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enduracarrotchips · 3 years ago

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YouTuber AU

Hello welcome to Dating Scandal but with Twitter Involved (nightmare)

A little exposition here:

Link, Zelda, Sidon, Revali, and Riju are the most popular group of youtubers on the internet and have a huge fanbase that likes to theorize, draw fanart, and write fanfiction about them. Disclaimer, I don’t actually interact with real-person fandoms myself lol there’s just too much potential for drama and misunderstandings & they’re always bound to end in a dumpster fire but that is sort of what this au is about so.

Impa, Mipha, Daruk, and Urbosa are family friends that appear in a lot of their videos/streams.

(This is an art blog I swear)

enter vidcon 20XX

Link:

blows stuff up/sets stuff on fire with a side of cooking vids and gaming

most are filmed outside, he does those challenges where you try to cook stuff with limited ingredients/materials

has the largest fanbase of all of them, but not the most…intimidating.

does a lot of collab videos, mostly with Impa, Daruk, and Riju because they have similar interests/channels, but Zelda appears in his videos and is seen filming and the stans read too far into it

simps. i’m pointing at you.

Most popular videos are “shield surfing on rock!—how I broke my leg” “can Daruk eat Impa’s motorcycle?” and “how to inhale ranch dressing.”

Twitter handle is @ arsonistslullabye because he’s a hozier fan

45m subs

Zelda:

theories, analyses, conspiracies, and the occasional e x p e r i m e n t

she once got link to eat a frog for 50 bucks.

most people argue that she’s better than more popular YouTubers because she actually has quality content to give to the world and she has a lot of defensive supporters

She used to get a lot of hate before Urbosa spoke up about it and scared the bejeezus out of everyone

has an actual posting schedule

“Happy Sunday everyone, it’s Zelda Hyrule and today we will be talking about cryptozoology and why blupees exist, you cowards.”

Twitter handle is @ zeldaofhyrule and she is pan. just so you know. One of those calm extroverts that mystify me to this day.

18m subs

Sidon:

fashion/life hacks. Like gourmet troom troom but if they were real people.

Has the 2nd largest fanbase

most of them are girls

Sidon has a boyfriend though, which he told everyone at VidCon a few years ago

cue the drama and shipping and the entire fandom trying to figure out who the boyfriend is. A well known reddit thread emerged that presented the common guesses being Link, Sidon, and Zelda.

“But it can’t be Zelda, Sidon’s gay.”

“I’m not in the fandom but I thought Zelda was a boy??”

“Did you just say Sidon? Is that a typo? Are you saying that Sidon’s dating himself?”

Sidon x Sidon became a fandom joke.

Don’t look at me I’m just setting up all the worldbuilding. every fandom has their weird dark sides and Sidon x Sidon is the Linkcest of the Sidon YT fandom.

Mystery BF is actually Bazz, a pretty inconspicuous guy who appeared in a few of his videos. This was confirmed a year ago, but everyone still ships him with other YouTubers because they’re convinced he was lying to throw them off his scent. He really can’t catch a break and this is why you should not ship real people.

Twitter handle is @ officialprincesidon

says “beguiling” a lot

21m subs ᕙ( ͡❛ ▿ ͡❛)ᕗ

Mipha:

Sidon’s sister, hasn’t posted a single video but just has the channel for show because she appears in so many of Sidon’s videos as a model for his makeup tutorials and whatnot

has 328k for that. Everyone loves her, she’s great. @ mimipha

Revali:

Link’s sworn rival

Link thinks they’re friends

He kept popping up in link’s Twitter threads and making snarky comments until zelda called him out for not even following link (so why was he stalking his acc) which kept the Twitter drama to a minimum

Revali was the catalyst of a few popular memes and that’s where most of his subs come from.

drags link into a few challenges that always get a ton of views because of how competitive they get

“ITS JUST ASININE” is a running joke that everyone tries to get him to say. His @ is itsjustasinine as well

Urbosa is the only person who can win an argument with him

5m subs and growing rapidly. newer to youtube than everyone else.

Impa:

Doesn’t have a channel she’s just a mutual friend of Mipha, Zelda, and Link

Rides a motorcycle, so she is used in a few of Link’s videos.

@ ihaveamotorcycle because she thinks having a motorcycle is a personality trait. the most unruly on Twitter when it comes to replying to fan’s stuff, leaking upcoming videos and generally causing chaos.

Mipha’s girlfriend. That’s how she met Zelda and Link.

Urbosa:

Is actually a model, but she has a ton of YouTuber friends because she’s known Zelda since birth.

when she entered the youtube community she didn’t realize she would be adopting like 15 children

5m subs. her videos are professional & related to her modelling career. @ urbosasfury

I feel like she would do unboxing vids. I’m not sure what she’s unboxing.

Daruk

Just a friend of Link’s, fun guy. yells a lot. once ate a rock and had no reaction.

people are scared of him for that reason

Riju:

yoga & gymnastics & “ha look at how flexible I am its eAsY” videos

you know the type

she also does reactions and is sponsored by save the sand seals charities which she is very enthusiastic about. She’s also Urbosa’s niece and the only minor in the gang (15). I like to think that the champions YT community is actually not creepy so everyone respects her a ton

doesn’t post frequently, she mostly appears in Link’s videos to jump out of airplanes or whatever. And sometimes Zelda’s if she’s interested in the topic. 500k subs, but she’s always really popular when she appears in Link’s videos.

VidCon:

In the months leading up to VidCon, some fans on the internet made a few discoveries: first of all, that the inside of Link’s house is painted green. This is a big deal because all of his videos are filmed outside either in his backyard or on trips that he and the brosquad go on to do…whatever bros do. explosions. idk. The point is he had some announcement about VidCon and filmed it inside. Only the wall and a potted plant were shown.

However, the colour was similar to the the shade of Zelda’s living room. Fans dug through years and years of old videos and found a clip of Zelda walking through a hallway, where there was an open door and a glimpse of a houseplant.

There were 2 types of responses to the theory:

“They could just be roommates guys calm down”

“and they were ROOMMATES?”

others pointed out that Link could just not have a house and had to crash in Zelda’s

Some guy on reddit claimed he had a botany degree and declared that the houseplants in the clips were not of the same genus. Normal people pointed out that the plant would have grown 4 years between the clips and would look considerably different.

#Zelink trended on twitter for a while and people posted other old clips from both of their channels and the frog video blew up again

Impa retweeted a post tagged as #zelink with “rofl” and later publicly apologized for causing confusion.

Fans noticed that in the “can a motorcycle drive over my arm” (it was clickbait he’s fine) episode 2 years ago, Link was eating out of a paper lunch bag with his name written on it in handwriting that a few people claimed to look like Zelda’s, leading people to believe that she had packed him a lunch.

However, this theory was shot down with the counterargument that Zelda can’t cook. although. i mean how much skill do you need to make a sandwich.

No one knows what tumblr is doing at this time

Zelda wore a scarf in her “Save the Sand Seals” video that matched identically to the scarf Link wore when he travelled to Hebra to film a shield surfing video, but it’s been debated wether it’s actually the same scarf or not.

Neither Zelda nor Link has spoken up about the theories, and besides Impa’s one slip on twitter, neither has any of their friends. Zelda received a lot of backlash for the assumption that she was dating Link because he has a lot of delusional fans that didn’t want her to “steal their man” or whatever the hell that type of fan would get mad about

Oh yea and bolson & karson run a zelink fanpage on twitter sorry I forgot about that

after that whole mess, everyone was even more anticipant of VidCon in the hopes that some of their questions would be answered.

The whole batch went to VidCon this year: Link, Impa, Daruk, and Riju are a gang while Sidon and Mipha go together and Zelda & Revali each go separately. Urbosa is there for supervision moral support

Zelda has always been much better at dodging questions that she doesn’t want to answer than anyone else, so her Q&A went without a hitch. When asked to confirm the rumours she said “which one?” and then moved on to the next question (without actually confirming any rumours).

Link is generally a more awkward person but eventually said that he had filmed the video in Zelda’s house because it was nicer and didn’t realize it would cause such an uproar. Fans were disappointed, but Bolson claimed he saw Link and Zelda exiting the hotel elevator on the same floor after Link’s Q&A session. No one believed him.

Fans went back to theorizing over who Link, Zelda, and Sidon were all dating, because apparently they can’t just be dating unknown people and have to be with other YouTubers

Sidon and Bazz got engaged about a week after VidCon, making at least 4 preteen girls cry

actually try 4 million

Sidon x Sidon made a brief comeback but Sidon spoke up about his fandom for the first time ever on twitter and told everyone that no, he was not dating himself. eventually, everyone settled down and accepted that none of them were in a relationship save for a few loud fans.

Link and Zelda still got the occasional “when will you tell us who you’re dating?” comment but most of them were joking and the people who still hardcore shipped them were generally frowned upon. Zelda’s popularity went up after VidCon and she regained the 200k subscribers she’d lost after the first theory dropped.

Two months after VidCon, Link posted a video titled “Zelda and I’s House Tour!” and gave around 45 million people a heart attack

as revealed in the video, they had actually been dating since they were 16 and everyone’s just a fool.

the potted plant is named Hestu.

#listen. listen. youtuber au #idc if u came here to see genderless art this is what I am posting today #genderless art in the future though #anyways I'm so sorry #sidon x sidon trends for a few days and I feel bad for the ppl who have to handwrite the trending descriptions on twitter #like what would it be #reddit user @ steponmeurbosa makes a spelling error and sparks shipping between beauty guru sidon and himself #if someone tries to start discourse about YouTube fandoms on my post I am blocking you #headcanons #opinions #youtuber au #botw #zelink #breath of the wild #legend of zelda #thank god I got this out of my notes app

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burgerkang000 · 4 years ago

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Serve an ace through my heart

this is a Jongho fic and its pretty long so I'm gonna do the read more thing

@beyoncesdragon @aixy-hpsa(if anyone else wanna be tagged pls tell me!!!)

tumblr i hate u, u keep on eating my spaces TT-TT

Being out of your comfort zone; nobody likes that. For you, you never really got around into being comfortable with, well, a lot of things. And you never really saw what was wrong with that. You hear your friends talking about how they were dragged into doing things they never wanted to do, and they either end up loving it or hating it.

It wasn’t like you were entitled to sort out the uneasiness.

Right now, the uneasiness you felt towards playing volleyball is an example of something you didn’t want to sort out.

But the volleyball team was lacking, and the captain was looking for new players and training them separately, until their ready to join the team.

And you must have checked all the boxes for ‘volleyball player’, because the captain has been constantly nagging you to at least try it out.

And in a moment of fury, you had said no, you’re not interested, you’re afraid and uncomfortable.

And even though looking back on it, you felt that you were a bit harsh, but even so, you had thought that he was done bothering you.

But the next day Choi Jongho; the guy you spend YEARS pining comes up to you. And that’s new, because you’re sure he doesn’t know of your existence, and he says-

“Sometimes you have to do things that make you uncomfortable to actually like it”

And you don’t understand; you gape at him for what feels like centuries, as you haven’t caught on yet; for fucks sake the guy hasn’t even said hello.

And he sighs, as if he’s done with people not understanding him, and you blame exactly him for that because of the cryptic way he speaks, he could speak Morse code and you’d understand him better; and he begins to explain, as if that’s the most draining thing in the world.

And you think that this guy is getting less and less charming the more he opens his mouth (That is a lie).

“Play volleyball with us, join the team, you fit the qualities to be one, and its actually fun- not easy- but fun; and about the uncomfortable thing, sometimes you just need to get past the feeling, and then you can actually feel , once the cloud of poor judgement is out of your system.”

And he said a lot of things, he did, but somehow the moment you actually stop and say something you HAD to say-

“I have poor judgement?” and you blink up at him.

And let’s be honest here- scary looking, kind of jerk face, jock, probably bullied into asking you to join the volleyball team; totally would have said something along the lines of ‘of course, what do you expect your judgement to be? Reliable?’

But Jongho looked taken aback, sort of offended that you thought of him as lowly, as he aggressively shakes his head.

“I meant the being uncomfortable; it makes your judgement poor, and I would never say that, what kind of person do you take me to be?”

And you sigh and rub you’re temple. You can’t believe the fact that you’re actually considering this. It’s like the captain knows about your massive crush and is totally using it against you.

“I – well I – I’m not sure if I’ll like it.” You reply, fidgeting with the watch that has been strapped on your wrist.

HE sighs yet again (AGAIN) and says-

“Well, you’ll never know if you won’t try, I can give you a test run if you’d like.”

“Well uhh-“

“There are no girls on the team; we genuinely want people who think that girls can’t make it onto the team to change their mind-set.”

OK if anything can convince you, its woman empowerment, so you nod, and try to convince yourself that this is you’re part of showing support; and that watching hot sweaty guys (read: Choi Jongho) play volleyball was just a plus side.

“Great, tomorrow, Gym, after school.”

And he leaves.

Where does he think he is in? High school musical?

“Tomorrow, Gym, after school” you mimic as you resume packing your stuff.

The school was empty and it was something you haven’t experienced before, other than the club people there was pin drop silence in the corridors, when you passed by the basketball court you could hear the aggressive squeaking and bouncing.

You had never really stayed behind after school, except that one time your whole class had failed on a test and all of you had to stay back for extra classes. But it was noisy then.

When you entered the gym, you spot Jongho and the captain talking. And once the captain notices you he smirks. The captain is evil, you think.

“So I thought you weren’t joining?” He asks as he walks up to you.

You angrily mutter-

“Well, yeah, I’m here to watch”

You realise that you don’t know the captains name.

The captain chuckles and as he’s walking past you, you grab his arm and ask him.

“I didn’t get your name…”

“I can tell it to you if you join the team”

“I can ask someone here” you tighten the grip on his hand.

“….. Song Mingi”

You hum and let him go; he caresses his wrist, where red marks your tight hold of his hand.

“Oh don’t be so smug” he tells you.

“If anything it tells me you have good grip; that just makes me want you in the team so~ much more than the last time”

You poke your tongue out at him, because you’re a mature human being and walk towards the bleachers.

And after an hour of watching them play, you’ve gathered nothing.

All you think is that volleyball is cool. It makes the players look cool; and sure all of them are eye candy, but you’re eyes draw to Jongho more times than you would like to admit.

You can’t help it, the boy’s expression when he’s half crouched and waiting for actions makes you shiver, his hair sticking to his forehead, beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his neck, the slight exposure of his skin when he jumps or serves.

And you can’t get started on the guy’s thighs.

And you lied; the whole half of the game your eyes were trained on him, your mouth slightly agape as you watch him.

And if you knew you would have stopped, it was only when you were admiring Jongho drinking water that the captain- Song Mingi- decides to interrupt you.

You were in the middle of watching him gulp down water; sometimes he aggressively detaches the bottle from his mouth and takes sharp gulps of air before immediately bringing it back to his lips and gulping, and the water sometimes escapes from the corners of his mouth and-

Your soul has left your body, and you’re definitely drooling, and as you shuffle to get a more comfortable position and a better view, you feel a tap at your shoulder.

You shrug it off as being stupid, sometimes a hair moves a tiny inch on your body and your convinced it’s a spider, maybe it’s one of those times, and spider be damned, you’re looking at Choi Jongho in all his sweaty glory.

But then someone says-

“Like the view?”

And you startle backwards and see Mingi in stitches.

You look at him un-amused as he finishes up laughing, and once he’s done you want to hit him, but the thing is you have self-control. What you don’t have control over is how you want to stop watching some guy laughing and continue to stare at Jongho like he’s some interesting movie.

So you do exactly that only to find Jongho is dead on staring at you too, and you startle backwards yet again, hand flying towards your chest and hastily look away. And you can hear Mingi laughing again, then you look u to take a peek to see Jongho jogging up to you.

He’s panting and breathless and he smells like sweat, but he still manages to look drop dead gorgeous, he bends over hands on his knees and asks

“So…. Like volleyball yet?”

And he’s panting between his words; so it’s only kind enough to-

“Would you like some water?”

He nods, so you hand him your bottle and avert your eyes while he drinks, because they guy is right in front of you, and you don’t want to do anything stupid.

He hands you the bottle when he’s done, swipes the back of his hand to get rid of the water that has clung to his lips and you’re eyes linger there more than necessary.

“So…?” he asks. Here he goes again with the cryptic speaking, you resist the urge to roll your eyes and you ask-

“So….?”

He sighs like he’s done with you and asks-

“So how do you like volleyball?”

“Oh... Umm its cool I guess, but I don’t think I can do all that- it looks hard”

“It’s a matter of practice”

“I don’t know”

“Maybe you shouldn’t join, if you’re this uncomfortable”

And you felt a pang of disappointment at that, as if you’ve let him down.

“I can try… to play- I mean”

He looks at you for a few moments and says-

“Great, be there tomorrow after school on the tracks; captain said I can train you”

He flashes a smile at you- gums and all, waves and hurry back to the game.

Something that caused you’re stomach to flutter was that he waved alright, walking backwards while you waved and smiled back, all the way to the centre of the gym until he hit the pole and sheepishly rubbed his head, waved one last time and let the game take over.

The next day after school, you were in an empty track. You thought the track team would be there, but there was no one except Jongho and you.

You were told to run, and do all sorts of crazy exercises that you didn’t even know the name of. It was safe to say you were making demonic breathing noises through the whole ordeal, taking way too many water breaks and you looked far too messed up then you usually are. The uncomfortable feeling of sweat causing your clothes to cling to your body, and sweat trickling down the sides of your neck, was in fact not that uncomfortable. Quite the opposite; it was satisfactory, you think you look cool like those sports people in the ads, until you caught your reflection at a glass door and decided to not look again, and either way, you wouldn’t exercise for hours and NOT sweat.

And Jongho? He was pushing you through the whole thing, telling you what to do, how to do, basically training you; you haven’t even learnt one volleyball trick.

And you think this is hard.

Very hard.

But on the not so bright side, this time around you couldn’t stare at Jongho, every time he comes close; your heart does palpations, every time his skin comes in contact with yours, the warm sticky feeling made your stomach do summersaults.

And this continued on for a week. Yes, you, the most talented person when it comes to not doing any physical activity, did crazy exercise routines with a ball for Choi fucking Jongho, there’s no denying at this point. Even though you won’t voice it to him, Choi Jongho better be grateful or you’re going to die.

On the bright side, you and the team captain have been hanging out a lot lately, talking over coffees and homework and subtle smiles in corridors. And you voice it to him one day, of how Jongho should be grateful, because you can’t move your body.

“I must have been right to send Jongho to ask you then?” He says with a smug smile.

And you angrily mutter threats that hold no meaning and look away.

Even though it’s only been a month of training, and they want you to play.

And you’ve put all you’re arguments out on the table, and the team has shot all of them down as if it were that easy. But the whole idea of playing for the team, on a real match that counts, makes your gut churn and twist and tighten all at the same time.

And once all the members left, you see Jongho from the corner of your eye, sit next to you.

You feel his long, slender fingers rubbing you’re shoulder, probably for a soothing effect, that actually made the butterflies to flap and you didn’t really need that will all the churning, twisting and tightening happening down there.

And he says

“Calm down, ok” And you nod, but your attempts to calm down are useless, uneasiness clinging on to you.

Jongho sighs, and by now spending one month with him, you have noticed how he sighs a lot. In the past one moth, you both have been hanging out every chance you get, besides training.

It was really more calming, if you overlook the feelings on your side. Being with Jongho was calming, and knowing yourself, you usually are too busy trying to make memories you forget to live in the moment. But when you were with Jongho, you were pulled into the moment, in fact you were so into the moment, you haven’t even thought about making it a memory. And the plus side is you remember everything that happened when you’re with him. More than that there is this creeping feeling of how attached you’re growing to him that you will away for now.

One thing that makes your heart flutter every time is when he leaves, he walks backward, waving to you all the while, until he hits a pole, tree, human, pillar, or any object, then waves on last time and leaves.

You lost.

Great

You feel this intense mixture of dread and guilt.

It’s sad, it’s your first match but you’ve managed to lose for your team, because the other team could tell your inexperience, and even though you and Jongho had worked on your legs trembling while playing, you couldn’t control it out there.

There were people watching you so everything you did was a mess, every thrust was weaker than you thought, every opportunity was a lost one

You wanted to tell the team I told you so, but they didn’t look so bummed out, Mingi said some bullshit speech about how the team tried its best and it’s all about having fun anyways…

He also told you to take it easy.

But you felt like you were swallowing shards of glass, and breathing in iron fillings and as soon as the team left you could hold you’re tears back anymore, and it hurt because you were excited, and if it were not for you the team could have easily won, and you felt as if you shouldn’t have agreed to join in the first place, damn you Choi Jongho.

But really damn him; because he sat next to you and then one look at him was all it took for you to break down into sobs and he pulled you toward him, your face was snuggled up into his chest. And you were painfully stiff at first, until he started stroking you’re hair and whispering how its ok and how he’s proud of you and how you did well, and how everyone is proud of you and as you continued crying you were relaxing into his hold, which was stirring up warmth and you sobbed into his shirt for a really long time.

And when you were finally done, you looked up at him, and he was very close, like very, nose touching kind of close and you weren’t able to do anything but stare with wide eyes.

And was he getting closer?

And then there was no more distance between the both of you as a pair of lips captured yours, and at first your eyes were open and looking at Jongho’s closed ones, and soon enough he grew impatient and began prodding at your lips and you closed your eyes and kissed him back. Your heart was beating very fast, you wanted to swallow, but can you? Like is it allowed to swallow in a kiss, and it was painfully quiet all around you, until Jongho pulled away with a drawn out breath .You didn’t even have time to open your eyes, as a pair of lips part at your neck and he leaves open mouth kisses along the length of you neck, you hiss as he sucks particularly hard at a spot. He guides you to half lie down on the bench as he attacks your neck, and he scrapes his teeth along the attacked area and your hand shoots out to his shoulder, and he continues littering soft kisses and apologetic swipes of his tongue to sooth the pain. And soon enough he was back to sucking and nosing at your neck, and your grip on his shoulder tightens as you let out little mewls of satisfaction, at one point Jongho grunts and pulls away.

And you lie there and Jongho is back straddling you . His face hovers just above your ear, he says-

“I’m going to take you on a date and then we’re continuing this.” And it was so low and so husky that you can’t help the sound that gets past your lips.

He nips at your ear and crawls away from you.

You groan and cover your face in embarrassment before you say-

“Ok, let’s go on a date” And when you finally look at him, he’s beaming at you, and its blinding.

Your date was mostly looking at each other and you looking away every five seconds, giggling and then blushing.

And you were halfway through you’re drinks when you suddenly exclaim.

“I should lose more volleyball matches if I’m going to end up with really hot dates”

And Jongho looks at you with a pointed glare and asks

“Really?”

And you hum

And before you know it he was right in front of you, lips nipping at your ear again, and he says-

“No more volleyball for you”

And you giggle AGAIN, and he smiles at you. And you have got a good feeling about this, whatever you have got going on with Jongho.

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suntrastar · 4 years ago

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abstract: chapter 3

chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh. And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

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maomaomeows · 5 years ago

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Hairless Cat! S/O: Mao Mao

Request: your ask box seems to be closed on your tumblr, or at least I can't find it, so I'll drop my request here bfyudksbvfjdsvx- What if s/o was was a hairless cat? i think it'd be kinda interesting to see how he'd handle the whole 'hairless cats are ugly and mean' stereotype and stuff like how they get cold easier or can't be in the sun for too long without getting sunburnt. (sorry i rlly like hairless cats aaa) thanks-

[A/N: I'm back!! Sorry for the giant hiatus everyone!! Hopefully I should be posting regularly again! This was very fun to write, (I love hairless cats!!!) and I can't wait to fill the next request! I love you all so much. Thank you for all of the love and support <3 Anyways, under a read-more since it’s long!]

He’s had a lot of experience with all sorts of animals, so you’re not the strangest person he’s seen: not by a long shot. Not to mention, he grew up in a cat-dominated city. Some of his more distant family members are Peterbalds, as well! He has a very deep respect for hairless cats, and he has plenty of experience with them.

That’s not to say he views y’all accurately, though. At least, not at first.

He actually bows to you the first time you two meet. Hairless cats are typically royalty where he’s from!

He’s very confused when he looks up and doesn’t see you wearing gold jewelry, or bearing the traditional tattoos. It’s an... awkward few moments of eye contact. You don’t understand why he’s bowing, and he doesn’t understand why you look so... normal? Civilian-like? Why are you dressed so casually?

He follows you around for a little while out of habit. He thinks he has to protect you. You must be royalty in disguise, right? There’s no way a hairless cat is just another citizen! You have to be some sort of royal family member in disguise. Maybe you’re on a secret mission? Yeah, that has to be it! He follows you from the shadows, ready to protect you from danger at a moment's notice.

You eventually convince him that you’re just a normal cat and god, he’s embarrassed.

He thinks you’re really cool, honestly. There aren’t many furless mammals around, so it’s really cool to see natural skin. He views it as a symbol of strength and individuality.

Adorabat loves to paint on you since it’s easier to get the paint off! The little paint swirls stand out so well on your skin, and you can't help but giggle at the starry-eyed look she gets. It's like painting on a breathing canvass to her!

She got so excited when you mentioned tattoos and their significance in your culture: she likes to pretend she’s giving you pretty tattoos now!

Mao Mao loves the bond you two share. It makes him fall so much deeper in love with you. She's practically his kid, after all.

Mao Mao will absolutely defend you from bigoted folks. You look a little different from everyone else: so what? What’s their issue with that? Are they really so close minded that they can’t even fathom a different genetic structure? He gets really heated about it. He hates it when people judge you right off the bat, condemning you without getting to know you. He will throw down with someone over it, if you let him.

He honestly doesn’t understand where the “ugly and mean,” stigma comes from. You’re so kind...how could anyone perceive you differently? Why make such broad, negative generalizations about people they don’t even know? And you’re so pretty!

He loves how naturally social you are! You’re always someone he can come to when he isn’t feeling his greatest, and he treasures that so much.

He buys you a little parasol to help you weather the sun. It makes even more people stare, but honestly, it’s better than getting a sunburn! It ends up becoming a key piece of your aesthetic. Some people think you're a witch at this point. You don't bother correcting them.

The most embarrassing moment of your guys relationship was when you got up from the couch, only to reveal a small oil stain. Despite the embarrassment, you both had a big laugh about it. You remember the way he doubled over, laughing until he wheezed. He tried to stop himself from laughing by putting his paws over his snout, but once you assured him that it was, in fact hilarious, he took his paws away and laughed for ages. You laughed along with him despite the raging blush of embarrassment. It’s a very fond memory that really solidified your relationship’s trust. You ended up changing your diet that day anyways. Oily skin isn't fun, anyways.

He always picks at your food while you eat. He claims he’s just trying it, but it happens every night! He actually just likes the high quality ingredients he uses in your food.

He ends up switching his diet over to yours as well to make things easier. It makes him feel fancy, anyways.

He tries his hardest to get you to blush. He thinks it's adorable!! He loves how easy he can gauge his advancements as well. You can't fake a blush! And you can't hide yours!

He gets really nervous in the winter. I mean, he gets cold in winter, and he grows a whole new coat for it! He can’t imagine how chilly you get. He totally goes overboard when buying clothes for you. Most of your closet consists of parkas, scarves, and thermals.

Wakes up early to start the fireplace in the morning once winter hits.

He loves to give you forehead kisses. He thinks it’s cute when you flex your “brows” at him in response. He can’t help but snort at the patterns it makes, and he ends up poking you whenever you respond that way. It’s a sweet little inside joke.

He honestly thinks clothes fit you super well? Skin-tight stuff is mesmerizing. The way it clings so effortlessly to your frame, without a single hair marring the cling of the fabric...it’s incredible to him. He's enchanted.

He loves to hold you. The feel of fur on skin is weird, but it’s become a comforting feeling to him. He loves to trace little patterns on you when you cuddle.

Which is very unfortunate if you’re ticklish. His fur always seems to drag across your skin in a way that makes you giggle!! And he knows what he’s doing!! He’s so stubborn about it as well. He won’t stop until you call a time-out.

He smiles every time you yawn. He thinks you’re cute.

He wants to draw on you, but he has no artistic talent. He’s too shy to learn!! He hates not being perfect at first attempt, and well...art is a honed skill. He loves the idea of painting night skies on your back, and making sharpie tattoos for you, but it’ll probably never happen.

You can convince him to write on you, though! He does great calligraphy.

Sometimes he’ll write little poems on your wrist, or your sides. He likes to do this when you’re sleeping, for two reasons. A.) So he doesn’t get embarrassed or flustered about it, and B.) So you have a nice surprise when you wake up!

They’re short, but sweet.

He’s actually a really good poet! Most of the things he writes on you are of his own creation.

Beauty isn't seen by eyes.

It's felt by hearts,

Recognized by souls,

In the presence of love

Overall, he thinks you’re gorgeous. He won’t hesitate to defend you from bigoted people, and he’s always here to help you with any accommodations you may need. You’re beautiful. He loves you so much, and he feels so lucky to have you by his side. He’ll do anything for you!

#mao mao x reader #mao x reader #mao mao imagines #mmhoph x reader #mmhoph imagine #mao mao heroes of pure heart x reader #mao mao heroes of pure heart imagine

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sortinghatchats · 5 years ago

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Sorting Firefly

Note: in the way we like to play this sorting game, “primaries” are WHY you do things and “secondaries” are HOW. If you want to learn more about our system’s definitions, check out our other tumblr posts, our blog at sortinghatchats.wordpress.com, or our quiz at https://ejadelomax.itch.io/sortinghatchats.

Malcolm Reynolds is our go-to example for the Burned Hufflepuff Primary. An Unburned Hufflepuff Primary values community, fairness, and empathy. A Burned Hufflepuff still has those inner values, but thinks it’s impractical, naive, unsafe, or foolish to prioritize them. They tend to think of themselves as bad people -- practical, sensible, maybe, but not very good.

It can be tempting to consider Mal perhaps a burned Gryffindor instead, but look at him in the war, before he burns. His faith isn’t in the righteousness or the cause, but their people—”hear that? That’s our angels coming.” Mal has a big heart and he wants both to help and to believe in other people. (This is one of the reasons River is so vital to him—but we’ll talk about that later).

Mal after the war is no different in what he wants — he’s just had to settle, injured, for a smaller world. “You’re on my crew,” he tells a bewildered Simon. (Simon’s Slytherin Primary is absolutely flabbergasted by Mal’s stubborn loyalties to him and River, which is based in their need and their being part of the family, where Simon’s loyalties are razor-edged and individualistic).

Mal can’t love the whole world anymore, or even just the Browncoats, because he knows that would destroy him— it already almost did. But he can love his crew. He can make Serenity a home.

Mal’s Puff Primary shows up in other places, too, sneaking past the Slytherin Primary model he’s used to keep himself alive and sane after the breaking of his too-big heart, like when he gives the medicines back in Train Job, risking Niska’s wrath.

Zoe, who first fell into step behind a Hufflepuff years ago, questions him about it in the movie—an unburned Mal, the one from the war, would never have left a man behind. This Mal shot the bystander begging for rescue (a mercy) to save his crew. That prioritizing (or, rather, the instantaneous decision of it) points to his Slytherin model—but it eats Mal up the way it would never eat up Simon, an actual Slytherin Primary (“remember, River, it’s okay to leave them to die”).

Mal wishes, deeply, quietly, that he could save everyone. But war and loss burned his young, faithful Hufflepuff into a man who thinks one of the basic truths of the universe is that you can’t save everyone and that it will destroy you to try. So he’s sunk his stake into these eight Serenity-boarded souls and decided it’s enough.

This is one of the things that makes his relationship with River so interesting. The Burned Puff knows he should not be trusting and investing in this broken bird and her verse-wide bounty, her untrustworthy triggers and destructive lethality. But in letting them stay in the pilot, in pulling her back to the ship in Objects in Space, in joining her crusade in Serenity, he defies all these hard lessons he’s learned and he trusts her, he fights for her, he believes. By ignoring his “better judgement” and investing in this one unlikely young woman, he’s starting to heal his Hufflepuff and have faith in the good fight once again. The last moment of the Firefly-filmed universe is Mal Reynolds teaching River how to fly.

(For a definition of teach, anyway.)

For secondary (the “how”) — Mal’s a Gryff. “If I shoot you,” he told Simon, “You’ll be awake, you’ll be facing me, and you’ll be armed.” Badger mocks him for it in the pilot— Mal wants the world to be honorable. He wants to be fighting the good fight, and he wants to do it in the good ways.

Gryffindor secondaries are an interesting mix of stand-up integrity and mischievous (even deceitful) rule-breaking and chaos (think Fred and George). These potentially conflicting traits come from this— Gryffindor Secondaries are self-defined.

Their integrity and their honesty is a deal with themselves, not others. They stand firm to their own rules, but find other peoples’ or organizations’ insignificant, or even downright offensive. The other secondaries all can and do break rules—a Slytherin Secondary might play the system, a Hufflepuff Secondary might invest in it, a Ravenclaw might find its loopholes—but a good rule of thumb for identifying a Gryffindor Secondary is this: is rule-breaking a tool? or is it a personality trait?

Simon, who destroyed his whole life to get to River, and was willing to let Kaylee (the epitome of the innocent bystander) bleed out in order to keep his sister safe, is a Slytherin Primary. He looks slightly Puff occassionally—this is because he’s tied part of his worth to the Puff-like doctrine of a surgeon: service and do no harm. You see it when he saves the patient on Ariel and then chews the attending physicisian out, offended to his core. These are beliefs he holds close to himself, that help define him—but at Simon’s core, no matter how Ravenclaw clever or kindly even bumblingly Hufflepuff he can seem, he puts his people first and he loses no sleep over that.

He’s got a Ravenclaw Secondary—asked to describe his usefulness, Simon would first and foremost claim his intelligence and his skills. He’s best when he’s in his “element,” drawing on skills, knowledge, and tolls he’s already learned and comfortable with.

Simon’s got a Slytherin Secondary model on top of his Slytherclaw heart, which I suspect he learned from his dad. The Ravenclaw/Slytherin combo in the secondary/model space (in either order) often looks a little bit like a criminal mastermind (or someone who wants to be one, anyway). When Simon is uncomfortable, falling back on his model, his starts to look a bit like a plotting villain—in the pilot, on Ariel, and at the beginning of Serenity the movie.

Zoe is a Gyffindor Primary who really likes Hufflepuffs (see: Mal, Wash). Like Mal, she’s been burned by the war. Puff Primary Mal has become disillusioned by a cruel ‘verse that requires you to abandon some people to save others. He has lost faith in both the fairness of the universe and his own ability to make it more fair. But Zoe, a burned Gryff, has lost faith in her own ability to tell right from wrong.

She’s not deeply burned—more a light char—but instead of trusting her own gut these days, she trusts Mal’s. Her internal moral compass feels like it’s gone awry or silent. She feels lost. This is a burned Gryffindor, and it’s not uncommon for a burned Gryffindor to try to find their morality somewhere outside themself. Zoe finds hers in Mal.

Part of it is that she knew him in the war when he was fearless, his Puff effortless, and because it’s easy for her to fall into the structured hierarchy of their roles-- sergeant or captain. She has given him not just practical but also moral authority. She questions him, but she trusts him in the end, almost always. And, though it’s framed within the “sir” and the war, the reason for it lies on the quality of Mal himself. Zoe would never give her allegiance to anyone who did not deserve it. But she feels she cannot trust her own internal compass, so instead she trusts Mal’s heart.

For secondary: Zoe does not charge, comfort, or connive. She’s straightforward because it’s useful, not because it’s a moral imperative. Ravenclaw Secondary I think—look at the comparison with Mal’s Gryff Secondary in the “tin of beans” flashback in The Message. Where Mal shouts and hollers and charges, a different school of thought, Zoe is organized, efficient, deliberate (and deadly).

The way Inara freaks out and skiddaddles when she realizes how important the Serenity crew (and esp. Mal) have become to her — that is a Slytherin Primary trying so hard to Petrify. She’s mourning Nandi and she’s mourning herself, and she just wants everything to stop hurting.

Inara looks a lot like a Puff Secondary, because she performs Hufflepuff so damn well, but she’s not. In her introductory scene, on the job, we get snatches of her “inner” thoughts while she smiles and pours tea— she’s sighing, shifting, rolling her eyes. There’s clearly a disconnect between how she feels about this man and what she’s doing.

A Slytherin/Hufflepuff Inara (which, on the very surface, would look very similar to most of her behavior) would have to convince herself to “mean” the affection for her clients, even if only for the allotted time slot. Eyerolling, internal or external, wouldn’t happen until she was back on the ship, curled up with Kaylee, telling stories, and that’s if the eye-rolling happened at all.

Inara talks like that, though—that she chooses people she ‘connects’ with, that kind of thing. She’s got a lot of respect and wishfulness when it comes to Hufflepuff, which I think is where she bonds best with Book— he performs Puff, too, and wishes that giving warmth was closer to his core.

Inara has a Slytherin Secondary model, which she uses to excel at the “performance” of her job. The flexibility and cultivated appearance of that secondary work for her well. However, her actual secondary is Ravenclaw, a learner, a studier, and a collector of skills. Slytherin’s adaptability is just one more skill her Ravenclaw has worked to learn.

When Inara’s with the crew, she tends to live simply in her Ravenclaw secondary, giving off an impression of precision, clarity, and certainty. Her Ravenclaw and Mal’s Gryffindor secondary, both strident, solid houses, like to have sparring matches/bonding times while their Loyalist House primaries make doe-eyes at each other. Dweebs.

Jayne Cobb displays neither a Slytherin Primary’s strong loyalty drive, a Hufflepuff’s need-based service, or a Ravenclaw’s constructed, systematized morality. He appears to be a Gryffindor Primary whose felt morality is “whatever I want.”

If you read him really complexly, you could maybe imagine a Ravenclaw Primary there, who’s settled on that morality of self-serving ruthlessness. But moments like the one where he joins up with Serentiy—he shoots both his buddies on Mal’s suggestion—suggest against that. The betrayal doesn’t make Ravenclaw any more unlikely than Gryffindor, but the instantaneous decision to make a moral choice he’d never considered or run through his system before suggests that his is an intuitive “gut” morality—just a really unsavory one.

His selfishness looks temptingly like a Slytherin Primary, but he lacks any of the loyalty. He’ll betray anyone and it doesn’t seem to be because he’s Petrified—he still likes and bonds with people. He cares not just practically but emotionally about what they think of him (his plea to Mal not to tell the others about his betrayal in Ariel). But when push comes to shove, he doesn’t seem to be driven strongly by that affection, the way a Slytherin is tied to their personal loyalties. A Gryffindor, then, just an ugly one. Sorry, Gryffindors.

His secondary, though, we think is Slytherin. He looks a lot like a blunt Gryffindor Secondary, but it’s just his Slytherin Secondary neutral state, which he likes to live in and which shares the blunt or even abrasive honesty and delighted tactlessness of some Gryffindor Secondaries.

When Jayne needs to lie, deceive, connive, or betray, he does it easily and without a touch of dismay. He schemes and jockies for advantage. He’s a good example of the uglier stereotypes of a Slytherin Secondary. Sorry, Slytherins.

Kaylee Frye is a Gryffindor Primary like Jayne and Zoe, but where Jayne’s is self-serving and Zoe’s is quietly shattered, Kaylee’s shines bright through her Hufflepuff Secondary. She community-builds like nobody’s business and even her technical prowess is described in terms of intuitive empathy.

In the episode where they pick up Simon and River, she’s sitting outside Serenity asking people why she should let them onto her ship, why they want to be on her ship. And the only answer she accepts, Book’s, is a philosophy of wandering and traveling that sits close to her heart. It’s a Gryffindor recognizing someone who looks to share her view of the world. It’s a Gryffindor who’s bonding over shared ideas and ideals. And what does she do with this information? She brings Book aboard the ship. Welcome to the family, you share our philosophies, and I think we’ll get along great.

One of the (many) ways she does her part on Serenity is by community building with people who are good, who are worth getting to know, or who are interesting-- who aren’t just picking their ship because it’s a ship that they happened to see, but because they’re able to pick up on that something special that Kaylee values so much about Serenity.

Book is a burned Gryffindor with a Slytherin secondary and a Hufflepuff performance. He’s devoted himself to the truth of the Word, of the Bible, of his religion-- like, Zoe he doesn’t have faith in his own ability to tell right from wrong. Where Zoe places her faith in Mal, Book places his in his religion.

His secondary is a bit hard to sort, but from his laid-back, go with the flow skills and his comfort with lying or gilding the truth, he reads as a Slytherin Secondary to us.

Wash is a hard sort, because you can read or not read so many different depths to him. Is he really as utterly transparent as he seems? He looks like a Hufflepuff Primary, but maybe he’s a Ravenclaw with a loud model—because if he’s a straight up Puff, then the boy wears his heart and thoughts on his sleeve all the time.

But Zoe has a pattern—she likes Puffs—so we’re gonna go with that.

Wash really is that honest and straightforward, his emotions obvious on his face. I think someone with the sort of built layers that are easy but not necessary to read into Wash wouldn’t be the kind Zoe would fall in love with. She likes hearts that know what they’re doing, that are instinctual in their kindnesses. Wash is himself, all the time, and that self plays with dinosaurs, loves his wife, and headbutts with Mal over ethics with the thoughtless confidence of two Puffs who disagree.

Ravenclaw Secondary—he’s quirky, delights in sarcasm and wit even when what he’s trying to be is kind. His Puff center makes his secondary look a lot warmer than burned Gryffindor Zoe’s Ravenclaw secondary, but the fact that this couple shares a secondary makes sense.

We think River was originally a Ravenclaw/Ravenclaw with Slytherin Primary and Ravenclaw Secondary models — basically, as a kid she modeled Simon’s Slytherclaw. She’s not a Slytherin Primary herself, but she finds comfort in Slytherin loyalty and she often sees the world through that lens—an emphasis on interpersonal connection, a sense of “mine first,” and loyalties owed.

By the time she’s on Serenity, however, she’s been rubbed so raw she doubts her Slytherin model (“I didn’t think you’d come for me” “Dummy,” says Slytherclaw Simon, who never could have done anything else) and she has almost entirely dropped the show-off Claw performance of the little girl who had corrected her big brother’s spelling. As the show goes on, she grasps more and more of her Slytherin model: she gets to bring back one of her layers, regain her trust in Simon’s Slytherin, rebuild her model of a world in which one universal truth is that her brother will always come for her.

But River’s drives and connection to the world are understanding it. She wants to know what’s going on, both in the observant, academic sense of the Ravenclaw Secondary and the more abstract Ravenclaw primary—she’s looking for purpose, shoulds and shouldn’ts, for identity.

A Slytherin Primary in her situation might have attached themselves to Simon like a baby sloth, but River doesn’t. He’s her solid ground, but not her reason.

A young Gryffindor might be reactive, responding with their gut, or perhaps cynical and shattered after their self had been so invaded. In rebuilding, a Gryffindor would be looking for something inside themselves, a sense of solidity, a sense of purpose — River is looking outside.

A Hufflepuff Primary might have clearer eyes for the people of the ship— River views them with a detached fondness. There is genuine affection there (see: Objects in Space), but when it comes to River feeling steady in the world she’s almost more interested in the engines than the crew— not their mechanics, but the beat of them.

She’s a Romantic sort of Ravenclaw Primary, sure, but she’s got a need for systems to build and inhabit. Her sense of reality has been shattered and the first thing that gives her some peace and stability is this — not safety, certainty, or community, but a sense of knowing what is going on.

River’s trying to figure out how this all works and the heart of this show (because River more than any of them lives in the meta-text) is Serenity.

River’s trying to find a base from which she can build. Her world, her models, and her ability to perceive and believe reality have been shattered. Mal pulls her back to the ship at the end of the last episode—it’s a homecoming, yes, but perhaps more than that he’s giving her a place to stand.

That episode is easily Firefly’s most existential/meta and it’s fitting that we start it with River detached from reality—ocean wave audio, mistaking a gun for a fallen branch, pushed to untrusted outskirts—and that we end it with River landing firmly feet first on Serenity, beaming through her suit visor.

tl;dr:

Mal - Burned Hufflepuff / Gryffindor

Inara - Slytherin / Ravenclaw

Jayne - Gryffindor / Slytherin

Kaylee - Gryffindor / Hufflepuff

Book - Burned Gryffindor / Slytherin

Zoe - Burned Gryffindor / Ravenclaw

Wash - Hufflepuff / Ravenclaw

Simon - Slytherin / Ravenclaw

River - Ravenclaw / Ravenclaw

#firefly #sortinghatchats #repost

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austennerdita2533 · 4 years ago

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A ship edition of make you choose, my friend! Klaroline or Bangel? Lorelai/Luke or Rory/Jess? Anne/Wentworth or Emma/Knightley? Mondler or Benslie? Rachel/Ross or Rachel/Joey? April/Jackson or Lexie/Mark? And I always love your analysis, so please feel free to explain the reasons behind your choices if you want to! XO

I am always so excited to receive these even though answering/picking means ripping my soul into shipper Horcruxes haha. Love your new icon, btw! xx

Klaroline or Bangel?

Although Buffy and Angel are arguably my favorite forbidden love couple on TV - their longing for each other is an eternal, visceral, soul-encompassing thing - I have to go with Klaus and Caroline on this one. They’re the ship that brought me to Tumblr. They’ve yanked more fic out of me than I can believe. They’re the reason why I have so many amazing friends and mutuals. More importantly that all that, I am trash for them and always will be.

THIS CANNOT BE HELPED.

Klaroline have such tangled history, such rich possibility for the future. I get lost in the labyrinth of goodness and darkness unspooling between them. The qualities that clash. The emotion that sparks. The resistance that builds and builds, binding uncomfortably before it snaps. The enigmatic ‘something’ that scrapes between them like teeth until it comes away infected, bloodied, marred in chunks that are beyond reconciling with any chronology. They have the kind of connection that digs under the skin with claws. It’s neither painless nor pretty, not always happy nor healthy, but it pervades. It permeates until possession becomes nine-tenths of the law in their conquered hearts. Inevitability coils like like a living thing between them--and breathes.

I love the malleability of time that surrounds them, too. Part of that comes from their status as vampires, as supernaturals, but it also has something to do with how they punch through it as well - individually, together - both of them finding new ways to love eternity as it continues to stretch before them, bending it to their will whenever necessary.

I don’t know, it’s fun to imagine the enigma they pose to the world. To each other. What will a new year bring? A decade? How about a century?

Despite their lack of heartbeats, there’s change on the cusp of every word they utter to one another, on the fringe of every kiss they almost share but swallow before they reveal too much, not enough, everything all at once. It’s a dizzying, dangerous, and intoxicating “thing” they share, you know?

I suppose...well, I suppose I just like how there’s nothing easy about who they are or want they want.

Lorelai/Luke or Rory/Jess?

This one was difficult because JavaJunkies and Literati are top tier ships for me. *cries* I went with Luke and Lorelai mostly because I’ve been a shipper since I first saw them in the pilot episode back in the early 2000′s, and--I haven’t looked back since. They had me rushing home from school to watch re-runs, hightailing it from after-hours sports so I could catch new episodes on the WB. I haunted message boards. I scoured the Internet for spoilers. I tumbled into fanfiction before fanfiction was even a thing. I watched the seasons over and over again until I nearly memorized every moment they had, every bit of dialogue they spewed; until I analyzed subtext until I made my own head spin.

What I love so much about them is that they’re friends first and foremost. They genuinely like, trust, and respect each other as people beyond all else. They’re opposites, of course, but in a complementary way that just works. They also come to know they can depend on one another in good times or bad, and it’s that ‘unconditional’ element in their dynamic which draws me in hook, line, and sinker because it’s the kind of quality that preserves the longevity of a relationship. To be honest, over the OG series, we do see Luke and Lorelai veer farther away from each other romantically more than we’d like: *side eyes s6-early s7 specifically*; yet, at the same time, there’s a Permanence about them that never fails. Never fades. They’re simply THERE in whatever capacity the other wants or needs. No matter what, no matter when, no matter the emotional crap that’s already pooled between them.

Call me crazy, but I think steadiness and devotion of that caliber is beautiful.

Luke and Lorelai evolve together in such a way that it’s impossible for me to imagine them with anyone else in the end. They belong together like coffee and donuts.

Anne/Wentworth or Emma/Knightley?

Ask me this same question tomorrow and I’ll probably give you the opposite answer. However, today...today I am all about the angst and pining!

Eight-and-a-half years worth of regrets and broken hearts that never mended, looks that scorch because they were held a moment too long in front of company, secret longings that are whispered into pillows before the candle on the dresser expires and they tuck their weary limbs into bed, dreams that feature that one face impossible to forget--LEAVE ME HERE TO SING “KILLING ME SOFTLY” because that’s what Anne and Wentworth do to me!

Mondler or Benslie?

Look, I will love Monica and Chandler until my dying day but Ben and Leslie are so unbelievably adorkable together that anytime I think about them my heart is instantaneously flooded with warm, sunshiny, politically active, eats-waffles-for-every-meal-and-regrets-nothing fuzzies. I just--*melts onto the floor in a puddle of Pawnee rainbows*

Rachel/Ross or Rachel/Joey?

Ross-hatred is pretty embedded in the Friends fandom these days so I am sure many are or will be tempted to jump down my throat for this choice but...BUT...I do not care! *laughs maniacally* Ross and Rachel always had that boomerang spark, that “we’ll find our way back to each other” ellipsis at the end of every break-up or missed opportunity, that kissing-each-other-in-the-rain passion that could not be weathered despite the number of years or marriages or ‘almosts’ they had with other people, and I cannot get over them. I cannot give them up. I won’t, I won’t.

SHE GOT OFF THE PLANE, OKAY? She. got. off. the. plane. And, controversial though that might be for some (trust me, I get all the arguments against it; against them, really), I can’t help but be gleeful they got their happy ending. I wanted it then, I’m still satisfied with it now. *shrugs unapologetically*

April/Jackson or Lexie/Mark?

This last one cut me deep.

Ouch.

However, with Slexie, at least it’s canon that they were each other’s true albeit last *cries* loves and I can pretend that they reunited somewhere in the afterlife. But Japril...Japril was done so. stinking. dirtyyyy by Grey’s Anatomy. I will never forgive the writers for ending them the way they did. Never!

JACKSON AND APRIL ARE THE EPITOME OF SOULMATES. Their relationship was predicated on the purest, most wholesome kind of love because it blossomed from mutual respect and admiration as well as understanding. They invested the time. They put in the work. They peeled back the layers slowly, carefully, learning the magic of caring by opening their ears first then offering their shoulders when hurt swooped in to snip at pieces the other had left undefended. It was only later, with time, with trust that had turned conversation into a balm of contentment, that arms became a refuge, too. A harbor. A place of comfort and affection where they felt seen. Heard. Known. Loved in a way that wasn’t free from tears - oh, no - but was embracive of them as they fell, cushioning their remnants on thumbs as if they were more precious than pearls.

They loved everything about each other, vices included. They were best friends, lovers, something more intimate that defies definition but wraps itself around the sentiment of “having a favorite person.”

There’s an ethereal quality to what they are--what they mean to each other. You can’t quite touch it, can’t quite capture it, all you know is their atoms continue co-mingling whether or not anyone else notices it’s happening.

There’s no ending to a love like that, only another beginning.

#what-would-jane-austen-say #replies #the loveliest of lovely people #ashlee bree talks ships

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alexandreamarlow · 4 years ago

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Task 24 - OOC About Your Character

1. What do you want to get out of playing this character(s)?

To see her story and character evolve and develop.

2. Describe your character(s) with three words.

Passionate, Protective, Troubled.

3. What made you decide to write this muse?

She was the first muse I created and I literally came up with her on the hoof. I’ve played her for about 5 years now. Crazy how fast the time has flown by!

4. If you could change one event in your muse’s life (in their main or canon verse), what would you change?

I don’t believe there is an event I would change as it’s all contributed to making her the character she is today.

5. If you could tell your muse one thing, what would you tell them?

Don’t be afraid to rely on someone other than yourself.

6. If you could give your muse one gift, what would you give them?

Possibly her eldest brothers war medal? She has very few belongings from her former human life and she is rather sentimental.

7. If you had to take one positive thing away from your muse, what would you take away?

Her compassion for others, it’s a beautiful trait to have even though it has caused her great grief. She hardly cares about being caught in the crossfire if she can prevent someone else's suffering.

8. If you could “borrow” one aspect of your muse and apply it to yourself or your own life, what would you borrow?

Her compassion again.

9. Do you genuinely want your muse to be happy? What do you think would make them most happy in life?

I do want her to be happy although at times it seems the odds are against her. I don’t think being a family woman is in the cards for her. I’ll admit she is a workaholic but I think she would appreciate a slower pace and perhaps share a quiet home with someone. She’s lived alone for too long and I think she’d appreciate some company even though she’d never admit to it.

10. Do you enjoy putting your muse through angst? What do you think would break their heart the most?

I do enjoy angst and challenging the limits of my muse within reason.

She’s been through a tremendous amount of grief and pain even before she was turned into a vampire. She’s suffered heart break a lot and losing Clay recently has really done a number on her.

11. What do you love about your muse?

Her passion which radiates from her pores. She’ll encourage anyone to pursue their dreams and will help them along the way.

12. What do you hate about your muse?

Her stubbornness and self-destructive behaviour.

13. What about your muse amuses you?

The fact that she will do just about anything in heels... hikes, dog walking and vacuuming around the house. Her teasing nature and she’s pretty fun when she wants to be. Although she is pretty old, she has a young and adventurous spirit.

14. What about your muse makes you sad?

Well for one, misery seems to follow her and that she closes herself off from the world in order to protect others.

15. How would you describe your muse to someone about to meet them, in person, for the first time?

She can come off a little distant at first but once those walls come down and she gets going. She’s a real keeper. A mama bear for sure.

16. Would you like your muse as a person if you met them in real life?

Possibly, she’s very down to earth, approachable and has so many interesting stories to tell.

17. In what ways are you better than your muse? In what ways are they better than you?

We are similar in many ways but she’s really self-destructive and has a real issue with commitment.

18. Why do you think you connect to your muse?

We are both passionate, artistic, British and workaholics.

19. What aspect of your muse’s personality is most important to you? What aspect of your muse’s personality do you think is most important to them? Is it the same? Why or why not?

Her compassion and she would probably agree with that. It’s one of her best redeeming qualities. Without it she would be a real piece of work leaning more towards evil than neutral.

20. Has your character(s) changed over the time that you have been playing them? How have they changed?

Her fundamental attributes haven’t changed but she has evolved over time. She’s come a long way as a Sire and is incredibly protective of her protégé. She now embraces what she is and feels no shame in being a vampire. She’s more mature and assertive now.

About You!

1. What is your name?

Jazmine / Jaz

2. What is your profession?

Interior Designer and Illustrator

3. What do you do to relax?

Listen to music, draw, read, watch films, learn to play the cello (badly), eat good food and drink good beer.

4. What is your favorite treat (desert)?

Crème brûlée is my favourite desert but I’m more of a savoury person.

5. Favorite movie -

‘Leon The Professional’ but I’m a massive film buff so honestly this is a mean question to answer.

6. Favorite book -

Possibly ‘Let the Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvist’.

7. Favorite vacation spot -

Marrakesh or Rome

8. Favorite Disney movie -

Mulan

9. How did you first get into role playing?

Funnily enough I’d watched Venom do Indie roleplaying like 7 or so years ago and it intrigued me. They suggested we both try out a new group and so we both joined TI when it first opened and then I fell in love with roleplaying and the wonderful muns here!

10. What was your first platform? If it was something other than Tumblr, what made you get into Tumblr?

Tumblr - Answered above.

11. What’s a grammar rule you find yourself breaking or ignoring a lot?

All of them?! Lol! I use far too many ellipses... I think I also use a lot of British colloquialisms and slang without realising it - sorry guys :D

12. Are there any languages besides English in which you think you could comfortably roleplay?

Sadly, just English.

13. Do you listen to music while your write?

Yes, always. The music genre differs depending on the thread.

14. Are you a morning, day, evening, or night writer?

Evening definitely. I’m not much of a night owl these days though due to work kicking my ass.

15. How does tiredness affect your writing?

Massively. Grammar errors galore and I write at a snails pace.. But it gets worse when I’m tired.

16. What is your biggest obstacle to writing every day, if time doesn’t count?

I wish I could write everyday but work and life in general gets hectic for all of us sometimes. Plus I’m one hell of a procrastinator.

17. How many drafts is a paralyzing amount?

Anything above 25. Not because of lack of muse but due to my slow ass writing!

18. Is there anything character-wise or writing style-wise that you can’t stand?

Godmodding. And then I wouldn’t describe this as something I ‘can’t stand’ but I don’t do one liner replies. I get why people do it, I personally just need more to work with.

19. What kind of anonymous questions are your favorite?

Things that challenge me to think about how my muse would react.

20. What is your weakest point in writing? Angst, fluff, dialogue, etc.?

Fluff and introduction threads possibly. Starters are definitely a weak point for me. I can’t remember the last time I wrote an open starter... probably when I re-joined the group like 2 years ago oops.

#theinstitutetask #task 24 #about #ooc #tw: death

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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drawing new lines, chapter seven (branjie) - holtzmanns

AN: So…normally I’m a bit more on the ball with submitting to aq. Oops? This is chapter seven, but here’s the link to all the chapters in between. Most of you have been reading this story on ao3, too, so thank you so, so much for all the love and support for this fic. I appreciate every single message and they make me so happy. So, thank you. As usual, Writ continues to be the best beta and friend one could ask for.

(read on ao3) | word count: 3730 | tumblr: plastiquetiaras

“Here.” A’keria slams the burrito bowl down in front of Vanessa, and she can’t help but let out a delighted squeak.

“God, I could get used to not having to pack my lunch. This month is gonna be lit.”

“Don’t get too used to it.” A’keria snorts as she mixes up her own bowl. “It’s only for a month, as the bet specified.”

“Hey, I don’t care.” Vanessa’s voice is muffled as she tries to talk with a spoonful of the sweet, sweet rice, salsa, beans, chicken and vegetables in her mouth, but it’s hard. “Imma enjoy it.”

“Good, cause you earned it. Top ten things in my life that I didn’t need to see - you and Brooke practically fucking on the dance floor. Nasty hoes.” A’keria makes a face, and Vanessa grins right back at her while Silky snickers.

“You just jealous you ain’t got a blonde skyscraper on your arm.” Part of Vanessa still can’t believe it, really. That Brooke’s willing to do this with her. Not that she’s complaining in the least.

A’keria flips her hair over her shoulder. “I got my man, that’s all I need.”

“He’d rock a blond look though, I ain’t gonna lie.” Silky’s statement makes Vanessa pause, try to picture it.

“You’re right Silk, he totally would.”

“Enough about my non blond man.” A’keria takes another bite of her own burrito bowl before handing it to Silky to share. “What do you want for tomorrow’s lunch?”

Vanessa has to stop herself from practically rubbing her hands together with glee. “Lord almighty, I did not realize how great having my food brought to me would be. Pizza? Poutine? Gimme that unhealthy shit.”

Silky lets out a whistle. “Damn Vanj, you ain’t gonna try and look good for your girl?”

“It’s called happy relationship weight. Imma get it, cause I’m happy. And in a relationship, and she thinks I look good anyway.” As if Vanessa actually is in one. But hey, why not? She’s allowed to enjoy poutine.

“Brooke looks like she can lift you up with one hand, anyway.” A’keria’s tone is almost envious. Which is understandably, really, because her boyfriend is on the scrawny side.

“Damn, I should get her to try that. Do you think she would?” Vanessa remembers when she’d been dating Kameron, who’d brought her to the gym often. Kameron had picked her up once and done squats at the same time, and Vanessa would be lying if she said it hadn’t been fucking hot.

“You know her better than we do, Vanj. If she’d let you be a human barbell, go for it.” Silky shrugs. “I ain’t getting anyone to lift me anytime soon.”

“Imma go find her. Share some of this burrito bowl, ‘cause it’s technically her victory, too. Not that she knows about the bet.” Vanessa stands up, packing the burrito bowl up once more. It’s a bold faced lie, because Brooke does know, though Silky and A’keria don’t need to know that.

Brooke’s on the phone in her office when Vanessa pops by, the fingers of one of her hands pressing against her temple. She looks up, gives a small smile before turning back to the papers on her desk and ripping the person on the other end of the line a new one.

“No, we can’t use the support beams from the other manufacturer. I don’t care if it’s going to lower costs - it’s not going to matter if the structures collapse in five years because of faulty material and we’re the ones who get sued. So, save it.”

Vanessa plops down in the seat across from Brooke’s desk as quietly as she can, her eyes transfixed on Brooke. It’s kinda hot - Brooke yelling at someone on the other end of the line while completely maintaining composure. Not that Vanessa would ever admit it to her.

“You need to liaise with the first company again, because they’re the ones that have been working well this whole time. I need the estimate from them by tomorrow.” With that, Brooke slams the phone down, letting out a sigh. She shoots a small smile towards Vanessa. “Hey.”

Vanessa holds up the bowl. “Brought you some lunch, ‘cause I know your overworked ass ain’t eating.”

“I had a protein bar-”

“Rabbit food doesn’t count.” Vanessa pulls out the extra set of cutlery, lays it out for Brooke. She’s already had enough of the bowl, and Brooke looks tired enough that she needs as much as she can get.

Brooke raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t rabbit food supposed to be what people call vegetables?”

“You telling me any sane human is gonna eat a protein bar for sustenance?” Vanessa can’t even picture having them on the regular, so tasteless and quite unlike the chewy bars of her childhood.

“Are you calling me nuts?” Brooke’s finally smiling, and it makes Vanessa’s heart grow when she sees it. She hates seeing how tired Brooke’s job makes her.

“Remember, you took us to a spin class for a date.” Of course, Vanessa had enjoyed the shit out of it, but she’s not gonna mention that to Brooke.

“I distinctly remember you having a great time.”

“Maybe.”

“Did you eat half of this already?” Brooke holds back a laugh when she takes her first spoonful, looking down at the already picked-over bowl.

“Hey, I was hungry.” Vanessa shrugs. “Plus, this is the start of the free food A’keria is giving me for the bet. Figured I’d share it with my partner in crime.”

“Well, that was very sweet of you.” Brooke’s voice is muffled by her bite, and the contrast is adorable from her blazer and the smell of her expensive perfume.

Brooke’s an enigma, a person with so many facets that Vanessa is relishing in the chance to discover. The fact that Brooke’s willing to open up to her more and more is Vanessa’s favourite part of the bet, mostly because she’s an open book herself. Because what people see with her is what they get.

“Gotta make sure you don’t waste away on me while yelling at your minions.” Vanessa snickers when Brooke makes a face at her.

“They’re not minions. Just people who should know how to do their jobs.” Brooke sighs, gathering the papers on her desk and pushing them to the side. “Don’t go into management. The title isn’t worth it.”

“Can you imagine me trying to get people to do shit? It would be a whole lotta yelling.” Vanessa tries to picture herself at a desk like Brooke’s, having to spearhead projects and be responsible for them. At least she’d get to wear a power suit.

“You’d be good at it, though. You have charisma, the kind that most people don’t and the kind that can’t be bought.” Brooke takes another bite of the bowl. “Dang, this is good.”

Vanessa raises a skeptical brow. “What do you mean, charisma?” She’s just her natural dumbass self, which pays off sometimes.

“I mean, you convinced me to fake date you thirty or so seconds after introducing yourself. I’d say that’s pretty impressive.”

Vanessa snickers as she leans back in her seat, resisting the urge to lift her feet up onto the chair. “True.”

It’s funny to think back to that day months ago, when Vanessa had barged into Brooke’s office, convinced she’d be able to get her to agree with no evidence to back her up aside from sheer dumb confidence. Though it had worked by some miracle, something that still surprises Vanessa every now and then - and she’s sure that it’s the same for Brooke, too.

Brooke lets out a contented sigh when she finishes the bowl, pushing it away from her on the desk. “So, are you going to share all of your lunches with me from now on?”

Vanessa doesn’t miss a beat. “Why, Miss Hytes, are you asking me to lunch for the next twenty nine days?”

Brooke rolls her eyes, but grins nonetheless. “Only if the food is good.”

“You can bet on that.”

Brooke really, really doesn’t want to go out.

It’s a Friday, she’s had a long week. Really, all she wants to do is curl up on the couch with her cats.

But Nina’s birthday only comes once a year, and she’s a good friend, and so she has to choose a dress from her closet even though pyjamas sound like an infinitely comfier option right now.

The buzzing from her phone on her bed distracts her from her closet dilemma, and so she hangs the dresses in her arms back up in favour of checking her texts.

VVM: Kahanna is singing along to the radio

VVM: AND RILEY IS DUETING WITH HER

VVM: we bout to get complaints from the neighbours at any moment but this shit is hilarious

BLH: Omg. Send me a video

The resulting video from Vanessa makes Brooke crack up, because Riley’s spinning around and howling in the same key as Kahanna is singing. The best part of the video though, is the shaky quality of it, because Vanessa seems to be giggling too hard while filming to hold the camera straight.

BLH: These two need Grammys

VVM: RIGHT! IM SAYIN

VVM: I wanna join in but I’m afraid of ruining it

VVM: anyways how’s your evening going, blondie?

BLH: Trying to choose an outfit. Nina’s birthday and she wants to go clubbing, as if we’re not too old.

VVM: speak for yourself, grandma, some of us are still young

VVM: that being said, you’re not too old for clubbing at all

VVM: show me some of those outfits

BLH: Like, take pictures of them?

VVM: yeah

VVM: better yet, facetime me

It seems like as good of an option as any. Maybe Vanessa can help her decide.

Vanessa picks up the call on the first ring, Riley’s singing reverberating loud and clear in the background. “Hold up, lemme go to my room and close the door. These opera singers be too fucking loud.”

Brooke watches as Vanessa falls back onto her bed, her hair fanning out all around her. “There. Much more comfy. Now, show me some outfit options.”

“Let me prop my phone up on my dresser, hold on.” Brooke leans it carefully so that she can get a clear, hands free shot of herself, and gives a little wave to the camera.

Vanessa giggles on the other end of the line. “Hi to you too, you dork.”

“Okay, help me decide, I’m stuck. Mostly ‘cause I don’t wanna go.” Brooke pulls out a couple dresses and lays them on her bed. “I guess I’ll just hold them up one at a time, or something?”

“Nuh uh. You gotta try them on, give me the full fantasy.” Vanessa snuggles further into her pillows on screen, and it makes Brooke raise an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“Fine.” Maybe it’ll be fun, help Brooke decide a little better.

She pulls out a blazer dress, steps out of the frame to try it on. When she comes back, Vanessa is nodding appreciatively.

“Okay, I could get into this. Suits you.”

“Yeah?” Brooke faces the screen, turns a little so she can see her back. “I dunno if I wanna wear long sleeves tonight, though.”

“Clubs do get warm.” Vanessa shrugs. “What other options you got?”

“How about this?” Brooke steps back in front of the screen after shimmying into her knee length, floral form fitting dress, one which she doesn’t pull out often because of how long it takes to take off when she has to pee. But it feels like a good option.

“Woah.” Brooke’s almost not sure if she hears the words or not, but Vanessa’s eyes are wide as she shuffles closer to the screen, and Brooke has to bite back a smirk.

“Yeah?” Brooke puts her hands on her waist, turns slightly so that Vanessa can see what it looks like from the back. She knows what she’s doing.

It works, from the way Vanessa gulps.

Brooke knows that the two of them have chemistry. She hasn’t forgotten the holiday party, hasn’t forgotten the way it felt to have Vanessa gasping into her mouth. The way Vanessa had pulled her closer, the way Brooke hadn’t stopped wanting to kiss her, either.

Well. They’re not actually together. But it’s nice to know she has chemistry with her fake girlfriend, at least. Sells the fantasy.

Because that’s what this is about - being believable.

That’s it.

Right?

The club is a lot more boring to Brooke when she doesn’t feel like dancing with anyone.

It’s too sweaty, that’s why. The club feels like it’s a million degrees, and adding dancing to the mix will only make it worse. Heck, Brooke’s sitting at the bar in front of a fan that is directly blowing cool air at her, and she’s still sweating like crazy.

That’s why she doesn’t want to dance.

All of Brooke’s friends are on the dance floor with their respective partners - save for Courtney, who’s found a girl for herself to make out with in the corner of the club. Brooke can’t help but feel…bored. Why dance anyway, when it’s too warm and sweaty and crowded? Why talk up a girl when-

When she has Vanessa?

Technically, Brooke doesn’t have Vanessa. They’re not dating. She has to remember that.

But they did sign a contract together, saying that they won’t mess around with others while doing this. Yes, that’s why Brooke is staying away from chatting up nearby girls. Because she has a commitment to keep. Not that she really wants to talk to other girls in the first place. But her gin and tonic is nearly done and she needs another if she’s going to be at this bar for any longer, so she signals to the bartender and opens up her phone while she waits.

BLH: Help, the club is boring

BLH: I’m wasting away at the bar

VVM: omg

VVM: go dance, you’re at a club

BLH: I don’t wanna

BLH: Stinky guys

VVM: stinky, huh?

BLH: You need to spray your perfume on them. You smell so much better

VVM: weird compliment, but I’ll take it

VVM: we should go out dancing. I’d give you such a better time

BLH: Would you, now?

VVM: you know it, blondie

VVM: let’s do that for another date

Brooke is reminded of the holiday party, of how they’d danced pressed up against one another and how it was fucking hot. The chance to do something like that again with Vanessa? She’ll take it.

BLH: You wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off of me

VVM: you say that as if you’d be able to keep yours off of me

VVM: I know how much you love grabbing my ass

VVM: not that I’m complaining about it

Brooke smirks at her phone screen. She remembers how Vanessa had keened into her touch, spurred her on to keep going with little gasps into the crook of her neck. Dating or not dating, Brooke loves how easy Vanessa has been to take apart. She wants to do it again.

BLH: Interesting. Noted.

It’s funny. When she and Vanessa had signed their list, they had agreed on light PDA only. But there’s a part of Brooke that wants more more more, that wants Vanessa on her arm and wants everyone to know it. That Vanessa’s hers, that she’s the one who gets to take Vanessa home every night.

Brooke almost wishes that those things were actually true.

“C’mon, Nina. There you go, come on out of the Uber. Small steps, don’t slip on the ice.” Brooke wraps one of her arms around Nina’s waist, holds her up as they head to Nina’s apartment.

“Ugh. It’s too cold.” Nina leans her head on Brooke’s shoulder, and Brooke reaches out to pat her hair.

“Almost inside. You got your keys?”

Nina fiddles in her pockets for a good thirty seconds before pulling them out, holding them towards Brooke. “Please?”

“I got you.”

Brooke is usually the supportive friend in situations like these for Detox, helping her get home in one piece after she’s had too much to drink. Nina’s not usually the one to need it, but Brooke had found her in the club bathroom leaning against the mirror and sniffling about her fiancé. Considering the fact that they’d gone out for Nina’s birthday in the first place? Brooke had felt her duty calling.

“I don’t feel so well. That car ride was fast.” Nina rubs at her eyes as Brooke tries to get her coat off, pushing it off her shoulders and hanging it on the coat rack.

“Bathroom first, then.”

Nina sighs, resting her head against the lid of the toilet after sitting down on the ground. The scene feels reminiscent of Brooke’s undergraduate days, when she’d partied too much and absolutely did some damage to her poor liver. She pulls Nina’s hair back, has to keep her nose from wrinkling when Nina lets out a retch.

“Thanks, B.” Nina sighs when she lifts her head up, only to turn back towards the toilet to throw up again.

Brooke’s definitely been there before.

“No worries. It’ll feel better when it’s out of your system, anyway.” Brooke rubs her back, trying to keep her voice as quiet as possible because she knows Nina’s probably got a pounding headache, too. “Now, tell me. What made you drink so much today and end up crying by yourself on your birthday?”

Brooke’s surprised by it, really. Nina’s usually the one who takes care of everyone else like its second nature, because she has a high tolerance herself. Which means that to reach this current point tonight, she’s probably had a lot to drink. Which also means that something has to have really rattled her to get her here, bent over the toilet and looking slightly green.

“It doesn’t matter.” Nina mumbles the words, looking down, and Brooke puts a hand on her shoulder, gives her a little squeeze.

“Course it does. You can talk to me.”

Nina finally, finally looks at her, and Brooke can see the dimmed sparkle in her eyes, the sadness along her features. No, not sadness - more defeat.

“Am I making a mistake, Brooke? Marrying Ben?”

Booke pulls back in surprise. “What? What do you mean?”

Brooke has multiple friends that are in long term relationships and Nina’s, by far, always has looked the steadiest. The most wholesome. Nina never shuts up about her fiancé, telling Brooke all the time about the picnics he takes her on or the gifts he gets her or how they’re absolutely soulmates. Nina’s always looked happy, truly happy with her man, something that Brooke has loved to see, because Nina’s the kind of person who believes in true love. In a happily ever after. And, up until this moment, Brooke has believed that Nina’s been living exactly how she’s always dreamed of.

But what if she hasn’t?

“It’s just-it’s good. But it’s also just good, y’know? He brings me flowers and always opens doors for me and snuggles me at night but…” Nina lifts her head, looks at Brooke, and her face is more lost than Brooke has ever seen it. “I don’t feel anything else with him. Like, it’s happy, it’s good, he’s good, but-”

Nina cuts herself off, takes a deep breath as she lifts her left hand up, holds it out in front of them. The sparkling bling on her ring finger reflects sparkles along the bathroom tiles and walls, ones that make Nina wince when they shine on her face.

“I just don’t know. I’m not feeling what I’m supposed to feel, y’know?” Nina sits back, scooches away from the toilet to lean against the wall.

Brooke joins her because really, does she have anywhere else to be? She doesn’t know what to do though, not when Nina’s looking so forlorn and lost and all Brooke wants is be there for her, somehow, even though she’s never felt the way Nina is feeling right now.

So Brooke leans her head on Nina’s shoulder, feeling the comforting warmth of Nina leaning her head against hers, too. “I dunno, babe. I wish I could tell you I had the answer, or how to make things magical, but I have none of those answers. All I know is that you deserve to be happy. You deserve the ending that you’ve always wanted. I think you need to first figure out exactly what that is.”

Nina sighs, twisting her ring on her finger. “I have no idea what that is.”

“No need to decide on your birthday with a tipsy brain. It can wait.” Brooke unfolds herself from the ground, gets herself up before holding her hands out to Nina so that she can help her up, too.

“C’mon. Let’s get you into bed.”

The conversation replays in her mind, though, as she Ubers home from Nina’s. It makes no sense - how has Nina lost that spark with her fiancé, when they’ve always looked so stable? Did Nina ever really have it in the first place? Or did she just think she did? Was the way Nina had felt in the bathroom just cold feet, or was it something bigger?

And then there’s that spark Nina had talked about in the first place. Brooke tries to picture what it would feel like, what the concept of sparks flying actually even means. Fireworks and butterflies and falling head over heels? Hell, Brooke feels fireworks when she kisses Vanessa, but it’s only because she’s kissing a pretty girl after ages and ages and fully enjoying it. The concept of sparks flying feels elusive, something that could be searched for forever and ever without ever truly being found. It feels similar to the way that Vanessa’s looking for her true love and Princess Charming, and how she’s absolutely convinced that she’ll know when she finds her.

It feels like everyone has a radar for knowing these kinds of things except for Brooke. Not that Brooke minds, not really. Being in search of something that’ll never be in reach seems fruitless. Unnecessary. Especially when she has other things she’d rather be spending her time on.

Quite frankly? Brooke’s good with just her cats and friendship - especially Vanessa’s.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #fake dating #lesbian au #drawing new lines #holtzmanns

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years ago

Text

.・゜゜・. Holy Cow A Survey .・゜゜・. by junkie_dreams 1. What made you pick up the last book you started reading? It was the next one in a series that I’ve been into, so of course I had to see what happens. 2. Have you received any bad or troubling news lately? Just the ongoing bad news we’ve been receiving this year so far. 3. When was the last time you were relieved about something? I was glad that my doctor said I could do my next two, possibly three, appointments over the phone. 4. What about your life concerns you the most? A lot of things, such as my health related issues. 5. Is there a common thing most people seem to do without trouble, but it scares you (talking on the phone, driving, interviews, etc)? When was the last time you had to do one of these kinds of things? Talking on the phone/making phone calls is definitely one of them. There’s a lot of things, though. I’m a big baby.

6. Is a pen pal something you would enjoy? If so, what kinds of little things would you send your pen friends? In 3rd grade my class had pen pals and then at the end of the year we got to meet them in person during a field trip and ate lunch together. It was fun then, but no that’s not something I’d be interested in now. 7. Describe a time when you were there for a friend? I don’t have any friends, but I try to be there for my family. 8. When was the last time you went somewhere for the first time? One of the restaurants at Disneyland earlier this year. 9. What is a situation that makes you feel especially confident? Confidence? Don’t know her. 10. What was the subject of your most recent conversation? My brother and I were watching this documentary last night on the ID channel about Jeffrey Dahmer and were discussing about it. 11. Hypothetically and generally speaking, how would you go about breaking up with someone? Is there anything you would make sure to say, or perhaps not say? I did that once. I just had to be honest and tell them how I felt. I was nervous about it and felt horrible, but I knew it wasn’t fair for either of us to keep things going if I wasn’t happy or all the way in. 12. Are you more of a night person or a day person? What is it about the night/day that you favor? Night. I like my night routine of eating ramen, watching YouTube videos, listening to ASMR, scrolling through Tumblr, and doing surveys. 13. What do you find particularly offensive? Would you say you're easy or difficult to offend? I don’t think I’m easily offended. 14. Is there a belief you have that most others around you don't have? Do you share this belief with others, or do you tend to keep it to yourself? Have you ever offended anyone with this belief? I tend to keep a lot of my opinions to myself. 15. Do you consider internet friendships as important as offline friendships, or do you view them differently? I’ve had really close online friends in the past. I felt closer to them than my “real life” friends at the time. 16. When was the last time you visited relatives or friends of the family? Is visiting family something you enjoy? I haven’t been to anyone’s house in several months. 17. What did you do for the last holiday or event you celebrated? For Easter my family and I had a nice Easter dinner and watched a movie. 18. If you've moved out from home, what was the scariest thing about it? What was/is your favorite thing about it? I’m still living at home with my family. 19. Are there any fictional characters you like even though they're "bad" or "evil?" What qualities draw you to a character? Yeah. The villains in movies/TV shows can be so badass and just... so villain-y. hahah. I don’t know. And sometimes really hot, like Eric Northman in True Blood (played by the gorgeous Alexander Skarsgard). 20. What are your thoughts on "forgiving" murderers, rapists, attackers, etc? Do you think it's even possible to forgive these people? Forgiving doesn’t mean what they did was okay, it just means that you’re not allowing them to have a hold over your life and fill you with anger and hatred. Even still, I can’t imagine being able to say I forgive someone like that. Like, I couldn’t say those words. 21. What was the last series you finished watching? Do you have any plans to begin another? I’m about to finish Defending Jacob; there’s only one episode left. I’ve also been binge watching The Gilmore Girls and I’m almost done with season 5 and there’s only 2 seasons left. 22. What is one way in which you are different from a year ago? What is one way in which you are still the same? I don’t feel like I’ve changed since last year. There’s definitely a lot I need to work on and change, but I really don’t see that happening this year. I’ve been saying that each passing year the past few years, though... :/ 23. When was the last time you had to walk somewhere in the rain? How about the snow? Years ago in the rain. I’ve never had to walk anywhere in the snow. 24. Are there any types of survey questions you dread or don't like answering for whatever reason? What kinds of questions do you like best? Basic questions get annoying, stuff about relationships, sex, marriage, and children, and ones that ask my opinion on controversial stuff. Listing stuff like favorite scents gets really annoying, too. I’ve listed them SO many times. 25. If you could learn about anything without the stress of grades or cost, what kind of classes would you take? I don’t want to take anymore classes. I like reading up on/learning about stuff on my own at my own pace in my own time. 26. What was the last item of clothing you purchased? Do you wear it often? I just ordered a couple shirts. I haven’t received them, yet. 27. Has anything made you feel nostalgic lately? My mom was going through some stuff last night and came across a few of my baby photos. D: 28. What was the last chore you completed? I straightened up my room a bit. 29. Name a song you've listened to today? I haven’t listened to any music so far today. 30. Is there anything you've promised yourself you'll never do again? Yeah. Some I did again, though.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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infinitylester · 6 years ago

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have you ever done a header tutorial? i've seen a few of yours around the phandom and they're really nice, if you haven't would you be willing to?

hey there, dear! i have not made a header tutorial but i’d be more than happy to for you! since all of my headers are vastly different, there is no real ‘specific’ way i make headers since i do so many different things for all of them!

in this tutorial, i’ll show you how to make this:

*warning* this will be very image heavy and probably very long winded, since i am a very long winded human! sorry if that’s not your cup of tea !!!

step 1:

open up your photoshop and go to file, new and put in these settings:

step 2:

excellent! you have your header canvas ready to go! i decided i wanted something real fuckin bright, so i decided to add a neon gradient. to add a gradient of your two chosen colours, make your brush and eraser colours the two shades you want to make a gradient from! if you’re confused, change these two boxes to whatever you’d like:

now go to your gradient tool and drag it across whichever way you like best to create your gradient!

step 3:

cool! we have our background shade! now we’re gonna add our little bottom bit of our header to make it seamlessly blend with our blog colour! you know what time talking about, the rip effect!

only……i’m not doing a rip effect for this header. if you ever want me to do a tut on that, just let me know! it’s real easy though!………literally, it’s just downloading a brush and using it hjesdxvhfdbj

i’m going to add a diagonal line across the bottom of my header. to do this, grab your polygonal lasso tool and draw where you want your bottom bit to be like shown:

now im going to colour that section in with white! you can colour it whatever colour the background of your blog is though! (also, remember to make a new layer for this bit, so that your bottom is on a whole new layer!)

to deselect your marching ants (the moving dotti bois), simply press command + d (or ctrl + d for windows!)

you should now have this:

step 4:

right!! now i like to add whoever i’m adding to the header. in this case, im adding a pic of dnp. place your pic wherever you’d like it to be on the header and cut it out however you like! after you’ve done this, your header should look like this:

i want to colour dnp and make them match the header a lot more, so i’ll turn their layer into a smart object and press edit contents. i colour them there and then press save, which automatically changes them on the header. you dont have to colour them but if you’re familiar with ps and would like to, go for it! i won’t detail this part though because it’s crazy long and honestly unnecessary to add to this tut!

step 5:

alrighty so!! here’s where my header’s at right now:

next, we’re gonna add a basic texture to the background of our header to give it a wee bit of depth! i added three and changed their opacity and filter layers to what i like best, so change yours to your own liking

okay so here’s my header currently! (also excuse how ugly everthing looks, tumblr eats quality for breakfast smh i swear it actually looks decent)

step 6:

okay, so now i’m gonna add a shadow behind dnp for more depth! basically i just duplicate the layer with dan and phil by pressing command + j (or ctrl + j for windows uwu) and selecting the entire layer with the quick selection tool, which selects dnp in their entirety. grab your brush tool and colour the selection black, like so:

drag that layer down and out a bit to the right and change the opacity to 24%. however, shadows are all dependent on your image, so do what looks best to you! here’s what my header looks like now:

step 7:

okay, now i’m gonna add a white outline of dnp!!

once again, duplicate your original dnp layer. now go to layer styles and press styles. there should be a style that looks like a thin black line, like so:

select that and go to stroke, changing the colour from black to white. i also changed the thickness to 2px but you can keep it at one or change it to however you like it! i placed this layer over my original dnp image and moved it to where i liked it. my header now looks like this:

step 8:

text time! write your url out in all caps using the font ‘DIN condensed’. place it wherever you would like on the header. i chose here:

step 9:

now!! duplicate that text layer and go to layer styles. remember our good friend ‘line style’? she’s about to become our best friend! press that style and chnage the stroke colour to white. move the text to the left and you should have this:

yay!! now we’re going to duplicate the line style text we just made. go to layer styles and change the stroke colour again. for this header, i changed it to pink but change it to whatever matches your header best! move that text even more to the left aaaaaaand this should be your result:

okay!! last line text style! duplicate the pink text and make the stroke colour black. move it over to the left. i thought the black was a bit too intense, so i chnaged to opacity of the text to 86%. this should be your final result:

last bit of editing for your text! go to your original url text, the one that’s at the front and bold. go to layer styles, inner shadow and drop shadow and add these settings in:

your text should look like this now:

aaaaaaaaand that’s it!! you’ve made your very own header!! well done, you should be proud of yourself!!

this header is kind of different to my other stuff, so if there’s a header you’ve seen me make that you’d like to know how to make, just let me know and i’ll see what i can do about making a tutorial on it!

i hope i wasn’t too long winded and i hope this is helpful to someone!

if you have any other things you’d like me to make a tutorial on or if you’d like an in depth tutorial on something specific, just let me know!

#hopefully this was helpful and not confusing as fuck!!#yeahps #completeresources #photoshopshit #itsphotoshop #header tutorial #my edit #my tutorials #photoshop #graphic

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cinnamonanddean · 5 years ago

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Wincestmas - Day 3

Alright, alright, let´s try this again and hope Tumblr is not eating it this time!

Today, I thought I´d try a different kind of Wincest flavor - you mentioned that you didn´t mind a little Daddycest, and my friend, I´m right there with you <3 I´m fairly certain you´ll like this one, but please let know if you´re not comfortable with any aspect of the story and I´ll hurry to write a replacement gift!

Warning: this story contains Dean/Unknown Male Character, underage sex, a bit of dubcon and a healthy dose of John/Dean UST.

(I stole this idea from the SPN Masquerade 2018: "John has a perfect scheme to make money between hunts: he lures men into a compromising position with his teenage son, and then trades the photos for cash." Whoever thought of this: you´re a genius and I love you!).

*************

“You even legal, kid?”

Dean has learned from experience that anyone asking that question, is never even all that interested in hearing a truthful answer.

“Legal enough,” is more information than most of his targets need, and this man is no exception, either.

“Good answer.” Business Guy whispers and cups Dean´s face with one hand, thumb slowly tracing the outline of his lips.

Dean´s chosen prey of the day is unusually young. Young, hot and goddamn loaded, if his expensive business suit is any indication. His shoes alone look like they cost more than the entire Winchester wardrobe combined.

This guy probably wipes his ass with 200 Dollar bills, and Dean is more than a little turned on by the thought of ridding him of some of that wealth. If he plays his cards right, they won´t need to worry about money for the next few months or so.

The hand on his jaw slides forward and Dean opens his mouth without hesitation, groaning when two fingers push in deep enough to make him gag.

They taste like salt and stale smoke and Dean sucks them with unabashed enthusiasm – lots of tongue, just a hint of teeth, point twelve on Cosmo´s “How to drive him wild”-list.

He´s rewarded with a heartfelt curse and a heated look, the faint squeak of leather that means that John is watching from the shadows and most likely already on the brink of losing his shit.

“Jesus, kid, your fucking mouth.”

There´s something akin to awe in the man´s voice, and it makes warmth pool in the pit of Dean´s stomach, makes him grab the stranger´s wrist, shove those fingers even deeper.

His eyes flick down to the man´s crotch, and Dean feels his own dick twitch when he sees the long line of the guy´s cock, thick and hard and all because of him. He idly wonders if watching this is making John hard, too.

“Gonna suck it, sweetheart?”

Business Guy is staring at him, eyes glued to the way Dean´s lips stretch around his fingers, and the steel in his voice makes it clear that this is not a question.

Luckily for him, Dean has always been good at following orders.

He drops to his knees with an eagerness that surprises even himself, hands at the other man´s belt before the pain of his fall even registers.

“Good boy.”

Dean shivers at the praise and his cheeks start to burn, pride and shame mingling in his gut until he can´t distinguish one from the other.

A hand slides into his hair and he lets himself be pulled, his own skinny fingers slipping beneath the expensive fabric of the man´s slacks, and then Dean´s hand closes around the length of him, all hot, sticky skin, thick veins and coarse hair where Dean´s still soft and boy-smooth.

It´s bigger than Dean anticipated, but he´s watched enough porn to know what he´s doing, doesn´t even hesitate before he leans in and flicks his tongue right over the head.

The man grunts in approval and it´s all the encouragements Dean needs. He starts licking it in earnest – long, broad stripes from root to tip, little kitten licks around the head until he guy´s dick is shiny with spit.

Dean pulls back. Licks his lips. Takes another peak at Business Guy from beneath his lashes. The man seems transfixed, all open-mouthed adoration, and Dean smiles up at him and slowly, deliberately sucks the head of the guy´s dick into his pink, eager teenage-mouth.

It´s a bit different from what Dean had expected, the weight of cock against his tongue even more intoxicating when it tastes of man instead of cheap silicone, the stretch a little wider than he´s used to, but not more than he can handle.

Dean pushes deeper, throat fluttering against the intrusion and he nearly gags himself in his eagerness.

He draws back. Swallows. Spreads his legs to give his own leaking dick more room. Jesus fucking Christ.

The next slide is easier, smoother. Almost all the way down. The hands in his hair tighten and the guy above him moans, low and wanton, entirely unashamed, head falling back against the brickwall behind them.

Any minute now, Dean thinks, as he slowly gets a good rhythm going. He knows that the lightning in this alley is shit, that John might have to get closer to get a quality pic or two, but this lack of action is making him nervous.

John never lets things get this far. Usually, he´s be up and at the other guy´s throat before Dean even gets a good grip on the dude´s zipper.

They´re way past that now, and to his own surprise, Dean doesn´t mind that one bit. He´s always been good with his mouth and judging from the shivers that go through the guy when Dean sucks his dick just right, Dean can proudly add “giving head” to his long list of talents.

Seconds pass, minutes, still no sign of John.

Dean knows he´s watching, though. Can feel his skin prickle under his father´s heavy gaze, and Jesus, fuck, he´s going to jerk off to this for weeks.

The moan tearing its way from somewhere deep in his chest is muffled around his mouthful of cock, and Dean feels himself tremble at the answering stream of curses above him.

He draws back, takes a minute to admire the wet, shiny mess he´s made, his fist sliding through spit and precum when he gives the guy a few slow strokes.

“Shit, baby, c´mon.” The man pleads and Dean grins, opens his mouth, prepared to draw him in deep again.

He doesn´t get very far.

The sound the guy makes when he´s slammed up the alley wall is fundamentally different to the ones Dean just pulled out of him.

Surprise, anger, fear. Mostly, shock.

“Get your fucking hands off my son!”

Dean can´t remember the last time John´s voice shook with that much fury. He´s terrifying, looming over the guy like an avenging god straight out of one of Bobby´s books.

Business Guy is trying to say something, but only manages to croak out hurt little sounds, hands grabbing uselessly at John´s forearm that is pressing against his throat and cutting off his air, toes trying and failing to find any purchase on the dirty street below.

It´s ten different kinds of hot and does nothing at all to improve the situation in Dean´s already uncomfortably tight jeans.

“Give me one, one, good reason not to cut off your dick right here and now!” John snarls, not even waiting for an answer before snapping his favorite switchblade wide open, the sharp knife gleaming dangerously in the low light of the alley.

The way the guy´s eyes bulge out at that, Dean´s sure he´s going to pass out any minute now.

“P-please, I - “

“Shut your fucking mouth, you sick little - “ John breaks off, the tense line of his shoulders trembling with barley checked violence. He´s five seconds away from cutting the guys throat, and all three of them know it.

"Dad?" Dean tries, not all that keen on disposing of yet another goddamn body tonight. "It´s okay, you can let him go. He´s not worth the trouble.”

His father doesn´t even twitch, no sign that he even heard him.

They balance right at the edge of disaster for another five seconds, and then John jumps back as if he´s been burned, knife still in his hand, but no longer ready to strike.

Business Guy crumbles to the floor in a mess of limbs, chest heaving with panicked breaths. He looks all kinds of ridiculous, soft cock still hanging out of his jeans, his face somehow both deadly pale and angry red all at once.

Yeah, Dean thinks idly, it probably is kinda difficult to stay hard when John fucking Winchester is at your throat, threatening to cut your balls off.

“Leave.” His father orders, as if on cue, the deadly calm of his voice even more terrifying than the anger from seconds ago. “And if you ever touch another kid, I´m going to come back and make you pay for every. single. one. of them.”

Without waiting for a reply, John turns around to face Dean, stares him down with the full force of his glare, something dark shifting in his gaze.

Suddenly, Dean is only too aware of the state he´s in, how his lips feel swollen and raw, of the way his face is still shiny with both drool and jizz.

He hesitates for a second and then slowly, provocatively, licks his lips. John´s swallows.

“We´ll talk when we get home.” He rasps, eyes glued to Dean´s mouth, the bulge in his jeans unmistakable.

Dean only smiles.

---------------------------------

Good God, Anon, you tryna kill me? There's so much to love here: teenage Dean getting off on his own power, John so focused that he forgets to pull the plug - did they even get the money? Ah, who cares! Amazing. Thank you!

#12 days of wincestmas #wincestmas #other people's words #submission

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hellsbovnd-archive · 6 years ago

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LF RP — JANOS JEN RENATA

The third of four sons, Janos has high expectations pushed onto him from a young age. His family name often preceding him (his two older brothers being officers in the military and his father being a high-ranking engineer), it might take a moment to realize that Janos himself is the family’s black sheep. Having failed to even get into the Magitek Academy despite having a passion for working with machines and magitek, Janos instead became an Architectus in the military in order to serve his country and make his family proud.

Unfortunately, bad luck and poor judgement led to trouble following in his wake. Where his siblings are marked as loyal and accomplished, Janos himself is marked as negligent at best, and in six years of service, he failed to earn a single promotion or any recognition for his work whatsoever. He was continually reassigned, never working for too long on any one project and occasionally being moved to different posts altogether, and eventually was relegated to simple maintenance work. Now, as a result of circumstances unknown even to him, he’s found himself in Eorzea: lost, homeless, and scared—but thankfully, not alone.

IN CHARACTER

Profession(s): Eorzean Cover—While Janos tries not to draw too much attention to himself, he often takes odd jobs to make ends meet and help pull his weight in his small circle of companions. Garlean Architectus—He’s loyal to the Empire, still uses his (last known) title in the company of other Garleans, and still believes himself to be in the Empire’s good graces even though “getting lost after being reassigned again” sounds an awful lot like “desertion.” His time in the military was spent primarily in central Illsabard doing maintenance work on weaponry and warmachina, though he didn’t really enjoy the work he was assigned.

Alignment: Chaotic Dumbass. Difficult to tell, but loyal to the Garlean Empire... For now. He had somewhat of a rebellious streak even back home.

Professional Talents: Magitek—Once an Architectus in the Garlean military, Janos learned his way around both conventional machinery and more advanced magitek devices often employed by the Empire. Nowadays, he uses his knowledge primarily to tinker, though much to his dismay he’s only really good at creating weapons... And, well, the quality of those weapons is often limited by the quality of parts he has access to.

Current Residence: Vagrant. He maintains an inn room at The Hourglass, but sometimes he has to move when he doesn’t make enough money to cover the next few days of inn fees.

Likely Haunts: Eorzea at Large—As a vagrant, he can get just about anywhere, provided he has the coin to get there. Unfortunately, as a Pureblood Garlean, he can’t use any magic including the teleportation magicks that make use of the aethernet. Ul’dah—He hangs out around Ul’dah’s markets often, and around Pearl Lane, enjoying the anonymity that blending into crowds there provides.

Hobbies: Tinkering—Janos loves to tinker, and dreams of having a workshop of his own one day back home in Garlemald. But, he’d take Eorzea too, since he’s stranded here for the foreseeable future... Theater—Over the years, Janos has read up on both Garlean and foreign drama, and came to enjoy it quite a bit. While he professes that he would never be able to get up on stage, he has quite a bit of respect for those who can.

MORE INFORMATION: Full Bio WIP | Tag

OUT OF CHARACTER

Hi there! I’m Crow and I use they/them pronouns! I’m generally most active during NA Evenings and Late Nights. I play on Balmung, but I’m open to RP connections from across the Crystal datacenter.

You can find detailed information about my hopes and expectations for RP on my dossier, here. The quick and dirty version:

OOC Communication > All

I am a med/heavy lore-strict RPer. I prefer medium-to-low power levels in RP and character- and plot-driven scenes. I won’t RP with any player under the age of 18 but as long as you’re not making it weird/creepy, I don’t have a problem with underage characters within reason.

I run an FC and an LS, so I can be pretty busy OOC because I have to run a lot of stuff related to that.

I do not really RP on Discord because my attention span is pretty crummy, but I have always been smitten with Tumblr RP as a longform format, so if in-game RP is impossible for some reason, I’m happy to write starters.

In terms of things I’m looking for:

Casual acquaintances and friends! But preferably: long-term plot-focused RP connections! Slice-of-life ain’t really my jam.

Business contacts! Janos is an engineer and a habitual tinkerer and does odd jobs to make ends meet. Maybe he could end up doing something for you?

Pre-established connections based on his background as a Pureblood Garlean born and raised in the capital and as an Architectus in the military (though his situation at the moment is obviously a little complicated).

Recommendations for events to attend? (And company to drag me along since I hate flying solo.)

Discord and Linkshell communities!

DETAILED RP HOOKS UNDER THE CUT!

Thanks for reading! If you’re interested in playing with me then please feel free to send me a message or make a note of it in the tags or comments on this post. My Discord is emet-selch wears prada#5086! If I’m slow please bear with me; I have a habit of getting absolutely swamped with stuff at more or less complete random, and my energy levels vary wildly from day to day and week to week.

tagging for visibility: @balmungrp @mooglemeet @ffxiv-crystal-rp @crystalxivrp @ffxiv-balmung-rp

RP HOOKS

1. Magiteknical Difficulties

Janos is a (former?) Architectus for the Garlean military. While he was generally relegated to maintenance work (and hated every moment of it), he loves working with machines even to this day and would probably be able to fix anything set in front of him given enough time to figure it out.

Given enough time and the right parts, he might also be able to build something for you! Unfortunately, most of his contraptions are dangerous even if they work, with Janos used to cutting corners to make something fast, not necessarily make it good.

The gunblade he carries is one of his own creations, in fact; dubbed “Bad News,” Janos used misappropriated parts to put it together before he wound up in Eorzea, and has only continued to work on it to this day. It’s held together with proverbial duct tape and it’s a wonder that it works at all, especially because once he got to Eorzea he had to modify its design to make it look less like Imperial models, which involved swapping out some of the better parts he’d slipped under his coat with some shoddier ones he found on Eorzean markets.

2. Eorzeabound

Stranded in Eorzea for reasons unknown to him, Janos has taken advantage of the chance to slow down. After a period of readjustment, he’s settled in to a relatively slow-paced life in Eorzea, and seems keen on treating his predicament like a vacation—although he would like to return to Garlemald one day, he’s enchanted by the local cultures and customs and has taken the chance to reflect on the views that were instilled in him growing up on the teat of Imperial propaganda.

Janos is curious about Eorzean customs that are entirely foreign to him, such as many of their holidays and their religion. While he remains a staunch atheist (and even lacks belief in any sort of afterlife), he thinks it’s interesting to see how religion has influenced Eorzeans’ day-to-day lives and certain aspects of the different belief systems and cultures of the city-states.

3. Black Sheep of the Renatas

The Renata family is known for an excellent track record of service to Garlemald in both the military and civil sectors... Except for Janos. Possessed of a rebellious streak that only got worse and more visible after he failed to get into the notorious Magitek Academy, Janos’s track record of service leaves a bit to be desired. With a work track-record that was notably subpar and marked by repeated failures, Janos is regarded as a stain on the reputation of a family that since the establishment of the Empire had been rising through the Garlean social strata.

4. Keeping Up With the Jens

Janos spent six years serving as an Architectus in the Garlean military, though his career was going nowhere fast (something which even at the time he expressed frequent distress over). His track record was marred with failures and he ended up as somewhat of a social outcast, having few friends and mostly being known for being the Architectus who was most frequently being berated by his superiors. It took a substantial toll on his mental health and by the end of his time with the military, he did little but sleep, eat, and work.

Much of the latter days of his service are hazy or non-existent in his memory, a fact which he admits that he “tries not to let bother him too much,” as it’s a bridge he figures he’ll cross when he gets to it. Those who served with him would likely know of some incidents he was involved in, such as an incident wherein several of the magitek bits he’d recently done maintenance on went haywire. After being pressed on it, he admitted that it had been intentional. He also passed out on the job a few times and once locked himself in a broom closet for the duration of his break.

#ffxiv rp #crystal ffxiv rp #balmung rp #ffxiv balmung #ffxiv crystal #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #balmung #crystal data center #crystal datacenter #hellsbovnd #ooc ( lfrp )#about ( janos jen renata )#[ ITS. A. LAD. ]#[ JOKES ASIDE--jan is a serious character and i look forward to watching him unlearn imperial propoganda!!! ]#[ its fake garlean invader zim yall ]

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literallyusuk · 6 years ago

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Purrfect Christmas (USUK)

Summary: Cats for Christmas! Domestic AU.

Notes: Hey hey @midnightleone I was sorry to hear that your original Secret Santa fell through but I gotchu! I whipped up a little somethin’ somethin’ for you based off of your ‘Getting/giving a pet for Christmas’ prompt! I really hope you enjoy it!

For the 2018 @usuknetwork Secret Santa! I didn’t actually partake myself since I forgot to sign up in time lmao but I’m glad I was able to do something for it anyway! Hope y’all enjoy!

Also on AO3 though no links since Tumblr’s a butt about it. Link to my AO3 is on the side though!!

Warnings: Lil bit of language.

“How was he for you?” Arthur asked, reaching down to stroke the fat cat in his arms.

“He definitely lives up to his name. He’s such a ham,” Gilbert replied, snickering.

“Excuse you, his name is Hamlet.”

The German man waved a hand dismissively. “Hamlet, Ham, either works. He eats like a pig and wails like the world is ending if you’re even five minutes late feeding him.” He reached over and scratched behind Hamlet’s ears. “He’s cute though. Alfred’s gonna love him.”

The cat, a big Maine Coon, stretched out into both of their touches. He was a beautiful cream colour with rich brown accents around his feet, neck, face, and the tip of his tail. His purring rumbled throughout his whole body, and his blue eyes were half-closed in contentment. He was big enough that he spilled out over Arthur’s lap and onto the couch, and if he stretched up on his back paws, he had enough height to reach onto the kitchen countertops if he so chose.

“Thank you for agreeing to look after him for these few days. A year ago I might have been able to keep him hidden myself, but since we moved in together, there was no hope.” Arthur smiled down when Hamlet turned his face into his hand, licking at his fingertips.

Gilbert smirked then.

“What?”

“No, nothing. It’s been, uh, fun. Yeah. Might get a cat too or something after this.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, but Gilbert refused to say anything else. After draining his teacup, he scooped the big cat up and into the cat carrier at his feet and, after a final farewell to Gilbert, headed home with his present.

The evening was cold and brisk, the stars glittering overhead from a clear sky. Arthur’s breath puffed out in front of him as he strode down the sidewalk, and he burrowed his nose into his scarf and coat collar. He only hoped that this evening would go well; he didn’t want to keep Hamlet stuck inside of a box for too long, so timing would be everything. Alfred’s oblivious tendencies would work in his favour, for once.

Despite it being around seven on Christmas Eve, there was still a good amount of people in the streets, and Arthur often had to sidestep around someone or pause to keep the cat crate from bumping into someone’s body or bags. The walk from Gilbert’s apartment building to his and Alfred’s was only ten minutes, but crossed a few busier intersections.

“Just a little longer, boy,” Arthur murmured as he waited at one of the crosswalks. He tilted the cat carrier to be able to peer into it, and was met by Hamlet’s inquisitive stare. The cat didn’t seem stressed at all, just interested in his surroundings.

Arthur smiled to himself. He and Alfred had been talking about adopting a cat for a few months now, but their planning hadn’t gotten much farther than agreeing they both wanted one from a shelter and at some point in the future. Though he would have liked to go with Alfred to pick one out, Arthur also figured that giving Alfred a cat as one of his Christmas presents would also be really romantic. They could always go together in the future if they ever wanted another cat.

The light changed and Arthur stepped out quickly to avoid being jostled. Five minutes later, he sighed as he moved out of the cold into his lobby. His fingers and toes had regained feeling by the time the elevator stopped at his floor, and his heart rate sped up a bit as he approached the door.

He set the carrier down when he unlocked it and swung it open a crack. “Alfred?” he called.

The lights were off in the apartment.

There was no answer.

Arthur let out a quiet breath and smiled down at Hamlet again. “Good thing his work friends celebrate Christmas Eve and invited him over, huh?” he asked as he carried the cat inside and locked the door behind him. Bless Toris and Feliks, honestly.

He didn’t bother taking his shoes or coat off yet and took Hamlet into the guest bedroom. The closet there was small but stuffed full of mostly Arthur’s things, so Alfred wasn’t likely to go looking in there. He’d set up a litter box on the floor earlier, as well as putting down a cat bed, a bowl of water, and two toys.

“You’ll have to stay here for a little while, until after we eat dinner,” he told Hamlet as he picked the cat up out of the carrier and into his arms.

Hamlet mrrowed and butted his nose against Arthur’s chin before looking around the room.

Arthur smiled as he kissed the top of the cat’s head. “You can look around properly later, hmm? Once Alfred’s seen you. I’ll get you some food and you just need to be a little patient, darling.”

He placed the cat down into the closet and turned the light on. Hamlet immediately started batting at one of the mouse toys and sniffing around it and the bed. The Brit smiled as he shut the door, leaving the light on inside so Hamlet would be able to see while he waited.

A quick trip to the kitchen later and Arthur was back with a bowl of mixed wet and dry food that he’d hidden at the back of the cleaning supplies cupboard for the past few days. He stayed long enough to make sure that Hamlet had started to eat, then closed the door again and started on the rest of the preparations.

The prepared present box for Hamlet was stuffed under their bed. It was a pre-wrapped box with a top that could easily be removed and air holes already punched into it. The wrapping paper on the outside was busy enough that the holes were unnoticeable. Arthur had another cat bed on the bottom of the box, as well as another toy to keep Hamlet entertained for the hopefully short duration he’d be inside of it. He carried it to the guest bedroom for later on, then started on preparing a light dinner for the two of them.

There would be a proper turkey tomorrow at Alfred’s parents’ house, so for the evening the Brit settled on a simpler pan-seared steak and mash with roasted Brussels sprouts. He’d been practicing with Francis’s help, and at their latest cooking session, his French friend had been impressed at the results. Alfred could down anything remotely edible, he knew, but he still hoped his fiancé would enjoy it.

He had just finished plating everything when he heard the lock click and the front door open again.

“I’m home!” Alfred called, sounding a little bit hoarse.

Alarmed, Arthur poked his head out of the doorway to see Alfred somewhat struggling with a large wrapped box in his arms. “Oh dear, do you need help?” he asked, stepping forward.

“No!” Alfred yelped, his arms tightening around the box a little bit as he nudged the door closed with his foot. “Could you lock the door though?”

“Sure.”

Alfred edged around him and hurried into the living room to put the box under their small tree. By then Arthur had locked the door and turned around, only to be swept up into strong arms.

He laughed as Alfred spun him around. The laughter quickly turned into a squeal when Alfred pressed his still-cold cheek against his own, but he kissed his fiancé anyway. “How was the party?”

“Pretty chill. Tor and Fel opted for a smaller gathering this year, so it was only their closest friends. They were pretty bummed you couldn’t make it- Fel still insists you’re some sort of cryptid, but I promised to try and get you out next year.”

Arthur snorted. “We could have lunch with them sometime before then, too.”

“Yeah?” Alfred grinned brightly and kissed him again. “I’ll call Toris in a few days or something.”

“Sounds a plan. Now come on, food’s just ready.” Arthur tangled their fingers together as he tugged him off to the kitchen.

“And presents after?” Alfred followed him eagerly, sniffing at the air with appreciation. “Smells good, Art.”

“One present each today, like we agreed.” Though he shivered when he felt Alfred’s lips on the back of his neck, Arthur rolled his eyes and didn’t turn around to see the puppy eyes that were surely on display. “The rest tomorrow.”

“Okay, okay,” Alfred said with a defeated chuckle and nuzzled to him for a moment before looking over the plates. “Holy shit, you made all this yourself? It looks restaurant quality, babe.”

Arthur flushed happily at the praise. “Thank you, love. I hope it tastes okay as well.”

“I’m sure it will. You’re getting real good at cooking now. No more breaking the oven like freshman year of uni, huh?”

“I’ll have you know that was an accident.”

“Still on that train, huh?” Alfred teased as he moved the plates to the eating nook.

“Of course.” Arthur sniffed haughtily, but smiled as he slid in across from Alfred. He set a bottle of sparkling water and two glasses onto the table as well.

Dinner passed with Alfred telling stories from Christmas Eve at Toris and Feliks’s, as well as a drawn-out game of footsie under the table. Even after their plates were empty they sat at the table, nursing their glasses and laughing together.

Eventually, Arthur jolted. He reached out across the table and tapped Alfred’s hand, drawing the other man’s attention. “I think you’ve been patient enough. Present time?” He also didn’t want Hamlet to be alone in the closet for too long.

Alfred beamed at him. “Hell yeah!”

“Alright. I’ll go get yours real quick?”

“Oooh, mysterious.”

“Very,” Arthur said with a snort.

“I’ll clean up while you do, then! Wait for me in the living room when you’re ready?”

“Alright.” After a quick kiss, Arthur slid out of his seat and hurried down the hall to the guest room.

Luckily, he didn’t have to worry about Hamlet. The big cat was sprawled out over the pet bed, asleep with the toy mouse between his outstretched paws. He opened his eyes when the closet door opened and purred at the sight of Arthur crouching over him.

“Hello, big boy,” Arthur whispered, happy to stroke behind Hamlet’s ears. “Your big moment is coming soon. If you’re good, I’ll sneak you a few extra treats before bed tonight.”

Hamlet’s purring only increased in volume.

“Alright, come on, up you come.” Arthur grunted a little bit as he lifted the Maine Coon up and into his arms.

It was a slight struggle to manoeuvre the box from under the bed with roughly twenty pounds of limp cat in his arms, but after a few minutes Arthur managed to shove Hamlet inside. Ruffled but unbothered, Hamlet peered up at him with wide blue eyes before the Brit secured the top into place.

“You’ll be in there for just a few minutes, I promise,” Arthur told him.

Alfred was still washing up when Arthur made it into the living room, so Arthur settled on the couch with Hamlet’s box in his lap instead of under the tree while he waited. The American walked into the living room a few minutes later, lighting up at the sight of the big box.

“Oh man. So we’re both getting pretty sweet presents, huh?”

A self-satisfied smile stretched over Arthur’s lips. “Oh, definitely.” He knew Alfred would absolutely love the Maine Coon. “Would you like yours first since I’ve got it here already?”

“Sure.”Alfred was practically vibrating with excitement as he took a seat next to Arthur.

“Don’t shake it around, though. It’s delicate,” Arthur said as he handed the box over. His heart took off at a gallop as he watched Alfred examine it.

“Huh.” Alfred hefted it up a few times. “It’s lighter than it looks,” he mused, then froze when he heard a noise from inside. “Is that?” He whipped the lid off.

Hamlet meowed again and poked his head up, his front paws supporting his body against the edge of the box. He was still a bit ruffled as he looked around, and he started purring as his eyes landed on first Arthur, then Alfred right in front of him.

“Oh my God.” Alfred held out a hand for the cat to sniff, and he smiled when he felt the rough tongue against his fingers. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Arthur.” He suddenly whipped his head around to stare at Arthur.

“Wh-What?” Arthur bit his lip. “Do you like him?”

And Alfred burst out laughing.

Arthur stared at him in confusion. “What…?”

“No- No oh my God, Arthur, hang on.” Setting the box with Hamlet in it aside, Alfred rushed across the room to pick up the present he’d gotten for Arthur. He pushed it into Arthur’s hands, still chuckling. “Just open it.”

Arthur’s brows were still furrowed as he hesitantly lifted the top of that box off, and he nearly dropped it when he saw what was inside.

A small white and cream cat with green eyes and folded down ears stared up at him.

Unlike Hamlet, this cat was curled up on the bottom of its box, evidently more nervous than the other feline still peering around.

“Oh my God,” Arthur whispered.

Alfred laughed again, and this time, Arthur joined in. They fell against each other helplessly, because of course they would both get each other a cat for Christmas.

The cat in Arthur’s lap let out a mewl when its box was jostled, and Hamlet’s ears immediately pricked up. He jumped out of his box and peered into the other one, purring happily and forcing his way inside to curl up around and practically on top of the smaller cat.

“I guess…they’re friends?” Alfred managed to say, wiping a few tears from the corners of his eyes.

“I suppose so,” Arthur murmured, and smiled as he pressed a few kisses to Alfred’s cheek. “You silly thing.”

“Hey, you’re just as silly!”

“This just means we’re perfect for each other, hmm?”

“Aww! Arthur, that’s so sappy! I fucking love you, babe,” Alfred said as he wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders.

“I love you too, Al,” Arthur whispered back. After a moment, while Alfred was still cooing and laughing over the cats, he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the two of them in the one box. He sent it to Gilbert.

Arthur: Alfred got me a cat too? (9:48)

It was only a few seconds before Gilbert replied.

Gilbert: i know (9:48)

Gilbert: [IMG attached]

A selfie of Gilbert on his couch, with Hamlet and the small cat curled up together on his lap.

Gilbert: you’re both fucking nerds (9:49)

Gilbert: merry Christmas (9:49)

“What’s so funny?” Alfred asked, looking over when he felt Arthur laughing against him.

Arthur showed him the phone screen.

“What? You asked Gilbert to hold onto yours too?” They dissolved into laughter again. “I guess that explains why they get along so well…”

“Indeed. The big boy is Hamlet, by the way.”

Alfred lifted him from the box, grunting from the effort. “No kidding. He’s such a ham.”

“He was named after Shakespeare, you dolt,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, and Ham can be his nickname. Shakespeare reference for you, food reference for me.” Alfred grinned as he swung the cat above his head. Hamlet looked completely unbothered. “Who’s a hammy boy? Who’s a good hammy boy?” he cooed.

“Both of you.”

“Arthur!” Alfred lowered Hamlet to face level and turned him around so both he and Alfred stared at Arthur with near-identical blue eyes. “You wound us!”

“I’m sure you’ll both get over it,” Arthur said sweetly. “What’s this one’s name?” he asked, reaching in to offer his hand to the other cat. It had curled down in the box again now that it was alone. Arthur pulled it out to set it onto his lap instead, and set the box on the floor.

“He’s called Dover. No real reason for it, that’s the name he came with at the shelter. I didn’t see the need to change it.” Alfred let Hamlet down completely so the bigger cat could nuzzle to Dover’s face.

“Dover…” Arthur smiled as he lightly ran a hand down Dover’s back. “I like it. Hamlet and Dover. Thank you, Alfred. This has already turned into a perfect holiday.”

“I think you mean purrfect.”

“You nerd.”

“In all seriousness though, thank you too.” Alfred leaned over to wrap Arthur into as much of a side hug as he was able to. “We are both silly, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you, Arthur. Merry Christmas.”

Arthur gripped him back tightly. “I love you too, my dearest,” he whispered into Alfred’s shoulder.

They lost track of time simply curled up on the couch together, the two cats purring away on their laps.

#hetalia #usuk #aph america #aph england #usuknetwork #aph prussia too #oneshots

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