, his oversized paws are clutched in her hands, and he immediately goes into analysis mode, because she is far too strong and there's a perspicacity to her that reads as unnatural. He gives her a charming smile, and though he's momentarily tempted to give her a white lie and say the SUV is locked with biometrics (which, it is, it can just be superseded if you have the keys), he decides to simply be honest instead.

"If it's all the same to you, Ms. St. Clare, I'd prefer to keep my keys on me. A very good friend of mine told me that your invitation gave her the, quote unquote, heebie jeebies, and I think she might well smack me when I get home if I tell her I surrendered my car keys to you within five minutes of meeting you. Besides, I'm not so old yet that I have to worry about a walk through the fields. I can hit forty miles an hour if I'm feeling pressed."

Thank you, but no thank you.

Intent on moving on as soon as possible, Hank's eyes flick over to the nearest cow and he pulls his paws from Sharon's grip so he can click his fingers - or, the digits he has attached to his paws that he uses instead of fingers. They're not quite digital pads, but something else, something not quite human, not quite animal. Typical Beast. Regardless, he points, the farmboy in him at full attention.

"Holsteins. Is she a pure breed, a Friesian, or a cross, do you know?"

@positivelybeastly

'Don't do it, Hank,' Tess had told him in that irritating way she has when she thinks everyone else is wrong. 'She's a mysterious. Stay here.' And eventually, 'okay, well, I'll miss you when you die.'

However, 'Puttyfoot Farms' checks out: upstate New York, owned by little known billionaire Sharon St. Clare. Old money--the sort who keeps her wealth quiet until she appears at charity galas draped in Dior, antique diamonds winking in her ears. Or the front of the Daily Bugle for firing a harpoon gun at Ingrid Newkirk. She has the sort of money that allows for her to care for animals more than people, and for those who hear about her go 'oh, yeah, one of those'.

He's greeted by rolling hills and bright white fences, not to mention a handful of alpaca that stare at him, placid and unblinking. Oh, and goats. Pigs! Horses. Not to mention a--farmhand? Butler? If it's the former, he's the cleanest farmhand Hank's ever set eyes on, his buttondown shirt pristine and old fashioned spectacles sliding down his nose as he eyes the blue mutant up and down.

His eyes are pale and shrewd as those of a seasoned general. "Ma'am--" there's a faintly sardonic note to his voice--"is with the cows."

And Sharon St. Clare is indeed with the cows, singing a bright rendition of Sondheim's The Miller's Son. (Tess likes that soundtrack.) She's shoveling dirty hay and cow patties into a wheelbarrow, her hair woven into a coronet of blonde braids like a stereotypical farmer's daughter.

In fact, she's the very image of one of those cliche old illustrations, healthy and wholesome as she stops. A brilliant smile wreathes her face as she regards him, shoving the shovel into its big wheelbarrow of shit as a Holstein heifer with milky, blind eyes lows a complaint.

"Henry McCoy!" Sharon St. Clare sings out, as if they're the oldest of friends. "As I do live and breathe. Come say hello!"

She doesn't give him the chance, instead bounding toward him to clasp both his hands in two thick, dirty gloves. Her squeeze is firm--too firm. "How was your trip, darling? I do hate the subway this time of year--or did you drive?" Again, he's not allowed the chance to respond before she's half-turning to the cool, clinical man who 'escorted' him. "Gerard!" The Butler Farmhand. Gerard Butler. "See to the good doctor's car, won't you?"

Squeeze. "Henry, give him your keys. It wouldn't do to have you walk all that way back."

How did she know where he parked his car?

[luna-rainbow]

Ross’s quote about the Avengers ignoring sovereign borders comes up a lot and is often used to accuse Steve of American imperialism, so let’s have a look into it.

You've fought for us. Protected us. Risked your lives. While a great many people see you as heroes. There are some... who would prefer the word "vigilantes". What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals, who routinely ignores sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind them?

Sooo. Civil War was a terrible piece of world-building. The first problem is that it came way too early in the franchise, not just for the fracture between Tony and Steve to be anywhere near meaningful, but also the number of missions preceding this that would actually fit Ross’s accusations.

Let’s look at all the MCU movies so far leading up to Civil War:

Iron Man 1-3

Captain America 1-2

Thor 1-2

Ant-Man

Avengers 1-2

Hulk

(Guardians of the Galaxy)

Cap 1 took place in WW2, Cap 2 took place mostly on US soil, with the exception of the Lemurian Star which was a SHIELD mission. Thor wasn’t part of Civil War but he was dealing with extraterrestrial threats that came to Earth. Avengers 1 similarly - the only time the team was out of US was to confront Loki in Germany, and again that was under the supervision of SHIELD. Ant-Man also happened in US territory.

The only person on the team who “routinely ignores sovereign borders and inflict their will” without any oversight was Tony. He did it in IM1 against the Ten Rings. In IM2 he opens the movie with:

I'm not saying that the world is enjoying its longest period of uninterrupted peace in years because of me (...) I’m not saying that Uncle Sam can kick back on a lawn chair, sipping on an iced tea because I haven’t come across anyone who’s man enough to go toe-to-toe with me on my best day.

It is implied - the showing was done in the first movie - that Tony continued his "peace-keeping" activities which consisted of zipping into other countries and blasting everything with fire.

Never forget that even Rhodey assessed Tony as:

As he does not operate within any definable branch of government, Iron Man presents a potential threat to the security of both the nation and to her interests.

Operating outside the law was started by Tony, not by Steve or any of the other (original) Avengers, most of whom were working for SHIELD until they had to bring it down themselves to stop Hydra from killing millions of people.

The narrative problem lies in the vacuum between Captain America 2 and Captain America 3. Avengers 2 deftly avoided discussing who was overseeing their operations, and by the time Cap 3 rolls around they're suddenly a privately operated group of vigilantes?

Speaking of Avengers 2, that's the time someone decided to make a “global peacemaking initiative” without involving his team, much less the global community.

Bruce Banner: So you're going for artificial intelligence and you don't want to tell the team.

Tony Stark: Right. That's right, you know why, because we don't have time for a city hall debate. I don't want to hear the "man was not meant to meddle" medley. I see a suit of armor around the world.

Tony knew the ethical implications and the risks of this but forged ahead anyway. Said murder-bot went all over the world intent on human extinction while the Avengers tried to chase him down. We can argue over whether it was appropriate for Avengers to intervene with Ultron before waiting for the UN to have their emergency committee hearing in 3 days, but I think the key is the Avengers risked their lives to tidy up Tony's their own mess, which is what accountability and dealing with the consequence is all about.

And that's the crux of Steve's argument, which I think a lot of people gloss over.

We are (giving up) if we're not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blames.

The Accords passes the buck upwards to the UN…this means both the decisions and the responsibility for the decisions go elsewhere. The situation that riled Tony up in the first place was a mother telling him “I blame you” for Sokovia. Assuming we ignore Tony’s role in creating Ultron, how would oversight have changed the situation? They wouldn’t have been able to create Vision off the cuff, nor would they have been allowed to recruit the twins. The people in Sokovia? Would still have died, and likely far more of them because of a slower response.

But what Tony is saying is if they had oversight, the mother wouldn’t have marched up to him and blamed him. Or as Steve points out, he could shift that blame onto the UN.

Steve’s version of accountability is about taking ownership of their mistakes and finding a solution. Tony’s version of accountability is having someone else make the call and take the blame. (* I feel like this is a thing a lot of people - often young - get confused about. Accountability isn’t just about having someone telling you what to do. Some people and some organisations find themselves in the rare position of having no direct oversight, but they still need to have accountability measures in place - look at the UN Charter for example)

Going back to my original point, the only one shown to routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict his will wherever he pleases was Tony. The one operating outside government sanction for the majority of his appearances was Tony. The one actively seeking out “criminals” and trying to “win a war before it starts” has always been Tony. Tony might not be the one wearing the red white and blue but he’s the only one gloating about having done the job for “Uncle Sam”. The greatest advocate for American imperialism was Tony, not Steve.

[lagggggomorph]

Raven being Desi

Hello, hello again, I'm back with another tirade! This whole thing started with seeing a fanartist post a drawing of Raven (a DC Teen Titans character created by George Perez) as dark skinned with a Desi associated hooked nose. One commentor began to complain saying 'Raven isn't a dark skinned Indian, she isn't Indian at all'. When the artist pointed out that they were referring to the fact that Raven's original design was based of an Indian model, the astute commentor acknowledged that Ravens 'style' was Indian but was influenced by other models of other nationalities as well, so lets break it down.

Raven's style

I assume you're talking about the red dot on her forehead. It's called a Bindi and it's not a part of Indian culture, it's a part of Hindu culture. Traditionally, the west has not cared about the difference, assuming any part of Hinduism is just spiritual hokum and using it in art and pop culture without consideration. But no, the Bindi is worn by Hindu women and yes, it is cultural appropriation for the Bindi to be worn by non-Hindus for aesthetic. More of Raven's character involves Hinduism too. Meditation, and chakras also frequently appear in Raven's magic and were also Hindu practices. Then there is the topic of Ravens model.

Her name was Persis Khambatta. She won Miss India and is the model that George Perez named as the original influence for Raven's character design. But that isn't definitive, I hear you cry. White people can be Hindu too! And the same quote that lists Persis as an influence also lists a Fran MacGregor as a later influence! And that is true, but also like...

That, dear reader, is Raven in New Teen Titans wearing a Sari, which is one of the traditional styles of clothing for Indian women. All of this combined methinks makes Raven being Desi a pretty decent possibility, right? Well, apparently not, according to some people on Reddit, since there is still the issue of

Raven's Ancestry

Raven's mom is white. She Elizabeth Roth, by both her Germanic last name and her blonde haired character design, is definitely one white lady. And Raven's father is Trigon, aka the devil from the bible. And like, there is no way that there is a historical precedent of Christianity associating Hindu culture with evil (just ignore Indiana Jones the Temple of Doom and the demonisation of Kali and Lord Sheev from Star Trek and Lady fucking Shiva and that time Tim Drake fought an actual Indian god for some fucking reason). I mean there is no way that the bible says anything negative about 'Idol worship' (cough cough Romans 1:21–23, Exodus 20:3–6, 1 Corinthians 10:14 cough). Is it really that much of a stretch to say that the devil, as far as DC is concerned, may have some Indian traits. Or that Raven's home of Azarath, steeped in spiritualism and mysticism and definitely-not-Hinduism, may have had some Indian culture there too? But I feel like all this pedantic behavior is kind of missing the point.

What is the point of representation anyway?

Why does Raven being Indian coded matter?

Well, it matters because if we include her in the Indian coded bucket, there is a total of 4 desi coded characters in DC, three of those 4 being the Al Ghul family. The sum total of all actual canonical Desi characters in both DC and Marvel combined, is one. Just one. Kamala Khan from the Marvel universe.

Representation, specifically changing the ethnicity of pre-existing characters in later adaptations is done to better reflect the audience diaspora, so that the audience can see themselves in those character. Little Desi girls want to believe that they can be superheroes, just like anybody else. And if we don't have that in cannon, we will make it in fannon.

Accuracy be damned.

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 21 “No Fart Run”[Episode List]

After having a couple of beers, Tim challenges Dave to do a “no death” run on a particularly hard and fast-paced game. He gladly accepts the challenge, on the condition that Tim has to watch the entire run… while having his head dangerously close to Dave’s denim ass.

POV: Tim

No Fart Run

“…and the last one of our so-called friends just ditched us for, I quote, Leopardy!” I said, reading a message on my phone, commenting our bud Adam’s excuse for not wanting do anything tonight, Friday night, of all days.

Since the original plan was going out, Dave was wearing a grey t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans, whereas I had a white t-shirt and some sweatpants on, ‘cause I knew our buds were gonna ditch us at the last second so I didn’t even bother to change into something more appropriate for going out.

Truth to be told, there was a shitty weather outside and we all didn’t have anything big planned anyway, just a beer together at the usual place, as a way to wash the busy week away with some alcohol. To be honest, I don’t mind being at home, but I’m still going to make fun of everyone for being this lazy (though Leopardy! is that good, yes, I said it), despite being the king of lazy people myself.

My friend and roommate Dave wasn’t any less lazy than me, so yes we were both not-so-secretly relieved that we were going to spend the night at home just chillin’ and resting, so much so that as I read Adam’s message to my roomie, he immediately threw a can of beer at me. We had a good laugh about our “synchronized laziness” (in the form of mild alcoholism apparently), and we just headed for our beloved couch in the living room, discussing on what trashy movie we could watch together.

“Maybe Dana can join us.” I suggested.

“Oh. Am I not enough for you?” Dave said, jokingly offended.

“Sadly, no. Daddy’s hungry…” I replied, sounding as dumb as him.

He looked at me unimpressed. “Dana’s not in town anyway. That means you’re all mine.”

We both took a sip of beer and sat on the couch, Dave putting his feet on the coffee table in front of us. The TV was ON so we just mindlessly watched it while commenting the images on the screen, with my roomie sometimes replying with a very mature belch. We were just chillin’, we didn’t even need to put a trashy move on since almost all TV was trash anyway (except for Leopardy!, I must agree).

“By the way.” I said, changing the subject of our symposium. “I almost finished RunGun without dying.”

Calm down, ladies and gentlemen.

Both me and Dave are avid gamers, each of us having a particular set of skills. Maybe I shouldn’t even brag about this but we are pretty good, the bro sitting next to me especially.

RunGun is a deceptively simple game running on the fairly recent Play 4 (my main gaming console, which I brought here from my previous apartment), and it’s one of those “hard to master”, addicting, fast-paced platformers, you know the ones, with some shoot’em up elements thrown into it. It’s retro but also modern and we both enjoy it a lot, unsurprisingly. It’s not long, but it provides a tense challenge (just like my dick -this was a joke, laugh).

While we did beat the game and got an ending, we’ve both been trying to finish it as fast and as flawlessly as possible. However, being busy with our respective lives and jobs makes it hard to practice as much as we would have normally done with games like these.

“I’m impressed!” Dave replied, taking a big sip of beer, his way to propose a toast I guess. “Me too, actually. There’s a tricky saw cutter section in the final level that always gets me. And the boss is pretty tough too.”

Of course that implies that Dave only died in the final level, whereas I died a couple of times through the game, AND in the final level. As I said, he’s often a bit better than me.

“Well, I’m the one who’s impressed.” it was my turn to drink some beer in honour of someone’s skills.

“I think I can beat it with just a bit more practice. It’s doable.” he then said, reaching for the white gamepad on the coffee table, turning the console ON.

Looks like we were going to have a good old gaming night just the two of us, as it’s not like we had anything better to do, despite drinking. My mind went to the night Dave found out about my fart kink, in the worst (or best?) possible way. A night that was actually similar to this one, as it all happened while we were gaming. 

It was almost one year ago and we weren’t even roommates back then; time sure flies!

“You go first, handsome.” he said, handing the gamepad to me. “Let’s see those skills in action.”

As good as I am, I do tend to get a bit nervous when I do something while someone watches, even gaming sadly, but it’s all good. It’s just Dave, and RunGun, with all of its difficulty spikes (and, often, literally spikes), was all about memory so I wasn’t gonna embarrass myself too much. 

I breezed through the first few levels, easily defeating the mobs and the main bosses, even achieving some new personal records in the process; Dave occasionally complimented my skills and, while still making fun of me, was genuinely interested in seeing me pulling off the infamous “no death” run we were both trying to achieve.

“I swear if you dodge that giant hammer I’m gonna suck you off.” he joked.

Indeed, I dodged that and the rest of the level’s hazards quite easily, which prompted Dave to leap towards me to reach for my crotch (without actually touching it), his very mature way to root for me. He quickly resumed his previous position on the couch and kept watching.

For the last couple of levels I played much more carefully, occasionally getting hit (you have a couple of HPs luckily).

“Here come the fuckin’ saws…” I said, referring to the hazards my bro mentioned earlier.

I was sweating. Those circular blades were pretty common obstacles in the game, but in the final level they moved in different, disorienting patterns which would easily confuse anyone, kind of unfair game design we’re sure.

“You gotta jump over that one!”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?!”

Things got unsurprisingly tense indeed.

But despite doing my best… the game made the “DEAD :(” screen flash on the screen, before quickly re-loading to the last checkpoint. The saw cutter right before the final boss got me. Jumping over that is NOT the solution…

“Fuck!” I said, frustrated but oddly relieved that it was over.

It’s a short game if you speedrun through it as I said, but ~20 minutes felt like hours.

“I need another beer. Want some?” I said, standing up and heading to the kitchen, before waiting for the obvious answer, which came in the form of a “Yes.” said through a loud belch.

“That was a good run, man.” I heard Dave normally say from the other room. “Well, up until you failed miserably.”

I laughed. “Only one death, bro.” 

I came back with alcohol; sat next to him and handed him a can of beer. We both took a sip.

“Impressive! But shouldn’t the death counter say zero?” he mocked me.

“Oh you wanna compare our death counters?” I played along, navigating the game menu.

Indeed, the counter had Dave at 3 deaths while I only had 1. 

“Ohhh you actually went there. You grew a pair. In your 20s!” he said, laughing. “Congratulations, such a late-bloomer.”

“Shut up and swallow the truth.” I flexed.

“Shut up and pull my finger.”

Why do I even flex when I’m a guy who’s getting farted on by my bro… and enjoys it?!

Dave extended his arm to me so I could pull his index finger, knowing exactly that it was a low blow, as I went silent immediately, a reaction that made him laugh.

“Ohhh you’re done talking now?” he mocked me, with a smirk. He wasn’t being malicious of course. “I’ll just pull it myself…”

And he did. Dave was sitting on the other side of the couch with his legs resting on the coffe table (his feet sporting a pair of surprisingly colorful socks), one stretched, one bent, so I could see a good portion of his loose denim ass, which I actually managed to ignore until now. Indeed a fart came out the moment he pulled his own finger, and it was as loud as they come, not very long though. It did sound (and reek) powered by beer, but my bro is always gassy and I’m sure that the mere act of breathing is fuel for his blasts.

“See? That’s the one thing you’re good at!” I promptly said, commenting the fart, still making fun of his death counter.

“Oh you know what?” that smirk again. “Give me that thing.” he reached for the gamepad and started a new run.

“Challenge accepted?” I remarked. 

“Watch and learn.” he then turned to me, before actually starting a new run. “Also…” 

Dave adjusted his position on the couch, without taking his feet and legs off the small table. He bent his left leg (the one closer to me) up a bit more and pulled his ass back a few inches.

“You’re getting front row tickets.” he laughed.

To my surprise, he gestured towards his bent leg, literally inviting me to, well, squeeze my head under it so my face would end up in front of his denim ass. What the fuck.

“W-what?” I stuttered. As usual, Dave simply laughed at my awkwardness.

“Come on: it’s a win-win scenario for you.” 

I both love and hate how Dave is so chill and comfortable around my kink and I do wonder what he actually meant with that. He lifted his left leg up a bit more, his way to insist with his… peculiar invitation, and to ease my way in.

Speechless, I simply obeyed. I lied down towards my bud, squeezed my head under his leg and as expected I ended up in front of that wall of jeans, directly facing the blue denim fabric around my bro’s powerful ass. The stench from his previous rip was still somewhat there, but I tried not to inhale too much. His ass was overwhelming to me in that pose, but I could still see Dave’s face however, staring down at me, trying his best not to laugh.

How is he letting me do this is beyond me, but I appreciated.

“Bro, the game’s the other way.” he simply said, with a smirk. “Contain your thirst.”

Damn, I felt so stupid, but in my defense… anyone would be awkward around my bro sometimes: he being so chill and open-minded is… disorienting, much like the late-game hazards of RunGun.

Without saying anything to further embarrass myself, I turned around, facing the opposite direction. Despite being with my head under Dave’s leg, I still had a good view of the TV, right beyond my bro’s feet resting on the table, which wasn’t tall enough to block my view. So there I was, lying on the couch, with the back of my head brushing against Dave’s denim ass. I wouldn’t compare this situation to “getting a front-row ticket”, but I guess I deserve this.

If I truly had to watch his entire run like this, that meant that I was gonna have my head dangerously close to his ass for the next 20~ minutes, a treat and threat at the same time!

“By the way, if I get a Game Over, you get blasted.” he stated. I could sense his usual smirk through his words.

I don’t like this gimmick. Dave was good at the game so I couldn’t rule out that he was gonna die on purpose just to mess with me. So here I was in the tense in situation in which, on one hand, I was rooting for him to beat the game flawlessly… on the other, and I know this will make me sound indeed thirsty… I did want him to blast me.

Nonetheless, I watched my friend playing as if that was the most normal situation we both ever experienced. Just like me, he breezed through the first couple of levels, even faster than me, but each 2-3 levels you gotta face a boss: they’re mostly pushovers but when you’re in a rush, they can and will kill you instantly.

Dave was really good at RunGun and this first boss acts as a filter for most gamers. This giant enemy crab (a reference to a certain meme I’m sure) was actually fairly easy once you knew how to face it, but it still could cast one particular attack that was almost impossible to dodge… and indeed it was gonna do it, charging his laser beam.

“Get on the right side of the arena, quick!” I suggested, ‘cause I knew there was a safe spot there.

Dave laughed. “Sorry dude, from my point of view it looked like the voice came straight out of my ass.”

I mean… he’s not wrong. Either way, my bro followed his butt’s suggestion and indeed he ended up winning the fight fast, easily and unscratched. A portal for the next world appeared, but before Dave could step into it I noticed him lifting his left leg in real life.

I braced for impact. He didn’t die but of course he was still gonna blast me one way or another. I even closed my eyes, but the sound I heard were not the ones of a fart being ripped… but rather one being sucked in.

He could fart on command, something that he doesn’t do often but I guess he wanted to showoff so, still facing away from his denim ass, I once again expected my entire head to be blasted by one of my bro’s farts.

But once again, after a couple of seconds of air being sucked in, nothing came out. The leg went down as it was before, and Dave resumed playing as if nothing happened.

What kind of mind tricks was he playing?! He sucked air in, so I knew there was a fart brewing right behind me. I felt like there was some wild, dangerous beast waiting to land a surprise attack on me, but I tried to focus on the game and, truth to be told, Dave’s skills were a sight to behold.

He was fast, he had great reflexes, he practiced a lot but he was so good I couldn’t help to compliment the way he was speedrunning through the game, while occasionally making fun of how lucky he was being, something that he reluctantly admitted.

Boss #2, some kind of giant evil butterfly, but honestly a cakewalk for both of us.

“World 3 already, no deaths. Scared, Tim?” he jokingly asked.

I turned around to face him… well, in theory, as I was facing his denim ass instead, but before I could properly respond, he lifted his leg again. I ended up with my nose being tickled by the fabric of his denim as more air was being sucked in: a weird sensation, but I was surprised. Dave looked down at me with a silly smile, as if he too had no idea what was gonna happen next. I wanted to ask, but again, his leg went down. He then pointed at the TV, so I faced the other way, my eyes once again glued on RunGun.

But I wasn’t very focused this time.

I could sense his ass behind me being, well, charged. I swear I could hear the gas he sucked in trying to come out, like a dormant volcano reaching its breaking point; and after Boss #3 went down, I heard more air being swallowed by my friend’s ass, thus confirming the pattern I was suspecting: Dave was gonna suck more and more air in each time he’d beat a boss… and there are 8 of them.

Dave was playing RunGun… but he was also playing a mind game with me I swear. For me this was like an endurance test of some sorts: I really wanted him to win the game without dying but at the same I couldn’t help but to be eager to hear what the fart he was charging up sounded like.

My heart started racing fasted as he defeated yet another boss… while having only 1HP left!

“Oof. That was close, ammirite?” he said, laughing. What a teasing bastard (but I cannot complain)!

He moved a bit, just to nudge the back of my head with his ass.

“What’s the matter, Tim? Is something bothering you? Why don’t you turn around and tell me ahah?”

Again, my roommate wasn’t being malicious in any way, but at this point he was clearly amused by the whole situation: I knew that he was brewing a big one, just like he knew that I wanted him to blast me with that. I guess that teasing me was something that he found hilarious, and given my awkwardness and how admittedly weird my kink is, I couldn’t blame him.

More bosses went down, and more and more air got sucked in by the ass behind me. How Dave managed to store all of that gas was beyond me. He didn’t even flinch, he was holding it in like a pro. And a pro indeed he was at RunGun as well, as he finally reached the final world. 

He adjusted his position a bit, as if I wasn’t even there, because shit got serious.

“Alright, if you got any suggestion I’m willing to listen.” he said, while sprinting through the level.

I fully paid attention to the game this time, the scar of my previous defeat still hurting. Dave dodged a dozen of saw blades but he was clearly having a hard time now: that final series of hazards would make anyone sweat.

“Listen to me, listen to your ass!” I joked, referencing what he said before. “If you want to dodge that fucking final blade, don’t jump above it: run under it as it falls.” 

“That’s crazy…” he paused for a moment, his character on the screen doing the same. “I’m gonna do it. If I lose it’s your fault.”

“You’re not going to, trust me!”

This was one of the most tense moments in our lives (yes, sad lives). My bro displayed once again an impressive set of skills but he did follow my suggestion… and he beat the level. I was kind of mad that I didn’t think of doing that during my run, but I was happy that he reached the final boss. It was hard, but nothing compared to the level before it.

“FUCK YEEEEES” we both yelled as the boss went down, because we’re very mature adult men.

The arena was empty and one last, bigger, more eventful portal appeared. We… well, he did it, he successfully finished a “no death” run of RunGun, something that we tried to do for weeks. I was smiling like an idiot.

And respecting the established pattern, Dave sucked more air in, this time for dozens of seconds.

I actually tried to move my head away but his leg held me in position.

I didn’t understand, so I turned around to face him and his ass, after he finished charging up.

“Dude. You didn’t die once!” I said. “You don’t have to do it.”

He just laughed. “Who said anything about dying?” 

I faced the TV again and… “Game Over” was written on the screen. And then I remembered: that text would appear even if you successfully finish game. Bunch of bastards, both Dave and the game.

I slowly turned around, as if I was heading for a death sentence… and given what that ass had in store for me, what my bro was capable of when it came to farting… that would very well be the case. My entire face was again overwhelmed by that wall of denim, the dark blue fabric tickling my nose. Dave had that silly smirk drawn on his face, staring down at me: this was both a treat and a revenge.

“Looks like I’m good at both, dude.” he stated, holding his gamepad up so I could see it. “So…” he then said, while extending his arm to me. “Are you gonna pull my finger now?” he laughed.

I wasn’t really in the position to do that, as I was lying down with my face planted in his ass.

“You know what? I’ll just do it myself again, tsk.” 

And then I felt him push, his denim ass in front of me getting even closer. This time I didn’t have to brace for the impact, because the beast did land its surprise attack in the end. 

A thunder, a sudden thunder, that’s how I can describe it. Imagine a deep-sounding fart stock sound, only louder, manlier, prouder. I’m surprised his jeans could withstand such force of nature. My head was shaking and the blast almost forced me to close my eyes, but I didn’t want to, I wanted to see that beautiful sight of my friend’s denim ass. Dave’s facial expression was the one of someone visibly ripping a powerful, hard-to-tame fart, because that’s what it was: my bro was the fart master but this time even he had a hard time containing such an enormous blast in; after all, he sucked so much air that I’m surprised his ass didn’t explode before.

And speaking of hard, I too had a hard time containing something in: unlike Dave’s ass, my dick was gonna explode for sure. I instinctively rubbed the tent I pitched in my sweatpants against on the couch, effectively having a sexual intercourse with Dave’s fart.

I didn’t know how much time passed: 10 seconds? 20 seconds? The fart was still going strong and the more it kept going, the more I planted my face into my friend’s ass, fully embracing the literal vibrations through the denim. The stench was there, I’m sure it was a mixture of natural beer farts and on-command ones, and the sound reflected that mixture, as the impressive display of flatulence sounded both “meat-y” and “air-y”. With Dave around you have no choice but to get good at distinguishing what kind of farts he’s ripping, regardless of the kink.

The fart was deep-sounding but for a couple of seconds it went higher-pitched and even louder, to which Dave reacted with a genuinely surprised look, while still trying hard not to laugh like an idiot.

40 seconds perhaps? I swear this was Dave’s longest fart since he found out about my fetish. I felt completely overwhelmed as my sweaty face was basically now almost under that roaring ass, the fart messing with my eardrums and making my entire head shake due to its sheer power.

I’ll never be thankful enough to our buds for ditching us at the last second, considering this was the direct result of a lazy Friday night, turned into a beer-fueled gaming night. But I guess Dave didn’t mind either, as this was amusing to him. I was so thankful to him for accepting me but I would have never thought that he’d be this chill, and go this far to just, well, destroy my face with his well-known farts.

Probably one minute passed and, once again proving how far my friend would go, he lifted his ass, without interrupting the continuous long fart, and simply sat on my entire head, all while the blast kept going.

His ass was basically smothering me now, but dear God this was an incredible experience. I was sweating and the hot fart coming from Dave’s ass didn’t help at all, not counting how the fabric of his jeans was warm and rough. I just let my bro fully crush me, as my face was becoming one with the couch under Dave’s weight. 

After 20 more seconds, the fart seemingly started to lose some power, but it wasn’t over yet: it wasn’t as loud as before but I felt Dave pushing harder, as if he wanted to make sure he ripped every particle of gas he sucked in, making the fart as last long as he could in the process. 

The smell was almost unbearable now, further proof that whatever was being ripped all over me was a mix of natural gas and on command. I love how this started as a chill, deathless speedrun of RunGun, and now here I mean, technically trying not to die in real life under my friend’s denim ass, getting blasted by the longest fart I ever heard. And I also heard Dave laugh as he leaned a bit, amused by how much he was farting himself. 

“Almost done man…” he muttered, but I could barely hear him over the sounds his ass was making.

He pushed more and more, slowly leaning to ease the remaining gas out. I was covered in sweat and my nostrils were burning. Saying “this is hot” is an understatement: I felt lucky, really lucky, to have my bro do this to me. I stared at that jeans ass still erupting the fart out, closely inspecting the seams and textures of the fabric: how much time, in the last year, I spent my time here, under or in front of Dave’s ass? We definitely need a fart counter more than a death one.

Dave finally resumed his previous pose, stretching his legs on the table, not sitting directly on my head anymore, and lifted his left leg to finally let me go, but not before pushing hard one last time, ending his impressive fart with a loud, long toot.

Finally, silence.

“…wait!”

Incredibly enough, Dave managed to rip yet another, one last loud fart, but at this point my ears were so used to that sound that it felt like the natural continuation of the previous one, which probably was anyway. 7 more seconds and finally, at long last, that impressive display of manly gas ended. I swear it probably lasted around 3 minutes, it’s incredible.

I carefully moved my head away now, with my friend letting me go, no legs holding me down this time. I could catch a glimpse of Dave’s usual smirk: he was just proud of his own skills, both at the game and as a farter. I guess he wanted to teach me a lesson after I made fun of him, like a real bro would do after all.

“I don’t know if I should thank you or not at this point.” I sincerely said, smiling, as I sat on my side of the couch.

Dave carried on as if nothing weird happened between us. “You should be thankful I let you survive that.” he joked, rightfully bragging about his fart skills. “And that I’m not making fun of your death count of course.”

“Yeah… I think I completely lost any bragging rights tonight.” we both had a good laugh.

“Well, you’re still the gayest person in the room.” 

“Says the guy who lets plant my face in his ass.” I sounded snarky, but it’s a miracle I wasn’t a stuttering mess saying this.

“Another thing you should be thankful for!” he laughed at my comment, throwing his empty can of beer at me.

“I’m gonna get some more.” 

I didn’t even try to hide my boner this time. I was indeed simply thankful that Dave was so chill, maybe too much, if that’s even possible. As I opened the fridge to get more beers, enjoying the cold breeze, I heard my bro talking from the other room.

“Well, would you look at that…” he said, probably checking something on his phone. “They’re gonna make RunGun 2!” 

His comment was followed by a quick, short and loud fart which, given what I just experienced, definitely sounded like a treat.

And I couldn’t be more thankful indeed.

End of Episode 21

[snek-panini]

I'm somewhat late posting this one, since I finished it a couple of weeks ago, but this was Binderary Book #3! A bind of Pray for Us, Icarus by Atalan. I'm not sure this fic needs any introduction from me, but suffice it to say that it's wonderful and involves retelling the events of canon with a memory loss twist. It's one of those fics that exists in undeniable conversation with canon; you can't really separate it from the canon without losing a lot of meaning. This fic is so good it gives me story hangover when I read it. It gets pretty angsty in parts but has a happy and totally satisfying ending.

I tried so many new things with this bind, and most of them came out really well! I'm a little in love with it. More pics and process talk below the cut!

One of the reasons I waited to post is because I never got a response from the author when I reached out about binding this one. That's only happened to me once before, and last time it was on an orphaned work so I expected it. Hopefully they don't mind that I've posted pics.

The cover on this one is faux leather. It was my first time working with it and I loved it. Feels really nice, looks beautiful, holds a fold well (this brand, anyway), and takes glue and embossing powder like a champ. The front has a 3D cutout that I made with layered sheets of thin cardboard, then covered over with leather and pressed into the corners. That's another first for me (my other cutouts were all 2-material windows) and I loved it so much I did it over again on my next bind (not done yet--pics are coming). I did press too hard and tear the material in one spot; the gilding around the title is there to cover that. The other issue I had was with the rose stamp on the front cover--turns out this stuff is way more slippery that I expected, and it got shifted while I was pressing it, trying to get the details to take.I didn't notice this until after using the heat gun, at which point it was too late to re-do it, so now I'm living with it. Not ideal, but we live and learn.

Top view, spine, and endpaper. The only design choice I made on this volume that I'm not nuts about is the blue endbands. They're...fine. But I didn't have one available that was better, and I haven't taken the leap into making my own yet. They're not that bad, I just don't love them.

Title on spine! This is another first, possible because of the material. The book cloth I usually use doesn't play nice with the embossing powder so I can't use it on the cloth spines that I usually prefer. But the faux leather works fine with it, so I went for it here.

Endpapers are scrapbook paper, a really nice shade of light green that didn't shop up well in the photos. Trust me, though--they look fabulous with the green ribbon bookmark and the brown leather. Rich and warm and lovely. The case on this fits really well, which is something I continue to struggle with. At first I thought it was too big again, but in hindsight I think it's perfect actually.

Interior shots! I...still need to up my game on the title pages. I did for the bind that came after this one. I find I like the box though. Keeping that.

The illustration next to the chapter title is a sprig of rosemary. Memory loss is a major theme in the story, and the quote "rosemary for remembrance" comes up prominently in the first chapter, so I thought it was appropriate. There are a lot of flowers and plants in this story, and I really wanted to feature all of them, but finding coordinating artwork of them all was too big of a challenge so only two made it in: the rosemary and the rose on the front cover. The rose was a rubber stamp and the rosemary was a free image I found online; all I did was resize it. The same image appears at the beginning of each chapter. I finally figured out how to prevent Word from making all my images blurry, so there will be more included artwork like this in future binds.

That's a wrap! I love this bind. Like a lot. I want to show it to everyone I know but I don't want to explain fanfiction to them so it's here. My next Binderary bind is almost done and will be shared in a few days, (it needs its cover attached and to be titled) and then I owe someone an author's copy before I launch into another fanbind. I already have plans for it though. Can't sit still too long.